How Much Is Enough?

By: CP

Own nothing but original characters and a deep and enduring love for Combat!. No monetary gain will be had from this work. For entertainment purposes only.

The peals of female laughter outside the window brought a grin to his handsome young face. Putting down his pencil, he paused and looked out in time to see Kirby catch the pretty French girl and swing her around in his arms. Funny, he thought, most of the time there was a scowl on the BAR man’s face. But today all the creases and worry lines seem to be missing, replaced by a genuine look of happiness. Or as close to genuine as one could find thousands of miles from home, in the middle of a bloody war.

Picking the pencil up once more, Billy held it over the paper. What, exactly, did you tell the family back home about this war? “It’s something new every day, Mom!” “The Krauts don’t always aim for our heads; sometimes they just fire for effect and get lucky!” “Oh, the weather’s fine over here. Always sunshine and rainbows.” His mom was a smart woman, and he knew she would read between the lines, maybe even scold him in her next letter for having a smart mouth and daring to lie to her. Of course none of that would make it past the censors who meticulously scoured each letter written by the troops before passing it along as V-mail.

He could tell her about the bloody battles. About the enemy soldiers who were even younger than him, willing to die for their country and a leader who was filled with a ruthless determination to rule the world. Maybe he could tell her how, after having only one or two hot meals in weeks, he longed for her fresh buttered biscuits, her fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Or how he’d give a month’s pay for one of her apple pies with the crust so flaky it melted in your mouth. He could, but he wouldn’t.

Folding the paper and placing it along with the pencil in his pack, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He’d sleep for a while, then he’d continue the letter to Mom. He’d make a few corny jokes - she always laughed at his jokes. Even the ones that weren’t funny. He’d ask about the family, of course. How was his brother doing in school? Any news from the neighborhood? How was Evelyn? Shoot. That was another letter he had to write. And soon. A fella couldn’t expect his gal to wait for him if she never got any letters telling her how much he missed her and making plans for when he returned home. Home. It really seemed like a dream now.

The gentle fingers of sleep caressed his mind and his eyes slid shut. Lost in a peaceful slumber, the young soldier relaxed. All the tension left his body, granting him respite, if only temporary, from the hell he’d come to know when awake.

If sleep came easy, the nightmares came easier. The war machine was in full force, whether it be Allied or Axis troops. Bullets tearing into flesh had no knowledge of the identity of their intended victim. Artillery strikes were blind to accents, skin color or rank. It made no matter to the molten lead roaring through the air, seeking a target. And finding one all too often. Old and young alike; twisted bodies lying on the ground. Vacant eyes locked in a death stare, never again to see loved ones or the bluest sky ….

Waking from the nightmarish imagery that plagued his sleep yet again, Billy rubbed his eyes. He looked at his watch and realized he had only been asleep for about an hour. Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he returned to thoughts of the letter which lay in his pack. He could never tell his mother about all he had seen. No, he couldn't let those same images plague the kindest woman in the world. She wouldn’t know the whole truth for now, maybe never, and for that, he was thankful. In his mind, it was better to be scolded when he got home for omitting what he had been witness to than to tell the truth, enlightening his own mother to the horrors of war.

Blowing out a breath, he reached for the letter again and began to write.

"Dear Mom..."

End.