We Play With Deadly Toys

“Hello, is there a,” the man paused, running his finger down a list attached to a board. “Gaskarth, Alexander in?” Alex nodded, still only holding the door partially open. “Congratulations Mr. Gaskarth, you’ve been selected in the draft for the United States Army. You’ll be shipping out tomorrow, Monday, with a unit of other men. Please arrive at Hartsdale train at eight o’cock prompt.” And with that, the drafter left. Alx went slowly back into his house. Oh, God, please let me live. He sank back into his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Alexander?” His mother walked into the living room, and noticed her young son’s dejected posture. “Alexander, I’ve just been round at Mrs. Colussy’s home, she says she’s seen an army man going round and drafting. Have you seen him?”

“Mother, he came round shortly. I’ve been drafted in.” Alex looked up, sorry and scared. “I’m to go to Hartsdale tomorrow to be shipped out to France. I’ll be one of the first units there, I promise that I’ll home safely.” Alex sighed. His mother had begun to cry, and was now kneeling to the side of his chair, her arms thrown around her son’s neck as she sobbed recklessly. “Mother, console yourself now, I’m to return before the winter I’ll nineteen, I shall see another year pass with you.” But Alex’s mother shook with sobs, and her sadness infected Alexander as well.

When Alex arrived at Hartsdale, he was stunned by the number of men who seemed pleased to be there. There were few men who appeared as afraid as himself to be there. Remarkable camaraderie existed between soldiers Alex was sure had never met before. When the conductor’s whistle blew, many of the men blew kisses to their escorts - girlfriends, wives, and mothers. Alex’s mother hadn’t gone with him, so he boarded the train with resignation. He sat in a seat near the connector, free of any other soldiers. He slept easily all throughout the train ride.

It was at the New York docks that Alex met Sargeant Dawson. Far his senior, a twenty four to his eighteen he was assigned to a small group of eight other recruits before they boarded the bopat.

“So soldier, what’s your name?” Sargeant Dawson smiled, as he did possibly too often, with straight white teeth.

“Alex Gaskarth, sir, I’ve been drafted into this unit, sir. I’m eighteen years old, sir.” Soldier Gaskarth bit his lip, as he did possibly too often, and looked anxious.

“Well it’s nice to meet you, Alexander, but my name is Rian, not Sir. I’ll not even be highest command in the field. Commander Urie’s set me to make the draft soldiers comfortable.”

And make the draft soldiers comfortable he did - at least, Alex felt comfortable on the lengthy trip to France. The two often told stories of their lives; Alex was an unmarried man from Virginia whose courting skills were severely lacking, and Rian a widowed man who had left his Maryand hometown for the war, desperate to enlist.

“I loved my wife, I can’t be certain I will ever find a love such as hers, so I may give my love to my country and so for her what I will.” Rian said one night as they sat on the ship deck. Other groups of three or four soldiers clustered around them, playing cards and playing out conversations. Alex looked surprised to hear Rian.

“Do you mean to say, man, that you are here to give your life as such now to the war we have not fought ourselves?” Alex asked incredulously, looking at Rian wide-eyed.

“Certainly you also, Alex, realize the imminent possibility of death on these fields. Were you not told at your doorstep by the recruiter that you may pass?” Rian’s demeanor quickly became somber, once more realizing that his life could end in battle.

“Yes, Dawson, I suppose I would never have thought of one who would present his life to his country for such vulnerability. I only hope that once I return a war hero, a lady may catch my fancy as your lady did yours.” Alex to that point had never met a woman or, truth, a single person with whom he wished to remain forever.

“Soldiers, stand attention.” Commanders Urie and Ross, men in their late thirties, for whom it was not their first war, were there to instruct them on policy. “You’ll be moving into a permanent trench in southern france, and will be staying there for a duration. Units 5, 17, and 29, step forward.” About thirty men stepped forward, Alexander and Rian’s unit among them. Both men were apprehensive, Alex in all honesty terrified. “Move out.”

So they were the first to go into the trenches, which was perfectly fine. It might have even been preferably, had they not been met with a newly vacated trench, now void of all supplies. This was an issue, as the U.S. had been told of the gas used in the trenches. It was said to make a man drop out cold in his tracks, and kill him if he was without a gas mask. Alex was horrified, and he told Rian this.

They had gone into the trench when the sun was just a sliver between the sky and the land, but it would soon rise to wake the Axis. Alex and Rian were there with thirty or so other soldiers, and they faced the choice of leaving their trench at that very moment to get to the stocked trench a hundred meters up, or wait with nothing but themselves in a muddy trench.

The appeal of guns, masks, and a more permanent trench tempted them out within minutes. Thirty one very scared men stood in a straight line in their trench, praying to God that they would be spared by the not-quite-daylight advantage. Commander Perry counted them off, his words floating away in the wind, but each and every man in that trench strained to hear him count, “Three, two, one.”

They all pushed themselves out of the trench. Alex nearly slipped back in, but Rian grabbed his hand and pulled him across the field, both running as low as they could while maintaining speed. They had made it barely ten meters by the time the gas hit them. Rian’s breath sped up, and Alex screamed, stopping in his tracks. He nearly collapsed from fright, but Rian yanked him up by his wrist to a standing position, panting and crazy-eyed. This was what he had signed up for.

The two of them ran as fast as they could, not far behind all the other soldiers. They tumbled into the trench and Rian panted, reaching for a mask. He was stopped by a combination of sudden exhaustion and another soldier crashing down on his arm, sending ripples of pain through his nerves. Alex laid paralyzed, unable to even reach for mask for his own safety. All Rian wanted was to sleep, because his arm hurt so very much and his eyes were burning, and weeks of sharing a ship bunk with Alex led him to crawl over to his friend.

Alex and Rian were not the only ones to die that night. They were trampled over time and time again, but just before they were mangled beyond repair, passing soldier thought to himself how strange it was to see two soldiers holding each other so close.