On Wings of the Morning (24 page)

Mein Lieber Otto,

We received the telegram that told us you had been wounded in action. We have not received any more details, and so we hope and pray that your injuries are not serious and that you will soon finish your missions and come home. We hear that the war is going better, but it is hard to know what to believe. There are so many stories and rumors.

I do not know if you have been notified, but Papa passed away last week. He caught pneumonia and only lasted a couple of days. He was so weak he couldn’t fight much. We had a German-language service for him at the church. The services are in English now, but they made an exception for him. The neighbors have been wonderful, but now it’s just me and Mama in the house. I know you were not able to come back, even if you had not been injured. I miss Papa, and I know you will, too.

The farm is doing well. Old Mr. Pierce died last month, and his wife did not want to live there alone, so I bought their holdings. It is perhaps a terrible thing to say, but we are doing very well financially because of the war. The Army buys all the milk we can produce and would buy more if we had it. Of course, when it gets to you, it’s nothing like the milk we know! So we are continuing on.

I do not wish to worry you more, but Mama does not do much these days. Even before Papa died, she sat in the kitchen and sometimes stirred herself to clean something or make something to eat. This past week she has stared out the window. She does not seem to be herself, and I fear her mind is not right. I do what I must, and Johnson is a help, although he is of course feeble himself and old, but we are getting things done.

I saw Betty Ross when I went into town yesterday. She asked about you. I don’t know what happened between the two of you before you left, but I think she would like to hear from you. I hear that she is dating a fellow who works at her father’s bank. He’s considered necessary to the war effort. I also hear he’s not very nice, so I hope Betty will not do anything rash. You might try writing her and see if she’ll answer. I know you two have always been close—or you used to be.

Well, time for evening milking. Please let us hear back from you. We think of you often and pray for you and all our brave servicemen.

Your sister,

Mata.

Otto folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. The news just gets better and better, he thought, and stared out the solarium windows without really seeing anything.

After four more surgeries to remove dead skin, Otto’s doctor deemed him well enough to travel. On a rainy morning, a nurse he had never seen before helped him pack his bag and helped him into a wheelchair. She was entirely too cheery for Otto’s taste, so he just grunted when she chirped, “Well, aren’t you the lucky one, Captain, getting to go home?”

Yep, Otto thought, I’m about the luckiest guy I know.

Since he was ambulatory, he was able to climb aboard a waiting Army bus with various other wounded soldiers. Some were missing arms and legs; one poor fellow had part of his face blown off. Well, maybe he looks worse than I do, Otto thought, but I doubt it. He still had not been able to bring himself to look in a mirror.

The bus jolted and pitched along a small country road for about an hour until they came to a paved highway. Obviously the Brits weren’t spending a lot of time or money on the roads with the war on. The passengers rode in silence. There was a nurse who sat at the front and came by periodically to check on the men. She passed by Otto. “How are we doing, Captain?”

“As well as can be expected, ma’am,” Otto returned.

“We’ll be there in about another hour.”

Otto stared out the window at the rainy landscape. Most of the traffic was military—jeeps, trucks, flatbeds with tanks and jeeps on them. It seemed as if everyone was going to war. He smiled ruefully. Well, they were going to war. There were rumors of an invasion and there did seem to be much more traffic than usual. Well, he wouldn’t be part of it. He wouldn’t be part of anything. And so he fell asleep, his head against the window.

He awoke with a start as the bus braked to a halt. A corpsman came up the stairs and started helping the wounded off. They were parked on some sort of dock, with a huge ship towering over them. Otto recognized it as a Liberty ship, one of those manufactured in 42 days. It had obviously brought materiel to the front and now was taking wounded back.

The docks were a
beehive of activity with huge cranes offloading pallets onto waiting trucks. Otto saw tanks held high in the air and then lowered onto flatbeds and driven away.

The wounded soldiers made their way up steep stairs to the main deck of the ship. Those who could not walk were carried on stretchers by corpsmen. Otto walked with a cane.

A sailor with a clipboard stood at the top of the stairs, directing each of the wounded as they came on board. “Captain,” he said, looking at the tag that hung from Otto’s pajamas, “you’re on deck 2, cabin B. Go down this gangway and turn left. There’ll be someone there to help you.” Otto joined the flow of people moving down a narrow stairway.

The interior of the ship was painted gray. Bare bulbs covered with wire cages provided light. Another sailor directed Otto to cabin B. He opened the door and stepped through. Four cots filled most of the space, and someone had deposited his B bag on one of them. The sailor who had directed him to his cabin stuck his head in. “Head’s down the hall, Captain. We’ll get underway at 1400 hours.”

“Thank you,” Otto said, and sat on the bed. He could feel the vibration of distant engines beneath his feet. So this was home for a while. He went over to the porthole and looked out. From there he had a reversed perspective on what he had seen from the dock. A steady line of soldiers was proceeding slowly up the gangway.

“Sir, lunch is in the wardroom in ten minutes.” A young nurse leaned in the doorway. “Go down this hall and then up one level. You’ll be able to smell the food.” She smiled at him.

“Thank you,” Otto said.

***

Back in his cabin after lunch, Otto found the other beds occupied by an Army major, an AF lieutenant and a Navy ensign. This must be officers’ territory, he thought. The three other men lay on their cots. Each lifted a hand at him. No one seemed to feel like talking.

Otto felt the vibrations increase beneath his feet and surmised they were getting underway. The ship moved sideways, stopped, and then went forward at a slow pace. Otto made his way to the main deck, which was crowded with ambulatory patients. A tug pushed the ship out into the Channel. The proceedings were strangely quiet, with those men who could stand lining the rail.

When the ship was in the Channel, the tug backed away, sounding a long blast on its whistle followed by two shorts. Otto felt the vibrations under his feet increase. They proceeded slowly down the waterway, the docks and warehouses dreary and gray in the falling rain. Otto looked behind (six o’clock, he thought automatically) and saw a line of similar vessels.

They proceeded this way for about half an hour and came to a headland. The Channel was choppy with whitecaps. The deck began to pitch and Otto decided it was time to go back to his room. He noticed several destroyers in position to join their little fleet. The escort, he thought. The Battle of the Atlantic had slowed down, but there was still a threat from U-boats. The line of cargo ships moved into the Channel, with the destroyers falling in along the length of the line.

Back in his cabin, Otto noticed immediately that not only was the ship pitching, it was corkscrewing as it plowed through the waves. And then it abruptly changed direction every half minute or so. Otto knew these measures were to foil German attacks.

He had never been airsick, so the motion didn’t bother him, but it got to the Army officers in the room. After a few minutes of motion, they bolted for the head, their faces a pale shade of green. Otto looked out into the passageway to observe that not everyone made it to the head. Some victims were using their crash helmets as basins, while others struggled to reach the main deck where they could be sick over the side. Otto was grateful he didn’t have that to contend with that. He lay down on his cot and fell fast asleep.

He was awakened by a nurse who handed him a glass of water and some pills. “What time is it?” he asked, having no idea how much time had passed.

“It’s about 2100 hours, Captain. You slept through supper. Do you want me to get you a sandwich?”

“That would be nice.”

“We have Spam, Spam, and Spam.”

“Spam would be great, if you have it.” Otto smiled, although it stretched the skin around his mouth and hurt like the dickens.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Captain, how did you get burned?”

“That’s OK,” Otto said. “I destroyed some government property, namely one B-17, ‘G’ model.”

“I’ve heard you’re a hero,” she smiled, and he thought with a pang that she looked like Alice.

“I don’t know about that.”

“I’ll get you your sandwich. You’re fortunate that you feel like eating. So many of the fellows are seasick.”

Otto watched her walk out of the cabin. He lay back on the bed.

***

The convoy plowed on through restless seas for ten more days. Occasionally, Otto went on deck but there wasn’t much to see: the line of gray transports butting through swells and whitecaps with destroyers running along the edges like sleek greyhounds guiding their charges. The convoy was fortunate in that it was not attacked, but they had several drills. Everyone who could put on a life vest and helmet and came out on deck.

The sky was gray, the ships were gray, the sea was gray, and so there wasn’t much to look at. Otto generally didn’t stay long in the cold wind and squalls of rain. He spent most of his time on his cot reading or sleeping. The nurse who offered him the sandwich the first day, whose name was Joanne, said they would ship into New York and then go by rail to a hospital in Boston where he would be further treated. Otto wondered how much they could do for him. He still hadn’t looked into a mirror.

The day came when the ship’s loudspeakers announced that they would be sailing into the New York harbor that afternoon. Otto wanted to see the city, and so he joined most of the ambulatory patients who crowded the rails. They proceeded up the Lower Bay in line with the other ships, and steamed into the Upper Bay. The skyscrapers of Manhattan came into view, and Otto felt a lump in his throat as the Statue of Liberty passed on the port side.

Tugs met the ship and guided it into place at a dock near mid-town. Otto went back to collect his bag. He had walked and strengthened himself enough that he could carry it unassisted. He was dressed in fatigues. Joanne came in to see if anyone needed help.

“Well, I’ll go with you as far as the hospital, and then I turn around and go back to England,” she told him.

“You ought to fly back,” Otto said. “It’s faster, with less seasickness.”

She laughed. “Seasickness doesn’t bother me. My dad was in the Navy, and I think I inherited his sea legs.”

“If I don’t see you, Joanne, thank you, and good luck.”

“You, too, Otto. Say hello to your mom and sister for me when you get home.”

“I will.” She walked out into the corridor.

Otto joined the masses of wounded soldiers moving down the gangplank to waiting Army buses. He tossed his B bag into the cargo compartment underneath and carefully climbed the few short steps, taking a seat near the front. He idly watched the parade of soldiers and MP’s as they found their way to their transport.

A short sergeant came on and sat in the driver’s seat. “Who wants to go to Boston?” he called. A chorus of light boos greeted his question. “No one for Boston then,” he muttered as he closed the door and started the engine. “I’ll take youse as far as the train station. You’re on your own after that.”

The bus crept through heavy traffic. Otto had never been to New York before, and he thought he might like to return, if his appearance could be disguised or fixed so he didn’t frighten people. The transit buses were packed with people hanging off them, and Otto saw people piled into the few cars in the traffic mix. Most people were walking, thronging the sidewalks, everyone walking quickly, purposely. I hope they’re working on the war effort, Otto thought as the Army bus inched through the crowded street.

About half an hour later, the driver pulled the bus to the entrance to Grand Central Station and shouted, “Here you go, gents! Track 42! It ain’t the Chattanooga Choo Choo, but it’ll get you where you need to go. All ashore that’s goin’ ashore!”

The troops unloaded, with orderlies unloading the bags from underneath the bus. Otto retrieved his and walked through the doors, coming into the cavernous lobby. He saw the famous clock where people met. Several people were standing expectantly at its base. They had people to meet. He didn’t. He did have a train to catch, though.

The knot of soldiers moved toward Track 42, melting into a sea of uniforms, with very few people in civilian clothes. Otto thought all the troops were overseas, but it was obvious there were still a bunch at home, if the station were any indication.

An olive drab line of Army railroad coaches stretched into the distance at Track 42. Otto went about halfway down the line and climbed into the coach. He settled himself into the last seat after lifting his bag onto the overhead rack.

The other troops were silent as they filed into the coach. No one seemed to feel like talking. Their war was over, and they were headed for months, maybe years of treatment. Otto hoped that at the very least he would be in a hospital closer to home. He wanted more than anything to see Mama and Mata.

The car loaded up, and Red Cross workers came down the aisles passing out box lunches. Otto opened his and saw that it had a ham sandwich and an apple, along with a Coke. Well, he guessed they couldn’t keep milk cold enough to make that the drink. So warm Coke it was. He bit into the slightly dry sandwich, thinking that he wasn’t really that hungry.