Chapter Text
The train was packed when it pulled into the station. Thomas swallowed his nervousness. There had been a lot of noise coming from that train as it slowed down, and as it pulled in, he and all the other waiting passengers could see why. There were at least four more cars on the train than usual, and every single one was packed with soldiers leaning out of every window, chattering and laughing.
„Civilians to the front three cars please!“ the conductor bellowed.
There was a surge on the platform as the people started thronging to the front. Thomas joined the tail end from where he had been standing. He gripped his suitcase nervously and pulled his hat a little tighter, as if it would shield him from the gazes of the soldiers peeking out onto him.
As it turned out, the dining car was the dividing line between the soldiers and the civilians. Thomas was grateful he would not be sharing the space with these men.
But the first three cars were packed. People were standing in the corridors, and the conductors had even opened up the first-class carriages to accomodate family units. Thomas had found a seat but was obliged to give it up to a woman with a baby in her arms and a toddler clutching the hem of her skirt. After heaving her bags into the luggage compartment, he made his way back out onto the corridor, where a number of men had gathered to stand.
„Crowded today,“ an elderly gentleman commented.
„Those are men coming back from the Pacific!“ a young man said reverently. “Their train broke down, so they attached the cars to our service here. I asked the conductor!“
„Did you see? One of them had a samurai sword!“ his friend said.
„Do you think they might show it to us?“ the other asked.
The elderly man snorted. „Leave the boys in peace, youngster,“ he said. „Last thing they want is some overexcited puppies jumping around their ankles,“
„They might be!“ one of the young men said, but a middle-aged man chuckled.
„Yeah, no. Unless you have ciggies and a heavy drink, they won’t be interested. That was the only thing I cared about when I came back from France, certainly,“
„You served in the Great War?“ the old man asked.
„Yeah. I was lucky, didn’t get called up until `18, and missed the really bad bits,“
Another man nodded sagely. „Went out in `17“, he said.
The older man nodded and pulled a silver flask out of his pocket, which he offered. The two men both took a sip and handed it on to Thomas.
„Thank you sir, but I don’t partake,“ Thomas said.
„Really? After all that?“ the other man inquired.
„Your pardon, sir?“ Thomas asked, but had the sick feeling he knew what was going to come.
„Your age – you must have served in this,“ the middle-aged man said.
„No, sir, I have not,“ Thomas said.
„Oh. Invalided out? Sorry to hear you are ill,“ the other said, but there was a calculating light in his eyes.
„No, sir, I objected to the draft,“ Thomas said.
„Hm. A CO,“ the elderly gentleman said, accepting back his flask and capping it despite the two young men obviously hoping to get a sip too.
„That is correct sir,“ Thomas said.
„Amish? You don’t look Amish. Quaker?“
„No, sir. I am Presbyterian,“ Thomas said tightly.
„Well,“ the elderly gentleman picked up his bag. „You will excuse me. I will see if I can find a seat in the dining car,“
The middle-aged men both sniggered nastily and also walked away.
„You’re a coward?“ one of the young men burst out.
„Watch your mouth,“ Thomas said irritated, not willing to accept such language from a man – boy – almost ten years his junior:
„Coward,“ the other man said loudly.
They were starting to attract attention, and Thomas ground his teeth. Better to get away. He picked up his suitcase and moved toward the dining car. Other people who had heard the exchange were eyeing them, him. They moved out of the way, one woman even moving her skirt away lest it touch him. With a mixture of mortification, shame and irritation, he slipped into the dining car.
This also was quite full. And a large number of soldiers in uniform were also here, mostly officers, eating or smoking.
„Apologies, sir, we have no seat free at the moment,“ the waiter said to him.
Behind him the door opened again, and the two young men barged in.
„I will stand over there then,“ Thomas said, indicating the back which would normally have led to the luggage car.
The waiter looked a little distressed. „I am so sorry, sir, but the soldier lads are in the last four cars,“
Thomas sighed, and turned around to go back out, to find his way barred by the two young men.
„Let me pass,“ he said irritably.
„Make us, coward,“
„Gentlemen,“ the waiter said. „Language. What a thing to say,“
„He is a coward,“ the other man said loudly. „He is too cowardly to pick up a weapon to defend this country from its enemies,“
The quiet chatter around them stopped, as people slowly started craning their heads around. A second waiter appeared from behind a dividing wall, holding a small tureen.
„I am not a coward,“ Thomas stated with as much dignity as he could. His fingers were sweaty on the suitcase handle.
„CO?“ a man in uniform sitting at a table asked.
He seemed neutral, so Thomas nodded tightly in lieu of snarling that it was none of his business.
One of his tormentors made a derisive sound.
„Sir, we really have no seating,“ the waiter said again waving his hand, and Thomas saw that it was missing three fingers, and was horribly burnt.
Thomas nodded once, and moved forward, but he bumped into the first young man, who hadn’t moved.
„Please move,“ Thomas said, and was horrified to hear his voice start to crack a little.
The young man heard it too and sneered. „Make me,“
The silence spread out; the tension palpable.
„Is that my soup?“ a gravelly voice said loudly.
Thomas was so startled he whipped his head around, but then so did almost the whole dining car.
A very large sergeant was leaning heavily on a stick, glaring at the second waiter.
„Yes, sir,“ that man squeaked.
„Hand it over then,“ the sergeant barked.
The waiter thrust it forward, and the burly man awkwardly accepted the tureen.
„How much?“ he asked.
„That will be 80 cents, sir,“ the waiter said.
„80 cents? Is there at least bread to go with it?“ the sergeant barked. He pulled out a crumpled dollar bill.
„Of course, sir,“ the waiter dived back into the dividing wall and came back with a couple of rolls on a small plate. The sergeant accepted it and was left standing with the tureen in the one hand and the plate in the other, and his stick dangling off his elbow. His face told them all that he had miscalculated his next step, as he was obviously injured and unable to walk without the stick.
„Have we run out of rations, Sergeant Howell?“ the officer inquired.
The sergeant looked over. „Somewhat, sir. Thanks to some snafu we have all the meat and fish we might want, but no peanuts, beans, peas or hard tack. Teach and Ghoul both still had some hard tack on them, and Smitty had a can of beans, but today we have run out. So I am getting some vegetable soup,“
„Smitty still had beans? Well. Waiter, give the sergeant back that bill and put it on my tab,“ he said, getting up.
Thomas had to move aside as the officer brushed past him.
„Let me carry the soup, sergeant, you`ll only spill it,“ he said.
„And now you have a seat free, I`m going back to my men,“ he added to the waiter.
One of the young men immediately dived for the seat. „Much obliged,“ he said.
The officer did not seem impressed, giving the young man a flat stare. It was enough to make him blush and get up again.
„Do you wish for a meal sir?“ the waiter asked Thomas, in a carefully neutral tone.
Thomas took a look at the other seated men, who did not look welcoming at all.
„I was looking for a place to sit, rather than a meal,“ he managed.
„Ah, well, sir, I keep these seats for dining guests,“ the waiter said.
The officer came back their way, carefully carrying the tureen, the sergeant hobbling after him with the rolls.
„My boys can make room for you three. That way you have seats and there will be no trouble around here,“ the officer said, and gestured peremptorily at the door leading to the soldiers` cars.
„But sir,“ one of the young men started.
„This way sirs,“ the sergeant bellowed.
Thomas jerked, but so did the two young men, and they ended up in a sheepish line after the officer, the sergeant hobbling in the rear.
The cars containing the soldiers were very different. For one thing, they seemed more like cattle trucks, with bunks full of chattering men, smoking, reading or sleeping. More men were crouching in the corridors, playing cards or smoking in small groups. Most were either sporting bandages or horrible scars and missing limbs. They moved back for the officer, but Thomas and his two unwilling companions were getting a lot of stares and a few involuntary shoves as they passed and the train swayed.
„In here“, the officer said, and turned into a large compartment. This too was full of men, and they seemed especially horrifically wounded. Thomas’ appalled eye swept over two men missing the lower half of their bodies, a man with only half a face and red burns over his neck and arms, another with an arm ending in a weeping stump. It was a relief to see some with no discernible wounds.
„This is what is left of the 96th and 77th, and I am Captain Glover“, the officer introduced himself. „Sergeant Howell is behind us. Boys, these gentlemen need a place to sit,“
Thomas sucked in a breath.
„Gentlemen,“ he managed.
„He’s a coward,“ one of the other two burst out.
The whole compartment stared at him.
„He is a conscientious objector,“ the officer corrected. „Lads, who will give up his seat for him?“
There was a long, long silence. Thomas seethed inwardly at the officer and his little power play. He could just see the two young men smirking.
Then a blond, beefy man got up. He was not wearing a shirt, Thomas was quite scandalized to see, and no less than six bullet wounds in his torso. He was also half a head taller. He surveyed them for a long moment.
„Me,“ he then said.
Thomas stared, then looked at the seat that had been offered to him. There were two places free next to the seat the big man had vacated. He crept forward, out of his depth, and sat down slowly.
„Thank you“, he managed.
The man ignored him, pulled a cigarette from behind his ear and felt around in his pockets. Another man flicked open his lighter and lit it for him.
This had not been going the way the two young men had expected, obviously. They both looked incredulous but started inching their way inside too. Thomas realized they were making their way toward the two empty spaces next to him. But the big beefy man suddenly stuck out an arm to bar their way.
„Those seats are occupied,“ he said.
„Where is Private Doss?“ Captain Glover enquired.
„Gone to the jacks with Teach“, a cadaverous man said, looking up from where he was playing cards with another man.
„You boys can take those crates over there,“ the sergeant indicated two rough looking boxes on the ground, as he swung into another empty space. The captain walked over to Thomas, but instead of saying anything placed the tureen of soup down on the empty seat to his left.
„Make sure that doesn’t splash, Grease,“ he ordered.
„Yes sir,“ the man said, putting out a bandaged hand to hold the tureen in place.
„Are you back from Japan, sir?“ one of the young men asked a lot more timidly.
„Yes“, the captain said shortly.
„We took Okinawa,“ one of the soldiers offered.
„I hear it was heavily defended,“ Thomas said carefully after a moment.
„It was indeed,“ the captain said. „Quite grueling. Really sorted the men from the boys,“
He leaned against the door, but one of his soldiers got up and offered him his seat, which he took. The soldier hobbled over to the card-playing group and draped himself over the cadaverous man, who tucked him into the seat so they shared it.
There did not seem to be much to be said after that, so Thomas sat back. A commotion in the corridor showed the arrival of two more soldiers, a young man with a heavily bandaged leg, peaky appearance and a smaller man with his arms around the first, helping him walk.
As they entered the compartment, the train clanked over a level crossing, and the two men stumbled. In seconds, the big beefy man had his arms around the skinny one, steadying him. The other men, including the captain, surged upward as if to help, but subsided.
„Watch your step, Dessie,“ the big man said, and helped the thin man gently to the free seat next to Thomas.
The man grinned up at the soldier, then his eyes scanned round and saw the three of them who obviously did not belong here. He looked slightly bewildered, then even more bewildered when Grease, who had lifted the tureen while the man was nudged into the seat, placed the soup into his lap.
„What’s this?“ He asked.
„Vegetable soup, Cornstalk. Eat,“ the sergeant ordered.
„Where did it come from? Did we get supplies at our last stop?“
„Yeah, something like that. There’s some rolls to go with it,“ the captain said. The rolls were passed up.
„Did you already get yours?“ the soldier asked.
„Oh, quit whining and eat, Dessie,“ the beefy man said.
The other man threw them all a look but settled down on the other side and pulled out a book to read. Shakespeare’s plays, Thomas noted.
The soldier stared into the tureen, his lips moving silently. then he crossed himself and started eating the soup, with increasing appetite.
The quiet conversations around them started up again, and Thomas was feeling more and more uncomfortable. The two young men were starting to get starry eyed and quietly badgering some of the men for war stories, who started to indulge them, telling tales of their exploits. Thomas shuddered at the thought.
„Are you alright?“ the soldier next to him drawled.
„Oh, thank you. I am fine,“
The soldier smiled at him, stirred the soup in his tureen a couple of times and then decisively put his spoon down. He had eaten about half the soup and half of one of the rolls.
„You not eating that, Dessie?“ the blond enquired.
Thomas jerked, having forgotten that presence.
„No, I’m done. Help yourself,“ the soldier answered.
The blond grabbed the soup, poured it into a flask and wrapped the remaining roll into a cloth, both of which he stashed into a kit bag.
„You keep ahold of that half then,“ he said.
The soldier smiled and nodded, and then fell into a quiet conversation with the man impossibly named Grease.
More commotion could be heard from the corridor, and a young officer stuck his head into the carriage, his eyes searching and lighting up when they fell on the captain.
“Sir! The colonel would like a word,” he said.
“Alright,” the captain answered. “Thanks, Jimmy. Be good, lads,”
With that, he got up and left with the young man.
Thomas clenched involuntarily, expecting the tone now to be rougher, but rather to his surprise the men carried on as before.
The next minute, a rather harried soldier carrying a large bowl packed with various linens scurried in.
“Bandages! Oh, thank God, Doss. Can you do everybody here? Doc has to do an emergency operation and it would be easier if I assist,”
“Sure, Page. You want me to do the other carriage as well?”
“Thanks, buddy,” the soldier said, dumping the bowl onto the man’s lap and hurrying out again.
The sergeant snorted. “And how are you going to be changing dressings with a bum leg, Cornstalk?” he demanded.
“I’ll need one of those boxes, sarge,” the young man said sunnily, not in the least put out by the sharp tone. He gestured at the boxes the two young men were sitting on, and, holding the bowl, started to painfully lever himself up, at which point the blond, who had been lounging against the wall near the door materialized at his side and helped him up.
Both young men stared up open-mouthed from their crates.
“Move or be moved,” the cadaverous man suddenly said.
“What?” one of them squeaked.
“He needs that crate, get up,”
“That would be kind if you gave up your seat, yes,” the young man said agreeably.
Both scrambled up. The soldier they had been conversing with swept both crates across the carriage, at which point the short man who had been reading Shakespeare grabbed them and placed both in front of the man with the arm stump, then took the bowl out of the young man’s hands and placed it onto one of them.
The blond man manouvered the other onto the other crate.
The young soldier smiled at them all and then started unpacking the bowl tidily. The man with the stump was meanwhile looking glum, especially when what was obviously the company medic started pouring a sharp-smelling antiseptic fluid into the bowl.
“Right, Tommy, let me see,” he then said and started unwrapping.
The smell was appalling. Both young men gagged, and Thomas had to breathe shallowly through his mouth to settle his stomach, but that was nothing to the glimpse he got of the actual stump. He closed his eyes and recited his favourite prayer in his mind.
The other soldiers didn’t seem to notice, although they were all watching as the young man cleaned the wound, prodded it a couple of times and then applied ointment and rebandaged it in fresh bandages.
“Want some morphine?” the medic asked, casually, and Tommy nodded frantically.
The soldier pulled out a tube with a needle attached and squeezed it into the man’s flesh in his upper arm. Then he sat back.
“I’m sorry, Tommy, but you need to go back and see Doc Henderson with this,” he said, patting the man on the knee.
There was an unhappy murmur, and Tommy clutched the remains of his arm, looking devastated.
“Is he going to take it off?” he asked, voice shaking.
“I’m hearing there’s a new drug, might get this infection under control,” the medic said. “But there’s some tissue that’s gone bad that has to come off,”
He turned around and looked at the other soldiers. “Ghoul, can you take him back?”
The cadaverous man nodded and escorted the trembling Tommy out. The medic disposed of the used cloths and bandages into a convenient bucket and moved on to the next man, one of the one’s with no legs. This time he pulled a thermometer out and passed it up before pulling off the bandages from the stumps.
“Looking good, Ralph,” he said after a moment of inspection. He plucked the thermometer out of the man’s mouth.
“And the fever’s gone. So I’ll leave off the bandages for now,”
And so it went. It was stomach-churning. Thomas was sure he must be white as a sheet, but none of the soldiers seemed in the least repulsed, even when the medic spotted maggots in the remains of the burnt man’s ears and proceeded to pull them out one by one. They even emptied a cup and held it for him to chuck the maggots into. Thomas closed his eyes and only opened them when there was commotion and annoyed shouts. One of the young men had scrambled out of the compartment and was retching miserably in the corridor, the other –
“Not into my clean bandages!” the medic shouted but it was too late.
“Out! You whey-faced idiot, weak-stomached girl!” the sergeant thundered, easily heard above the voices of disgust from the other soldiers.
“Actually, nurses are women. And all mothers I know have to deal with really unpleasant stuff, so I think that is a very unfair comparison, sarge,” the medic said, carefully fingering the bandages in the mess. He picked up a slightly soiled strip of cloth and handed it to the young man.
“Do you want a ginger pastille?”
“No, he does not, Cornstalk,” the sergeant thundered.
He took a deep gulp of air and eyed the young man coldly. “Walk it off,” he ordered.
“Did he get sick on me?” the burnt man asked worriedly.
“No,” the medic said cheerfully. “Hey, if you are going to walk it off, do me a favour and take these and clean up your friend’s sick?”
He handed up more soiled bandages and then heaved himself up.
“Now what?” the sergeant growled.
“I need to go get more bandages. And a fresh bowl,” the medic said, picking up the bowl and pouring the contents into the bucket.
The train clanked and the man stumbled, but again was immediately caught and steadied by the blond. The sergeant heaved a great sigh and then nodded.
“Alright, Smitty, you go along, and you, Grease, and help him carry fresh back,” he ordered, and the three men nodded. The medic bent down to the burnt man and injected him from a tube without saying a word, then bent down for the bucket handle.
“Leave that, those boys cleaning the floor out there will need it,” the sergeant said menacingly.
The trio walked and hobbled away toward the back of the carriages. Thomas carefully sat forward.
“Would it be possible to open the window for a moment?” he asked.
“The jacks are just down the carriage,” the sergeant said, lowering himself back into his seat. “Go there if you want to be sick too, and spare us any more of it,”
Thomas got up and walked out into the corridor, but one of the soldiers grabbed the bucket and gave it to him.
“Take that, once the boys have cleaned up you can toss it down the chute,” he said graciously.
Thankfully, all Thomas got from the bucket was the acrid smell of the antiseptic fluid, which conversely made him feel better. He took it over to the two young men now hunkered miserably in the corridor, watched by sniggering soldiers, dabbing at the ground.
“You can put the used cloth into here,” he offered, setting the bucket down, before walking down into the direction the sergeant had indicated, taking cleansing breaths of air.
The promised toilet facilities were almost as bad as the smell coming from the unfortunate Tommy, and Thomas was glad to only wash his hands and moisten his handkerchief before venturing back toward the compartment. The cadaverous man was walking back in front of him, he saw, and turned into the compartment. Thomas was grateful since he was not at all certain he would have found the right one on the first try. He followed.
Inside, he saw that the sergeant had left and a quite good-looking soldier with a crutch was sitting in his seat, using his suitcase to prop up what was clearly a broken leg. He gave Thomas a cheeky smile, which stretched a large just healed laceration along the side of his face.
“Hope you don’t mind, it’s exactly the height I need for my leg to be comfortable,” he said.
“Well,” Thomas surveyed the carriage. “May I use the seat the other gentleman was using, or have I outstayed my welcome?”
“Go on and use Grease’s,” the man the sergeant had called Ghoul said. “Hollywood, get your leg off that case, it’s as if you had no manners beaten into you at all,”
“Far too pretty for that,” the burnt man said.
There was a rumbling laugh from the others, even the handsome soldier chiming in, taking his leg off the case.
“You said it, Chief,” he said good naturedly and slid the suitcase over.
Thomas had to smile. He relaxed into the seat, reflecting how strange it was that he was being made comfortable by soldiers, the very thing he would never have joined.
Then both young men came back in, still looking a little green, carrying the bucket. The soldiers snickered, which obviously enraged them, and they cast around for a way to retrieve their dignity, and, Thomas groaned internally, looked at him.
“Here, you can get rid of this,” the one carrying the bucket said, plonking it in front of him.
“I carried it out to you, the very least you could have done is empty it into the facilities,” Thomas said cooly.
“Well, you went there, why didn’t you wait and take it?” the other man whined.
“Yeah, you dirty coward, the least you could do is help some soldiers with the muck,” the other spat.
“Conscientious objectors, what good are they? The whole lot should have been rounded up and shot for the cowards they are!”
Thomas was distracted from the tirade directed at him by the freezing silence developing from the soldiers.
“Yeah, I bet if one of those cowards had ever heard a gun go off, they’d have shat themselves and then surrendered immediately,” the first young man said, and turned around to wave at the soldiers, clearly expecting them to assent.
Only, they were all silent. Then the man who had been reading Shakespeare cleared his throat.
“Almost all our medics are conscientious objectors,” he said. “And we were all damn grateful to them for running around the battlefield picking us up once we got wounded,”
“The Japanese shot them especially, hunted them down in fact,” the cadaverous man added.
“We’ve got exactly two medics left, the others were all killed in action,” the man missing his legs added.
“That medic is a coward too?” one of the men said faintly.
There was a sudden flurry of movement. The man called Hollywood stood up and shoved one of them hard in the back so he stumbled forward, the burnt man aimed an accurate kick into his knee making him keel over, straight into the waiting fist of the second man missing his lower limbs. There was an audible crack.
“What in hell’s name is going on here?”
The blond man had turned into the compartment, holding a fresh bowl full of antiseptic solution. He stared down at the fallen man, then placed the bowl down on the crate and looked at the others.
“Called Desmond a coward,” Ghoul said laconically.
The blond slowly surveyed them all, then turned to the other man still standing.
“Coward?” he asked. “You boys really say that?”
Before anybody could answer, he swung out his hand and slapped him. The young man made a squeaking noise, stumbled away nearly on top of the burnt man, who took the opportunity to slap him on the other side.
Thomas made a noise of protest, and wondered what he should do, but thankfully he did not have to make a decision. There was a loud bellow of “Ten-HUT” and the men braced, and the captain and sergeant both came in and stared around.
“What in God’s good name…” the captain said faintly.
“The young feller stumbled and fell, captain. Straight onto my fist,” the soldier with no legs said.
“Onto your fist?” the captain asked.
“Yeah. Fell on top of me, and I put out my fist to stop him, but I stopped his nose, it seems,”
“He hit me!” the young man wailed, hands to his nose, his shirt liberally smearing with blood.
The captain scratched his head. “And you?” he asked the other man holding both palms to his cheeks.
“I slapped him,” the blond man said.
“Why?” the captain asked, folding his arms.
“Because he was being a rude boy, and I corrected his behavior, sir,” the blond said.
“He slapped me too,” the young man muttered, indicating the burnt man.
“I thought he needed a second slap, for balance’s sake,” the burnt man said. He turned his head, and horribly, the bandage slipped and exposed his cheek, burnt away and showing his back teeth.
Thomas just managed not to gag, but it was a near thing.
The captain looked at him, then around. “Where is Doss?” he asked.
“He was doing bandages, but as he was doing Chief here those boys threw up on his clean bandages, so he’s getting fresh, captain,” the man called Teach said.
The captain looked disgusted, rolled his eyes, sighed and then sat down.
“Why is Desmond doing bandages? He’s wounded for God’s sake. Where is Page?”
“Emergency op. A number of wounds have gone bad, Tommy is back there too,” the blond reported.
“Great,” the captain sighed.
Maybe inevitably, in this moment the medic came back in, helped to hobble by Grease, with a packet of fresh bandages.
“Whatever happened?” he asked in dismay, surveying them all.
“He stumbled and bashed his nose,” the sergeant answered.
“Oh,” the medic fumbled around his uniform and brought out a clean rag, which he pressed under the young man’s nose. “Hold that,” he said, then pushed him back into a seat which had sat the sergeant before.
“Let me look,”
With deft hands, he felt the nose, then placed both hands around it. “On three,” he said, “One,”
With a jerk and an unpleasant sound, he snapped the nose back into place, eliciting a shrill scream.
“Tilt your head back and pinch hard,” the medic ordered.
“Right, Chief. Let me see if there’s any more creepy crawlies in there,” he said, turned and his leg buckled again, but again the blond man caught him and lowered him onto the waiting crate.
Thomas watched, repulsed and fascinated in equal measures, as the other men one by one were rebandaged, even the sergeant with a nasty but healing laceration in his lower leg. Other men started coming or were dragged into the compartment to be rebandaged too.
Then the medic sat back. “All done. Finally,” he said, chucking a last soiled bandage into a second large bucket now stinking with used bandages.
“Apart from you,” the sergeant commented drily.
“Oh. Yeah,”
With a sigh, the medic struggled up, and then dropped his trousers before sitting back down and starting to unwind bandages from his upper thigh.
Almost immediately, it became obvious that this wound also was not healing well. There was blood and pus, and the stench seemed to explode.
“Aw shit, Dessie,” the blond man said.
“But Page did me yesterday,” the medic said, sounding bewildered. “It was still raw, but it wasn’t this!”
“Right. Ryker, slap a bandage back on. Ford, you can help me take him back to the hospital car,” the captain said decisively.
The medic looked up as the blond wound strips of bandage around the stinking mess, and Thomas saw him pat his chest, then pat the other side, and then he looked a little frantic.
The soldier at his side jumped up, leaned over Thomas to grab a jacket hung tidily on the side and rifled through the pockets, pulling out a small beaten-up black book. The pages from what Thomas could see were a mottled rusty brown and off-white colour, and after a shocked moment he realized the rusty brown was dried blood.
“Here, Desmond,” the soldier said, handing the book over.
“Thank you,” the medic whispered. He was still holding on to the book when the captain and Ford grabbed him under the armpits and carried him away.
There was a somber silence, then the blond man – Ryker – turned to the two young men.
“He saved my life up on Hacksaw. Jumped a soldier who was coming up behind me, and wrestled with him in the mud,”
“Great. He’s a hero for killing some Jap,” the man he’d slapped muttered.
There was a groundswell of sniggering.
“Doss won’t touch a gun, and he certainly won’t kill,” the soldier next to Thomas said.
“The medics didn’t carry guns?” Thomas asked.
“Oh, they did, just not Doss,” the burnt man said.
“Standing order for those of us whose legs were blown off was to strap on tourniquets, fill us up with morphine and leave us to die,” the first man with no legs – Ralph – said. “Desmond carried me all the way back and made sure I was taken down,”
“They strapped me up and left me. I lay there for hours after the retreat. Desmond turned up and pulled me all the way back,” the other added.
“Me, I was shot right between the lines, could only lie there and scream, with the Japs advancing. Desmond ran out and pulled me back,” another added.
“After we retreated, the Japs came out and started to kill the wounded. 200 men went up, 38 came down. And then Doss lowered down about a hundred wounded all night, with the Japanese trying to kill him,” another soldier said. “I was supposed to guard the beach against them, but I did stretcher duty all the rest of that day, night and into the morning.
“Me and Hollywood here got hit during the retreat,” the sergeant said. “We holed up behind a tree and prepared to sell ourselves dearly. Nearly shot Cornstalk when he suddenly popped up,”
“We were the last two off the ledge,” Hollywood said.
“With the Japanese on our tail,” the sergeant added.
“That’s not true. Me and Dessie were the last two off the ledge,” the blond said, a small smile on his face.
“Oh, were you helping with the wounded?” Thomas quavered.
“No, he wasn’t. And it doesn’t count, Smitty, you were dead,” the burnt man said.
“Dead?” Thomas managed.
The blond smiled and indicated his naked chest. “I had six bullets to the torso. I fell down into some ruins, Dessie found me, I know that, and then I died. Page says he carried me all the way to the ladder, but I was pronounced dead and left,”
“Desmond tied a rope round him and jumped down with him as the Japanese were shooting at his hiney 18 hours later. You gave the burial detail such a fright when your body bag started moving,” the soldier next to Thomas added.
Thomas blinked.
“In other words, lads, call him a conscientious objector, call him mad for not using a gun to defend himself, we don’t care. Call him a coward again and we will end you,” the sergeant said. “Now get going. I think you have outstayed your welcome,”
Both young men scrambled out.
“Well. I suppose now I know why my welcome was a little more pleasant than it might have been,” Thomas said after a moment.
“You suppose right,” the sergeant said. He sighed and sat back. “Smitty, put on a shirt, you’re starting to remind me of Hollywood,”
There was a titter, but the blond man did pull on an undershirt and an unbuttoned army shirt.
The sergeant moved his leg restlessly. “We are going to be uncoupled soon. There’s an engine waiting for us in a siding, so I suppose you will have to make your way back to the civilian cars,” he added.
“Oh. Well, thank you, gentlemen, for allowing me to sit with you,” Thomas said. “And thank you for your service,”
There were amused glances all around, but also nods. Thomas got up and straightened his jacket, then grabbed his hat and bent down to his suitcase.
“Give your medic my best, please. I will say a prayer for him,” he added after a moment.
“He’d like that, mostly he does the praying for us,” the small soldier said with a smile.
“Walk him out Teach,” the sergeant said.
The soldier nodded and led Thomas back to the dining car, where he held the sliding door open for him to pass.
“Have a safe trip, sir,” he said loudly.
“Thank you,” Thomas said, settling his hat on his head and moving on.
Only then was he aware of the many stares he was receiving from the other guests, including the waiter.
The soldier behind him had already let the door slip closed again, and Thomas schooled his face and lugged his suitcase forward towards the seating carriages. Inevitably, he had to pass the officers again.
One of the men got up, an older man, and one Thomas reckoned might well be a senior officer given his age and the incomprehensible markings on his epaulettes.
“What was going on there, young man?” he asked.
“Those are your men, sir? A credit to you and the United States, sir. They did not need to, but they made me most comfortable,” Thomas said glibly, switching his suitcase into his left and putting out his right to shake.
Looking a little dazed, the officer shook it, more as a reflex, Thomas was sure.
“Those two men with you, they came back out looking…”
“Yes, what an unfortunate accident to stumble like that. But one of your medics was there to deal with the broken nose immediately,” Thomas went on, falling into the slightly grand style he used when at church functions, and pumping the man’s hand vigorously for good measure.
“Yes,” the man said slowly, disentangling his hand. “Well, I am glad all was quiet back there then,”
Thomas smiled at him, hoping it was not turning into a smirk, touched his hat and went on.
“I thought they would beat the shit out of him, after those boys came out covered in blood,” he heard the waiter whisper to the other as he left. This time he did allow himself a smirk.