Faith To Finish (eBook)

Roosevelt Douglas (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2021 | 1. Auflage
104 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
978-1-0983-7219-4 (ISBN)

Infos

The story of one person's life. The ups and downs, the good and bad.

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The story of the ups and downs of a person's life over 10 to 15 years.

Textauszug

A small island somewhere in Europe, September 1943

How in the hell did I end up here? Here I am in a foxhole with two rednecks. Even with the night being as cold as it is, the wind is whispering among the trees, and the mixture of sound is like death. Takes me back to the night, the night the Klan came by my daddy’s farm, that night I never want to relive again.

“Boy, don’t worry, everything will be alright.’’

The voice was coming from one of the soldiers in the foxhole. That’s the same thing my daddy said to me the night the Klan came by the farm. Even coming from this white man, though, it made me feel a little better. There was a time I would have thought the two in the foxhole were as much an enemy as the Germans. The silence is broken: In its place, there is a long, whispering sound.

I had heard that as long as that sound was passing over your head, you were okay. Up farther, the sky lit up, and the sound of the large shells could be heard as they landed. The sky lit up like the town square back home on the Fourth of July.

I can recall the good times I used to have back home, lying around on the farm in the shade having a good drink of moonshine.

“Boy, how did you end up here? We don’t have any coloreds in this outfit.’’

The same voice I recognized, coming from the same person in the foxhole. Although it’s dark, the voice is recognizable.

Well I was a cook for General Swartz. After he got killed in that big bombing a couple of nights ago doing an inspection farther up the line, I was told to wait here until the body squad came.

This was the squad that took the bodies of the dead soldiers, if they were able to gather any, back to an area where they could bury them. Sometimes they would have to bury them in a mass grave.

The shells continued to fall; they lit up the sky like daylight. This could be one of two things: The Germans are getting ready to mount an attack or just giving us something to think about. I hope it’s the latter. The night drifts away and soon the sounds of the big guns are no more.

“Chow, Chow, Chow, come and get it,” can be heard. “One man at a time, don’t everybody leave those holes at once.”

The sound of the tin cups and plates being banged together would wake up the dead, and I’m not dead, but it got my attention.

“Hey Joe, hey Joe wake up, chow time.” That familiar voice again. “One of us has to stay in the hole, you two go. I’ll go when you get back.”

Those blue eyes staring at me again, but they are much more friendly. “Leroy is my name,” he said.

“Lee is mine,” I said.

“Pleased to meet you, Lee. And this is Fred, my foxhole buddy.”

The mess hall is set up in the middle of a small clearance among the trees. I can see the long line forming for Chow. Also I can see that I will be the only colored.

Might as well break the ice. “Good morning, everyone,” I said.

Now I am getting a bunch of staring eyes. Might as well fill my mess kit with some of this shit on the shingle—that’s the name given to this creamed potatoes and chopped beef.

Getting back to the foxhole, I can now see Leroy complete. He’s tall, about six-foot-three, broad shouldered and not really bad looking for a peckerwood. You know, I never really had a white friend. When I was a kid, I used to play with a few of the little white boys across the creek, but that only lasted until their dads came home—they hated colored folks.

Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home. I looked over Jordan and what did I see, a band of angels coming after me. This is a verse from a song I used to sing in church a lot. As the sun broke through the gray mist the air warmed up a bit.

The ground is rumbling. This must be the sound of the trucks coming to pick up the bodies.

Looking puzzled, Leroy said quietly, “the body squad, that’s one job I wouldn’t want.”

“Don’t worry, they save it for special soldiers, and they are all colored.”

“I guess you colored soldiers do catch all the worst of things,” he said, reaching his hand out to me. “Lee, let’s you and I be friends, and if I meet you again anywhere it would be my pleasure to shake your hand.”

“Same here,” I said as I extended my hand to Leroy.

Two trucks backed up to where they have the bodies wrapped in ponchos. Must be about thirty. The men get out of the trucks and start to sing, Roll them over put them on a stretcher, place them in the trucks, so we can get back before dusk. Sound off, one two, sound off, one two, sound off, one two three four, sound off, one two three four, sound off, these men are dead but they won’t rust, all their bodies will soon be dust. Sound off, one two, sound off, one two three four, sound off, one two three four, sound off. These men died on the battlefield trying to make our country a better place to live. These men died on the battlefield some so young they never lived. Sound off, one two, sound off, one two three four.

‘’Alright, you plantation soldiers, let’s get these bodies out of here, and we can do without the singing.”

The voice was coming from the Sergeant First Class standing over by the trucks. I guess that’s the Sergeant I need to report to.

“Sergeant, my name is Private Lee Williams. I came here with General Swartz. He was killed a couple of days ago up at the front. I was left here with this outfit.”

“Okay, private, give them a hand. When we leave you can go back with us.”

“Thanks, Sergeant.”

“There is a small cemetery about 20 miles back. That’s where the bodies will be buried. The bodies can’t be just left lying around on the ground, so if at all possible, they will be buried even if it has to be in a mass grave.”

This area is completely manned by colored soldiers. The officer in charge, Major Bob Crawford, a ten-year veteran, is a graduate of Tuskegee Institute. He has seen some combat.

“Sir, I’m private Williams. I was told by Sergeant Woods to report to you when I got here.”

“Report to Sergeant Hill over there. He’ll give you a job to do.”

Walking over to where Sergeant Hill is, I’m wondering what kind of job I could be assigned to do around here.

“Hi Sergeant, the major told me to report to you and you would give me a job to do.”

“Glad to meet you, Williams. How long you been over here?”

“About six months.”

“Any combat?”

“No sir.”

Months later, after being transferred from the body squad some time ago, I might wish I had stayed there. I had asked to be transferred to a combat unit. I guess sometimes you have to be careful what you wish for. I have been in a few battles and have been shot at more than once. More and more colored soldiers are now seeing action; in fact, there are a few all-colored combat units. The 92nd Buffalo, which I’m now part of, is as tough a fighting unit as you’ll ever see. The company commander is Colonel Tom Fears, a ten-year veteran from San Diego, California. A graduate of the University of California at Berkley, a married father of two young daughters.

Being made Corporal and Assistant Squad Leader, I have more duties assigned to me. This outfit has been assigned to lead an attack against a German unit held up in a small town about 30 miles up the coast. Rain, cold weather, and snow have bogged us down. We must make a move in the next 48 hours to open it up for the Third Army, which will be coming through in a few days and that town needs to be cleared. The Colonel realized he needs to know what is between here and the coast, so that town where Germans might be held up has to be cleared.

The Colonel says to Corporal Williams, “I need you to take five men and follow that line to the clearance right before the town and see what we have.’’

“Okay, sir, can I pick the men, or should I ask for volunteers?”

“How you pick the men is up to you.”

Darkness finds six silhouettes that can be seen against the outline of the trees. If being colored ever has its advantages, it had to be now. Quietness was a way of life over here and also a way to stay alive. Most of the enemies had been driven out of the woods and were back in the small town that the 92nd had to secure. There might be a few snipers in the area. After combing the area up to about 300 hundred yards from the town, everything seemed clear. We might as well make our way back. Then there is a sharp crack. One of the men throws both hands up to his face and falls slowly to the ground.

“Hit, hit,” one of the men cries out. The other men hit the ground in a prone position. Crawling toward the fallen soldier, I can see there is no sense in turning him over, because blood is gushing out of his head like water coming over a waterfall.

“Oh my God, did anyone see where the shot came from?”

No one speaks, but I can see the reflection of a rifle I believe about fifty yards or so in the woods. Instinctively, I let loose three short bursts from my automatic rifle in the direction of the flash. There was a loud whine and a body fell from one of the trees.

“Hold it, don’t go near the body. They have been known to be wired to explode if you check the body after they are killed. A couple of you men wrap that G.I. with a poncho and make some kind of stretcher so we can carry him back to camp.”

The dead soldier is Milt Jackson, twenty-eight years old, from New York City. He...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 18.7.2021
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Krimi / Thriller / Horror
• ISBN-10: 1-0983-7219-0 / 1098372190
• ISBN-13: 978-1-0983-7219-4 / 9781098372194