your sleeve and, unless I’ve gone blind as well, that’s a dark bar on your helmet.”
“Well, thanks again. Now how the hell are you doing, Lieutenant?”
“My name’s David. You can call me that since we are all brother officers and allegedly gentlemen. I’d like that, Jack.”
“I would too,” said Logan and found he meant it. “Now, how the hell are you, David?”
Singer fought back a tear but gave in to a grimace from the pain. “About as well as a one-armed Jewish lieutenant could be. It hurts, Jack, and not just the physical part. They give me morphine and other stuff so that I can deal with that. It hurts inside me, inside my mind. I don’t want to be a cripple, someone kids stare at on the street. I don’t want Marsha to be married to a cripple, either. And don’t give me that bullshit about what great artificial arms they make nowadays or I’ll get one and give you the finger with it.”
Logan agreed that bullshit wouldn’t do. Instead, he said sadly, “Dave, when this is over there are going to be a lot of people without arms and legs in America. You won’t stand out from the crowd that much at all. Can you walk yet?”
“No, but the medics think I should try real soon.”
“Well, when you can, David,” he said with more firmness than he intended, “why don’t you walk your ass down these aisles and see people who really are crippled. Yeah, you’ve been hurt, but you can still see, hear, talk, walk, and even pick things up with your remaining hand. Like your own food, for instance. And I’ll bet you can even get a hard-on if you worked at it.”
Singer was silent for a moment. “Are you telling me I’m feeling sorry for myself?”
“Not really. You’ve gotten a really shitty wound, and there’s no kidding about it. But it could have been worse, lots worse.” Maybe, Logan thought, the worse one would be his own. After all this time, he’d barely been scratched.
Singer sighed and seemed to relax slightly. “You’re right, I guess. I can hear people crying and moaning all day, and sometimes I do it too.”
“Were you gonna make the army a career?”
“Hell, no. I’m not that stupid.”
“Aw shit, Dave, don’t tell me you were gonna be a surgeon.”
Singer managed a grin. “A paperhanger, and fuck you too, Lieutenant Logan. Actually, I’m going to be an accountant, and I guess I can juggle books with one hand. And that reminds me, along with everything else I got that still works, there’s one little thing that Marsha was very, very fond of, and you’re right, it checked in this morning, loud and clear.”
Logan rolled his eyes. There was a picture of plump, blond, and pretty Marsha Singer on his bedstand. “Can’t imagine what that might be. And don’t you Jewish types have most of it cut off at an early age?”
Singer laughed. “That’s because there’s so much that, if we didn’t, you Gentiles would feel deprived. Now, what’s this crap going around about the Russians?”
“They did it again, David. The bastards have crossed the Elbe and are taking on Bradley’s army. Happened last night. That’s why I can stay only a little while. Everyone’s tensed up about the possibility of the Reds attacking here.”
“Gawd,” said Singer. “What a mess. I hate to be greedy, but you’re telling me it could be a long time before anyone’s evacuated from here, either.”
“Looks that way.”
They talked for a few more minutes until Singer said he was tired and wanted to sleep. Logan left, after promising to return when he could. It was a promise he intended to keep.
The way from the hospital back to the platoon went by the old barracks and other buildings and bunkers used as General Miller’s headquarters.
As he passed, a slight, dark-haired girl emerged from a doorway. Instinctively, he nodded and said, “Good morning.”
“It is indeed,” she said softly. “I just hope it stays that way.”
“You speak English,” he blurted, realizing immediately that it was one of the truly dumb comments he’d ever made.
The girl smiled at his gaffe, and he realized she was the girl he’d noticed before and that she was indeed older than he’d first thought, perhaps in her late teens or early twenties. She was also fairly short, which somewhat accounted for his originally thinking she was a child, only a couple of inches over five feet. She was thin, and dressed in very poorly fitting man’s pants, shirt, and jacket. She did, however, have large, expressive eyes, and had bestowed a wide smile on him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m usually not that foolish in the face of the obvious.”
“Goodness, Lieutenant, I would hope not.” She softened the rebuke with her smile. “Before you ask, I learned to speak English in Canada, where my father was a member of the German diplomatic corps, and now that skill is being put to use by my translating for refugees and German prisoners. My mother was Canadian and I have dual citizenship, for whatever that is worth in this terrible war. Now that you Americans are fighting the Russians, there is a belief that we may soon be on the same side.”
Logan thought that one over. Allied with the krauts? Incredible. He realized that they had been walking alongside each other and that he wanted to see her again. “My name is Jack Logan.”
“Elisabeth Wolf,” she responded.
He didn’t see a wedding ring and she hadn’t said frau or fraulein. “I hate to ask, but are you alone here?”
“I have my nephew, Pauli. He is six, and to the best of my knowledge we are all that is left of the German side of my family. We still have a number of relatives in Canada, near Toronto.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It must be rough for you.”
Elisabeth’s eyes clouded. “We lived very near Berlin, where it was a good deal more than rough, and someday you may find out about it. It’s amazing that we are, for the moment, in an oasis of relative peace. Something tells me it won’t last, particularly since the Russians have once again attacked your soldiers, but we must enjoy each moment of tranquillity that we are given. But I thank you for your sorrow about my family. Many Americans aren’t yet ready to accept the fact that we Germans have suffered enormous pain as well from a war that many of us never wanted. Tell me, Lieutenant Logan, have you lost friends and loved ones in this terrible war?”
He mulled that one over. “Friends, yes, but not loved ones. Someone said love is not for the military.”
He often wondered about that. Sometimes the pain he had felt on the death of a fellow soldier had been so bad and so wrenching that he and others had blocked out forming relationships with new people. This was horribly unfair to the replacements who were alone and terrified, and this attitude only reinforced their fears. He had intentionally, but incorrectly, trivialized what combat was like in that long-ago discussion with Singer.
“This is where I get off.” She grinned, and he realized that they had walked to the refugee encampment. He had also walked about a half mile out of his way.
“How often do you translate for the almighty generals?”
“I’m on call. They contact me when they have something. Otherwise I am here, helping out as best I can. Why?”
“Perhaps I could stop by. We could talk again. I could bring some food, perhaps.”
She frowned. “Please do not misunderstand me, Lieutenant, but I am not certain that bringing food is a good idea. Some of the women are trading their bodies for food and cigarettes, and that I will not do. If that is what you have in mind, do not even think of coming back to see me.”
“No. Not at all,” he stammered truthfully. While he knew of guys who were ignoring the rules and taking advantage of German women who were sometimes very willing to make the trade, it genuinely hadn’t occurred to him that she might be that type. He was shocked at his unintended implication. “I was only thinking of food to help out.”
He dared not say she really looked like she could do with a couple of good meals.
“If you bring food for me, I will not accept it. Because I help out with your officers, I do get some additional rations. A little while ago I was quite hungry and sick, but that is no longer the case.”
“Consider the food forgotten.”
“On the other hand,” Elisabeth smiled gently, “my nephew is only six and he is very sad.”
