We hadn’t found the 3rd Platoon, but I figured we’d come up roses anyway. General Lucas himself would probably give up a colonel or two to find out there were no Germans between here and Rome. Einsmann left to type up his story and get it to the censor before he lost his exclusive. Cummings said he had to submit a report through his regiment, so he left to get it written up so it could work its way through the chain of command. It seemed like a slow process.
“Let’s find Major Kearns,” I said. “He can get us to Lucas right away.”
We entered through heavy wood doors into a spacious home, with tall windows facing the Mediterranean. It was perched up on a hillside, with a view to the north of Anzio and to the south toward crystal-blue water. The polished wood floors were already scuffed and scraped by countless boots as GIs brought in desks, files, radio gear, and all the other hardware a headquarters can’t do without, cases of Scotch included. The place was crawling with brass, and I thought we were about to be thrown out when I saw Kearns, heading down a staircase with General Lucas. The general gripped a corncob pipe in his mouth and held a cane in one hand. I had the uncomfortable thought that I was looking at a man not cut out for this work.
“Lieutenant Boyle,” Kearns said, taking notice of me. He explained to Lucas that I was the officer in charge of the Red Heart investigation. “Have you anything to report?”
“Not on the investigation. But we got lost trying to find Le Ferriere, and we ended up right outside of Rome.”
“Rome?” Lucas said. “You must really have been lost, Lieutenant. You couldn’t have gotten anywhere near Rome.”
“We were there, sir,” Kaz said. “At the tomb of Cecilia Mettela, on the Appian Way. Highway 7.”
“It’s true, General. We didn’t see a single live German the whole way. From the top of the tomb I could see the dome of St. Peter’s.”
“Impossible,” Lucas said. “We’re digging in for a counterattack right now. The old Hun is getting ready to have a go at me. It’s a miracle you got back in one piece.”
“General,” Kearns said, choosing his words carefully. “We haven’t seen much activity on our front. Maybe you have achieved total surprise.”
“I’m not going to endanger my command because two young lieutenants got lost and managed to drive around the German defenses. I’m glad you fellows had a good ride, but it’s hardly what I’d call credible intelligence. Now get some food, and then go out and find that killer. That’s your job, not reconnaissance.”
“General, we met up with Lieutenant Cummings, 36th Engineers, and drove back with him. He went farther than we did, and he’s writing up his report right now. Reconnaissance was his assignment.”
“Fine. Then G-2 will evaluate and report to me. Keep up the good work, boys.”
And with that, he turned his back on us, leaving a trail of tobacco smoke in his wake. Kearns followed him, and we were alone with the view. A light breeze stirred the curtains, a rich shade of burgundy. The color of blood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After our Roman adventure, we decided to wait until the morning to try for Le Ferriere again. The sun was about to set, and I didn’t want a repeat performance with the added bonus of being fired on by our own guys in the dark. So we drew gear and bedrolls from the beachhead supply depot, found a deserted house, and got ourselves a good night’s sleep. At first light, we were drinking scalding hot coffee and eating powdered eggs, thanks to the cooks who’d set up their feeding operation overnight. Say whatever you want to say about army food, but when you’ve got no other choices and the chow is hot, it’s a miracle of American ingenuity.
We followed a supply truck headed in our direction, and this time found Le Ferriere. It wasn’t much of a place. The ground sloped up slightly from the farmland all around it, and a small church, a factory building, and a few scattered homes made up the whole town. No civilians were in sight, but a battalion headquarters was set up in the factory, and they showed us the Third Platoon position, set up on the right flank, on the low ground a couple of hundred yards out.
We left the jeep and walked, not wanting to draw any attention in case the Germans had gotten observers up in the hills. As we walked over plowed earth already tamped down into a path by GI boots, I grew nervous about seeing Danny. I was worried about him being at the front, but it was the possibility that he was in the same unit as a murderer that really troubled me.
Just as driving a jeep and sending up a cloud of dust could forewarn the Germans and point out our position, my questioning anyone in this platoon could give away too much of a warning. It hit me that this visit was a lousy idea; if the killer thought we were onto him, he might take it out on Danny.
“Kaz,” I said as we neared the position. “We’re not here to question anyone. It’s just a visit, for me to see Danny. Follow my lead, okay?”
“You’re the boss.”
I scanned the group of men ahead, most of them busy with entrenching tools. I saw Stump and Flint first, and gave them a wave.
“Hey, kid!” Flint yelled, beckoning to a figure knee-deep in a trench. “You got a visitor.”
It was a face I’d recognize anywhere, even wearing a helmet that looked twice the size of his head, steel-rimmed army-issue spectacles, and holding a shovel instead of a book.
“Billy!” Danny ran up to me and looked like he was going to jump into my arms. Then he skidded to a halt, a confused look on his face. He started to raise his right hand in salute, but Flint grabbed him by the wrist.
“Remember what Rusty told you, kid? No salutes up here. Unless you want to point out an officer to a Kraut sniper.”
“Sorry, Sarge. I just got confused. It’s been so long since I saw my big brother, I forgot he was an officer.”
“Let’s keep him a live one, Danny boy. No salutes.”
“Got it, Sarge,” Danny said as Flint grinned and left us to our reunion. “Jeez, Billy, it’s good to see you.”
“Same here, Danny.” I gave him a quick hug, nothing that would embarrass him, followed by a manly clap on the shoulder. “You doing okay?”
“Sure. Don’t worry about me. I really lucked out, this platoon is a swell bunch of guys. They told me they’d met you back in Caserta, investigating some officers getting bumped off. What are you doing here?”
“General Lucas couldn’t get by without me, so he dragged me along. I heard you were out here, so I decided to pay a social call.” I introduced Kaz around, giving his full title and lineage to impress Danny.
“So you’re Kaz,” he said. “Billy wrote us all about you. I never thought I’d get a chance to meet you in person. What are the odds, huh?”
“Indeed,” Kaz said. “A long shot, yes?” Kaz gave me a look and drifted off, chatting with Flint and Stump.
“Danny,” I said, draping my arm over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re here. I just heard about the ASTP program being broken up a few days ago.”
“It all happened pretty fast,” he said. “Mom wasn’t too happy about it.”
“What about Dad and Uncle Dan?”
“They wanted to cook something up like they did for you, but Mom told them to leave it alone, since it didn’t keep you out of trouble. She said I should take my chances, that maybe I’d end up a clerk since I was a college kid. So here I am, in a rifle squad, which is what I wanted in the first place.”
“Listen, Danny. You’ve got to get your head out of the clouds before it gets shot off. This is for real. Keep your head down out here. It’s not just a saying. Stay low. And don’t panic.”
“I won’t,” he said, moving out from under my grip. “I haven’t yet, have I?”
“Okay, simmer down. Just some advice, don’t blow a gasket.”
“Sorry, big brother. I know you’re trying to look out for me, but I’m not ten years old. I’ve been to college and I’ve made it through basic training, all without your help.”
“This isn’t the time to play grown-up, Danny. When the Krauts hit you, it’s going to be with a ton of bricks, and they won’t care how smart you are. They’ll only care about killing you.”