Doctor D

I’m terribly cold. Snow is falling on me and it won’t be long until dark. Clenching my jaw, I reach up and try to pull my green army jacket higher. Damn, I can barely see or move in this endless, numbing ice storm. So, Inch by grueling inch, I go. Hey, that rhymes–maybe I should sing my way to what seems like certain death. I sense death is close; he’s breathing cold all around my neck. I have to keep up with this excuse for a unit–my unit. If I get separated from these morons, I’m dead. Most of my buddies are dead! What did they die for? Uncle Sam? Apple pie? Hell no. They died for the rest of us thugs trudging in this line!

Where the hell am I? Like usual in this war, I have no clue. Something about a big German offensive that is creating a bulge in our defenses, and we’ve got to stop the advance. They always call us in when everything turns to shit for the rest of the army. Figures! Why does my mind wander so much? I should be focusing, but on what? Staying alive, I guess. This line of soldiers seems to be endless.

“Forward! Keep those doggies pumping until chow time!” I wish he’d shut up. If any of us goes down, we’ll get trampled like a herd of slow, fat women promenading at a square dance. If he steps into the line, I swear on my girlfriend’s panties—I learned from experience there’s nothing more chaste than that—I’ll shove loudmouth down myself. How does he keep his lips moving? I think I know the secret: they never freeze because he never stops running his mouth. I wonder if she’s still waiting for me back home—a virgin, or at least that’s what she always claimed. But then again, if she’s pregnant now, it sure isn’t mine. Does it really matter, though? After a French prostitute showed me what honest loving is, I’ve come to question why I’d ever get married. Going back to farm life? Picking cotton for the rest of my days? Not a chance! I realize how much I’ve seen of the world, yet there’s so much more to explore. This thought excites me more than anything else.

“We’re here, ladies. Fall out and stay out of the snow for as long as possible!”

What a genius, Lieutenant What’s His Name Is! I flop down on the ground. I don’t see anything here but a bunch of thick trees!

“Pair up, and spread out in big intervals from treeline to treeline, and dig your foxholes—dig them deep. We’re going to hold this ground, no matter what comes our way!”

How in the hell are we going to run away? I wonder.

“Jeb! Where the heck are you, Jeb?”

“Over here, Grumps!”

“I’m coming to you, don’t move!”

“There, Jeb, that’s deep enough.” I drop into our foxhole and shiver while I watch Jeb do the same. No Germans in sight. When I pull the trigger, my M1 Garand is frozen solid and will not even fire. Damn it, I left it unloaded again! They say a warm piss will unfreeze the action for a while, so it’ll fire. This damn thing won’t even load. How is Jeb already snoring? We need to stay quiet and keep from freezing, yet he’s out here announcing our position to every German for miles. Thirty minutes later, and he’s already deep in dreamland. It’s too damn cold to sleep. I wonder how cold it’ll get tonight. I just hope I don’t freeze to death before I find out!

What the hell was that? “In coming! Mortors! Crap, get down, Jeb!” Jeb had sprung to his startled feet. At least he woke up, but if we get blown into bits, maybe being asleep would be the better way to die. Jeb hustled back onto the ground. I need to cover my head with, what, my arms?

Those mortars are blowing the crap outta us; there’s nothing we can do to stop them! Arms and legs mangled—screams, smoke, cries for help. My ears are tolling! They got us bracketed! Need to move!

“C’mon, Jeb, follow me!” I rise and run toward the other foxhole. Sharp metal whizzes by, dirt and dust kick up, and a boot flies by my ringing ear. I wonder if I can even get to the other foxhole. I’ll crawl toward it. I can’t stand that damn nickname—I’m not nearly as grumpy as they make me out to be, am I? I’m still not sure why I gravitated toward Jeb. When he first joined as a replacement, I did my best to avoid him; the last thing I need is another friend destined for a shallow grave. But, like me, he turned out to be a redneck. He even knows what a catfish is and how to catch one. I guess my Southern roots are deeper than I thought.

I hope Jeb can hear me! I make it to the larger foxhole and get in. About five soldiers are already dying in the hole. What the hell did I move for? However, they… they say… that lightning never hits the same place twice. They’re not from the south; tornadoes have proved that theory wrong. I’m getting under these people and hiding. I wonder what the death angel looks like?

“Where the hell am I?” My head is throbbing, and it smells like gunpowder and smoke. Something’s different; not familiar. Almost distant! “What’s going on?”

“You’re fixing to come with me!”

“What? Who are you? Where are you? Where are we going?”

“I’m big, D, Grumpy boy. Doctor Death! You wonder what the death angel looks like, soon you’ll see me!”

“Oh hell, no, I’m not going anywhere!” I hear a maddening, hellacious laugh. I’m gonna sneak out of this place before that psycho gets me. I’ll get away before he even knows I’m gone! I’m as smart as a big old fat catfish that has never been hooked. Death has met its match with me!

I hear the laugh again. “You can’t get out of a coffin, at least your body can’t.”

I feel all around with my hands, getting filth in my fingernails. I can smell rotting flesh, and flies cover my body. I hope there’s no maggots and worms, too. Damn, I’m buried alive in a coffin. Help! Got to escape! I try to both scratch and dig out, as well as kicking and punching. “Shit!”

“Is your breathing getting harder, Nel? I can tell it is; sorry, dead man! It's almost time to feel the sting of my deadly sickle.”

“Yes, yes, I’m suffocating. I can hardly breathe! Help! Somebody help me! Get me the hell outta here!” My breathing grows tougher with each moment, suffocating like a… a… well, a dying man. I start to panic.

“You still have a bit of dying left to do, then you’ll see me and Satan face to face—satan can’t wait for you to show up, Nel. He has y’all’s wedding bed waiting for the consummation of the marriage—sex with Satan!”

“No! No! For, God’s sake, no!” A bright light from somewhere is coming towards me. “Hell, I’m toast!”

A large cat’s face appears in my coffin. That stupid thing is purring. “Good kitty,” I say, “good, good kitty.” That can’t be the face of death!” The face grows large fangs, becomes disfigured, and hisses at me.

“Where am I now? Smells clean like a hospital. Alcohol, and disinfectant cleaner.” Those are nurses, I think. I must be in a field hospital—or maybe a real hospital somewhere. “Thank you, God! I’m still alive!” I scan the other beds and see members of my unit lying there. Hello, Joe! Hello, Jose! They’re all here—every damn one of them—all of the… the… dead ones. “Help me! I’m dead.”

“Here comes a tall doctor. Good! Good!” I watch the tall doctor, his face hidden, walk straight to my bed.

“Hello, Grumps,” the doctor says.

“Who are you?” I stare, mesmerized, as the doctor reveals his face—and I piss my army-issued pants, which I somehow still wear. “No, Jeb, not you too! You’re dead now?” I watch in horror as Jeb’s face slowly changes, a massive chunk of the left side torn away, and his left eye dangling out of its socket, barely attached by a thin strand of something. Snot runs from Jeb’s nose, and he stinks like disintegrating uncooked meat. I puke several times.

All the nurses turn around and stare at me; they’re all skeletons. One grabs my left leg and another my right as they begin trying to pull me out of bed. “No! No! Please God, no! Save me, Lord!” I scrap like two roosters fighting for survival, but then everything grows unclear again!

I step out of the taxi, watching it pull away, and gaze at my childhood home. Kneeling, I kiss the dirt in the front yard. Using one crutch under each arm, I hobble toward the front door. The doctors amputated my left leg below the knee and three toes from my right foot because of frostbite. The soldiers who found me had pulled me out of the bunker by my legs, still alive.

A loud car starts racing down the street, coming toward me. I stop on the front porch and watch the car. It never slows down, and the driver throws something as it passes. I duck as a large knife flies at my head, but it misses me; it sticks in the front door. I pull it out; I recognize it as Jeb’s knife. I watch it disappear in my hand.

I hear death’s laugh again! “I’m still waiting for you!”

I cross my chest with a catholic cross. “Thank you, God, for helping me survive the confusion and fog of combat! I signed up to fight this war, but didn’t believe that war is hell; I do now! “I never fired a shot, and I now have a medal. I'm a hero! It figures!”