The dirt road before me just keeps going. How do farmers harvest fields of corn this large? I suppose I will miss out on many of life's little mysteries.
My captain asks, “When did you join the army private?”
“I joined up before the draft a year ago, sir,” I reply. I still haven't gotten used to these tan uniforms yet.
Captain Cromwell says, “A man who chose his own future. I like that. Why'd you join up, private Vilnet? And drop the 'sir' for today.” Captain Cromwell picks up a rock.
I explain, “It was the only thing I was good at. I could hit a grouse with a sling dead on before I could hit a nail with a hammer correctly.”
Cromwell shucks the pebble into the field where I could here a noise coming from. Two crows fly out. He and I continue towards the farmhouse in the distance.
“Is that pie I smell?” asks Cromwell. He begins to tip toe beside me weaving about on the road with his nose pointing to the clouds. Cromwell was the guy that knocked out one of my friends in last week of basic. Now I see him prancing down the road like a tooth fairy that has not shaved for a few days.
“Captain Cromwell!” I say in between laughs. I had better get him to stop doing that before someone sees him. Cromwell continued dancing with his eyes closed and nose raised to the smell of apple pie.
The captain let his heels down on the ground long enough to turn to me and say, “Quiet private! This is serious business.” He tapped his nose. “When I'm not going to war or making toy soldiers out of country bumpkins I like to eat pies. And not just any pies, our nation's pie, the apple pie. Spiced with a dash of cinnamon, it is the finest work man can do. And it is our job to make sure they can keep on making apple pies. Which brings us right here to this dirt road. So, don't you mind how I walk.” He resumed raising his nose to enjoy the glorious apple and cinnamon ecstasy, but kept his heels on the ground this time.
The farmhouse is close enough to see an older man rocking back and forth in a dark brown rocking chair. I nudge Cromwell. He straightens himself out. A woman comes out with oven mitts on. The door swings back and slaps closed. Her hands stick to her hips like pliers trying to hold her still. The older man puts a hand on the half painted railing of the patio as he leans to squint at the two of us. A puff of smoke leaves the older man's pipe followed closely by a grumble. The woman removes one hand from her hip, whips the door open, and lets it slap closed. I jump slightly back almost as if she had hit me with the sound of the door.
Here I am. I am picking up draftees from the Williams family. Two guys about my age will leave this house today maybe never to come back. Cromwell told me yesterday that both of them would be in my unit. One of them might even be in my squad. I am on track for leading my own squad, so I had better make a good impression here.
Cromwell's boots fell on the farmhouse's steps. I went up beside him in sync with his progress. Cromwell began to address the old man, “Excuse me Mr... umm...”
He just forgot their name. Oh, god! I will say it then. “Mr. Williams” I finish. “We are sorry to intrude on you this morning. We assume you were notified of our visit to your home by messenger?” The man nods before plopping his pipe into his mouth as if he were trying to bite it instead of me.
A man opens the front door. “I am Mr. Williams. Please come in and have a seat.”
Captain Cromwell takes his hat off and scratches his head. “Uhh... thank you for your hospitality. How has the crop this year been?”
“Is there something that my wife could get for you? Cold water? Tea?” The man asks as soon as we sit down. It seems more like his automatic response to guests rather than a genuine question.
“I'll have some tea,” says Cromwell.
“I would like cold water if it isn't any trouble,” I say.
Mr. Williams leaves us alone on the couch. The large room has a high ceiling with a stairway that a little boy is hiding between the railings on. The round face curiously looks at me. A sling and metal bucket are sitting on a table right next to me. Is the boy looking at those? I try not to let the boy know I see him. Actually, that sling reminds me of my days out in the fields chasing monsters. I pick up the sling.
“Henry! Greg!” the little boy yells. He thumps up the stairs as if to tell on me.
“That would be little Tommy,” explains Mr. Williams as he sets down the drinks. “He still likes to make loud noises.” Some loud pounding sounds drive through the ceiling followed by murmurs. “Your here for Henry and Greg aren't you?”
Captain Cromwell takes his first sip of tea before speaking. “Yes, they are of age and their country needs them.”
A fierce scoff from behind us straightens our backs like a bag of ice against our backs. “Like two farm boys are going to win the war!” Mrs. Williams thunders into the conversation and echoes away slamming a door behind her as she leaves just as quickly as she entered.
Cromwell and I exchange frightened glances before we feel our backs warm up enough to relax back into the couch. Cromwell begins again, “This won't be your father's or grandfather's war. This will be the war to end all wars. All future generation will call it the Great War.”
The ceiling begins to creek and the thud of two doors closing catches my attention. The first I see of Henry and Greg Williams is their home knit stockings taking them down the stairs. Both of them appear so excited. Greg must be the taller one since he is older. His younger brother, Henry, has a blue knit sweater on and laughs all the way down the stairs. Greg will need to learn to stand up straighter and Henry will have to get faster footwork. They both look capable. These two men I will come to know as comrades.
“Mom, that pie ready? I feel like I could eat a whole chicken,” Greg says.
“Yeah, Greg 'll take it feathers and all. I'd love a piece a pie though Mom,” Henry says. His boyish smile slips away when he sees Cromwell and me sitting on his couch. “Tommy said we had guests, but... But, we'd thought you'd be here later. I mean sometime after harvest or at the earliest next month...” Henry says.
“No, the letter said they would be here this month.” Mr. Williams responds like he is explaining the facts of life again to his son. Henry seems to draw back, still standing there, looking blankly at the table with the drinks on it. Henry probably doesn't like me already just because I joined voluntarily.
However, his brother Greg smiles with enthusiasm and says, “So, you're here to take me and my brother to fight?”
“I will be training you along with a few other men I know before that happens.” Cromwell stands up and extends his hand to Greg. “I'm Captain Cromwell. This is private...”
I stand up before Cromwell can finish, “Private Vilnet, it's a pleasure to meet you and your brother. I will be in the unit with you.”
Greg's eyes get wider and his expression expands upon his enthusiasm. He leans over and gives my hand a good shaking. “What will my brother and I need to bring? Gee, I didn't think I'd be meeting someone from the same unit until I got shipped out.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” interjects Mr. Williams. “We still have a few things to talk about.”
“What's there to talk about!? Dad, you know what's at stake. This war will change the whole world as we know it. Growing more corn is not going to fix this!” says Greg.
Mr. Williams remains calm. “That's not true, son. If we all grew corn then no one would have to fight anyone else. All we would have to do is deal with crows.”
“Ha! Good one Dad. And pigs fly!” says Greg.
Mrs. Williams bursts into the room, this time pointing up the stairs as she yells, “Henry and Greg Williams, get back up to your rooms this instant!”
The slap of the front door rings like a judges gavel. The old man from the front porch stands by the door half leaning on a cane. He must be the grandfather that served in the army years ago. I remember seeing he got a metal. The grandfather says, “Henry, Greg, go up to your rooms and gather your things.” They quietly do as they were told. The grandfather sits down on an old wooden chair. “I'm too old to dig a pair of graves each time two men come to take my grandchildren away,” he explains.
“Well I'm not too old!” shouts Mrs. Williams.
It dawns on Cromwell and me what the eldest Williams and Mrs. Williams were just talking about, killing us, and burying our bodies someplace in their huge field. But the grandfather pounds his cane on the floor, “Elly! Be a good mother and pack your sons that pie you just baked.”
Mr. Williams takes her by the shoulders and leads her into the kitchen. The grandfather continues, “You'll take good care of my grandkids now. I won't hear of them dying. Not before me at least. You understand!”
“Yes, sir. I will bring them back, sir,” I manage to peep out.
“Good. Now finish your drinks before you leave. It's rude not to,” says the grandfather. He gets up and limps off. I do not know why, but it strikes me that he is crumbling apart inside.
“I'm sorry if I stepped out of line, sir,” I say.
“Oh no, you stepped in at the right time. I may be their captain, but you will be much more to them, private. You'll understand soon enough,” says Cromwell. He pats me on the back before he stands up to drink the last of the tea in one swig. “Let's wait outside. I want to get away from that woman,” Cromwell continues. “You'd be amazed how effective a weapon a kitchen knife is.”
We wait outside. From the slight hill the house is on I could see two crows sitting on the arms of a scarecrow in the middle of the field. After the sun passes to the other side of the house I hear at first shouts then crying, then nothing. The door slaps closed once, then again. Greg got down the stairs two at a time. Henry got down three of the patio steps before he turned to look back. He stands there looking back at his home, probably trying to keep a warm colored painting of it in his mind.
“Come along now, son,” says Cromwell.
“You will be fine. Cromwell will train your mind as well as your body. It is not that hard to be a soldier,” I say.
The crows caw.
Henry lets one foot fall in front of the other. He manages to get behind his brother.
Before the brothers head down the dirt road Greg turns and waves up at a window above the patio. A small round face peers out waving a hand holding a sling. The brothers start down the road ahead of them.
Captain Cromwell slaps the brothers on their backs. “Cheer up! You've each got some of the best stuff in the world in your packs. Apple pie is no light meal. It will keep you going in even the worst situations.”
I remain silent. I know these men are not soldiers, not yet. Can they be soldiers? Just like I was not born to be a carpenter, were these two not born to be soldiers? Like Cromwell thinks, will it all be worth warm apple pies in the end?
That skirmish nearly wiped my squad out.. What was that strange smoke? Stay focused. I said I would bring Greg and Henry back and I will. Wait... How did I get here? I was just walking away from a farmhouse. Now I am walking down another road carrying Henry and dragging Greg's corpse. This is not happening. I can see the corn on either side of me again. Henry hangs his head. Is he seeing the same scene I am? I pass by another squad headed to the same forest I just came out. The looks of fright mix with the denial in the faces of others. They do not know what they are headed into.
A dream, just a strange daydream. Greg and Henry are both walking behind me. Cromwell is whistling. It did not happen. The Williams brothers are fine. What will happen to us?
We collected the bodies and lined them one after another in rows. This should have been their story. But, the dead can only speak through the caw of crows that feed on their bodies. I am going to puke again. Is Cromwell still thinking about apple pie?