Phantoms in the Snow (10 page)

I
n the dark of the predawn day, Noah picked up his sack filled with ammunition and supplies and hoisted it onto his back. He strapped on his skis and joined the others heading out toward Ptarmigan Peak. As he began to ski up and out of Camp Hale, the fluttering in his stomach settled. He was one of the boys now. He would either shine on this drill, or he would flop. With Wiley, Bill, Cam, and Roger there beside him, Noah prayed it would not be the latter.

They were one long line of men in white — white parkas, white boots, white skis. As they rose higher into the mountains and the snow, the boys in front of Noah seemed to disappear, they blended in so easily with their surroundings.

Their food came behind them on toboggans pulled by skiers, and behind the toboggans were the mules carrying extra food and their artillery. In the quiet of the early morning, Noah could hear the animals’ soft braying behind him even as his skis sliced
a soft swooshing sound through the snow. Other than those two sounds, little was heard. Their orders were to ski out in silence, as if they were on a real mission, chasing a real enemy. Signals to change direction, to have someone take over leading the way, were given by hand.

By mid-morning, the temperature began dropping. Bill showed Noah how to rub bacon grease on his hands to prevent them from freezing, but even the grease could not stop his hands from stinging with cold when his wool gloves grew wet. Noah’s back ached from the climb, but so far, he had no problem keeping up with the others. He felt strong and fit and proud of the job he was doing.

They took turns up front, breaking a trail in the snow for those behind them. This task was extremely difficult as the snow was knee-deep at these higher elevations. When Noah had finished his turn leading, his legs were shaking with fatigue, and he gladly signaled Wiley to take over for him. Before he made his way toward the back of the line, he looked down the mountain. Coming up the side of the mountain, boys skied in a crisscross fashion, like a snake writhing and crawling from side to side. Behind them came weasels, machines that rode up the mountain carrying Noah’s uncle, Skeeter, Olaf, and Daniel, along with others who would serve as referees when the war games began. Noah envied his uncle the warmth of that vehicle.

When they reached the summit, they divided the entire outfit into two groups, separating them for the rest of the drill. Now there were enemies in the mountains, boys from the 85th
and 87th, whom Noah would have to fight against as they trained.

Noah’s group made camp that night in the snow. Fires weren’t permitted, as they were training for warfare, and in enemy territory, fires could easily be spotted.

“Where are we supposed to go the bathroom?” Noah asked Wiley.

Wiley motioned Noah to follow him. A few hundred yards from where they had made camp, someone had dug a small trench in the snow and put a sign up that read
LATRINE,
1944. Noah laughed out loud, glad that digging the trench wasn’t going to be his punishment. Then he realized that he would have to strip off his pants and long underwear in order to use the improvised toilet. As he struggled with his clothes, Wiley, Bill, Roger, and Cam came to watch, laughing so hard at his efforts that tears came down the sides of their faces. When he had finished, Noah pulled his clothes back on and, with as much dignity as he could muster, strode past the boys.

They ate quickly and went to turn in for the night. Noah noticed that the others had taken pine boughs and laid them on their skis as a bed.

“What are you doing?” Noah asked. “Don’t you want to use your tent?”

“We’ve bet each other we can spend the whole night outside,” Wiley said, grinning. “You want to join in the challenge?”

Noah shook his head, wondering why in the world they would want to try something so crazy. After hours in the cold, who
would choose to sleep outside when the warmth of a good tent was there for the taking? Noah set up his tent and laid out his sleeping bag, taking a little brush from his pack and sweeping the snow off him before crawling inside and going to sleep, pleased with his progress of that day.

In the morning, Noah sat up, relaxed and warm from a long dreamless sleep. He stretched his arms up overhead, yawning. His arm brushed the side of the tent.

“Holy —!” he yelled as a layer of snow and ice rained down upon him. He scrambled from the tent to find the guys waiting outside, laughing and slapping their thighs.

“Whoo ha!” Wiley laughed. “Problems there, Garrett?”

“Where did all that snow come from?” Noah shouted, brushing at his ice-encrusted hair and clothes.

“Your breath freezes to the wall of those tents. None of us use them now that we know about it. You’re just lucky you didn’t get showered in the middle of the night!” Bill sputtered as he struggled to talk between laughs.

“Yeah,” Roger said, “we kept waiting to hear you scream. I was anticipating it so much, I hardly slept last night!”

“You could have warned me,” Noah grumbled, shivering.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Wiley said, grinning at him.

They all laughed again, and finally Noah joined in.

For the next week, they fought the other half of the boys of Camp Hale. Sometimes Noah’s side won. Sometimes the others were victorious. Several times, Noah’s heart nearly stopped as live ammunition whizzed past his head.

Boys who were captured by the other side came back and told stories of how real it had seemed, how they had been made to go without sleep for hours on end, until they were disoriented and shaky with fatigue.

There were no showers, and Noah’s hair began to hang in greasy strands by his face. One week into maneuvers, Cam began to cough and then drew a fever. By the third day of hacking, he was diagnosed with pneumonia and sent back to camp. Noah watched him being taken from the mountain and almost envied him. The glory of joining the others and the confidence he was gaining in his skills began to wane, and he longed for a hot meal and a warm bed.

Several times, they were actually marched right through camp before ascending again into the mountains to take up another attack. Each time, Noah, Bill, Roger, and Wiley groaned seeing their barracks and remembering the comfort they offered as they skied back out and up.

In the second week, Noah found his feet swollen, and soon skin was peeling off them in great chunks.

“What the heck?” he said, as he tried to get the dead skin off and more kept forming.

“You’ve got trench foot,” Bill said. “It’s a fungus, and now you’re stuck with it until maneuvers are over. You need to change your socks more often, Noah. Wet feet are what causes that.”

Noah grimaced and tried not to think about it as he pulled on drier, warmer socks.

And yet, Noah could not say that he was unhappy. Sometimes, when the day was over, he would stand and watch the sunset, red rays shooting out from behind foamy clouds. In those moments, he would take a deep breath and see the beauty around him. He felt as if his parents were near, watching over him. And he thought again and again of the picture of those abandoned shoes and the stories of those destroyed lives in concentration camps.
They will never live to see this sight
, Noah thought. And he felt a sense of responsibility growing within him and was surprised by it.

On the day before Easter, as they once again approached the summit of Ptarmigan Peak for the end of their three-week drill, the temperature dropped precipitously. The next morning, a late spring blizzard hit. They could barely see in front of them.

Noah’s rifle didn’t work during maneuvers. It had frozen in the cold.

The snow came so fast and so deep that the mules were unable to get through. For the rest of the drill, they would have little food. Noah’s stomach growled loudly in his ears as he skied onward.
Is this what war is like?
he wondered.
Or is it
worse
?

Halfway through the day, the general halted their progress.

“We’ve got to wait for some stretchers,” he said. “I got two men in there with frostbite and one burning with fever.”

It was Noah’s turn to lead the way when they started up again. He blazed a trail for his comrades in the deepening snow,
throwing hand grenades at the slopes that were too dangerous to ski. The controlled explosions sent the snow tumbling down, making the slopes less steep and less likely to cause an avalanche. Slowly, he led the others toward the peak.

At one point, Noah’s uncle pulled up beside him in his Weasel, its engine roaring loudly. “You all right?”

Noah simply nodded. He needed to save all his energy for the climb.

“You’re doing a great job there, boy,” his uncle added before driving off.

In the late afternoon, the light, dry snow that was falling became heavy and wet. It clung to Noah’s uniform, soaking him completely. He shivered with the cold. When they stopped for the night, the general sent back more boys with frostbite and illness. He ordered everyone to take the newly fallen snow and build themselves an igloo. They would camp here if the blizzard was still raging tomorrow.

Noah was exhausted, but welcomed the warmth the igloo would provide and the hint of a few days’ rest. He and Wiley packed the snow tightly, building block upon block until they had a snug shelter in which to hunker down for a few days. At one point, Roger threw a snowball at them, but Wiley and Noah were too tired to take up the challenge.

James Shelley came by at supper to check in on Noah and take a meal with him.

Just as they were all about to turn in, a report of a downed pilot in trouble near Ptarmigan Peak was heard over the radio.

“Can we get to him?” Noah asked.

Olaf shook his head. “No. There is nothing ve can do. The snows and drifts are too strong. Ve are used to this veather and these conditions. Pilots are not. The pilot von’t make it, I’m afraid.”

Noah felt sick, thinking about the pilot, possibly hurt, and unable to get help, slowly freezing to death up on the mountain.

Quietly, everyone turned in that night. There seemed little to say.

Noah woke the next morning to find his clothes frozen to him. Stiffly, he went outside to find a glorious day, the snow over and the sun shining brightly. For once, he wished for more snow, for he knew that now they would be off again. And sure enough, the order was given to break camp.

Noah strapped on his skis, picked up his pack, and set off with the others up the mountain.

But a short distance out, there was a sudden cry, and the troop was ordered to halt. The general came skiing up the slope, stopping every so often and asking questions. When he reached Noah, he pulled up beside him. Noah paused, his throat suddenly tight. Had the general found out about him?

“Where’s your uncle?” the general asked.

“What?” Noah said, confused.

“Has anyone seen James Shelley?” the general called out.

Noah waited while the word was passed back among the ranks. He felt a sudden sense of foreboding.

James Shelley did not step forward. It seemed as if Noah’s uncle had simply disappeared.

I
n the three days that followed, blizzard conditions set in again and did not let up. Noah continued to ski out each morning with the others and engage in war games, hoping his uncle would reappear at day’s end. But there was no sign of James Shelley.

Finally, the maneuvers were over, and they were all ordered back to camp. The boys fell exhausted into their beds. Noah dozed occasionally and then fitfully.

No search party could be sent for James Shelley until the snow let up. Noah felt helpless and angry as he watched the bad weather continue. Skeeter forced him to eat, though the food was tasteless, and he only did it so that he wouldn’t find himself too sleepy to stay awake.

The other boys crept around him. No one said anything, but there was a general sense of doom in the air.

On the second night after their return, Noah paced the
barracks, back and forth, back and forth, hoping for daylight and the end of the storm.

“Noah?” Wiley’s voice was soft and low. “You need to give it a break, buddy. You need to get some sleep.”

“Why?” Noah snapped. “Is it just that I’m keeping
you
awake?”

There was an embarrassed silence.

“Actually,” Bill said into the darkness, “yes.”

“But it’s all right, Noah,” Cam put in quickly. “We understand.”

Noah didn’t wait to hear any more. He left the warmth of the barracks, slamming the door behind him and making his way through the swirling, heavy snow, cursing it as he stomped through the camp. He knew the boys were right. His walking back and forth across the squeaky wooden floors of the barracks all night long would irritate him, too, if the roles were reversed. But the fact that they mentioned
wanting
to sleep just reminded Noah that he would be the one most affected if James Shelley didn’t return. And as more time passed, Noah was aware that this was a good possibility. He knew he should be worried about what would happen to him but, strangely, all he could think of was his uncle. He was worried about him. His uncle was irritating and completely the opposite of Noah’s parents, yet Noah began to realize that if Shelley didn’t ever come back, he would actually miss the gruff, cantankerous man.

When he reached the barn, he went inside, letting the heat of the animals and the smell of fresh hay calm him a bit. In the dark, he made his way to the first stall, crooning softly. “Hey, boy. Hey, boy.”

He could hear several of the mules shuffle in their stalls. The animal nearest him came forward and put his head over the half door. Noah rubbed his hand along the mule’s soft nose and scratched the animal behind his ears, hoping for some sense of peace to ease the constant tension he’d felt since Shelley’s disappearance. “How are you there, boy?”

The door to the barn opened, and Noah turned to see Daniel silhouetted in the beam of a flashlight, snow coming down behind him. Noah’s heart thumped deep in his chest. It was bad enough to have been caught talking to mules, but now, here was Daniel Stultz discovering it. How much worse could one day get?

Daniel came into the barn, shutting the door behind him. His flashlight bobbed dark shadows about as he walked over. “Wiley thought you might be mad at him and the boys. He was afraid you might be tempted to do something foolish.”

“So he sent you?” Noah asked. Wiley didn’t even like Daniel Stultz, and he’d been there when Noah had had it out with Daniel three weeks ago!

Daniel shrugged. “Actually, he tried to find Skeeter first. I just happened along and offered to help. I thought you might be here.”

Noah swallowed hard, thinking about their fight before the maneuvers and some of the things Noah had unwittingly said.

“Don’t know why you’d bother about me,” Noah muttered, “not after the way I went after you the other day.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Are you apologizing, Garrett?”

Noah hesitated. “Yes. Although it’s not a particularly good apology, I guess.”

Daniel snorted.

Noah took a deep breath, all the embarrassment and confusion he’d felt over their confrontation choking him. He knew he had to make things right with Daniel. “I’m sorry. I really am. I feel stupid. I didn’t know what the Nazis were doing to Jews over there. And now, to know that your family is stuck in those camps” — Noah met Daniel’s stare — “that must be really hard.”

“Don’t sweat it, Garrett,” Daniel said.

“But …,” Noah began uncertainly.

“Look,” Daniel interrupted, “nobody in this country knew what was happening over there because the
press
didn’t feel like letting them know. The story was too …” He paused. “Ugly,” he finally spat out.

Noah didn’t know what to say.

“That picture I showed you?” Daniel asked.

Noah nodded.

“It just came out! For months, the press has been burying the story
deep
in the pages of our illustrious papers!” Daniel said.

“I’m sorry,” Noah whispered.

Daniel gave a harsh laugh. “I didn’t realize it was
your
fault, Garrett. Are you a secret Nazi or something?”

Noah looked at him. “Still, to think about your family, trapped … I can’t imagine facing every day knowing that.”

Daniel didn’t respond, and Noah wondered if he’d said too much.

“The waiting must be the worst,” Noah ventured again.

Daniel gave another snort of laughter. “Kind of funny, isn’t it, Garrett? I’m probably the only one here who knows how you’re feeling right about now.”

Noah blinked with surprise at the truth of Daniel’s observation.

Daniel cleared his throat. “Your uncle is a fine soldier, Garrett. If anyone can survive those mountains and this storm, it’s Shelley.”

“And if he doesn’t make it?” Noah asked, his voice shaking.

Daniel’s eyes flashed. “Are you going to go soft on him now, Garrett?”

Noah shuffled his feet uncomfortably. Daniel was right. He was acting like a baby. His uncle would have hated that.

Daniel reached in his pocket and withdrew a carrot. He held it out to the mule, and the animal quickly snatched it away. Daniel rubbed the animal’s nose for a minute.

“Shelley said you were from the Bronx,” Noah said. “So what is with you and the carrots?”

Daniel didn’t say anything.

“They got lots of mules in the city now?” Noah joked.

“My family …,” Daniel said abruptly. He stopped, pursed his lips. “My family lives in the Bronx, but I went to school at Dartmouth.” He smiled ruefully. “Or at least I used to.”

Noah let out a low whistle. “Dartmouth? Gee, you must be smart.”

“What made you think I wasn’t smart?” Daniel asked.

Noah felt himself redden.

Daniel sighed. “I miss school, especially the classes. I had hoped to teach classical studies some day.”

“You probably still can,” Noah said. “It’s not like you can’t go back later.”

Daniel laughed. “If there is a later. If I’m not dead at the end of this war.”

Noah didn’t know how to respond to Daniel’s statement. What he said was true. “Did you learn how to deal with animals at school? Dartmouth’s in the country, isn’t it?”

Daniel watched the mule chewing for a moment. “A little. But mostly, I learned about it at my uncle’s farm in Poland when I was little and we went to visit — long before the invasion.”

Noah thought about how awful it must be for Daniel to envision his aunt suffering and dying, his uncle being beaten by soldiers, and his little cousins being shipped off to a concentration camp with barbed wire and guns.

“Coming here,” Daniel continued, “helps me remember them. It helps me remember what I’m doing here.”

Quiet settled over the barn.

“It helps me remember, too,” Noah agreed.

Daniel looked at the floor of the barn.

“It sure is tough, though,” Noah said, his voice gruff with the emotion he was trying to hold back, “this waiting, this hoping. Since my parents died, I have a hard time believing anything will be right again.”

“But,” Daniel said, his voice cracking, too, “holding on to hope is the only thing that’s left.”

Noah glanced over and saw that Daniel’s eyes were wet. He
looked quickly away. He would not let Daniel Stultz know that he had seen his tears.

“So now, Garrett,” Daniel said, as he stood up straight and wiped his hands on his pants, “as your commanding officer, I order you to go and get some sleep. Is that understood?”

Noah nodded. “Yes, sir!”

Daniel turned to leave. “And, Garrett,” he added in a soft voice over his shoulder, “no matter what, continue to hold on to that hope. ’Cause there’s nothing either of us can do right now, anyway, but that.”

Noah woke to shouting in the camp. “Someone’s coming. Someone’s coming down off the mountain.”

Noah was up and off like a shot. Boys were gathered at the far end of the camp, peering into the swirling snow.

Noah stared hard into the blanket of white. But he couldn’t tell if the man coming slowly down the mountainside was his uncle or not.

Skeeter came and stood by him. “Somebody go get me a pair of binoculars!”

Noah couldn’t just stand there and wait to see who the person coming down out of the mountains was. He ran to the barracks and got his skis. He strapped them on, and ignoring Skeeter, who yelled at him to stop, headed off toward the slope, skiing out hard and fast. Higher and higher he rose, keeping his eyes on the figure coming down. Snow pelted him. The wind blew him from side to side.

But at last, he could see. It was his uncle!

Noah skied up to him, stopping just short of James Shelley. He could feel tears streaming down his face, freezing on his cheeks. He stopped himself short of trying to embrace his uncle.

“Jesus,” Shelley mumbled, his words sounding like the words of a drunken man, “stop that confounded crying, Noah Garrett, and get this monkey off my back, will you?”

Noah looked more closely, and then he saw. Slung on his uncle’s shoulder was a man. Stiffly, James Shelley pulled the man around and handed to Noah the pilot who’d been left for dead.