“Sir,” Tooley said, looking sideways at Kelly, “you've got mud all over your head.”
“I know,” Kelly said. “I know.” He looked down at the Pole. “What's this bag of shit been saying?” As he spoke, he scanned the ceiling for any nearby centipedes. He did not know why he feared centipedes so much, but he did. Maybe he was afraid that, if they fell on his head, they would kick around and tear out even more of his hair.
Obligingly, though he only addressed the air, Kowalski began to speak. Spittle collected at the corners or his mouth, dribbled down his chin. His lips were like two large, inflated rubber tubes glistening with oil. “Stuka bomber… in darkness… a power glide… concealed approach… people on the bridge… many people… bridge… ”
Then Kowalski was silent once more. No one else dared speak, and when the silence was thick enough to cut, Kowalski cut it with a fart.
Lily looked up, lips puckered. Her freckles stood out like flecks of cinnamon on the soft golden tissue of a fresh-baked roll. Kelly wanted to eat her up. “What does he mean?” she asked.
“It almost sounds like a. warning,” Tooley said. “As if he were just looking into the future, as if he wants to warn us.”
“He's raving,” Kelly said. “It's nothing more than that.” He felt a new trickle of mud run down his nose, and he wiped it away as inconspicuously as possible.
“But if he's really—”
“First of all, no one ever goes out on the bridge,” Kelly said. “You know that. So there couldn't be, as he said, many people on the bridge. The reason no one ever goes out on the bridge is because everyone's afraid of getting bombed.” As Tooley tried to speak, the major waved him down and went on: “And the Stukas wouldn't make a special night mission of it. They always come in the daylight.”
“If you're sure,” Tooley said.
“You can take my word for it,” Kelly said.
Kowalski fell back against his pillows, returning to his dumb trance, and crapped on the sheets.
2
On that night's edition of the Blade and Slade Show, the general told them they would probably come through this war without a single casualty in their unit — aside, of course, from Kowalski. And you never could tell when Kowalski might spontaneously reject the sliver of steel in his brain, thereby insuring complete recovery. That was what the general expected, he confided in Major Kelly: spontaneous rejection. He told the major that people were all the time spontaneously rejecting arthritis and cancer and other dread diseases. There were hundreds upon thousands of cases of spontaneous rejection in medical histories. Why shouldn't Kowalski, then, spontaneously reject his brain damage? If he could see his way clear in this matter, the general said, Kowalski would be doing the general a great service. He would, by spontaneously rejecting that sliver of steel, be vindicating the general's policy in this matter. With Kowalski cured in such a fashion, rescued from certain death, then none of them would die behind enemy lines, because this would be a good omen, a sign, a portent, an assurance. Again, the general promised the major that none of them would die in this war, for they were his favorite men, his own.
“Yes, sir,” Major Kelly said.
“I love you guys,” General Blade said, choking a little on the line — either because it was a bald-faced lie, or because he actually had deceived himself into thinking he loved them.
“Yes, sir,” Major Kelly said.
“Kelly, if that Panzer division actually gets sent your way. if you have to fight those Nazi bastards, I want you to know one important thing. The men who die fighting to keep that bridge erect will not be dying uselessly. They will be dying for a cause, for Truth and Freedom. They will all be long remembered in the American history books and, no doubt, in the hearts of all mankind.”
When Major Kelly delicately observed the discrepancy between the general's earlier assurances and his second speech about dying for a cause, the general said the Blade and Slade Show was over for another night.
They were one hundred and eighty-six miles behind German lines.
3
Several hours later, Major Kelly crawled up from the bottom to the top of the hospital bunker steps and looked out at the few unlighted buildings, the silent machines, and the flat black open spaces of the camp. “It's okay,” he whispered. “There's no one around.”
Lily appeared at his side, crouching on the steps. She was wearing her made-over fatigues, no shoes. “Are you sure?”
Kelly grimaced. “I'm sure.”
“Are you really sure?”
“For Christ's sake,” he said, feeling like a fool, “why don't you look for yourself?”
Lily moved up one more step and peeked out at the camp. It was dark and quiet, oddly like a motion-picture studio lot when the filming was done for the day. She tilted her head to one side, listening for footsteps, conversation, laughter… Nothing. “I guess it's okay.”
“Of course it is.”
“We better go before someone comes along.”
Kelly took her hand, helped her up, and ran with her along the riverbank toward the slope by the bridge.
When Major Kelly had the urge to put it to Lily Kain— and, naturally, when Lily Kain was of the mind to have it put to her — he could not satisfy his desires in his own quarters. Major Kelly's quarters were in the HQ building, because the major had decided early to set a good example for his men by refusing to sleep in the bunker by the trees. The men did not know that the major's rejection of the bunker was more paranoid in nature than it was heroic. He feared being buried alive in the bunkers while he slept more than he feared being blasted to bits if the Germans should drop a bomb on the HQ structure. Therefore, he slept well and still managed to look like a hero to the men. Unfortunately for the major's love life, Sergeant Coombs and Lieutenant Slade also made their bunks in the HQ building, separated from the major's quarters by nothing more than a series of blankets strung on wire. If Kelly and Lily attempted to satisfy their desires in Kelly's quarters, Lieutenant Slade was certain to report them to General Blade, who might very well order the major castrated. Or worse. After all, this was fornication. Besides, the general wanted all the major's energies to be put into the maintenance of the bridge. Kelly also feared that Sergeant Coombs, in a position to watch and listen, might discover that the major was less of a cocksman than himself, and would thereafter be more difficult to discipline.
Lily, of course, slept in the hospital bunker, as did Nurse Pullit and Private Tooley. Kelly had considered the possibilities of the hospital as a temporary den of iniquity. If they pilfered the drug supply, they could put Liverwright or any other patient to sleep, and they wouldn't have to worry about Kowalski observing their love rites. Private Tooley would most likely be generous enough to take a long walk if Kelly threatened to beat his head in. After all, Tooley was a pacifist. But that left Nurse Pullit, and Kelly didn't think for a minute that Nurse Pullit would want to stay. He was afraid Nurse Pullit would say, “Put it to me, too!”
Despite Pullit's genuinely lovely gams, Kelly didn't want to put it to anyone but Lily Kain.
The other bunker was always in use by men who slept there. The rec room, which was the mess hall, which was half of the rickety HQ building, was never without a few men playing cards, bullshitting, or arguing. That left the great out-of-doors.