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  For Malice and Mercy

  A World War II Novel

  By Gary W. Toyn

  American

  Legacy

  Media

  All Rights Reserved

  ©٢٠٢١ Gary W. Toyn

  Published by American Legacy Media

  AmericanLegacyMedia.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means–electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or other forms yet to be conceived–with exception of brief quotations of less than 200 words for critical reviews, articles or other research related publications, and is strictly prohibited unless express, written permission is granted by the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination, or are represented fictitiously for literary effect. Any references to actual businesses, entities, events, or locales, is unintentional and without malice. With the exception of public figures, all characters depicted herein are fictional, despite some that may appear to resemble actual persons, living or dead, and such similarities are entirely unintentional and coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be construed as the author’s.

  ISBN EPUB format: 978-0-9818489-9-0

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Toyn, Gary W., 1961- author.

  Title: For malice and mercy : a World War II novel / by Gary W. Toyn.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2021000314 (print) | LCCN 2021000315 (ebook) |

  ISBN 9780981848976 (paperback) | ISBN 9780981848983 (kindle edition) |

  ISBN 9780981848990 (epub)

  Subjects: LCSH: World War, 1939-1945--Fiction. | German Americans--Fiction.

  | GSAFD: Historical fiction. | Spy stories.

  Classification: LCC PS3620.O987 F67 2021 (print) | LCC PS3620.O987

  (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021000314

  LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021000315

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  Chapter 1

  June 3, 1939, 9:30 a.m.

  Huntsville, Utah

  Hank Meyer walked with purpose across his dew-soaked front yard, passing by his kitchen window. He waved at his sister Ella and her best friend Billie Russell, they looked on in curiosity. Hank smiled as he chatted with the boy they didn’t recognize. The girls’ eyes were glued on the new young man as he walked behind Hank through the front door.

  Hank cleared his throat and announced, “Hey everyone, this is Chester Bailey. He just moved into the old Johnson home.”

  Ella and Billie gave him an admiring giggle. Chester’s broad shoulders were a clear indication he was not afraid of hard, physical work. Scruffy around the edges, he was all farm boy. He stood at least six feet tall, a few inches taller than Hank, but both were similar in their athletic build. Chester wore faded denim overalls, a snug fit over his tanned, solid frame. His piercing green eyes contrasted with his unkempt, sun-bleached hair. Ella nudged Billie and whispered, “Stop staring.”

  “This is Ella, and this is Billie,” Hank pointed, then watched as Chester looked first at Ella, then back at Billie. Ella’s dark hair outlined her round face and rich, brown eyes. Her plump frame was in stark contrast to Billie’s build, which was long and lean. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and her bright blue eyes glowed against her tanned complexion.

  “So you must be Ella,” Chester pointed with confidence. “You look like your brother.”

  “That’s me.” She ventured a half-hearted wave, her face turning pink.

  “And this is Billie. But don’t call her Virginia,” Hank teased. “She hates her real name.” Billie shot him a glower and he ignored it, just like he had the countless other times she had shot him a nasty look.

  Ella tilted her head toward her friend, “Billie lives in that house over there.” Ella motioned westward, then pointed out the kitchen window. “Her grandma lives next door in that house to the east.”

  “I just stay here in the middle house to save time,” Billie said with a shrug. Chester laughed, and Billie grinned back at him with delight.

  “Her mom and dad are sort of like humanitarians,” Ella explained. “They go around giving away food and stuff to people who are down on their luck. Billie stays at her grandma’s house while they’re gone and she gets to use her mom’s car whenever she likes. How would that be?” Ella teased, not trying to hide her envy.

  Just then, Hank and Ella’s parents entered the room and smiled at the group. Hank pointed at Chester with an open hand “Mama and Papa, this is Chester Bailey.” They both dipped their heads to acknowledge the new visitor in their home.

  Chester offered his hand, and they both gave it a polite shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Meyer.”

  “They were both born in Germany,” Hank explained. “They joined the Church there and then came here to be with the Saints in Utah.”

  “That’s interesting,” Chester nodded. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Many years now,” Papa looked up at the ceiling for an answer. “Over twenty years now for me. For Mama, a little less than that. But ve are both proud to be Americans! Ve love it here.”

  Chester grinned at hearing Papa’s distinct German accent.

  “Just so you know, Chester,” Hank added, “you may hear us speak German among ourselves at home, but we all speak English too.”

  Chester gave a curious but interested grin.

  “So, Chester,” Papa asked, “vere are you coming from?”

  “Logan, Utah, sir,” he replied.

  “Vat brings you to Huntsville?”

  “Well, sir…” Chester scratched his arm as he thought. “My dad needed more land to graze his sheep. We made an offer on the Johnson’s property, and they threw in that old house to sweeten the deal, so we just decided to move up here and fix it up.”

  Papa grinned and was about to ask another question when Billie interrupted.

  “What year in school are you?” She flipped her ponytail over her shoulder, a flirtatious smile spread across her face.

  “I’ll be a junior next year.” He looked at Hank with a grin.

  “Oh!” Billie’s eyes opened wide. “You’ll be going to Weber High School with me and Ella. We’re both juniors.”

  “Yup, I guess so,” Chester answered.

  And Hank will be just starting at Weber High, as a little ol’ freshman,” Billie added.

  Hank gave a slight shake of his head, but he had no come back.

  “Did you play any sports at your old school?” Billie asked, a clear challenge in her voice.

  Hank jumped in, not about to let Billie dominate the conversation.

  “Chester is a great pitcher. It’s too bad he didn’t grow up here. We could have won a game or two.”

  “Our school has lost every game for the last twenty years. Even Lou Gehrig couldn’t have helped us win a game,” Billie declared and everyone chuckled.

  Chester eyed Billie and asked, “So you must be the baseball player Hank told me about.”

  “Maybe. What did he tel
l you?”

  “Oh, just that you can play just as good as any boy. Maybe better.”

  “Hank said that about me?” She looked at Hank with a raised eyebrow. “Well at least he admits that I’m better than he is. It’s about time.”

  Hank looked at her in mild protest, but knew better than to start another argument.

  “So,” Chester looked at Billie. “I hear there’s a pick-up game at the park in a half hour. You wanna come play?”

  “Absolutely,” Billie replied. “Let me get my mitt.”

  Hank watched her dash to the door toward her house, then after a few steps she stopped, hung her shoulders, and returned to say, “I forgot,” she admitted, her voice dripping with embarrassment. “Charlie Wangsguard has my mitt, and he’s at work tonight.”

  Hank looked at the ceiling, knowing Billie was stretching the truth.

  Ella looked at Hank, sensing a confrontation brewing. “Hank, don’t you have an extra glove somewhere for Billie?”

  “Yeah.” Hank let out a exasperate sigh. “Let me go find it.” Billie smiled with relief as she followed Hank up to his room.

  As they reached the top of the stairs, Hank confronted Billie. “Why didn’t you just tell him you always borrow a mitt from Charlie Wangsguard?”

  “I didn’t lie,” Billie protested. “I always use Charlie’s extra mitt. And he has it.”

  Hank rolled his eyes as he knelt down in front of his messy closet. He rummaged through boxes of childhood memories and keepsakes he had accumulated over the years.

  “It’s got to be in here somewhere,” Hank complained. Digging beneath old coats and wrinkled shirts, he uncovered a dusty leather suitcase and tossed it aside.

  “I know I saw it in here a few months ago,” he mumbled to himself.

  The treasure hunt seemed to go on forever.

  “Hank, they’re waiting. We haven’t got all day,” Billie complained.

  “There it is!” Hank smiled as he retrieved the mitt and slapped it a few times on his hand to shake away the dust.

  “Great.” Billie took the glove and tried it on for size. “It’ll do for now. It shouldn’t take me too long to break it in again.” She twisted and tugged on the mitt’s leather to loosen it up.

  As Hank threw his clothes back into his closet, Billie noticed the bright label attached to the handle of the leather suitcase.

  “Aw, how cute,” she gushed. “Look at little Hank’s handwriting. In crayon, no less.”

  Hank smiled at his eleven-year-old penmanship, which carefully spelled the word Deutschland on the luggage tag.

  “Are these your keepsakes from your trip to Germany?”

  “Yeah.” Hank loosened the belt buckles on the suitcase. Carefully, he opened the lid to reveal the valuable souvenirs he had safeguarded for the last five years.

  “What is that?” Billie’s eyes bulged as Hank’s hand hovered over a brown shirt with a black and red armband emblazoned with a swastika.

  “That’s my uniform for the Hitler Youth. They gave it to me.” He removed the long-sleeved shirt and a pair of lederhosen and held them up for inspection. Billie caressed the uniform as though it was a museum artifact.

  “Wow. It’s so tiny. Look how small you were,” Billie laughed. “That shirt wouldn’t even fit over your shoulder,” she teased.

  Hank held up the shirt to his neck and chuckled, “Maybe if I try, I can still fit in it?” They both laughed as the small uniform was dwarfed by Hank’s chest and arms that strained the fabric of his well-worn shirt.

  “How did you get all this stuff?” Billie raised one eyebrow.

  “I was eleven years old. I don’t remember too much anymore, but I do remember that two older boys showed up at our scout meeting and said,” Hank paused and then spoke in perfect German, “You are now part of the Hitler Youth Organization. Seig Heil!” Hank smiled, raising his hand in a mock Nazi salute, then laughed. “To me, it was all just fun and games, going camping, doing drills, singing songs.”

  “That was the worst summer ever for me because I didn’t know what to do without Ella,” Billie laughed at herself.

  Hank removed a souvenir black and white photo of Hitler, and Billie shook her head.

  “Isn’t that the German guy they talk about all the time?” she asked.

  “Yes. Adolf Hitler,” Hank replied, tossing the photo aside.

  “Why did you keep that?” A dark, bitter tone laced Billie’s voice.

  “I don’t know. Just did. They gave each of us a few of these photos and told us to hang them up in our room or wherever we could. At the time I didn’t know who he was. Someday they may be valuable. Who knows?”

  “What else is in there?” Billie reached to the bottom of the suitcase for a large, folded piece of red cloth, a dark black stripe visible along one edge. “What is that?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Is it a flag?” Billie’s eyes were wide in disbelief.

  “Yeah, but don’t take it out. I don’t want to fold it up again.”

  “Th…that’s…” Billie stuttered. “That’s a real Nazi flag? How’d you get it?”

  “My Opa,” Hank paused, figuring she didn’t know what Opa meant. “My Grandpa ripped it down from a light pole near his house and asked me if I wanted it to show my friends. He told me to hide it while we were in Germany, and I just put it in my suitcase.”

  “Why on earth would you want to keep that?”

  “I don’t know. At the time I thought it was a fun souvenir to bring home and show off, I guess.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a little spooky to have a Nazi flag?”

  “Well…I never thought about it until now,” Hank hesitated. “Mama and Papa still don’t know I have all this stuff, and I just forgot about it. But Mama would be furious.”

  “Well, look at you,” Billie teased. “Strait-laced Hank Meyer is keeping secrets from his mommy. I won’t tell a soul.”

  Hank looked at her with skepticism, then heard someone coming up the stairs. He slammed the suitcase closed and stashed it under his mountain of dirty clothes.

  A knock came on the doorframe. “Are you coming?” Ella asked. “Chester’s feeling pretty awkward down there explaining to Mama and Papa about raising sheep. You need to go rescue him,” she laughed.

  Hank took one last look at his closet, making sure his suitcase was still hidden.

  Chapter 2

  June 3, 1939 – 11:00 a.m.

  Huntsville, Utah

  The baseball diamond at Huntsville Town Park was about a quarter mile away. As they walked, Hank pointed to the sky as a small airplane flew overhead and shouted, “J-3 Piper Cub!”

  “Yep, sure is,” Billie answered with a little frustration in her voice. She scanned the horizons for more aircraft, scowling at Hank’s smug face.

  When they arrived at the park, a group of seven boys were playing catch.

  “It’s about time you guys got here,” one of them called out. “What took you so long?”

  Hank stuffed his fingers into his glove. “Shut up, George. Just be glad we’re here.”

  Chester put on his glove and began playing three-way catch with Hank and Billie.

  Ella sat on the grass as she watched the players throw the ball to each other.

  Chester looked at Hank and asked, “So, how do you play with only nine players?”

  “We play work-ups,” Hank explained.

  “What’s that?”

  “We rotate positions with every at-bat. After you bat, you go to right field, and you work your way up until it’s your turn to bat again.”

  “After you bat, you go to right field, then center field, left field, and so on?”

  “You got it.” Hank rubbed his thumb over the seam of a ball. “You rotate after each at-bat.”

  “Okay,
” Chester nodded. “Do you run the bases?”

  “When you get a hit, you run. And you run as far as you can make it on your turn. If you get a home run, you bat again. If you make it to third base then your turn is over and you go to right field.”

  “Home run or nothing?”

  “Yep.”

  Hank watched a familiar visitor approach him from behind the backstop. He smiled at the burly sixteen-year-old, who was making his annual visit from Cedar City in southern Utah. Hank had to look up to him a bit more this year, and Bob waved.

  “What have you been eating, Bob?”

  Bob roared with laughter, tossing the ball back to another player as they warmed up.

  “Let’s get started,” Hank called out. “We’re wasting time.”

  Chester approached and whispered to Hank, tilting his head toward Bob. “Who’s that guy?”

  “He comes around every summer for a while. He’s the best power hitter I’ve ever seen,” Hank smiled. “Last year he hit a ball so hard it bounced out of the park and into that hayfield over there.” Hank pointed southward to a far-off field.

  Each player took a turn. Hank hit a double; Chester hit a high foul ball that took forever to come down, and one of the boys made a spectacular catch. Chester clapped his hands in frustration and headed out to take his place in right field.

  As Bob came to bat, Billie was playing catcher behind the plate. Bob settled in at the plate. Kicking up a dust cloud between pitches, he watched two pitches go by, waiting for just the right pitch. The pitcher drew his arm back and released. Bob’s eyes widened as a fastball whizzed toward him. He swung hard and sent the ball screaming skyward.

  “Uh-oh,” Billie watched the ball go flying after Bob’s monster swing.

  The ball sailed high, long, and over the centerfielder’s head.

  “Home run!” Bob flipped the bat end over end with flare. “Another home run!”

  Bob lumbered around the bases, thinking the ball was long gone. He didn’t notice how fast the centerfielder had chased down the ball.

  “Home run for Bob,” he spouted as he rounded second base. His arms raised in victory as he plodded toward third base. The other boys began to yell frantically, “Get him! Get him!”