All in His Goddamn Honor

Joe really loved that girl. Isabella. He would write her a letter almost every day, though he only sent about half of his letters to her. Joe never sent old Isabella a letter unless it was flawless. He wrote whenever he felt that the time was just right, too. Sometimes, he would write to her immediately after battle without even bothering to wash the mud and blood from his hands.

Isabella sent the letters right back to Joe, too. I've read some of them; she was a sweet girl. Apparently she sent some of the diner's special apple pie over to Joe's stepdad once a week. She would give Joe a bunch of random items along with her letters: postcards, thimbles, model ships. Joe's favorite item was the dove shaped pin she sent him for Easter. Joe always kept that pin in his left chest pocket. Right where he got shot at the battle of St. Mihiel.

- - - - - - - -

"You gotta stay back, man!"

"Come on, Joe, don't be an idiot!"

Joe was exasperated; he sighed, "Guys, I'm fine! My angel's thinking of me. Besides, it'll be easier to shoot from outside of these damn trenches!" and Joe hopped out.

Less than ten seconds later, BANG! I look from over the trench only to find my best friend dead. Blood oosed from his chest; he held on to his dove for dear life. His angel.

- - - - - - - -

"You gotta get over it, buddy," Captain Jerome Becker sat across from me, concerned, "I know the two of you were inseparable, but that's war. It tears you apart. And then you've gotta keep going 'til you've got nothing left of yourself." He handed me a beer; I took it.

I sighed, "It's hard, captain. I've known Joe for years and years. He was the hardest working - man I've ever known. He never did anything half-assed, either. He was a perfectionist. There was this one girl, Isabella. I think he loved her and all, but he would never ask her out. He had to wait until the time was just right. I guess the time was just right only a week ago. He finally asked her out in a letter - right before he up and got killed."

The captain took a sip of his beer, "And your point?"

I shrugged, "Nothing, really. I just don't think it's fair that he died. He never took the easy way out; he was a good American man," I finally took a swag of beer, "I don't think I can get the images out of my head. The sight of my best friend's stunned face as he fell to the ground clutching his chest pocket."

"Look, Mr. Burnside," Captain Becker got up from his seat, "War's not fair; it hardly ever is. But the war doesn't stop just because it stopped your friend. It'll keep going. If you don't keep up with it, the war's gonna pull you down to your grave. I've seen a number of soldiers die all ready because they were too weak to move on. You're more than that, Burnside."

"Thanks, sir."

He nodded, "Drink up, boy - we fought a hard battle today. It'll only help to ease the pain," and the captain left.

As I started to drink, I felt rejuvenated. The images of Joe's death - his dove pin in hand; his stunned face - were fading in my mind. I was marching on.