“Early this morning, the Allies began the assault on the northwestern face of Hitler’s European Fortress,” the announcer reported. “Under the command of General Eisenhower, Allied Naval Forces, supported by strong air forces, began landing Allied armies on the northern coast of France.”
Throughout the following days, countries aligned against Hitler waited with nervous hearts and shaking hands, listening for updates and reports. The Germans only suffered a thousand casualties that first day. The Allies suffered ten times that, but by June 12, all five of the beachheads of Normandy were linked and in Allied control, giving them the foothold they needed to run Germany out of France.
From Normandy, Paris was a straight shot east, and when Paris was liberated in late August, Angelo implemented the only plan he’d been able to devise. A soldier with the 5th Army, a major who’d spent the last year in Italy, had given him some advice.
“The 5th is being split up. Some of us are being sent into France. The war in Italy is going nowhere, Father. We’ve been here for too damn long, fighting our way up one hill only to face another right behind it. We’ve taken Rome, but if things continue as they have for the last nine months, it’s going to continue to be a slog, and we sure as hell won’t be getting out of Italy until Germany surrenders, or we do. It’s a battle of inches here. If you want to get to this girl, your best bet is to get into France and follow the Americans into Germany from that direction.”
Angelo told Monsignor O’Flaherty his decision and was given his blessing, along with a reminder that he was “still a priest.” He had not been laicized. He would not be given permission to marry. That kind of permission had to come from the Pope himself, and it was never granted. If he wanted to marry Eva, he would have to do so outside of the Catholic Church. But Monsignor O’Flaherty embraced him anyway and told him that when he found Eva, he should bring her back to Rome so he could see her again.
The American army had moved into the Hassler Hotel—known by locals as the Villa Medici—making the newly renovated site their headquarters for the duration of their stay. Angelo found himself there, dressed in his cassock, his cane tucked out of sight, waiting to speak with the commander of the 5th Army who had taken the city two months before. He had taken the major’s advice. He was there to enlist in whatever capacity they needed him. His only goal was to get to Germany.
The hotel was filled with memories of Eva, even though, in its current state, it looked nothing like it had the night Eva played her violin for a room full of the enemy. He could see her so clearly, resplendent in her black gown, her slim neck bowed over her instrument, a sparkle at her ears and a gleam in her eyes as she looked at him. He’d held one of those earrings in the palm of his hand that night as he’d contemplated the future, leaning over the sink in her hotel room, warm from the bath and cold from the evening’s events. His nerves had been shot from the raid, his emotions running high. He had felt the shift, the realignment of his priorities, and as he held the earring in his hand, Eva sleeping in the next room, he had been heartsick with love and soul weary with waiting.
“Father? What can I do for you?” A trim man in a neat uniform with slicked-back hair and a cigarette clenched in his teeth waved him forward from his office door. His “office” was the large coatroom where Eva had told Angelo about the suspected raid. Angelo stood and followed the commander inside, trying not to reveal his limp and probably making it more noticeable for his efforts. He decided to get right to the point, and after sitting down across from the commander, jumped right in.
“I’ve come to see if it would be possible to be of service to your men.”
“We have chaplains, Father, but we could always use a few more. Is that what you mean?”
“I’ve lived in Italy since I was eleven years old, but I’m an American. I speak fluent German and Italian and passable French. I could be an interpreter as well as a chaplain.”
“Why? The army doesn’t pay well. And you don’t have to do this.”
“I do have to do this. Plus, the priesthood doesn’t pay well either. That isn’t why most of us do what we do, is it, Commander?”
“You got that right, Padre. But what are your reasons?”
“A Jewish girl, a girl who is very important to me, was deported and sent to a concentration camp in northern Germany almost five months ago. I intend to find her. I was told the best way to do that would be to follow the American army into Germany. I will serve in any capacity you wish, just as long as you’ll send me where I have the best chance of getting to Germany the quickest.”
“You’ll have to stay for the duration. Even if you, by some miracle, find this girl. You’ll have to see it through to the end. You won’t be able to quit.”
“I understand. My only goal is to find her and get her to safety. I will fulfill my commitments.”
“Father O’Flaherty said you were determined.”
Angelo started at the mention of the monsignor.
“He sent me a message, said you’d be coming to see me. He managed to hide several of our downed pilots from the Germans. We owe him. He told me I could repay him by helping you.”
Angelo could only nod, humbled by the gesture. Leave it to O’Flaherty to do whatever he could.
“What’s with the leg? You limp.”
“It’s a childhood ailment. I can outwalk everyone I know. I always carry my own weight, Commander. You won’t need to worry about me.”
The commander laughed and sat forward in his chair. “I believe you, Father. Sounds to me like you have a guardian angel on your shoulder. Monsignor O’Flaherty told me about the massacre at Ardeatine. That won’t go unpunished. I promise you that.”
“Many good men were murdered that day,” Angelo said softly.
“Many good men have been lost in this damn war. It’s what keeps me going. I’ll do my best to help you find that girl. But I’m warning you, it’s going to be a long, hard road yet. The Germans aren’t done fighting. And as long as they’re still kicking, we have to fight too.”
“I don’t know what else to do. I can’t simply take a train into Germany and demand her release. But I can’t sit here either. I have to go. The only thing keeping me standing is the belief that she is there. And if I can just get to her in time . . . if she can hold on until I get to her, then that’s what I’m going to do.”
The commander took a deep drag off his cigarette and released the smoke slowly as he eyed Angelo. Then he nodded, as if he’d made up his mind and was at ease with his decision. “We have an army transport leaving for France in three days. You’ll be on it. We’ll find enough work to keep you busy, and you’ll probably wish you’d never signed on. The 20th Armored Division just arrived in the south of France. They’ll be working their way up quickly to the border between France and Germany. That’s the best I can do for you, Father. Godspeed.”
“I’m coming with you,” Mario said firmly.
“Mario, no. No, you aren’t.” Angelo had walked down the steps of St. Peter’s Basilica to see Mario waiting just beyond the gates, an army duffel bag on his back and determination in his eyes.
“I’m a doctor. They will take me. I don’t speak very good English, but you do. You’re an American, after all. Together, we can do this. I’m a doctor; you’re a medic. A spiritual medic. God’s medic.” He smiled and shrugged.
“Ah, yes. I’m saving souls right and left,” Angelo said with a self-deprecating smile. His duties the last few months had been of the temporal nature. Food, shelter, safety. He hadn’t performed any of the more sacred rites because he felt unworthy to do so, committed as he was to leaving the priesthood behind if he found Eva.
“I’m coming with you,” Mario repeated.