The Young Lions

Green turned away and the corporal at the table drummed slowly with his fingertips on the wood. It's going to be awful, Michael realized, the next ten minutes are going to be very bad.

"I forgot for the moment," Green said flatly, "how close you and Burnecker were."

"Yes, Sir," said Noah.

"He was made Sergeant, you know," Green said. "Staff Sergeant. Platoon leader, way back in September. He is a hell of a fine soldier, Joh

"Yes, Sir," Noah said.

"He was hit last night, Noah," Green said. "One freak shell. He was the only casualty we've had in the Company in five days."

"Is he dead, Sir?" Noah asked.

"No."

Michael saw Noah's hands, which had been clenched into fists along his trouser seams, slowly relax.

"No," Green said, "he isn't dead. We sent him back right after it happened."

"Sir," Noah asked eagerly, "could I ask you a favour, a big favour?"

"What is it?"

"Could you give me a pass to go back and see if I can talk to him?"

"He might have been sent back to a field hospital by now," Green said gently.

"I have to see him, Captain," Noah said, speaking very quickly. "It's terribly important. You don't know how important it is. The field hospital's only fifteen miles back. We saw it. We passed it on the way up. It won't take more than a couple of hours. I won't hang around long. Honest, I won't. I'll come right back. I'll be back by tonight. I just want to talk to him for fifteen minutes. It might make a big difference to him, Captain…"

"All right," Green said. He sat down and scribbled on a sheet of paper. "Here's a pass. Go outside and tell Berenson I said he was to drive you."

"Thanks," Noah said, his voice almost inaudible in the bare room. "Thanks, Captain."

"No side expeditions," Green said, staring at the cellophane-covered sector map, symbolled in crayon on the wall. "We need that jeep tonight."

"No side expeditions," Noah said. "I promise." He started towards the door, then stopped. "Captain," he said.

"Yes?"

"Is he hurt bad?"

"Very bad, Noah," Green said wearily. "Very, very bad."

A moment later, Michael heard the jeep starting up, and moving through the mud, making a chugging, motor-boat kind of noise into the distance.

"Whitacre," Green said, "you can hang around here until he gets back."

"Thank you, Sir," Michael said.

Green peered sharply at him. "What kind of soldier have you turned out to be, Whitacre?" he asked.

Michael thought for a moment. "Miserable, Sir," he said.

Green smiled palely, looking more than ever like a clerk after a long day at the counter in the Christmas rush. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. He lit a cigarette and went over to the door and opened it. He stood there, framed against the grey, washed-out colours of the autumnal countryside. From afar, now that the door was open, could be heard the faint chugging of a jeep.

"Ah," Green said, "I shouldn't've let him go. What's the sense in a soldier going to watch his friends die when he doesn't have to?"

He closed the door and went back and sat down. The phone rang and he picked it up languidly. Michael heard the sharp voice of Battalion. "No, Sir," Green said, speaking as though on the brink of sleep. "There has been no small-arms fire here since 7.00 hours. I will keep you informed." He hung up and sat silently, staring at the patterns his cigarette smoke was making before the terrain map on the wall.

It was long after dark when Noah got back. It had been a quiet day, with no patrols out. Overhead, the artillery came on and went off, but it seemed to have very little relation to the men of C Company who occasionally drifted into the CP to report to Captain Green. Michael had dozed all the afternoon in a corner, considering this new, languid, relaxed aspect of the war, so different from the constant fighting in Normandy, and the wild rush after the break-through. This was the slow movement, he thought sleepily, with the melody, such as it was, being carried by other instruments. The main problems, he saw, were keeping warm, keeping clean and keeping fed, and Captain Green's big concern all day had seemed to be the growing incidence of trench-foot in his command.

Michael heard the jeep coming up through the darkness outside. The windows were covered with blankets to show no light, and a blanket hung over the doorway. The door swung open and Noah came in slowly, followed by Berenson. The blanket flickered in the light of the electric lantern, blowing in the raw gust of night air.

Noah closed the door behind him. He leaned wearily against the wall. Green looked up at him.

"Well?" Green asked gently. "Did you see him, Noah?"

"I saw him." Noah's voice was exhausted and hoarse.

"Where was he?"

"At the field hospital."

"Are they going to move him back?" Green asked.

"No, Sir," Noah said. "They're not going to move him back."

Berenson clattered over to one corner of the room and got out a K ration from his pack. He ripped open the cardboard noisily, and tore the paper around the biscuits. He ate loudly, his teeth making a crackling sound on the hard biscuit.

"Is he still alive?" Green spoke softly and hesitantly.

"Yes, Sir," said Noah, "he's still alive."

Green sighed, seeing that Noah did not wish to speak further.

"OK," he said. "Take it easy. I'll send you and Whitacre over to the second platoon tomorrow morning. Get a good night's rest."

"Thank you, Sir," said Noah. "Thanks for the use of the jeep."

"Yeah," said Green. He bent over a report he was working on.

Noah looked dazedly around the room. Suddenly he went to the door and walked out. Michael stood up. Noah hadn't even looked at him since his return. Michael followed Noah out into the raw night. He sensed rather than saw Noah, leaning against the farmhouse wall, his clothes rustling a little in the gusts of wind.

"Noah…"

"Yes?" The voice told nothing. Even, exhausted, emotionless.

"Michael…"

They stood in silence, staring at the bright, distant flicker on the horizon, where the guns were busy, like the night shift in a factory.

"He looked all right," Noah said finally, in a whisper. "At least his face was all right. And somebody had shaved him this morning, he'd asked for a shave. He got hit in the back. The doctor warned me he was liable to act queer, but when he saw me, he recognized me. He smiled. He cried… He cried once before, you know, when I got hurt…"

"I know," Michael said. "You told me."

"He asked me all sorts of questions. How they treated me in the hospital, if they give you any convalescent leave, whether I'd been to Paris, if I had any new pictures of my kid. I showed him the picture of the kid that I got from Hope a month ago, the one on the lawn, and he said it was a fine-looking kid, it didn't look like me at all. He said he'd heard from his mother. It was all arranged for that house back in his town, forty dollars a month. And his mother knew where she could get a refrigerator second-hand… He could only move his head. He was paralysed completely from the shoulders down."

They stood in silence, watching the flicker of the guns, listening to the uneven rumble carried fitfully by the gusty November wind.

"I've had two friends in my whole life," Noah said. "Two real friends. A man called Roger Ca