| |
––––––––
WAR WAS HELL.
That was how it now felt for Tommy.
Bullets whizzed by from every direction; rocket-propelled grenades came out of nowhere to destroy, mutilate, and kill. Death and destruction were all around. This, Tommy thought, was hell on earth.
Tommy would never be bored with simple and silence. He’d wallow in it the first chance he got.
“Spread men. Run for Cover,” Tommy shouted over the sound of gunfire and exploding rockets. Black smoke billowed into the sky, over the shattered mortar. The screams of dread choking men running for their lives, pleas and prayers never prayed from the nearly dead men tangled with the sound of destruction. “Mike, get to cover,” Tommy screamed, but Mike was frozen on the spot. Amid the battle and barrage of bullets coming at them from everywhere, the abject terror rooted in his eyes, Mike could only stare at the mangled body he’d stumbled over.
When the Panzer rounded the building and aimed the gun in their direction, pure adrenaline had Tommy picking Mike up like a rag doll. “We gotta get out of here. Now.” Tommy threw Mike over his shoulder and running over rubble, past burning cars, avoiding craters, got him to safety. At a safe distance, Tommy set Mike down on his feet and slapped the shock out of his system. “You okay, kid?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Mike said as if waking from a trance. “I’m sorry, sarge.”
“Stay close to me. Keep your rifle aimed at all times, and you have to remain vigilant, Mike. Always. Those German bastards are coming at us from everywhere. Understood?” When Mike nodded, Tommy slapped him on the back. “You’ll be fine, kid. Let’s go.”
With the onset of dusk, under white flashes of detonating artillery, the sky began to change colors. Until darkness fell, Tommy and Mike stayed in the shadows as much as possible. Darting from doorway to doorway, they scanned for the enemy, pointed rifles, and snipers on rooftops. Danger was everywhere lurking in the darkness.
“There’s a sniper up in the church bell tower.” Tommy tilted his chin up to indicate the location when bullets whizzed by. “I need to make it across the street and up there to take care of him. You’re going to have to cover me. Can you do that for me, kid? Do exactly as I taught you in training, and you’ll be fine.” Tommy wrapped his hand behind Mike’s neck. “You can do this.”
Mike’s eyes darted to the bell tower and back to Tommy. “I can do this, Tommy. You can count on me,” he said, taking a deep breath and aiming his rifle toward the tower.
The moment Tommy sprinted across the cobbled street like a seasoned runner, Mike fired a series of shots toward the tower for distraction. It took Tommy seconds to make it across the street, up the winding stairs to the bell tower. By the time he got there, blood was pumping from the bullet hole and pooling around the German’s head.
“Jesus, the kid, has excellent aim,” Tommy said, giving Mike the clear signal.
If Tommy weren’t so busy trying to keep Mike and himself alive, the mangled body parts of shot soldiers, the dead bodies all around him, the blood flowing and pooling like rain on the streets would have slid into his psyche then. Killing to survive was the only thought in Tommy’s mind.
The days that followed, they marched over hilly terrain for miles, through dusty roads, under an insufferable one hundred degrees. It was physically and mentally exhausting, yet the First Canadian Division, along with Allied forces seized town after town, driving the enemy out.
The unexpected Sicilian attack resulted in an unqualified success with few Allied casualties, but the war didn’t end there. The fighting went on for days. Under the cloak of darkness, the skies lighting up under enemy and friendly fire, the First Canadian Division, along with Allied forces advanced in the shadows, over rocky ground, through muddy trenches.
Huddled in a grove of olive trees under a clear sky set alight by bomber planes dropping their loads in the distance, Tommy looked over to a sleeping Mike. Since his freeze-up, Mike hadn’t left Tommy’s side. “I’ll take care of you, kid.” Tommy dug into his shirt pocket for the half-smoked cigarette, lit it, and settled in to read Francesca’s letter. He read it when he could, although it had been some time since he’d had the chance to do so.
Everything changed since Francesca’s letter. She’d given Tommy a reason to live. His only goal now was survival and rushing home to make a life with her. It was strange the unexpected twists a man’s life took by the expression of love, Tommy thought.
Damn Peter Thompson, Tommy decided. Whether Peter approved or not, after the war, Tommy planned to marry Francesca. He planned to buy her a little house. It would be a considerable step down from the sprawling estate she was accustomed to, but he was confident she’d be okay with that. Tommy hoped she wanted children because he wanted loads of them with her. As soon as he got the chance, he’d write to tell her.
With the smell of gunpowder wafting in the wind and the skies lighting bright, swamped with the taste, the heat of their last kiss, Tommy sunk into sleep with Francesca on his mind.
––––––––
IN THE MORNING, OVER TERRAIN THAT dipped and lifted, the First Canadian Division headed east toward Mount Aetna. It was a typical sunny Sicilian day. The air was dry, and the temperature was nearing an unbearable one hundred. Mount Aetna’s peak covered in a white cape of snow, rose majestically into the clouds. Lugging his gear and weapon, a thick film of sweat on Tommy’s face, he thought when they came out of this, he’d go back to visit Sicily. Once the devastation of war faded away, Tommy imagined an island with quaint towns, cobbled streets, and white sand beaches. A beautiful, peaceful place.
The moment the men, Mike, and Tommy reached the base of Mount Aetna, they proceeded up the rocky hill into the unknown. Without warning, the German’s came at them from every angle. Ambushed by the barrage of artillery fire, hundreds of bullets flew past Tommy, Mike, and the men, pinning them in a circle of death.
“Spread out. Take cover.” Tommy shouted over the chaos.
“Take cover in there, Mike,” Tommy called out, gesturing toward the doorway of a vacant home. Mike did as Tommy said—he always did.
As the gunfire persisted, Tommy watched the men scatter, taking cover in and behind buildings, cars, trucks, anything with a solid wall to protect themselves from enemy tanks rolling into the town. Firing tanks, enemy and Allied, set off a multitude of explosions. Fires raged around them, the smoke billowing dark and thick was blinding. Tommy watched in horror as men from both sides ran out of exploding buildings in flames, swatting themselves to douse burning uniforms.
Assessing their surroundings, Tommy determined they had to get out of the building where they took cover. The half-blown doorway they stood under wasn’t sufficient cover from the flying bullets, Tommy decided.
“We gotta make it across to the monastery, Mike. It’s one of the few solid buildings still standing. We’ll take cover there. You with me?”
“I am, sarge. I got your back,” Mike said, hoping Tommy didn’t hear the fear in his voice.
“You go first. I’ll cover you,” Tommy said to Mike scanning their surroundings.
Tommy randomly fired his rifle as Mike ran, taking cover when he could, sprinting past the blizzard of bullets until he reached the monastery. Tommy followed next. Ducking and dodging the onslaught of bullets, grenades, and rockets, he screamed instructions at Mike to shoot to cover him. But nothing. Mike froze amid the attack—again.
Tommy watched Barlow and Connor go down when a bullet got them in the leg and shoulder.
When the bullets started coming faster, Tommy called out, “Mike, Mike take cover,” as he dived behind the wall of rubble.
To Tommy’s left, debris shot up hundreds of feet in the air when the rocket-propelled grenade struck the building. Part of it tumbled like a deck of cards. Tommy’s eyes peeled on Mike, he watched his body propelled into the air before it slammed against the monastery wall. Mike’s body slumped like a deflated balloon to the ground.
“Mike, Mike.” Tommy sprinted to his feet. He had to get to Mike. He’d promised he’d take care of the kid he considered his little brother. “Hold on, Mike.”
In the confusion, the explosions, the bullets, the billowing smoke, Tommy didn’t see the massive chunk of concrete descending from the sky onto his head.
––––––––
THERE WAS ONE OF THOSE HESITANT beats during the telephone conversation that told Mrs. Scott, Francesca, was processing the shocking news, and she let the silence hang for a moment. “I’m sorry, Frankie.”
Francesca slid down the wall onto the floor. “When, where did it happen?” The tears that swam into Francesca’s eyes blurred her vision.
“A few days ago. I don’t know where. We received the telegram last night. I’m sorry I didn’t call you until this morning, love, but his father and me well, we were in shock. We still are.”
Francesca breathed for calm. “Yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Mrs. S. How’s Mr. S?”
“He’s devastated. He’s still in shock. Tommy was his only child. He was everything to him,” Mrs. Scott said, as steady as her shaken nerves allowed.
“Please let him know how sorry I am and how much I love Tommy. He’d want to know that Tommy is very much loved.” Pain, bright and sharp, stabbed at Francesca’s heart as the wave of memory unspooled in her mind.
Tommy’s smiling face swam into her mind. In her daze, Francesca waved her fingers in the air as if she was sweeping them through his wild, swirl of dark hair. She saw the blue eyes staring down at her as he made love to her. She imagined the familiar curve of his mouth against hers, the silky slide of his lips and tongue. Francesca imagined Tommy tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he’d done so often.
Francesca heard his voice telling her he loved her. The realization she’d never hear those words from Tommy again was crushing.
“Frankie, are you there, love?” Mrs. Scott’s voice came over the telephone.
“I’m here,” Francesca said, after a long contemplative silence. “Mrs. S, we need to keep our faith. Missing in action doesn’t mean Tommy’s dead. It means he’s missing that he’s still out there. He’s out there, Mrs. S.” She firmed her lips in determination, mopped her cheeks dry. “I know it. I can feel it.”
“Oh, love.” Mrs. Scott refused to tell Francesca the blast from the explosions had maimed many of the bodies beyond recognition.
“They didn’t find a body because Tommy’s not gone. He’s still alive somewhere out there,” Frankie said with conviction.
“Darling...”
“He’s alive, Mrs. S. I can feel it in my heart, in my bones. Tommy’s out there. He may be physically injured, knocked out, but he’s not dead. I refuse to believe it.”
Mrs. Scott’s heart squeezed. “Honey...”
Francesca slid her hand into her jeans pocket to connect with Tommy’s letter. “He’s alive, Mrs. S.”
Mrs. Scott knew better than to argue with Francesca when her voice firmed as it had, and her mind set as it did. Mrs. Scott only hoped Francesca’s blinder of denial was temporary, and in time she’d accept the truth. Denying Tommy’s death was bound to end up hurting twice as much when reality set in.
When Francesca hung up with Mrs. Scott, she walked out to the terrace. The rain scented California air on her tear-stained cheeks felt cool. Sitting down on the stone steps, she let the tears flow. Were she and Tommy never meant to be together? It felt as if the world was conspiring against them.
“You can’t be dead, Tommy. You can’t be. I asked you to come back to me. Please, Tommy, please come back to me.” Francesca tilted eyes to a cloud-drenched sky that had swallowed every star in sight.
