Will

January 31, 1942

The past two weeks had been slow. The news of our assignments was stale in a matter of days, talked to death by the men in the camp. Everyone was just ready to finish their preparation and be sent off for their own shot at glory across the sea. In the meantime, we trained harder than we ever did before. The courses got more difficult, with new obstacles such as fifteen foot high walls topped with barbed wire we were expected to get over while still managing to beat our best times.

I also decided to take it upon myself to learn as much about Morocco as I could. I leafed through books and newspapers, studying history, culture, and customs. I also managed to find maps in the library within the camp and was able to familiarize myself with the geography.

"Damn, Solace," Cecil said one day after I had entered our dorm carrying a stack of library books. "You're really taking this seriously, aren't you?"

Finally, the day arrived. It was time to leave for Morocco. I rolled out of bed that morning and got dressed as quickly as I could. Cecil and I walked together to the Mess Hall, our ears being assaulted with the uproar of conversation as we stepped through the doors.

The mood was a mix of nervousness and excitement throughout breakfast. On one hand, we were about to be sent into one of the most violent and widespread conflicts in history, but on the other hand, we were getting an opportunity to make ourselves heroes.

I imagined myself returning home a year from now, a decorated war hero with a uniform full of shiny medals awarded for bravery and selflessness. I imagined people cheering, chanting my name as I stepped off a train at Penn Station, their eyes alight with admiration. But most of all, I imagined a small figure with raven black hair, warm brown eyes, and alabaster skin shoving his way through the crowd. Nico. He would finally make his way to the front and rush forward, throwing himself at me. I would wrap my arms around him and pull him close until our lips met. His lips would be soft and taste faintly of coffee, just like they always did. His slender fingers would tangle themselves in my hair as our lips moved against each other.

I returned to reality. Nico was no longer in my arms, I wasn't a war hero, and I was far from New York City. Instead, I was stuck in a raucous Mess Hall in the plain olive colored uniform of a private. A dismal feeling settled in my stomach like a rock sinking to the bottom of a pond.

I recalled the day at the train station, the last time I saw Nico. I had wanted so badly to kiss him. That couldn't be the last time I saw Nico, it couldn't. I made him too many promises for that to be our last moment together. Whatever it took, I would get home to him.

Breakfast ended, and Cecil and I carried our plates to the dirty dish window and headed towards the gates of the camp where the trucks were waiting to take us to the port.

"Everything alright, Solace?" Cecil asked as we made our way through the camp. "You're awfully quiet today."

I shrugged, "A lot on my mind, I guess."

He placed his hand on my shoulder in a brotherly manner, "Ah, we all feel that way, Will. We're about to be sent to war, this is serious stuff."

"I know, it's just I have a lot I want to say to the people I love at home, and I just can't help but think that I may never get to say those things to them. But I can't think like that, I made too many promises to them already, too many." I answered, sighing heavily.

A sudden spark of understanding appeared in Cecil's eyes. "You have a girl at home waiting for you," he said.

I forced a weak smile that ended up looking more like a grimace, "Something like that, yes."

"I get it. My fiance, Lou Ellen, is waiting for me at home," Cecil replied.

I looked at him in surprise, "You're getting married?"

Cecil nodded, "Yep, the wedding was supposed to be in May, but then the war started and I signed up to try and get us a little money..." His voice trailed off.

"I'm so sorry. I know it sounds false, but it's true. I'm really sorry," I responded.

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter. I'm here, I'm about to be sent overseas, complaining isn't going to change that." He stood up straighter and composed his face, making himself look like nothing had happened at all. "Let's get over there and end this damn war."

We reached the gates, were a large crowd of other soldiers had gathered. Several massive army green trucks with canvas tops covering the back idled several yards away. Cecil and I joined the men, mindlessly milling about until the rest of the soldiers arrived, along with several sergeants, lieutenants, and captains, to chaperone us to the docks where our ship was waiting.

We all piled into the vans. A driver stood by the back of the truck, checking off our names as we boarded. The inside of the trucks were cramped and drafty. Our bodies were packed together tightly in the rigid metal seats, and a harsh, frigid wind blew into the truck from the large gaps between the canvas top and the truck itself. Once all the departing soldiers had been loaded up, the trucks' engines roared to life and we took off down the road, away from Camp Edwards.

We rumbled through the country for quite sometime, the only sounds in the back of the truck was that of the tires clamoring over the poorly paved road, and the hum of the engine.

We reached the port at half past twelve. The trucks came to a stop on an empty, narrow road running between a strip of dilapidated buildings and several miniscule docks that were called a port. The quiet of the strip was quickly interrupted as soldiers came clamoring out of the trucks, being directed by shouting officials. I stood along with the other men in the truck. I followed the rest out the opening in the back, doing my best not to trip over the seats as I proceeded down the narrow walkway that divided the two sides of the truck. I stepped into the salty outside air, grateful to be free of the confined space in the truck. I turned to face the opposite side of the strip, my back to the line of buildings.

The ocean spread out before me, it's choppy waters reflecting the flint colored storm clouds massing overhead. The docks were unimpressive, made of scrap wood hastily thrown together long ago and covered with grime. Tired looking workers sauntered about, paying no attention to sudden arrival of soldiers. The only thing worth noting was the gargantuan troop carrier tied to a set of iron cleats the size of automobiles attached to the bulkhead.

The ship was several stories high, crafted out of thick sheets of iron and steel fasteners. A pair of massive smokestacks rose from the top of the ship, and clouds of thick black exhaust billowing into the air. Workers dashed along the starboard side of the boat as they prepared for the oncoming soldiers.

From somewhere behind me, one of the army officials began shouting orders, and the men around me began to shift and move towards the troop carrier. I found Cecil among the crowd.

"There you are, Will, I was worried you fell in the harbor and that I was going to have to tell the captain we had already had a casualty and we hadn't even left port yet," Cecil joked as I fell in step beside him.

"Just thought I'd enjoy the view, that's all," I replied.

Cecil snorted, "The view? Of this trash bucket?"

"Enjoy the little things, Cecil."

"You do that a lot don't you, Solace?"

I shrugged, "When you don't have much, the little things are all you get to enjoy."

Our conversation ended as we approached the ramp that ran between the deck of the ship and the concrete surface of the bulkhead. We followed the hoard of soldiers advancing up the ramp and onto the boat. Officials stood along the port, ramp, and deck, calling out instructions and maintaining order.

I stepped off the ramp and onto the deck. The air was filled the racket of shouting workers and the motion of hundreds of soldiers boarding. One of the lieutenants directed us toward a door leading to the soldiers' quarters.

Our lodgings on the ship were far less luxurious than those we stayed in at the camp, not to say that the dormitories at Camp Edwards were decent. They consisted of several rusted metal cots pushed against the walls that moaned and groaned like a horde of shrieking banshees every time you moved. The walls were bare, except for a slimy black substance that leaked out of the seams where metal that made up the hull joined together. The whole room smelled strongly of mold and fish, and seemed to be coated in a permanent layer of dirt.

"Glad to see the army provides only the finest," Cecil said sarcastically. We ditched the few belongings we had next to a pair of bunks in the back of the room, and hurried out the door before the awful scent caused us to pass out.

We made our way to the bow of the boat, away from the dank cabins and noisy soldiers. It was a welcome change. A cool, salty wind whipped through my hair and clothes. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled my ears. I leaned against the rail at the very front of the ship and gazed out at the seemingly endless expanse of ocean before me.

Nico would love this. He was always so fascinated by everything, always wanting to learn more. He would probably lean over the railing and tell me about how pretty it was, and then proceed to observe every little detail in the magnificent scene in front of us. I imagined the way his silky, black hair, snow white skin, and coffee-colored eyes would match the churning waters and ominous gray clouds overhead. It would be an intense sort of beauty, like powerful bolts lightning crackling in the heart of a tornado as it tears across the land, lightning up the world in sharp, electrical hues.

I returned to reality when the boat suddenly lurched. Workers both on the dock and on the ship began rushing in every direction, shouting as they undid ropes and chains. I felt the engine awaken deep below the deck, a beast awakening from a long slumber. The ship began to move forward. It started out slow, crawling along at a snail's pace, but gradually gained speed. I watched as the port disappeared behind us and we sailed towards the horizon. I turned and sighed, enjoying the sensation of the engines rumbling beneath my feet.

Cecil suddenly leaned on the railing beside me, "Say goodbye to Lady America, Will, it'll be a long time before we see her again."

I took one last look behind me. The land was now nothing but a thin, jagged line in the distance. I raised my arm in a wave. A wave to say goodbye to my home, yes, but more than that it was a wave to say goodbye to Nico, even if he may never see it.