Angry ignored him. He stood rigid, his fatigues ripped and stained, the letter “P” painted in white on the thighs and back. He was about my size, but it looked to be all muscle. He had a swollen cheek and a cut over one eye about a day old.
“The Six-One-Seven is a combat unit,” Tree said.
“Am I talkin’ to you, boy?” The MP glared at Tree, then shrugged at me, as if in commiseration.
“Sergeant,” I barked, in my best imitation of Harding. “You’ve unlocked the door. That’s all we need you for. Dismissed.”
“I gotta escort you out, Captain,” he said, spitting out my rank.
“Then do so, without running your mouth.”
“Them my clothes?” Angry said to Tree, ignoring the squabble playing out in front of him as he pointed at the canvas bag.
“Yeah,” Tree said, watching the sergeant. “Everything you need.”
“I’m a free man now, ain’t I, Sergeant?” He directed this to the MP, barely acknowledging his presence with the flicker of an eye.
“That’s what the orders say,” the sergeant said, as if reluctant to see even one of his charges proven innocent.
“Good.” With that, he took off his shirt and dropped it at his feet. Trousers, shorts, shoes, and socks followed, a pile of greasy, green, unlaundered clothing not fit for rags. Naked, Angry stepped over the discarded clothes and took the bag from Tree. Old ragged scars showed on his back as he turned.
“Hold on,” the sergeant said. “You can’t-”
“Yes, he can,” I said. “I say so, and General Eisenhower says so, right here in this letter.” I tapped my jacket pocket. “Personnel at the Shepton Mallet Military Prison are to provide all necessary assistance, that’s what it says. And the nice thing is that I get to decide what’s necessary. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, in the neutral tone of a non-com who can’t wait to be rid of a troublesome officer.
Angry took his time dressing in his Class As. Tree had figured it would be a morale boost for him to leave the prison in his best uniform. After his time behind bars, the pants were a little loose and there was plenty of shirt to tuck in. He knotted his field scarf, donned his Eisenhower jacket, and finally turned to the sergeant, giving him his full attention. He tapped his own shoulder, where the Tank Destroyer patch was displayed. It was a black panther, crushing a tank in its jaws.
“Combat unit,” Angry said. “Not quartermaster.” The MP ignored him, but I could tell by his face he wouldn’t forget Angry, either.
Outside in the courtyard, with the MP nearly double-timing it to get rid of us, a rhythmic clapping began. It was a steady, slow clap that built up in speed and volume as we neared the exit. Some white faces peered down impassively at us, while other windows were empty, the prisoners back where they couldn’t be seen, sending Angry off with the only salute they could offer. It was a thunderous echo by the time we reached the door.
I don’t think I let my breath out until we were in the jeep. I got in and started it up while Tree jumped in the back and told Angry to sit up front. He didn’t want to. He and Tree exchanged glares but I didn’t care about what was going on between them. I just wanted to get the hell out of the gate.
Once we were on the road, I noticed Tree prodding Angry from the back seat, tapping him on the shoulder, and whispering.
“You guys want to share the secret?” I asked.
“No, sir,” said Angry. His voice was deep but coiled, as if tamping down a geyser of words. I was beginning to see where he got the nickname.
“It’s only right, Angry,” Tree said.
“Okay,” Angry said. He seemed to steel himself for a verbal ordeal. “Thank you, Captain Boyle. For getting me out.”
“See,” Tree said with a laugh, “that wasn’t so hard.”
“You’re welcome, Private,” I said. “Tree had something to do with it too, you know. Got himself wounded, if you count bird shot.”
“Not where I come from,” said Angry, and I thought I detected the faintest of smiles. “I’ll thank him later for that. But if you hadn’t come along, no one could’ve helped me. So thank you.”
“No problem. What happened to you in there? Someone beat on you?”
“When the release papers and Tree’s letter came through. Some of the MPs wanted to rile me, see if I’d hit back. Then they’d be able to file charges.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Nope. I let four of them work me over till they got tired. Most of the punches were where they wouldn’t show. A few landed on my face.” He spoke softly, keeping his emotions in check. I didn’t ask about the scars on his back. They looked like they were from a long time ago.
“It would have been self-defense,” I said. The look from Angry was the only answer I needed. Self-defense for a white man was assault for a Negro. “You need a doctor?” I asked.
“Probably got a coupla broken ribs. But no doctor. I don’t want to get separated from the Six-Seventeenth again.”
“There’s an English doctor in Hungerford,” I said. “He’s worked on about everyone else involved in this case. One more with no questions asked shouldn’t be a burden. Okay?”
“Long as it’s off the record, he can tape me up. But we’re going to war, Captain, and I gotta be there.”
“We all gonna be there,” Tree said, clasping Angry’s shoulder. “We’ll show ’em. The Germans, the rednecks, and our own people.”
“Our own is the most important,” Angry said. “You understand what we sayin’, Captain?”
“I think they call that making history,” I said.
“That’s right. And we’re
“That’s a heavy price to pay,” I said.
“No it ain’t, Captain. Livin’ like a mule, that’s a heavy price. You got me out of prison, and I owe you for that. Now I can die like a man or live like one. If I make it through this war, I’ll settle down here in England. White people here ain’t so crazy, if you know what I mean. No disrespect meant to you, Captain,” Angry said.
“I know. Understood,” I said. “And Rosemary Adams seems like a good woman. You know her husband is dead?”
“Yeah. Tree wrote that in the letter. They read our mail and I think that got me a few extra lumps, but I didn’t care. I feel good now. Goin’ home to the Six-Seventeenth, see Rosemary, and go to war. Life looks a damn sight better from where I’m sittin’ now.”
“Me too,” Tree said. “I got the best damn gunner in the battalion back. The Nazis are gonna wish they never heard of the Six-Seventeenth, right, Angry?”
“Damn straight, Tree.”
CHAPTER THIRTY — NINE
It was late afternoon by the time we pulled into Hungerford. Doc Brisbane was in his surgery and confirmed Angry had two broken ribs but said they weren’t the worst he’d seen. He taped up Angry, changed the dressings on Tree’s wounds and mine, told us to stop getting injured, and sent us on our way.
We were all hungry, and when I offered to stand for dinner and pints at the Prince of Wales, Angry and Tree didn’t need their arms twisted. I found Kaz, and was surprised to see Big Mike waiting in the bar. After introductions, we got a table. Big Mike pulled me aside as we were about to take our seats.
“Billy,” he said in a whisper. “I found out Cosgrove is okay, he’s going to make it. They got him in that rest home at Saint Albans, but it’s all hush-hush. He wants to see you. Just you, alone, was the message. Colonel Harding said the visit would do him good.”
“Thanks, Big Mike,” I said. “I’ll drive up tomorrow.” Cosgrove probably wanted details about the case, to be sure nothing about the Millers had been compromised. I wondered if Harding was in on it. I usually complained about the army keeping me in the dark, but this was a secret I’d rather not have been burdened with.
