Lovely War(47)

Frank Mason lifted the brim of his helmet. “You’re nuts,” he said. “Most soldiers don’t see leave until after months of service. And if the fighting picks up, nobody’s going anywhere.”

James persisted. “But if everything were to work out, then what? Would I just ask McKendrick? Or would he be furious?”

The fisherman-turned-soldier shrugged. “Who can say? Yeah, you’d ask him. No telling what his answer would be.”

All right, then.

“But I tell you what,” his friend cautioned. “Don’t even think of asking him if you haven’t been a model soldier between now and then. First up at stand-to. Clean and sharp always. Working hard. First to volunteer for everything.”

James nodded. “Makes sense.” He paused. “Mason,” he said. “D’you miss your wife and kid?”

Frank Mason regarded him curiously. As if to say, What kind of a question is that?

“Every minute of every day.”

James listened.

“I figure I’m lucky to have somebody to miss,” said Frank.

“Got a picture?”

Mason opened his personal haversack and pulled out a small prayer book. From its pages he pulled a faded photograph. The woman sitting there with a chubby baby on her lap looked like someone who always got the joke. The infant looked lusty and strong, ready to give even his soldier father a poke in the eye if it suited his fancy.

“You’re right,” James told his friend. “You are lucky.”





APOLLO


     Colt M1910—January 16, 1918





IT’S A CURIOUS thing, sweating to death in subfreezing temperatures, but that’s what all five companies of the 15th New York’s Third Battalion did, hauling wooden railroad ties. They lined them up like the teeth of a miles-long comb and pounded in the spikes that held the iron track in place. Aubrey Edwards, K Company, filled his piano hands with splinters. I wasn’t happy about that.

They’d peeled off their coats and were working in their shirtsleeves, despite bitter breezes blowing off the Atlantic. Their backs ached and their hands were raw. Even so, it felt amazing, drinking all that cold air into a burning-up body. Like bellows to a forge, Hephaestus would’ve said.

Their captains were concerned, though. Sickness had spread throughout Saint-Nazaire. Fevers had laid up hundreds of soldiers in their beds, and some had died. Captain Hamilton Fish III, K Company, worried that sweating in such cold could sicken his soldiers. First Lieutenant James Europe told his Maker that he’d better not lose any more band members to the ague.

I heard his prayer and duly considered it.

This illness was, as I’ve said, my own handiwork, but I do not boast. You can stop giving me that look, Goddess; even then I was busy, inspiring scientists to take a second look at mold, and nowadays penicillin is the miracle of modern science, but I am humble; I seek no praise.

The field kitchen cart arrived with pork-and-bean soup for their lunch. The mess detail ladled everyone’s food and passed out chunks of bread. It wasn’t scrumptious, but it wasn’t terrible, and there was plenty of it. The wind froze them through their sweaty tunics as they ate.

“That’s it,” Joey declared. “I’m getting my coat.”

“Get me mine, too, will you?”

Joey nodded and trudged to where they’d left their belongings. When he returned, carrying Aubrey’s coat and wearing his own, his face wore a worried look.

“What’s this, man?” Joey handed Aubrey his coat, patting the interior pocket.

Aubrey led Joey away from the rest of the Company, and pulled from his hidden pocket the handgun he’d wrestled away from the stranger the night before.

Joey’s mouth hung open. “That ain’t army issue. Where’d you get it?”

Aubrey looked left and right to make sure no one could hear.

“Last night,” he said. “I was leaving the Y hut—”

Joey groaned. “You were out seeing that Belgian girl again, weren’t you?”

“Shh!” Aubrey’s eyes bugged out at Joey. “Can it!”

Joey folded his arms across his chest. Make me.

“I was leaving the hut,” Aubrey said, “and some guy stopped me. Held me up.”

Joey’s eyes grew wide.

“Said we black soldiers better not think we can help ourselves to white women.”

“He what?” Joey’s hands curled into fists.

“Said he wasn’t gonna let us get spoiled, and then go back to the States with an appetite for white women there. Said we’d never go back to black girls once we’d tried white ones.”

“Just let me catch him saying that,” Joey fumed. “I’ll teach him! Southern?”

Aubrey nodded. “Sure sounded like it.”

Joey began to pace back and forth. “I don’t know where to punch first.”

Aubrey nodded. “I know.”

Joey looked up. “You could’ve been killed.” He stopped. “How many were there?”

“Just the one.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

Aubrey shook his head. “Way too dark last night. Barely saw him at all.”