Between the Lines (4/17)
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Scotty shivered, pulling his coat closer around his body. He didn’t think he’d ever get warm. He was pretty sure they were in or near France. Or what used to be France. Winter had struck with a vengeance, and Scotty wondered if they’d all succumb to hypothermia and pneumonia. At least with human enemies, you could fight back, maybe take out a few with you. They had received intel, though, that German troops were several miles away. Scotty’s unit was preparing for the raid, while an air force squadron was coming at full-speed from England. The plan was to squeeze the Germans hard when they came upon them in the morning.
If they lasted that long. The sun was setting and it was unbelievably cold. The men beside him trudged slowly and silently, and Scotty began to wonder if it was all just a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare. He surreptitiously pinched himself, but he didn’t wake up.
Too bad, because just then the quiet was shattered. The rat-a-tat of guns filled the air, and Scotty’s company broke formation. Moving quickly, they took cover. They hadn’t expected any response yet - perhaps the intel was wrong, or the Germans had moved, or there were some loose lips. Whatever it was, the battle was happening now. Scotty held back, as he was supposed to do, somehow hearing the cries of pain over everything else. He’d rush towards the men, leaving some immediately when it was clear there was no point, treating the others as best he could.
It didn’t take long to realize they were completely outnumbered and outgunned. He saw more than heard the radio operators, sending out requests for back-up. They’d have to hold the line as best they could, hope the planes made it there soon. There were far too many injuries for Scotty to think of much beyond his own duties or grow scared of what could happen. He moved as if possessed, detached from everything happening around him. A soldier standing by his side one moment was torn in half the next, blood splattering across Scotty’s uniform and face. He closed his eyes and turned away in a futile attempt to protect himself from the spray. Then he moved again, finding the next wounded man.
Some unknown length of time later, a whine filled the air, just before the frozen ground in the distance exploded in a cloud of dirt. Scotty looked up; the planes had arrived. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, finding renewed strength.
Even with the arrival of reinforcements, however, their fate was already decided. It only became clearer when Scotty watched in shock as a plane went down, the explosion lighting up the whole countryside. Scotty shook himself and tried to refocus. He heard a thud several feet away, and he turned to look. He blinked, not quite registering what he saw. And then he moved as quickly as he could, sliding down a slight incline and tucking into a ball as the grenade went off.
***
Jason knocked quickly on the office door. At the response, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
“Hey Sherry.”
“Jason! What brings you all the way over to the history department?”
“I’m trying to find some information.”
“You’re always working, aren’t you?”
Jason laughed, nodding. “Guilty.”
“What can I do you for?”
Jason sunk into the chair opposite his colleague’s desk. “How detailed do you think the Army’s records of individual troop movement are for World War II? Can you even get access to that?”
“I can do my best. What are you trying to find, exactly?”
“There’s a two or three month gap where Kevin Walker didn’t write any letters to his family. I always assumed that he was, I don’t know - that there was some reasonable and simple explanation. But I’ve come to realize I have no information for what he was doing then. He never talked about it ever, not in anything that survives today, at least. Which wouldn’t be a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that there are some serious shifts in both tone and content in his work after that.”
“When is this?” Sherry asked, picking up a pen and drawing a pad of Post-Its closer.
“Winter of '43 to '44. Maybe November to December or early January.”
“I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks. I owe you a drink.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
***
Chad, sitting cross-legged on Jason’s floor, bent forward and grabbed the half-eaten box of Chinese food. Taking a bite, he repositioned himself, straightening and laying down on his side. Jason glanced over at him and smiled softly.
“Save some for me.”
Chad looked over at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Digging out a chunk of chicken, he held the chopsticks out towards Jason. Jason stared at them, surprised, for a moment before leaning forward and wrapping his mouth around the morsel. Pulling back, he chewed slowly and then swallowed. He cleared his throat.
“That’s a good restaurant.”
Chad nodded. “I can’t believe you’ve never eaten there.”
“I can’t know every Chinese place in the city!” Jason objected.
Chad chuckled. “You realize we haven’t got more than five minutes of research done since I got here.”
“Gotta take a break every once in a while,” Jason observed. “How’s the movie going, anyway?”
Chad shrugged. “Good. I think I’m getting a real feel for his character. So I’m able to do the scenes from that perspective, even if I’m not really convinced about…the actual actions, you know?”
“What scenes are you filming right now?”
“Um, mostly kind of filler scenes of him - me - whatever writing, appearing conflicted about religion and stuff.”
“Oh, that’s right. Walker’s supposed crisis of faith.”
“You don’t think he had one?” Chad raised his eyebrow.
Jason shook his head, turning around and laying down on his stomach alongside Chad. He pulled a book closer to him and started flipping through the pages. “No, I don’t. Walker’s parents were Catholic and Jewish, and he was raised decidedly neither. There was definite religious imagery in some of his poems, but they weren’t about actual belief, I don’t feel. They were about beauty and love and even war in some cases, but…I know a real spiritual poem when I see one.”
“What do you mean?”
Jason laughed quickly, embarrassed. “Ah, believe it or not, for a while I was going to be a priest. I even went to the seminary for a year. It…wasn’t for me.”
“Because you’re gay?”
Jason whipped his head around, staring at Chad in shock. Chad gave him a small smile.
“I have a lot of gay friends.”
Jason blushed. “Yeah. Uh, yeah. That was part of it. Most of it. Anyway, here.”
Jason slid the book closer; Chad grabbed it, turning it around so he could read aloud.
“I sigh, smile, turn my face up; feeling the warm caress of Sunshine through the glass. Panes of bright hues reflecting history, now forgotten and ignored; the miracles, the rapture, the ecstasy - and the suffering of Love. Our future, unavoidable.”
Chad was silent for a moment. Jason looked at him.
“Huh,” Chad said. “Yeah, there’s some - what did you call it, imagery, but…”
“Earthly.”
“Very much,” Chad agreed. “I kind of get the impression he was…”
“Basking in the afterglow of dirty-hot sex?” Jason said slyly.
“Yeah,” Chad said, smirking at Jason.
Jason smiled once, quickly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of always just assumed you were…a pretty face. You’re not.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.”
“I just mean - ”
“It’s OK. I know what you mean.”
“I’m just going to stop talking,” Jason said as he reached out for the bag their food came in. “And have a fortune cookie.”
He refused to look over at Chad while he broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. He pulled the slip of paper out and turned it around to read it.
“What’s it say?”
Jason cleared his throat. “Life-changing opportunities await if you spend less time at work and more at pleasurable activities.”
“In bed,” Chad added automatically.
Jason finally looked at him again.
“So you think I’m pretty, huh?” Chad asked, grinning.
Jason blushed.
***
Kevin wasn’t quite convinced he was actually alive. The only thing that was keeping him going was that this wasn’t horrible enough to be hell and not beautiful enough to be heaven. And he could still feel the blood coursing through him from the panic he felt when he realized he was going down. He followed procedure exactly, managing to eject before the crash. However, it wasn’t really enough time to land smoothly, and what felt like only moments later he struck the ground, his parachute floating down over him. Then there was an unbelievable explosion and he could feel the heat from what used to be his plane.
Kevin didn’t move for a long time, feeling rather senseless. Then he began to take stock. Things were kind of fuzzy at the moment, both in his thought processes and in his eyesight, so odds were he had a pretty spectacular bump on his head. Kevin tried to lift his hand to feel if the warm liquid he felt on his face was indeed blood. But his arm screamed in protest and Kevin nearly passed out. One dislocated shoulder, definitely. As he took a breath, he added a probable cracked rib or two. He could feel all the way to his toes, so he guessed he hadn’t broken his back at all. He had landed on his feet, though, with an extraordinary jolt. Kevin saved that check for last, as he slowly sat up and tried to stand. He promptly fell over again. Sprained ankle, at least. He didn’t think it was broken.
Kevin groaned, clenching his fists as he tried not to cry out.
He looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. The sounds of fighting had all but ceased, and Kevin watched as his fellow pilots retreated. He knew they were heading back to the carrier to regroup and figure out a strategy for reengaging with the German troops. They would also decide if it was worth the risk and time to check if he had survived the crash.
Kevin thought about staying where he was, waiting near the spot the plane actually went down. He decided, though, that was too dangerous. First, the Germans would make it there before his men would, and if they found him, he would be captured. Second, as he started to calm down and feel the air around him, he could tell that the weather was still bitterly cold; he needed to find shelter. Kevin gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his unstable feet once more.
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Scotty shivered, pulling his coat closer around his body. He didn’t think he’d ever get warm. He was pretty sure they were in or near France. Or what used to be France. Winter had struck with a vengeance, and Scotty wondered if they’d all succumb to hypothermia and pneumonia. At least with human enemies, you could fight back, maybe take out a few with you. They had received intel, though, that German troops were several miles away. Scotty’s unit was preparing for the raid, while an air force squadron was coming at full-speed from England. The plan was to squeeze the Germans hard when they came upon them in the morning.
If they lasted that long. The sun was setting and it was unbelievably cold. The men beside him trudged slowly and silently, and Scotty began to wonder if it was all just a dream. Or more accurately, a nightmare. He surreptitiously pinched himself, but he didn’t wake up.
Too bad, because just then the quiet was shattered. The rat-a-tat of guns filled the air, and Scotty’s company broke formation. Moving quickly, they took cover. They hadn’t expected any response yet - perhaps the intel was wrong, or the Germans had moved, or there were some loose lips. Whatever it was, the battle was happening now. Scotty held back, as he was supposed to do, somehow hearing the cries of pain over everything else. He’d rush towards the men, leaving some immediately when it was clear there was no point, treating the others as best he could.
It didn’t take long to realize they were completely outnumbered and outgunned. He saw more than heard the radio operators, sending out requests for back-up. They’d have to hold the line as best they could, hope the planes made it there soon. There were far too many injuries for Scotty to think of much beyond his own duties or grow scared of what could happen. He moved as if possessed, detached from everything happening around him. A soldier standing by his side one moment was torn in half the next, blood splattering across Scotty’s uniform and face. He closed his eyes and turned away in a futile attempt to protect himself from the spray. Then he moved again, finding the next wounded man.
Some unknown length of time later, a whine filled the air, just before the frozen ground in the distance exploded in a cloud of dirt. Scotty looked up; the planes had arrived. He closed his eyes briefly in relief, finding renewed strength.
Even with the arrival of reinforcements, however, their fate was already decided. It only became clearer when Scotty watched in shock as a plane went down, the explosion lighting up the whole countryside. Scotty shook himself and tried to refocus. He heard a thud several feet away, and he turned to look. He blinked, not quite registering what he saw. And then he moved as quickly as he could, sliding down a slight incline and tucking into a ball as the grenade went off.
***
Jason knocked quickly on the office door. At the response, he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.
“Hey Sherry.”
“Jason! What brings you all the way over to the history department?”
“I’m trying to find some information.”
“You’re always working, aren’t you?”
Jason laughed, nodding. “Guilty.”
“What can I do you for?”
Jason sunk into the chair opposite his colleague’s desk. “How detailed do you think the Army’s records of individual troop movement are for World War II? Can you even get access to that?”
“I can do my best. What are you trying to find, exactly?”
“There’s a two or three month gap where Kevin Walker didn’t write any letters to his family. I always assumed that he was, I don’t know - that there was some reasonable and simple explanation. But I’ve come to realize I have no information for what he was doing then. He never talked about it ever, not in anything that survives today, at least. Which wouldn’t be a big deal if it weren’t for the fact that there are some serious shifts in both tone and content in his work after that.”
“When is this?” Sherry asked, picking up a pen and drawing a pad of Post-Its closer.
“Winter of '43 to '44. Maybe November to December or early January.”
“I’ll see what I can find.”
“Thanks. I owe you a drink.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
***
Chad, sitting cross-legged on Jason’s floor, bent forward and grabbed the half-eaten box of Chinese food. Taking a bite, he repositioned himself, straightening and laying down on his side. Jason glanced over at him and smiled softly.
“Save some for me.”
Chad looked over at him, an unreadable expression on his face. Digging out a chunk of chicken, he held the chopsticks out towards Jason. Jason stared at them, surprised, for a moment before leaning forward and wrapping his mouth around the morsel. Pulling back, he chewed slowly and then swallowed. He cleared his throat.
“That’s a good restaurant.”
Chad nodded. “I can’t believe you’ve never eaten there.”
“I can’t know every Chinese place in the city!” Jason objected.
Chad chuckled. “You realize we haven’t got more than five minutes of research done since I got here.”
“Gotta take a break every once in a while,” Jason observed. “How’s the movie going, anyway?”
Chad shrugged. “Good. I think I’m getting a real feel for his character. So I’m able to do the scenes from that perspective, even if I’m not really convinced about…the actual actions, you know?”
“What scenes are you filming right now?”
“Um, mostly kind of filler scenes of him - me - whatever writing, appearing conflicted about religion and stuff.”
“Oh, that’s right. Walker’s supposed crisis of faith.”
“You don’t think he had one?” Chad raised his eyebrow.
Jason shook his head, turning around and laying down on his stomach alongside Chad. He pulled a book closer to him and started flipping through the pages. “No, I don’t. Walker’s parents were Catholic and Jewish, and he was raised decidedly neither. There was definite religious imagery in some of his poems, but they weren’t about actual belief, I don’t feel. They were about beauty and love and even war in some cases, but…I know a real spiritual poem when I see one.”
“What do you mean?”
Jason laughed quickly, embarrassed. “Ah, believe it or not, for a while I was going to be a priest. I even went to the seminary for a year. It…wasn’t for me.”
“Because you’re gay?”
Jason whipped his head around, staring at Chad in shock. Chad gave him a small smile.
“I have a lot of gay friends.”
Jason blushed. “Yeah. Uh, yeah. That was part of it. Most of it. Anyway, here.”
Jason slid the book closer; Chad grabbed it, turning it around so he could read aloud.
“I sigh, smile, turn my face up; feeling the warm caress of Sunshine through the glass. Panes of bright hues reflecting history, now forgotten and ignored; the miracles, the rapture, the ecstasy - and the suffering of Love. Our future, unavoidable.”
Chad was silent for a moment. Jason looked at him.
“Huh,” Chad said. “Yeah, there’s some - what did you call it, imagery, but…”
“Earthly.”
“Very much,” Chad agreed. “I kind of get the impression he was…”
“Basking in the afterglow of dirty-hot sex?” Jason said slyly.
“Yeah,” Chad said, smirking at Jason.
Jason smiled once, quickly. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of always just assumed you were…a pretty face. You’re not.”
“Uh, thanks. I think.”
“I just mean - ”
“It’s OK. I know what you mean.”
“I’m just going to stop talking,” Jason said as he reached out for the bag their food came in. “And have a fortune cookie.”
He refused to look over at Chad while he broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. He pulled the slip of paper out and turned it around to read it.
“What’s it say?”
Jason cleared his throat. “Life-changing opportunities await if you spend less time at work and more at pleasurable activities.”
“In bed,” Chad added automatically.
Jason finally looked at him again.
“So you think I’m pretty, huh?” Chad asked, grinning.
Jason blushed.
***
Kevin wasn’t quite convinced he was actually alive. The only thing that was keeping him going was that this wasn’t horrible enough to be hell and not beautiful enough to be heaven. And he could still feel the blood coursing through him from the panic he felt when he realized he was going down. He followed procedure exactly, managing to eject before the crash. However, it wasn’t really enough time to land smoothly, and what felt like only moments later he struck the ground, his parachute floating down over him. Then there was an unbelievable explosion and he could feel the heat from what used to be his plane.
Kevin didn’t move for a long time, feeling rather senseless. Then he began to take stock. Things were kind of fuzzy at the moment, both in his thought processes and in his eyesight, so odds were he had a pretty spectacular bump on his head. Kevin tried to lift his hand to feel if the warm liquid he felt on his face was indeed blood. But his arm screamed in protest and Kevin nearly passed out. One dislocated shoulder, definitely. As he took a breath, he added a probable cracked rib or two. He could feel all the way to his toes, so he guessed he hadn’t broken his back at all. He had landed on his feet, though, with an extraordinary jolt. Kevin saved that check for last, as he slowly sat up and tried to stand. He promptly fell over again. Sprained ankle, at least. He didn’t think it was broken.
Kevin groaned, clenching his fists as he tried not to cry out.
He looked around, trying to figure out what was happening. The sounds of fighting had all but ceased, and Kevin watched as his fellow pilots retreated. He knew they were heading back to the carrier to regroup and figure out a strategy for reengaging with the German troops. They would also decide if it was worth the risk and time to check if he had survived the crash.
Kevin thought about staying where he was, waiting near the spot the plane actually went down. He decided, though, that was too dangerous. First, the Germans would make it there before his men would, and if they found him, he would be captured. Second, as he started to calm down and feel the air around him, he could tell that the weather was still bitterly cold; he needed to find shelter. Kevin gritted his teeth and pulled himself to his unstable feet once more.
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