Scott Turow - Ordinary Heroes

Algar stood up to return my salute, then offered his hand.

"How much training did you have for that jump, Doc?" he asked me. "That was damn brave. But, Doc, you came to the right place. Unfortunately." This made the third or fourth time since we'd landed that I'd been addressed as 'Doc.' Perhaps it was the concussion, or the numbness of surviving, but I realized only now that this greeting wasn't being offered in the fashion of Bugs Bunny.

"Begging your pardon, Colonel, but I'm afraid you have a misimpression. I'm a lawyer."

Algar was small, five foot six or seven, and perhaps in compensation was plainly attentive to his good looks. He had a narrow split mustache over his upper lip, carefully trimmed even on the battlefield, and his hair was pomaded. But he was clearly bewildered.

"I was told you were dropped with medical supplies. Sulfa. Bandages. Plasma." Algar sat down and turned to his aides. "We get lawyers by parachute," he said. "What about ammunition? Or reinforcements? Jesus Christ." In a second, he got around to asking why I was there. He stared at me even longer than he had when I'd said I wasn't an M. D., once he heard my explanation.

"Martin?" he asked. "Bob Martin? They've sent you to arrest Bob Martin? Don't they know what the hell is going on here? We've got everybody firing a weapon, including the cooks. I have three companies under the command of NCOs. I've got two second lieutenants who between them have a total of one week's experience in Europe. And they want you to arrest one of my best combat officers?"

"Those were my orders, sir."

"Well, I'll give you different orders, Captain. You arrest Major Martin or anybody else who's able-bodied and firing back at the Germans and I won't bother arresting you. I'll shoot you, Captain Dubin, and don't take that for jest."

I looked to the circle of officers for help.

"Three days from now," Algar told me, "four, whatever it takes to deal with the Krauts, we can sort this out. McAuliffe can talk to Teedle. They can take it up with Patton if they like. Or even Eisenhower. They'll hash it out at the top. Right now we're all trying to save this bloody town. And ourselves. Understood?"

I didn't answer. There was a silent moment of standoff, before Algar spoke again.

"Just out of curiosity, Dubin, what is it exactly that Martin's supposed to have done?"

I took a second evaluating what I could say, then asked to speak to him alone. It was too cold for Algar to ask his officers to step outside, but he shooed them to a corner.

"Colonel," I said in a whisper, "there's a question of loyalty.

Algar leaned forward so quickly I thought he meant to hit me.

"Listen, Dubin, Bob Martin has been fighting with the 110th for almost a week now, leading a combat unit, and doing one heck of a job. As a volunteer. He's been through hell, like the rest of us, and he's just taken on another mission that requires more guts than common sense. I'll stake my life on his loyalty."

"Not to the Allies, sir. It's a question of which one.

Algar watched me, once more trying to figure me out. He betrayed his first sign of nervousness, nibbling at the mustache over his lip, but that, it turned out, was only as a means to control his anger.

"Oh, I see," he said, "I see. More red-baiting? Is that it? I've been watching the brass give the cold shoulder to a lot of the French resisters whose politics they don't care for, men and women who risked everything for their country, while half of France was kneeling down in Vichy. Well, I've got no use for that, Dubin. None.

"I'll tell you the truth, Captain. I feel sorry for you. I do. Because that jump took some guts. And it was for a bunch of silly crap. And now you're not just out of the frying pan into the fire, but straight into a volcano. The Germans have us surrounded. We have damn little food, less ammunition, and the only medical supplies I've seen are the ones that fell with you. So I don't know what the hell you're going to do with yourself, but I promise you this-you're not arresting Bob Martin. Ralph," he said, "find Captain Dubin and his sergeant a place to sleep. Gentlemen, that's all I can do for you. Dismissed."

Biddy and I were 'transported about a mile to the town of Hemroulle and a small stone church that stood amid a clutch of dark farm buildings, where we put up for the night with an infantry unit under Algar's command. I slept on an oak pew, better than the cold floor, but too narrow to be comfortable. Between that and the reverberations of jumping and deflecting bullets, I could not really manage much sleep and I woke easily at the sound of two men, Americans, shouting at each other in the back of the sanctuary. Somebody else hollered to take the row outside. The radiant dial on my watch showed nearly 3:00 a. M. I lay there a second longer determined to sleep, then suddenly recognized both of the quarreling voices.

When I bolted up, Biddy was visible in the light of a candle beside the door, dragging Robert Martin along by the collar of his field jacket, looking like a parent with an unruly boy. I took just an instant longer to convince myself I was awake, then grabbed my tommy gun and rushed back there. Biddy's woven belt was tied around Martin's hands. The Major was furious.

"Why is it when you tell even a good man that he's a policeman, he turns into a thug?" Martin asked as soon as he saw me.

According to Bidwell, Martin had driven up only a moment ago, while Bidwell was on his way back from the outhouse.

"Smiles like he was my auntie come to visit and asks for you," said Biddy. "My orders say arrest him and that's what I done."

I knew Biddy had laid hands on Martin just for the pure pleasure of it, given what we'd been through. Nor did I blame him. But Algar would treat this as mutiny.

"Let him go, Gideon."

He looked at me in his way. "Hell, Captain," he said.

"I know, Biddy. But untie him. We need to get things straightened out first."

One of the men from the platoon sleeping behind us sat up on his pew and called us jerk-offs and told us again to take it outside.

We passed into the church's narrow entry, just beyond the sanctuary. Two candles had been placed in the corners for the benefit of those using the outhouse. As soon as Biddy untied Martin, he banged out the old wooden doors. I assumed he was leaving, but the Major returned in an instant with his steel flask. Apparently he'd lost it after offering it to Bidwell. Martin's knowledge of judo might have given him a fair chance, even against Gideon, but Biddy had fallen on him without warning, while Martin was offering him a drink.

I remained astonished to see Martin. If he knew we were here, he had to know why.

"Come to taunt us, Major?"

"More to pay my respects and clear things up. That is, until I ran into Primo Canera here. I understand it was you two we saw being shot at in the sky last night. What kind of training did you have for that, Dubin?"

I was not sure I wanted to answer, but shook my head a bit.

"Quite heroic," said Martin. "I hope you weren't patterning yourself after me." He found the comment amusing. Martin was dressed as he was at La Saline Royale, in a field jacket and combat fatigues, with a vest full of equipment. He was dirty and unshaved and rubbing at one of his wrists, which must have been a little sore after his tussle with Gideon. Every now and then he reached down to swipe off more of the snow that had collected on his trousers when Bidwell had pinned him out on the church steps.

"I don't fancy myself a hero, Major. It's not a label I deserve. Or that I'd exult in."

"Is that a personal remark, Dubin?"

It was, but I wouldn't admit it. "I admire what you've done, Major."

Is that why you've come to arrest me?" He said he'd heard about my orders from Ralph Gallagher, Algar's Exec. I still had a copy of Teedle's written directive in the inside pocket of my tunic, now wrinkled and still moist with my sweat. Unfolding it, Martin walked closer to one of the candles to read, his shadow looming enormously behind him. Biddy was crouched down along the paneled wall opposite. His hand was on his tommy gun and his eyes never left Martin.