I

1943.

It's late.

The moon casts the water around us in a milk white light.

I'm back to steering our PT. Lieutenant Kennedy they call me. A nighttime patrol; we travel with the blare of the engine in our ears, like a roaring lion on the prowl.

It happened so fast. In the distance I see a disturbance in the horizon. It's a Japanese destroyer. We attempt an attack but we're hit by something abruptly. A destroyer, one of ours though.

Pain shoots from my back as I'm flung from our PT. I hear the engine explode seconds after I'm plunged beneath the surface. I look about my surroundings. I see a silhouette sinking, I think it's Kirkskey. I try to reach out to him but I can't. It's like I can't feel anything; I'm numb. I see the moonlight fade away as I sink, like some force wants me to lie with Kirkskey on the ocean floor.

A thought makes itself apparent in my head. First it's a cough, then it's a riot. Louder than the engine's boom. Let him go, John. It's time to get back up again. Go and lead your crew.

Feeling finds its way back into my limbs. I curl my fingers and then move my arms. I look up to the surface and reach for the light. I begin raging. Raging against the dying of the light.

I hear a knock at the door

I wake up in my bed; a pool of sweat surrounds me.

It's 1947. December the 25'th, Christmas actually. No gifts to be found anywhere in my Boston apartment. I wonder if any gifts are shared at all today. America lost its way yesterday. We surrendered to the Nazis, the greatest enemy we've ever known. They dropped a damned atom bomb on Manhattan five days ago, obliterating everything from Lady Liberty to East Bronx.

A picture painted itself in my mind: the head of the Statue of Liberty, eroding away at the bottom of the bay. A cut marked below its eye like a tear. I suppose when you cut the head off of Lady Liberty herself, the rest of the body cannot go on.

I hear another knock at the door. Faster this time; louder.

I sit up from my ocean of sweat, feeling sticky and in need of a bath. Pain creeps its way up my back again, like an old friend reminding me of what I can and can't do. I grit my teeth and ignore it. I stumble across my flat and answer the door, not making any effort to hide my body covered in nothing but a stained, white tank top and USA boxers. It's a neighbor of mine, first floor I believe. The name Willie comes to my mind. He frantically steps around in his place, like a man who seriously needed to find a bathroom. Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as well. I stood there for a moment, furrowing my brow in confusion.

"You wanna use my bathroom or something, pal?" I asked, resting an arm on the doorway.

"Nazis downstairs. They're looking for you."

My demeanor changes immediately. I knew something like this would happen but I didn't think it so soon. Stupid. I'm so stupid.

"Fuck me!" I shout, turning around and running to my bedroom. From my dresser I pull a .45 caliber pistol and a plain white T, one of the ones with a shirt pocket. I slide my bottom dresser open for some pants but I hear Willie shout from outside my front door.

"Contact!" He exclaims before slamming my door.

I ditch the dresser, pull over my t shirt, and go for my field jacket. On the other side of my thin apartment walls I can hear the confrontation of Willie and two officers. Two Nazis.

"He's not home," Willie says calmly in German. "I already checked."

"And why would you do that?" An officer with voice like gravel asks.

At this moment I realize how loud I was being. As quietly as I could with my shaking hands, I checked the magazine of my pistol. Eight rounds, fully loaded.

"I swore I heard something in there." The other officer says.

"Then you confirm my beliefs, step aside civilian."

"Oh no sir!" Willie shouts. "The other residents and I are relieving Mr. Kennedy of his belongings. We planned to burn all of his American memorabilia. Might I warn you, there is a lot in there from what I've seen."

I return to my bottom dresser drawer and slide on some socks. Pants are too loud.

"Step aside, civilian! I am only going to tell you once."

"I'm telling you!" Willie exclaims, panicked. "He's not-"

And then I hear a series of scuffles from the hall. Then a cracking noise, then a scream. I can't tell who it's from.

I slip into my boots at lightning speed fueled by adrenaline. The front door opens and I bolt, kicking out my glass window and sliding out onto the fire escape. A metallic storm erupts from under my boots as I scurry down the staircase, clad in everything but my pants. The moon probably shined brightly upon my stars n' stripes covered ass. A shout comes from above me and echoes off the alley walls.

"He is escaping!" Shouts the Nazi with the gravelly voice. "Alert the reinforcements!"

Guess Willie ol' pal didn't make it.

I wondered why a complete stranger would risk his life for someone he barely even knew. I then wondered what all he knew of me. Did he know I was a vet? Did he know of my family's political ties? Perhaps he believed in me as a true patriot, a sign of hope in this uncertain time. The last one is the one I chose to believe.

Thanks Willie. With all my heart, thank you. A true patriot. A true American.

At this point I vault over the metal railing and into a garbage bin. My back makes me jerk my head back in pure agony and look to the moon. I'm reminded by my dream. Sinking in the ocean, unable to move, to save myself. But then I'm reminded of the light of the moon beneath the surface and how I raged. Raged against the dying of the light. On any other night I would be appalled by the scent of the bin, but not tonight. Tonight, all I smell is danger and salt water on the Pacific. I pull myself from the garbage and dash down the alleyway with German shouts at my back.

Rage, John, I thought.

Rage against the dying of the light