Chapter 8
OZZIE
Heat pulsed beneath Ozzie’s skin as his upper body flashed into a cold sweat.
Another wave of pressure from his stomach traveled up through his esophagus.
He reached for his emesis bag and retched out chunks of pink.
It was the tomato soup that someone from the mess hall had delivered to him in the infirmary, and in its regurgitated state, it stank.
The metal door creaked open. Ozzie heard footsteps and then felt cool hands on his forehead.
“They’ve got you men crammed in here like pigs in a stall.” She tsked her teeth.
Ozzie looked up and saw Clara Thompson, the nurse he had met on his first day at sea, peering down at him.
His breath tasted pungent, so he didn’t open his mouth to speak.
The small room had been like a hot pot marinating the funk of the five sick men and their waste, but Clara moved from touching him to the next man, seemingly unbothered by the heat or smell.
After a quick round, she returned to Ozzie. “Brought you some raw ginger. Chew on this awhile, and then I’m going to give you some tea.”
Ozzie had been curled up on the bottom bunk and wanted to sit up straight, but his stomach curdled when he moved. He hated to appear weak and downtrodden in front of a woman he vaguely knew. But when he tried to rise, Clara put her hand on his shoulder and then eased him back onto his stiff pillow.
“My mama used to say a hard head makes a soft behind. Now let me do my work, soldier.”
She stood watch as Ozzie eased the square piece of ginger into his mouth.
It tasted spicy and felt like straw between his teeth.
The ginger burned the back of his throat when he swallowed, and the taste of it lingered on his tongue and opened his nostrils.
Clara passed out raw cubes to the other four men in the tiny infirmary and then poured tin cups of water for each of them.
While they chewed, she took away their emesis bags and returned with new ones.
She knelt before Ozzie with a cool cloth and wiped his brows, face, chin, and neck. After taking his temperature, she checked his pulse and then pressed her stethoscope to his chest and listened to his heart.
“Am I still alive?” Ozzie whispered out the side of his mouth, hoping the ginger improved his breath.
“Barely.” She grinned. “But I won’t let you die even if you do suck at tunk.” They had played cards up on the weather deck before he had fallen ill.
“Backgammon is more my game,” Ozzie managed.
“I think what you need is some fresh air.”
“How long have I been down here?”
“Three days, which is long enough. Now chew on that ginger. I worked hard getting it away from the men in the kitchen.”
Clara stood and once again moved from patient to patient, checking vitals. From his bottom cot, Ozzie couldn’t help noticing her hips move beneath her wool army skirt. Watching her made him think of Rita, and what he wouldn’t give to have her curled up beside him, making it all better.
“I’ll be back in the morning,” she whispered to Ozzie. “If your emesis bag is empty, I’ll get you up on deck. The air will do the rest; now, keep chewing the ginger.” She pressed a pill in his hand. “Take this in about an hour. It should do the trick.”
Ozzie didn’t remember much after taking the pill Clara gave him because it knocked him out cold. He wasn’t sure how much time passed before he heard the door open, and in breezed a whiff of Clara’s powdery scent.
“Rise and shine, soldiers,” she called.
Clara went through the nurse’s formality of checking each man’s vitals and giving out ginger and tablets of medication. She saved Ozzie for last. With a hand on his forehead, she declared, “Fever is gone. Let’s go get some air.”
Ozzie felt steadier on his feet than he had in days.
After a stop in the washroom to freshen up, he followed Clara down the corridor and up the stairs to the main deck.
The blast of air felt good as he made his way to a bench where two men from his berth sat with their water canteens.
One tipped his hat. Ozzie took a deep inhale of the salty air.
The blue sea was wide and expansive and stretched farther than his eyes could take in.
“See what you’ve been missing? It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Clara pushed a loose curl from her eye.
Once they were seated, Clara pulled out some dry toast wrapped in waxed paper. “Chew it slowly,” she instructed.
The air moved through him like magic.
“Is this your first time on a ship?”
He nodded. “You?”
“No. I’ve been to England and France.”
“Really?” Ozzie swallowed the bread. “What’d you do over there?”
“I served with the Six Triple Eight Central Postal Directory Battalion. Our mission was to clear a two-year backlog of mail for American soldiers stationed in Europe.”
“Ah, I read about you ladies in The Philadelphia Tribune.”
“Really?” She beamed.
“Lucky me.” He put his hand over his heart. “A Women’s Army Corps handpicked by Mary McLeod Bethune has nursed me back to health.”
Clara smiled even brighter. “So you do know about us.”
“Sure do,” he said. Leaning back on his elbows, Ozzie asked, “What was the hardest part for you?”
Clara looked up at the sky. “The work conditions were awful. The warehouse where we sorted was often unheated and the lighting poor. But I’d say the worst was returning mail addressed to soldiers killed in the line of duty. No one ever wanted that job.”
“How long were you stationed out there?”
“I left home in January ’45 and returned in spring ’46. When I got back, I enrolled in nursing school. Now I’m returning to Europe as a WAC nurse.”
Ozzie stretched his legs in front of him. “All I keep thinking about is all those white people in one place.”
“They are far nicer than the ones on this ship. Trust me.”
“I just really want a job that makes a difference,” Ozzie confessed.
“What is it that you want to do?”
“Intelligence. Gotta brain for strategy and logic.”
Clara looked him over. He saw something in her eyes that suggested she knew something he didn’t. “Just be careful. There is a lot of freedom in Europe, but don’t forget who you are.”
When the ship arrived in Bremerhaven, Germany, Ozzie had been at sea for eighteen long days. It took over two hours to disembark all the soldiers with their possessions. He had lost sight of Clara in the shuffle and regretted that he hadn’t said a proper goodbye.
“Man, I have never felt so happy to feel solid ground.” Morgan stomped his feet.
“I could kiss the cement,” replied Thornton.
Ozzie shoved his bag over his shoulder. Already he missed Rita, despite their breakup, and the familiar rhythms of his life in South Philly. “I just hope the journey was worth it.”
“Shiiit. I come from the Mississippi Delta, and anything here is better than being down there,” Thornton said matter-of-factly.
It was dark out, and a salty breeze gently whipped at the back of Ozzie’s neck. His uniform felt soggy and was in desperate need of a wash.
Sergeant Marshall walked several paces in front of the men, then turned to face them, calling, “Fall in!”
The thirty-three men in Ozzie’s platoon took their place in the accountability formation, lined up by squad, facing Sergeant Marshall and waiting for his next order.
“Parade!” shouted Sergeant Marshall. “Rest!” The platoon snapped from the position of attention to listen to their platoon sergeant’s orders.
“We are heading to Kitzingen, just south of Würzburg, to the basic training facility for Negro troops. There you will receive orientation and training before being dispatched to duty. Grab your equipment and follow me to the bus. Platoon, atten-SHUN! Fall out.”
The soldiers broke from their ranks, and Marshall led the way to a fleet of service buses. He located their bus, and the soldiers filed onto the vehicle, stuffing their bags on the rack overhead and beneath their feet.
Ozzie found a window seat. As the bus pulled away from the dock, the men started off with rowdy chatter, but after a long stretch on the autobahn, the motion of the ride lulled most of them to sleep.
Ozzie had been snoozing deeply when he was yanked back by Sergeant Marshall’s voice shouting “good morning” and prompting them to look out the window.
As they drove through the center of town, Ozzie watched the locals walking along the streets.
Many had sullen eyes, and he saw kids in shabby clothes who were so skinny and frail that they looked as if a heavy wind would be the end of them.
As the bus slowed near a footbridge, people brightened and waved their hats in the air. A few shouted, “Willkommen!”
“They are welcoming us.” Marshall waved back, and a few others did the same. Ozzie held up his hand and waved too.
Morgan whistled. “Man, I can’t wait to get to know some of these honeys.”
“Yes, Lawd. I heard the girls here hunger for that Coca-Cola in their ice cream.” Thorton slapped Morgan five, and several of the men chimed in with more bravado.
As the testosterone-charged conversation revved, all Ozzie could hear was his mother’s final warning: Don’t you go over there messin’ with no white women. Ain’t nothing on the other side of that but the devil’s luck.
The bus slowed at the mouth of the military base. There were two military police stationed at the gate, and after a few words with the driver, the gates opened and the bus drove through.
“Welcome to the Kitzingen Basic Training Center for Negro Troops. We are the spark plug of the entire Negro population in the European Command,” Sergeant Marshall said, pride gleaming from his face. “Now, let’s get you gentlemen settled so we can show them what we can do.”