“But I had a perfect aptitude score? It doesn’t make sense that I’m not in an Intelligence unit.”
Morgan stood. “Maybe all the units were full.”
Ozzie flagged his hand at him.
“Look on the bright side, you’re still stuck with me. I have the same orders, so we can watch each other’s back. Now let’s report to duty and see what the position entails. Who knows, we might learn something useful.”
Ozzie and Morgan passed their first two weeks attending PT drills in the morning, and in the afternoon, they learned the mechanics of the fleet of service vehicles they had been assigned. It did not take long for Ozzie to settle into the routine of maintenance and repair.
On Ozzie’s third week stationed in Mannheim, two squads from his platoon were tasked with passing out care packages and supplies to local German residents. They loaded up two cargo trucks and drove west of the barracks. Since arriving, he hadn’t spent much time off base, and as he peered out the window, the landscape changed dramatically. There were buildings with the entire roof blown to shreds, chunks of cement rubble, stacks of broken bricks, and piles of sewage debris, detritus and destruction from World War II. His platoon drove through entire villages that had been air-bombed and crumbled into concrete ruins. White dust covered everything. Ozzie knew many Negroes who lived below the poverty line, but this former war zone felt abysmal.
The three-axle trucks rumbled to a stop in an open field adjacent to a village slum dotted with tiny houses and gnome-size gardens. Ozzie noticed that most of the homes needed a fresh coat of paint. As the men unloaded boxes from the backs of the trucks, the villagers stood by in anticipation.
Germany was still coming off its worst hunger years, and many of the residents looked gaunt. Bony women hung thin babies on narrow hips, scrawny old men leaned gingerly on canes, a group of lankyboys kicked a ball. There was a slight breeze rustling through a patch of maple and English walnut trees, bringing with it the smell of soot.
First Sergeant Tom Petty, the company first sergeant, had pale skin and a thick neck. Once the men had climbed from the vehicles, he started barking orders on how to set up the supplies and distribute them. “Keep a tally of who gets what,” he yelled. “One load per family. No seconds. Nothing extra. We need enough to go around.”
The men lined up prepackaged loaves of bread, canned meat, butter, hazelnut paste, coffee, and small canisters of sugar, along with wool blankets, flashlights, and batteries because the power was known to go out in these parts of town. Ozzie stood behind the table piled with blankets, feeling proud to serve in his uniform. As he doled out provisions, he noticed a slender woman with saucer-shaped eyes watching him. Finally, she stepped up to the table. He handed her a blanket.
“This is not enough.” Her voice was low, and she pronounced “this” like “zis,” but Ozzie understood.
“It’s all we have to give, ma’am.”
“My papa is ill. Do you have pills?” The woman’s hair was pulled back into a loose chignon, her small forehead on full display.
They were not a medic squad, but there was a first-aid kit inside each of the supply trucks. Ozzie didn’t know what had come over him, but he asked the soldier next to him to keep watch over his station. “I have to take a leak,” he said.
Ozzie walked back to the parking lot and rifled through the emergency pack in the truck. The woman followed and stood a few feet away.
Ozzie found the packets of acetaminophen, a few bandages, alcohol wipes, and cotton swabs. “What’s wrong with him?”
“His head.” She reached for the packet, and their fingers touched.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” It was First Sergeant Petty. “This isn’t the time for conversation, Philips.” He turned to thewoman. “Has this man harmed you?” he asked, his accent white and Southern.
She shook her head.
“Do you understand what I’m saying? Has he touched you in any way?” he said louder.
“First Sergeant, I was helping her.”
“I didn’t ask you, Private. Speak only when spoken to,” he sneered, then turned back to the woman. “Ma’am, do you speak English?”
“I am fine.” She turned on her heel and stomped away.
“Stay in the vehicle, Philips, until further instructions are given,” Petty ordered before storming off. Ozzie ground his teeth. Within the hour, the soldiers had passed out all the supplies, and they were back on the road, heading toward the barracks.
The next morning, when Ozzie reported for PT exercise, Petty pulled him out of the line.
“What you did yesterday was unacceptable. Under no circumstances do you go off with a local woman without a battle buddy while on duty. It’s against protocol.”
“First Sergeant.”
“Don’t you dare interrupt me when I’m speaking to you.” Petty looked down his nose at Ozzie. After chewing him out and calling him every vile word in the book, he ordered, “Report to mess hall duty for the rest of the weekend.”
Ozzie turned his back without a word, but the anger that brewed inside of him alchemized into a funk, a sweat that oozed from nearly every pore. After cleaning pots and scrubbing floors in the kitchen, Ozzie returned to his room. Morgan stood at the mirror, combing his hair.
“Looks like you had a rough day.”
