armory in this joint, or nearby? Some place where they have M15 WP grenades?”
“Do you think it had anything to do with Cole’s suicide?”
“I don’t know. It could be evidence from some other case, for all I know. See what you can find, and we’ll meet at the officer’s mess and compare notes.”
It’s not unheard of for an officer to grab a drink or a meal at a NCO club, but as a courtesy he’s expected to ask permission of a senior noncommissioned officer present. I spotted Rusty Gates and figured a platoon sergeant was senior enough.
“Mind if I join you fellows for a while?” Gates was sitting with Louie Walla from Walla Walla, Flint, and Stump. It was a subdued crowd. “Be glad to buy a round.”
“You just bought yourself a chair, Lieutenant,” Flint said, making room at the table. Gates gave me a nod, then signaled to the bar for five beers.
“Call me Billy, fellas. I was a cop back home, and I still turn around and look for my father when someone calls me lieutenant.”
“You’re in the family business, then?” Flint said.
“Until the war, yeah.”
“Looks like you’re still keeping your hand in,” Stump said. “Asking all those questions.”
“And I’ve got more. That’s why most cops don’t have a lot of friends outside the job. Always asking questions, it tends to get on people’s nerves.”
The beers came, and I waited to see who would say it, if anyone would. I held onto my bottle, half-raised in a toast.
“To Jim Cole,” Gates said. They all repeated his name, then we clinked bottles and drank.
“Was that you up there with Cole?” Louie asked, gesturing with his beer bottle to the rust-colored stains on my jacket.
“Yeah. Major Kearns thought I should try talking him down. You guys saw it all, right?”
“We did,” Gates said. “Now I suppose you want to know the whole story?”
“Yep. And why you all held back.”
“It was for Jim,” Louie said. “We was doin’ him a favor, goddamn it.”
“It’s okay, Louie, it’s okay,” Gates said. “Flint, tell Billy what happened.”
Flint took a long draw on his beer, set it down hard, and pursed his lips. He shook his head before beginning, as if he wondered if this was a good idea. “I was assistant squad leader. Cole was my sergeant. He came over from First Platoon after we lost a couple of guys. He knew what he was doing; he’d been with the company longer than anyone.”
“Since North Africa,” I said.
“Yeah. That had started to bother him. You know, with so many guys killed and wounded, and not a scratch on him. He kept saying his number was up, it had to be.”
“Everybody worries about that,” Gates said. “That wasn’t the problem.”
“Right, right. The problem was Campozillone,” Flint said. He gulped the rest of his beer. “It’s a little village near the base of Monte Cesima. The division was advancing on Mignano, and we had to clear Campozillone of Germans. It was a small place, but it overlooked the main road. It was on a hill, with a big stone church at the top, like a lot of these villages.”
“Good place for an observation post,” I said.
“Yeah. Landry and the rest of the company stayed on the main road while Third Platoon hustled up this dirt track. The village had taken an artillery barrage the night before, and we hoped the Jerries got the message and cleared out. When we got there, it was all narrow streets, like switchbacks, heading up to the church. The buildings were real close together, made from white stone, like granite. Solid.”
“Them switchbacks were perfect for an ambush,” Louie said.
“Yeah. It was real quiet at first. Some buildings were piles of rubble. Others were fine. It was hard to tell if they were homes or shops or what. They were all shuttered up. So we keep going, checking out alleyways and side streets, advancing up toward the church. No sign of Germans or civilians.”
“It was hot,” Stump said. “I remember sweating. Hot for November, even in Italy.”
“Hot,” Flint agreed. “We were almost to the church, and it seemed like the Germans might have pulled out after all. There was a set of steps leading up to the road, so we took them, our squad. The others went around the bend in the road, and we went up the steps, figuring to save time.”
“It wasn’t a bad move,” Louie said. Everyone nodded their agreement.
“Then the Krauts opened up. Machine gun in a cellar window, at the head of the steps. They had the road and the steps covered. We lost two guys right away. One, MacMillan, had been with us a while. The other was a replacement, I never got his name.”
“We was pinned down,” Louie said. “Stump and me. Rusty was with us. We had one guy wounded, out in the middle of the street, but we were all holed up in doorways, nowhere to go.”
“We started lobbing grenades,” Flint said. “But they’d miss the window and bounce away. Some of these buildings had real narrow basement windows, and that’s where the Krauts set up. Like a pillbox. The building between us and the Krauts was nothing but rubble, which blocked all the entrances on our side. We couldn’t get at them.”
“Bishop was out in the street, hit pretty bad in the legs,” Gates said. “They left him alone, hoping one of us would try to get to him.”
“We was screwed,” Louie said.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The MG42 stopped,” Flint said. “A few rifle shots, then they were gone. The medics got to Bishop, and we kept going. But now we knew they were probably setting up somewhere between us and the church. Everyone was mad. We wanted to get those bastards. Mac and Bishop, plus that kid-it got us all pissed off. You know how it is, when one minute you’re so scared you just want to get into the deepest hole you can find, and then something happens, your blood’s up, and you’re doing something that might get you killed. It was like that. We moved up, hugging the walls, watching for those basement windows, waiting for shutters to swing open and the MG to open up again.”
“We were all jumpy,” Stump said. “Lots of firing at shadows.”
“Our squad was in the lead,” Flint said. “Cole took point. We were about fifty yards from the church, only one more switchback to go. I was looking at the bell tower, watching for snipers. I heard Cole say something and saw him point to a building at the top of the road. The roof had been caved in, but the rest of it was intact. It had stone steps leading up to the front door, and two small windows with bars on them on either side of the steps.”
“I heard him yell for covering fire,” Gates said.
“Yeah, then everyone started shooting. He ran toward the building, and I followed, shooting and yelling. We were all a little crazed, you know? Cole was screaming about the basement, that he saw movement, and to fire at the windows. I did, and as we got close, he pulled out a WP grenade, one of those new M15 gizmos, you know? And I figure, good idea, even if he misses, some of that Willie Peter will spray into the basement and fix those Krauts good. So he throws, and Jesus, it was a beautiful shot. The windows were a bit high off the ground, which made it a little easier, but it sailed in there perfectly. You saw it, Louie, wasn’t that a shot?”
“Right between the bars,” Louie said. “Cole had a helluva arm.”
“Flint,” Gates said in a low, quiet voice. “Tell Billy what happened.”
“Well, we took cover. You know that stuff flies everywhere and burns like the devil. But when it went in, we moved up, covering the door, figuring Krauts might come spilling out.”
“But there weren’t no Krauts,” Louie said, helping Flint along. I felt the weight of the grenade in my pocket, as well as the weight of what I knew was coming. I thought about the fact that someone had left this grenade on Cole’s desk hours-or minutes-before he’d decided to kill himself.
“No. Smoke was pouring out, and inside was a white-hot glow. We heard screams. We got to the window, and there was this guy, this Italian. He was on fire, his back was blazing. He had a little girl, he must have shielded her from the blast, and he was trying to push her out between the bars, but he couldn’t. Cole grabbed at the girl, but he came up empty. Except for a rag doll she’d been holding.”
“It was a whole family,” Gates said. “Father, mother, couple of kids. They’d evidently taken shelter during the bombardment. When the roof caved in, it blocked the stairs to the basement. They were trapped.”
