Lovely War(48)

“But you knocked his head off, right?” Joey said. “Tell me you knocked his head off.”

“Last call for more,” cried the mess soldier with the ladle.

“Dang, I wanted more,” said Joey. “Never mind that. What’d you do?”

Aubrey shrugged. “Took him out, man. What’d you think?” He wiped the dirt off his hands. “Had no weapon, but I laid him out on the ground. He’ll be feeling it for a while.”

As I say, I do not boast, but Aubrey isn’t me.

Joey took a sloppy bite of soup, then pulled out the handgun once more.

“That’s not army issue,” he repeated. “That’s a Colt. The 1910 model.”

“Since when are you the gun expert?” demanded Aubrey.

“Since I went off to war, dummy.” He ran a finger across the pistol’s rough texture. The Smith & Wesson revolvers they’d been issued felt graceful and old-fashioned, with sleek silvery curves and wooden handles. This weapon felt cruel and ugly.

“These are the handguns they give the marines,” Joey said.

Aubrey didn’t much care which branch of the armed forces they were. The 15th New York had already had enough run-ins with bigots in the army.

“What’re you going to do with that Colt?”

Aubrey turned it over in his hand. “An extra pistol might come in handy.”

Joey gave him a penetrating look. “You’re gonna tell Captain Fish about it, aren’t you?”

Aubrey thumped him in the arm. “Are you kidding me? I’d get thrown out on my ear. Court-martialed, maybe, for being out after hours. And with a white girl? No way.”

“Listen, man, you can’t just ignore this. You gotta figure out some way to report it.” He leaned in closer. “I was talking just this morning to a couple of those guys from M Company.”

Aubrey nodded. “So?”

“They’ve got a funeral to go to tonight for one of their men,” Joey whispered. “Geoff Somebody. A Brooklyn boy. They’re saying he died of the flu. That’s what their captain’s saying, I mean. But the M Company men don’t believe it. He was perfectly healthy, and the next thing you know, he disappears. And one of them, they’re saying, says he was sworn to secrecy by the captain, but he found his body. Strangled. And they think it’s the marines that did it.’

Aubrey’s mouth went dry. “That can’t be. There’s no way.”

“You know there’s a way,” Joey said. “Weren’t you at Camp Wadsworth? Or Camp Dix? Or were you busy chasing some girl then, too?”

“K Company! Attention!” barked Captain Fish. “Back to work. These tracks won’t lay themselves, and we’ve got a lot more to lay down before we head in for the day.”

They scraped up the last bites of stew and buttoned up their coats. Until they got heated up again from work, they’d need the warmth.

Joey pulled Aubrey’s elbow and spoke directly into his ear.

“Aub, those Company M boys are saying a group of them is gonna take revenge. An eye for an eye. A marine for one of ours.”

We bite back. Aubrey gulped.

“I came to fight a war with the Germans,” whispered Joey. “For democracy. But they’re gonna start a war right here at Saint-Nazaire. For stupidity.”





APHRODITE


     Two Letters Arrive—January 19, 1918





THE BROWN ENVELOPE read, YMCA Interdepartmental Correspondence. It looked highly official. Miss Hazel Windicott, Y Relief Huts, US Army Training Camp, Saint-Nazaire.

Hazel opened it to find a thick envelope addressed to her, from her mother, care of the Y headquarters in Paris. It contained a letter and two more envelopes from James, sent to Poplar.

I would do Hazel an injustice if I didn’t report that she read her mother’s letter first. I would do the truth an injustice if I didn’t report that she could barely see what she read.

She opened the two letters from James, compared dates, and started reading the first.



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    December 30, 1917

Dear Hazel,

I like fishing well enough, and if your father loves it, I will love it too.

After Christmas, we received orders to leave étaples for the Front. We came by train and then a long march through the snow. I’ve traded the call of seagulls for the roar of shells, but they’re still far away. You do see craters, though, and the ruins of old farmhouses. The war is felt everywhere.

We joined up with the Fifth Army just outside the two days ago. I’m not in the trenches yet. The training officer says we new recruits still have a good deal more to learn.

Are you in France? I like thinking of you on the same side of the sea. It’s grand that you volunteered. I visited our Y huts often at étaples. The Germans may kill us, but only if boredom doesn’t get us first. I envy the lads who will hear you play. What I wouldn’t give to trade places.

I think of you every day. Can’t believe it’s over a month since we were together. Do write to me so I know how to reach you. Be safe, stay well.

Yours,

James





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