TDTLBU Chapter Thirty-Three

"Never thought I'd ever be this far from home," Ronnie settled against the wall of the canvas tent, balancing his noon k-ration on his knees. Rations weren't anything like what they had gotten in training and in England… Josh said they were "tasteless slop” and the troops had unanimously dubbed them "k-rats".

“Same here.” Mac opened his box and grimaced at the tiny packages inside. “Most I ever thought of a desert was when we read the story of Moses and the Israelites going to Canaan in Sunday School."

"Hey, what’s with all these cigarettes anyway?” Ronnie looked askance at the cigarette case in his rations.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you smoke?” Ken pulled a pack of matches from his pocket and lit one of his cigarettes.

“Nope. Never touched the stuff.”

“Helps with the hunger.”

“Well, you can have mine.” Ronnie tossed the package towards him. Josh was staring warily at his own cigarettes. He had never tried them either, but he didn't see any sense in telling the rest of the guys that. Tentatively, he struck a match and lit one.

“This stuff doesn’t deserve the title of ‘meal’,” Mac poked through the contents, eyeing them narrowly. “It's just dry crackers and cheese goop and stuff…” He broke off, interrupted by violent coughing from Josh's corner.

“What wouldn’t I give for a steak and a baked potato.” Ken's words elicited groans of protests from the other men.

“Fresh milk,” Ronnie sighed. “Mom’s molasses crinkle cookies. You okay over there, Josh?" Josh was choking and gagging over his cigarette, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't manage more by way of answer than a nod but he went on trying desperately to pretend he knew how to smoke.

“Real cheese.” Jimmy scooped up a generous glob of the sticky canned goop they called cheese with a biscuit and bit down on it resolutely.

“I’d give my right arm for Janey’s applesauce muffins,” Dan grinned half-heartedly. “I told her so in my last letter and she tried sending me some, but they didn’t last through shipping. Felt like dying right there where I stood when I found out. I was that close!” 

“All the more reason to hurry up and win this war so we can go home again,” Mac shrugged and twisted open his can of ham almost forcefully. "What's that they said in the Great War? Tomorrow we go over the top, lads! Cheers," he raised a biscuit in salute. 

✯✯✯

"It's getting closer, isn't it?"

Emma nodded without looking up as she pressed cotton gauze against a heavily bleeding wound. It was hard to work in the light of a flashlight beam, particularly when the girl holding the flashlight was shaking so hard she couldn't keep it steady. Another explosion rocked the ground and Emma clenched her teeth to keep back a cry of surprise. She hated that she was so easily startled. 

It was nearly pitch-black in the tents and flashlight beams bobbed everywhere as nurses rushed frantically down crowded aisles. They had only arrived in Morocco just that afternoon and the wounded were already pouring in. And they weren't prepared. They had to jump in and make do with what they had. It was a trial by fire.

"Hold that light to the right, Marci," Emma added more cotton gauze and glanced up across the room to where the closest doctor was busy with an emergency surgery. 

"Why haven't they supplied us better than this?" Marci complied quickly, bending to point the light at the soldier's wounded side. 

"Too short of notice," Emma grunted, applying more pressure against the flow of blood. "Our stuff hasn't all arrived from England yet. Hey... Calm down, we're okay," she added as a distant crash echoed through the night and Marci whimpered. 

"It... It's..." Marci laughed suddenly. "It's a lot more intense than I thought it would be."

"I know," Emma laughed back and wondered why. Nervous energy, she supposed. It certainly wasn't funny. "Alright, I think I've got it here, the only thing to do is apply pressure until the doctor's ready for surgery. You can probably go check on the new arrivals."

Marci nodded and hurried off. Emma added more gauze to the wound and blew sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes. She really must see about getting her hair more out of the way. The wounded man groaned, his eyelids flickering. 

"Shh, you're okay," Emma murmured automatically, although she was sure he wasn't comprehending her words. "We'll get you taken care of." She shot another impatient glance in the doctor's direction and breathed a silent prayer. 

✯✯✯

It was so hard to see in the smoke and flying sand. With every explosion that rocked the desert landscape, the air was filled with debris, blocking the soldiers’ vision. They were green troops, just getting their first taste of combat. And in all their worst nightmares, they had never imagined it to be as horrific as it was. The men of the First Division were scattered over the rocky hills of Tebourba, fighting desperately for their lives as their sergeants screamed out orders. Half of the careful training was driven out of the minds of the boys that sprawled out over the landscape, just from sheer terror. But the terror gave way to adrenaline and action. The Fighting First were transforming from inexperienced troops to veterans of the battlefield. 

“This is really somethin’, eh?” Josh was shouting over the noise of gunfire as he lay flat on his stomach behind one of the makeshift barriers, holding for dear life onto his rifle. His eyes were wide, his expression unreadable as he stared out at the battlefield.

“It’s somethin’, alright,” Mac shouted back, keeping his head down. “Somethin’ awful.”

"Somethin' awful", as Mac was to say later, was one of the greatest understatements of his life. They hadn't been prepared, and that was putting it mildly. It was only a small battle then… hardly more than a skirmish. But the noise of the guns, land mines, and grenades was ear-splitting and soul-shattering. And worse, with the cries of pain from the wounded, the battlefield sounded to the terrified troops like the pit of hell.

When at last the weary soldiers made it back to camp and some semblance of normalcy again, they could barely even eat, they were so rattled. Cigarettes and coffee were as much as they could manage. They had spent three days and nights running through the desert and hiding behind flimsy barriers before they were allowed to fall back for a day's rest. Them they would have to return to the field. If they succeeded in pushing back the enemy, it would mean more marching, ever pressing ahead for Tunisia. 

✯✯✯

Jimmy sat alone, a crumpled sheet of paper spread over his knee, a pencil dangling limply in his hand. He stared at the paper as if it was going to bite him, seeming afraid to touch it with the pencil. His eyes were wide and hollow, his face red as if he had been crying. He glanced up as Ronnie sat beside him, then dropped his head again.

“You okay?” Ronnie broke the silence.

“Guess so,” Jimmy shrugged.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” 

Ronnie said nothing, just waited. He knew Jimmy would speak eventually. And he did, a few minutes later, his voice shaking.

“I didn’t know it would be like that.”

“None of us did.”

“Th… there were so many… d–dying…” Jimmy stammered, his eyes growing wider. “I… I killed one myself.”

“How old are you, kid?” Ronnie changed the subject abruptly. And this time, Jimmy told the truth.

“S–sixteen,” he whispered and buried his face in his arms. After a moment he spoke again, his voice muffled. 

"Please... Please don't tell 'em. They'll send me home and I wanna... I wanna stick it out. Really, I do."

"I should tell. You know that. You shouldn't be here."

"I know..." Jimmy groaned. "But I... I tried so hard. And anyway, I'll be seventeen next month and eighteen in a year. By then it'll be okay. Just please..." He broke down, sobbing. Ronnie nodded silently and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. With all his heart he wished Jimmy wasn't there. What they had seen and done already shouldn't be experienced by anybody, let alone one so young. He was afraid this war would destroy them all.