First They Took the Boys, Then They Took the Men

The morning was cool, there being a light breeze in the air. However, the sun just coming up over the tree line brought a warmth that found my hands and face. I had to squint every time the sun fell from behind the white clouds, and it had already become an annoyance. A few flies buzzed past my face, and so I tried to blow them away, but they just rebounded back to me and continued to fly around whatever they thought was so interesting. Perhaps I still had some jam on my face from breakfast, or saliva shining on my lips, but whatever it was, the flies took interest.

My knees started to feel tired, so I lifted each of my feet off the ground at different intervals, careful not to lose my balance. I was placed directly on top of a railroad line that ran through my path. There was no train expected today, and it was perfectly safe to be standing there. In fact, I happened to be stationed on a large wooden bridge that was only a few years old. Down by the river, one could strain to but never hear the broad stiff timbers creaking against the river’s slow current and the bridge’s weight. In fact, this bridge even had some suspension—if it could be called that—with some of its newly-crafted beams meeting at a peak a little way into the air, equidistant from the ones on the opposite side of the structure, a single beam crossing overhead to connect them.

Around the bridge was a thick forest of pine, mostly. As I was facing nearer to the right side of the bridge, the rail line to my right was clearly visible, and continued to slice through the trees of the forest until it disappeared over the horizon. The other side, to my left, extended off the bridge and into the forest for about fifty yards or so before turning to the left, at which point I could see no further in that direction. The trees being so thick had forced the soldiers onto the bridge and near the riverside. Though I was positioned in the center of the bridge, I could still see a little of the riverfront through the wooden railings. The wounded were lying down near the river to my left, relaxing in the dirt under a tree, maybe, or using their feet to swirl the water on the edge of the brown river surface. Though they were wounded, most of them seemed suitably content with the situation that they now found themselves in. While there were some that had a nurse leaning over them, the rest simply sat and looked around, taking advantage of the cool, peaceful morning. Some of them were newly-amputated, and others had bandages wrapped around some part of their body. But they all just sat, talking little and only in small groups.

There was a private leaning against the railing across from me, and his large grin and soft chuckles indicated that he found mild humor in seeing me lift my legs from wear and trying to blow the flies out of my face. He stared at me for a few seconds before finally taking off his cap and fanning the flies away from my head. I thanked him, and he returned to me those oh-so-common words, “you’re welcome.” And the captain was on the bridge as well, constantly questioning the lieutenants and privates if they had seen the last few troops that had not yet arrived. Every time he saw the colonel’s shining brass, the captain would explain to him that he was still missing a few people, and not to worry, because they would receive menial punishments because they were late. He would then run to and fro across the bridge, constantly asking questions regarding the overdue troops.

But it was no surprise that those other soldiers were late, for they may have had no interest in the day’s events. There had originally been planned an advance, or rather, that the battalion was to move closer toward the enemy but still be behind friendly lines. But the train carrying the supplies required for the short journey never arrived, and it was later found out over telegraph that it had been severely delayed, and was furthermore half empty of what was promised.

With nothing left planned for the day’s events, the colonel, always so as to keep his troops occupied in something, had brought a random convicted enemy prisoner to the bridge to be executed—someone they thought was an enemy spy. And now, all of the soldiers had to stand on the bridge and wait for the last few people to arrive so that the execution could commence. The previous day, the battalion had been split, and so many less would be attending the ceremony than normally would have. It was all fine, in my opinion: the less soldiers crowding together on the bridge, with the sun rising higher and higher, the better. It was becoming increasingly hot, after all. The cool, relaxing morning began to give way to a brutal sun. The soldiers started to pull their caps further over their heads or fan themselves with them. They dropped their heavy packs to the ground and tried to keep their necks covered with the backs of their grey uniforms.

A little ways to the right of me, at the railing, three soldiers started laughing. One of them had made a joke. They turned themselves toward the river and one of them spit into the slow-moving mass of water that was constantly flowing under the bridge. The wounded looked like they were complaining, and the nurses helped them to move under nearby shade. As of this point, the last few missing troops began to arrive. Every time another one would arrive, the captain’s face would light up and he would run over to the colonel and tell him confidently that they were that much closer to the time of the execution. Evidently, some of the soldiers who were late had forgotten that the advance had been canceled, and had been purposely delaying themselves so as to avoid being at the front of the advance.

It made perfect sense, however. They take the boy from his parents and siblings, or the husband from his wife and children, and build him up to be a strapping soldier. Then they send him straight into cannon and gun, and he breaks down and suddenly does not want to be there any more and becomes preoccupied so that he can lag behind, at the back of the advance. It was toward the front where an enemy ambush would most likely have effect, and if one was in the back, then one was usually safe. The relief that some of them expressed was great when they were informed that it was not an advance that was being executed, but rather, a prisoner.

A few people to my left, there were two soldiers spreading homemade jam over their hard tack and ingesting it that way. I stared at them for a while, but I wasn’t hungry, and I had my fair share of jam during breakfast. I cursed myself for putting on my cap, as now all of the hot air that the sun gave off was trapped at the top of my head. Still, though, it did help to block the sun out of my eyes. I felt beads of sweat drip down my face that I could not wipe away, and the day became even more hot and muggy. Some of the soldiers slipped off the ends of the bridge when the captain wasn’t looking and sat down by the riverside in the shade. What was the delay? All of the other troops had arrived, and the colonel and captain were both on the bridge. We waited for about ten more minutes, and I was approaching maybe my third hour on the bridge when the last person arrived.

The young bugler stumbled onto the bridge from my right. As he walked past me, he looked me in the eyes with a blank stare. My eyes followed the back of his head after he had strode past, toward the captain. The captain yelled at the boy for being late, but then seemed apologetic in his tone. The young bugler took his place next to the captain and colonel and began to spit into the instrument. Everyone glanced at him as he played, glad that the wait was finally over. The wounded down by the riverside looked up, evidently aware that something out of the ordinary was taking place. The captain and the colonel stood tall and proper, as if this day meant everything to them. The many privates on and around the bridge seemed to wish that things would move faster: groggy they were as they swayed from foot to foot to stay in motion.

Then the colonel read the verdict and punishment. It was all really boring to listen to, and everyone tried to act as if they were paying attention, even though it was obvious that they were really not. The wounded seemed completely aware of what was going on by now and looked up at the bridge with a polite quietness. The seconds grew longer and longer, and the heat became more and more unbearable. I kept on hoping that a cloud would pass by to give us a few merciful seconds of shade, but that was a dream that never saw truth. The colonel began to finish up his words: “...And let him return to thy holy name. Remove your caps!” Everyone removed their caps, most of them swiftly and with a sincere harshness, as if they were going out of their way to reach up and snatch off the piece of grey fabric on their heads.

The snare drums started pounding rapidly and a young private came up to me and took off my cap so that my hair was finely exposed to the fresh air and the trapped heat on my head could leave. I told him that I would like to keep it on. He tied a piece of red fabric around my head and eyes so that I could not see before gingerly placing the cap back on top of my head. Several long seconds later, I felt the box beneath my feet being yanked away, and the noose around my neck lose its slack…