For God and Country. Mark Bowlin

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СКАЧАТЬ room for a large map easel, and a dining table that had been set against a wall held stacked helmets, jackets, and weapons.

      Colonel Robert Wranosky, Lieutenant Colonel Alvin Miller, and Major Bill Spaulding were standing by the map easel and as Perkin entered the room, Wranosky pointed to a coffee pot resting on a potbellied stove.

      While Perkin was filling a tin cup with steaming hot coffee, he overheard Major Spaulding ask Colonel Miller, “So, no more than a week or so? That’s what you’re saying to me?” Miller was the division’s G2—the senior intelligence officer of the 36th.

      “I can’t see it takin’ much longer than that. Depends on what the Limeys can wring outta him. Oh, hey, Perkin.”

      Seeing Perkin with a cup of coffee in his hand, Colonel Wranosky said, “I meant for you to get me one, Professor. How’re things?”

      “Another day in paradise, sir. How’re you these days?”

      “Couldn’t be better. I take cream and sugar,” the thickset Alabaman said with a grin.

      “Yes, sir. Would you like a back rub too?” Perkin exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, grinned, poured another cup of coffee, and added cream and sugar. As he was bringing it back to the regimental commander, he pretended to sneeze in the coffee and as he was handing the cup to Wranosky, he said, “Just like you like it, sir.”

      “Thank you, Captain. The same level of quality control I’ve come to expect from you.” Wranosky was clearly in a good mood. “Perkin, Fifth Army has a good deal for you. You don’t deserve it, a’ course, but you’re gettin’ one anyway. I’ve talked to Bill, and we’re also gonna extend it to Sam as well.”

      “Sir, I can’t go home on a war bond tour now,” Perkin said modestly. “Our work ain’t done here!”

      “You know, sometimes I wonder what standards they have at the University of Texas that they saw fit to give you a PhD.” Wranosky shook his head in mock sadness.

      “I traded ’em five box tops for it, sir. Same way I got my army commission.”

      “And they both got the short end of the stick. No, the G2 at army wants you to go with their naval intelligence bubba to Eighth Army and brief them on what you know about this German intelligence officer and his outfit. Although I told ’em that Fifth Army might likely not survive without you, they indicated they were willing to accept the risk.”

      “Gutsy move, sir.” Turning to Major Spaulding, Perkin asked, “Does that put you in a bind, sir?”

      “No. We received notification this morning that we’re coming off the line by Thursday. Sergeant Taylor can manage your affairs here for the battalion for a few days, and if you want to take Privates Kulis and Fratelli for drivers that’s fine as well. The British expect officers to have a batman, but y’all have to share those boys.”

      “Great. And what about Sam?”

      Colonel Wranosky answered, “He goes too. Just for fun. General Walker’s arranged for a hotel in Naples for our officers to use for R&R, and Sam is at the top of the list of my boys to go, but Bill here says Sam’s not keen on Naples. So he can go with you and spend New Year’s celebrating with the British. Trust me. It’ll be a good time.”

      “Thank you very much, sir. I got to admit, I’m looking forward to it.” Perkin was indeed pleased. There hadn’t been much time spent with Sam since the division went back on the line in mid-November. “What about uniforms? Orders?”

      Spaulding replied, “We’re cuttin’ orders for you boys and the colonel wants Captain Finley-Jones to accompany you. He’ll grease the skids for you with their intel folks, and Colonel Miller has already done some of that. You’ll carry your weapons, of course, but y’all shouldn’t need them. We’re arranging to get you a hot shower and deloused before you go, and I’ve directed the quartermaster to draw clean combat uniforms and your service uniforms out of storage. The British can be kind of formal so you might want to get the stains outta your tie.”

      Colonel Wranosky reached into his pocket and handed four three-inch pins to Perkin. “These are for your service uniforms.”

      “What’s this, sir?” Perkin asked. He held one up to the light and looked it over—an infantry-blue rectangular box overlaid with a small metal musket and an oak leaf wreath.

      “It’s the new Combat Infantryman’s Badge—it was authorized by the War Department about the time we started operations against San Pietro. A friend of mine on General Marshall’s staff sent me out a box of them for occasions like this before they were even authorized. There are two badges for infantrymen—the expert and the combat. As the name implies, this is for infantry soldiers—officers and men—who’ve been in combat. It helps people know who you are and where you’ve been, which is a dogface in shit up to his neck. You’ll wear it right above your service ribbons over your left pocket. Make sure they’re shined up before you talk to any Limeys.”

      “Yes, sir. I thought the smell and the flat feet were all anyone needed to identify a rifleman, but thank you.” Perkin was oddly touched by the small piece of metal. It seemed the army’s infantry was getting little glory or recognition in the war—Marines and aviators seemed to have the best public relations—and this little recognition mattered greatly to the captain.

      The meeting broke up, and Perkin and Spaulding were heading out when the regimental commander called them back. “I almost forgot. Do y’all have any objections to workin’ with Jap soldiers?”

      The two officers looked at each other and shrugged. “Not if they’re fightin’ on our side,” Spaulding replied.

      “I didn’t think you would. Them boys outside want a look at our positions. Give ’em a staff ride and point out the salient features of our geography and defenses. Three, four hours, tops.”

      “Sir?” Perkin asked. “I thought the 100th had Caucasian officers. Both of those lieutenants are Orientals.”

      “You noticed that too, Professor?” Wranosky said dryly. “Well, that’s the way it was when the battalion was sent over. These boys have battlefield commissions. About half their white officers are dead or gone, and the battalion’s promotin’ up through the ranks. I’d bet that Ozaki was a corporal a month ago.” Wranosky pointed his finger at Spaulding, then Perkin. “Don’t let their size fool you. These sons-a-bitches are tough and may just save your ass someday. Make sure they get a fair shake.”

      1725 Hours

      Mount Lungo, Italy

      The wider reception to lieutenants Ozaki and Kawamoto left no such impression that the Nisei officers would get a fair shake. Reactions from some of the Texas officers they encountered during their staff ride had ranged from muttering to shaking of the heads. A friend of Perkin’s, a lieutenant from Atlanta, Texas, ignored their outstretched hands and just glared down at the two lieutenants with his hands on his hips. Captain Ronald Ebbins’s loud pronouncement to a gaggle of fellow officers at lunch still had Perkin fuming: “Jap officers? Next thing you know, you’ll be taking orders from niggers and Mexicans. I’ll be damned if I will!”

      Perkin had started to get up from his seat to confront Ebbins but stopped when Lieutenant Kawamoto quietly said, “Let it be, sir. We’ve heard this before. We’re big boys, and anyway, words won’t change his mind.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ