Greater Love Hath No One Than This...
Mr. Arrow tugged his light brown jacket tighter against the unseasonably chill breeze that blew across the rolling green. He’d never been the sort to be much put out by inclement weather, but neither was he too proud to take sensible precautions. As he’d gotten on in his years, he’d learned the value of taking a sweater and coat whenever he ventured outdoors. After all, life was too precious a thing to be flippant with. Mr. Arrow knew that better than most.
He glanced at his companion to see how she was faring in the unexpected cool weather. It came as no shock to him to see that, even in her simple sun dress, the young woman seemed unaffected by the breeze. After all, the Apples were of a hardy stock, and Applejack was hardier than most.
Neither of them said much as they walked. For Mr. Arrow’s part, this was habit. He’d never been much for words, and had grown even more silent since his wife’s passing. While his friendship with the Apples, born out of the tragedy of their parents’ passing and a simple act of kindness, had restored him to some level of companionable conversation, he’d never been the talkative sort, and at this late stage of his life that was unlikely to change.
Applejack was far more talkative than he; not so much as her friends, but certainly more than the stoic Mr. Arrow. Even she, however, was silent. Cemeteries, reasoned Mr. Arrow, tend to have that effect. Arlington was no exception.
Six-hundred and twenty-four acres of graves surrounded them, the caskets of hundreds of thousands filling the ground beneath their feet. It was enough to sober any rational being.
For decades, Mr. Arrow had made the yearly visit to Arlington to see his old friends. In the past, he’d been accompanied by family – wife, children, and later grandchildren. Sometimes he’d meet other veterans from his unit. For a long time, he’d never made the visit alone. But, as he aged, the number of friends still living dwindled, and since Bess’s passing and the gradual migration of his children and grandchildren to other cities and states, it had become more sporadic whether or not he would have company.
Mr. Arrow did not mind this. He had never demanded that any of the others accompany him; not even Bess. So long as they honored the fallen in their own way, that was enough. He knew his friends and children and grandchildren well enough to know that they honored the fallen each Memorial Day. That was enough. If distance or hardship or time kept them from joining him on a given year, he did not begrudge them that. He would go either way.
For years, the Apples had known of his tradition, and would always send along home-baked goods for him to take on the trip and to share with family and friends if he was meeting anyone. Again, he had not asked, but they had insisted. Meanwhile, they remained home, visiting the local cemeteries or travelling back to Texas to honor the fallen heroes of their own lineage.
This was the first time that any of the Apples had asked to accompany him. The question had come as a surprise to Mr. Arrow, but not an unpleasant one. He certainly welcomed the company. Applejack seemed to have her own reasons for asking to come this year, but, though he was curious, Mr. Arrow was not one to pry into another’s business if she didn’t seem inclined to share.
So it was that they found themselves taking the long walk out to where his men lay buried. Some of his men, at any rate. Many had been returned to their hometowns, but more than enough were in Arlington to make it convenient to visit a goodly number of his old comrades.
Despite the cemetery’s size, Mr. Arrow needed no directions. Even that first year, he’d found them without difficulty. Since then, it had been like taking a walk through his own neighborhood.
When they reached the acreage where his men lay, he slowed to a halt, letting the wind be the only sound between them. This was his habit – to come to the edge of the ground where they lay and spend some time with them in stillness before walking the grounds. Whether old comrades or family accompanied him, this practice had remained unchanged for decades. Sometimes one of the others would say something, and, when appropriate, Mr. Arrow would respond. But it had been years since he’d said a word aloud in this place. He reasoned that the souls in heaven, where he prayed his men were, had little need of verbal greetings. He’d never known what to say anyway.
It wasn’t until he saw Applejack fidget next to him that he realized that habit wouldn’t work this year. His friends hadn’t needed him to speak when they joined him; they all knew the fallen the same as he had. His family, for their part, had heard the stories decades ago. But Applejack had never come here, and had heard few of his stories; Mr. Arrow wasn’t the sort to bring them up, and the Apples weren’t the sort to pry.
Had he been alone, Mr. Arrow would have followed his habit. As he was not, he did the polite thing and introduced his old friends to his new one.
“This is Jimmy Coaler,” he said, pointing to the nearest tombstone and startling Applejack with his sudden speech. “From deep in North Dakota. Pleasant man. Got along well with everyone he met. We lost him June ’44 fighting in the hedgerows.”
He pointed to the next man down. “Jake Porter. Big guy. Played quarterback in high school and probably would have done well in college if the war hadn’t broken out. He volunteered the day after Pearl Harbor and served as an infantryman in North Africa before requesting a transfer to the Airborne. Lost him to a mine January ’45.”
“Rosencrantz and Beemer, both with the first name ‘John.’ We called them the terrible twins. They did everything together. They died killing a German pillbox three days after we dropped into Normandy.”
He began walking down the line, trusting Applejack to follow.
“Tommy Baker. Came across as a real lady’s man, but there was a nurse he fell in love with who put him on the straight and narrow. Real shame he didn’t live long enough to marry her.”
“Jacob Hodges. Baseball player. Had an arm like a cannon. Once saw him put a grenade through a foot-by-foot hole in the wall from fifty yards away. Died to a mortar in October ’44.”
The men they passed were from all states and peoples. Believers and atheists; Jews and Gentiles; Irish and Italians; Poles and Hispanics; Germans and Cherokee.
“Teddy Barnes. We called him ‘Tex.’ Straight-shooter with a good heart. He carried the Browning in my squad. One day we got pinned down by some Germans in a trench, and he jumped in to clear ‘em out. He did, but they shot him up pretty bad. Infection got him a few days later.”
“Joey Wilkins. A gambler from New York who would pick a fight with anyone in the unit over anything he could think of, and then fight twice as hard to save them. Killed by a Panzer’s machinegun when he ran out to distract it from the rest of us.”
All soldiers. All Americans. All brothers.
“Stephan Blaine. Cartoonist. Smoked like a chimney. Guys would pay him smokes to decorate their helmets; most of the old guys had one. He didn’t get a chance to do it for any of the replacements, though. Canopy failed on a jump not too long before training ended. Never saw combat.” Mr. Arrow paused for a moment.
“H-have you still got the helmet?” asked Applejack.
Mr. Arrow nodded.
“I’d like to see it sometime, if’n that’s alright,” she said.
He gave a half smile. “Of course.” Resuming the walk, he pointed to the next man. “Karol Pilecki. Second generation Pole. Loyal to a fault. Natural leader. Had a personal ax to grind, after the Nazi atrocities in Poland.” He half glanced at Applejack. “Shot three separate times in France and twice more in Germany. Survived each time.” Shaking his head, he added with a sigh, “Chinese sniper took his head off in Korea.”
“Erwin Braun. Now this man,” Mr. Arrow halted to spend a little more time describing the fallen soldier, “was a first generation German-American. Lots of folks with German names changed them so they didn’t get accused of being spies. Erwin didn’t, though. He was an educated man, working on his Masters in Chemistry when the war broke out, but he put all that on hold to fight. When people called him a Kraut spy, he always said, ‘The Nazis invaded my country first. I’m going to take it back.’” Mr. Arrow smiled at the recollection. “He and Pilecki got along famously, actually. Karol was a Polish farmer who played dumb for laughs, Erwin was an articulate German who was more educated than the rest of the platoon together; yet they called each other ‘brother.’ I always admired that.”
He heard Applejack swallow next to him. “What… er…” she began, her voice husky. “What happened to him?”
Mr. Arrow took a moment to respond. “Truck turned over on our way to the airfield to take us home after V-E Day. A freak accident. Nothing anyone could do.”
The silence returned. Clearing his throat, Mr. Arrow kept moving.
“Bryce Braxton. Used to be a garmenteer for Sears. They joked that he was the ‘only Gentile in the garment industry.’ So many of his Jewish colleagues lost family to the Nazis that he left his work to join the Airborne. Those same colleagues took good care of his family after he took a bullet in Belgium.”
“Bobby Linden,” he said with fond smile. “One of the bravest men I ever met. That quiet friend of yours would have liked him. He was a gentle soul; loved the forest and creatures and growing things. He hated violence, so he became a medic. No matter the danger, he’d be right there, patching guys up and telling them they were gonna make it.” He slowed to rest his hand for a moment on the tombstone. “They shelled us out on patrol one day. Three guys up in front got hit and the rest of us had to take cover in a ditch. Took us a moment to realize Bobby wasn’t with us. He dragged one guy in before we knew what was happening, got the second while we were tending to the first, and was getting the third when the shell came down.” Mr. Arrow’s voice cracked for a moment. “Wasn’t much left of either of ‘em to bury.”
With a shuddering sigh he continued, “Juan Cortez, the first man to earn the Bronze Star in my unit; got it fighting off half a platoon of Waffen SS when his patrol got pinned down. He saved his squad, but bled out before Doc could get to him.”
“Louis Labelle. Our demolitions man. Broke his neck when a bridge collapsed beneath him.”
“Mike Castiglione. Only Italian I ever met who couldn’t cook, but he was a darn fine shot. Had a daughter back home he never got to meet.”
“Father Patrick O’Malley,” here Mr. Arrow couldn’t keep a fond smile off his face as he once again slowed to a stop. “This man was a character. Saintly little man with an impish sense of humor. Whenever he’d play a prank, he’d always give this cherubic smile and say ‘gotcha!’” Applejack had to smile at that, even with the tears that were running down her cheeks. “The sort of man who was pious in an approachable way. Even the atheists liked him. His best friend in the unit was a godless man named Pete Brunner who used to say he was the ‘biggest sinner in the Airborne.’”
“Quite a claim,” quipped Applejack.
Mr. Arrow decided not to mention that she didn’t know the half of it. “Pete always gave the padre a hard time for trying to convert him, and the padre never stopped politely trying. Joey Wilkins even started a betting pool on who would give up first; the pool lasted after Joey died.” He trailed off into silence.
After a moment, Applejack asked, “Who won?”
Blinking rapidly against the moisture in his eyes, Mr. Arrow continued, “We were dug in at Bastogne. Father O’Malley was always out in the foxholes with us in case someone needed medical attention or Last Rites. Pete had gotten shot in the leg, so the padre was keeping him stable while he waited for the medic when a grenade landed between them. The padre…” he cleared his throat, “threw himself on the grenade.”
Applejack took a sharp breath.
“Pete survived, but his leg was too damaged to heal. The last time I saw him before he went home, he told me the first thing he was doing when he got back was finding a priest.”
“Heheh,” chuckled Applejack sadly, “I guess the padre won.”
Smiling as he looked down at the grave, Mr. Arrow had no difficulty picturing Father Patrick O’Malley, wearing his cherubic smirk and saying ‘gotcha!’
“I guess he did.”
They continued down the line in the manner they had, Mr. Arrow telling the stories and Applejack listening. He had mixed feelings about the experience. At first, it was cathartic, pleasant, even; he realized it had been too long since he’d told these stories to anyone, and that perhaps they needed airing out more often. Mr. Arrow was not the sort to talk about his own accomplishments, oh no, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell his friends’ stories. They deserved that much.
At the same time, it was plain that Applejack found the experience distressing. She’d had tears in her eyes from when they started, and seemed to be holding back sobbing only by an iron will and long practice dealing with grief. Yet, even so, she kept engaging him, listening with utmost respect and asking questions when appropriate.
Mr. Arrow was grateful for the honor she was showing his men, but he didn’t want to leave her crying all afternoon. He was no stranger to the necessity of grief, but at the same time he was a father, a grandfather, and his instinct was to comfort daughters and granddaughters in their sorrow, not add to it. As they drew to the end of the line, he made to ask if she wanted to stop when she pointed to the last two graves.
“And who’re they?” she asked, wiping at her eyes with a kerchief.
Mr. Arrow turned to look, and his heart sank. He’d known the graves were here, of course. They always fell in the same place on his walk and never came upon him suddenly. But he’d been just distracted enough by his concern for Applejack that he hadn’t realized how close they were.
It took him a moment to reply. “This is Derrick Walters,” he said, pointing to first grave. “My best friend.” Applejack put a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening with horror. “We were like brothers from when we were little. He was kind, resourceful, creative, and never gave up on people. He’d had a hard life, made some mistakes, nearly wound up in prison, but he found forgiveness, and in the end he was a better man than most all of us. He survived everything the Germans threw at us without a scratch – baiting a sniper, clearing out a bunker solo, rescuing one of our boys who got captured – Derrick was superhuman.” Mr. Arrow blinked, feeling moisture in his eyes. “He got one Bronze Star for that last one. He got a second Star in Korea for rescuing a downed pilot while under enemy fire. That was two days before a stray bullet clipped his artery.” It was a moment before he could speak again. “I’m the one who encouraged him to reenlist.” He was not ashamed of the catch in his voice as he spoke.
Gesturing to the other grave, he said, “This is Toby Quill. Barely eighteen. One of the replacements we got after Bastogne. The same day he joined my platoon, we got ambushed. Toby was the first one hit. I didn’t learn the boy’s first name until I was collecting his dog tags.”
Mr. Arrow was silent for a moment as he regarded the two graves. He’d always found it fitting that Toby and Derrick lay side-by-side.
Applejack’s sobbing cut off his train of thought. Sighing remorsefully, Mr. Arrow laid a hand on her shoulder. “Applejack—”
“I’m fine!” she cried. “I’m fine, I just… sniff… I just need a minute.”
His stoic face softened. “You don’t have to do this, Applejack.”
“Yes I do, yes I do!” she insisted. “I just… oh, God!” she sobbed, looking out over the sea of graves. “Oh, God, there are so many!”
It was a simple prayer she’d spoken, equal parts lamentation and a human request to the Almighty for answers. Mr. Arrow knew that prayer well. He wanted to say something to comfort her, but all that came to mind was, “I know.” So instead he wordlessly put his arm around her and let her sob against his shoulder.
When her tears had slowed, she began apologizing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Arrow! These are your friends, this is your time, and here I am blubbering and carrying on like they’re mine! This was selfish of me to—”
“Stop, Applejack,” his command patient, but firm. She looked up at him in shock. “It’s not selfish to care for the grief of others.” He looked out over the graves. “God knows these men deserve all the tears in the world.”
She sniffled. “I… I guess.” The two stared at the mass of stones. “So many of ’em…” she said at length, her voice reverent, “… how the hay are we supposed to thank ’em all? After all they gave up, all the people they left behind… how do we square that debt?”
Mr. Arrow had asked that question for many years himself. Fortunately for her, he’d found an answer. “We don’t,” he said simply.
The answer so surprised Applejack that she jerked her head away from him to gape in total incomprehension.
Looking down to meet her eyes, explained, “A few years back, my pastor told me a truth that has stuck with me ever since. It was Good Friday and he was preaching on the Passion. He said that lots of people try to ‘square the debt’ with God.” The old man shook his head. “But we can’t. It’s too big a debt to square. Only thing to do is be grateful and make the most of the gift we’ve been given. That’s the best we can do.” He nodded towards the graves. “The life of a soldier is a lot like that. It’s a debt we can’t square. It’s too big. So,” he squeezed her shoulder, “instead of worrying about something that can’t be done, we just do the best we can. That’s all any of us little humans can do.”
Applejack wiped her eyes and nodded. They stood in silence as Mr. Arrow waited. He could tell she had something else to say, but he wasn’t going to push her to go any faster than she wanted to. Her crying subsided and she adopted a stoicism approaching his own.
“Big MacIntosh is thinking about joining the Army,” she said abruptly.
Mr. Arrow kept his face neutral. “How do you know?”
“Recruiters’ pamphlet that dropped outta his backpack. Browser history from when he borrowed my laptop. And I heard him on the phone with a sergeant a few days ago.”
Mr. Arrow nodded. Big Mac had confided in him that he was considering joining Army Special Forces when they were out hunting some time ago, but the young man wasn’t sure how to tell his family. Mr. Arrow hadn’t said anything; it wasn’t his place. “Are you going to ask him about it?”
“No,” replied Applejack calmly after a moment. “No, I’ll let him tell me when he’s ready.”
“I think that’s wise,” he said.
“Yeah,” agreed Applejack, her voice flat. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “I don’t wanna bury my brother here, Mr. Arrow!” Tears formed in her eyes, but they didn’t fall.
Mr. Arrow pulled her tight once more. “I know. I know.” He expected her to break down sobbing again, but she just stood and trembled, gripping her own arms so hard her fingers turned white.
To pry into another’s business was something Mr. Arrow avoided on principle. But some things needed to be said. Better that Applejack say those things here when she had him to listen than keep them bottled up inside. So, reluctantly, he asked, “Would you try to stop him?”
Applejack bit her lip and shut her eyes, taking a deep breath in through her nose. She held it for ten seconds before letting it out through her mouth and opening her eyes. “No,” she said, oddly calm. “No, if that big oaf’s meant to be a soldier,” she indicated the graves with her chin, “then I got no more right to hold him back than any o’ their families did.”
Mr. Arrow’s smile was both proud and sad. “You’re a strong woman, Applejack. Your parents would be proud of you.”
She gave a tear-stained smile. “Thanks, Mr. Arrow. That means a lot.” Sniffing and wiping her eyes, she said, “Now, we got a whole lot o’ ground to cover, so why don’t you start introducing me to the next row.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that she didn’t have to, but a look at her eyes made it plain that he’d be wasting his breath. Never one to use unnecessary words, Mr. Arrow led her to the next row. “This is Rich Carson, our sniper. Grew up in the back woods of North Carolina. Had a drawl so thick he was hard to understand, but those that bothered to listen realized he was wiser than most…”
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Happy Memorial Day, and may those who have fought all our battles rest in eternal slumber.
This story is amazing and heartwarming. I also got a history lesson out of it
Don't you worry Big Mac, you have a sister here who supports your decision, even if she's sad about it. She might even be able to help you explain to your family members.
Indeed it is, indeed it does.
Having walked through Arlington myself, I can say that it really weighs on you what those men did for us.
It's important to remember what those heroes sacrificed on our behalf. I hope that they are remembered and honored for years to come.
americans really are brainwashed. i really don't know where to begin, it's like looking at the behavior of a cult member who's gone past the point of no return. I mean you're using a little girl's cartoon as a receptacle to vomit pax americana sentiment into. what a sick compulsion
9647150
I would suggest you mind your manners. I don't know who you are, let alone care to know, but if you truly believe this story to be Pax Americana, you would be wrong. This is a story about sacrifice and honoring that memory. You don't need to be American to give your all for people you will never meet. War affects everyone, and sometimes, the only thing we can do for the Fallen is remember them and share their stories.
I'm not gonna lie, I'm offended by your comment, as I am letting you know in this response. However, you are permitted your opinion, and seeing as this is a forum for open speech, are allowed to express it. I'm sorry that you fail to take away what the story was meant to provide, and wish you well on your endeavours, whatever they may be.
9647121
Arlington is a Powerful place, that much is true. I've never not cried like a baby after being in Arlington for any amount of time, let alone the various other military cemeteries across the States. For as long as they remain in living memory, they will be. Thank you for your kind words, on behalf of our Fallen. Have a good night, and pleasant dreams.
Great story.
9647150
Just to clarify, I actually despise globalism in any form, so Pax Americana doesn't really fly with me either. This story is about honoring the bravery of people who died trying to make the world a better place - both Americans and others. That's it. It's not intended to make America out to be perfect or acting like every soldier is. It's about the people who did the right thing when it cost them everything in this world. No more. No less. I'm sorry you didn't see it that way.
9647292
I'm grateful that you picked up that this wasn't just about American veterans. That's the primary focus, of course (American holiday and all that), but it's about anyone who's ever made that sacrifice. After posting, I was somewhat worried that that was too subtle, but I didn't want to lengthen the story.
9647434
Thank you. Given your own storytelling, that means a lot coming from you.
My grandfather fought in WWII. I wonder how many friends he lost. I think I'm going to ask him. Thank you.
9647150
I'm not entirely sure you know what pax americana actually means...
Incredibly powerful read. Not much to say beyond that. Thank you for it, and thanks to those who inspired it.
Ah, you always are good at tearing hearts but then restoring them with your short stories.
I'm half Japanese, half Filipino, so I have the blood of two different sides of WWII. It's... it can be a mess at times.
9650413
Thank you.
You know, in every war there are men and women of honor on both sides, even in wars where one side was clearly wrong. I have both German and Polish blood in me, and both Scottish and Irish (among other things). I get the messiness.
9647782
I've loved the story of Mr. Arrow since the first one. This one was very well written and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Amazing writing.
9651430
Your words fill me with joy! I've actually been toying with doing a series of shorts called "Our Neighbor," where the Human Seven get to interact with him in different contexts. So you might see that happen one day.
This.
This is a sobering read.
And somehow makes me love the Lord for his sacrifice even more so.
9652153
9647150
It's already hard trying to take you seriously thanks to those grammar issues on your comment. I am trying hard to sympathize you, but then if I did, I would lose brain cells. Oi, I see now, your brain can't handle a very well written story so you try insulting it, but fail to do so.
If you think this is sick, try reading clop or fetish fics. Or better, try those tagged along with Sex and Sucide/Self harm. This story is nowhere near the level of 'sick' you're talking about, smh. I don't think you even know what Pax Americana is either.
9660354
The American military cult is a thousand times worse than anything people masturbate to. Get out of my country.
9662087
I make a policy of not deleting comments even if they offend me because I don't believe in censorship (unless it is something that would be actively dangerous, like someone telling someone else to commit suicide). That being said, you do not have the right to tell someone who is a citizen of this country (presumably; I admit that I'm guessing here) to get out of it just because you don't agree with that person. It's wrong when the Alt-Right does it. It's wrong when the Alt-Left does it. It's just wrong. This story was about honoring people who died trying to make the world a better place. Whether you agree with that principle or not, it's wrong to come in here and just malign everyone without rhyme, reason, or understanding. On that last point, it is plain that you do not understand the story or any of the people who like it because no one even knows what 'Pax Americana' and whatever else you accuse them of, actually seems to mean. The only person thus far who has known is me, and, for the record, I'm not thrilled with Pax Americana myself, though my personal thoughts on the matter are a subject for a lengthy and reasoned discussion which you don't seem to want to actually have, given your demands to 'get out' and accusations of masturbatory behavior. You're fighting the specter of a problem that isn't even present in this context, assuming that everyone who holds a position different from yours is from the far Alt-Right, when they could be anywhere left of that on the spectrum; you don't know; you're just shouting into the void.
At this time I don't plan on censoring your comments because I don't believe in doing that and you haven't quite crossed the line into defamation or slander - emphasis quite. With that said, I would humbly submit that you are not accomplishing anything here; none of us are. We are clearly not going to convince you of anything, since by your angry and unreasoned rhetoric you have made it clear that you're not interested in rational discussion. Moreover, you are not going to convince us of anything, since you plainly fail to even understand what we believe in order to debate us; it's like you're telling a bunch of apple farmers that we shouldn't grow oranges; we're not even talking about the same things. I ask that you not waste your time and ours by continuing this conversation, and I would ask that everyone stop addressing you as well. Kindly leave and don't come back, and I will ask (though I can't promise people will listen) that they not address you in this thread. If you're so convinced you have the moral high ground, then act like it by being respectful of your fellow human beings.
9660354
Please do me a favor (and this goes for anyone who wants to address KH_Boy) and don't engage. I don't want this entire comment section to fill up with a flame war. That's not what this story is about. While I respect people's rights to express their opinions (after all, that's one of the things these men died for), there's nothing to be gained by a fruitless battle. Believe me, I understand the urge and it's all I can do not to give in to it, but it's not productive. I ask that everyone chose the moral high ground and just move on.
If people are bound and determined to fight it out, fine, but don't do it here. Create a blog post or use personal messages or something. Out of respect for this story, please take it outside.
9647150
Yikes! Now this is cringe.
9667262
I agree with you but, as I told Sky Serenade in an earlier comment, please don't respond to that guy's comments. It only keeps the flame war alive to acknowledge him and I don't want the comment section to be filled with nothing but this. The story should be the focus; not one man's failure to understand it. Thank you.
9667872
I understand your reasoning and perspective on this whole matter. Nobody wants to see their work be taken away by such meaningless nonsense. Great work on your stories mate. This one, The 14th Century Friar and the multiple war stories you've written. Been enjoying reading them in my past time. Keep up the good work.
9669271
Thank you.
I finally got a chance to read this and I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner.
I was wiping away tears constantly as I read this. So many people do not understand the meaning of sacrifice; or the wounds left behind by war; how important that we love and care for our neighbors, those around us even if we are of a differing politics or religion.
I cannot thank you enough for writing this. Thank you sir, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
9673114
My pleasure.
Well I wasn't expecting to cry today, but here we are.
A good read, and a thought-provoking one.
Every cross/Star of David a story. The stories keep them alive.
Our Hitch in Hell
When the final taps is sounded and we lay aside life's cares,
And we do the last and gloried parade on heaven's shining stairs,
And the angels bid us welcome and the harps begin to play
We can draw a million canteen checks and spend them in a day.
It is then we'll hear St. Peter tell us loudly with a yell,
"Take a front seat, you soldier men, you've done your hitch in Hell."
~Frank B. Camp (1917)
I’m glad I ran into this. I really enjoyed the previous story and this one was good as well. These little slice of life stories are always great.
I will say it’s a bit... jarring... to have AJ and Mr. Arrow reading the graves of Bill, Joe, and Frank. Something about it being EQG and also modern day USA causes a bit of a disconnect for me. Some dissonance.
Still, an excellent little read. Thank you.
10114754
Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it. As to the names, I'll actually be touching briefly on that in an upcoming story involving Mr. Arrow and Sunset, but even that won't go very in-depth. Basically what it comes down to is that Canterlot (and a handful of other places on the globe) have strange naming conventions for reasons that almost no one is entirely sure about (and those that do know about the mirror world can't share for security reasons). Most people just put it down to odd cultural quirks and laugh about it. Even Canterlot natives tend to have a mix of community pride and willingness to laugh about the oddity of it. This was really the only way that I could pull off having real-world events (like WWII) and also have the EqG world. It also assumes that we, the audience, see the world through the magic-saturated 'pony vision' with all its colors, while humans in world see, for example, Rarity with black hair, Pinkie being a redhead, etc.
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Oooo!
Now that’s an interesting tidbit. AJ is kinda odd in that her coloration aligns pretty well to human standards. The fact the rest of the strange colorations are muted out in the more human areas is really interesting. Rarity having black hair and such.
As strange as it is, that little tidbit alleviates all of that jarring quality. Just knowing there is a lore reason thought about and built into the world makes it work. Thanks for the extra info!
I’m not great at words, so I’ll leave it simple. This is a great story
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Thank you!
I don't have anything really deep or profound to say. Just that this was a very well-written and moving story, and that I am very glad to have finally read it.
I am reminded of a quote from a book I once read called My Brother Sam Is Dead. "In war the dead pay the depts of the living and they have payed us well" I didn't really understand until I enlisted in 05
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Thank you for your service. I hope you enjoyed this.
Thank you for writing this.
THIS.
This right here. This is what I wish every tombstone had space to incorporate. These personal anecdotes, glimpses into a life that SHOW someone's character, rather than simply trying to tell us, are the stuff of memorable legend.