Kid Soldier

by Jennifer Maruno

  “Getting a hang of the gears?” Ted called out to Swipes sitting on top of the box.

  Something floated up from the bottom of Richard’s mind, something Mr. Black once said to him while making deliveries. “You have to watch out for the guy who thinks being in the army is one big joke. He’ll get you killed faster than the enemy.”

  As Richard watched one of the detachments learn the basics of gun instruction using wooden rifles he couldn’t help thinking about the two boys at the bridge. The only difference between his equipment and theirs was that the Canadian troops were supposed to hold off an enemy invasion.

  —

  Jack sat next to Richard one morning. “So,” he said. “What do you think we get to play with today?”

  “Bullets,” Ted said, pushing his plate away from him.

  “We’re getting live ammo?” Richard asked.

  “Taste your breakfast,” Ted said. “Those damn navy beans are as hard as bullets.”

  Richard and Jack lifted a forkful of beans to their lips. Richard swallowed with a grimace, but Jack spat his out.

  The growls and mutterings grew as more soldiers pushed their plates away. Someone yelled, “I want to speak to that cook,” and the rest took up the cry. “Cook, Cook, Cook,” they chanted as they beat the tables with their knives and forks.

  The cook appeared in the doorway. Ted lifted his plate and hurled it into his face. More plates sailed through the air, as men heaved up the tables and tossed chairs. Richard and Jack loaded their spoons and catapulted beans at each other, until the orderly officer appeared at the door and demanded that everyone appear on the parade square.

  The battery commander moved down the line asking each soldier the same question.

  “Did you take part in this affair?”

  “Yes sir,” Ted said. “Thought we were supposed to fire ammo, not eat it.”

  He asked Swipes the same question.

  “Yes sir,” Swipes said. “I was sending those beans back to the navy.”

  The real surprise was when the sergeants, who ate in a separate hall, also admitted they had taken part in the battle of beans.

  “Either we throw this entire battery in jail for disorderly conduct,” the commander told them all, “or we look into the matter of getting another cook.”

  Several of the men smiled.

  “But,” he continued, giving them the cold eye, “any further display of this kind of nonsense, and meals will be suspended altogether. The German army is on the move again; it’s time we took this damn war seriously.”

  —

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Black,

  I received your letter a few days ago, thank you. There was a bit of a riot in the mess hall the other day, which I will tell you all about when I get home.

  I met a fellow from the Evening Telegram, who had reported on the Honeymoon Bridge. Just before he left for Canada he took pictures of our division and left us copies. Here’s one for you.

  I’m sitting by the telegraph key. The guys in the background are supposed to be sending signals but I was the only real “sig” available so he had the guys in my troop fill in. Jack Gill is supposed to be demonstrating the heliograph. Ted Billington and Charlie McNaughton are using the flags. Charlie is the guy everyone calls “Swipes.”

  I’ve signed up for a seven-week course on signal instruction. Only two Canadians are going. Most of the men in the classes are English. Today the Sarge told me I would be doing some dispatch riding as well. Hope the car is running well.

  Your war correspondent,

  Richard

  Richard had debated whether or not to send the picture to his mother but figured it would just end up in his sock drawer. He knew Mr. Black would put it on his mantelpiece.

  Chapter 18

  The Patrol

  Dear Amy,

  New men fill the barracks. We now live in tents on the field.

  Richard didn’t tell Amy that the noise of the plane engines overhead made the tin roofs of the barracks vibrate, which was worse than being in a tent during the rain.

  I watched my first bomb explode, even though it was five kilometers away.

  Richard stopped writing. The whole thing had seemed so unreal. He had heard the drone of enemy aircraft above the camp as everyone had stopped to watch the plane with the black Maltese cross on its wing pop out of the clouds sideways. Richard saw it dive at a sharp angle and covered his ears as the whine of the engine turned into a scream. At the bottom of the dive, the pilot dropped his bomb. But it was no bag of flour. The hill exploded and black smoke tumbled towards the sky.

  The tunnel of smoke seemed to be standing straight up in the air when the RAF plane appeared on the horizon. The edges of its wings twinkled. The first plane turned downward and slid into a dive. It spun as it headed to earth with a thin line of brown smoke streaming from its tail. Before it hit ground, the plane exploded into a ball of yellow.

  The spring sun has been shining every day, and now that we are on daylight savings, the evenings are nice and long. It feels like July. The farmers are plowing and the trees are in bud. Every time we get a break we lie down on the grass with the sun on our face.

  “So when is this game of invasion supposed to start?” Ted asked, interrupting Richard’s thoughts. Holding a beer bottle in his hand, he walked about the tent shirtless, revealing white skin above his elbows.

  “Invasion is not a game,” Jack replied. “Especially if those planes decide to drop bombs on us.”

  “Hitler won’t invade England until the RAF is no longer a threat to his troops,” Swipes said. “He’ll have to break the Brits’ air force first.”

  Richard finished his letter in favour of an early night. His morning duty required him to be on the road by five. It was early, but he looked forward to zooming through the countryside with the cool morning breeze on his face.

  The next morning he climbed onto the seat of his Norton motorcycle and jiggled the lever for the gas line on the right handlebar. He rose from his seat and drove his foot down hard on the starter pedal. The engine grumbled but didn’t start.

  “I know it’s early, old girl,” Richard said, “but it’s time to get a move on.”

  Richard rose again. This time his machine gave a sputtering roar and a cloud of smoke shot from the trembling exhaust pipe. He headed out into the wet grey morning, the roads shiny with rain, smelling the fields through the reek of oil that travelled alongside.

  Designed by a senior officer, Richard’s patrol took him along the country roads through the hills and dales, past old ruins and over swollen creeks. Richard had to know how to manage the Norton up steep hills, along narrow roads, around sharp turns, and through large puddles. During each patrol he was to stop at specific places and call in from a telephone kiosk. Richard suspected it was just the army’s way of ensuring a regular report, stifling the initiative to explore.

  No sooner had he left the camp when a small brown animal scuttled across the road in front of him. He swerved to the left and stopped on the side. The animal rolled itself up into a ball.

  Richard noticed a young boy racing across a field waving his arms to flag him down. He recognized him as one of the two young lads he had seen drilling up and down the canal.

  “I’m glad you stopped,” the boy said. He looked down and then took off his jacket. He rolled the brown ball into it and tied the sleeves. “It’s perfect for our back garden.”

  “What is it?”

  “A hedgehog,” the boy said. “You’ve never seen a hedgehog before?”

  “They don’t have them in Canada,” Richard said. “I don’t think.”

  “Well, we used to have them everywhere, but they’re getting harder and harder to find.” He slung it over his shoulder. “I’ll put this one in my back garden where it will be safe.” He started into the field and then stopped. “Actually, I wanted to tell you something drifted across the sky at the back of my house last night,” the boy said in a serious voice. “My mum said it was
probably a loose barrage from London, but those balloons are silver. I was sure it was white. It could be caught in the trees in the woods.”

  Richard knew about the blimps that hovered in the clouds over the city. During the day they looked like ugly sausages, but at night they floated like whales on a dark sea.

  “Get rid of your animal,” Richard said. “We’ll take a look.”

  “I’ll come back with the rest of my army,” the boy called out behind him. Within minutes, he returned with a smaller boy at his side and a dog at their heels. James introduced himself and his young brother Simon.

  “Who is your other friend?” Richard asked as they climbed on to the back of the motorcycle. The dog’s mottled nose, different coloured eyes, and single dropped ear gave him a comical look. Despite his broken teeth and scars, his eyes looked intelligent.

  “This is Billy. He’s a Border Collie,” James said. “If anyone can find an airplane, he can.”

  “If it is a barrage balloon we’ll have to take it back to the barracks,” Richard said.

  “And if it is a parachute,” James told Simon, “we’ll have to capture the pilot.”

  Richard smiled at the older boy’s enthusiasm as they climbed onto the flat metal passenger seat. “Don’t try to lean on the curves,” he shouted over the roar of the engine.

  Billy ran, tail tucked between his legs, beside the little cloud of steam that came from the motorcycle exhaust. They rode over rocks and roots to the tops of a small forest sitting at the bottom of a hillside. The boys got off. Richard worked his way down the incline, steadying himself with a foot on the ground as he skidded over the pine needle carpet.

  Something moved at the far end of the tree line. Richard dismounted and swept his field glasses across the woods. He tightened the focus until he could see the bark of the trees and the leafy branches. A family of deer grazed at the edge of the woods.

  “What do you see?” James asked.

  “Just deer,” Richard replied. Something must have chased them out of the woods.

  They followed the little-used trail where the earth showed signs of a wide scrape.

  The Border Collie tore into the trees.

  “Keep an eye out,” Richard said as they followed the trail.

  The dog stood barking in front of a stand of broken trees. No one was more surprised than Richard when he saw the yellow nose of a crashed plane with German crosses on its wings.

  “Did either of you see it come down?” Richard asked.

  “We heard aircraft last night,” Simon said, “and went out to watch.”

  “A Hurricane went by,” James explained. “We saw a ball of fire going sideways and then one shooting up into the sky. Then we saw the Hurricane do a victory roll.”

  “Mum made us go back inside because Billy was barking so much,” Simon said. “He hates planes.”

  Billy cocked his leg and directed a steady stream of yellow on to the wreckage as if to prove them right.

  “Later, when I went out to use the nessy, I saw the chute float by,” James added.

  Not far from the crash, a tangle of material in a tree jerked about in the wind. Richard crawled along the branch of the oak on his belly and gave it a tug. As soon as he touched it, he knew it was parachute silk.

  “Aren’t you going to get it down?” Simon asked when Richard returned to the ground.

  “What’s the closest building around here?” Richard asked.

  “Hill Top Farm is behind these woods,” James said. “I’ll show you.”

  Richard peered at the acres of hops that led up to the stone farm house. The rows were tall enough for someone to walk along without being seen.

  He adjusted his field glasses and focused on the farmer’s face as he chatted to his wife. Richard watched the farmer add a wide length board to the left side of his wagon and a matching board to the other side. He looped the reins over the wagon seat, took his place next to his wife, and gave the reins a shake. The horses turned down the lane.

  Everything looked normal, but Richard decided to check it out anyway.

  “Are you going up to the farm?” James asked.

  “First I’ll telephone it in,” Richard said. “Then, I’ll take you boys home.”

  “Why can’t we stay?” James asked. “We showed you where it was.”

  “Your mother will be worried,” Richard said. “And it’s past time for school.”

  The farm road was full of potholes; some still had water from the morning rain. At the closed gate Richard dismounted and lifted the wooden latch. He tucked the bike behind a hawthorn hedge, removed his goggles, and hung them over the handlebars. He placed his field glasses in his pouch, his helmet on the seat, and his gauntlets inside the helmet.

  At the doorway of the dark barn, Richard heard a furtive scuttle. Could be mice, he thought, until he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. No farmer in his right mind would smoke in a barn full of hay.

  He stepped further into the barn and saw the flash of a match. It flew into an arc, landing in the largest pile of hay.

  Richard raced to the spot. Fortunately the match had died out and the hay did not catch on fire. As he bent to retrieve the match, he heard the stuttering whine of his motorcycle. Richard raced to the gate just in time to see its taillight going down the lane.

  With a heavy heart he followed on foot, kicking at the stones along the country road. What on earth was he going to tell his sergeant?

  Rounding the bend, Richard spotted James and Simon sitting by the side of the road with their heads in their hands. Hearing his footfalls, James looked up, his face streaked with tears.

  “Simon,” he yelled as he jumped to his feet. “It wasn’t him, look, it wasn’t him.”

  “I thought I took you two home,” Richard said. “It wasn’t who?”

  “It wasn’t you that went over the edge,” James said, grabbing him by the arm. “Come and see for yourself. It’s a good thing you can look down at yourself.”

  Richard allowed the boys to drag him over the rough ground at the side of the road and across the boggy marshland. “Where are we going?”

  “To see your bike,” James answered.

  “My bike,” Richard repeated, his face brightening. “Are you sure it’s mine?”

  His face faded at the sight of the unmoving body of a man sprawled across the rocks at the bottom of the gorge. Richard’s motor bike lay on top. His field glasses lay half way down the cliff.

  “When we saw you take that path off the main road, we was wondering what you were doing.” James said.

  “But, it wasn’t him,” Simon pointed out in exasperation.

  “No one uses the scramble path after a rain,” James continued. “The rocks get slippery. That’s why the bike catapulted into the gorge.”

  “He was a Nazi,” James said with venom. “And he got what was coming to him.”

  This is exactly what my mother expects to happen to me, Richard thought as he stared down at the broken body. No wonder she didn’t want me to join the army.

  Richard led the boys away from the cliff to the roadway. “Remember,” he told them, “that man had a family and they will be sorry for his death.”

  When the squad of armed Canadian soldiers arrived, the sergeant in command immediately ordered the two boys sharing a chocolate bar away from the site.

  Chapter 19

  Recruits

  The severe figure of Major McNaughton, followed by two other officers, moved towards Richard from across the square. McNaughton made an impressive soldier in his immaculate uniform and supple, glistening boots. This middle-aged, well-spoken man smelled of pipe tobacco and cologne. Out of uniform, Richard imagined he wore expensive tweed jackets with leather patches on the elbows.

  “Bombardier Fuller?” the major asked, standing rigid in front of him. The look on his face told Richard things were more than serious.

  “Hold your head up, look an officer straight in the eye, and state your position,” the voice of Mr. B
lack said in his head.

  “Yes sir,” Richard said, giving his best salute. He focused on the laurel wreath of the major’s regimental cap badge.

  “That was your motorcycle brought in for repairs?” the major asked.

  “Yes sir,” Richard replied, staring straight into the officer’s dark brown eyes. Deep down in his boots he hoped the damage was only minor.

  “No bumps and bruises on your part?” the major asked.

  “No sir,” Richard replied. His answer held a tiny bit of question to it. Surely the major had received his report, explaining how the bike had gone over the cliff.

  “What made you inspect the barn?”

  “A pilot would look for a place to sleep away the day,” Richard replied. “The best time to travel on foot would be at night.”

  “Until you provided him with your motorbike,” the major responded.

  Richard knew he dare not lower his eyes, even though he felt himself going pale. “Yes sir,” he responded in a weaker voice. He guessed he was about to be told the bike repairs would come out of his pay. He drew his breath waiting for a lecture on breach of regulations.

  “If you had not been so vigilant,” McNaughton said, “and had not taken action to investigate, that German pilot could have done serious harm to the farmer and his family. He could also be on the loose making reports to the Nazis.” The major turned to the officers at his side. “This is why we will win this blasted war,” he said. “Their pilots might be able to fly but they can’t drive worth beans.”

  The officers laughed. Richard wanted to, but knew he couldn’t.

  “I wanted to tell you I am delighted at the outcome,” the major said. “Keep up the good work, Lance Bombardier. When your bike is ready, we’ll put you on permanent dispatch.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Richard replied. The major had just promoted him.

  In relief, he gave a slight turn of his head, just in time to catch the scowling eyes of Ted Billington.