The Soldier's Mirror

by Jay Zendrowski

  Chapter 9

  Two days later we pulled into the Bristol Channel on our way to Aldershot, the army’s base of operations in England. We’d been at sea for eight days; eight long days of cold wet misery. I was never happier to see land than when those shadowy silhouettes of the English coast came into view.

  “I’ll be so glad to get off this thing,” Johnny said as we leaned over the rail, slowly watching the shoreline get closer and closer. The episode with the lighter was still weighing heavy on him. He was becoming more bitter; the carefree lad I’d met in line that first day slowly becoming a shadow.

  “What are you gonna do about the lighter?” I asked.

  “Nothing I can do,” he replied with a shrug of the shoulders before looking off into the distance. “Do you think he stole it that night they put us on deck patrol?”

  “He? It wasn’t just he. It was both of them. I’m sure of it. Chester told me the other guys had been talking during chow about how Bill had tried to talk you into betting your lighter against his watch in a poker game. He said he noticed Murphy listening from the next table when Bill was saying where that lighter had come from and why you’d never risk parting with it. I’m sure Murphy orchestrated the whole thing; he needed Riddick though since his last name started with the same letter as yours. I’d bet you a year’s supply of smokes that if we got a chance to look at Riddick’s file we’d find out his father’s name isn’t George.”

  Johnny nodded slowly, the wheels going around inside his head.

  “So they put us on four hours of deck patrol,” I said, “giving them plenty of opportunity while the guys were down watching the movie. Then they come up for their little visit and show off.”

  “Show off?”

  “Yeah, remember when Murphy lost that bet and said it’d cost Riddick a smoke if he wanted his buck? Riddick seemed to take forever lighting their cigarettes, flashing the lighter back and forth right in front of us. I think we were just too tired and cold to even notice. I have the feeling they were actually hoping you’d spot it and say something about it right there. With nobody else around, it could have been a lot worse than just a punch in the jaw. We were too exhausted to put up much of a fight, if it came to that. And trust me, if anything got started, I’m sure it would have gotten that far. They probably would have beaten the crap out of us, and then Murphy would have had us thrown in the brig for attacking a superior officer.”

  Johnny hung his head, letting those thoughts sink in. “Alex, do you believe everybody gets what they deserve in the end?”

  I paused, mulling over my own thoughts. “I can only hope so. We’ve never been very religious in my family, just pretty much going by that golden rule stuff. But I have to think that for everybody, there’s got to be some kind of Judgment Day. I don’t know if it’ll end up being standing before God, or maybe just looking at yourself in the mirror. I have to believe that you have to be able to look at yourself and tell the truth, that you tried to do the best that you could, to be the best person that you could be. You have to be able to look at yourself and be able to do that, without looking away.”

  He stood solemnly at the rail, slowly nodding his head. “Well, brother,” he said as he clapped me on the shoulder and gave me a wry smile, “I’d love to be there the day Murphy and Riddick look in that mirror of yours and see how long it takes them to look away.”

  WAAAAAAAAHHH!

  The ship’s horn blared out, a cacophonous rending of the still air that had us covering our ears. The announcement of our approach to shore brought a flurry of activity. The ship slowed and quietly entered the harbor, gliding smoothly towards the waiting dock. Like a mother bird settling down on her eggs, the captain gently nestled up against the fenders. Thick ropes were tossed overboard and pulled over giant capstans as men ran here and there, both on the ship and the ground below. Within minutes, we were safely lying at anchor.

  A contingent of British brass came on board and met with our commanding officers while we were ushered off the ship in groups. The men were assembled on the dock and a Colonel Nicholson addressed us; welcoming us to their great country and thanking us for our assistance in the fight to come. He spoke well, as Captain Crocker had back at boot camp. His words seemed sincere, confident and hopeful; inspiring the men after their long tedious journey. I think we were all happy to be off the ship and anxious to get moving, wherever that was going to be. A band struck up a couple of tunes, “Roll out the Barrel” and “When Irish Eyes are Smiling” before all joined in during “God Save the King.” It was a fairly impressive welcome to Jolly Old England.

  “It almost looks like home,” Harry said as we watched the countryside slip past from the windows of the train.

  “What did you expect,” Sam replied, “ogres living in trees and knights on horseback?”

  “No,” Harry said as we all smiled. “I thought I might see a castle though.”

  “They’re here,” I said. “Maybe not where we’re going, but trust me, they are here.”

  The train rolled on, the clicking sound of the iron wheels on the track mesmerizing. We passed through one little village after another, the train not stopping once.

  “Look at that church,” Harry said as he pointed out of the window. “Everything looks so…..so……”

  “Old?” I said.

  “Yes, that’s it exactly. All the buildings just look really old.”

  “That’s because most of them, especially the churches, are probably two or three hundred years old. Maybe older.”

  “Wow. That’s hard to even picture,” Harry replied.

  The train pulled into Aldershot, the home of our base. We didn’t have a map, but we were told it was southwest of London.

  “Harry, you said you wanted to see a castle,” said Sam as we entered our assigned barracks, “well, welcome to it.” He made a grand sweeping gesture around the long room as we picked out our bunks. It was much like we were used to back at boot camp, only this one had been here for years. “I say we call it King Harry’s Castle. What do you think, boys?”

  Harry turned red and gave Sam a playful shove as the guys universally agreed on the name of our new home. We stowed our stuff and toured the base. I had never felt so happy to be walking, my shaky sea legs leaving my body like an unwanted virus as I strode upon solid earth for the first time in over a week. The base was huge, many times larger than our training camp back home. It was absolutely packed with soldiers too. You could feel that the war was getting closer, the bustling activity and sheer numbers of personnel had the place surging with tension and electricity. There were signs everywhere about being careful who you talked to. Posters stating “Loose Lips Sink Ships” were stuck up all over the base.

  Back in King Harry’s Castle, it wasn’t long until the guys made it feel more like home by sticking up their favorite pictures in their lockers. It was nice to wake up in the morning and see the faces of women like Lauren Bacall, Rita Hayworth and Ava Gardner looking back at me. Just seeing those beautiful dames seemed to give all of us a sense of hope.

  They worked us hard over the next few weeks as the weather started to change. Springtime came to England as we marched and marched and marched. We saw less and less of Captain Crocker; being told he was busy attending planning and strategy meetings with other officers.

  We were shipped down to the Isle of Wight for training on the beaches. We slept in tents and trained and trained; landing on the beaches, cutting through barbed wire and working in small mobile squads. It was obvious that this was how the assault was going to take place, on the beaches of France where the Krauts would make their stand.

  Apart from the intensive work with our squad, I worked closely with Jessen, the other signaler. We familiarized ourselves with the equipment until we had it down slick as you please. Jessen was good and taught me a lot. He knew all the fancy terms and was up to speed on all the communication devices the army used. He eagerly shared his knowledge. I gratefully sucked up as much information fr
om him as I could.

  During training exercises, Capt. Crocker and Lt. Shapton often had us stick close to them, usually one of us with each of them as they moved over different sections of the island, making sure the radios worked as intended.

  After a few weeks of relentless training on the island, we were moved back to Aldershot. Everyone sensed that it was only a matter of days until we would be moved to the front.

  “Alex, when do you think we’re going,” asked Johnny a couple of nights later as we sat outside having a smoke.

  “It has to be soon. Have you seen how many military police are around right now? They’re keeping a watch on everybody.”

  “Yeah, it kind of makes me nervous.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. “What about you, are you nervous?”

  I looked up at him. His question went beyond the present moment. As I looked at him, in his eyes I could see the lingering fear. “Yes, I am. I’m anxious to get out of here and get to it, but I’m scared shitless too.”

  “Me too,” he replied, breathing a sigh of relief that he wasn’t the only one feeling that way. He took a last long drag on his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stomping on it. “C’mon brother, let’s get some shut eye.”

  As we headed into the barracks, I wondered how much longer it would be until we actually took part in the war.

  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

  The shrill air raid siren shattered the quiet, waking us shortly after midnight. We hurriedly scrambled into our clothes, jammed our helmets on our heads and raced outside, rifles in hand. As we’d done in numerous drills, we headed for the trenches bordered with sand-bags, jumping inside before looking around to see what was going on.

  BOOM!

  A huge explosion near the other side of the base let us know that this was no drill. Personnel were rushing everywhere, and then the anti-aircraft guns started. Flickering traces from the shells flew through the sky as the massive guns chugged away. Between volleys, we could hear the distant sound of the Nazi planes as they passed over.

  BOOM!

  Another shell hit hard, rocking the earth beneath us as I huddled down in the trench, trying to make my body as small as possible.

  BOOM!

  This one was really close, the ground beneath me shaking violently. As debris rained down upon us, the concussive blast ran right through me. It was so powerful I thought it was going to shake the teeth right out of my head.

  “AAAAAHH!” Shrieking voices filled the air from the trench across the way. Amidst shouts and cries of terror, the powerful guns hammered away, the scent of gunpowder filling the air as ribbons of fiery light streaked skyward.

  And then, just like that, it ended. The guns stopped and the pounding klaxon ceased its incessant shrill moments later. The enemy bombers had moved off, likely headed towards London. My ears were still ringing; but I could still hear the moans and cries of men in pain.

  “C’mon, over here!” someone yelled from above the trench. I looked over the edge and saw men running towards the trench opposite, where the agonizing sounds of misery were coming from.

  “Let’s go,” I said to Johnny as I climbed out of the trench. Chester, Harry and the rest of the guys were right behind us as we raced across the courtyard. A handful of men had arrived before us and were already attending to the wounded.

  “Oh my God,” I said under my breath as I stopped in shock and looked at the horrendous vision before me. The bomb had blown a huge section off the back of the trench, creating an enormous crater. There were bodies strewn everywhere, some moving, some not. There were men piled on top of each other in the bottom of the crater while others had been blown right out of the trench onto the surface of the courtyard. Some were missing limbs, heads. Torsos and other body parts lay strewn about the ground. Right in front of me was a hand and forearm, blood oozing from the torn joint just below the elbow. In shock, I dropped to my knees and looked at it. My eyes zeroed in on a watch still circling the wrist. I could see the second hand slowly ticking around the dial. It seemed so strange to see the watch still going, while, in all likelihood, the owner was dead. I almost expected to see the watchface locked on the exact moment the man had died, as if marking the time for all eternity.

  “Alex, give me a hand,” Johnny’s voice broke me out of my dazed reverie. He was trying to lift a bleeding man who was moaning continuously. I scrambled to my feet and put my arms beneath the side of the man’s body opposite Johnny. The sound of approaching ambulances filled the air as we lifted the man, groans of pain rumbling out of his throat. He had a nasty cut in his hairline over his ear, blood streaming down the right side of his face. His eyes flicked open for a moment before closing again as he slumped into unconsciousness.

  “Over here, soldier.” A medic with a band on his arm was motioning towards us as he opened the back of the meat wagon. We half-dragged, half-carried the collapsed man over and laid him down before the medic. “Go on, I’ve got this,” he said as he pulled a big first aid kit out of the back of the ambulance.

  Johnny and I ran back to the crater in search of others who needed help. More men were flocking in to do what they could, some now bringing stretchers from the ambulances.

  “Help,” a feeble cry came from beneath a pile of slumped, lifeless bodies. Johnny and I eased the dead bodies off the pile, laying them down as gently as we could. A trembling hand reached forth and we hurried to get to the man beneath. When we finally pulled the last body off him, he looked at us, his eyes pleading for help. It was Jessen, the other signaler. The force of the impact had caught him fully on the right side of his body. His right ear and the side of his scalp seemed to have been shorn off. His hair was soaked with blood, dark and matted. In the failing light the blood looked like black oil as it ran down his neck, the stain on his collar slowly spreading towards his shoulder. His chest was heaving as he lay on his back gasping, looking at me, his eyes wide with fear. I looked down his body. His right leg was missing from the knee down, another black pool oozing into the dirt beneath him.

  “Alex,” he gasped, reaching toward me.

  “Hang in there, Stan, you’re going to be fine,” I lied as I knelt down and took his trembling hand in both of mine. His eyes were bright as he lay there gasping, his body twitching. I felt my own eyes welling up as I looked down at him.

  “I…..I want my mom,” he said, his voice rattling in his throat as he lay there quivering. I tried to remain strong for him, but I felt the cool wetness as the tears started, running down my cheeks in warm rivulets. His hand clenched mine tighter and I looked into his eyes as he died, his fingers slowly losing their pleading grip until they hung lifeless in my hand.

  “Oh God,” Johnny said softly from behind me.

  I felt the warm tears roll off my cheeks and drop onto my hands, the salty wetness feeling soothing on my skin. I stroked Jessen’s hand as I looked at his face; this poor boy no older than myself. At this moment the war finally struck home. It was no longer something that was happening in some far-off place. As I held the hand of this young man, I forgot all about the months and months of training. I forgot about the marching, the endless marching and standing at attention. Why? Why had this happened to such a gentle soul as Jessen? Who were those men in the planes that bombed us? Were they sick bastards like Hitler and his inner circle? Did they revel in and celebrate the death of this boy? Or were they just like us—young men fighting someone else’s battle?

  “Russo, Nuzurka, if that guy’s dead, we need your help over here.” I looked up to see Sgt. Murphy standing on the edge of the trench, his stout body silhouetted against the darkness beyond. It seemed so cruelly pathetic to sum up Jessen’s life in that one sentence; that once his life was over he was worth nothing, just another statistic on the casualty list.

  “C’mon, Alex,” Johnny said under his breath as he put his hand on my shoulder. “There’s nothing more you can do for him.”

  I knew Johnny was right, but it hurt like h
ell to leave Jessen like this. I took off my jacket and draped it over his face. Johnny and I climbed out of the crater and moved towards a wounded man who was trying to pull himself across the ground, his crippled legs dragging behind him.

  “It’s okay, buddy, we’ve got you,” Johnny said as he bent down to help the man. We grabbed one of the stretchers and moved him over to the medical corps who directed us to put him right into one of the ambulances. We went back to the scene of the carnage and helped some of the other wounded. Ambulances raced back and forth between the sight of the bomb blast and the base hospital.

  A couple of hours later, all the wounded were either in the infirmary or had been attended to. The coppery smell of blood still hung in the air, hours after the initial blast. My hands and clothes were covered in blood and I just wanted it all to end. With the wounded now cared for, we turned to the bodies left strewn about. Capt. Crocker took charge and along with the medical corps had us place them in lines on the courtyard. Johnny and I helped carry the bodies, lining up one beside the next until they were all accounted for. I walked along and counted; thirty-seven in total. And there were at least that many wounded, if not more. Jessen’s squad had been totally wiped out; not one soul remaining.

  “Unbelievable,” Johnny said quietly as we stood and stared at the rows of bodies. The ambulances returned, slower and with no sirens this time. The medics brought out sheets and blankets for wrapping the bodies. We stood and watched, stunned, as they quietly attended to the dead, filling the ambulances with bodies before taking them away. The first glimmer of daylight slowly came with a lightening of the eastern horizon. I was shocked; it seemed remarkable that the day could go on normally after what had happened.

  Capt. Crocker walked up to us, the strain of the night clearly apparent on his face. “Get yourselves some sleep, boys,” he said. “Thanks for everything you’ve done tonight.”

  “Yes Sir.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  He moved off, talking to other soldiers who had helped out as well during the long terrible night.

  We trudged slowly back to our barracks, King Harry’s Castle feeling barrenly inadequate. I stripped off my soiled clothes and wearily entered the shower. I got the water as hot as I could stand it and stood under the pelting spray, letting the stinging pellets rain down upon me. I leaned forward against the wall in front of me, the powerful spray beating a blissful tattoo on my weary skull. I wanted the streaming water to take back time; to make these last few hours run off of me and slither down the drain into nothingness; to let me hear Jessen’s voice on the other end of that radio just one more time. I wanted it to wash away more than just the blood and the dirt; I wanted it to wash away this whole goddamned war.