The day came filtering slowly through the windows as Douglas opened his eyes and let the background noise of the hospital fade back into his consciousness. He groaned as he sat up to trudge to the loo and complete his morning routine before breakfast.
He tried the door but found it locked. Martin. Martin hasn't gotten out of bed all the time he's been here... not in front of him, anyway. What's so different today?
"Martin, it's my turn to use the bog!"
"No! It's your turn in two minutes, forty six seconds! You're up early today!" He heard called from inside.
"I haven't even seen you walk around before, and you've been here for, what, four months now?"
"There's a reason for that!"
"Well, what is it, Courageous Crieff?"
"Don't fucking call me that!"
"Newspapers did."
"Just belt up!"
"Of course," Douglas smirked.
The door clicked open to reveal a rather red-faced and annoyed Captain Crieff. "There, all yours." Martin walked, in the broadest sense of the word, back to his bed. Douglas couldn't help but find the Captain's hysterical 'dancing' gait hilarious. Martin scowled at him as he shakily climbed into bed. "Yes, hilarious. Captain Crieff the "war hero" can't even walk properly; bally hilarious!"
Douglas snorted, though felt a little bad for his reaction. "Look, I'm sorry Crieff. It isn't your fault…"
"Sod off," Martin grunted, obviously mistaking his apology for mocking.
"Very well," Douglas went to brush his teeth and wash his face; with any luck there would be a bowlful of steaming, edible food beside his bed when he came out.
…
No such luck; it seemed Arthur had been given free rein over the kitchen again and a bowl of grey… gloop with… bits in it was ice cold on his nightstand. "Arthur excelled himself…" Douglas moaned.
"Oh, stop complaining…" One of the other soldiers in the ward, Karl, grunted, "Better than the food in the trenches; speaking from experience, like."
"You got worse than this –?" Douglas scooped some of the slop with his spoon and let it unceremoniously plop back into the bowl.
"Yeah, like. You ever try fried lice?"
"Fried rice would be preferable to –"
"No, not fried rice; fried lice. We used to pluck them off our boys and fry 'em. Dirk used to be the best one to get 'um from – huge, great juicy things. Isn't that right, Dirk?!" Karl called, the man in question just grunted, "'e even picked up German ones at some point – no idea how. Nice change of flavour…"
Douglas and Martin stared at him in horror. "Dear God…" Douglas gasped.
"Aw, they was fine with a bit of butter… until we ran out of butter…" Karl frowned.
"Couldn't you just have used grease from frying bacon?" Arthur, whom no one had known was standing there.
"Oh! Yeah! We resorted to eating sweaty lice because we didn't want the huge, juicy lump of bacon sitting in the corner!" Karl drawled, effect lost in the saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth. Arthur slumped away. "Still… At that point we were better than the Americans, I heard they resorted to eating things like monkeys, grasshoppers, worms and stuff like that over in those jungles they're in when they're meant to be here. Mind, last I saw 'um, the boys were eyeing up the corpses as a tasty meal…"
"Yuck!" Martin exclaimed, Douglas certainly seconded the notion. Karl chuckled.
"That's the RAF for you, bunch of softies. Well… unless your parachute doesn't open, then you're a land owner… Speaking of which… Boys!"
Douglas and Martin growled when they heard the other six soldiers – all foot soldiers – in the ward sing;
He hit the ground, the sound was 'splat', his blood went spurting high,
His comrades were heard to say, 'a helluva way to die!'
He laid there rolling around in the welter of his gore,
And he ain't gonna jump no more!
"Shut the hell up!" Martin snapped.
"Oh, come on Crieff; the American paratroopers sing that as a joke all the time –" Douglas laughed.
"That's what they said!" Martin yelled.
"Who?" Karl questioned.
"The boys in my squadron!" Martin huddled in on himself, "Oh God!"
…
A proper air mission! I can't wait! I'll be a hero! I just have this ride with my squadron and we'll be at the airfield!
"Uh… Captain…" a rookie speaks up.
"Yes, Kieran?"
"I'm… Scared, sir…"
"What have you got to be scared about?" One of the soldiers, Anderson, roars, "We're going to be heroes! Have our names in the papers! Our pick of the girls!"
"If we survive!" Kieran squeaks. Bless the boy, he's only eighteen, "What if we have to bale?"
"Then we strap on our 'chute and jump," I smile kindly.
"C'mon, lads; let's take a leaf out of our American cousins' book!" Anderson announced before he sang:
He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,
He checked all his equipment and made sure his pack was tight;
He had to sit and listen to those awful engines roar,
"You ain't gonna jump no more!"
"Come on chaps, this is cruel!" I laugh. But the rest join in except Kieran and I.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Another, Tomkins, I think, clears his throat and shouts:
"Is everybody happy?" cried the Sergeant looking up,
Our Hero feebly answered "Yes," and then they stood him up;
He jumped into the icy blast, his static line unhooked,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
"Boo! Get him off!" the men cry before continuing.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
"Come on, Kieran; you know it!" Anderson coaxes in his loud, boisterous manner. Kieran sheepishly sings:
He counted long, he counted loud, he waited for the shock,
He felt the wind, he felt the cold, he felt the awful drop,
The silk from his reserves spilled out, and wrapped around his legs,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
The boy had a good voice on him.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Anderson takes over… again:
The risers swung around his neck, connectors cracked his dome,
Suspension lines were tied in knots around his skinny bones;
The canopy became his shroud; he hurtled to the ground.
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Kieran squeaks again; poor boy.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Anderson claps steadily, the others join in soon.
The days he'd lived and loved and laughed kept running through his mind,
He thought about the girl back home, the one he'd left behind;
He thought about the medic corps, and wondered what they'd find,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Harrison takes the next one; his deep, operatic voice is useful for times like this:
The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild,
The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled,
For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
"C'mon Captain!" Anderson's attempting to get me to sing now, "Show us your music hall spirit!"
I sigh and join in:
He hit the ground, the sound was "SPLAT", his blood went spurting high;
His comrades, they were heard to say "A hell of a way to die!"
He lay there, rolling 'round in the welter of his gore,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
Cheering. They're cheering me! Even Kieran! The boy's even laughing!
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
I'll take the solemn notes as I always did in Blighty… when I wasn't in a dress in 'great music hall tradition'.
There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,
Intestines were a-dangling from his paratrooper's suit,
He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,
He ain't gonna jump no more.
We're all swaying together now, in a half-joking way.
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die,
He ain't gonna jump no more!
Cheers ring out. We're all laughing.
…
"Martin?" To Martin, the voice felt like he was listening to it through water, "Martin?! Wake up!" Douglas…?
Martin snapped back into consciousness. "S-sorry… Sorry… W-what did I-I m-miss?"
"You were… singing, Crieff…" Douglas informed.
"Apologies. I sort of… blacked out, I suppose…"
"So… Cards, anyone?" Douglas, more announced than asked, to the sound of cheers.
Oh… Anderson… Kieran… Are you alright? Martin thought.
...
The way Martin walks is filmed here - watch?v=IWHbF5jGJY0 - It's from WWI, but it suffices.
Karl described real food consumed by soldiers.
The song the soldiers were singing is here - watch?v=VWgsdexkv18 - it's a bit cleaner than it would be; some would be out of tune, some would be shouting, etc.
Please review.