Between the Lines (5/17)
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Jason glanced up at the sound of the ringing phone. He was in the middle of grading midterm essays and could definitely use the break. There was something incredibly disheartening about the quality of writing he got from his students sometimes. Jason sighed, reaching out and picking up the handset.
“McCallister,” he said.
“Jase, it’s Sherry.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Great. I got your information.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope, and boy, do you owe me.”
“What do you mean?”
“At that particular time, Kevin Walker’s division was undergoing a change in command. General Roberts was replaced by McKenzie.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, record-keeping actually fell through the cracks a bit. But there were some barebones reports filed with D.C. None of which have been transcribed to any database, by the way. I had to call in some favors from a friend who had to dig around in the bowels - ”
“OK, I got it. A drink and dinner.”
“And dessert.”
“Deal.”
“OK, so did you know that, during battle, Kevin Walker made an abrupt landing in a French field?”
“Huh?”
“And by abrupt, I mean abrupt.”
“Are you saying he crashed?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Apparently, he ejected just in time, but search crews were unable to locate him. He was MIA for over a month before he showed up again, smuggled to safety by some members of the French Resistance along with another survivor of the battle.”
“Who?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“So what was he doing all that time?”
“It’s unclear. There’s hints of injuries, and it was the middle of winter, remember. There was some discussion of an official inquiry, people making noises about pressing AWOL charges, but that was eventually dropped.”
“So he crashes in the middle of German-occupied France, possibly sustaining injuries, and has to spend the dead of winter trying to survive unnoticed, either by himself or with some other, unknown soldier.”
“Yep,” Sherry confirmed.
“I don’t think I’d be too keen on talking about that either.”
“Yeah, no kidding. It’s hard enough to get vets to open up about relatively minor experiences.
“And all this has been just lying around in a file folder somewhere?”
“Crazy, huh? I’ll send you copies through inter-departmental mail.”
“Sherry, I’m going to do you one better than dessert. You’re getting co-author on the articles.”
“Rock on.”
Jason hung up, shocked by the information. Wow, he thought to himself. Then he immediately picked up the phone again and dialed Chad’s cell.
***
Scotty woke slowly, brow furrowing at the cold wetness on his face. He blinked several times, realizing he was out in the open, and large snowflakes were beginning to fall. Scotty tried to remember where he was and what happened. A strange weight on his chest confused him; he pushed at it as he sat up.
And then he realized it was an arm. Not his, of course. And not attached to a body.
Scotty turned to the side, losing the contents of his stomach. As soon as he was finished, he lifted his head and looked around in horror. He was surrounded by debris and destruction and dead bodies. Scotty stood slowly. He walked around, trying to find some sign of life, some indication that he was not alone.
Nothing. And his luck continued to get worse. He spotted the radio underneath the body of, he assumed, Sergeant Thompson, but he didn’t even have to look closer to see it was smashed and surely no longer functional. Furthermore, just then, the snow started coming down much harder, as the wind began to whistle dangerously. He needed to find real shelter, and soon.
He gave himself ten minutes to gather what supplies he could, feeling disgusted with himself as he searched bodies for bullets and food rations. And then he began to move; if he wasn’t mistaken, there was an evacuated town fewer than three miles away.
***
“Hi,” Chad said, clearly dejected as he sat down at the coffee shop table.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
Chad sighed. “Funding fell through for the movie. The production’s taking a break.”
“Oh crap. What are you going to do?”
Chad shrugged. “I have some time off for a while, I guess. The show wrote Dr. Phillip into a coma; they won’t wake me up again until I can definitely come back long-term. And I’m not backing out of the movie now. Obviously.”
“Maybe they’ll use the time to revise the script,” Jason mused hopefully.
Chad chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be great?”
Jason turned back to his coffee, pretending not to notice that their knees were touching underneath the table and neither man had made any effort to move.
“I’m going to visit my dad this afternoon. He has a few copies of letters between Kevin and my grandmother. I’m wondering if there’s anything in there I might have missed. As long as you’re free…”
“Yeah, sure. Where does he live?”
“He moved back to Santa Barbara.”
Chad smiled. “Well, it’s a nice day for a drive. We can take my car and put the top down.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jason agreed, grinning.
***
Scotty wondered if you could have mirage-like hallucinations in snow-covered France and not just sandy deserts. If not, he had finally made it to the village. He could see why it had been evacuated; not one building was still completely intact. The first structure he came across, on the outskirts of town, was actually half a cathedral, oddly beautiful in the falling snow. Scotty could think of no better place to seek sanctuary.
He stumbled as he climbed over rubble, trying to make it to the edge of the building that was still relatively whole. There appeared to be a small alcove a few yards away. He walked between overturned pews, half-blocked from the wind by one wall that still stood, its stained glass windows somewhat miraculously unbroken. Scotty stared up at them, admiring the depictions of scenes from the Bible as he finally stepped inside the alcove.
There was a shockingly unexpected click just before a dry, rough voice said, “Halt.”
Scotty turned quickly, finding himself face-to-face with a pistol. He stared down the barrel, and then finally risked looking up. He sighed in relief when he saw the familiar uniform, then raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the man holding the gun.
“I know you,” he said.
The pilot lowered his gun slowly. He stared at Scotty, apparently recovering from the tension-filled moment yet also taken aback by the coincidence.
“The dance hall, right? About two months ago,” he replied.
Scotty nodded. “Scotty Wandell.”
The other man held out a hand. “Kevin Walker. Small world.”
“Was that your plane?” Scotty asked, as Kevin simultaneously said, “You were in the battle?”
They both laughed, still disbelieving they were meeting like this. Then Kevin winced, clutching his side. Scotty’s eyes were drawn to his movement.
“You’re hurt,” he stated obviously.
Kevin hissed. “A little.”
“I’m a medic. Let me take a look.”
“My lucky day,” Kevin groaned.
“Where does it hurt?” Scotty asked, the tips of his fingers softly palpating Kevin’s side.
Of all the ways Kevin had imagined this man touching his body, this was nowhere near the top of the list. Kevin’s eyes closed, somewhere between pleasure and pain. “Everywhere,” he whispered.
There was a faint trace of amusement in Scotty’s voice as he replied, “I’m going to need you to take off your coat and shirt.”
Battle Scars (1951)
Blemishes on the horizon -
Ruins of once great cities.
Treasures of history lost to aggression.
Gouges in the land,
And third-degree scorching,
And rivers stained with blood-red mud.
Mourners weep for the destruction of home and children,
The death of innocence,
The loss of possibilities and hopes.
The gravest wounds cannot be seen -
Not on the landscape,
Nor on skin.
Next Chapter
Main Page
(A/N: I have a crazy couple weeks coming up, so I might be posting two chapters a day, at least some days.)
Jason glanced up at the sound of the ringing phone. He was in the middle of grading midterm essays and could definitely use the break. There was something incredibly disheartening about the quality of writing he got from his students sometimes. Jason sighed, reaching out and picking up the handset.
“McCallister,” he said.
“Jase, it’s Sherry.”
“Hey, how’s it going?”
“Great. I got your information.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope, and boy, do you owe me.”
“What do you mean?”
“At that particular time, Kevin Walker’s division was undergoing a change in command. General Roberts was replaced by McKenzie.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, record-keeping actually fell through the cracks a bit. But there were some barebones reports filed with D.C. None of which have been transcribed to any database, by the way. I had to call in some favors from a friend who had to dig around in the bowels - ”
“OK, I got it. A drink and dinner.”
“And dessert.”
“Deal.”
“OK, so did you know that, during battle, Kevin Walker made an abrupt landing in a French field?”
“Huh?”
“And by abrupt, I mean abrupt.”
“Are you saying he crashed?”
“Yes, sir, I am. Apparently, he ejected just in time, but search crews were unable to locate him. He was MIA for over a month before he showed up again, smuggled to safety by some members of the French Resistance along with another survivor of the battle.”
“Who?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.”
“So what was he doing all that time?”
“It’s unclear. There’s hints of injuries, and it was the middle of winter, remember. There was some discussion of an official inquiry, people making noises about pressing AWOL charges, but that was eventually dropped.”
“So he crashes in the middle of German-occupied France, possibly sustaining injuries, and has to spend the dead of winter trying to survive unnoticed, either by himself or with some other, unknown soldier.”
“Yep,” Sherry confirmed.
“I don’t think I’d be too keen on talking about that either.”
“Yeah, no kidding. It’s hard enough to get vets to open up about relatively minor experiences.
“And all this has been just lying around in a file folder somewhere?”
“Crazy, huh? I’ll send you copies through inter-departmental mail.”
“Sherry, I’m going to do you one better than dessert. You’re getting co-author on the articles.”
“Rock on.”
Jason hung up, shocked by the information. Wow, he thought to himself. Then he immediately picked up the phone again and dialed Chad’s cell.
***
Scotty woke slowly, brow furrowing at the cold wetness on his face. He blinked several times, realizing he was out in the open, and large snowflakes were beginning to fall. Scotty tried to remember where he was and what happened. A strange weight on his chest confused him; he pushed at it as he sat up.
And then he realized it was an arm. Not his, of course. And not attached to a body.
Scotty turned to the side, losing the contents of his stomach. As soon as he was finished, he lifted his head and looked around in horror. He was surrounded by debris and destruction and dead bodies. Scotty stood slowly. He walked around, trying to find some sign of life, some indication that he was not alone.
Nothing. And his luck continued to get worse. He spotted the radio underneath the body of, he assumed, Sergeant Thompson, but he didn’t even have to look closer to see it was smashed and surely no longer functional. Furthermore, just then, the snow started coming down much harder, as the wind began to whistle dangerously. He needed to find real shelter, and soon.
He gave himself ten minutes to gather what supplies he could, feeling disgusted with himself as he searched bodies for bullets and food rations. And then he began to move; if he wasn’t mistaken, there was an evacuated town fewer than three miles away.
***
“Hi,” Chad said, clearly dejected as he sat down at the coffee shop table.
“What’s wrong?” Jason asked.
Chad sighed. “Funding fell through for the movie. The production’s taking a break.”
“Oh crap. What are you going to do?”
Chad shrugged. “I have some time off for a while, I guess. The show wrote Dr. Phillip into a coma; they won’t wake me up again until I can definitely come back long-term. And I’m not backing out of the movie now. Obviously.”
“Maybe they’ll use the time to revise the script,” Jason mused hopefully.
Chad chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be great?”
Jason turned back to his coffee, pretending not to notice that their knees were touching underneath the table and neither man had made any effort to move.
“I’m going to visit my dad this afternoon. He has a few copies of letters between Kevin and my grandmother. I’m wondering if there’s anything in there I might have missed. As long as you’re free…”
“Yeah, sure. Where does he live?”
“He moved back to Santa Barbara.”
Chad smiled. “Well, it’s a nice day for a drive. We can take my car and put the top down.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jason agreed, grinning.
***
Scotty wondered if you could have mirage-like hallucinations in snow-covered France and not just sandy deserts. If not, he had finally made it to the village. He could see why it had been evacuated; not one building was still completely intact. The first structure he came across, on the outskirts of town, was actually half a cathedral, oddly beautiful in the falling snow. Scotty could think of no better place to seek sanctuary.
He stumbled as he climbed over rubble, trying to make it to the edge of the building that was still relatively whole. There appeared to be a small alcove a few yards away. He walked between overturned pews, half-blocked from the wind by one wall that still stood, its stained glass windows somewhat miraculously unbroken. Scotty stared up at them, admiring the depictions of scenes from the Bible as he finally stepped inside the alcove.
There was a shockingly unexpected click just before a dry, rough voice said, “Halt.”
Scotty turned quickly, finding himself face-to-face with a pistol. He stared down the barrel, and then finally risked looking up. He sighed in relief when he saw the familiar uniform, then raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the man holding the gun.
“I know you,” he said.
The pilot lowered his gun slowly. He stared at Scotty, apparently recovering from the tension-filled moment yet also taken aback by the coincidence.
“The dance hall, right? About two months ago,” he replied.
Scotty nodded. “Scotty Wandell.”
The other man held out a hand. “Kevin Walker. Small world.”
“Was that your plane?” Scotty asked, as Kevin simultaneously said, “You were in the battle?”
They both laughed, still disbelieving they were meeting like this. Then Kevin winced, clutching his side. Scotty’s eyes were drawn to his movement.
“You’re hurt,” he stated obviously.
Kevin hissed. “A little.”
“I’m a medic. Let me take a look.”
“My lucky day,” Kevin groaned.
“Where does it hurt?” Scotty asked, the tips of his fingers softly palpating Kevin’s side.
Of all the ways Kevin had imagined this man touching his body, this was nowhere near the top of the list. Kevin’s eyes closed, somewhere between pleasure and pain. “Everywhere,” he whispered.
There was a faint trace of amusement in Scotty’s voice as he replied, “I’m going to need you to take off your coat and shirt.”
Battle Scars (1951)
Blemishes on the horizon -
Ruins of once great cities.
Treasures of history lost to aggression.
Gouges in the land,
And third-degree scorching,
And rivers stained with blood-red mud.
Mourners weep for the destruction of home and children,
The death of innocence,
The loss of possibilities and hopes.
The gravest wounds cannot be seen -
Not on the landscape,
Nor on skin.
Next Chapter
Main Page
(A/N: I have a crazy couple weeks coming up, so I might be posting two chapters a day, at least some days.)