Back in her time (8 page)

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. More shots and curses.

Sarge sat still and prayed that Junior would make it safely across the river.

S
wim, 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.

“Boy, am I glad to see you guys!”

“You Reid?” asked a sergeant Taylor recognized from Charlie unit.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where's your sergeant, corporal?”

“He's been captured, sir.”

“How come you weren't?”

“I escaped, sir. I swam across a river and have been running and walking for a couple of hours. I don't believe there was a pursuit, sir.”

“Get in, corporal. The regiment is back this way. We'll consult with them.”

* * *

Taylor led the operation, first by jeep and then on foot. In dry, borrowed clothes, adrenalin pumping, she knew she had to be the one to rescue Sarge. The eight soldiers followed as Taylor pointed out that the cemetery was over the next hill. The darkening sky helped the soldiers blend into the scenery like silent ghosts.

With one arm raised in the “stop” position, Taylor gestured at the shadowy wall in front of them. She motioned for two men to go to the right to approach the open back wall where she had made her escape. Two more soldiers were sent around to the left. Taylor and the other four crept up to the cemetery gate.

The plan was to rush the enemy from the front and back at the same time to take them unawares. Taylor counted the shadows of the Germans. She counted five, with the Sarge still seated in the middle of their camp. Giving the go-ahead, she and the others crashed through the partly opened gate. Their loud footfalls alerted the Germans, who rushed to grab their weapons, too late, as the other four Canadians closed in from the back. One German after another dropped their weapons as they realized they were surrounded.

Sarge leaped to his feet and stumbled, legs numb from sitting all day. “What took you so long, Junior? Had to dry off first, did you?”

Smiling, Taylor whipped Sarge around and undid his bonds. Sarge rubbed his sore wrists.

“Sarge, we have to talk.”
This is it, Pops. You've got to believe me now
.

“Not here. But we'll talk soon. You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Taylor grinned, “I sure do.”

A yell shattered the moment. Shots were fired. Taylor and Sarge dropped to the ground. Landing on her bandaged arm, where a bullet had grazed her as she was crossing the river, Taylor moaned. “What the hell?”

“It's all clear,” said a soldier from their side. “One of the Krauts must have been doing surveillance and just returned. We got him.”

Taylor and Sarge rose from the ground and saw a German soldier face down several feet away, blood oozing from the middle of his back and several other spots.
He's dead. Looks like the bullets went right through. It was him or us. I should have told the patrol one of them was missing when I first counted them. It's my fault someone got killed.