The First Wave (8 page)

“Well, ma’am . . . uh, Captain, Joe was just filling me in on this penicillin thing . . .”

“Call me Gloria, Billy,” she said, “this isn’t a parade ground.”

“All right, Gloria,” I managed to get out. I realized she was the oldest woman I had ever called by her first name. She stood there, smiling at me pleasantly, until I remembered my manners.

“Please, join us,” I said as gallantly as I could, holding a chair out for her.

“Why thank you, Billy. I will. Just for a few minutes, before I get back to my shift.” She sat down with her cup of coffee and so did we. There was a quiet around the table, as if we were eagerly waiting to hear what she had to say next. I sure was. Then I remembered Kaz.

“How is Kaz? Lieutenant Kazimierz, I mean. My Polish friend.” I got my mouth to stop flapping and grinned, probably looking like an idiot.

“You can stop worrying, Billy. His wound has been dressed and we gave him something to make sure he sleeps. He should be out for the rest of the day. Rest and penicillin are all he needs now. You brought him in just in time. He’ll be fine.”

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how relieved that makes me.”

“Is Lieutenant Kazimierz on the Headquarters staff too?” asked Casselli. Gloria glanced at him and then focused on me.

“Which HQ are we talking about?” she asked, as she held her coffee cup up to her mouth and blew on it. A tiny wisp of steam rose from its surface.

“Allied Forces Headquarters,” I said, trying not to sound too pompous. “We’re both on General Eisenhower’s staff.”

“What distinguished visitors, Joe!” said Gloria, smiling at me as if I were the guest of honor at a fancy dinner party. “And that reminds me, Joe, we have another visitor on his way. Lieutenant Phillipe Mathenet, from the Gardes Mobiles.” She glanced at me. “That’s the local French police, Billy.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

“Well anyway, Joe, Lieutenant Mathenet is on his way to talk to the locals in Ward C. I’d like you to meet him at the front entrance and escort him.”

“Locals?” I asked.

“Yes, mostly young French boys. They got mixed up in this coup attempt and were wounded in a fight with the French troops and police. We have about twenty or so in a separate ward. Lieutenant Mathenet is here to find out if any are well enough to be released into his custody.” She took a pack of cigarettes from her pocket and shook one out. Casselli and I each slapped our pockets looking for a pack of matches, like two beaus competing for her favors. I won. I still had that blue matchbook in my pocket.

“I’d like to see them myself,” I said, striking a match and holding it for her.

“How come, Lieutenant?” asked Casselli.

Gloria broke in before I could answer. “Joe, be a dear and go wait for Lieutenant Mathenet. He’s late and I don’t want him wandering around getting in the way.”

“Whatever you say, Captain.” He nodded at me, and left. Gloria watched him go.

“Joe is a great guy,” she said, and from her tone I knew there was a “but” coming. “But he thinks he runs the place and has to know everything. Forgive him if he asked too many questions. He means well.”

“I’ve noticed sergeants usually run most things in the Army.”

“You may be right. So what do you do at Allied Forces HQ, Billy?” she asked in a semi-serious tone. It was almost as if she didn’t believe me. I get a lot of that.

“Whatever Major Harding wants,” I answered, staying vague.

“That wouldn’t be Sam Harding, would it?”

“His first name is Samuel,” I admitted although, if I had ever thought about it before, I would have said his first name was “Major.” “West Point, regular Army kind of guy.”

“Yes, that’s Sam!” she said. “You might be surprised to learn I’m regular Army too, Billy, although things are a lot more informal in a medical unit than you’d find in a headquarters staff. Especially one with Sam Harding on it.”

“Wouldn’t be hard,” I said. “So you served with him before the war?”

“We were on the same base back in the States for a while,” she said. She turned away from me. Something had changed; we weren’t going to discuss her relationship with Major Harding. “Sam.” Then she smiled again, and it was like the sun coming out from behind a dark cloud.

“When did you come ashore?” I asked, trying to get the conversation going. “I didn’t realize there’d be nurses here this soon.”

“My nurses and I came ashore with the first wave, Billy, climbing down the cargo nets just like the infantry. We came ashore at Beer White and set up an aid station. As soon as the beach was clear, we headed here. This place had been selected as our main hospital facility because it’s near the main road and the rail line. The local hospitals aren’t worthy of the name, so we’ve started one here, from scratch.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, and I was. I didn’t know army nurses had come along on the invasion.

“I wish the army was a little more impressed by us,” she said. “We don’t have any uniforms of our own, did you know that? We have to find the smallest men’s fatigues we can and roll up the sleeves and pants.” She stuck out her leg and I saw that the cuffs of the coverall she was wearing were rolled up tight. “And don’t even ask about shoes. I have to wear three pairs of socks just to keep these from falling off my feet.”

“But what about back in the States? Didn’t you have uniforms there?”

“Sure, standard whites, complete with white stockings and white shoes. Not the most appropriate wear for climbing down cargo nets, cleaning floors, and doing laundry.”

“Laundry, floors?”

“A woman’s work is never done, Billy,” she said as she sipped her coffee. “When we got here, the first thing we had to do was clean out and scrub down the rooms. After duty hours, we have to launder all the linens so our patients won’t have to lie on dirty sheets.”

“But you’re all officers, aren’t you? I never heard of officers scrubbing anything.”

“I’m regular Army, Medical Corps. But all the other nurses are Army Nurse Corps. They’re lieutenants, but the army came up with something called relative rank.”

“What’s that?”

“With relative rank you get half the pay of a man, and no salutes. It wouldn’t do for an enlisted man to salute an officer while she’s scrubbing the floor or emptying a bedpan, so no salutes for nurses.”

“You must be pretty sore at the army.”

“I love the army, Billy. It gives me a chance to serve at the front, and every woman here is proud to do what she can. But I’d like some clothes that fit.” She smiled that warm smile again, and all the complaints just vanished.

“Tell me, Billy, why do you want to talk to our French patients? They don’t need any unnecessary stress while they’re recuperating.”

“Don’t you think the Gardes Mobiles and their SOL pals are a pretty stressful bunch? Do you have any idea what they do to kids like these?”

“What’s the SOL?” she asked.

“Service d’Order Legionnaire, fascist militia . . . and you’re avoiding the question.”

“You’re right. And so are you.”

How could I answer her question? Tell her I want to talk to the French rebels because one of them might know Diana and have an idea where she is? Oh, and by the way, she’s a spy and I’m Uncle Ike’s secret agent when I’m not working for your old boyfriend Sam. Then I remembered. Georgie said he had a kid brother in with the rebels.

“I met a French officer the day we came ashore. He told me his brother was a university student and involved in the coup attempt. I’d like to find out if he’s among the wounded.”

“All right, Billy. I’ll take you to Ward C. Why don’t you contact this officer and bring him over here?”

“I can’t. The Gardes Mobiles killed him. He was murdered by a Captain Luc Villard.”

Gloria looked stunned. She opened her mouth to say something but I couldn’t hear it over a high-pitched wail that started out slow and then became a shrill sound that felt like an icepick in the ear.

“Air raid!” someone shouted and then everybody jumped up and made for the door.

CHAPTER
•
NINE

WE DOVE INTO A slit trench behind the main building and stared up into the blue sky, swiveling our heads, straining to see any sign of enemy aircraft. The sirens were wailing, the shrill sound mixing with the voices of nurses, doctors, and GIs as they tumbled out of the building and made for the newly dug trenches that littered the area. They were yelling to or at each other in high-pitched nervous voices, excited and scared at the same time, trying to sound like they were in charge, still in control of things. Several more people jammed themselves into our trench, one nurse laughing as if this was school recess, another trying not to cry, her hand held to her mouth.

“They wouldn’t bomb a hospital, would they?” she asked, the quivering of her lower lip just visible.

Gloria reached over at patted her arm. “Don’t you worry, honey. They’re probably ours and it’s a false alarm.”

The sirens wound down and stopped, and another strange sound took its place. The air filled with a low, dull, throb that seemed to come from all around us. The yelling stopped as this new sound enveloped us, growing stronger each second. It took on a nasty, buzzing quality that reminded me of hornets or yellow jackets. People started popping up from the trenches, twisting their necks, looking for the source of the droning, ever-increasing noise. I knew that it might be too late once they saw it.

“Get down!” I yelled. “Get your heads down!” I threw my arm around Gloria, yanking her down, nearly burying our heads in gravelly dirt at the bottom of the trench. As the smell of damp, chalky soil hit my nostrils, I had to force myself to keep my face in it. The sound grew. I didn’t know if anyone had heard or listened to me, but I didn’t really care right then. They had fair warning. Only a fool goes sightseeing in an air raid.

There was a whistling noise, then a sharp sound like lightning breaking, followed by a blast of air I felt sweep over the ground above our heads. Dirt blew in on us, then more blasts came. The earth shook, rattling every bone in my body and sending shock waves of air and debris flying overhead. Even below ground level, I was hurled against the side of the trench with each bomb blast. The bombs struck closer and closer, more of them now, until the blasts became a single noise of explosions and airplane engines, forcing everything else into silent submission. I looked over at the laughing nurse. Her hands were clapped to her ears, her mouth wide open in an inaudible scream, her eyes squeezed shut, and her head shaking back and forth.

I twisted around to look up and saw dark forms in the sky as they sped by, one after another, their wide curved wings sporting black crosses.
Heinkel 111
, a small voice somewhere in the back of my head said, as I recalled a silhouette from Aircraft Recognition Class in OCS. This was a surprise. I never used to be able to remember anything from my classes when I was at school in Boston. But no one was trying to blow me up then. As I thought about that, I realized it had become quiet. The laughing nurse wasn’t screaming anymore, she was crying and I could hear her. Someone else was yelling in the distance, but the bombs had stopped and the aircraft sounds were receding.

Gloria was looking around too, a dazed expression dulling her face. I took her hand. It was shaking. So was the rest of her. I could feel her muscles tense as she fought for control.

“Are you okay?” I said, a little too loudly in the sudden silence. Her eyes were wide and I thought she might start to cry or panic. She took a breath and I could see her pull herself together. Eyes closed, she shook her head up and down, then opened them. Her hand was still.

“I’m fine. I think I have work to do.” She winked at me as she got up to look around, dusting the dirt off her clothes as she stood up. “Come on, girls,” she said to the two nurses, “they’re going to need our help.We’ll do our crying later, honey.”

She touched the shoulder of the tearful nurse and bounded out of the trench. The nurses rose, held onto each other, and followed her out. They wiped dust, dirt, and tears away, and went to work, streaks of grime showing on their cheeks where their hands had brushed their faces. I had to admire them. Me, I just wanted to stay in this trench until the end of the war. I began to wonder why Major Harding hadn’t hung onto Gloria. She was right up his alley. Or, maybe she hadn’t hung onto him. I could think of a lot of reasons for that.

I stuck my head up and took in the view. Smoke was billowing up in front of the building where the vehicles and supplies were stored, and flames licked at a pile of wooden crates. Everyone was running in that direction. I ran towards Kaz’s room. I knew I should probably help out but I had to know if Kaz was still in one piece. It was bad enough that I’d gotten him into this fix, without getting him killed in an air raid. Off in the distance I started to hear the sounds of more bombs exploding, far away.
Crump . . . crump . . . crump.
It sounded like the harbor in Algiers was being plastered.We had been hit by a handful of bombers while the rest went on to the harbor. The stacks of supplies outside the hospital must have been a secondary target. Maybe they hadn’t marked the building with a red cross yet. In one corridor the wall was blown out and smoke from the fires outside was pouring in. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the hall and I held my hand over my mouth and nose as I checked the rooms. They were all empty so I kept on toward Kaz, hoping this was the only hit the hospital had taken.

When I got to his corridor, I saw Doctor Dunbar treating a couple of stretcher cases for cuts from flying glass. Nurses and orderlies were running around like ants from a stirred up nest. There was a feeling of controlled hysteria in the air as they did their jobs with eyes still wide from fear and shock. For their first time under fire, they weren’t doing too badly. It wasn’t my first and yet I was glad I hadn’t bawled like a baby when the bombs kept coming and coming.

I opened Kaz’s door. His eyes were closed and he was so still I thought for a second he was dead.When I finally saw his chest rise and fall, I let out my breath. I was relieved, but at the same time amazed anyone could be doped up enough to sleep through an air raid. I left Kaz to his dreams and asked a nurse for directions to Ward C.

I headed out of the building, across the courtyard, and into a separate brick structure that jutted out from a tin-roofed white washed stucco building. A sign announced it was a MEDICAL CORPS SUPPLY DEPOT. The modern brick wing had bars on the windows and a small sign that said WARD C. It must have been an Algerian jailhouse until Uncle Sam showed up. There was a guard at the door who saluted.

I entered the reception area. A corridor led off it with doors on either side. The fresh Army-green paint job’s smell mingled with the odor of strong disinfectant. A nurse sat at a desk working on charts. I asked if there was a French patient named Dupree in the joint. There was: Jerome Dupree, Georgie’s kid brother. I walked down the hall to his room and took a deep breath before I knocked. I’d brought news like this to families a few times before. I didn’t like it much.

I rapped twice and opened the door. A young kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen at most, with a mop of thick, dark hair nearly jumped out of his bed. Or would have if he hadn’t been chained to it. He had manacles on his ankles attached by a chain that looped through the steel bed frame. The windows were barred and if he was going anywhere, the whole bed was going with him. His arm was in a sling, his head was bandaged, and his eyes were wide with fear. But I wasn’t the person he expected and the look of fear disappeared.

“Who are you?” he asked. He spoke slowly, as if figuring out the right order for the words as he went along.

“Billy Boyle is my name. You’re Georges’s brother, right?”

At the sound of his brother’s name he brightened up and started jabbering. “Yes, did he send you? How did you know I was here? Have you been looking for me? I have been waiting for you three days!” His accent was pretty thick and I wondered if I had misunderstood him.

“What do you mean, waiting for me?”

“I did not know it would be you, Monsieur Boyle, but Georges told me he was meeting with some American officers and would put them in touch with me.”

“We were on our way to you and the other rebels, but—”

“No, no, not about the coup. About the notebook! Did not Georges tell you everything? There is not much time!”

I was confused. What notebook? I just wanted to get delivering the bad news over with. I tried to remember what my Dad used to say. Tell them it’s bad news first thing. Then tell them to sit down. Then tell them. I had watched and listened to him deliver the bad news dozens of times before I had to do it myself, alone. I’m not sure his advice helped, but at least it gave me a plan, and maybe that’s all he meant it to do.

“Jerome, back up a second. I have some bad news for you.” There. He was already sitting down, so time to deliver.

“What . . . ?” His mouth stayed open, a confused and scared look on his face. His eyes darted around the room, as if he were waiting for someone else to come in.

“Georges is dead. He was shot the morning of the invasion.”

“No.” His head sank back into the pillow. “No, no. He was supposed to meet the Americans, not fight them. You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not mistaken, Jerome. He did meet us. He was taking us to General Juin’s residence when we were stopped.” I could see in his eyes that he knew what was coming next.

“Stopped by the Gardes Mobiles?”

“Yes. A German officer and a French captain . . .”

“Villard?”

“Yes. He killed your brother. You know Villard?”

Jerome squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out as his lips quivered. He put his good hand up to his face and sobbed. I waited, wanting to be somewhere else. Wondering where Diana was and how I could get out of here to look for her.

“I know him,” Jerome said finally, spitting out the words with hatred. “He is a criminal and a traitor. And he will kill me next.”

“Why you? You’re not in the army.”

“It has nothing to do with that, Monsieur Boyle. It has to do with the notebook. That damned notebook!” He slammed his fist on the mattress. “It will get us all killed.”

“What notebook? What does it have to do with the invasion?”

“Georges did not mention this at all to you?”

“No, he just said you were one of the leaders of the students and that we’d meet you later that morning.”

“They are looking for it, and an officer from the Gardes Mobiles is coming today to escort me to Villard. He must believe I still have it. You must help me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Someone in the Gardes Mobiles stole the notebook from Villard and gave it to me. I couldn’t read it since it was in code. I was going to give it to you, but we were taken. I was shot and passed out. When I woke up here the notebook was gone.We were allowed visitors at first, and I received word that our contact in the Gardes Mobiles had been discovered. He probably talked and told them I had the notebook. I believe that is why they are coming today.”

As if on cue, we heard doors slam and the sound of people walking down the hallway.

“What is in this notebook, Jerome?”

“Do not speak of it, and please do not let them take me!” he said in a hushed voice, his eyes watching the door. It opened.

“Oh, excuse me,” Gloria said. “I didn’t know you were in here, Billy. Is this the young man you were telling me about?”

“Yes. I just was telling him about his brother’s death.”

Gloria set down a jug of water and a couple of glasses on the bedside table. A nurse followed her in with a tray holding several bottles of pills. Gloria bent over the bed and took Jerome’s good hand in hers.

“I am so sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You are very kind,” Jerome said, struggling to put on a brave face. “No, thank you. I can’t think of anything.”

“Any chance we could release Jerome into the custody of his parents?” I asked.

“I’m sorry Billy, but this is a restricted ward. I can’t release any of these patients. Orders. From Headquarters.”

I knew that last bit was aimed right at me, and I deserved it for putting her on the spot. Had to give it a try though.

“Are the French going to take custody of some of these boys today? Can Jerome have some time to get over his shock before you hand him over?”

“That’s very considerate of you, Billy, but there’s no need to worry. Lieutenant Mathenet is having his shrapnel wounds attended to. Nothing life-threatening, but he won’t be questioning anybody today.”

“Good . . . How’s Joe? Wasn’t he with Mathenet?”

“Yes, I haven’t seen him since the raid. He’s probably busy clearing the bomb damage.Now, get out and let Jerome rest. I have medications to give him and the doctor is making his rounds.”

“I’ll just sit with him, if that’s all right.”

“It is not, Lieutenant. You can come back later in the day, but right now, out! That’s a medical and a military order.” She tapped the captain’s bars on her blouse.

“Okay, Captain,” I said, raising my arms in mock surrender. “Jerome, I’ll see you later and we’ll talk some more. Your brother was a very brave officer.”

“Thank you for bringing me the news yourself. I appreciate hearing it from someone who knew Georges.”

I nodded and looked into his eyes, trying to signal I’d be back as soon as I could. I went out the door and almost collided with Doctor Dunbar, Boy Wonder.

“You still hanging around here, Boyle? Isn’t there a war on or something?”

He wasn’t looking for a response and I didn’t give him one. I sure knew there was a war going on, but I was trying to figure out what the
or something
was. And what this notebook business was all about. My head swam as I half-stumbled, half-shuffled out of the ward.

I was dead on my feet. No sleep the night before, a young soldier shot right in front of me, a secret murder witnessed, an emergency run to the hospital with a dying friend, an air raid with explosions that nearly knocked my teeth out, telling a kid his brother was dead, and hearing about a mysterious notebook, all before lunch. It was too much. I yawned. That only made me more tired.