in the tent

in the tent

fiction'
edward w pritchard

World War Two was awful and being in the army was bad. Every day your friends die, not in any pattern just here and there, now and then. Some just get wounded and that's worse.

Eventually you decide not to have friends but some other soldiers decided to make their philosophy to cope that they need friends so you still know people, some of whom are going to die or be wounded, maybe you.

The foods not much even for us poor people but you enjoy it sometimes, and then its not that bad.

Nature is good and you get to travel but there's always the war. Home is gone, no longer real or possible.

The only good thing is when you are in your own tent. After supper. Your fellow soldiers are on guard and they will be in their tents in a while and we all work very hard to make it so when one is in their tent they are safe, as safe as one can be in the army.

When we get somewhere and I must put up my tent I always follow the same procedure. I take lighter fluid and burn off the grass, to kill and drive away all inspects. I find the best spot I can, not wet or sloping and away from trees and with some kind of a view for coming and going. Then I put down something for a ground cloth, if available. Then I have my tent face the appropriate direction depending on too many factors to list. When it's all ready I put my stuff in there including my loaded rifle, I don't want to die without being ready. I also am duty bound I think to help my fellow soldiers, even ones I don't know.

Then at last I get in my tent, bravely turn my eyes from the opening and gradually drop off to sleep for about 35 minutes usually. I always wake up worrying and anxious or aggressive according to what's appropriate based on what might happen next. However, those 35 minutes are the best part about being in the army.