ATOW Chapter Thirty-One

November 7, 1942

Letter from Josh to Rob and Myra

Ship ahoy and anchors aweigh, we’re off! And finally, after almost two months in England! England was interesting and all, even if we didn't get to see much of it. The USO was there though, and we had plenty of dances, but none of those girls were as pretty as Emma. Don't tell her I said so. But glad it's all over and we're on our way, cuz we're all itching to get in on the action. 

We’re packed on board this ship like sardines in a can. Like a double helping of sardines in a can that’s half too small. And we’re just as salted too. Pickled even. Can’t imagine how Jerry thinks he can stand the whole war on a ship. I hate it. First day on board, I did nothing but throw up my insides. I was sicker than a dead dog. And now, we’re crammed in this thing, miles out into the middle of absolutely nowhere, nothing anywhere but water. And salt. And fish. You oughta see the accommodations… hammocks just everywhere, hung three high, and every inch of floor space piled with duffel bags and gear. I've got a middle hammock, so Sam's just a few inches above my face and he moves around all night. 

We only get to eat twice a day and we stand in line for hours for food. Finally get through line, then go flop around on deck until it's time to get in line again. They show a lot of movies, but it's hard to see them, there's hardly any place to sit. And we do training every day too… try doing jumping jacks and push-ups on the deck of a ship. Not much fun. Don't mean to bellyache… but man, does a rant make me feel better!

We still don’t even know where exactly we’re going or what exactly we’re going. I mean, I’ve got a general idea, but they never gave us details. And I can’t tell you either, or they’ll punch this letter so full of holes that you’ll be reading nothing but air when you get it. So I’ll leave it at that. In spite of being squeezed in here to the point of not being able to breathe, half-stifled by cigarette smoke, having a tidal wave take up permanent residence in my stomach, and tasting salt every moment of every day, I’m doing just great. So’s Ronnie and the rest of the guys, only I think they hate it too. Like Mac says, if man was meant to live on the ocean, God would’ve given him webbed feet and gills. And a liking for salt.

But you know what? There’s something really exciting about all of this. Something’s coming… something big… and I get to be a part of it. 

Josh glanced up from his letter at the sudden sound of a signal whistle. Switching off his flashlight, he folded the paper and shoved both it and the pencil in his pocket. The lights were on and everywhere men were dropping from their hammocks and pulling their uniforms on. As he scrambled to button his shirt and lace up his gaiters, Josh glanced around the room and caught Mac's eyes. He was grinning irrepressibly.

"Looks like this is it," he called. 

Josh grinned back.

"Scared?"

"Who, me?" Mac scoffed. "As if. I've been waiting for this very moment ever since the Krauts invaded Poland. Watch out, Hitler, the Yanks are coming!" And he shook his fist at the ceiling.

✯✯✯

Donna frowned, the clicking of her knitting needles pausing as she turned her eyes to the ceiling. A series of inhumane howls and thumps issuing from upstairs were making the lights shake in their sockets. Katie giggled as she bent her head over her own knitting, trying to maintain focus. Everyone was looking at the ceiling now, brows furrowed in confusion, others in disgust. 

“What in heaven’s name is that unearthly sound?” Mrs. Croft pressed a plump, bejeweled hand to her heart, glaring at Donna as if she herself was creating the disturbance. Myra glanced up at Donna, her eyes twinkling with merriment and both suddenly found it terribly hard to suppress their laughter.

“That?” Katie spoke calmly, overwhelmingly thankful that the focus of the group had shifted off of her. She had been made much a fuss of as a tragic, self-sacrificing heroine of sorts, seeing as her fiance was off at war. “Oh, that’s just Mickey and the Infantry.”

“The Infantry?” Mrs. O’Connor cried. “What on earth do you mean?”

“You’re about to find out,” Katie grinned as the noise grew louder, the sounds of marching feet on the stairs.

“Not to love der Fuerher is a great disgrace so we HEIL! HEIL! Right in der Fuerher’s face…” Half a dozen voices bellowed out the lyrics in raucous unison. 

“Mickey Stewart!” Donna forcibly rearranged her features into a stern expression. “What are you doing?” The aforementioned half dozen paused in the stairwell, staring at her with wide, innocent eyes. 

“We were just going out,” Mickey replied in a perfectly rational voice.

“To do what?”

“Collect scrap.”

“Why are you singing that again? I told you to be quiet when company is here and here you go and make all that noise! And that song... Especially not that song!"

“Well, if the song is a problem, we'll just sing another one." Mickey motioned over his shoulder. “Come on, men! Yankee Doodle keep it up, Yankee Doodle Dandy…” 

Donna gave up, leaning back in her chair helplessly as the “Infantry” marched in single file line out the back door. The strains of Yankee Doodle echoed through the windows and faded into the distance as the boys moved off towards town.

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