July 20th, 1943
He's with us in this, Will hears the words of his commanding officer in his head, you have to treat him like he's one of our boys.
Will finds it hard to concentrate as dozens of brown eyes on brown faces, covered with brown hair turn to look at him as he enters the tent. Sicily is full of olive skinned, beautiful people. The shades of brown may vary, but for the most part, the people are tanned and brown. They echo their fields that have been ruined by the fascists. Their darks eyes are hungry and scared.
They must think I'm a Hun, Will realizes. A strange blond haired, blue eyed man coming into their country and disrupting their peace. Talking in a strange language and wearing strange clothes. Most of these people have never heard German, let along English. There were enough similarities between the two languages. Enough similarities in the blood and gore that was being spilt.
Everyone shot a gun the same way. Everyone bled and died the same way. How were the two any different?
We're the good guys, that's what they say. Will knows the speech. Knows the morale boosters and the USO shows by heart.
Lt. Colonel Jason Grace walks two steps in front of Will. He's young to already be such a high ranking officer, but Grace had been in the army even before the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He's a man made to be in the army. Clean cut. Ruthless when he had to be. A good shot and even better in close combat.
Most of the time, Will isn't impressed by the soldiers he sees in the camps. Sure, they're fighting for their county. Will wouldn't be over here, halfway around the world, stitching up men if he didn't believe in America. But most of the time, soldiers forgot they were fighting not just an idea of Nazism and Fascism, but people. They were shooting down people with families and homes. People with children and wives and parents who would miss them. They were fighting people that might not necessarily agree with Hitler and Mussolini but people who would die for their country. People in the same position as them.
Will didn't like fighting. Violence in general. That's why he had become a doctor. To heal and make the sick better.
Lt. Col. Grace is different though. He humanizes the people they are fighting. Maybe not Hitler, but he realizes that the common German foot soldier is just as much of an expendable peace in the Grand Scheme of Things as they, fighting for the Star Spangled Banner, are. Will doesn't mind Grace too much. He's proud to call him his commanding officer.
They make it to the back of the tent. In the corner is a body on a cot, pale and sweating. A man in civvies, torn and stained. No. A boy. He can't be more than 18 or 19.
There are two female figures waiting beside him. One looks older, like the boy's mother. She looks haggard, but proud at the same time. She looks Grace in the eye when they get close. The other woman is not as old, maybe the boy's sister, approximately 21 to 24. She is by the boy's bedside, holding his hand and stroking his hair.
"This is Maria di Angelo and her children. Bianca di Angelo—," here he gestures faintly to the younger woman, "And that's her son, Nico."
The boy stirs and immediately Bianca is on her haunches to soothe the boy with soft words in Italian. Or Sicilian. Will hasn't learned the difference yet.
"Nico was, ah, is a resistance fighter from a group that was starting up in Rome. The Fascists were ordered to kill him and his followers so they fled here on a boat. From what I gathered, he has an injury that he suffered right before they left Italy and came here and it's festered ever since. I've got orders from up top. We're to help anyone that helps it look like Italy is breaking away from the Axis. So we start here. Fix him up, if you can."
With that, Grace turns on his heal with precision Will wishes he had and stalks back down the row of cots. This tent is full with everyone that came from Rome, about 40 people or more. Will is impressed that this young man, practically a child, was able to get all of these people to safer grounds.
"Do either of you speak any English?" Will asks hopefully. He's met with blank stares from both Maria and her daughter.
"Nico," Bianca says, squeezing her brother's hand, "English."
Right. The only one who knows English is the one incapacitated.
"Vous-parlez français, peut être?" Will asks. He knows some French from school. It was required in the boys' school he'd been shipped off to in Louisiana. Even if the dialects were different, they'd have a language in common.
"Un peu," Maria says, nodding. Continuing in French she asks, "Are you a doctor?"
"Yes. I am going to try to help him." Will says, speaking clumsily as he tries to put the right words together. Bianca looks lost, but with a few words from her mother she quiets down. She edges away from the cot just enough to let Will get close and examine the boy.
It's his arms that are hurt. Infected, in fact. Lucky for the boy, it's not as bad as it could be. Infection has only just started to set in, but not to the point of needing amputation. There are almost identical gashes on the upper part of both arms. It is obvious the two women had done the best they could to help him, but the boy really needed a doctor all along.
Will doesn't know the French for "Infection" but he tells Maria that he has to clean the wounds with alcohol.
From the pocket of his military issued shirt, he produces a pad of paper and a pencil. He writes down what he needs: alcohol, penicillin, and clean bandages. Tearing the paper out of the book, he asks Maria to ask her daughter to give this to one of the soldiers stationed at the door of the tent. He would fetch what Will needs to help Nico.
A few more words from her mother and Bianca races down the aisle like a shot.
"He will be alright?" Maria asks. She's just loud enough to hear over the din of the room, with people talking in Italian and Sicilian.
"With time." Will says, because he doesn't know how to say, "Hopefully."
The fever in the boy's skin must be sweated out. He's hot and cold-clammy at the same time. His body is on the verge of completely shutting down in order to try and heal itself.
"How did he get hurt?" The doctor turns his head to look at his mother, who is giving him a calculating look. She pauses for a moment, thinking, Will guesses, if she should tell him or not. She looks at him for so long, Will considers apologizing for asking such a thing when she finally says:
"They put their dogs on him." Maria says. She has a steel look in her eye as if daring Will to ask more. Will doesn't. If he's learned anything from this war, people who oppose dictatorships are often sentenced to die.
They wait together for ages in silence. It is only 20 minutes, give or take, but the di Angelo matriarch has not turned her gaze away from Will.
A baby cries at the front of the room. They're quickly hushed. People cough and groan and complain loudly in a language Will is deaf to.
His patient coughs several times. Will puts a new, damp cloth on the boy's forehead. He almost goes to fetch a cup of water for his patient, but he deems it best if he does not leave the bedside for the time being. Maria would probably misinterpret his meaning.
Within the next few minutes, Bianca returns with a soldier, luckily one Will recognizes.
He salutes Major Jackson, Grace's second in command. Percy, as he prefers to be called, grins.
"At ease, captain," Percy says with authority.
Will is glad that it was Percy that found Bianca. Percy has a sweetheart who is a WAC back home. Anna-something, if Will's memory didn't fail him. The major is loyal and respectful of women and wouldn't sink as low to touch Bianca in a way another soldier might.
"This young dame said you needed all this," Percy says. He's from Manhattan, and talks like it. Says he could be a regular Captain America if he was from a different borough. When he got to talking about heroics, Grace usually shut him up.
He pushes a box of medical supplies into Will's hands. There isn't much but it's no doubt all their unit can spare to use on non-GIs. It's enough to get Nico into stable condition.
"Thank you," Will says.
"Someone will be around to check on you, doc. Bring you dinner or something. 'M not sure what the top dogs are telling Grace to do, but they're yanking him by his leash for sure." Percy says. He nods to Maria and then to Bianca before turning away with a two finger salute. Will likes Percy alright, too.
He goes to work on his patient. The first thing he needs to do is clean the wounds with the alcohol. Anymore festering and the skin would become gangrene.
"Nico!" Bianca shouts when Will applies the alcohol. Her brother is hissing and arching his back as he tries to squirm away from Will in his delusions.
"Please!" Will tries to keep her from hitting him or knocking him away from the bed, "I need to help. Heal him."
"Bianca," Maria says, "Che sta cercando di aiutare!"
"Ma Mama—,"
A stern look from Maria shuts Bianca up. Will feels a twinge of sympathy for her; she's only worried about her brother. Will would be too if it was Kay or Austin that was hurt.
Bianca takes a seat at her mother's feet, a look of contempt on her face. Will tries to ignore it and go back to cleaning his patient's wounds.
Once that's over with, the boy calms down and stops struggling. Will stitches some of the deeper cuts that need them and wraps them in clean bandages.
It's a little harder to find a vein.
It doesn't help that the boy is dehydrated. It takes a couple of tries but Will finds a vein and hooks up the drip.
"Now we wait and pray. I will be back in two hours to check on him" Will tells Maria in French. She looks at him for a moment and bows her head. "Grazie, medico."
Will doesn't need to know their native tongue to know what that means.
He packs up his things back into the box. It's just about supper time, and he has worked himself to a place where he feels as though he doesn't care what the night's rations are. He walks back up the aisle of beds, feeling a pang in his heart that he can't do more to help these people, and then a feeling of anger that the government that he is serving under isn't doing more. Refugees, that's what they are. They escaped Italy to be safe in Sicily and all they got was the watchful eyes of the American and British forces.
Sergeant Travis Stoll bumps into him as Will exits the tent. "I was just about to come and nab you."
"Well, seems I've done your job for you," Will says. He doesn't mean to snap at Travis, but he isn't in a good mood.
"Now, now," he says, "What's all this about? Something that our lord and savior Jason Grace put you up to? Or is this just one of your anarchic moods that our beloved Lieutenant Colonel doesn't like?"
Will shifts the box he's carry to one arm so he can use the other to punch Travis in the shoulder, "Shut up. It's a patient I've been given. For political reasons."
"Ooooh," Travis says, "I get it. Gotta seem like we're all buddy-buddy with the Italian resistance. I met one of the girls from the movement today, had plenty of moxie."
"She's probably Catholic. It would never work out."
Travis whistled low, "If we ever had kids, what a poor bastard he would be. Temple on Saturday and Mass on Sunday."
They've reached the mess tent by now. The sound of overcooked rations manages to get Will's stomach to growl. At the noise, Travis laughs.
"Hey now, keep it quiet, Solace. The Germans will hear all the way from Berlin."
He hits Travis again on the way through the door.
After going through the line and getting something that is supposed to be chicken and something that looks vaguely like corn, Will and Travis find their usual spots at their usual table. At one end sit Percy and Grace, who seem to be arguing over the Yankees. A man named Underwood sits next to Percy. They've known each other the longest, and got shipped around together, way back in London. At the other end, Cecil Hawthorn sits across from Travis' younger brother, Connor. No one is quite sure how the two brothers ended up in the same unit together, but it's no question they work better as a team.
Will hates to think what happens if only one of them makes it through this war.
He takes a seat between Underwood and Connor. Travis settles next to Cecil.
Once he's spotted, Grace immediately gets his attention.
"Will Nico di Angelo make it through?" There's a scar on his lip that quivers when Grace purses his lips like that.
"If his fever goes down within the next several hours then yes, he should be alright. He might not have the full use of his arms for a while though."
"That's fine," Grace says, "We don't need him to shoot a gun anytime soon."
That leaves a cold feeling in the pit of Will's stomach. He forces himself to take a bit of dinner which is slimy and congealing. He eats it all though, just like he's learned to do. Better to be ready to die with a full stomach than with an empty one.
He lets the others around him doing the talking, only speaking when spoken to. At one point, Percy asks him, "You're a reasonable man, doc. Who would win in a fight: Anton Christoforidis or Fritzie Zivic?"
Will shrugs, "I don't follow much boxing, sorry."
Percy sighs, "Ah, what do they do in the South anyways? Sit around and watch grass grow? Talk about how swell the Jim Crow laws are?"
"Watch it, Yank." Will growls, "You know I'm not like that."
"Jesus, Solace. It was a joke. Something bothering you tonight?" Percy asks. The eyes of everyone at the table are on him. He feels cornered. He wants out.
Abruptly, he stands up, "Yes, actually." He lets his accent slip into his words more than usual, "I think I'm goin' to turn in early."
"G'night, Will." Connor calls.
Will answers by slamming the mess door behind him.
.
He doesn't go back to his bunk. Instead, he walks to the tent where the refugees are.
Nothing has changed much in the 45 minutes he's been gone. Dinner has been passed around, but that's about it. From what Will gathers, their dinner consists of stale bread, dried meat and whatever crops the combined American and British forces could come up with on the island. Food isn't exactly scarce for them, but it ain't no Garden of Eden either.
Maria and Bianca are still huddled around Nico when Will gets there. Someone got a cup of water for Nico di Angelo, which would help stave off dehydration. The boy had enough problems as it is.
Though the fever had not completely broken, it felt much lower than it had been. He tells Maria this and her eyes soften, a weight gone from her mind. There is a much better chance now that Nico will pull through relatively unscathed, he tells her. It's good his vitals are improving and his body is responding to the medicine in a good way.
He watches Maria relay on this information to Bianca. She has a similar reaction to her mother's, but stronger. She looks at Will with admiration and clasps one of his hands in thanks.
"Grazie, grazie." She says, over and over, "Dio vi benedica!"
She races off, shouting to the others what Will can only assume is the good news that Nico will live. Young and old alike rejoice in this. Will sees smiles from the brown faces and the hugs and tears of joy that spread throughout the group.
"You are a holy man," Maria says in French.
"No, ma'am." Will says, "I am just trying to do a good thing."
"My family owes you many thanks." She says. Will shakes his head, "Just doing my job, ma'am."
Though there's little doubt in Will's mind now that the boy won't pull through, he sets up for the night to keep watch over his patient. Something about the way Grace talked about him made Will worry. It made Will want to be there in the morning should troops come walking through the door.
He sets a stool up against one of the poles keeping the tent up. That way he could lean against it, should he nod off.
And he did nod off. Sometime after midnight, after he had taken the IV out of Nico's hand and checked his bandages. The boy's temperature was back to normal and so was his pulse. Mind at ease, Will had let his mind drift and dream.
He wakes to the sound of the morning bugle. It takes him a second to remember that he isn't in his bunk, but actually the tent of his patient. The refugees are just starting to stir in the early morning. Breakfast will soon be brought to them.
Will rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He had an unusually peaceful sleep, not plagued by nightmares of the bomb raids in London when he shipped out, or the small battle, by relative standards, which let them take Sicily.
His main goals for the morning are taking a piss and checking on his patient, though not necessarily in that order. When he turns his head to check on the boy, his heart jumps into his throat.
Nico di Angelo is sitting up in bed, the deep olive color of his skin having returned in the night. He looks tired and his hair is mussed and ratty. He needs a haircut and a shave. He looks exactly like a prisoner of war might.
Nico di Angelo looks at him with intelligent brown eyes, so dark they look kohl black. In his hands is what appears to be the family Bible. He's reading a Psalm, Will notices.
For several seconds, the two just stare at one another. Will notices that Maria and Bianca sleep soundly in the cot next to Nico's. They don't make a sound. They don't make introductions.
The young man nods, as if approving, "Ah, yes. You're the doctor they gave me so I wouldn't die before questioning."
.
Some notes:
-"Hun" was a period typical name for the Germans because they conquered everywhere they pleased.
-Travis and Connor are Jewish here, because why not. I'm sure they are ready to give Hitler a piece of their minds.
-Captain America, despite not being real in the 40s, was a comic book hero that came out around that time.
-The wrestlers Percy mentions are real wrestlers that I looked up on Wikipedia.
-The Jim Crow laws were laws made after the end of slavery that allowed the South their segregation. They were deemed legal by the Supreme Court case "Plessy v. Ferguson" but won't be overturned until 1954, in the case, "Brown v. Board of Ed" that established "separate but equal" was unconstitutional.