‘So don’t worry, mom and dad. I’ll be all right. They say if you make it past two weeks, your odds go way up. And I’m past two weeks. So don’t get all stressed out over this. I’ll make it. Lots of people live through war without anything terrible happening. It’s just a job. I’ll write again soon. Love, Harold.
‘P.S. When you write back, I’d like to ask you to do something. When things get really bad and I have to just shut everything out, there’s this poem that I read in prep school that I keep saying over and over to myself. And the thing is, it’s driving me crazy because I can’t remember the name of the poem. I think it’s by T. S. Eliot. If you can look it up or something and tell me what it is, I’d really appreciate it. The part that I repeat to myself goes like this:
The apartment’s front door opened. Gay found Roger holding the letter to his chest and crying.
Kate Dunn positioned everyone. ‘All right, Woody! You get the shot from on top of the trench. Okay, Jurgen. You go about your business.’ Woody scampered up to ground level with his minicam. But the German and American paratroopers hesitated.
‘Is there a problem?’ Kate asked. The sky was perfect. The sun was nicely covered by thin cloud. But soon it would clear. Direct sunlight would change everything. Shades. Shadows. They’d lose this shot.
‘What do you want me to do?’ the German asked.
‘Just do what you were doing,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t stage shots.’ They didn’t understand. They looked at each other.
Kate explained by grabbing the man’s parka. She moved him to the trench wall just below Woody. ‘Now go. Teach the Americans how to fight the Chinese.’
The GIs stirred and snorted. The German shook his head. ‘No, no. Not how to fight. How to prepare positions. Winter positions.’
‘Right. That’s what I meant. Just go back over what you were telling them before you stopped. Only for the camera.’ She smiled and pointed up at Woody. He waved from behind his eyepiece.
Kate placed the American paratroopers in a semicircle around the German. She held a boom mike over the group just off-camera. She had the German give his name and rank. He spoke English very well. No on-screen transcripts were needed. Woody gave her the thumbs up. The taping began.
‘Okay,’ the German advisor said, ‘the best cover in the trenches are ice parapets. They are bullet-proof. You make them by taking a poncho… like this.’ He held the thin fabric up with a rustling noise. ‘You roll small sticks inside it like this, ya?’ The crinkling of the poncho was far too loud. Plus Kate saw Woody having to shift position. Kate motioned for the Americans to kneel. They did. The adviser held a thick bundle of small sticks. They were rolled into the poncho. He climbed a raised step on the trench wall. Kate’s mike followed. He placed the bundle in front of the firing post. ‘Now, please, would you hand me the water.’
An American carefully handed him a heavy can. The men all stood back from the liquid. They exchanged it slowly as if it were a vat of acid. Snow was being melted in fires up and down the trench line. The German used a stick to break the thin ice. He raised the can. He poured the water onto the poncho.
The Americans — all in their teens, from their looks — marveled as the water froze. The poncho was slowly covered in translucent layers of ice. They thickened right before their eyes. Too long, Kate thought. But the adviser took his time emptying the bucket.
Kate was reminded of high school science projects, the ‘gee whiz’ experiments meant more to intrigue than inform. Maybe they’d see that angle back in New York. Or maybe she should mention it.
‘Pour slowly, ja? So the ice will freeze.’ When he was done, the bundle of sticks was frozen solidly onto the front lip of the trench. ‘An ice parapet,’ he said — showmanlike. ‘Let the ice set. Then cover it with snow for camouflage. You can bank the snow. Pour water over it. Two of this-size buckets. That will make a “snow-und-ice glacis.”’
The Americans laughed. ‘Snow-und-ice’ was repeated.
‘Okay, cut!’ Kate shouted. She lowered the mike. ‘Great! Did you get that, Woody?’ He gave her another thumbs-up. He wasn’t talking because of a sore throat he was protecting with scarves and mufflers. ‘Okay, I need to do the story’s lead-in. I’m going to stand right up there where he is. Everybody down here just go about your business.’ She showed with her hands the camera’s field of view. They stood there. ‘Good. Say, you all have your rifles, don’t you?’ They showed her. They weren’t even loaded.
She climbed up the wall rolling her eyes. Woody held the camera to her face. She took a quick glance at her compact, cleared her throat… and looked around.
Soldiers cleared the gentle slope in front. Engineers cut tree trunks with noisy chain saws. When trying to decide which story to do, the unit commander had told her it was a dangerous job. You could hit an ice core, break the chain, maybe send the saw flying back at you. Boring, she thought. Backhoes carried brush to the rear. Soldiers sawed logs for ceiling timbers. Kate had chosen to stick with the paratroopers. She had Woody try to get it all. Engineers preparing the killing fields in the background Troops in the trench below. A close-up of Kate.
Woody counted down with his fingers, then pointed.
‘The 82nd Airborne Division was the first major unit to arrive in Siberia after the war began. But this fabled unit has yet to see action. Traditionally reserved for the ultimate in national emergencies the “All-American” Division is now about to get into the fight. They’re bracing for the shock of the main Chinese assault. At night, the wind carries the sounds of approaching combat. The German Army will soon “pass the line” to their American comrades, and these paratroopers will learn firsthand the brutality of winter infantry war.
‘But lessons are already being passed from ally to ally. German soldiers have been pulled back from the lines, and the experience of battle they have had visited upon them is helping fellow UN troops to better prepare their ice-bound positions.’ She lowered the mike. ‘We’ll cut here and insert the scene we just taped.’
Woody shook his head and spoke in a raspy voice. ‘That form you signed with the public affairs guy is gonna haunt you. It’s a pact with the devil, Kate. The censor’s gonna hold the tape. They won’t let you mention the 82nd till they start fighting.’
Loud gunfire erupted from the hills. It wasn’t close, but it was near enough to cause everyone to turn. Even in daylight you could clearly see the flashes. They lit the clouds.
Kate smiled. She had Woody start taping. Scenes of officers shouting. The men on the slopes dropping their logs and saws and coming back up the slope. A sergeant marching down the trench and magazines being loaded into weapons. Kate couldn’t believe their luck.
‘Hey!’ an officer shouted. ‘Get down from there!’
‘We’re from the press,’ Kate said.
‘I know who you are!’ The man was a captain. Kate and Woody climbed down. Woody filmed the paratroopers’ grim preparations close-up. ‘Show’s over. Out of my trenches,’ the captain said.
‘But we want to get this,’ Kate pleaded. She was outraged. Artillery shells cut through the air overhead. They exploded on a ridge a mile away. Kate flinched at the loud booms. ‘Besides!’ Kate yelled — stopping the man. ‘It’s probably too dangerous out there already.’