James Benn - The Rest Is Silence

“Yeah. We were both getting some coffee when there was a blast amidships. I thought maybe we’d hit a mine. It sounded like the ship was breaking apart. We had our life vests on, since they’d sounded general quarters, but we thought it was part of the exercise.” He continued to stare at the man he thought was Hal, but his eyes were focused on the memory burned into his mind that night. “The lights went out, and I was thrown against a bulkhead. I guess I dislocated my shoulder and got this cut. Blood was running into my eyes, and I couldn’t see a thing. Hal got me up and guided me toward the deck. We passed a hatch that led down onto the tank deck. Where the Shermans are, you know? All set to roll out over the ramp when we hit the beach. Hal opened it and flames blew out. It lasted a few seconds, then faded. We looked in, but it was no good. Fuel cans were exploding, and men were screaming. I saw one guy on fire, trying to climb the ladder and get out, but he just stopped and fell back. It was like what I’d always imagined Hell to be. A dark pit filled with flames.” He stopped, slack-jawed. “Hal dogged the hatch. That’s regulation, to keep the integrity of the ship. But it was like we were killing those guys.” Lawson stopped, gulping in air as if he’d forgotten to breathe.

“You had to do it,” I said. “And you couldn’t have helped them.”

“That’s what I told Hal,” Lawson said. “But he was crying. He kept saying he was sorry, and I didn’t know if he meant for closing those guys in or because he was crying like a baby. I told him it didn’t matter. But I knew it did.”

“You made it up to the main deck?” I said.

“We must have, but I don’t remember everything. Next thing I know, we’re aft and guys are jumping off everywhere. The ship was listing, and the fires were spreading. We had twenty-two DUKWs-you know, those amphibious trucks-lashed on deck. All fueled up. They started to go one by one, huge fireballs shooting into the sky, ammo going off, the whole works.” He looked beyond us, his eyes still seeing gouts of flames arcing across the night sky.

“What about lifeboats?” Tom asked.

“Some were lowered, but the davits were rusted on a lot of them. I remember one sergeant fired his M1 at the chain, and that did it. The boat fell into the water, but I think it landed on a few guys.”

“What did you and Hal do?” I said, trying to keep him focused on his pal. Maybe this was him, but it looked doubtful.

“I tried to get Hal to jump, but he was scared. Said he couldn’t swim, that he’d always been afraid of heights too, and it was a good distance to the water. But we had to go. The fire and the explosions were getting closer. I told him the ship was sinking, which was good news since we wouldn’t have so far to fall, you know? Making a joke about it. But it didn’t work. I dragged him to the railing but he grabbed on with both hands and wouldn’t let go. He begged me to stay with him, even when I told him we’d both die right there. He was crying again, saying, ‘Please doesn’t leave me alone,’ and I even tried slugging him, but nothing worked. Finally I said I was going over, and he had to follow me.”

“Did he?” I asked.

“I didn’t look back,” Lawson said. “I jumped and must have hit my shoulder. The pain was something awful. I looked all around for Hal but couldn’t see him. The water was cold, really cold, and my teeth were chattering. Then the whole ship blew. It was like the biggest fireworks display you ever saw. I hope Hal saw it, it was really something.”

“How long were you in the water?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. I tried not to look at all the soldiers floating upside down. I don’t know why no one told them how to use those life belts. And why did they go in with those heavy packs? It doesn’t make any sense …” His voice trailed off as he tried to come to grips with the illogic and ineptitude of Operation Tiger. He stopped, head bent, and I wondered if he’d passed out.

“What happened next?” I prompted him.

“What? Oh yeah. I drifted for a while and finally found a wooden hatch with two other men on it. There wasn’t room for me, but they let me hang on. I lost consciousness, I think, then all of a sudden I was being pulled aboard a small vessel. An English fishing boat, I think. There were a couple dozen guys they’d picked up, maybe more. There were nets and the crew was civilian, so I figured they’d seen the explosions and come to help. I asked everyone about Hal, but no one knew anything about him. Then I woke up here, right next to him. What luck, huh?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “And you’re lucky to be alive, Lawson, remember that. Now relax. The doctor said you’ll all be transferred to a real hospital soon.”

“Good,” he said. “Hal too?”

“Of course, my boy,” Tom said with a forced grin. “All of you.”

“There was nothing else to say,” I told Tom as we exited the tent.

“No,” Tom Quick said. “He needed that lie, and we were just the people to give it to him.”

We walked in silence to the jeep, the shadow of death and lies following us from the tents. Tom got in, adjusting his tin-pot helmet so it hid his eyes, or perhaps so he wouldn’t have to look at me. I thought about driving him back to Inspector Grange but didn’t bring it up. Tom had been right when he’d said no one got their druthers these days, so I started the jeep, ready to head out to our next grisly stop.

“Look,” Tom said, pointing to a truck coming through the gate. “More bodies coming in?”

“Probably the GIs from the beach,” I said. But I stopped the jeep and watched as the truck backed up to the tents-thankfully not the one for dismembered corpses. Three bodies came off and were manhandled none too gracefully into the tent by GIs wearing gloves and masks. “Let’s take a look.”

Inside the tent, the three new arrivals were laid out at the end of a row. Two GIs, a sergeant and a PFC. No packs, rifles, or life belts on those two. Maybe they went into the water dead, or drowned the old-fashioned way, right side up. The third man was navy, by the look of his khakis. He had on a US Navy life vest and wore lieutenant’s bars. I didn’t pay much attention to his face, since the dead had all started to look alike to me, but as I reached for his dog tags, I noticed the sandy-colored hair and the blue eyes, and a gasp escaped my throat.

It was Peter Wiley.

I stood up, shocked. It was someone I knew, a man who I’d seen alive a few days before. A boy, really. His slight frame and fine features looked out of place among the soldiers girded for combat with their heavy boots and field jackets. All Peter had were his summer khakis and low-quarter shoes. He must have been cold going into the water. He looked cold even now.

“That’s Peter Wiley,” I said.

“The lieutenant Colonel Harding was looking for?” Tom Quick said. “He’s supposed to be at Greenway House by now. What’s he doing here?”

“I’m not sure. He wanted to go on the exercise but couldn’t get permission. Looks like he found his way onboard one of the LSTs.”

“Worse luck for him,” Tom said. “He should have stayed ashore. We’d best move on, we’ve still got names to cross off our list.”

Then it hit me. Peter Wiley was a BIGOT. But he wasn’t on the list. How did he get on an LST without authorization, especially given his top-secret status? You didn’t simply stroll onto a ship heading off to a secret invasion exercise, with or without a top security clearance. Did Harding know about this? Doubtful, since he’d been adamant that Wiley stay ashore. I couldn’t mention the BIGOT classification to Tom; even mentioning the name was forbidden. But I needed to work out what had happened here.