by Len Levinson
“Oh my Jesus,” he muttered, remembering an old prayer, “forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell, lead all souls into heaven, and help those especially in need of Thy mercy.”
Mahoney, feeling purified, walked down the steps of the church. Cranepool was lounging on the steps, smoking a cigarette and talking with a pretty young French girl. Mahoney didn’t get jealous or mad. He didn’t make cruel remarks or try to drag Cranepool away by his hair. Instead he approached the both of them, smiling beatifically.
Cranepool noticed Mahoney coming and jumped to his feet, adjusting his helmet and becoming agitated. The French girl wondered what was happening to the young man she’d just been having a pleasant conversation with.
“Oh hi Sarge,” Cranepool said nervously, ready for the worst. He expected that Mahoney would start calling him Cesspool again.
Mahoney placed his big hand on Cranepool’s shoulder. “Take it easy,” he said. “If you want to hang around here awhile— you go right ahead. I’ll go back to the 15th alone and tell them you’ll be by later.”
Cranepool looked back and forth from Mahoney to the girl, who had freckles and reminded him of the girls back home. “Um, you sure you wouldn’t mind, Sarge?”
“No, I don’t mind, Corporal. You might as well have your fun now, because we’ll all be going back to the front again pretty soon.”
“Well, I would like to stay here for a while,” Cranepool said. “Ah, by the way Nicole, this is Sergeant Mahoney.”
“Bonjour,” said the pretty redhead who was not much older than eighteen.
“Hello young lady,” Mahoney said. “Nice meeting you.”
Mahoney tipped his helmet and Cranepool nearly collapsed from shock.
“See you later, Corporal, and have a nice day, miss.”
Mahoney straightened his helmet and walked down the steps of the church, humming an old hymn and heading toward the headquarters of the 15th Regiment.
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Titles in this Series
Death Train
Hell Harbor
Bloody Bush
