I stare. Waiting for him to crack a smile to show he’s kidding.
It never comes.
Perkins nods to himself, finally looking away and finishing his cigarette. “They see someone they can count on.”
“You’re full of shit,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“Large words for a youngster like you.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dirt near his boots. “How old are you anyway?”
“Twenty.”
“Like hell you are. How long ago did you sign up?”
“About four months now.” I take one last drag. “It feels like a year.”
“So how did you do it then?” he asks.
“Do what?”
“Enlist. Did you forge your father’s signature or something?”
I laugh once and say, “Luck. Dumb luck.”
He thinks I’m joking, but I’m serious.
Another pair of footsteps approaches our foxhole. Captain Price appears and smiles down at us. “Jackson, Perkins,” he says. “Staying warm on this fine night?”
I smirk. “I thought you didn’t make jokes, Captain.”
“And I thought you never smiled, Jackson. It’s good to see we’re both wrong.” He averts his attention from me. “Perkins, I heard you were low on supplies. Did you check around for everyone’s aid kits?”
“I did this afternoon, sir. There wasn’t much.”
“All right, well head back into town and see if they have anything to spare before we move out tomorrow. And make sure you get enough. It may be your last chance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If everything goes smoothly enough, you should be back before dawn.” Captain Price turns to leave but pauses. “Actually. Jackson, why don’t you go with him. I’ll have Bentley take over your watch tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
Perkins puts on his helmet again and gives me a hand out of the hole. We silently make our way through the camp and past the line—if it can be called that. Out here in these woods, it’s hard to know where the front is and where the Germans are.
I have to be more alert here, but it’s good to be doing something different. It’s better than keeping watch with cold feet and trying to sleep when I know I won’t.
I have Perkins walk behind me since he’s without a weapon, keeping my rifle pressed into my shoulder and pointed down.
We’re both quiet until we reach the small town that has served as a drop point for the last week or so. A hospital was set up in the school where the wounded could be brought in from the front line and then evacuated. Perkins leads now, knowing the way better than I do.
A couple of soldiers walk by and call out to him. “Doc Dan, you back in town so soon?”
“Only to check up on that rash of yours,” he says.
The soldier hesitates. “Rash?”
Perkins nods down. “Is it gone already?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His eyes go wide, confused.
“You know, in theory, I heard it goes away faster if you stay away from any girls. Potentially, anyway. I wouldn’t want to lie to you, though.”
The soldier’s friend laughs and he punches him in the arm. “Shut up, Kirk, it’s not true.”
Perkins laughs. “Take the joke as a man or don’t take it at all, Johnson.”
Kirk can’t stop laughing.
Johnson finally lets a smile out and shakes his head. “Damn Doc, remind me never to get on your bad side.” He finally notices me and nods, averting the unwanted attention off himself. “Who’s this?”
“Private First Class Jackson. You might better know him as Ace.”
To my surprise, recognition dawns over his face. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you. I also heard you’re one hell of a shot.”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
“Well, you’ve got to be with a name like that.” He tips his chin up at Perkins. “See ya around, Doc. Don’t be going around starting any rumors.”
Once they’re out of earshot, Perkins laughs to himself. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself. Come on, let’s get our stuff so we can get back.”
A large stone building sits at the end of the street where a few more soldiers talk and smoke outside the door. They nod to us before we head down a wide pair of steps toward the basement. There are wounded men lying on every available bed and some sitting against the walls. All of them smelling of blood and sulfa powder.
I follow Perkins through the maze of beds and he’s already talking with one of the other medics, listing off what he needs. Mostly morphine, bandages, sulfa powder, and plasma. Things he’s constantly running out of.
There’s yelling behind me and two soldiers come down the steps, carrying a man on a stretcher between them. Perkins is already there with the medic he’d been talking to, not giving a second thought about helping.
He’s a different person here. When it comes down to someone’s life, he doesn’t take anything more seriously. His hands are already covered in blood with a pair of scissors between his fingers, cutting away the uniform. It’s fascinating and frightening all at once.
I can’t stay.
The scene unfolding before me reminds me too much of Adams.
I turn away and head back up the steps. The night is still cold and clear and thankfully quiet. In the far distance, mortars that can pass as thunder light the sky. I can still hear Perkins and the medic talking over the patient, trying to save him before it’s too late.
He belongs here more than I ever will. And the reason I keep coming back here, over and over again, is something I have yet to find out. Do I belong here like he does?
Sometimes I’m not sure.
I almost don’t want to go back home.
Bryce will be gone.
Dad will probably be even more closed off.
And I don’t know what to think about Harper. She’s constantly on my mind—her smile, the sound of her voice, the feel of her fingers on my back, and her lips—
I dig my last cigarette from my pocket and light up before I stop myself. As I exhale and draw it away, I stand there and stare at my shaking hands. I try to make them stop. It doesn’t work.
“You ready, Jackson?”
I flinch and see Perkins standing next to me, carrying a small wooden box filled with supplies. Waiting for my response. I drop the cigarette and try to hide my shaking hands. “Sorry, yeah.”
“You all right?”
I hesitate, almost wanting to tell him—anything, even if it’s not the whole truth. Just something to lighten the burden. But I’m already nodding my head, so good at lying that it’s become habit.
We walk back the way we came, a couple glass bottles clinking tonelessly in the box. “That guy you were helping,” I start, “will he make it?”
“Looks like it. Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks again. “You disappeared out of there pretty fast.”