• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 2511 0

the men who actually knew where they were going. Temple had never been tempted to ask the questions, knew that it was not his place to know anything that the sergeant, or maybe the lieutenant, did not want him to. He had tried to sort through the rumors, had an instinct for sorting the truth from the ridiculous, knew that men like Scarabelli thrived on creating the most outrageous kind of stories, conspiracies and plots that Temple had once believed. Even the lieutenant listened to the Italian now, as much for entertainment as any notion that Scarabelli might actually know anything. The lieutenant seemed to go out of his way to set straight the misinformation, as though it actually mattered to him what his men believed about the war they had not yet seen. Temple had no reason not to like the lieutenant, a plainspoken, humorless man named Ashley. But it was a judgment he kept to himself, every one around him seeming to hold some automatic prejudice against officers. Temple wasn’t as sure of his feelings about the sergeant, Angus Dugan, the wildly profane veteran whose power over the squad was absolute. Sergeant Dugan was another secretive man, deflected every question about his hometown with a curt “It’ll be on my tombstone.” Temple had wanted to argue the point, thought, If we don’t know where you’re buried, how can we read your tombstone? But Dugan left nothing open to discussion, would cut off any man with a sharp command. He was far older than any of them, and a larger man than anyone in the company except Parker. Temple had hoped Dugan might one day offer them his own stories, satisfying their curiosity about the older man’s service, what he knew of fighting, what places he had seen. The talk was that Dugan had been in the Philippines with General Pershing, and Temple was certain he would have marvelous tales to tell. But Dugan was not a man who answered questions, seemed not to notice the lore that swirled around him, the legend he had left behind him at Quantico.

Temple had been witness to the legendary confrontation in the barracks, Dugan tangling with a loudmouthed recruit named Brewster. Brewster arrived at the training camp the same time as Temple, had immediately isolated himself with his attitude. Temple never expected Brewster to complete his training, the man far too concerned with telling the others what he simply couldn’t do, every excuse imaginable to avoid the unpleasant. No one really knew what started the fight, but Temple always assumed that Brewster’s mouth made Sergeant Dugan’s blood boil. Dugan had cemented himself into legend by picking Brewster up over his head and launching him out the window of the barracks, then retrieving him, carrying him back inside, and launching him out again. Dugan then tossed the man’s cot out after him, along with all his gear. The officers had come of course, hard questions for the sergeant who ranked them all by years and experience. But no one spoke out, and no charges were filed. And no one ever saw Brewster again. As far as Temple knew, the man was still listed as AWOL. Scarabelli still maintained that no one would ever find him, since he wouldn’t be recognizable after what Dugan had done to his face.

The truck bounced high, lifting them up, then dropping them onto their hard seats, inspiring a rumble of curses. Temple sat beside Parker, could hear faint murmurs from the big man, but it was nothing like the sharp words coming from the others. He knew by now that Parker was praying. The Virginian was as devout as anyone Temple had known back in Florida, always carried a small Bible in his pocket. All through training and since, Dan Parker had kept a quiet grip on his sobriety and had avoided the profane talk that flowed freely in every barracks and camp. He kept a diary, and Temple had watched over his shoulder as the big man filled the pages, some of it prayers he had composed himself. They had become friends quickly, the two southerners sharing the heritage that some of the others didn’t understand. Like Temple, Parker’s grandfather had fought for the Confederacy,