Jingle Boys, page 33
“Hold on!” called Wally. “It isn’t safe!”
Without a thought, Wally swallowed his anxiety and charged after her.
“Walter!” Audrey cried, but he gave her no time to debate.
Wally moved through the dark corridor filled with smoke and debris, his eyes immediately burning with dust and ash, searching for Bobbi. The damaged lights flickered on and off around him and the siren was deafening.
“Bobbi!” he hollered, but she didn’t respond or, perhaps, she couldn’t hear him over the alarms. He yelled louder though his throat was now raw with dust. “Bobbi, where are you?”
“Here!”
He found her at the door to the lower levels, which was pinned shut by a jumble of heavy piping that had fallen from the ceiling.
“It’s blocked!” she called. She pushed hard on the pipes, unable to move them. “I have to find her!”
Wally saw the strained and distraught look on Bobbi’s face. There was no convincing her to leave.
Without a word, he tried to push away the pipes, to no avail. A rush of anxiety filled his limbs, and he worked to keep calm. He tried to breathe, to quiet his nerves, and instead, drew in a throat full of smoke. He coughed, imploring himself to stay conscious.
The smoke swirled, and through the soot and falling ash came Mayfield with Max, Frankie, and Rat behind him.
“Need a hand?” said Mayfield. He seemed ready, at least for the moment, to set aside his anger.
“Yeah,” Wally wheezed. “Help me move these.”
One at a time, Wally and the others were able to shift the pipes until Bobbi could open the door. When she did, a new stream of soldiers, sailors, and staff raced out, coughing and gasping for air.
At the end of the flow of people, Brubaker and Finch finally came forward, coughing, carrying flashlights to light the way.
Bobbi grabbed her mother around the waist and squeezed her.
“Mother!” she cried.
“Oh, my dear!” cried Finch. “Thank God you’re safe.” The superintendent was uncharacteristically emotional, her eyes welling with tears.
Another conduit fell from the ceiling nearby, prompting Brubaker to reach for Finch’s arm.
“Delphina,” he said softly. “We have to go.”
Finch nodded, clutched Bobbi’s hand, and led them all toward the exit.
Once through the door, Wally drew a breath of cool air and held it, willing his heart to cooperate. Somehow, he’d managed to stay conscious.
After striding a safe distance from the facility, Brubaker leaned toward Wally. “Nice work, Slim.” He shook Wally’s hand, but then worked his shoulder, which continued to bother him, despite his recovery from his injuries.
“He didn’t do it alone, ya know,” chimed Rat.
Brubaker laughed. “Duly noted, Mr. Rubinstein. Thank you. Thanks to all of you.”
Audrey rushed toward Wally and grabbed him so hard she nearly knocked him over.
“Oh, Walter!”
As they embraced, Wally saw Mayfield staring as if sizing Wally up for a coffin, his anger clearly returning, but Wally refused to move an inch.
When Audrey realized everyone was looking at them, she released Wally, eyed the team, and said, “Thank goodness you’re all safe. Follow me.”
Wally wished he could follow her all the way back to Brooklyn, but he knew his time with her had not yet come.
She led them all to the street, where Drummond and Dorothy had gathered others from the facility around a barrel bonfire. Dorothy recovered a clipboard and had begun to take note of the survivors.
When Finch approached, Drummond saluted, clear relief on his face. “Good to see you safe, ma’am.”
“Damn Germans caught us with our knickers down.” She looked to Miss Davies. “What’s the status?”
“Fifty-two accounted for, ma’am. Forty still missing.”
“Forty?” Finch shook her head. “Sirens got us below levels, but not fast enough. Bloody building shook so hard, I thought it had fallen.”
“We went to a pub,” said Bobbi. “I’m sorry we weren’t here.”
“Don’t be,” said Finch. She touched Bobbi’s cheek. “I’m grateful you weren’t.”
“I’ll head to the south end of the building, see if I can find others,” said Brubaker. He raised his flashlight toward the superintendent. “Will you be all right?”
“I will,” said Finch. “I’ll radio command with our status.”
Brubaker nodded and smiled at her in a way Wally thought was uncharacteristically tender.
“Miss Davies,” Brubaker said. “Hand me that list.”
Dorothy gave over the roster to the colonel.
“I’ll come with you,” said Wally.
“Me too,” added Mayfield.
Brubaker eyed them. “All right, fellas. You’re with me.”
“How can we help?” said Max, flanked by Rat and Frankie.
“You three keep people fifty yards from the building, away from falling debris.”
“Yessir!” The trio saluted.
Finch handed Wally her flashlight, and then he and Mayfield followed Brubaker to the south side of the building.
With Brubaker several paces ahead, Mayfield turned to Wally and whispered, “Why didn’t you just tell me how you felt about her?”
Before Wally could reply, Brubaker stopped.
“There.” He pointed to a group huddled in the street and then handed the roster to Wally. “Get their names, Lipkin. Find out who needs medical attention. Have them stay put and I’ll send help to you.”
“Yessir,” said Wally, and he saluted.
Brubaker turned to Mayfield. “Let’s move, Tuscaloosa.”
Mayfield shot a look at Wally that seemed to say, We’re not done talking, and then followed Brubaker around the rear of the building.
Wally shined the flashlight toward the crowd. After a few minutes, he had gathered twenty-two names from the roster, identified several with minor injuries, but found most were just shaken and unnerved. That left eighteen unaccounted for.
After an hour, Brubaker returned with Mayfield, a grim look on his face.
“Twelve alive,” Brubaker said and then looked away. “Six dead.”
Wally coughed like he’d been punched. He had come to know a fair number of the people at the facility and fought the urge to ask who hadn’t made it. Instead, he read his roster.
“Twenty-two alive and accounted for here,” said Wally. “With the ones you counted, sir, I think that’s everyone.”
“Okay,” said Brubaker. “Let’s report back.”
Brubaker led them to Finch and the others. The ash was still falling like an untimely snowfall, and it was now close to midnight. The fire brigade was busy putting out fires, and both the police and members of British military helped to restore order, at least as much order as one could expect on such an appalling night. Ambulances took others to the nearest hospitals with navy medics performing first aid on those who needed it.
The team watched the last of the flames smolder under the fire brigade’s water hoses. Several buildings on the boulevard also bore damage, and a handful of boats had been sunk in the harbor. Brubaker said the deaths were few, relatively speaking, and that they were lucky this time around. But, to Wally’s thinking, nothing about this felt lucky.
Max walked over next to him. “You said there’d be no running,” he said with a half smile.
“I wish there wasn’t,” said Wally.
“What do we do now?” said Rat. “How do we continue the mission without a facility?”
“Yeah,” said Frankie. “It’s like New York all over again. Where will we work?”
Finch raised an eyebrow at Brubaker. “Colonel, I think it may be time for phase two.”
“Not sure we have a choice,” said Brubaker.
“Phase two?” said Max. “I didn’t even know there was a phase one.”
“What does ‘phase two’ mean?” said Wally.
Brubaker’s features grew serious. “It means we’re taking our show on the road.”
15
Causing Trouble
The loud howl that had been ringing in Wally’s ears like insanity for seven hours began to dissolve, and the pressure that filled his head loosened its iron-fisted grip on his brain. The engines of the C-47 transport aircraft wound down now that the plane sat on terra firma, its propellers slowing to a merciful stop.
Wally opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them, his shoulders tight like a cable ready to snap.
The rear cargo door yawned open with the grind and buzz of the lowering mechanisms, and a cool rush of spring air enveloped him and the team.
Wally was the first to release his seatbelt from the metal bench seat, squeezed quickly past the cargo pallets loaded with crates, hurried down the ramp to a clearing beside the muddy runway, grateful to be back on land—and threw up.
The pilot of the Dakota aircraft had taken Wally and the team high above the clouds, away from the threat of Axis radar detection, farther from solid ground than Wally had ever wanted to be, especially on his first trip in an airplane. But the steep and hasty descent of their landing had caused Wally’s stomach to roll. He had counted Mississippis until the engines had stopped, yet it wasn’t enough to keep his breakfast from returning once they arrived.
He spat into the mud, wiped his mouth, and drew in gulps of frosty morning air. Layered under the scents of airplane fuel and bile, everything smelled earthy and wet. And, as miserable as it was to throw up, he was grateful he hadn’t passed out. It was a small victory, all things considered, but a victory, nonetheless.
“Welcome to Italy!” said Rat. He lumbered off the plane like a man on vacation and walked haltingly over to the clearing next to Wally, struggling to carry a duffel pregnant with extra blankets, shoes, and empty journals he’d managed to acquire before leaving London. Rat dropped his heavy bag at his feet and looked to the tree-covered hills in the distance. “Looks like Upstate New York.”
“You sure packed like it was,” said Max, striding up beside them.
Rat shrugged. “Mom always told me to pack for anything.”
“Anything or everything?” laughed Max.
Standing between Rat and Max, Wally got his bearings, reached into his jacket, and pulled out his uncle’s pocket watch to change the hour. For some reason, he popped open the compass side of the watch to read the inscription: The right place at the right time. It was a tragic irony that, not so long ago, Wally was thumping away on his Wurlitzer, writing jingles about war bonds as a way of avoiding a trip to the European continent and certain death. And yet, here he was anyway, in the very place he’d hoped to avoid. He changed the hour as if hoping to change history itself, and closed the watch, uncertain what influence he could have over his fate.
Wally surveyed the terrain and tried to quiet the troubling chatter in his head. He was standing in a wide clearing, in a place Brubaker said was called Lucera. The area had been secured by the Allies a few months earlier and now served as an Allied airfield in the southeast of Italy in the ankle of the boot. The airfield had dual runways, suitable for sending and receiving bombers and transports like theirs. A few hangar buildings had been constructed along the airfield’s perimeter, flanked by makeshift structures that served as the airfield’s control center.
Beyond the clearing were craggy hills and dense forest clutches, thick with evergreens that Wally imagined were crowded with German soldiers poised and ready to kill them. The fields and forests were a stark contrast to the New York and London cityscapes to which Wally had grown accustomed, but the Nazis had run him and his friends out of every city where they’d set up shop so far. Now, the team had to keep the mission moving to keep it alive. They had to take the fight to the enemy.
After the attack that had damaged the Naval Communications Center, the team had spent two weeks at a safe house outside of London preparing for the trip. They’d packed their bags, keeping their belongings to a bare minimum, save Rat, who apparently missed the point that they’d be on the move. Frankie had to say a painful goodbye to Dorothy Davies and had been mopey every moment since. Each member of the team had sent pleasant letters home, revealing nothing of their work, their mission, or their fears. They’d shared details only of the suitable food, the kindhearted people, and the pride they felt to be of service in the war effort. Each of them had assured their families that they were in their thoughts, that they were safe and well cared for, and that they were eager to see them soon. It was yet another string of lies that seemed to weave through each episode of Wally’s life. He’d lied to his friends, lied to his family, and even lied to himself when he thought he could set his feelings for Audrey aside and solve the mystery of his anxiety neurosis. It seemed that, even when he was ready to stop lying, the world still forged him to be a liar.
He looked to the sky and wished he had his beloved Wurlitzer on which to work through his apprehension. Of course, with the taste of bile on his lips now, he would have settled for a toothbrush.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Brubaker, walking past Wally, Rat, and Max. “We’ll be hitting the road in fifteen minutes.”
Comfortable? Wally thought. Is he kidding?
The colonel joined a dozen gangly British soldiers along the airstrip next to a line of transport vehicles awaiting the team’s arrival. Brubaker then shook hands with a British officer who approached with a half dozen British servicemen at his side.
The rest of Wally’s team carried their belongings down the ramp toward Wally, Rat, and Max. When a couple of British soldiers spotted Bobbi and Audrey, they rushed up to greet them.
“Let us help you with that, miss,” said the short, ruddy-faced soldier approaching Bobbi. He reached for her bag.
“Thank you.” Bobbi turned to Audrey. “How ’bout that?”
A taller soldier with a few days’ beard and childish features came forward for Audrey’s duffel. “And yours, miss?”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Audrey, making Wally wish he had been the one to offer her help.
Brubaker soon returned and directed the attending British servicemen to the second armored cargo truck. “Bags travel with my team, gentlemen,” he said. “And don’t forget the crates.” He gestured to the covered pallets still strapped in the cargo hold of the Dakota.
“Yessir!” The two soldiers saluted.
Wally and the team moved toward the armored cars and cargo vehicles.
“Wonder what Dotty’s up to,” said Frankie with a gloomy tone to his voice. “Dotty” was the nickname he’d given to Dorothy, which she loved, calling Frankie “such an American.”
“Bet she’s writing to me right now,” said Frankie. “We agreed to exchange letters.”
Wally nodded and offered a smile but wasn’t sure when letters could be sent or received out here in the middle of nowhere. He figured he’d refrain from asking poor Frankie, lest he pile more grief upon his lovelorn friend.
Mayfield approached with his rucksack and cases for both his bugle and trumpet, but he didn’t look at Wally. In fact, he hadn’t said a word to Wally the entire trip. Instead, Mayfield moved past him to stand by Rat.
“What’s up with Mayfield?” Max whispered.
“Long story,” said Wally.
With everything going on since the air-raid on London, Wally hadn’t yet discussed the topic of Audrey with his roommate, and the tension between them had grown as a result.
Brubaker marched forward, and the guys saluted.
“Helluva flight.” Brubaker laughed. “You know what they say. Any flight you walk away from…”
Wally just shook his head, unable to find humor in the moment.
“Colonel Brubaker?” said Max. “If I can ask… What’s the plan?”
“Yeah,” said Frankie. “What are we doing in Italy?”
Their briefing after the German attack on London had been, true to the word, brief. They had all focused more on packing and travel preparations than on the work ahead. Neither Brubaker nor Finch had provided any real details, except that Finch and Drummond would stay behind in the UK as mission coordinators, supporting the team’s efforts and the JASCO mission from the new secret facility in Scotland, one they hoped might be safer from the potential of future Axis air raids now that it appeared London was back on the Nazi’s priority list. Wally and the others were simply told their part of the mission would continue in Italy, as if those were the only facts that mattered.
“Once we’re all aboard the ground transport, I’ll fill you in on the particulars,” said Brubaker. “Use the latrine if you need. Get some water, and fall in. We depart at oh-nine-forty, sharp.” He turned on his heel and rejoined a group of officers at the front of the transport, no doubt to discuss their journey ahead.
Wally relieved himself in the latrine, filled his canteen with water from a spigot, and started his walk through the mud and muck to join the others who were gathering by the trucks. Audrey approached him, wearing her army-issued uniform, which was similar to his, though hers was adorned with striped jacket cuffs, brass buttons, and accompanied by a long skirt. She looked like a magazine model for women’s military service attire, and Wally didn’t know if she looked more brave or beautiful. Either way, he knew he couldn’t say so.
“It would be so lovely if this wasn’t war,” she said.
Wally laughed. Audrey’s joke was the very thing to lift his spirits. “Yes,” he said. He waved his hand in front of his face as if swatting flies. “And it would be so much nicer if not for all these pesky Nazis buzzing around. Did you bring a swatter?”
Audrey joined the macabre laughter and then moved closer, her breath against his ear. “I know you must be as scared as I am,” she whispered, “but Bobbi doesn’t think we’ll see any real combat. She heard the Allies took this area months ago. We should be fine.”
He understood from her discretion that she was being careful to help him manage his anxiety, and her consolation somehow made it seem that the very thing he feared was more likely to occur. It was a clear reminder that Audrey deserved someone brave, capable, and heartier than him, and he wondered if he’d ever be worthy of her affection. It seemed unlikely that the tools to defeat his demon could be found in the very place his demon seemed most ready to pounce.
