“Here’s your tea,” she said, handing him a gilded tray. He smiled at the jingle of ice cubes in the glass. The first time he’d had such a treat since he’d landed in England. “And a pack of cigarettes. The current owner of the house is my cousin, Sir Ernest Wills of Imperial Tobacco. I think he’s on a mission to convert the entire American army to his brand. We’ve been instructed to hand them out like candy.”
“Thank you,” said Tom. Though it was fashionable to do so, he hadn’t taken up smoking. The one time he’d tried it, it had prompted a harrowing fit of coughing. Friends told him that he would get used to it, but what was the point of acquiring a taste for something he didn’t care for in the first place and cost money he didn’t need to spend? He put the pack in the pocket of his coat. John and William could arm wrestle for them. They had an ongoing contest with occasional prizes for the most recent winner. So far, John was ahead with an impressive tally of victories and therefore worthy of this bounty. But Tom knew that John would share with William without question.
The woman departed and he watched her walk through a door that opened to yet another cavernous room, adorned, he could see, with swords and antlers arranged in decorative patterns.
His father, being a hunter, would have liked it. And his mother would have gushed over the gilded tea tray. Tom wished he could explore the manor further, though it would probably take him a week to see every space. He’d have to include details in a letter to home.
He heard deep voices coming closer to a nearby door and then it opened to reveal several uniformed men emerging from their meeting. From where Tom was sitting, he was hidden from their view. He was just about to stand up and salute when he heard something that made him stop.
“General Alexander doesn’t believe that the guerrillas in Italy are going to be effective in fighting off the Nazis, so he’s postponing his participation.”
“What does Roosevelt say to that?”
“He wants to wait and see what the CLN does. In the meantime, there are rumors that Churchill and Roosevelt are trying to broker a meeting with Stalin, maybe as early as next month.”
“Can Stalin be trusted?”
“Right now, he’s Hitler’s enemy. And you know what they say.”
“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Exactly. But God help us all if we get into bed with the Russians.”
Tom cleared his throat and stood up. He recognized Colonel Sink and Major General Lee, having seen them walk by during many drill inspections. Their chests were laden with pounds of medals, the kings of the army looking right at home in these palace-like environs.
Give him Dick Winters any day. A first lieutenant who knew how to get into the thick of things and who preferred the austerity of a bunk to posh surrounds like this.
“Yes, PFC Powell?” Major General Lee didn’t know Tom from Adam, but the precision of a military uniform revealed his name on the brass tag and patch on his arm.
“A message for you from First Lieutenant Winters.” Tom handed him the sealed envelope.
“Not another missive about Sobel, I hope. That bastard whipped Easy Company into shape like nobody’s business, but dammit, I’ve never gotten as many complaints about someone either.”
Tom stood at attention, as he’d been taught. As if there was a metal rod holding up his spine. He had his opinions about Sobel but knew he wouldn’t be asked to share them.
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Did he want a response?”
“I don’t believe so, sir.”
“You don’t believe so? That’s a yes or no question, son.”
Tom curled his toes in his boots. Though he was inches taller than Lee, the man had a terrifying countenance. He reminded him of his father.
“No, sir,” he decided. Surely Winters would have told him if anything more than the delivery was expected. But he hoped that it was another plea to send Sobel elsewhere—he had demoralized Easy Company with his draconian expectations and had a history of inventing infractions back in Georgia just for kicks. The men felt more loyalty to Dick Winters as the head of their platoon than they did to Sobel as the company commander.
But Lee didn’t open it in front of him, so Tom had no hope of finding out if Captain Sobel’s days were, at last, numbered.
“Dismissed.”
Tom saluted and turned, exiting the elaborate front door without ceremony and stepping back into the crisp evening air. He exhaled a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.
He hopped on the bike, not looking back at Littlecote House. Not looking back on what he’d heard.
The United States. Britain. Italy. Germany. Russia. Just a few of the countries mentioned in the brief conversation he’d overhead. Not to mention all the news coming out of the Pacific.
This was, indeed, a world war.
Tom hoped he and his friends would survive it.
* * *
The little cottage in Chilton Foliat might as well have been in a different world from where he’d just ridden in from. Owned by their hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Brown, it was as unpretentious as their surname. But it was tidy, and Mrs. Brown kept timber in the fireplace all day so the boys could play cards and read from their small collection of books in the scant spare time they were afforded. Mrs. Brown made an unbeatable Yorkshire pudding and always had a batch ready when they returned from drill, hungry and tired.
Tom had written to his mother to let her know how much she would love the place and to assure her that her son was in good hands.
He returned to the attic bedroom the three men shared. William was stoking the embers in the stone fireplace as they mellowed into a dull orange glow. Heat gave way to the chill of the evening. John was crouched next to the hearth, rubbing his hands together.
“Where’ve you been? Necking with a local girl?” William looked up and grinned. His ribbing was good-humored, though Tom had come to suspect that his joviality was a mask for troubles he kept to himself. William’s sleep was restless, night after night.
Tom shrugged. William knew that Tom had ridden up to the estate. Unlike some of the boys in the 101st, Tom thought it unseemly to take up a romance with a local girl when today, tomorrow, and the next were so uncertain. Such things would happen for him once he was well settled into army life, a swath of medals and stripes adorning his shoulder.
And such distractions wouldn’t serve them well in the field.
“Well, we all know Johnny Boy was behaving himself. Here.” William tossed a twine-wrapped package to John, who had just walked in from a jump.
“For me?” he asked, catching it with ease.
“You’re the only sorry soul who gets presents around here. I haven’t even heard from my mom yet.”
William grinned, but the sadness in his eyes told a different story.
Why had he not yet received letters from home?
“That reminds me.” Tom pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and placed them on the table by the fire. “Johnny Boy’s on top on the scoreboard, but I know you’ll play nice and split these.”
“Jolly nice of you, ol’ chap,” William said, wobbling over on an imaginary cane and adjusting a phantom monocle. He took one from the box, tapped it on the table, and put a match to it.