TDTLBU Chapter Thirty-Two

"Ya know, all we really gotta do is survive pepper spray and mustard gas," Josh grinned as he tramped alongside his unit. They had been in Morocco, North Africa for less than one day and already every one of them hated it. It had been the dead of night when at last they descended over the side of the transport ship on rope ladders into the landing craft, finally sneaking onto shore under cover of darkness. After that was a twelve mile march to the rendezvous place. Josh was the only one grinning at that point and the only reason for that was because he was trying to keep himself from cracking. The endless hours of marching through desert sand was enough to make a man lose his mind.

"Why's that?" Andy piped up.

"Don't ask," Ronnie glanced over his shoulder. "You'll regret it."

"Because then we'll be seasoned veterans," Josh finished wryly.

"Here we go again," Sam rolled his eyes. 

"Sun's gettin' to you, Carrots. Your hair's turning pink." 

"Yeah? Well take a look at Sandy."

"Where? Sandy's disappeared. Just faded right into all this sand… camouflaged in his natural habitat."

"I. Hate. Sand." Sandy replied grimly. "I've got sand in my ears and sand in my eyes and sand up my nose and sand in my boots and sand down the front of my shirt and sand in everything I eat and…"

"And sand permanently plastered all over your face,” Sam snickered. 

“You’ve got no room to talk, flamehead,” Sandy shot back.

"What is a soldier's favorite month?" Josh put in.

"Definitely not November," Ralph sighed. "Cuz this November is the worst month of my life so far."

"March," Josh answered promptly. 

“I heard one,” Jimmy had been lagging behind but picked up his pace again. “Where do the generals keep their armies?”

“In the desert,” Dan muttered.

“If God had meant for us to be in the Army, we would’ve been born with baggy green skin,” Josh added.

“Hey, make him shut up,” Ronnie groaned. “Slap ‘im or something.”

Josh was accordingly slapped, by half a dozen eager hands.

✯✯✯

“Why can’t I be a soldier?” Mickey propped his chin in his hands, elbows resting on the kitchen table. He was staring disconsolately at the math homework in front of him. Only two out of twenty problems had been answered. The margins of the paper displayed dramatic sketches of bomber jets and warships, attesting to what Mickey had been doing for the past half-hour. A stick figure with cartoonishly-large glasses, loading torpedoes into a cannon at the bottom of the paper, was labeled in Mickey’s characteristic scrawl “Sergeant Ronnie”. Several stick figures lay in front of the cannon with x’s for eyes, bearing the label “Dead Krauts”. 

“I can’t give up both of my boys,” Donna smiled sadly, leaning forward to tweak Mickey’s nose. He glared at her, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. “Besides,” his mother continued. “You’ve got to stay and hold down the fort here.”

“Don’t need to. Dad’s taking care of you.”

“And Ronnie’s taking care of the Krauts,” Katie grinned. “Here, buddy.” She scraped a chocolate chip cookie off of the tray she had taken from the oven and set it on the table in front of Mickey. He perked up slightly, munching the cookie with great relish as Katie poured him a glass of milk.

“Eat slow, Mickey. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Then why’d you make so many?”

“They’re for Jerry.”

“Aw, Jerry. You’re always sending him things.”

“Well, look on the bright side.” Katie turned away to hide her blush. “You might not get as many cookies, but for you, they’re fresh. Hot out of the oven. Jerry has to eat them cold.”

“S’pose so,” Mickey drained his milk in a few gulps, not seeming to realize he now owned a rather impressive milk mustache. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. Donna shook her head, laughing, as she wiped his face with the corner of her apron.

“You’re a mess, kiddo.”

“Can I listen to the radio?” Mickey glanced up hopefully, appealing more to Katie than to his mother. He knew she would be more sympathetic. But he got nowhere with his plea.

“Not until you finish every problem on that paper, young man. And if it takes you till bedtime, then too bad.”

Mickey sighed dramatically, bending over his homework with exaggeratedly forced concentration. With great effort, he languidly answered three more problems, then veered off again as he added more “dead Krauts” to the bottom of his paper. He embellished them by pinning swastikas to their chests and adding a fleet of P-51 Mustangs overhead… his favorite kind of fighter plane. By way of grand finale, he added a stick figure in the very back of the dead German army, sporting a tiny black mustache and screaming violently. A very large P-51 was in the act of dropping a very large bomb right on the figure’s head.

“And what do you suppose Mrs. Johnson will think of that?” Katie peered over his shoulder, suppressing a grin at the battle scene being enacted right over top of the multiplication problems. “You’ve gone and turned the whole paper into a battlefield.”

“It’s more interesting than math,” Mickey groaned. “Why does nothing interesting ever happen around here?” 

As if on cue, the sudden sound of air raid sirens pierced the night and Mickey sprang from his chair exuberantly.

“Oh boy! A blackout!”

Donna exchanged glances with Katie and rolled exasperated eyes to heaven.

“You had to ask, didn’t you, Mickey? Katie, get the curtains, I’ll grab the candles. Mickey, turn off the lights.”

Katie moved swiftly through the house, closing the blackout curtains while Mickey stampeded past her, switching off lights so quickly that she barely had time to finish covering the windows. Jim rushed in from the barn, joining the family in the living room. Katie shuddered in the darkness as the eerie echo of the sirens seemed to grow louder. In her mind, she was with Jerry, wondering what he might be going through, what he must be seeing. Moments like these made the war seem so much realer and she prayed harder, her heart thumping wildly. Sensing her worry, her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m thankful for the candlelight,” Donna tried to keep her voice cheerful, but it trembled slightly. “It’s rather warm and homey, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Katie’s voice was distant. She stared off into space, her brow furrowed. Somehow, something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the drill. No. It was something else. Somewhere, something was wrong. Her body tensed suddenly and she sat bolt upright, drawing in her breath sharply.

“Katie? What’s wrong?” Donna frowned, peering through the darkness as she tried to catch a glimpse of her daughter’s face. “What is it?”

Katie shook her head, her lips moving, although she said nothing. She was far, far away and her mother’s words didn’t even register in her mind. She was suddenly hearing things she’d never heard before… explosions. Bombing. Torpedoes. The sounds of waves washing over the deck of a ship. Someone… calling her name…

“Jerry,” she whispered, clutching her hand against her heart. Her breath quickened and she started suddenly from the couch where she had been sitting between her parents. “Jerry!”

“Katie!” Her mother stood, pulling her into her arms. “Katie… it’s okay, honey. It’s okay.”

Outside, the siren stopped wailing and the all-clear signal was given. With a reluctant groan, Mickey turned on the lights and dragged himself back to his homework under the stern eye of his father. Katie drew a deep breath, gathering herself together as best she could. Whatever had just happened, it had terrified her… but it was gone now.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Jim frowned, his eyes flickering with concern. Katie shook her head.

“I… I don’t know,” she faltered. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. I… I think I’ll go finish that box for Jerry. Sorry Mom, Dad.” She hurried back to the kitchen before either of her parents could speak. Donna turned worried eyes to Jim and he reached out to grip her hand, comfortingly.

“She’ll be okay,” he spoke in a low voice. “She’s just under a lot of stress, that’s all.” Donna nodded and he rose from the couch, leaning forward to blow out the candles. “I need to go back out to the barn for a few minutes, finish bedding down the stock. I’ll be back in soon.”

Donna returned to the kitchen where Katie was carefully packing cookies in between layers of wax paper in a cardboard box. Mickey’s math homework lay on the table, still unfinished. But there was no Mickey in sight. A few moments later, however, his location was confirmed by the staticky sounds of “Hi-Ho, Silver!” issuing from the living room. Donna sighed, preparing to march out after him and drag him back to his homework at all costs, but Katie reached out, laying a hand on her mother’s arm.

“Wait, Mom. Why not let him listen to his program? It’s only a half hour and he can do the homework afterwards.” Her lower lip trembled as she forced a smile. “I’m just glad he’s a kid, that’s all. He’s a kid and… and he doesn’t need to… go and… fight…” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes as she turned back to her cookies. Donna sank limply into a chair at the table, picking up Mickey’s paper and staring at his drawings idly.

“You’re right, Katie. Thank God he’s not old enough to go.”

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