gave a short snort of laughter and continued with his packing.
“How was Landry the last time you saw him? Was there anything unusual?”
“Not that I recall. Of course, everything here is unusual when you know you’re being fattened up for the kill. Everyone is a bit jumpy.”
“Anyone in Landry’s platoon a big loser? I mean in hock to another guy?”
“Louie. I’m sure he’s introduced himself to you.”
“Louie Walla from Walla Walla.”
“That’s Louie. He owes a few guys money from cards and craps. He won’t have much left next payday, but he’s good for it. Anyway, that couldn’t be a motive. He didn’t gamble with Landry.”
“No, I guess not. What about Stump and Flint?”
“Stump’s been up and down at cards, and he stays away from the craps games. Flint usually wins, like I said. He’s got a good poker face. Otherwise, he’s the life of the party, a real charmer most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“He’s also got a temper, but you don’t see it too often. I heard he got into a fight with three Italians in town and laid them all out.”
“What was it about?”
“No idea. A woman, a bottle, who knows? The boys don’t go to museums when they get a pass. They wander around, eat and drink, look for women. It doesn’t always put them in the best neighborhoods.” He stopped stuffing wool socks into his pack and sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, for all their faults, they’re a good bunch. They just like to blow off steam once in a while.”
“You ever been to that joint in Acerra? The one where one of Flint’s men had a fight?”
“That’s where Flint took on the three locals, from what I hear. Bar Raffaele on Via Volturno. And no, I haven’t been there. A chaplain would definitely put a damper on things for all concerned. Now let me finish getting my gear together so I can catch some shut-eye. Unless you need spiritual counseling.”
“Thanks for your time, Father.” As I rose to leave, he pulled a .45 automatic from his duffel and loaded a magazine into it. “I thought chaplains were men of peace.”
“We are. Trouble is, we’re at war. The Geneva Convention allows medics and litter bearers to be armed, in order to provide protection for the wounded. Sometimes it’s necessary to guard the flock. You know what it’s like in battle, I expect. Men are on edge, their fingers on the trigger, waiting for the next threat, the next person trying to kill them. They don’t always see the red cross on a helmet or that a man is down and wounded. All they see is the uniform, and the threat it implies.”
“You think you’re going to stop a berserk German with a Schmeisser submachine gun with that?”
“I may be a man of God, but I don’t plan on being a martyr. I’ll do what I have to do to protect those under my care.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T HE AFTERNOON WAS dark and gloomy as I sat in a line of military traffic, inching along in my jeep. We had to pull over for a truck convoy heading into the 3rd Division bivouac area. Men, artillery, and supplies flowed along the mud-caked road, nearly bumper to bumper. Something was happening, but in true army fashion, I’d be the last one to know if all my suspects shipped out to parts unknown.
I needed several things. I needed to know if the division was shipping out soon. I needed to see where Galante’s body had been left. And I needed help. I needed Kaz. Kaz would be an extra set of eyes and ears, not to mention someone smart enough to figure out what was going on. I needed Lieutenant Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz.
Kaz had been my best friend since I got shipped over here in 1942. He’d been on General Eisenhower’s staff as a translator, mostly as a courtesy to the Polish government-in-exile. Kaz was the last survivor of his family, alive only because he’d been studying in England when the Germans invaded Poland. His entire family had been killed, wiped out by the Nazis as they eliminated the educated elite
“How was Landry the last time you saw him? Was there anything unusual?”
“Not that I recall. Of course, everything here is unusual when you know you’re being fattened up for the kill. Everyone is a bit jumpy.”
“Anyone in Landry’s platoon a big loser? I mean in hock to another guy?”
“Louie. I’m sure he’s introduced himself to you.”
“Louie Walla from Walla Walla.”
“That’s Louie. He owes a few guys money from cards and craps. He won’t have much left next payday, but he’s good for it. Anyway, that couldn’t be a motive. He didn’t gamble with Landry.”
“No, I guess not. What about Stump and Flint?”
“Stump’s been up and down at cards, and he stays away from the craps games. Flint usually wins, like I said. He’s got a good poker face. Otherwise, he’s the life of the party, a real charmer most of the time.”
“Most of the time?”
“He’s also got a temper, but you don’t see it too often. I heard he got into a fight with three Italians in town and laid them all out.”
“What was it about?”
“No idea. A woman, a bottle, who knows? The boys don’t go to museums when they get a pass. They wander around, eat and drink, look for women. It doesn’t always put them in the best neighborhoods.” He stopped stuffing wool socks into his pack and sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, for all their faults, they’re a good bunch. They just like to blow off steam once in a while.”
“You ever been to that joint in Acerra? The one where one of Flint’s men had a fight?”
“That’s where Flint took on the three locals, from what I hear. Bar Raffaele on Via Volturno. And no, I haven’t been there. A chaplain would definitely put a damper on things for all concerned. Now let me finish getting my gear together so I can catch some shut-eye. Unless you need spiritual counseling.”
“Thanks for your time, Father.” As I rose to leave, he pulled a .45 automatic from his duffel and loaded a magazine into it. “I thought chaplains were men of peace.”
“We are. Trouble is, we’re at war. The Geneva Convention allows medics and litter bearers to be armed, in order to provide protection for the wounded. Sometimes it’s necessary to guard the flock. You know what it’s like in battle, I expect. Men are on edge, their fingers on the trigger, waiting for the next threat, the next person trying to kill them. They don’t always see the red cross on a helmet or that a man is down and wounded. All they see is the uniform, and the threat it implies.”
“You think you’re going to stop a berserk German with a Schmeisser submachine gun with that?”
“I may be a man of God, but I don’t plan on being a martyr. I’ll do what I have to do to protect those under my care.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
T HE AFTERNOON WAS dark and gloomy as I sat in a line of military traffic, inching along in my jeep. We had to pull over for a truck convoy heading into the 3rd Division bivouac area. Men, artillery, and supplies flowed along the mud-caked road, nearly bumper to bumper. Something was happening, but in true army fashion, I’d be the last one to know if all my suspects shipped out to parts unknown.
I needed several things. I needed to know if the division was shipping out soon. I needed to see where Galante’s body had been left. And I needed help. I needed Kaz. Kaz would be an extra set of eyes and ears, not to mention someone smart enough to figure out what was going on. I needed Lieutenant Baron Piotr Augustus Kazimierz.
Kaz had been my best friend since I got shipped over here in 1942. He’d been on General Eisenhower’s staff as a translator, mostly as a courtesy to the Polish government-in-exile. Kaz was the last survivor of his family, alive only because he’d been studying in England when the Germans invaded Poland. His entire family had been killed, wiped out by the Nazis as they eliminated the educated elite
Similar Books
