Soldier

"How are you Darrel?" the man said to the silent stone.

"I brought this for you." he says as he produced an old helmet from a small bag he brought with him.

"I figured you wouldnt forget it if I left it here for you. You know, I miss you guys a lot sometimes. I hope you miss me too. Well buddy, I have to be going now. Take care." He rose silently and looked down at the headstone of his friend. He remembered his smile, and the bullet that stole it from him. As he rose he heard a voice from behind him.

"You there." it called.

He turned to see an old man with his family walking hurriedly toward him. He brushed his long hair from his face and stared at the man. He saw for just a split second recognition in those eyes. It was enough. He hurried away from the headstone and the approaching family and headed off into the forest of graves. The old man rushed as well as he could to the stone and looked down at the helmet. His family caught up with him.

"What is it Greg?" His wife said from beside him.

The man looked down at the helmet, and then to a photograph in his hands. The picture held a moment from Greg's past forever suspended in eternal clarity. It was of himself standing next to his friends, Darrel Fitch, James Cartwright, and John Caine.

"Greg honey, you..are you alright?" His wife asked him again.

Greg looked back up to the direction that the long haired stranger had walked off.

"Just the..just the ghosts here I guess." He said as he wrapped his arm around her.

First Entry:

February 5th, 1995

My name was...is John Caine. I suppose I should start from the beginning, well at least the beginning for me anyway. I grew up in Detroit during the 20's. My father was a steel worker, and my mother a seamstress. I was an only child and led a fairly happy childhood. We were poor but we were happy that way. My mother and my father met when they were 13, and they were in love from that moment until they died 48 years later. When my mother had me, she lost the ability to have more children. That was fine by her and dad: it made it easier for them to provide for our family. I was poor, yes, but it was hard to tell. It is surprising how much happiness makes up for hardship. When I was 21, like so many other Americans, I joined the Army to fight for my country. My mother and father protested, of course, but my mind was set. Shortly thereafter, Pearl Harbor was attacked, and I was sent off to Australia to fight the war. I still believe to this day that my childhood and the happiness it brought me protected me in those hellish places.

By the end of 1942 I was already a Seargent and responsible for the lives of the men under my command. I had some college education and was fairly intelligent, and the men respected that. But moreover what I think they respected was my attitude: I was quick with a smoke and quicker with a smile, and no matter how deep the hole or how bad the outlook, I could somehow make it seem better than it was. I began to convince myself it was better, too, and by November of '42, I thought it would all be fine, and we would be around the table this time next year.