One Last Wish...
Bombs and Hell had found both sides of the war, on the outskirts of Rome, in 1944. Griffin stood viewing the ruins of a completely destroyed abbey. For two days straight the U.S. and the allies tried to keep from bombing the old church. The Germans began to hold up in the abbey in hopes that it would not be destroyed. They had the upper hand in this game of lives for awhile. Finally, the brass gave the 'ok' to bomb the hell out of the abbey. Later a buddy told Alex that the abbey had been named for Benedict of Nursia in 529 A.D. That fact meant nothing to Griffin...just another piece of history ruined forever. The once holy place was now in a million pieces, still providing cover for the German army. After the bombing it was mass chaos for both sides.
The abbey and surrounding area seemed far from beautiful or enchanting today. Not one thing reminded Alex of an eternal city filled with light and love. Rome was still a long distance from where today's fighting occurred; however from his view point it looked nothing like the city he had seen in movies before the war started. Through his gray eyes, Rome looked and sounded thunderous as grenades, rifles and machine guns exploded in various sections of the countryside. The smell of cordite assaulted his nostrils and burned his eyes. His ears rang as the bombs exploded nearby. The 'pause in war' was over.
One thousand four hundred tons of bombs were dropped on this sacred ground by the Allies and still the Germans held the high ground for almost five months; beginning in January and ending in May. When the siege finally ended 50,000 Allies had been killed and 20,000 German's died. The German's retreated leaving Rome as the Allies advanced. It was a costly battle for everyone. No one was left unscathed. Either physically or mentally Rome, Italy took on a new meaning for every enlisted man.
Three days into the battle, Alex had almost been killed when a bullet ricocheted off his helmet. Men were screaming, cursing and dying in a war zone of endless deathtraps. No one knew how or when this battle would end. Each opposing side had their own version of victory.
One of his buddies Pvt. Ray Long lay about 10 feet from him in a puddle of blood and urine; he wasn't dead but he was close. Alex scrambled to put a tourniquet high on Ray's left thigh, hoping to slow the blood flow. He pulled the wounded soldier closer to him and out of the blood. It didn't make any difference...the blood followed them. Their squad leader, Sergeant Randall Sommers from Idaho, had been killed instantly when a barrage of enemy gunfire had started ripping the air again; leaving Cpl. Max Davis now in charge. There were six other men still alive in his squad. Three were wounded but still able to fight. Alex could hear them breathing in slow aching gasps, as night began to descend on this unlucky group of Americans. For miles and miles in every direction men were dug in for the night; waiting to see what the new day had in store. The Allies continued their bombing raids. There would be no sleep again tonight...nod offs and dozing were as close to sound sleep as Alex would get for months to come. Eventually he reached a place in his mind, called exhaustion, where he could sleep through the bombings...they became comforting in an odd sort of way. It was the sudden silence at night that jarred him awake.
One man, PFC Gordon Stone from Niagara Falls, lit a cigarette and passed the pack around. Another wounded man prayed while Ray moaned softly, slipping in and out of consciousness. He needed a medic, however the medic would have to come to them. There was no way they could move. Alex knew the odds of living through the next twenty four hours were against him. This reality did not terrify him as much as he thought it would; instead anger and disappointment coursed through his body. Maybe it was the fact he was finally eighteen today, officially a man, without any real memories of the life he desired to live... that scared him and pissed him off to no end.
Griffin had quit high school at 16, lied about his age and enlisted after the attack on Pearl Harbor. All too soon he found himself on the other side of the ocean fighting in an all out world war. Today he turned eighteen, finally legal to be in the Army. For the past two years fighting had been his job, his life as a soldier. He was good at his job. It was also the beginning and end of what Alex knew about life. This fact created a stone cold emptiness in the pit of his stomach. Today he wished things were different. In the midst of all the noise and turmoil, all Griffin could think about was dying before he had sex with a beautiful woman!!
He wanted to know the fullness of a life he had not been prepared for before the war. Slowly he sucked on a cigarette as he realized once again, that life is not fair. He should know the joy of a woman's body better than the art of killing. Alex shook his head and smiled without humor in his eyes as he thought, 'the places the mind goes when the bombs stop.' His buddies teased him about being inexperienced. He lied to them all the time and jokingly told them of exploits he had that would make each man ache for the woman who was not there.
One of the soldiers in Griffin's squad was a natural born story teller from Clinton, Kentucky. His name was PFC Jake Armstrong.
He entertained the men on nights when sleep was impossible. Jake was an artist and had lived in Rome several years before the war. He often told his buddies stories about the food, the city, the wine and the women. His soft southern drawl had the ability to soothe the worst nightmares. When he talked, he painted a picture each man could share and mentally claim as his own.
Alex's favorite story Jake shared was of a beautiful black haired, brown eyed young woman named Mia. She was petite no more than five feet tall, and very slim. She had full naturally red lips; created in the form of a permanent pout. Jake met her at an outdoor café in Rome a year before the war began. She was a waitress. Jake rented a room above the café where she worked, while he studied portrait painting with some of the best artists in Rome. He was talented and getting better every day. At night he worked as a bartender in a club down the street. After closing hours, Jake and Mia strolled the streets of Rome. She was the best history teacher he ever had. As they walked together, the scent of roses filled the night air. The sound of a low, soft opera often could be heard coming from someone's bedroom window. The young couple talked in soft whispers while the stars danced above them. They stopped in the middle of the street and kissed long and slow before returning to her apartment. They made love at night. Each made promises they knew they would never be able to keep. They slept in each other's arms only to awake and recreate the romance again. Close to dawn Jake left the apartment. He had obligations elsewhere forcing him to leave before daylight. While they had loved and slept a thick fog had rolled in, encasing the city in a dense dampness. It filled the air with a tangible moist feeling of expectancy.
As Jake walked down the empty streets he thought about the news reports of the impending war and he thought about the woman he had just left. In his gut he knew he would be on the next plane back to the United States. He stopped for a minute, searching his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. Slowly he made a half turn as he remembered the cigarettes lay on the bedside table next to Mia. He paused a long time before he turned and walked away. The men in his squad never tired of hearing this story, especially Alex.
Each man had his own version of how the story should have ended. Alex always stayed with the young woman. He would give anything to be with her tonight. As Alex thought about his life he said a short prayer asking for protection for his buddies and himself. He prayed they would all get home safely. He also knew this was an impossibility... not everyone would make it home. If it was his turn to die, maybe Italy wasn't such a bad place to die, although he hoped he lived to love a beautiful young woman he had yet to meet. Maybe just maybe luck would be on his side and he would eventually get his wish. If not there was always Jake's verbal painting. If Alex died tomorrow, he wanted that story to be his last thought.
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