Interlude: A Favor

“This must be it.” Daniel said.

He was looking down into his palm, staring at a crumbled piece of paper with an address on it. The writing was barely legible, a mass of scribbles.

He looked up, and in front of him appeared an old, almost civil war era type of house. It basked in the warm yellow hues of the afternoon sun. Birds could be heard chirping a couple houses over.

He looked forward to see the front door of the gray house, paint peeling off the edges of the old and crippled wood. It was easily the oldest house on the block.

Daniel couldn’t help but mutter to himself. “Damned G.I. bill. Never enough for anybody.” He let out a small wheezing cough, echoing down the street.

He stepped up onto the front porch, the wood creaking under his weight. The front door was already half opened. He knocked on it once. Twice. No answer. The yellow glow of the living room inside beckoned to him, the curtains drawn, shielding the blinding sun. It was very dark and gloomy compared to the outside street of suburbia.

Inside, the house was a mess. There were books strewn about everywhere, some open to random pages, others with withering covers. The pages were a dulled yellow. Beside them lay empty bottles of alcohol.

Daniel stumbled inside to find a man snoring in an armchair. He went back to the front hallway to close the door, and then took a seat in an opposite chair in the living room. The table in between them was loose with papers and snapped pencils. He shuffled and read a few, before waking the man from his slumber.

He slowly came too, rubbing his eyes when he realized who it was. “Daniel? Daniel Smith? That really you, or am I having another goddamn drunk fantasy?”

“I’m not that French girl with her skirt gone in Paris. So yeah, it’s me Capt’n.”

The man smiled warmly. “I remember her. She was one hell of a bitch. Remember when she hit the C.O. and knocked his helmet off? Told the damn bastard not to flirt with her.”

Daniel took a half empty bottle and drank a swig. It was hard whiskey. He smiled back with some reluctance. “How you been Capt’n? Still raising hell?

“That’s sir to you, private. And I’m in here rotting my ass off in this godforsaken house. Not going to last long.”

Daniel looked down, his tone more serious. “That bad?”

“No benefits. All I ever end up doing is yelling at some poor clerk. I scared this one kid shitless when I started to tell him about Normandy.”

“Yeah.” Daniel said remorsefully. He picked up a pictured frame that was lying on the desk. The picture showed him, his old squad, and the Captain, all standing at ease. Some were smiling, others making faces at the camera. It was dated March ’42. Daniel couldn’t help but feel a grin spread on his face.

“Half the people in that picture are gone.” The Captain said. He took the whiskey bottle from Daniel and emptied it.

“That’s gonna kill you worse than any arty shell, Capt’n.”

The Captain scoffed. “I’m already dead. Just a matter of when. At least with an 88 I know what to do. Here, I don’t got shit left.”

“We all got something left Capt’n.” Daniel leaned back into his chair. “Dozer’s got a job for Ford now.”

That brought a laugh out of the Captain. “Couldn’t imagine a dumb bastard like him to start buildin’ cars. Good for him though. Good for him.” He scoured around for another bottle. “The rest of us ain’t so lucky. Some of us only ever knew how to do one thing. And damnit, I knew how to do my job.”

Daniel spotted a half empty bottle on the floor next to him, and tossed it to the Captain. The two sat down and stayed silent. They passed the bottle back and forth, drinking until it was all gone.

The Captain mumbled softly. “I know this seems weird, but I called you here to ask a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Do you remember that oath we made on that transport ship?”

“You mean the one on the USS Mariner?”

“Yeah.” The Captain coughed, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s time for me to cash in on that. Tell em’ I tried. I tried so damn hard. Tell Dozer, Cavelli, anyone that’s left.”

Daniel shifted in his seat. “Capt’n?”

The Captain slinked back into his armchair. “Like I said, I got nothing left. And I’m already dead. I don’t belong anywhere else. Just promise me you’ll tell em, and that you don’t end up like me.” He paused. ”I have to honor my vow.”

“That doesn’t mean throwing it all away. Enough of us are all still alive. We still have lives to live. Things are different now.”

“I’ve thought about it long and hard. I should’ve died with em.” He paused. “My life is back there. Here, it doesn’t have a meaning. A purpose. I need to make things right. I will always be their commander, life or death.”

“Live together, die alone?”

“Yeah.”

Daniel got up from his chair. “I can’t change your mind?”

The Captain got up and shook his hand. “No.”

Daniel gave one last salute, said a protracted ‘Semper Fi’, and then went out the front door, closing it behind him with a heavy thud.

The Captain went to his bedroom closet, took out the M1911 pistol inside, and then pointed it at his own forehead. His tired finger wavered against the trigger.

Daniel ran down the street, not wanting to witness the loss of another friend. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the touch and smell of death. He didn’t want to see any more blood. He ran as if bullets were being fired. They were.

A shot rang out, echoing among the houses of suburbia.

Daniel turned, stared for a moment, and then continued his run. He could feel the sadness and hopelessness, the anger rising in him once again. His quiet voice did not echo, a whimper in comparison. “Live together, die together.”