Posts published by “Raymond Adkins”

Dr. Barrette Valencia excused herself from the pedantic fluster exciting her students Timothy Philip, Daniel James David , Andy Peterson, and Dani Straw.

Imagine being able to entangle the #energy seams of primordial #blackholes for faster than light speed vectors of travel because you created Casimir effect quantum field tracks suitable for electromagnetic propulsion

Mid-summer bathed the sprawling military compound outside Rome with mature temperatures as its rays filtered through a haze of dust that seemed to settle into every crevice of the temporary structures. Inside the sweltering administrative building, oscillating fans circled overhead, stirring papers on metal desks. The technical sergeant’s uniform hung loose to breathe with them as he stood at attention and complained with accumulating frustration to the captain of the maintenance company, “The War Department is sending home fathers and replacing them with fresh faced enlistees.” He extended a weathered hand towards the open window behind them where the maintenance yard was seen stretched in its orderly rows with corrugated roofs shimmering in the heat, he continued, “Morale is suffering. Work orders are slow to completion.”

The Captain looked up from a stack of requisition forms, his reading glasses perched focus from the bridge of his nose. Around them the staff section bore the makeshift quality of wartime efficiency with maps tacked to plywood walls, filing cabinets that had seen better days, and a perpetually percolating coffee pot. Removing his glasses and massaging his brows, the captain, by standing emphasized, “We are a linchpin for the 51st Carrier Squadron’s efforts to return men and equipment to peacetime through the Ciampino Airport.” His normally emotionless countenance revealed lines of exasperation as he looked past the sergeant toward the Battalion Commander’s office, where an open door allowed leadership to be heard on its terms. The plaintive look he cast as they walked toward it spoke volumes about the pressure bearing down from above.

From this spartan corner office, the Lieutenant Colonel boomed with the authority that obscured expected mayhem from his motor transport responsibilities, “They will be treated to a USO performance here on September 29th.” He shuffled the consolidated morning reports and then impatiently drummed his fingers on them, the current general orders, and the unit journal, “In the meantime, I have a USAAF liaison officer breathing fire about needing one of our Scout cars for a bigwig. Can we spare anyone to make the delivery?”

Lit up with sudden inspiration, the sergeant resolutely straightened his posture, “By all accounts, our most responsible remaining mechanic is Private Bill Blythe. He is showing maturity, competence, and is talkative. Moreover, his closest friends are some of those fathers, and he isn’t going home without exception.”

“You are suggesting we give the industrious private this temporary duty?” The Lieutenant Colonel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest to calculate its ease.

“Yes. We can, further, save manpower by having him join one of the transport trucks heading north for demobilization.”

Approval emerged from the Lieutenant Colonel’s demeanor for their collective decision. “This private becomes the goose of liberty for the battalion. Excellent. Sergeant, return to the maintenance park and see to its organization. Blythe should view the assignment and special pass as commendations. If the moment doesn’t go to his head and he remains meritorious, I will also write him a field promotion when he returns.”

Corporal Joyce Damico was summoned from her post. Her typewriter sat momentarily silent, a report still awaited finishing keystrokes, and a cup of lukewarm coffee grew cold beside a framed photograph of her family back in West Virginia. She fluidly rose from her chair, brushing her uniform skirt as she approached the Captain, who was already moving toward the door. Her dark eyes took in everything and held a question even before she spoke. “What is the excitement about?” she inquired, watching as the Captain gathered his cap and official documents.

“We are providing a car for the new USO tour set to begin in Tuscany,” he said while pausing in the doorway. “One of our mechanics, Private Blythe, will deliver the vehicle this afternoon after completing the preventative maintenance checks and services. We are giving him an overnight pass with the expectation that the trust we are extending will encourage him to help fill the leadership vacuum by example.”

Her face softened and with the soothing cadence of her Appalachian upbringing Joyce replied, “He is affable and sweet. We have shared meals and stories of his childhood in Texas and mine in West Virginia.” as her stature raising expressiveness concluded, “Believe me, he needs this as much as the repair bay needs his fastened diligence.”

The Captain nodded approvingly before heading toward S-3, where operation orders were drafted amid the constant clatter of typewriters and the rustle of carbon paper, and then to S-1, where personnel decisions like leaves and passes were created and recorded.

Directing her back to the present, the commanding officer ordered, “I want to speak to Lt. General Cannon of the USAAF by phone again, please”.

Joyce settled back at her desk, the black Bakelite telephone receiver feeling familiar in her hand as she placed the call, her fingers working the rotary dial with practiced efficiency.

Outside, dust and sand from the Sahara, carried by the hot Sirocco winds, yellowed the morning sky in sepia and promised an uncomfortable day of desert thickened air. The open-sided bays and equipment storage areas of the maintenance park took on an otherworldly quality in the strange light.

The technical sergeant returned to his domain with renewed purpose. He immediately gathered the tools and parts needed for the next job. Private Bill Blythe joined him with the careful attention to detail that had earned him his reputation. His face, still bearing traces of the Texas sun that had bronzed it during his youth, embossed concentration as he unhesitatingly broomed up the service lane, prepared the portable jacks, and pulled the reconnaissance car with its canvas top rolled back into position with mechanical precision. The sergeant set the tools, brake shoes, spark plugs, and windshield wipers next to the jacks with intended distribution for methodical progression from one task to the next as a chorus to the rhythm of military life. Both men employed alacrity, their movements synchronized by months working together until the car’s engine ticked as it warmed. Blythe began wiping his brow with the shop towel he had tucked into his front pocket when he heard the distinctive hum of the Battalion Commander’s GP Jeep approaching. The sound was unmistakable, “Sergeant, are we being inspected?” His nervous voice hinting at the respect any good soldier feels when senior officers appear.

Wiping his hands on his coveralls, the sergeant pliantly asked “Lt. Colonel Miller, how can we help you today?” as he stepped with purpose from the vehicle to survey the maintenance park with the practiced eye of someone who had spent years evaluating military operations.

“This bay is outstanding, sergeant.” He motioned approval as he noted the organized tool layout, the clean surfaces, and the evident pride the men took in their workspace.

“Private Blythe’s consistently dedicated work ethic has provided leadership for newly arriving mechanics.”

Lieutenant Colonel Miller’s attention turned to Blythe, “Is the scout car ready?”

His men nodded.

“You are a trusted Deuce and a half certified mechanic, Blythe, so you will deliver this car to the Hassler Villa and, then, at the Via Salaria fuel depot join a convoy of those trucks headed north to Livorno for demobilization.”

Buoyantly, Blythe celebrated, “Yes, Sir!”

“Impressive.” The Lieutenant Colonel seconded his established approval. “The quartermaster is ready to fit you for this detail. Corporal Damico will have your orders and leave.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Joyce appeared at the entrance to the maintenance bay. She approached with the careful balance of military protocol and personal affection, and when the Lieutenant Colonel departed, she closed the distance to Blythe. She carried a simple, black, leather-covered prism and two documents. “This is a big moment for you, Billy, but I am hoping you will spend some of your leisure time taking a 35 mm color photo of the altar sanctuary of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Aracoeli. We had an heirloom painting of it lost in a fire before my birth. I have written the details on this note.” she whispered, embracing him in a congratulatory hug. “I will miss seeing you front and center at Roll Call, so hurry back!”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Underneath the lantern,
By the barrack gate
Darling I remember” Billy hummed incredulously as he slid into the driver’s seat of the M3 Scout Car General Clark personally reserved for the transportation of & the rousing of fanfare for Marlene Dietrich while she dedicated herself to supporting troop morale with performances across Europe. Tasked with delivering the vehicle to her attaché at the requisitioned Hassler Villa, he wondered if he’d see her.

As part of the 2630th Transportation Corps Motor Transport Battalion for the Penisular Base Section, he arrived to its organization, completion of support for Operation Torch, and its landing in Salerno. His battalion had rehabilitated the roads now taking him to the Spanish Steps looked upon by the Hassler Villa. As he drove the busy thoroughfares along Capitoline Hill and pocketed the note Joyce had written, confused emotions tugged him between the listless uncertainties of home life, the pulse she enlivened in him, incessantly barked orders, and discovering for the first time the aura of recognition. The distraction diverted his attention from the landmarks he learned about in his favorite Robert Graves history novels.

Towering above the summit of the Spanish Steps, the cream colored hotel painted itself as a cumulus cloud for the Roman sky, its Renaissance facade catching the amber light of early afternoon. Below the Via Sistina, the hotel’s gardens surged toward the exhaust worn Piazza di Spagna.

In front of the hotel, two women stood with an officer on the sidewalk. The seasoned woman magnetically radiated presence. Her younger companion had softer features, the same yearning intelligence, and flowing auburn hair with a copper sheen given no consideration by Lieutenant General John K. Cannon. The stars on his shoulders gleamed seniority through his set in and scowling gray eyes that had overseen the strategic bombing of Italy and now the complexities of occupation.

After parking in front of them, Blythe saluted the Air Force Lieutenant General. The women quickly stepped forward. The older of the two commanded “I expect to be saluted as well private or I will have you court-martialed for insubordination.”

Blythe guffawed, “Ma’am?”

To which she promptly flashed her captain credentials.

Shaken, embarrassed, and scarleting, he murmured an apology as the younger woman, equally crimsoned cried out in laughter, “Mom don’t torture the poor sop.”

Sympathetically, she offered her hand with the practiced grace of a woman who charmed kings and generals, her voice carrying just a trace of the Berlin accent she never wanted to lose. “I am Marlene. This is my daughter Maria. We were only having a bit of fun to see if it would evoke a smile from Lieutenant General Cannon who has been quite stern in our company.” All looked at Cannon whose attention followed the approach of a company grade officer.

Captain Rosenthal strode with the measured pace of a man who had survived fifty-two bombing missions. His dark hair was combed back neatly, his uniform impeccable despite the dust of Roman streets, and his eyes held the sharp acumen that had made him invaluable in the cockpit of a B-17. He crossed the stone terrace, two sealed envelopes in his left hand and handed the messages to Cannon. “You serve with distinction Captain. Do not disappoint me in your prosecutorial assignments. Prove they suit you better than B-29 flight training and its sorties. Continue in your charge to see Captain Dietrich and her daughter to Livorno.”

Turning, “Blythe.” He frowned in guidance, “You will join a ‘Deuce and a Half’ in its convoy tomorrow at 0:500 en route for the demobilization of divisions in the IV corps.” Reaching into his pocket, “Tonight, this social calling card will get you quartered. Keep it clean. It will also gain you entrance to the Officers’ Club Rome. Do not overstay your welcome or embarrass me.”

He bowed, “Ladies.” and returned to his expected duties.

Marlene swiftly moved, as if pre-arranged, to give Rosie, Captain Rosenthal, a hero’s welcome, but he winced a bit. “Still tender?”

“It is nothing,” he replied.

“Private, you are in for a rough ride tomorrow. Not only that but you will need to find your way to the fuel supply depot at the intersection of the Via Salaria and Via Flaminia, Cannon’s card will instruct a motor pool officer to drive you there in a Willys.”

“Yes, sir. I understand my duty to keep the rigs steady,” Billy responded.

Smiling broadly between the tousles of her strawberry blonde hair being neatly tucked behind her ears, Marlene asked “Are we really in such a hurry? Couldn’t we drop him there as we get underway? I’ve just arrived back in Rome. I want to introduce my daughter to the city. Besides a drink or two and a nice meal might soften the ride north for us all.”

With empathic precision, Maria prayerfully grabbed Billy’s hand to plead “The war has spared no one” as the perfumed aroma from her loosened chiffon bound the new companions in memories of silent gardens.

Stoically, Rosie misted discontentment for his crew killed by enemy fire over Germany. His eyes abruptly met Billy’s to acknowledge war’s equality. “You are in for a treat tonight my friend. The fillets, desserts, drinks, and entertainment are rarely surpassed. Let’s go inside.”

The marble-floored lobby filled with footsteps as the four figures moved beneath chandeliers dimmed by rationing. The frescoed walls now centrally bore military notices and directional signs in both Italian and English.

“Will there be pen and paper in the room for a letter to my wife?” Billy peccantly asked.

Marlene and Maria tittered the boff.

“Hotel stationary is everywhere. Finish your letter before orders. I will have it airmailed.”

“I recently met Lt. Colonel Charity Adams. The Six Triple Eight will see it delivered within a week”

“The Central Postal Directory Battalion is exceptionally commendable. You two better have honed afternoon itinerary”

“Thank You”

“It is only a few stops” Marlene sarcastically protested. “It begins in the highly praised courtyard. Meet us there.”

Rosie instructively oriented Billy’s nescience with the administrative wing. “First Lieutenant Fred Seymour supervises the Billeting Office in room 101. It replaced the concierge here on the ground floor,” he explained, gesturing past temporary partitions that had converted former guest suites into various military quarters. Behind repurposed reception counters, clerks processed housing assignments.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how do you know the billeting officer?”

“Just call me Rosie. He was at Thorpe Abbots, England when I arrived for duties with the 418th Bomber Squadron. He is genuine, honest, trustworthy, kind, and surprisingly still a bachelor.”

Appearing from behind them, the short and thin lieutenant with a receding hairline greeted Rosie with awestruck humility, “Every one always praised your flying skills. I never thought I read about them.”

“Fred, let me introduce the married private, Billy Blythe. He is eager to write home.”

“Private,” Fred said while generously offering his hand, “Lt, General Cannon has informed me of your needs. At the moment, the room formerly used by Major General Twining is the only available native suite returned to service. It is on the sixth floor; it has hotel stationary; and there are spectacular views of the city from it. Here is your key.”

“Who did you impress Billy and how?” Rosie affably chuckled rhetorically with inimitable respect. “Find your way to the room and meet us downstairs in an hour.”

“Do you know where I can get a car for tonight? The private delivered an MP car for Marlene Dietrich’s USO appearance. Its rear mounted machine gun makes it unsuitable for leisure.”

“The departure of senior staff has left my office responsible for the security of a 1942 Buick Century Series 61. Its tank is full and at your disposal if you get her autograph on a publicity photo for the event at the American Red Cross Paramount Theatre I have on my desk.”

“Get the keys, the picture, and dress for the Officer’s Club Rome. We have a few stops to make, but will return for your front door pick up shortly after 1900.”

“I’ll walk you to the car now. We will use the Via Sistina entrance to recover it from Villa Borghese.” The friends exited the building in hushed conversation on a swift uphill path lined with sycamores and umbrella pines and accented by oleander toward the grand park waiting for its escape from wartime.

Marlene and Maria moved knowingly toward the central staircase with its burgundy velvet runners, familiar with their route to their second floor room. The hallways retained their original sconces, though bulbs had been replaced with lower wattage for conservation.

“You are leading us back to our room. Were you surprised to see the Captain again, Mom?”

“Of the many heroes in this war, I admit, his fulminant courage pitches for crests. There is privilege in enticements from his staid eloquence.”

“Did you pack your teal rayon crepe, your linen fedora, and silk scarf to keep the hounds aloof and unsuspecting?”

“You know my mind and, though you will need a wide-brimmed hat to save you from the aeolian sky, was quicker to expectations for the evening with your decision to wear that A-line skirt with … my ivory silk blouse. I would complain bitterly if it were just a tuxedo night. This Roman air will also keep unpowdering us, so we should share to keep our clutch bags light.”

“How are we going to keep the private focused?”

“More food than spirits and encourage his homesickness to breathe. They will manage him as well a key fob,” she said as they entered the room.

Billy found the suite and knew it was beyond his ability for description. The air, still and perfumed by cypress, was a balm for his anxieties, but not his restlessness. Its decor was a masterclass in grandness, reflecting a richness unscathed by war. He drew back the heavy damask curtains, a pair of starlings could be seen resting on the window sill, and tied them open with their silken cords to look on to the city through the tall and arched framed windows. Sunlight spilled from the haze across the polished floor. Its shine filled walls adorned with demure portraits and silk tapestries depicting classic scenes.

Breathless, he sat on the inviting velvet sofa flanked by two upholstered armchairs to read Joyce’s letter and understand her instructions.

Billy,
The Colonel and the General you will meet today are cousins. During
their phone call this morning, it was learned that you would be
quartered in the Hassler’s Presidential Suite San Pietro. I haven’t used
any of the film included with my new camera. All but one of the
exposures is yours to use. My family’s heirloom painting included the
entire altar with the first Damico wedding held at the foot of its
sanctuary. It encapsulated divine love with doves and eternity with a
flaming heart. A broad an unobstructed photo is needed for an oil
painted recreation.
See you soon,
Joyce

He rose quickly and placed the letter and stationary together on the carved desk stirring history from the corner it occupied in the room. He planned not to disturb the master bedroom or its four-poster bed with sleep. Still unsettled, he opened a hinged French door and walked onto the terrace to observe church bells scattered within the checkerboard of rooftops and how the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica controlled the skyline unmuted by the haze of the afternoon. Rome, in its laid bare chaotic beauty, was defiant. He spent an exposure to record the living canvas on the other side of the Spanish Steps then left the suite unexpectedly disconsolate from solitude.

Accommodations for the 2629th WAC Battalion members at the Hassler Villa were tight. The single rooms held four occupied bunks. Equally, Marlene and Maria always anticipated the privilege of having rackmates because it strengthened their bond with perspective. When settling into their room after breakfast, they were briefly introduced to Corporal Ruth Ann Damico and PFC Elizabeth Branch whom they listened to and watched prepare for their clerical assignments.

Captain Lillian Harris knocked on the door puzzled by their early return. “Captain Dietrich,” she said impressionably in her battledress blouse with its two imposing epaulet silver captain bars, the gold sleeve bars, and the deservedly displayed service ribbons above her left breast. “I was informed that you had already departed for your weekend performance.”

Thinking quickly Marlene answered, “Our liaison, Captain Rosenthal, received urgent orders about his permanent change of station, so we are delayed while he arranges the transport of his pro-gear. He has set our departure at 0:400. “

“Beth and Ruth Ann will be returning soon. Please watch over them,” she curtly intimated as the door closed behind her.

“Your dress revealed our plans.”

“Captain Harris has seen war. Stylishness won’t keep secrets from her. It celebrates them with a Victory Number. We will follow her suggestion and wait for our new friends to return to the room.”

“How will we test the waters with Rosie?”

“We will invite them to the table.”

When given their battlefield promotions, Ruth Ann and Beth realized immediately that their aptitude testing had set them apart from others assigned to Advanced Communications in the Signal Corps, S2, and Operations, S3. Both were, nonetheless, surprised and dismayed when informed by Captain Harris of their selection for transfer to Okinawa as part of her staff until Letters of Commendation were given to them to evoke within them the deep imbue of patriotism and national service. Luminous, they chased regrets away with conversant awe for the fame of the women they imagined juxtaposed in waiting for their return to quarters.

Maria promptly detected lingering tension in their smile curled cheeks. She casually mentioned “We are going downstairs for coffee. Please follow us outside. I have so many questions.”

Her mother nodded emphatically as if coaxing their agreeable “absolutely” given simultaneously.

“We were among the first to have a delightful breakfast within its stone walls. Brigadier General Mollison personally intervened and authorized its verdant restoration days after the war ended in Europe and pushed our installation commander to open it within a month.” Ruth Ann contemplatively noted.

“I told you they were listening.” Beth ruddily interjected.

Fred, as if routine, took the wheel of the stately car in silver trim and conveniently returned them to the hotel where there conversation deepened with discussion of his mixed Polish-Jewish heritage and missing relatives.

Approaching with deliberate grace, Marlene, trailed reminiscently by Maria, uplifted the forlorn commiseration in striking counterpoint, “Our new sisters are joining us here.”

With unbidden enthusiasm plucking his composure, Fred preened, “I am Lt. Seymour, the Billeting Duty Officer.” After Rosie repositioned his coffee, he, befuddled, momentarily closed his eyes and drew, in response, a breath to quell embarrassment, then continued less nervously, “I …” Marlene stealthily kissed his cheek before they opened and he could finish. The move dispensed tension and formalities with laughter.

From the bar, Billy nostalgically watched hierarchies dissipate in the scene until quietly calling out with instinct “Joyce,” as Ruth Ann walked by alone and sidled Maria.

“Where is Beth?” Maria quietly asked.

“She is caviling about your astuteness probably to hide from me misgivings she has about our new duty assignments with Captain Harris in Okinawa.”

Overtaken by curiosity and enticed by the fragrant potted citrus, geraniums, petunias, and shadowing scent of ivy and jasmine from the stone walls, he joined the growing party with a newcomer smile, was welcomed first by Maria, and, with mild shock, introduced to Ruth Ann Damico.

Agreement finalized their evening plans as a party of six. Fred returned to work and Ruth Ann to console Beth upstairs. Marlene thoughtfully announced “I don’t want to absorb your afternoon with my visit to CLN party headquarters at Lateran Palace in its attempt to meet, thank, and learn from Ivanoe Bonomi and to the Piazza Colonna Liberal Party headquarters to inquire about Benedetto Croce this afternoon.”

“I have just finished reading Croce’s Manifesto of the Anti-Fascist Intellectuals.” Rosie sparked, eagerly anticipating her peek.

Maria demurred, “Mom, you said they were friends. It sounds like an uncertain quest.”

To validate his claim to personal time and possibly solve her despair, Billy handed Maria Joyce’s note to read. “Corporal Joyce Damico is my closest friend in Europe. ” With homespun persuasion, he added, “I just met her sister.”

Maria circulated Joyce’s instructions. “I don’t want to relive the broken history of this war. He is gifting a family continuity I know to be irreplaceable.”

Her mother nodded approval as Rosie clasped his hands as bars to the tips of Billy’s shoulders in a friendly shove before giving him the keys. “You are our driver and will need to help make our visit to the Liberal Party’s headquarters inconspicuous if this unauthorized foray is to successfully use celebrity to coopt the provision of privacy and political security to satisfy curiosity.”

Furthering his analysis, he continued “Though the weather provides another safeguard, Marlene, the military veil that has kept your presence in Rome quiet since your arrival this morning will not last. If we remain intrepid, however, spontaneity will not lose its advantages as we navigate the solemn and imposing thoroughfares and piazzas where the fate of Italy is decided.”

“Are you risking your career for my personal indulgence?” she asked contrivedly.

“Seeking out Croce and Bonomi at this particular moment are not overt political acts, since they do not wield political power. Visiting them in the Capital’s corridors is nuanced but I would be credited for speaking to them at a library, concert, or art event and expected to file an intelligence gathering report. In essence, as long as an embarrassing political incident is avoided, we are tourists.”

The street is relatively quiet as the four settle into comfortable seating within the sleek and powerful automobile for the short drive through the heart of 17th-20th century Roman baroque elegance and its solid facades. Foot and vehicle traffic increasingly complicate their plans for stealth as their destination is neared. “There is an opportune break in crowd flow in front of the main entrance if you time it correctly Billy. Stop, walk around the car, and open Marlene’s door as I exit to prepare our entrance into the party office.” As he steps from the car, he says “Let’s go.”

Billy escorts Marlene and she reminds him, while pointing out the detailed spiral wheel on the Column of Marcus Aurelius, that he is on liberty and has a camera, before directing him back to the car to wait for either their exit within minutes or for a curtain to close in one of the eleven large architraved windows on the main floor as a signal of her mission being ongoing.

Once he’s back in the car, Maria concernedly admits “The uncertainties here are charged and suspenseful. It is exciting and flummoxing. Look! Why would they close a curtain on a main floor window? Is this dangerous?”

“It is our signal to drive to Capitoline Hill, but first I am taking photos of our surroundings. I am familiar with the Roman Victory Column. Do you know these buildings?”

Getting out of the car, Maria directs his attention. “To your right is the Palazzo Chigi, it is the heart of Italian political power and the location of the Prime Minister’s office. The clean lines of its grand facade have Renaissance origins. Construction of the Palazzo Ferrajoli, where you just left and which stands oppositely, also began during the 16th century. Its floors are separated by string course bands and the four story facade is divided vertically into three parts by four ashlar bands. We are also traveling on Via del Corso, the city’s historic main street dating back to Ancient Rome.”

“That was remarkably effortless and as comparably quick as my decision to marry after being drafted during the summer of 1943. I met my future wife, a nursing student, in a Louisiana hospital emergency room when a St. Paul’s Bottom gambling buddy, Bea Haywood, sought treatment for appendicitis.”

“I studied in Switzerland. Capitoline Hill is historically the most important district of Rome. We should go now. Besides, I want to hear more about your wife, your plans now that this war has been won, and Joyce, who I have not forgotten.”

Inside Marlene is recognized as soon as she removes her hat and walks through the vestibule by a stout figure in a crisp light blue colored shirt, finely woven cotton tie, and with receding and sparse white hair, who felt incumbent, as they walked together, to softly offer Rosie corrective instruction on the subtle intricacies of conjugation in Italian to help him improve upon what he had learned since Operation Frantic.

“Marlene, it is my honor to introduce Signor Benedetto Croce,” he said with evident respect.

“Signora Dietrich. Given my staunch unwillingness to accord artistic, historic, and intellectual merit to or value the escape offered by cinema, you may be surprised by how well you are known to me,” furrowed Benedetto. “I am happily married with four daughters and we have seen many of your films.”

“In my youth, I aspired to be a concert violinist and studied at the Weimar Conservatory until a wrist injury made my limits known. My training as an actor that followed relied upon the classics, but they did not earn me a living or make me known worldwide. The incomparable admiration I have for you isn’t academic; it is for your political and philosophical acumen. They have earned you my gratitude.”

Deflecting, “Your craft revealed its authenticity in your political defiance throughout Europe. It made Bonomi and I admirers. I will be happy to escort you and the Captain to a brief informal meeting with him now.”

“Hermann Göring’s capture will soon be followed by his interrogation. Will you provide me insight into the organization of the Nazi party and the structure of the power it wielded?” Rosie asked.

When leaving, and before Benedetto gave an incisive answer, Rosie almost inaudibly whispers to her, “You did great. Italian politics are complicating our moral authority for the post-war settlement.”

“Stop for a brief moment Billy and look to your left to see Palazzo Doria Pamphilj . It is where Filippo Andrea VI Doria Pamphilj, the mayor of liberated Rome, and descendant of catholic royalty that includes Pope Innocent X resides,”

“I’ve read the names many times. It is fantastically different to know them with scale as more than narrative. This parallels, as things and events that do not seem real, the less than two month courtship of my wife that began after I received my draft notice on July 1st and my marriage in Texarkana on September 3rd. I reported for the bus to Basic Training at Camp Maxey on September 6th. The limited mail I have received has subjected me to self-doubt inflated by the constant stream of death pension ribbing from other members of my enlistment class, buck privates, motor heads, and NCOs.”

Maria resumed, “We are approaching the center of Rome. Mussolini was headquartered in the building to our north, Palazzo Venezia, and in the center of the square is the Altar della Patria which is dedicated to the first king of united Italy, Victor Emmanuel II; it has Corinthian columns and a white marble facade. Do you regret the marriage now that you have Joyce, by all intents, as a wife?”

“We are friends and…yes, but no. I’ve traded in love with broken women since I first left home. Joyce and Vee are ideal examples of what love can be. I don’t blame Vee for her waning enthusiasm. It is hard to love someone you don’t experience as real, when it is much easier to simply latch on to next person.”

“Piazza d’Aracoeli begins here at the base of Capitoline Hill. As we climb the marble steps of The Aracoeli Staircase to have a panoramic view of Rome, for a broader look at the palaces, to marvel at how with its simplicity the Fontana di Piazza d’Aracoeli is aggrandized by its placement , and, finally, to reach the basilica, tell me what Joyce thinks of Vee. Have you told her? “

“Honestly, Maria, Joyce has aided the development of my perspective on love a great deal since she arrived in Italy. I mentioned that I was involved with someone, but did not say marriage. Am I being dishonest or am I struggling to define what exists between me and Vee as more than just a notarized document and rings? I am better able to think about this dilemma by talking about it. Thanks for listening and being considerate.”

“Is there anyone else? I know that broken loves linger with unresolved issues. With the war ending and demobilization, if you are to build something with Joyce, you will need to have an ongoing conversation of self-disclosure.”

“My sisters, Pauline and Cora, are documenting two children from broken loves you are right about having linger issues to improve my Adjusted Service Rating Score. Vee knows nothing about my past.”

She paused to admire the picturesque landscape. “The announcement of our victory tour led me idly to envisage exploring these sites with my mother. This pleasing experience, I believe, is providing considerably more freedom to think about the meaningfulness and cultural importance of the architecture, landscapes, and statues as monuments of life than I would have had in the pressing concerns of celebrity.”

A streamlined and aerodynamic black 1939 Alpha Romeo 6C Berlinetta pulled alongside the ground floor exit onto the Piazza Colonna as Rosie, Benedetto, and Marlene stepped outside. The sporty coupe’s passenger door welcomed them into its security as Benedetto directed the driver, “Take us to Lateran Palace.”

Keenly invested in recent High Court sentencings at Forte Bravetta, Rosie spun determinatively in the shared backed seat to Benedetto pointedly asking,” Have there been any other important arrests since the execution of Pietro Koch?”

“Many valuable lives were stolen by Mussolini at Bravetta. Everyone linked to the Committee for National Liberation (CLN) has lost someone. There are partisan formations, like the Garibaldi and Matteotti Brigades, who are unwilling to wait for the full restoration of police order and justice, but they are not seen in Rome. “

“It is my great shame to admit, while pleading for discretion, that I just learned my sister and her husband ran the canteen and cinema at Bergen-Belsen. I compromised their safety and they cooperated in response as so many died. I am as guilty as any.” she trailed in a flood of tears.

The car stopped and two weathered-faced Italian State Police officers moved forward from the grand entrance steps with one opening and extending the brace of the door with his full shadow to conceal the exiting passengers. Rosie comforts Marlene during the quick ascent and entrance as Benedetto parried in diversion, “If I were welcome, we could take in the aesthetics of the Holy Stairs across the street and the magnificent Cathedral of Rome on our left.”

Marlene brushed Benedetto’s elbow compassionately to disclose her disillusionment as heavy boots cordoned dragged feet in echoes. Her askance look murmured “there is blood on the floor” to Rosie.

Gunfire resounded as Luigi Longo and Sandro Pertini hurried from the Hall of Emperors with martial ethos to rein in an excoriating tempest from Ivanoe Bonomi, who, while noting the guests from the doorway to the Hall of Pontiffs, furiously decried under the impediments of growing political embarrassment, “Must the brigades be so strident in their defensive training? Pope Pius XII may be on retreat to Castel Gandolfo, but Monsignor Giovanni Battista Montini will bring the Vatican Gendarmerie.”

With processional deliberateness, Benedetto registered Ivanoe’s raw indignation and fixed stern agreement with it to counsel expedience from imprudent chaos. The commanders shifted under its weight to strategically regroup in familiar responsibilities.

Bonomi had announced his resignation on the preceding day because summary executions by the brigades had quavered the support and trust given to him by Lt. General Ira Eaker and General Mark W. Clark by failing their expectations for a greater number of Operation Sunrise arrests and newsworthy prosecutions. Benedetto’s decision to bring Marlene Dietrich and a USAAF Captain to party headquarters, he reasoned, must have foreseen an opportunity to use Allen Dulles, the head of OSS, America’s interventionist hands, to reclaim its power by affirming the legitimacy of the emerging Italian criminal justice system with custodial transfers of high profile war criminals, like Rodolfo Grazian, who is being held in a POW camp in Algeria.

Ushering the three visitors forward, “Your arrival, Maestro, is timely. Please, come in here. You are all welcome. I can offer confiscated cuvée cognac to hearten us past misgivings and the pathos of unease you, signora Dietrich, are struggling to hide.”

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ruth Ann found Beth hunched in a walled corner against her bunk despondent and tear-stained. “You aren’t fearing the transfer to Okinawa. It is your handsome pilot.”

With her fingers entangled in her long blonde locks, Beth lengthened herself and said “I am pregnant. Larry and the 15th Air Force are awaiting orders.”

“You have to tell him and Captain Harris. She will ensure that you obtain an honorable discharge to protect your benefits.”

“My mother was in the Army Nurse Corps. She endured the stigma of being an unmarried single parent without a death benefit. It is difficult. While I am grateful for Director Oveta Culp Hobby for freeing us from the burden of having a dishonorable discharge stigmatize our career and social path, my mind is on fire with all possibilities, especially for how my family will react to me inevitably being an unmarried Inland Empire mother. I have never before been made vulnerable by anxiety until now. I am fidgeting when not learning new tasks in S3.”

After untying her olive-drab, Ruth Ann consolingly knelt beside Beth to gently pat the salt burns from her cheeks. “Larry is as shamelessly devoted to you as he is his own family. With as much allure and charm, the NAAFI Girls of the British Eighth Army blended the colors of its ranks. Their love isn’t a hideaway. Neither is yours. It can defiantly help realize the future.”

Slouched by the embrace of comfort, Beth sought hope from her friend’s shoulder, “Where do you find strength for your faith?”

“Holding an infant, especially yours, is always a humbling miracle. Last summer, my nephew was in my care for less than five minutes before he departed with his parents and brother back to the Thompson home in Huntington, but I held his wrists and saw his eyes track mine in wonderment.” To herself she repeated, “You can tell him,” while still wrestling with the memory’s indecision.

Silence engulfed the finish of their staircase climb until the Basilica’s bell tower, emerging with the horizon on their right, rung out to startle their attention to a concern with the elapse of time. “It is too early for Vespers,” Maria recalled from A level, world religions studies, at Brillantmont.”We are beginning to see a masterwork of design, the Piazza del Campidoglio, by Michelangelo.”

“The paving has a disorienting effect, with or without this handy lens, for my eye line draw to the church, palaces, and the statue. It makes the square feel circular when I focus on one location,” Billy remarked with a momentarily unsettling growl of disappointment beading from him because he did not see a street vendor.

“The bronze equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius adds movement to the scene. It spins and suspends attention to, from, and between the Palazzo dei Conservatori and Palazzo Nuovo to gain focus for Palazzo Senatorio, the current City Hall. and the ridden toward descending flow of the Cordonata Capitolina.” Winded & sensing his intemperance, she directs herself back toward the basilica,” These large and imposing wood doors open to the narthex and then into the nave where we will improve our view of the altar, our objective, by walking through this main body of the church.”

While he positioned himself with fullest letter, he said, sheepishly containing a flippant volcanic smirk, “I read that you were married.”

Nonplussed and unprepared, from the shadow of a flash she cavalierly mustered a challenge to his bravery with deadpan frankness sped to direct their return, “I was engaged twice and briefly married once. They were escapes into foolishness not love. We are made by the world with no choice but to do best with what we find. I had always been told that people would ingratiate themselves to me because of my name, but did not understand it or the reach of my mother and father. Of course, in retrospect, they were right. I was rebelliously naive and, thus, blessed to have their angelic protection.”

Bonomi poured drinks to the curves of four gold rimmed balloon sniffers with wheel cut engravings of floral motifs and royal insignia which drew the scholarly attention of Benedetto who then excavated and elucidated their historical importance, “We are drinking from crystal ware gifted to Pope Benedict XIV by Louis XV as reward for his acceptance of the French claims to control the national church, his pliancy over disputes with the Jansenists caused by their moral rigor and intellectual independence, and the resolution provided on the appointment of bishops to minimize the impact of Parliamentarian Gallicanism.”

“Are you implying parallels between the barbarity of your brigades and the ecclesiastical power balance between church and state to diminish them as merely provincial?” Rosie responded while suggestively tipping the cognaçaise for a refill by Bonomi. “We have begun prosecuting the peace and the spirited violence by the Garibaldi Brigade aligns so closely with the rape and looting of Berlin by the Soviets that it defiantly parades Comintern support as much as your resignation. It has generated fears about the shifting power dynamics being too dangerous, chaotic, and poorly managed in a region where so much of our post-war resources are being devoured. And, it consequentially roots my task to deliver messages on cooperation, disarmament, and the rebuilding of the Carabinieri military police.”

“Birth rates will always be higher in the culturally conservative south,” Bonomi chided. “Longo is returning to the industrial triangle of Milan, Turin, and Genoa to solidify working class support. Two-thirds of Italian voters, however, are not socialists or communists. A majority will never embrace the dogmatic presentism party members rely upon to announce their status.”

“Out of decency,” Marlene sardonically perked with an empty glass raised as a knee is revealed by the languid rest of her crossed legs atop the brocade upholstered bench. “Where is the individual, what is talent, and who can have purpose in a sea?”

Benedetto obliged her thirst and answered, “History is the story of how conscientiousness and resolve build legacies for their meanings. The work of our lives, muddled and empty without predictive guidance from them, dies on vines like fruits of the Will to Power.”

“The signing of the Berlin Declaration has begun to mark out new divisions in global dominance. Resulting occupation zones are diplomatic dominos for simmering closed door animosities from the war unallayed by compromises during the UN’s organization at the Yalta Conference,” Rosie volubly articulated with practiced courtroom banter. “Ending brigade violence and integrating them into established political life allows us to unmask military intimidation and political manipulation in Soviet occupied territories unsullied.”

Stretching her feet back to the floor, Marlene raised herself approvingly toasting Rosie and then Bonomi, “Your insight canters the tall arc of difficulties I just witnessed in Germany as well as the aromatic crawl of blended honey and caramel sweetness kindly shared by our host.”

“In Milan, Luigi Longo, as the deputy commander of the Volunteer Corp for Liberty (CVL), the umbrella organization for all brigades, will be joining General Raffaele Cadorna Jr at a victory rally. While his political beliefs are intractable, his dedication to social and labor issues mostly carried on without financing from Stalin’s government have made him amenable to practical realities,” Bonomi clarifies as he graciously walks his visitors out.

Silence filled the car during the return trip to Piazza Colonna. All occupied themselves with events at Lateran Palace and the conversation with Bonomi. Benedetto broke its spell by solving the problematic detail of the attention that could be drawn if Marlene was forced to wait outside for her daughter. He followed up by revealing the Liberal Party’s role in the resistance movement in Milan. With his voice again filling the hall of Palazzo Ferrajoli, he continued uninterrupted until, when, seated at his desk, he took out his writing pad and filled its top lines with the names, Virginia Minoletti Quarello and Bruno Minoletti, and their address in Milan on Via Privata Siracusa.”Virginia has comprehensively journaled day to day life in the resistance, major events and decisions since its birth, and important contacts that include interactions with OSS by others. If an opportunity. therefore, exists to coopt Longo’s strategic mindedness, the Minoletti’s are essential to it.”

The opening of the main door is heard with street sounds not quieted by its close. “My daughter is here,” Marlene glistens in relief with her broadest smile as a Naples visit is promised, thanks are given, and goodbyes spoken.

“Maria and Billy I hope you became mussy making use of that camera,” Marlene mothered once back in the Buick.

“We have a few minutes to spare for her to clean up and Billy to visit the PX. I will wait by the car until he hurries back to it. but I must remain tethered to signal corps while I am in Rome to avoid missing important messages about my new assignment. This will give the two of you about twenty minutes,” Rosie shepherded without hearing disagreement.

Billy did not dawdle and arrived back with a light blue and white plaid style sports shirt, toiletries, and patterned socks. Not long thereafter, the women made their exit, but Rosie caught up quickly, waved Maria forward, pulled Marlene aside, and handed her a note to which she nodded and then hugged him before they returned to the car. Soon Fred and Ruth Ann appeared both in their summer service uniforms with him wearing a khaki cap with black and gold piping and her a black four-in-hand tie and her overseas cap. Rosie stood by the passenger door to allow Ruth Ann’s petite frame to comfortably fill the middle of the front seat.

In the car, everyone heard Maria remark “we are crossing the Tiber now” for the realization of their battle plan as they traveled along Via Veneto to the Ludovisi District on the northeast flank of historic Rome. Rest Camp, as familiar personnel in the U.S. Fifth Army, intelligence officers, and the USAAF, fondly nicknamed The American Red Cross Officers Club Rome, adjoined the Hotel Excelsior. An MP controlled the rope for designated military parking like a valet guiding vehicles to spots along the wide curb.

The sidewalk is busy with locals, vendors, officers in uniform, and the spirit of families and friends reuniting. Billy strutted confidently through them with quiet sonder while attentively clearing away risk until they reached the guarded entrance where he was checked as blankly unrecognizable and handled until he appreciatively found Lt. General Cannon’s deference commanding card. Marlene begins humming “The Trolley Song” with the music playing inside as the MPs give way and signal for Major Stensworth, the officer in charge, to fulfill his VIP responsibilities. He leads them to the ballroom where the band plays and up two steps to a grand round table covered by a white damask cloth that adds gleam to silverware laid to encircle a charger plate and neatly positioned beside bone china dinnerware to capture the stage.

Ruth Ann instinctively gave itemizing focus to the eye widening faces casting gasps with lightened moods in whispers as Marlene, Maria, and Rosie led the train to the table where they chose seats around its rear corner for privacy and to puzzle over familiar members of the 14 musician band as the others filled the nearest gaps. In this moment, Rosie, however, affably directed Fred and Billy to the far side as an honored request because he anticipated high ranking visitors and an expected guest.

To break the ensuing awkward silence created when Ruth Ann’s awareness was pulled by the weight of his astonishment, Billy finally, in a formalized introduction, said, “Your sister, Joyce, is my friend.” Both adjusted to the seating arrangement by filling in polite details until the waiter brought the menu and Ruth Ann, in perfect Italian, entreated – “Maggiore, il servizio qui è lodevole, ma cerco un’offerta di menu più ampia che mi ricordi l’anima di ciò che significa essere italiani” – “Major, the service here is commendable, but I am looking for a broader menu offering that reminds me of the soul of what it means to be Italian.”

Major Stenworth retreated into the kitchen and returned with the hotel chef, Alfredo Di Lelio, who carried a paper menu from the war torn restaurant , Alfredo, that he had sold in 1943. Their conversation, which Rosie leaned in to make his own requests, produced a wide sample of Italian delicacies enhanced by the translated preferences she made for the other members of their dinner party; it included Carciofi alla Romana (Roman-style artichokes), Olive Ascolane (fried stuffed olives), Spinaci Saltati (sautéed spinach), Patate al Forno con Rosmarino Roasted (potatoes with rosemary), Risotto ai Funghi Porcini (beef fillet with mushroom sauce), and Filetto di Manzo con Salsa (veal with prosciutto and sage).

Maria listened closely and unfolded her napkin to give comfort an expression matched by Fred’s ear to ear grin and toe-tapping in time with “Tuxedo Junction” as if still in the live audience for its original performance. In a quick decision she asked him to join her on the the dance floor to lindy hop to “I am beginning to see the light.” Billy, urged on by Rosie who saw his expected guest, joined Marlene for the “Heavenly Waltz” and his lapsed smile had returned by the end of the two fox trots that followed when servers brought their meals.

While the partners found life in the music, Captain Harris and her date, who Ruth Ann knew as JJ, came to the table. Rosie, intoning gravity to give light to her serious-mindedness for his formal introduction, began “Corporal Damico,”Mr. James J Angleton is a very important OSS agent,” but was interrupted by him.

“Ruth Ann,” he said. “Your well regarded language learning proficiency, adeptness, and grasp of signal intelligence qualify you for an OSS career track. To advance them with field work, your selection to Captain Harris’s Okinawa staff was approved. Recently, however, assets working in the capital have identified trustworthy sources in Milan. We are asking you to embed there with rally organizers for a few days to verify details these sources can share. If you agree, you will travel with Captain Rosenthal, whose priorities are being shifted to acquaint you with the details and keep you safe.”

“I have spoken to Beth,” Captain Harris offered as solace. “She will be accompanying me on my newly ordered weekend detail to escort Marlene and her daughter to their USO guest appearance. Very influentially, Mr. Angleton keenly monitors personnel files to sort and vet capabilities assessments. He identified you for recruitment and encouraged me to pair our careers. We cannot hide from the difficult responsibilities set before us. We must all do our part.” Her eyes narrowed with Ruth Ann’s as both of their cheeks grew and warmed. “As equals, call me Lilly whenever military hierarchy is not forbidding.”

Mr. Angleton sees a wide assortment of dinner trays being carried through the ballroom. He pats Rosie on the shoulder as they stand to shake hands, and, before leaving with Lilly, informs him, “Check your messages. Croce has lent you his PLI car.’

After the dance partners returned to the table and toasted Ruth Ann’s menu initiative, Lt. General Lucian Truscott, with orders, detached himself from his aide-de-camps, expanded the spotlight of security to the unexpectedly large party of VIPs occupying his usual table, and wrested overt comfort and familiarity from the seated guests memories of the evening by gruffing candidly, “Structure and efficiency are the cornerstones of success…” until the aroma from the plentiful roasted artichokes and stuffed olives caused him to pause. As he finished his first bite of the appetizers, an aide returned with messages and then quickly retreated. To keep them clean, he gave them to Rosie to read to the others. “We will all help form the convoy until reaching Florence. The corporal and I will continue north from there to Milan where I have been assigned logistic responsibilities and she will solve a communications issue. Captain Harris and PFC Branch will squire Marlene and Maria to their show. Private, you will drive the scout car to Livorno but provide assistance to any truck experiencing trouble.”

“Why can’t I drive the scout car for practice?” Marlene tipsily protested through the mask of discretion.

“I applaud the valor of your remarkable service Captain Dietrich,” Lt. General Truscott incisively answered. “You will, however, be traveling through areas where criminal elements and hardliner soldiers from remnant units of Mussolini’s National Republican Guards and Black Brigades have formed small cells and are committing assassinations, kidnappings, and small arms attacks to embolden local uprisings. We will not risk hardware or the safety of anyone for the accomplishment of a joyride. Military vehicles will remain within the defensive protection of the convoy at all times. I am, as a related point of fact, still dealing with the fallout of the Foibe Massacre near Trieste. Am I understood?” he concluded while grabbing a few more stuffed olives before leaving.

All rose graciously to answer in unison, “Yes, Sir!” and watched him return to the bar where he was almost impenetrably surrounded by junior officers. Disappointed servers soon trudged to the table with ready to use meal kit boxes and a paper sack he had ordered before toasting the event’s fruition to them.

Dreading his return to military routines, Billy nervously trilled “My suite is unbelievable. It is still early. You all should see it. After preparing for tomorrow, we could marshal there until morning.”.

“A party, Billy?” Maria knowingly beams. “No one should be left out. Mother, what do you and the Captain think?”

“Fred grab the wine and marsala bottles and Billy bag our food. Maria, when you and Ruth Ann return to the room let her borrow whatever she needs from our wardrobes. Along her journey the Apennines are naturally cooler and the Tramontana often sharpens the contrast of the weather for those arriving in Milan from Rome. In the meantime, I will ply the bartender with my wink and, if necessary, try to steal a moment with Truscott until Rosie returns to pick me up,” she infectiously plotted without dissent when he accepted the Buick’s keys.

Intuitively Billy and Fred settled into the back seat to stretch out and guard the food and drinks after finding common ground in a boisterous discussion about the best rivalries in professional baseball punctuated by the 1944 crosstown World Series played between their favorite teams. Rosie listened to his friends speak from a haven of contentment for the first time. It reposed the mood of everyone for quiet reflection until they were again walking through the lobby of the Hassler.

MPs guarding the door were losing control of a gathering frenzy tantalized by starlet gossip as Rosie again pulled in to curbed parking at the Excelsior to their relief. On stage, Marlene was finishing “Falling in Love Again (Can’t Help It)” for a shoulder to shoulder crowd of admirers that included the lieutenant general and left no room on the ballroom floor Looking at the band and then back at the them, she prodded “How much are you going to thank the band that made tonight possible?” to the loudest cheers and chorus of whistles heard during her three song performance. Truscott followed Marlene’s eyes to Rosie and directed his aides to protect their exit and the gifted bottle of marsala.

Once they are concealed by the night in the car, and, reporters, weighted by cameras, are seen running to factless dismay and exasperation, she falls into him with a kiss to ward off the breath of predictable remonstrance but is met by his fingers foraging soft tickles from the nape of her neck until they are phantoms of anticipation left by the withdrawal of his thumbs as support for her chin before they drive away banked from a successful heist.

Back in their room, Maria and Ruth Ann found Captain Harris and Beth laughing about why eyeliner will more deeply stain a pillow than lipstick. Maria was so genuinely star-struck by the Captain’s achievements, renowned leadership, and empathic camaraderie that she quavered when respectfully inviting her to join them for a quiet gathering in the presidential suite assigned to Private William Blythe.

Lilly approvingly listened as Beth and Ruth Ann revealed to Maria their off-duty friendship. She then added, “I have heard rumors about Billy’s room and can’t wait to see it. Besides, I think it is a good idea for us to start the morning without late arrival delays even if the camp we make is done under the auspices of a party.”

Just as they reached the sixth floor, footsteps are heard deliberately moving down the hallway and are seen under the broad and pointed tunic of a high ranking officer’s uniform. Billy notices whitening anxiety has colored Fred’s face. In response, he presses him with questions to force him to look outward into the moment to find their answers. “Who was that? Was it Cannon? Are there other officers on this floor?”

The echoing crisis evanesced before Fred collected himself and and began to share the reasons underlying his distress, “The Chronological Record on my Official Military Personal File includes two Article 15s, the first, a Memorandum of Admonition, issued while I was in Officer Candidate School, and the second, a Letter of Reprimand, given to me when I pushed Colonel Harold Huglin into a table full of drinks inside the officers club, Silver Wings, spilling many onto the lap of General Curtis Lemay while at Thorpe Abbots after the 100th bomber group, the Bloody Hundreth, experienced high casualties, including my closest friend, during the Black Week Münster raid in October 1943.”

“If it becomes a question, ” Billy empathized, “I’ll fault myself for the noise complaints that brought you upstairs to inspect the suite, so relax and drink sensibly to avoid suspicion. There won’t be a court-martial without a third complaint. Are you ready?”

“The remaining pilots rallied around Rosie when he stood up for me and prevented my discharge for insubordination. For that and this, I give thanks to you both now even if some debts cannot be repaid. Okay. I am ready. Though just in case, let’s walk quietly to the door.”

“When I arrived in Rome, my head was full of thoughts to share with my wife. Now, I don’t know how to organize the events so that they will make sense to her. I spent the day with celebrities. How am I supposed to convincingly share that fact? Do I focus on my tour of Rome? At least, I will have photos from it.”

“You are overthinking. If you have any film left, I can take a photo of you with the famous captains before I leave. The letter can tell all and still provide her with a mystery to solve.” He walked Billy to the desk and together they quickly personalized the day’s events with remembrances, addressed the branded envelope, and placed the letter inside.

Spontaneity escaped the car with their return to the hotel, but the fuel of intimacy flowed like lava. Rosie wondered if she would check on Maria or follow him upstairs until Marlene pulled herself close with the leverage of his bicep and kept him as support until the door opened, where, in hushed tones, Billy and Fred ushered them into the soft lighting. Lt. General Cannon, however, was surreptitious and able to push his way past their surprise. He chose to pull the desk chair between the four of them and gave them his demeanor of openness. “Truscott called me after your endearing performance tonight. He faced an inquisition from journalists who did not find a story or else this conversation would not be friendly.”

“My daughter, two NCOs, and their WAC captain will be arriving soon. Can I pour you a glass of wine or marsala, General Cannon?” Marlene gestured toward the evening’s loot.

“I’ve learned of the change in orders for your trip north and suspected, after being about your large dinner party, that it would follow Blythe here. This suite was damaged and some of its decor stolen by carelessly fraternizing officers before Lt. General Twining had it restored. The private was warned to keep it clean to protect himself from the Court of Military Justice. I am now extending that very serious warning to you all.” He got up. restored the chair to the desk, examined the letter Billy had written, and admired the room, “It is a marvel and on a different occasion I would stay until the end.” At the door, he fathered with kindness , “Goodnight and safe travels”

“Goodnight, Sir.”

Maria, Beth, Lilly, and Ruth Ann were startled by their face to face encounter with the lt. general when the elevator door opened. All sighed, switched the load bearing hand for the duffel bag they each carried, and saluted with a deferential “Sir.”

He responded, “At ease,” took their place in the elevator, and its doors closed their encounter.

From the hallway, Bing Crosby could be heard as the guest host on the pre-recorded Armed Forces Network radio program Command Performances. Entering the room, they placed their bags near the door and watched Marlene adjust the volume on the Macroni 1561 and point out the liquor and food placed on the dining table. Opulence poured into the guests as elixirs as they toured the rooms, saw their reflections in the gilded mirrors, and considered the stories illustrated in the tapestries. Billy and Fred grouped them for photos when they finally idled to showcase the moment.

After Lt..General Cannon had left, Rosie walked onto the terrace to organize and replant his attention into the milieu of Lombardy. He was now responsible for providing Ruth Ann background and a framework of understanding of the important social controversies dividing the anti-fascist National Liberation Committee (CLN), that included the Italian Communist Party (PCI), and the emerging Christian Democrats before she met Major Andre Pacate whose mission objectives she had been assigned in service. He had seen her personnel file before dinner and knew she was distinguished as independent minded and a problem solver, but those remarks were given in the contexts of people and responsibilities familiar to her. Would her self-directedness emerge when most needed? In response to Marlene’s call, he set aside how to approach his mission priorities to join the last party photo Lilly had volunteered to take and to try the Pino Grigio Maria could be heard raving about as a first experience convert in defiance of the atmosphere of temperance that kept slipping into some of their conversations.

Andy Adkins

The Mobius Strip: Expensive Configurations (draft)

“Alpha, adjust your gravitational projection three degrees toward the dark matter density spike,” Commander Rawls’s voice crackled over comms from Epsilon, the command deck. “We’ve detected fluctuation strains along the twist.”

Astronaut Andy Adkins, positioned at the control node of the four-KBO Möbius configuration, sighed and adjusted his magnetic interface gloves. The particle accelerator injected beneath his feet hummed with increased intensity as he redirected the gravitational beam from the console on his forearm sleeve. “I’ve made the calibrated adjustments to the focal coordinates as ordered” he confirmed, watching the holographic display show the subtle shift in the massive gravitational field connecting the four Kuiper Belt Objects. “Dark matter readings stabilizing.”

“Barely,” Krishna Shah amused from Beta Station. “You nearly overcorrected. We are here to build a track not overwork the targeting and laser systems of the spotter array.”

“Finesse, not brute force, is required” added Samir Singh from Gamma Station, his voice betraying a hint of smug jealously. “Perhaps if you weren’t so rusty with your handling skills.”

Andy’s face flushed. “My handling skills are irreproachable.”

Delta Station’s Dani Straw smirked, tongue in cheek, “That’s not what I heard from Dr. Chow before we left Earth. How long has it been since you’ve experienced any intimacy Andy? This century?”

Laughter echoed across comms, including a faint chuckle from command.

“If we could focus on the mission,” Andy said stiffly. “We’re clearing negative correlates in the highest-energy dark matter seam in this sector to create a hyperspace lane. One mistake and we will ruin the stochastically distributed shedding needed to embed teleportational propulsion and directional control.”

“Oh, he’s sensitive today,” Dani teased. “Maybe we should harvest his parts while he sleeps. His particle detector would be more useful in my station anyway.”

“I heard that suggestion before,” Captain Lisa Valerie silkily added. “But regulations, unfortunately, prevent harvesting crew members, no matter how tempting.” The holographic display suddenly flashed red, and everyone fell silent.

“Quantum instability detected at 52-Mark-23,” Captain Valerie, all business now, announced. “Krishna, Samir we need counter-phase gravitational pulses immediately. This distortion could destabilize the entire field.”

Andy watched as Beta and Gamma Stations lit up on his display. Their particle accelerators firing precisely modulated beams to stabilize the growing anomaly with adjusting spin rates.

“Nicely done, Krishan and Samir,” Captain Valerie said as the warning indicators faded. “I believe this calls for a reward. Finally, silver bars for your epaulets when we complete this mission. Your teamwork just saved us from an impassable collapse.”

“What about me?” Dani asked from Delta Station.

“You get to continue enjoying Andy’s discomfort,” Lisa replied dryly. “Puerile entertainment at the expense of the socially hapless is its own reward.”

Andy adjusted his field modulator again, watching the configuration he first derivatively imagined after hypothesizing consciousness to be a responsive co-occurring system stabilize further. The four massive KBOs continued their impossible dance, rotating and revolving around each other in a pattern that defied conventional physics, all held together by their experimental particle accelerators and the magnetic safety systems that translated their intentions into precise gravitational manipulations.

“Another anomaly is forming,” he announced, noticing a subtle shift readings. “This one’s different, almost like the dark matter is responding to the KBO behavior we are manifesting.”

“Fascinating,” Captain Valerie murmured. “We’re not just clearing a path we’re communicating with it. Andy, you may be awkward, but you seem to have a way with exotic matter. Increase your projection intensity by seven percent and let’s see how it responds.”

As Andy complied, the others fell silent, watching their instruments as the massive bodies adjusted, creating what would soon become the galaxy’s first reliable hyperspace lane through a high-energy dark matter seam, assuming they all survived the next phase of the experiment. And assuming, Andy thought grimly, that they didn’t tear a hole in reality first.

“While we wait for the dark matter to stabilize, let’s run the strategic simulation,” Captain Valerie announced . “Everyone, initiate your quantum entanglement protocols and access the virtual environment.”

Andy sighed. These mandatory team-building exercises always felt like a waste of valuable mission time. He tapped his neural interface and felt the familiar disorientation as immersion entailed disembodiment within the shared simulation space. The virtual environment materialized around them as a simple square map with distinct corners marked by cardinal directions. Andy found himself standing in the northwest corner, Krishna the northeast. Samir the southeast, with Dani in the southwest.

“This is Sim Zeta-5,” Captain Valerie explained. “Today’s scenario involves spatial game theory with non-standard topological constraints. Your objective is to maximize territorial control while maintaining system stability.”

Andy immediately recognized the setup. This wasn’t just a simple territorial game, it was a Nash equilibrium problem disguised as a spatial exercise. Each corner represented a position of influence within the configuration they were maintaining in the physical world.

“Begin simulation,” Valerie directed. “Be strategic.”

Andy, recognizing his position as another control node, brazenly proclaimed, “I’m maintaining position!”

Dani, from the southwest corner, suddenly waved at Krishna. “Girl talk! Strategy session!”

Krishna raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Dani intentionally spoke loudly enough for Samir to hear, “Let’s assess our Andy problem. What are we looking at?”

“Classic head in the clouds personality,” Krishna replied. “Thinks three moves ahead but misses what’s right in front of him.”

Dani nodded. “Exactly. His superiority complex must be absent-minded. But what about Samir?”

They both turned to look at Samir, who was contemplating his position in the southeast corner.

“He could be our secret weapon,” Dani mused. “Andy takes him too seriously.”

Samir suddenly brightened. “Wait! That’s it! The entire premise is flawed! If boys are north-south, but I’m in the southeast while Krishna is northeast, then we’ve created a logical impossibility!”

Dani snapped her fingers. “Samir is right! Andy’s entire strategy depends on cardinal directions making sense!”

“But they don’t!” Samir exclaimed. “It’s like Schrödinger’s compass. I’m simultaneously adhering to and violating the rules!”

Andy, who had been quietly watching, suddenly cleared his throat. “Actually” He slowly unfolded a virtual representation of their spatial configuration, revealing a crucial detail. “This is a Möbius strip map.”

The others stared in shock.

“A Möbius what?” Krishna asked.

Andy smirked. “A Möbius strip. One-sided surface. Which means” he pointed to each of them, “all of you are actually on the same side while I’m on the only other position that exists.”

Samir blinked. “That’s impossible!”

“Check the fine print,” Andy replied, pointing to tiny text along the edge of the map. “Non-Euclidean topography. The cardinal directions were just a distraction.”

Dani groaned. “You took Theoretical Physics for fun last semester, didn’t you?”

“And that,” Andy said, collecting the map, “is why you never play spatial games with someone who minored in topology.”

The simulation space flickered as Captain Valerie’s laughter filled the environment. “Very good, Andy. You’ve identified the underlying principle of today’s exercise. In non-Euclidean space, conventional competitive game theory breaks down. The Nash equilibrium cannot be maintained through traditional strategies.”

The simulation shifted, revealing the true nature of their positions, not a square but a twisted Möbius configuration that perfectly mirrored their actual stations orbiting the dark matter seam.

“This isn’t just a game,” Valerie continued more seriously. “It’s a metaphor for what we’re actually doing out here. The dark matter seam doesn’t follow conventional physics. It’s a one-sided manifold in four-dimensional space-time. Andy recognized this first because his position at the Control Node gives him the only true perspective on the entire configuration.”

Krishna’s virtual avatar crossed her arms. “So you’re saying Andy actually does have the superior position?”

“Not superior,” Valerie corrected. “Unique. In a prisoner’s dilemma on a Möbius strip, there’s no traditional dominant strategy. The only winning move is cooperation across what appears to be opposing sides.”

Samir’s expression changed to understanding. “Because there’s only one side. We’re not opponents at all.”

“Exactly,” Valerie confirmed. “And that’s the lesson for today’s mission. The dark matter seam isn’t an obstacle to overcome—it’s a partner to dance with. In topological game theory, you don’t win against the system; you win with it.”

As the simulation faded and Andy regained full embodied awareness, he looked at the holographic display with renewed clarity. The dark matter wasn’t resisting their attempts to create a hyperspace lane. It was responding to them, adjusting to their manipulations, and fixing its own equilibrium.

“Captain, I think I know why the anomalies keep forming. We’re treating this as a standard navigation dilemma, but we are failing to anticipate the innate responsiveness of the dark matter. We must cooperate with its axions, neutrinos, and weakly interacting massive particles if we are going to confine and order how they are arrayed.”

Valerie’s voice held a note of respect when she replied, “Now you’re thinking with the right topology, Andy. What do you propose?”

Andy methodically instructed his console. “Instead of forcing a path through the seam, we will invite it to form one naturally. Krishna, Samir, Dani reduce your projections by twenty percent and follow my lead. Let’s show this dark matter how to play nice.”

The four stations harmoniously adjusted their gravitational fields perfectly. In response, the dark matter seam pulsated with equilibrating energy, not fighting against their intrusion but welcoming it, shaping itself around their Möbius configuration as a dance partner.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Valerie whispered. “It’s working.”

And as the first stable hyperspace lane began to form through the heart of the dark matter seam, Andy couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes, the most complex problems had the simplest solution once you understood the topology of the game. Andy returned to dock at the shuttle bay where the others had already arrived..

“Welcome back, hero of the hour,” Dani warmly greeted him after the airlock cycled open, her earlier teasing completely absent. “Your studied insight has proven invaluable and instructive. ”

Andy blinked, momentarily thrown by her friendly demeanor. “Thanks, Dani. I just applied basic topology principles on the importance of network redundancy for memory consistency to our work in creating efficient distance marking within the energy time constraints determining the sustainability of the quantum gravitational field ” he said, adjusting his gear bag. Then, trying to navigate this unfamiliar terrain of pleasant conversation with her, he asked, “How are Timothy and James coming along with the receiver array installation?”

“Timothy’s still calibrating the quantum entanglement matrices, and James is struggling with the phase variance compensators,” Dani replied, falling into step beside him as they moved through the corridor. “They could probably use your expertise once you’ve had a chance to rest. That mind of yours seems particularly well-suited to non-Euclidean problems today.”

Andy nodded, wondering if this newfound appreciation would last beyond their next training simulation. With the crew of the Möbius configuration, nothing was ever straightforward sometimes even kindness hid motives.

Raymond Adkins

Unbuttoned light gently shimmers across
Provocatively perched to reveal parts
Fixed upon dawns grown from fearless hearts
Touring travails exhaled by clenched censure.
Writing as trialed torments of hostage,
Tragedy kept close to dissuade others
By quickly laming heedless adventure.
Without pauses or questions of knowledge,
Kettled enchantments spout promise through covers
Pressed open and mixed for tomorrows’ cause.

In hope sputtered moribund controversy,
Abandoned homes stood lifeless
To starve pay from forgotten neighbors
And empty minds with vanished literacy
Greedily seized to mock survival.
Bunched limbs shouted over long tracked arrival
Unprepared & unrecruited but settled in purpose
With sweat & will for freedoms labors
Stretched too far along to contest vacancy
Posted as allure to settle gentry.

Days passed as centuries beneath forgotten stones
Where pill bugs burrowed fertility into clay
As epixylic flies, springtails , & woodlice
Pursued unabated fungivorous delight
From mineral streaming watermarks traced
By decay destined shoots & sprigs awaiting feeted midguts
Yet to ensnare centipede eyes or spider chelicerae.
Hushed chittering belied the quiet harmony
In which colonies collect & fulfill an unpromised tomorrow.

There is music in your eyes,
When saccades dart away & nigh
To focus rhythmic minds with time
Then play dreams with lullabies.
Watching blinks is listening to winks
With drawn out wonders singing comply
Bleating hearts to patterned eros
I am counted amongst the mirroring chorus.
Well lit by resilience,
But battered, chipped, & muddy.
Your silence tones kindled brilliance
In tuned glances to renew & ruddy.
Will you pair their wiles with my company?

Presence doesn’t blind, but personas drown me.
Your memories stitched dreams played only once
By threadbare consumed survival questions.

Quiet approaches write mirror context
With entrained recall of youth built promise
Seen as fancy but clear as remedy
For daylight fashioned stood even eyes
Assembling calm sharpened agency.

Time wantonly castigates perfection
In saddeningly cold reflection;
Change is incomprehensive to illusion.
Growth outpourings devil diminution
Stood frank & awful across tabled eyes
Wet from agency repressed by surprise.
Life binds fancies of everyday madness
As if bored by knowing what escape is.
When stung, defensive minds enact cruelty
while persuaded hope envisions duty.

Andy Adkins