A shapely, dark-haired woman of about twenty approached Mac, Whitey, and Taylor as they were searching doorways for an abandoned building. “Me spick englash. Coma mi casa and spick englash mi papa. Veni.”
The boys and Taylor looked at each other, nodded, and followed the attractive woman to an intact house that was a mansion by any standards. They were led inside to a grand parlour and introduced to an elderly, stout man who rose when he saw them. “Welcome, welcome. My friends, la mia casa è sua casa. Bette, get these good soldiers some drinks. What will it be, gentlemen?”
“Whatever you have the most of, sir,” said Mac.
“Whisky then, Bette. Get the whisky. Hurry, these men are in need of some libations. Sit, please.”
“Sir, your English is excellent. Where did you learn it?” asked Whitey, settling on a divan next to Mac.
“The University of Toronto, back over forty years ago, young man. Long ago …”
“And your daughter Bette? Isn’t that an English name?”
“Right you are. Named after that lovely American movie star, Bette Davis. And Bette is my granddaughter. Her father, my son, is a guest in a German prisoner-of-war camp.”
“Sorry to hear that,” said Mac as he accepted a crystal glass from Bette served on a slightly tarnished silver tray.
“Your home didn’t sustain any damage that I can see, sir. You’ve been very lucky.”
“Luck had little to do with it. I’m the provincial socialist leader. My house has been spared by the Germans. They have been the only ones to bomb in this area so far. I hope you Canadians will follow suit.”
“Well, they won’t if we have anything to say about it, sir,” Whitey said, smacking his lips after tasting the fine liquor.
“Please, call me Antonio. You’ll stay for supper?”
“We’ve alread — ” Whitey started to say, when Mac kicked his shin with the force of an irate donkey.
“We’d be honoured, Antonio,” said Mac.
“Yes, yes, we would,” said Whitey.
Taylor nodded approval, her mouth full of the strong drink.
Antonio stood up and gestured widely. “Bette, show the gentlemen the way to the dining room.”
She did.
The boys stuffed themselves on delicious homemade pasta, a salad of lettuce, plenty of fresh black bread, and a glass of full-bodied red wine. How the old man had managed to hide and keep these precious items was a mystery. Taylor had thought her stomach had shrunk on the miserly army rations, but surprisingly, she was able to stretch it for this tasty meal, prepared, their host informed them, by Bette.
“Unfortunately, my staff has abandoned me, but Bette is doing a fine job taking their place. A toast to Bette. Long may she live, in good health and beauty!”
The soldiers raised their wine glasses. “To Bette.”
Bette demurred and left the room through the butler’s swinging door. The house soon filled with the sweet song of a tenor from a scratchy phonograph record in another room. Taylor and the boys sat back in their chairs, full and relaxed.
“It is always a pleasure for me to get to practise my English, gentlemen. May I ask, do any of you fine men reside in that great Canadian city called Toronto, when you are not soldiering?”
Whitey piped up, “Junior here lives in Toronto. Right, Junior?”
Taylor felt a warm blush rise from her neck to her face. Shit. What if he asks me about Toronto? How do I know what it looked like in 1944?
“Junior, is it? Are you named after your father?”
Before she had time to answer, Mac said, “No, sir. We call him that because he’s so young-looking.”
“Yes, I see that, under those facial abrasions. Been in battle have you, son?”
“Yes, sir. Nothing serious. Just some scrapes and bruises.”
“Tell me about Toronto, son. Is your fine streetcar system still operating in wartime?”
“I guess, sir. Not being home, I’m not sure what is happening over there.”
“Of course, pardon me. Have you ever been to Victoria College? I spent many a studious hour in that fine, Romanesque revival structure. Those arches — ” Antonio closed his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep.
Bette tiptoed into the room and beckoned to the boys and Taylor. Whitey grabbed his wineglass and swallowed the last mouthful before exiting. Bette led them to the front door and ushered them outside into the clear, star-studded night.
“Mi papa sleeps. You go. Okay?”
“Thank you and your grandfather for the lovely meal, Bette. We hope to return and pay him back sometime. You have been most gracious,” Taylor said.
“You welc’. Go, go.” Bette turned, about to enter the house, when Taylor put a hand on hers.
“Wait. Tell your grandfather: I know Victoria College. We went there once on a school trip to look at the university architecture. Tell him the main stone staircase is old and worn-looking after all the years of students like him treading on them.”
Bette nodded, repeating Taylor’s words, “… stone stair old,” then she pulled the massive wooden door closed behind her.
“Most gracious? Treading? Where do you get this vocabulary, Junior?” Mac put an arm around her and the other around Whitey. “You Toronto residents sure talk fancy.”
“You might try reading books instead of numbers, sometime,” said Taylor, squeezing Mac’s arm.
Mac laughed, and the threesome stumbled their way from the mansion and found a straw-strewn stable, where they collapsed for the night.
* * *
“Get up, you drunken louts. I can smell the Eyetie vino from here. And what is that other smell? What have you been eating? Garlic? Sarge has had me looking everywhere for you,” said Swampy as he prodded the boys with his boot. “We’ve got to vamoose.”
Mac opened his eyes first. Whitey sat up fast, grabbing for his rifle, which wasn’t there. Taylor moaned. “I think my eyes are glued shut and my head … who hit me with a hammer?”
“Lucky devils. Where did you find something to snort in this rubble of a town? Pull yourselves up by your bootstraps. The Sarge is waiting.”
The boys leaned against each other as they struggled to stand. Swampy rushed around and gathered up their rifles and packs.
“Come on. Sarge will have my hide if I don’t bring you back now. Besides, there’s a surprise waiting for you guys.”
The three untidy soldiers stumbled their way back to the main group waiting for them beyond the village. Thirsty, the boys gulped from their canteens, not caring whether or not they had added purification tablets since their last refill at a river.
Taylor remembered what the surprise was before they saw it. Pops had told him they were separated from Red but he had made it back to them after he was treated.
“Yippee! It’s you, Red. You old Zombie. Getting your ass cut up didn’t get you sent home, you bastard,” Whitey said, patting Red on the shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m just too tough. After they had a few laughs those sisters plucked me like a chicken and covered me with so many bandages I feel like I’m wearin’ babies’ nappies.” Red smiled all around. “Of course, sittin’ down I don’t do so good.”
Everyone laughed.
“It’s great to see you again, Red. We sure missed you,” said Taylor. And she meant it.
“I got a message for you, Junior boy, from that pretty little sister.”
“Alma?” She remembered me?
“Allllmaaaa says to say hello to you and she hopes you’ll take good care of her handkerchief, as it was her grandmother’s.”
“Junior has a cutie patutie. You lucky devil, right here in Italy.” Mac grabbed Taylor and swung her around. “Shall we dance, oh sweet face?”
While twirling around, Taylor called out to Red. “Did she say anything else?”
“That she loves you, darling Junior,” yelled Whitey.
Sarge sauntered up to the group. “The reunion’s over. Get moving, men. All except you, Junior. A word.”
Taylor followed Sarge back to the rear. Great. What is it this time? More Highlanders? Am I to be put on notice for drinking underage last night or at the monastery?
Chapter Sixteen
The captain wants to speak to you. Hop in.” Sarge indicated a jeep, motor running. Jumping in first, he sat next to the driver.
Taylor followed and took the backseat. I’ve been found out. They know I’m not this Reid guy. They’re probably sending me to a military prison. No, I’m up on drinking charges. What the heck could it be?
They blazed down the makeshift road for several miles, leaving the forward-moving infantry behind in their dust. Soon Taylor spotted a tent camp. She straightened her shoulders as the jeep ran up beside a tent. Might as well take it like a man, as Pops would say.
“Inside, soldier.” Sarge stayed outside while Taylor hesitated and then ducked under the canvas flap.
“Come in, come in, Private Reid,” said the captain, who was sitting at a small work table with maps strewn about.
“Yes, sir.” Taylor saluted.
“Let’s get right to it, private. It has come to my attention that you have been taking on responsibilities above your rank.”
“Yes, sir.” I knew I’d get blamed for that drinking at the monastery.
“Let’s see.” The captain read from a notebook. “Your bravery at the church in Pontecorvo, taking the lead; talking an American soldier into the safety of a jeep in the midst of a minefield; overpowering a gun port and capturing German soldiers. The list seems to go on. You have shown true leadership, private. We need men with your bravery inspiring others. I’m promoting you to lance corporal, effective immediately.”
“Sir. I don’t know what to say.”
“That will be all, corporal. And try to stay out of the hooch. I understand, because of your [cough] age it’s a new experience. But we want the men looking up to you, corporal, not down in a ditch somewhere. Capiche?”
“Yes, sir, captain, sir.”
The captain resumed shuffling his maps around and called for his batman, so Taylor saluted briskly and exited.
Outside, Sarge was leaning against a tent pole talking to another man. He stood upright as Taylor marched over to him.
“Well, Junior?”
“Pops — I mean Sarge — I guess, thanks. You must have recommended me to the captain. I can’t believe I made lance corporal!”
“Well, don’t let it go to your head, corporal. Come on, we’ve got to catch up to our unit,” said Sarge, turning with a big smile as he hopped into the waiting jeep and took over for the driver, who departed. Sarge waved Taylor into the front seat beside him. As Taylor joined him, Sarge threw something into her lap. “There’s your chevrons, corporal. Get sewing. The sooner you wear ’em, the faster you’ll believe it’s real.”
“Yes, Sarge.” Taylor ripped open the package, revealing two stripes, one for each shoulder. Reaching into her kit, Taylor found a threaded needle. Having sewn on a few buttons in her time, she manipulated the needle with some skill and soon had the chevrons attached.
Pops knew about this and never told me. What would he say now, back in my time? ‘Good job, Taylor. You deserved it’? More like, ‘ It’s about time. You should have made sergeant by now.’ Guess I’ll never know what the old Pops would say. Sarge isn’t saying much, but I saw that smile when I came out of the tent.
The jeep sped and bumped over ruts and rocks on the uneven road. Taylor could see a cloud of dust far ahead, which she knew was the regiment. If I can see it, so can the enemy.
A sound like a gunshot interrupted her thoughts. A blowout? The jeep swerved to the right. Sarge struggled to steer it away from the ditch it was screeching toward, rubber burning on the hot road. He managed to stop the jeep abruptly and yelled, “Take cover! Someone is shooting at us!”
Taylor didn’t need to be told again. She too jumped out of the jeep, none too gracefully. Crawling on their stomachs, the soldiers moved away from the jeep just in time as more shots rang out, metal hitting metal. An explosion soon followed when a bullet hit the gas tank. The jeep became a fireball.
The heat was searing, even in the ditch the soldiers had scrambled into. Taylor and Sarge scurried along the ditch as far as they could to get away from the flames. Sarge paused behind Taylor and cautiously lifted his head, “Shit. Have you got your rifle, Junior?”
“No, Sarge. I lost it when we jumped.” I’d still have it strung over my shoulder if I hadn’t put it down to sew my stupid insignia on.
“Three Jerries running this way. Got something white to wave? We’re going to have to surrender or get shot.”
Taylor reached into her pocket and pulled out Alma’s bloodied handkerchief. She raised herself up on her elbows, lifted her right arm above the side of the ditch, and waved.
Rapid German shouting assailed their ears. Taylor continued to wave the makeshift flag, praying a bullet wouldn’t take off her hand. She looked up into the face of the enemy peering down at her.
“Aufsteigen,” said the German.
Taylor raised herself from the ditch and gestured to Sarge to do the same. The German swung his rifle at them, motioning for them to go forward. Two other rifles were pointed at them. They obeyed and moved in the direction indicated.
* * *
We’ve been marching for about an hour. We should have come to their position by now. There. I see the river and a cemetery. This is it. Just like Pops said. Taylor, hands tied behind her back, smiled at Sarge and jutted her chin forward to indicate they were nearing their destination. Sarge nodded. Taylor motioned her head toward the river, a span of about a quarter mile, if Taylor remembered correctly from Pops’s story. Sarge grimly nodded again.
They were pushed into a circle of German soldiers amidst much cheering and backslapping. Shoved onto an overturned gravestone, they sat.
There were six Germans altogether, probably part of a unit that was separated when their company had retreated after the last assault. They had chosen their position well. An Italian cemetery was a strong, defensive fort, with high walls lined by family mausoleums, giving double protection from enemy fire. This one still maintained much of that defence.
How did we miss this? Our troops must have spread out within a mile of here and just didn’t see it. Seems to me a Bailey bridge was built downstream from here for a tank crossing. I know what I have to do.
After a few minutes, during which the Germans whispered and seemingly argued together, one of them approached the prisoners. “You go where?” he said.
“You speak English?” Sarge was shocked.
“I ask. Where are your army?”
“We don’t know. That’s why we were in the jeep, trying to find them,” said Taylor.
Sarge nodded agreement.
“Where did you learn your excellent English?” asked Taylor.
The soldier scratched his face and considered. “I am clothing salesman to England, before the war,” he said proudly.
Taylor and Sarge both forced a smile.
“Do you think I could go to the bathroom? I really have to go,” said Taylor.
“Baths room? You speak of toilet? I will consult.” The German turned away and more whispering and arguing was exchanged. He returned, pointing his rifle, and told Taylor to stand up.
Nodding at the Sarge, Taylor followed the German behind a small mausoleum, close to the river. Sarge could hear Taylor beg to have her hands freed so she could do her business.
Minutes passed, and neither soldier returned. A shot rang out, followed by shouting and what Sarge thought must be cursing. Another shot, and another. All but one of the soldiers encircling Sarge raced behind the small stone building. Mo
re shots and curses.
Sarge sat still and prayed that Junior would make it safely across the river.
Chapter Seventeen
Swim, swim! you sonofabitch. You can do it. Pops said you did it. Geez, he didn’t say how close those bullets would be. I think I’m hit. Maybe it just grazed me. I’m probably bleeding all over the place but I can’t tell in the water. Stop your crybabying. Swim, swim. It’s only a few more yards to the other side. I’ve been out of range for a while now.
Taylor dragged herself from the river without looking back and ran as if the devil himself were after her. This Reid is supposed to be quite the sprinter. Let’s hope he can do long distances, too. Our guys must be miles ahead by now.
Soggy, wet, and cold in the cool May temperature, Taylor ran full-out. Her life and Sarge’s depended on it. Turning around only once when she took shelter behind a tree in an olive grove, she looked to see if she were being pursued. No. Guess they don’t know how to swim. All that time swimming in the pond on the farm sure paid off.
Slowing to a fast walking pace, Taylor headed in the direction she thought the regiment was going, avoiding the well-travelled roads, keeping to the fields and less-beaten paths. Without a weapon or even her web pack, Taylor knew she must avoid detection. There shouldn’t be any more Germans. Most of them have retreated. Hope there aren’t any more pockets of them around. I’ve got to get help so Sarge doesn’t end up in a prisoner-of-war camp. Pops doesn’t end up in one, right? Got to get him some help.
Some hours passed, and Taylor trudged along, keeping out of sight where she could, stumbling over rocks and gullies. What’s that noise? It sounds like a jeep. Better take cover. It could be Germans.
Lying in an abandoned German slit trench, Taylor peeked out to see a Canadian army jeep pass by. She rushed up, yelling and flapping her arms. The passengers must have heard her, for the jeep came to a screeching halt and rapidly reversed until, in a cloud of dust, it stopped in front of her.
Back in her time Page 7