PROLOGUE

September 30, 1944

Tivoli, Italy

Twenty miles east of Rome

IT WAS a moonless night in west-central Italy. In addition, a light cloud cover provided Martin with all the darkness he required as he followed Jacobs in a jeep he had borrowed from a fellow Canuck in the Princess Pats Regiment. Due to the nature of his off-duty venture this evening, he had also made sure to bring his service hand gun, a Walther P38. He had turned his headlights out as a precaution, and the open Tuscany landscape allowed him to maintain a safe distance of approximately a quarter of a mile from his quarry.

Martin parked the jeep on the far side of the villa after Jacobs had gone into the house and now he crept silently along the outer wall of the building under cover of the veranda roof. He moved stealthily, situating himself beneath a window which he determined to provide him a direct view into the sitting room. He was hoping to see his captain and close friend Reginald Jacobs with the Senorita in familiar surroundings.

Martin was therefore not disappointed when he edged upwards and saw them sitting together on the sofa, sharing a carafe of wine. It was oddly out of setting, however, when he noted Jacobs had spread a document on the coffee table. It appeared to be a map of some area and Martin was highly intrigued.

Suddenly, the same German individual he had seen here yesterday appeared from the kitchen carrying his own glass of wine, smiling warmly at Jacobs as he offered him a pleasant greeting. The window under which Martin was hiding was closed, and he could not hear what was being said.

This was all too strange. The German officer, friendly with Jacobs? All he could do at this point was sit and wait. There was also a hedge under the window which provided some additional cover, so he hunkered down and waited.

He remained hidden under the parlor window for what seemed an eternity. Every now and then from inside the house he could hear muted laughter and he was tempted to simply barge into the room and demand an explanation. Yet he waited.

As he crouched below the windowsill, he sensed movement beneath him. Looking down, he saw a huge, tan-colored spider had crawled beside his left boot and had slowly begun to move up his leg. If there was one thing Martin feared and despised, it was spiders. This particular species was a large Brown Recluse known in Italy as the ‘violini’ because of its distinct markings on its dorsal area, similar to a violin. More significant, it was venomous.

Martin could no longer stand to watch the arachnid approach his middle torso area. He jumped quickly in an effort to brush it off his groin, and unfortunately, his foot hit a rake that had been leaning against the outer wall of the building. It clattered against a metal bucket as it fell, loud enough to attract the attention of the German officer who immediately came outside to investigate. When the German approached, he was surprised to see a young infantryman with the iconic Canadian Maple Leaf insignia on his uniform, pointing a pistol at him.

Martin silently gestured toward the doorway of the parlor and motioned the German inside. As he entered the room behind the German, Jacobs stood in shock to see Martin holding the officer at gunpoint.

“Martin, what the hell are you doing?” he shouted. “This is Lieutenant Kelerring. We are

Friends, for God’s sake.”

“I can see that,” said Martin sarcastically. “Sir, how could you?” he pleaded to his friend, almost sobbing.

“Now wait, Martin. You just don’t understand,” said Jacobs as he edged closer to the sofa which separated them. Unknown to Martin, Jacobs had removed his own sidearm when he had arrived, and it was now lying on the sofa within easy reach. Right at that moment the Senorita called from the kitchen, “Who wants more wine?”

Martin was distracted by the sound of Madellena’s voice, and Jacobs, taking note of this, grabbed his own weapon off the sofa in a quick motion and held it a foot from Martin’s face. He now had the upper hand over his aide. One hand at a time, he carefully pulled his leather gloves from his inside jacket pocket and put them on, smiling menacingly at Martin.

“Okay Martin, place your gun down and I’ll explain everything,” said Jacobs. When Martin hesitated, Kelerring immediately drew his own Luger. This prompted Jacobs to walk over to Martin who was too stunned by what was happening to react, and he viciously hit his friend with the butt of his pistol on the side of Martin’s head. Martin fell to the floor, toppling over behind the sofa, barely conscious. Jacobs retrieved Martin’s pistol and placed it inside the webbing of his own belt.

The German suddenly shouted at Jacobs. “What is happening, Jacobs? Were you planning to double-cross me? Shoot this man immediately,” he yelled.

Jacobs trained his gun against Martin who stared at the small bore of his friend’s Beretta semi-automatic. He was barely conscious.

“I’m sorry it had to end this way, Martin.” Martin England’s world collapsed. He closed his eyes as he realized his friend and confidant was a traitor who was about to kill him.

The sound of the shot was deafening in the small sitting room.

PART l

WAR’S AFTERMATH

Chapter One

April 20,1945

Halifax, Canada

RMS Scythia entered Halifax Harbor just after 4:00 pm on Friday, April 20, 1945. She was carrying some four thousand Canadian troops from the 1st Canadian Army who had finished their service to God, King, and Country following the Liberation of Holland. The Netherlands campaign had begun in the Fall of 1944. It was a hard-fought battle that took the lives of seven thousand, six hundred Canadian soldiers.

For many of the troops on board the Scythia, the ‘real’ war had started with the invasion of Sicily in the summer of 1943. After the Italian Campaign, these participants had returned to France from where they had literally marched across Europe into Holland. It was a grueling endeavor. Now looking back, it was hard for them to realize what they had accomplished. When they had first landed in England in January 1940, after sailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, they had languished on various training bases for three and a half years. At that time, these same men actually looked forward to seeing action.

They were not disappointed.

Now to a man they were overjoyed to be returning to Canada. In particular for four of these young soldiers, it would only be a mere six or seven hours by train to their hometown of Chatham, New Brunswick. Martin England had enlisted from the local Army reserves at the same time as his two brothers, James and Gerald. James was now standing beside Martin as they anxiously awaited their arrival. According to the last word they had received, Gerald was supposedly returning on the twin troop carrier, the RMS Samaria. It should have left port in Liverpool last month. It was going to be quite a reunion for the three brothers when they were finally all together in Chatham. The return of The Three Amigos, as they had become known to their fellow infantrymen. They were beating most family war survivals.

In addition to his brother, two of Martin’s close friends were on board beside him as the huge ship bore down on the awaiting throngs that occupied the docks. Fred Trainor and John Norman, two regular ‘grunts’, waved to the crowd below them. There was also a third figure with them, their captain, Reginald Jacobs. This man stood with his own thoughts, seemingly unaware of the celebration surrounding him.

From Halifax, the group of five would be traveling by rail to Martin’s small New Brunswick hometown of Chatham. Jacobs would be continuing his journey alone to Montreal, where he would rejoin his law firm. Martin made a mental note to make sure he had Reggie’s address. He was going to sorely miss the daily contact with his captain. For the umpteenth time he wondered who would be welcoming Jacobs home …

His thoughts were interrupted by the roars of the huge crowds hailing them from the docks below as the Scythia tied up at Pier 21 in the busy Nova Scotia seaport. Martin’s heart swelled at the thought of seeing his wife, Margaret. He and ‘Meg’ had married in ‘39 while he was in basic training in Petawawa, Ontario. Lord, he missed her. He often wondered if he ever would have survived the past six years without knowing he had her love to welcome him home. The letters she constantly wrote to him during those awful years had kept him sane amidst the hell and chaos he had experienced across Europe. Fond memories of her flooded back to his mind as he awaited the transport truck that would take them to the train station.

~ * ~

The wedding in Petawawa was a small, private affair. His close friend Bill Hachey and Bill’s wife Norma had acted as their witnesses. It felt like it was ages ago, and he couldn’t wait to once again hold Meg in his arms.

Martin was also excited about the prospects of employment in his hometown. He was secretly hoping to get into the home interior decorating business, and he knew there were courses being offered in this field of work in Saint John. He read somewhere there was expected to be a demand for this service because of the huge new-home construction boom presently hitting the country. Mortgages were even being granted to returning vets. Who would have thought? The country was exhibiting an optimistic outlook.

~ * ~

When the men had settled in their assigned sections on the train, the first thing they did was order a round of drinks: rum and cokes. Martin, who had just turned twenty-nine last month, was the youngest male sibling in his family. His brother Gerald, the eldest, was now thirty-three and James was thirty-one. As a result of their experience in the war, The Three Amigos had developed a strong familiarity with the beverage. This would not go well with their father George England, a strong Presbyterian abstainer.

Martin had two sisters. Marion, the oldest in the family, was married to Percy Bent, a mechanic, and they lived across the river in Douglastown. Next to Marion was Rebecca, his favorite sib, who was dating John Bradford, the brother of his wife, Meg. They were a closely knit bunch.

By the time the train reached Moncton, which was about an hour and a half from his home, the five of them were feeling no pain. Except, that is, for Captain Reg Jacobs who invariably managed to maintain a more sober presence. Martin and his friends had come to almost expect this form of leadership from their friend. Martin often thought they relied far too much on Jacobs.

For the moment, however, this was not on his mind as he and the captain finished their sixth and last cribbage match. He looked at Jacobs and admired the man’s countenance: a symmetrical face with a strong, dimpled square chin, not unlike that of the actor Robert Taylor. A pair of wide-spaced twinkling, dark brown eyes; an even row of white, smiling teeth; and a mass of dark-brown, curly hair. He was a bachelor, though Martin doubted that would last much longer. Jacobs was a lawyer in a large, successful Montreal firm. He had joined the service as a commissioned officer and Martin sensed he was destined for big things. The man was a born leader.

As the train entered the outskirts of their hometown, James came over to the card table. “Well Martin, you should finish your drink or better yet, just leave it and freshen up. We’ll be at the station in no time and our wives and families will all be there.”

“So what?” Martin groused, and immediately Reg overheard the somewhat belligerent tone his friend’s voice had assumed toward his brother.

“So, nothing,” James said, not wanting to get into an argument with Martin who began to strut around the confines of the railway car, gesturing towards Gerald in an exaggerated way.

“Here’s my big brother, everyone. He’s gonna make sure I conduct myself in a proper manner.” He was getting nasty.

“Hey Martin, take it easy,” said Reg. “We all want to be friendly here when we get off the train, right?” He took Martin by the arm, pulled him close, then looked directly into his eyes, smiled and repeated himself. “Right?”

A sudden change came over Martin and he pulled himself away from Jacobs. He then hooked his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “You’re right, Reg. Hell, we’re The Three Amigos, right Jimmy?” he said, tussling his brother’s hair. Then he left for the WC to clean up. James gave a look to Jacobs while he straightened his hair, and the two shook their heads. This was old stuff. The other two guys were sleeping in their booths and Jacobs woke them.

“Rise and shine, you beggars,” he shouted. “You’re home.” Trainor and Norman slowly awoke and drunkenly made their way to the WC as well.

“Just as well those boys have no friends or family to greet them,” said James, watching the two men reel down the narrow aisle of the train, trying to remain upright with the swaying coach which was now slowing as it made its way to the station. “The state they’re in, it wouldn’t be too pretty. I’ll get a cab for them when we disembark, Captain. By the way, do you plan to ever come back this way from Montreal?”

“I sure do, James. I hear there are some great fly-fishing pools on the Little Sou’West that I’d like to try my hand at.” The Miramichi River and its tributaries flowed through the communities where Chatham was located. It was renowned for the bright Atlantic salmon that came to its many pools, migrating from as far away as Scotland and Sweden to spawn here, attracting avid sports fishermen from all over the world.

“Well sir, let’s try to keep in touch,” said James, and as they shook hands to depart, Martin and Gerald came up to them, Martin looking much better than he did earlier. He embraced his captain in a warm hug.

“Well, Mon Capitaine, I guess this is it. When are we going to see you again?”

“Maybe next summer Martin. I was just saying to James that I’d like to do some fly-fishing for some of your famous salmon.”

“I would really appreciate that, sir. My wife Margaret will certainly want to meet the man who was responsible for saving my life.”

For a brief second, Jacobs seemed bothered by what Martin had said, however, he quickly recovered. “You know that was reciprocal. But I do want to meet the woman who captured your heart. I’ve certainly heard enough about her over the past six years.”

“So, it’s a deal. We’ll see you next summer, then. And be sure to write, eh?” With a final handshake, Martin and his two brothers James, followed by their two staggering friends, stepped off the train and headed for the station platform where a large group of people awaited them.

Martin turned around as the train slowly passed behind them, just in time to catch sight of Jacobs watching them from a window. The two soldiers made eye contact and Jacobs gave Martin a formal salute as it moved west on its way to Montreal.

Martin’s eyes suddenly welled with emotion, not just as he spotted Margaret standing on the platform with her own eyes filling with tears, but also as many visions suddenly passed through his mind: young boys crying in an observation tower, a raped woman lying in a back alley outside of Rome, hundreds of corpses along the back roads of Belgium. There had been so much death and misery. These same visions had been coming to him frequently as nightmares for the past six months.

Shape up! he commanded himself. It was 1945, the war was over, and he was safe at home as were his two brothers. He had a wife he hadn’t held in six years, and it was time to be grateful, happy, and prosperous.

~ * ~

Meg England watched her husband running to her as she stood at the station. It had been six long years since she had last seen him. She didn’t know what to expect regarding his appearance. From the letters he had written over the years, there had been no pictures. He had told her he suffered a couple of minor wounds: one to his left middle finger and another to his left inner bicep, both the result of bullet strikes while in action. These were not of consequence he had written, and at least there was nothing to indicate such as he made his way to her grinning broadly.

Her fear, however, lay in what could not be physically seen. Their romance and subsequent marriage was typically short for those uncertain times. Like so many other young people in love back then, they felt that they simply did not have the luxury of time on their side to wait for the traditional engagement period to lapse. The world was at war in 1939 and who knew what was about to happen, where or when?

So, while their time together before Martin had to depart for overseas was brief, it was precious. She knew Martin to his core. All his foibles and fears. His dislikes and fancies were opened to her as were his aspirations, beliefs, and values. In some of his recent letters, she thought she could detect a subtle change in his personality. Whereas his letters for the first four years had centered on his longing for her presence, during the last two years, and with increasing frequency, they had revealed a great deal of despondence. She felt from his recent letters that he almost harbored a resignation to the fact that he might not return. She had tried so hard to encourage him with light-hearted notes about their families, local events at home and such. But she wondered at times if her words were having any impact.

Well, he was home now, she thought, so dammit, Meg, make the best of it!

And now Martin was holding her in a strong embrace that had fueled his imagination over time and space for far too long. At last, Martin was home!