Chapter 1

“Sir, step up to the desk!” said a grouchy sounding paternal voice. I was so worried and lost in my own thoughts that I didn’t even realize the older doctor running the enlistment exams was talking to me. “YOU THERE, are you, or are you not one Raymond Osburn?” the doctor shouted questioningly.

“Sorry sir, just tired is all. I had a long night of drinking last night. One last hurrah, you understand,” I stated plainly, lying through my teeth. I had never drank a sip of alcohol in my life, not after the way I had seen it make men’s faces turn red and anger them into doing unthinkably cruel things. I had hopes that this lie would help me seem older. The doctor did not look pleased with my explanation. This would be the third time I had tried enlisting, I had been caught twice before and outed as a minor. Hopefully the third time was the charm, because I had spent every last penny I owned in the world on this I.D. The doctor had a heavy packet in front of him, containing my fake credentials and the results of all of the medical exams I had taken today.

“Well let’s hope your attention improves before basic training,” the doctor said tersely before handing the packet over to me and stamping it in my hands with a large ‘1A.’ That was the designation for someone who was ready for military service! I had to pinch my face into a neutral state to hide the smile that was trying to creep onto it. I had finally done it!

***

“Alright everyone load up! Sit with your squads. Squads one and two load first, then squads three and four,” shouted my angry Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Murphy. I never could quite figure out why he was so angry, and to be honest I didn’t care to. If I did my job and kept my head down, people mostly ignored me, and to be further honest I needed people to ignore me. I’m not even sure what the military would do if they found out I was sixteen, but I knew it wouldn’t be good.

At the end of the day anything was better than being back in the orphanages, church basements, rooftops, and alleys that I had been living in. And at least here I could do some good. I had done too many evil things in the name of self preservation, this was my chance to settle my cosmic score and become a hero. Maybe I was being a little too romantic about a morose situation. I had heard the horror stories of the men who had fought in Italy, limbs blown off, land mines so powerful that they could vaporize someone… I wouldn’t let that fear weigh me down, with service comes sacrifice.

There was something else that always rattled around in my head, a saying of sorts. I wasn’t even sure where I had heard it, but it meant a lot to me.

The most important step a man can take, is the next one.

That wasn’t some simple saying to be heard and discarded. For some reason it just resonated with me. It meant more than the words that made up the sentence. In times of hardship that single sentence had always ran through my mind. It meant never give up, but it also meant keep going forward. I took that literally and morally. Morally in the sense that if there was a way to do the right thing, I would do it, even if I didn’t want to. Take the next step, it’s important, and right now the next step I’m taking is the one that leads me up the steps into the C-47 SkyTrain. This was the airplane that would fly me and my friends towards the enemy, pure evil.

We all piled in quickly and efficiently as we had been trained. Loading up with tons of soldiers into a tight space had become second nature to us. They had even hauled us around in converted horse trailers from range to range in basic training. The horse trailers were such a tight fit that some people had to stand against the walls on top of tiny benches that had been welded inside, and the remaining soldiers had to basically sit on those people’s toes to fit. All while the drill sergeants rode ahead in comfy jeeps. Only taking breaks to yell at us if we couldn’t get in or out fast enough. In comparison to the horse trailers, loading into the plane was easy.

As we were waiting for the plane to take off, the ‘class clown’ of our platoon, Private Johnson, decided to break the ice.

“Who here has heard the joke about the German soldier on the train?” Everyone looked around preparing themselves for one of Johnson’s signature jokes. Even our angry Platoon Sergeant stopped his walking inspection so he could listen, his normally screwed up face slackening for a moment, everyone loved Johnson's jokes. As the plane quieted Johnson to this as his cue to begin.

“I got this joke via a letter from a cousin of mine who lives over in France. He says it’s based on a true story… A passenger train is fully loaded, and a German soldier on leave shares a compartment with a decrepit old lady, a buxom French girl, and a young French man. The appearance of the soldier ruins the mood of the entire compartment, especially as he begins to stare at the beautiful young woman. The train enters a tunnel, and no one can see anything. A kiss is heard, then a hollow slap.

When the train comes out of the tunnel the German soldier has a horrible black eye.

‘So lucky’ thinks the German soldier. ‘The French man gets the kiss and I get the blame!’

‘Well done, my girl!’ thinks the old lady. ‘You stood up the to the Kraut brute!’

The buxom girl is puzzled. ‘Why would the German kiss that old lady?’

The Frenchman meanwhile thinks ‘How clever I am! I kiss the back of my hand, slapped the German across the eyes, and no one suspects me!’ Anyways, who knows if that story is true, I always liked it though,” says Johnson.

The plane goes completely silent as the story sinks in on everyone, and then a raucous round of laughter and applause erupts as the soldiers around me discuss the story. I watch as even Neff’s eyes light up as he finally catches up to the rest of us and understands the twist in the joke. His hounding deep laughter reverberates through the whole plane lightening our mood further. I can’t help but think what Johnson just did was real magic.

The plane starts to rumble and comes to life. Now the real fun begins. Neff grabs the bench next to me so hard that It looks like he is actually bending it a little.

“Whoa, calm down buddy we are going to be okay,” I say trying to placate him.

“I don’t like these things,” he says. So I pat his shoulder a bit until he calms down. I don’t blame him, roaring through the night sky on a thin piece of aluminum powered by hopes and dreams is more than daunting, but if I look scared I could out myself for the scared kid that I really am, or even worse, upset Neff. If he bent that bench I would hate to see what he could do to the walls of this piece of junk. My stomach starts getting tingly and I get a bit dizzy as the plane ramps hard into the air. Staff Sergeant Murphy walks down the middle of the aisle continuing to inspect our gear without a care in the world that the plane is jerking around and swaying like a kite in a rough breeze.

Ryan shouts over the roar of the engine “Sweet Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, tell us a joke or something Johnson I’m about to poop my pants over here.”

“No can do bud,” replied Johnson. “I don’t like this any more than you do, once the plane levels out maybe I can remember something funny.”

The new Sargent on my squad, Sgt Roe, who just arrived a few days ago chimes in. There is something about his voice that carries a dark weight to it. “Have faith boys, God is on our side.” His deep baritone voice doesn’t match his almost wiry frame at all. I had heard rumors that he was hell on wheels when he fought the Nazis in Italy. If even half of them were true then I was more than happy to have him with us. Though I’m still not sure that the Nazis won’t just all run away after taking one look at Neff. The plane leveled and our Platoon Sergeants announced that we would have about a two-hour flight before jumping. Most of these guys were too amped up to sleep, but not me. I had a lifetime of practice sleeping in hostile environments so I leaned my head back and drifted off into darkness.