“Most of the Japanese I met were American citizens,” Christian pointed out, but of course, Emi wasn’t.
“Listen. Stop overthinking things and just shoot them,” Jack said, his gun strapped to him, ready to do just that at all times. “Forget about souls and mothers and fathers and all those details and just fire away. If you don’t, you’re not going to leave here alive, and because I feel some strange kinship to you after being your babysitter in Wisconsin, I probably won’t, either.”
“And I won’t, either,” said Dave, who still hadn’t shaken off his nickname. “Because none of these assholes will try to save a pacifist. My best shot is the both of you.”
“It is pretty funny,” said Jack, trying to step on the Dove’s foot, which was tapping like a heartbeat. “How’d they let you in here anyway?”
“It’s called a draft,” said Dave. “Just shoot someone if they’re trying to shoot me, Lange,” he said, looking at Christian. “You know Jack won’t.”
Jack started to argue, but then he said, “You’re right. I need to cover someone who’ll actually cover me back. Kraut, you’ll have to save the Dove. Though it’s not very pacifist to ask someone to take someone else’s life just to save yours,” Jack scolded.
Christian hoped that he would be able to. That he’d be fearless enough to pull the trigger, if it came to that. When he’d been training in Texas, he hadn’t doubted his ability to fire at the enemy. They weren’t Emi. They were men trained to kill. But now, with bullets in his gun meant for someone else’s temple, he wasn’t so sure of himself.
On Carlson Island, they were tasked, like most of the unit’s other grunts, with setting up the artillery they had just carried. A February 1 assault on the larger Kwajalein Island was about to begin. When Carlson looked as if it had enough explosive power to take out the entire island chains all the way to Japan, they retired to their assigned camp, swarms of mosquitoes feasting on them as they waited for their orders to begin.
In their section, Dave had set up a wooden cross, little more than two sticks held together with a paper tie. Because he was sure it was the right thing to do when one’s life was on shaky ground, Christian knelt in front of it next to Dave and clasped his hands. He prayed for himself and for his parents and Inge at the camp. His mother had written to say that they were being repatriated to Germany in February along with Inge and her family. She sounded relieved that they were finally leaving Crystal City, and wrote that if they didn’t survive the voyage, she forgave Christian for enlisting. She confessed that she was scared of the boat ride and that she didn’t want to die angry at her only child. Christian had quickly written back saying that of course she wouldn’t die and that he was sorry and would see her very soon. But he was much sorrier now, praying in the middle of the Pacific, that he’d made the decision he did.
Seeing that Dave still had his eyes tight shut, Christian also prayed for Emi’s safety in Tokyo, and that one of the letters he had sent would reach her somehow and compel her to write back. And because the Dove looked like he was going to utter devotions all night, Christian threw Jack and Kurt from Crystal City into his prayers, too.
Jack came up to them after a few minutes and said, “Just about everyone in the world is praying for someone to stay alive. You can’t expect your prayers to be answered first, gentlemen. And with the look of that crappy cross, they’ll probably be answered last. If I were God, I’d be offended by that craftsmanship.” He bent down and broke off part of it, carving a toothpick from the wood.
“I can pray for as many unrealistic outcomes as I want,” said Christian, leaning back on his boot heels. “You have to be blindly optimistic during war, right, Dave? If not, every enlisted man would end up deserting. If you let the fear and pessimism win, you’re not going to stick around to see if a bullet gets you or not.”
Dave nodded.
“Good, because I already feel extremely pessimistic. I need some sort of divine intervention.”
“What you need is some fight in you, River Hills,” said Jack. “You’re too emotional.”
“Kneel down and pray,” Dave said to Jack, moving over for him.
Jack shook his head and kicked the cross over with finality. “I did enough praying for my parents after they disappeared, and they never came back, did they? They died instead. Haven’t bothered praying since.”
They all slept badly that night and by the time the sun was visible in the sky, the Seventh was already on the move toward Kwajalein.
“How many Japs are gonna be on this thing?” Christian heard one of the soldiers in their unit ask Dave on the boat.
“I don’t know,” Dave said, so nervous he had his head between his legs. “But it only takes one to kill you.”
“Shut your mouths!” their sergeant yelled. “There’s a huge air and Navy fleet to back up your asses. Look around you! We heavily outnumber the Japs. They should be the ones crying, not you. But they’ll fight till they die—remember that. And Simon, if you throw up on this boat, I will tie a rock to your foot and tip you overboard!”
The men knew that American air and naval bombardments had targeted the island chain for the last two months, but the Seventh would put the first Allied boots on the ground.
“Are you ready for this?” Dave asked Christian, his head still on his knee.
“Absolutely not,” said Christian, as stoic as Dave was panicked. “But we have no choice. We have to jump into the fire.”
“That’s right,” said Jack gleefully. “I was meant for fire.” He looked down at Christian and said, “Chin up, River Hills. It’s just life or death. Yours or theirs. Why be so serious?”
“Silly of me,” said Christian, feeling a lot more like Dave Simon than Jack.
“Hey, you know what I never told you about?” said Jack, suddenly smiling. “Calling you by your formal name, River Hills, reminded me.”
“What’s that?” asked Christian, trying to look at the horizon line to steady himself.
“I went to your house. I went to River Hills, kraut!”
Christian looked back at Jack. “Really?”
Jack gave him a brilliant smile and said, “What a house, kraut. You’re a lucky bastard. Even if you get your brains shot out here, today, you’re still luckier than I’ll ever be.”
“I know,” said Christian, who hadn’t felt lucky since Emi left him. “So what happened to the house? Did you get inside?”
“I didn’t get very far,” Jack admitted. “I was going to dress up all in black and sneak in a window, but before I did, I saw that there was someone living there.”
“What? Who?” said Christian, sitting up.
“The one you said would be there,” said Jack. “The one who reported your dad. Martin something.”