I was the guy who did what had to be done. I might suffer for it, I might wonder what it had done to my soul, but while the Rockos of this world ran and hid from the fight, God help me, I couldn't. I saw the wounded paratrooper drop his sling in the road while his buddy limped along with him to the sound of gunfire on Biazza Ridge. I saw Villard, a look of surprise in his dying eyes, and knew I'd paid the price, and that I'd pay it again. I heard Dad telling me to remember who I was, and understood that as long as that voice echoed in my head, I would never forget, no matter what sins priests demanded I confess.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I passed beached fishing boats, tangled nets hanging over their gunwales. A wooden dock stood in pieces, gaps from age or war or both creating little wood islands in the sea. Squat stone houses lined the edge of the water, and the air smelled of salt, seaweed, and dead fish. A wrecked LST lay on its side on the beach, waves crashing around it. This was CENT Beach, the easternmost invasion area for the 45th Division. I turned away, hoping all the GIs had gotten out after the landing craft had been hit.
The street widened, a few two-and three-story buildings telling me this was the town center. Down a side street, I saw a gaggle of army vehicles, and figured that's where I'd find Kaz and Harry. I coaxed the jeep forward, hoping my driving-or the hits it had taken from the German shells-wouldn't bring it to a grinding halt. I pulled into a spot next to a flatbed truck and killed the engine. Sitting on the bed, beneath a mounted crane, were six U. S. Army field safes, doors wide open.
"Billy, where did you get that jeep?" Harry asked as he stepped out of the building in front of me. It was the biggest one on the street, great gray granite blocks painted over with a picture of Mussolini. Two GIs stood guard on either side of the door.
"Where's the money?" I asked him, not wanting to explain right then about the manhunt for me.
"Drying out, up above us. This used to be the local Fascist headquarters, and it has a nice flat roof. Just the place to dry out two million dollars' worth of scrip, don't you think? What are you doing in a shot-up MP jeep?"
"And how far away are the people who are chasing you?" That was Kaz, right behind Harry. He knew me well.
"Not far, but now they're walking. How did you get the safes here?"
"We didn't. The navy raised them," Kaz said. "The landing craft had swamped in only ten feet of water, so once the divers found them it wasn't difficult to get them ashore. We have a platoon guarding the building."
"Who?" Harry asked.
"Who what?" I returned as I got out of the jeep and scanned the street. They had guards at every corner.
"Who is walking?"
"Some MPs and an AMGOT officer named Elliott. Long story… "
"You're wounded," Kaz said, looking at my right arm. "Come with me."
He didn't seem fazed. Not by my bloody arm or the military police jeep with bullet holes and a smoldering seat cushion. I let him lead me inside, past Mussolini's jutting chin in a framed photo. We ended up on the roof, under an awning, watching sailors in their blue dungarees spread out drenched occupation scrip.
I had to hand it to those Fascists, they didn't scrimp when it came to setting up shop. The building had a long meeting hall, offices with ornately carved wooden desks, and an ocean view from this terrace, where we sat in the shade, watching money dry.
"You may need this stitched up," Harry said as he cut away my shirt and cleaned the wound with sulfa powder from a first aid pack. He unwound a roll of gauze for a bandage.
"No time now, just wrap it up tight."
Harry finished cleaning the wound and squeezed some sulfadi-azine ointment over the burn, which was worse than the cut.
"What happened?" Kaz said, peering through his thick glasses at the wound.
"I was stopped at a roadblock when a couple of Me110s strafed us. The MPs hit the ditch, and I took off in one of their jeeps. A tracer round nicked me in the arm."
"You're lucky to have an arm at all," Harry said, pulling tightly on the bandage as if to emphasize his point.
"Ow! Listen, we've got to get to Vittoria fast."
"We can't leave the payroll," Kaz said.
"Yes, you can. It's under guard, and that's not what they're really after."
"What?" Harry and Kaz said at the same time.
"There's a lot to explain, but that can wait until we're on the road. I-"
The crack of a rifle shot was followed by a buzzing sound past my ear and a shower of granite fragments from the wall behind me.
"Get down!" Harry yelled, pulling Kaz and me to the floor as a second shot shattered a large pot resting on the railing next to where I'd been sitting. Then more shots rang out amid a lot of screaming and hollering until someone yelled louder and more calmly than anyone else, "Cease fire, cease fire!"
We scrambled down the stairs to the sidewalk. The guards were aiming their rifles up, swiveling left and right, searching for a target.
"Did anyone see anything?" Harry asked the sergeant who trotted over to him.
"Not a damn thing, sir," the sergeant said. "The two shots came from that building. Then the boys started firing at shadows. No one saw anything." He was pointing at a two-story cinder-block store, with a picture of a fish on a wooden sign. The single window had been shot out.
"From the roof?" I asked.
"Think so. That window was intact before my guys shot back. I don't think it was open."
In the distance, we could hear the sound of an engine start up and fade away.
"Probably the shooter," I said. "No way to catch him now."
"Who do you think it was? Was he shooting at you?" Kaz asked.
"I'd say so. I felt the bullet pass by my head."
"Mafia?" Harry asked.
"Maybe Vito didn't get the word that he was getting a pass on all this. Or maybe it was Legs. He never liked me much back in Boston."
"But why-"
"Never mind," I said. "We gotta go-now!" I had caught sight of an ancient farm tractor chugging down the road, weighed down by two MPs and one pissed-off AMGOT major. With the MPs to back him up, he could take over command of the guard platoon and hog-tie the three of us. I ran and hoped Kaz and Harry followed.
I jumped into the nearest vehicle, a Dodge Command Car. It was bigger than a regular jeep and outfitted with a radio in the back. Kaz got in next to me and Harry leaped into the rear.
"Hey, that's ours!"
"Sorry, Sarge, we're commandeering it."
"The hell you are, buddy. I don't know who you are and I'm not letting this vehicle go on your say-so. Or on orders from a couple of Brits. No disrespect intended, sirs."
He nodded politely at Kaz and Harry while keeping his M1 leveled at me. I had no shirt other than my OD undershirt and so no HQ shoulder patch or lieutenant's bars to impress him with.
"You can believe him, Sergeant," Harry said. "Colonel Routh, division paymaster, will be here soon to collect the money. Turn it over to him and provide a guard detail."
"Yes, sir," he acknowledged politely, still keeping me covered. "Now you get out of the vehicle."
It was a damned odd situation.
"I'll return it in one piece," I said, with all the sincerity I could muster as I jammed the gear in reverse and backed out. The tractor was halfway down the street.