Ordinary Heroes (46 page)

I had not seen the General in person since the day I had slunk back from the Comtesse de Lemolland's to report Martin's initial disappearance. As far as I
knew, Teedle had received my written reports, although I'd gotten no response. Now, from Diller, I learned that on April 1, General Teedle had been relieved of command of the 18th Armored, which was being cycled into a reserve position for the balance of the war. With that, Roland Teedle had become Patton's Assistant Chief of Staff. As Diller and I hurried down the broad halls of this former government ministry, I could hear Teedle yelling. His target turned out to be his corporal Frank, who'd been transferred with him.

General Teedle looked smaller and older in the office where I found him, a somber room with high ceilings and long windows. He was on his feet, facing, with evident bewilderment, a desk on which the papers looked as if they'd simply been dumped. I was surprised to feel some warmth for the General at the first sight of him, but I suppose after my visit to OSS in London, I'd come to recognize that he had been right about most things. Whatever else, Robert Martin was both disingenuous and a subversive force in the military. Not that I'd completely forgotten Bonner's accusation. It occurred to me for a second that Teedle might have been moved to HQ so someone could keep an eye on him. But I'd never know for sure, not whether Bonner spoke the truth, or had misperceived other conduct, or, even if correct, where Teedle's misbehavior should rank among the war's many other travesties.

I congratulated the General on his new posting. Another star had come with it. As usual, he had no interest in flattery.

"They're already replacing the warhorses, Dubin. They think diplomats should be in charge. The next phase of the war will be political. I'd rather be feeding cattle than sitting behind a desk, but at least there's some work left to do. Patton wants to be in Berlin before the end of the month, and I believe we will be. So how did you like war, Dubin? A bitch, isn't it?"

I must have betrayed something in response to his scoffing, because Teedle focused on me with concern.

"I know you had a bad time, Dubin. I don't mean to make light of it."

"I don't think I'm the only one with sad stories to tell."

"There are three million men here with nightmares to take home with them, and a million or so more half a world away. Makes you wonder what kind of country we can ever be. So much of civilization, Dubin, is merely the recovery periods between wars. We build things up and then tear them down again. Look at poor Europe. Some moments I find myself thinking about all the fighting that's gone on here and expect blood to come welling out of the ground."

"You sound like Martin, General." As ever, I wa
s s
urprised by my forwardness with Teedle. But he seemed to expect it.

"Oh, hardly, Dubin. I'm sure Martin wants to put an end to war. I take it as part of the human condition."

My expression, in response, was undoubtedly pained, but in retrospect I am unsure whether that was because I resisted Teedle's view, or regarded it as a harrowing truth. Observing me, Teedle leaned back and drummed a pencil on the thigh of his wool trousers.

"Do you know what this war is about, Dubin?"

Teedle had made Diller wait outside and I could hear voices gathering, meaning another meeting was about to take place, most likely involving officers superior to me. But I wasn't surprised that the General wanted to take time for this discussion. There had never been any question that Teedle found something essential in his contest with Martin. He opposed everything Martin stood for--the solitary adventurer who thought he could outwit the machines of war; a spy who favored deception over hand-to-hand assault; and, of course, a Communist who would give to each man according to his need, as opposed to the fathomless will of God.

I asked if he was referring to the Treaty of Versailles.

"Fuck treaties," he said. "I mean what's at stake. In the largest terms."

I knew Teedle valued my seriousness, and I tried not to be flippant, but the fact was that I had no idea anymore and I said so. Teedle, naturally, had a view.

"I think we're fighting about what will unite people. I think that all of these machines we've fallen in love with in this epoch--the railroad, the telegraph and telephone, the automobile, the radio, the moving-picture camera, the airplane, God knows what else--they've changed the compass of life. A shepherd who tended his flock or a smith at his forge, folks who knew only their fellow townsmen, now contend with people a thousand miles away as an immediate presence in their lives. And they don't know exactly what they have in common with all those distant companions.

"Now, along come the Communists, who tell the shepherd the common interest is the good of man, and maybe he should give up a few sheep to the poor fellow a few towns over. And then we have Mr. Hitler, who tells his citizens that they should be united by the desire to kill or conquer anyone who doesn't resemble them. And then there's us--the Allies. What's our vision to compete with Mr. Stalin and Mr. Hitler? What are we offering?"

"Well, Roosevelt and Churchill would say 'freedom.

"Which means?"

"Personal liberty. The Bill of Rights. The vote. Freedom and equality."

"For what end?"

"General, I have to say I feel as if I'm back in law school."

"All right, Dubin. I hear you. I think we're fighting for God, Dubin. Not Christ or Yahweh or wood elves, no God in particular. But the right to believe. To say that there is a limit to this big collective society, there's something more important for every human, and he will find it on his own. But we're trying to have it two ways, Dubin, to be collective and individual at the same time, and it's going to get us in trouble. We can't tolerate Fascists or Communists, who want the same answer for every person. Or the capitalists either, if you want to know the truth. They want everyone to stand up for materialism. And that's a collectivism of its own and we have to recognize it as such."

"There's quite a bit of collectivism in religion, General, people who want you or me to do exactly as they believe."

"That's the nature of man, Dubin. And very much, I think, as God expects. But it's the human mission to welcome all reasonable contenders."

I wasn't following and said so. Teedle circled around his desk, coming closer in a way that felt strangely unguarded for him.

"I believe in democracy," he said, "for exactly the same reason Jefferson did. Because God made each of us, different though we may be. Human variet
y e
xpresses His infiniteness. But His world still belongs to those who will struggle to do the mission He has chosen for them, whether it's the Trappist contemplating His will in silence, or the titan astride the globe. If God made a world with a billion different human plans, He must have expected struggle. But He couldn't have intended a world where one vision prevails, because that would mean only a single vision of Him, Dubin."

"Is war what God wants then, General?"

"We all think about that one, Dubin. I can't tell you the answer. All I know is He wants us to persevere." He picked up a paper off his desk. "I've been getting reports for a. day now from a place called Ohrdruf. Heard anything about that?"

"No, sir."

"Three thousand political prisoners of one kind or another lying in shallow graves, starved to death by the Nazis. The few who remain alive survive in unimaginable squalor. The communiques keep repeating that words can't describe it. God must want us to fight against that, Dubin."

I shrugged, unwilling to venture onto that ground, while the General continued to scrutinize me. I understood only then what my attraction had been to Teedle from the start. He cared about my soul.

"All right, Dubin. So much for the bright chatter. I have an assignment for you, but I thought w
e s
hould have a few words first. I heard about your visit to London, checking up on me."

"I did what I always told you I had to, General. Confirm the details."

"You were checking up on me. I don't mind, Dubin. I suspect at this stage you hate Robert Martin more than I do."

"I've come to feel rather neutral, to tell you the truth, sir. I can't really make out what his game is. He might just be mad in his own way."

"He's a spy, Dubin. Nothing more complicated than that. He's on the other side."

There was no question that Martin and the General were on different sides. But so were Teedle and I. Not that I could name any of these camps.

"As you wish, General, but I wasn't trying to be insubordinate. I simply wanted to see matters to a logical end."

"Well, you haven't done that, have you, Dubin? The son of a bitch is still cavorting around."

"He could be dead for all I know, sir."

"That, unfortunately, he is not." Teedle thumbed through the papers on his desk, finally giving up in exasperation and yelling for Frank, who was apparently away. "To hell with it," Teedle announced. "About forty-eight hours ago, a reserve battalion of the moth Infantry Division encountered a man with one hand who claimed to be an OSS officer. This was down near the town of Pforzheim. He said h
e w
as on a special operation and in need of supplies. An officer there with good sense contacted OSS, but by the time they'd alerted the MPs, Martin was with the four winds.

"So he's gone yet again. Amazing. Any idea how the hell the girl found out he was in that hospital last time? I've been wondering for months."

"I told her. It was rather stupid."

He made a face. "I thought that was possible. That's more than stupid, Dubin. Get into your pants, did she?"

I didn't answer.

"You should have known better than that, too, Dubin." But his pinched eyes contained a trace of amusement at my folly. Whatever his complex morality, Teedle was good to his word. Sex, like war, was something God expected humans to succumb to.

"I didn't do very well, General. I'm aware of that. It cost a very good man his life. I'll rue that to the end of my days.

He gave me a kinder look than I expected and said, "If you had the pleasure of being a general, Dubin, you'd be able to say that ten thousand times. It's not much of a job that requires other men to die for your mistakes, is it?"

"No, sir."

"But that's what it entails."

"-Yes
,
He took a moment. "Here's where we stand. I've been doing the Dance of the Seven Veils with OSS for a couple of months now Donovan hasn't wanted any Army-wide acknowledgment that one of their own has gone astray. They say that's so they can save a chance to use Martin against the Russians, but it's all politics, if you ask me, and I've put my foot down now. A bulletin is going to all MPs, Third Army, Seventh Army, the Brits, everybody in Europe. And I'd like you in charge, Dubin. You have experience that can't be spared. You know what Martin looks like. More important, you've seen his tricks. I could never tell somebody else to be wary enough. Besides, it will give you a chance to clean up whatever mess you made. That's a fair deal, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. Fair wasn't the point and we both knew it.

"I know you've had enough of this assignment, Dubin. And given what you've said--or haven't said--I can understand why. You did the right thing stepping out. But it's a war and we need you. I've discussed it with Maples. And we agree. Those are your orders, Dubin. Get Martin." The General delivered his edict with his head lowered, enhancing the warning glare from his light eyes. There was no doubt the General meant to teach me a lesson. Running Martin to ground was going to convert me entirely to his point of view. And in that, I suspected he might even have been right. "I assume I don'
t h
ave to add any cautions here about keeping your other gun in its holster, do I. Once burned, twice wise, correct?"

I nodded.

"Dismissed," he said.

Chapter
30.

BALINGEN

I
drove south to interview the infantry officer who'd detained Martin at Pforzheim. The little towns I passed through brought to mind cucko
o c
locks, with small narrow buildings set tight as teeth on the hillsides, all with painted wooden decorations along the steep rooflines. The officer who'd detained Martin, Major Farell Beasley, described him as robust in spite of his visible injuries and insisting that in Special Operations he could still be useful with only one hand. Beasley, like so many others before him, had been quite taken with Martin's sparkle and seemed puzzled to think such a fine soldier could have done anything wrong. In fact, Martin had provided excellent intelligence about the German units a mile ahead who were attempting t
o k
eep the moth from crossing the Neckar River. As for his own objectives, Martin had declined to discuss them, except to say that he would be launching a small operation in the vicinity. I did not ask if there was any sign Martin was traveling with a woman.

I remained near Pforzheim for twenty-four hours to coordinate the MPs' search. The local Germans were only marginally cooperative and Martin was presumed to have melted into the surrounding hills, moving on behind the fighting.

On my return to Frankfurt, I found for the next several days that the teletype Teedle had initiated to MPs throughout the European theater brought numerous reported sightings of one-handed men. None of them, however, had the extensive burns on his left side Major Beasley had seen on Martin. Then late on April ii, I received a telegram from Colonel Winters at OSS in London, with whom I'd visited.