Unlikely War Hero

A Story by dizzychrissie

Frank was eighteen and in love. He was free as a bird until he enlisted. Growing up on the streets of Philly he was used to improvising. Uncle Sam has other plans for this unlikely war hero.

Frank shivered. His thin suit jacket was no match for the damp cell in the Philadelphia roundhouse. Roundhouse sounded more like a bar but was, in fact, a holding cell in the main jail. Frank was AWOL. He had thumbed it all the way back home to be with his girl of 5 years, Bertie. That was a story in itself. He started out his newfound freedom climbing into the window of her bedroom and jumped into bed. A startling scream obliterated all his romantic thoughts when he realized he had the wrong house. “Help, help” screamed a wrinkled old woman. He came face to face with a witch in cold cream and curlers. He scrambled out of the window much faster than he came in. It seems Bertie and her family had moved a few blocks down. Her mother had let him sleep in their hallway, kind soul that she was. She thought he was on leave. That was great by Frank. He grew up on the streets and hallways were considered prime property. As long as he could be with Bertie anything was fine with him. They had been at a movie when the MP’s picked him up. They were waiting for him at Bertie’s mother house. They wouldn’t even let him get his coat. So much for nice guys in the army, he thought. The whole situation was blown out of proportion it seemed to Frank. Shoot, he was only in basic training. Lighten up guys.

Clanging of the jail doors roused him from his thoughts. He blew on his hands and looked around. Five guys were mulling around in the cell. Muffled voices could be heard as the officer turned the key.

“Listen up. Put your hands over your head and march in single file.” No funny business or you’ll be sorry,” the officer barked.

All six of them marched in single file as instructed to the front desk. The desk officer looked up from the roster. “Name” he said in a no nonsense voice. “Murray.” The officer turned and produced his wallet. He slammed it so hard in Frank’s hand that it almost stung.

The prisoners were taken to the train station in a paddy wagon.

“You guys are in for a treat,” the cop laughed as he strutted in front of them. “You’ll be boarding in a few minutes on your way to the army stockade. Deserters, he spat. You’ll get your just deserts all right. You sorry bunch will be the first to go over,” he chuckled.

Before he knew it Frank was on the train. The guy sitting next to him nudged him.

“Names Jack.”

“Frank.”

“Im not going Frank. No way. As soon as we get out in the middle of nowhere I’m jumping the train and getting the hell out of here. Let someone else fight this damn war. How about you? Are you with me?”

“Damn straight I am Jack.”

It was determined by unanimous decision that all of them would jump the train just as soon as the opportunity presented itself. They exchanged life stories, told jokes, and actually had a good time as the hours passed. Frank was so comfortable, perhaps a little too comfortable. He was so tired. He hadn’t slept since seven o’clock last night and he was finally able to get warm. He thought of Bertie. When he woke up he had a smile on his face until he saw the car was empty. They were all gone, all but him. He would never know if they tried to rouse him from a deep sleep. He liked to think they had no time to try. It seems fate had other plans for Frank. “Damn, he cursed, as he pounded the seat next to him. Well, he thought, just my luck. “On to the stockade he said to himself. I guess I’m going to war.”