Jack good luck before driving off.
Literally hundreds of American military personnel bustled about, all of them in freshly starched and pressed Class A uniforms that made Jack’s look dingy. Some looked at him sideways until catching the Purple Heart and the Bronze star, which changed their expressions.
After a few questions, he found Captain Grayson’s office. He knocked and entered. No point being too timid, especially since Grayson was a captain, too.
Grayson was short and pudgy and wore thick glasses. To Jack’s surprise, he smiled warmly. “Good to see you, Captain. Have a seat. Like some coffee?”
“Love it, but aren’t I here to be chewed out? Or is it traditional to give coffee to a condemned man?”
Grayson laughed. “Oh, that Eiffel Tower thing? Yeah, the froggies are all in a snit, but who gives a shit about them? Most everybody here thinks it was funnier than hell and you’ll probably get your picture in Stars and Stripes. The French can go to hell as far as we’re concerned. No, Captain, you were brought here for other purposes. Wait here.”
Bemused and relieved, Jack did as he was told. He sipped his coffee, which was a lot better than what he drank in the field. The door opened behind him and he turned. His jaw dropped. It wasn’t Grayson. It was a very lovely young woman who looked very familiar and much prettier in person than in a photograph.
She smiled timidly. “Good morning, Captain Jack. I’m Jessica Granville.”
Jessica drove. She had her Red Cross car and knew where she was going. This gave Jack a chance to look at her more closely, hoping all the while he wasn’t staring. Jeb had been right. Jessica wasn’t a classic beauty. Instead, she was vivacious and bright and altogether enchanting. He might have been conned into coming to Paris thinking he was going to get his butt ripped, but he didn’t care.
Neither’d had breakfast so she suggested a small restaurant that served good eggs and ham. On the way she told him that the meeting was her uncle’s idea. Tom Granville was a full colonel and on Ike’s staff.
“He and I had talked about the letters you and I exchanged and how we’d both like to meet and, when he saw the picture of you and the Eiffel Tower, he had the idea of bringing you here for a talking to. By the way, your Colonel Whiteside is a friend of my uncle and he thought the idea was great.”
“And here I thought I was going to be skinned alive, court-martialed and executed, in that order.”
They ate and talked, hesitantly at first, and then more comfortably. To their surprise, they found it had been easier to converse in writing than face to face. Soon, however, they worked through it and began to talk as if they’d known each other for years.
“My big fear,” she admitted, “was that you’d be angry at the trick and storm off. That’s why I got a vehicle. It’s a long walk to my apartment if this didn’t work out.”
After eating, they sat on a bench that overlooked the Seine along the Quai de Montebello, just across from the Ile de la Cite, which provided them a splendid view of Notre Dame Cathedral. He mentioned that Levin had suggested buzzing it as well, and Jessica broke up into most unladylike guffaws. Other benches were occupied with a variety of people, ranging from young couples to older men and women. Curiously, there were only a few men in American uniforms. Jessica mentioned how thin, gray and drab both the women and the city looked after four years of Nazi occupation. She added that many of the city’s trees had been chopped down for firewood during the occupation. It would be a long time before Paris regained its premier place in the world of art and fashion. She said some previously glamorous spots looked dingier than what she’d seen in London. Someday, he told her, he would like to visit the cathedral of Notre Dame that was so tantalizingly close. They could go there right now, but neither wanted to be a tourist in the few hours they had. And someday he wanted to see the Louvre, Versailles, Montmartre, and a score of other places that Jessica had already visited. But today all Jack wanted was to spend as much time as he could with the incredibly charming Jessica Granville.
They spent the morning and afternoon talking and discovering each other. Jack had idle thoughts about suggesting they go to Jessica’s apartment, but he decided any suggestion to that effect would be premature and might spoil the mood.
The only sour note was a group of several hundred protesters marching in loose order down the Rue de Montebello. They carried red flags emblazoned with the Soviet Union’s hammer and sickle. Placards proclaimed the glory of Stalin and someone named Maurice Thorez. Jessica thought he was the head of the French communist party and a Stalinist.
“What do these people want?” Jack asked.
“Communist rule in France. The commies had been quiet and Thorez was pardoned by de Gaulle for whatever he did in the past, but they’re getting active again. Everybody thinks there’s going to be trouble.”
A large detachment of gendarmes appeared and, with lead-weighted capes flying, halted the protesters and literally beat them back, arresting a number who now had bloody foreheads. Jack and Jessica stood and watched with Jack slightly in front. Jessica thought it was nice that he was symbolically at least trying to shield her. However neither Jack nor Jessica felt in any danger as the brawl receded. The two sides were fixated on each other and unconcerned by the presence of spectators.
All too soon, the day had to end. They arrived at Grayson’s office about four-thirty. Jessica introduced him to her uncle and they spoke briefly. Tom Granville left them, saying he had a war to run. He’d unintentionally put a damper on the day. Yes, there was a war to run.
Only a few minutes after five, Levin pulled up. “Get in, Cinderella, the ball is over.”
“Are you the wicked stepmother?” Jessica laughed.
“No, the ugly Jewish stepsister,” he said and they were introduced.
Jessica kissed Jack on the cheek and told him to keep writing and try to figure a way to get back to Paris. He kissed her lightly on the lips and said he would. She grinned and squeezed his arm.
“Nice girl,” Levin said as they drove off. “Far, far better than you deserve.”
“Thanks for your ringing vote of confidence, and may your future wife at least come from one of the Twelve Tribes of Israel that walks upright. So how did your search go?”
“Not so good,” he said sadly. “When the Germans took Paris, I had eleven cousins living here including the nice middle-aged couple I lived with. When the Germans left, there were five and not the couple who cared for me. The survivors spent four years hiding in closets and being fed by neighbors who ran great risks doing so. They should be considered heroes if not saints. Of course, Jews don’t have saints.”
His voice broke and he hit the steering wheel in anger. “They spent four fucking years hiding out, not talking loudly, not going outside, and fearing that any noise outside their cubbyhole would be the Gestapo or the French police come to take them away. Oh yeah, and don’t get sick while you’re hiding. How do you go to a doctor, or get a doctor to make a house call? Christ, can you believe the French police helped the Gestapo? What the hell kind of world is that?”
“Is that what happened to the others?”
“Yeah. They were swept up a few months ago and not heard from since then, and these included the wonderful people I stayed with. Oh, they sent postcards to neighbors saying that they’d arrived at their destination and were doing fine, but we all know that’s a fucking bullshit lie. If their destination was Auschwitz, then they’re likely dead and turned to ashes. If they were sent to some other camp, then it’s just barely possible some might be alive.”
Jack slumped in his seat. The enormity of what the Nazis had done and were continuing to do to Jews and others was just beginning to sink in. That he now actually knew someone directly affected by it was almost overwhelming. “I don’t know what to say.”
Levin shrugged. “Then don’t try. There’s nothing you can say. All I want to do right now is get back to the regiment and see how I can kill Germans.”
CHAPTER 12
Bill Stover had gotten his promotion to first lieutenant, received a Distinguished Flying Cross for his part in
