Northern France, 1918
"30 seconds" the Lieutenant yells. Mud, blood, vomit, and gunpowder fill my nose.
Clip in rifle, check. Spare ammunition, check. Bayonet, fixed. Coat, buttoned. Boots, tied. All that's left to do is try and calm the nerves before going over the top. My heart racing, hands shaking, legs feel numb, fear gripping me so hard not even a cigarette and two shots of whiskey could calm the nerves. Looking to the left, and then to the right, I see the same fear in the grim faces of everyone in the company. All of us collectively hoping that the last hour of artillery shelling has softened the Germans up. Just once we hope it will be true. But here on the fields of France is where hope digs itself a hole and waits for better days when the sun shines over the countryside and the grass grows long as it once did in the days of peace.
At last the dreaded whistle echoes down the line, playing its note song. The first rank goes up, and the firing starts in earnest. The second rank rises into the haze which may as well be oblivion. Now I stare at the ladder, but it stares back, telling me not to follow the others into certain death. Every nerve tells me to cut and run, then training kicks in. This is not a fight I can run from; I must survive it. I reach out for the first step. Hand over hand, foot over foot, my head peeks over the top and the scene can only be described as Hell itself. Dozens already dead, hundreds more are sure to die in the next few minutes like so many times before. My heart beats even quicker now, and with a final leap I've found my feet on solid earth again. I charge in with the rusted tip of my bayonet leading the way.
A captain grabs me by the arm and tries to give me an order, but I fall back as a burst from a German machine gun cuts him down. I dodge and weave while moving forward, always forward. Pershing needs this victory. The Hindenburg line is all that stands between our allies and entering Germany itself. But the Hun won't give up so easily, and the result is a mountain of bodies in the no man's land. Five times we tried to advance through this unholy mess, five times we failed. But now the terrain is looking different. More German than American bodies litter this section of the field. The whistling of an incoming shell shrieks through the air and I scramble to find whatever little dent in the Earth I can before impact. Explosions rock the battlefield as a volley of mortars bear down on us.
Training kicks in once again as my lieutenant picks me up by the collar and helps me to my feet.
"You okay Ethan?"
"Yes sir!"
"Thank God those krauts couldn't hit a barn door. Now, push on! We should be close to the objective, follow me!"
Johnson is a good man, brave and courageous, a smile never leaving his face. Two more shells almost do us in, but we find our squad, or at least what's left of us. One more push and we'll be in the enemy trench, a mere 50 yards away. But it may as well be the moon. Just then a machine gun fires and pins us all down in a hole. A ricochet glances off the top of my helmet, ringing it like a bell.
"Jesus Christ!" Derrick hollers. "Who's got a grenade?"
I quickly find one of the few I managed to nab while preparing for the attack in the early dawn. "Evans, I got one right here!"
"Good man! You think you can throw it into that nest?"
Fifty yards is too far to throw, but there's another hole up ahead.
"Give me covering fire, I'll make it."
"Alright boys," Johnson yells, "On the count of three…"
"One… Two… Three!"
Our Springfields give the Germans hell, Johnson even putting his Colt to use. I rise and charge, locking eyes with the gunner who swivels around to try and get me. But he's a second too late as I drop the pin, flip the paddle, and launch my little mk. I grenade like a baseball just as I fall into the hole, ducking under the whizzing bullets. Two seconds pass and my heart sinks, only to be uplifted as I feel the explosion through the earth. Looking up, where there was once a machine gun nest now there is a grizzly mess.
"Come on guys! We're almost there!" I yell, but just then a shell lands a few feet away and the impact blows me back into the hole I crawled out of. Can't see, can't hear anything from the ringing, can't find my feet. Can't breathe from the shock. Luckily, Derrick's familiar face comes into view.
"Wake up Ethan."
"Ethan, wake up, we're here!"
"Derrick, what are you talking about?"
"Ethan!"
Familiar hands rouse me from my nap. Looking down at her face, Riley's young eyes are wide with excitement, but also a bit of worry.
"Ethan, you were muttering in your sleep again."
"Oh… sorry."
"Who's 'Derrick'? What were you dreaming about?"
"Stuff I'd like to forget. But that isn't important right now. So, what's got you all worked up?"
"Look over there, brother!" Riley says, pointing off in the distance at the glowing lights.
"We're here, Ethan!"
St. Louis, May 1927
"So we are." I say, gazing out at the lights of Saint Louis.
"Can we go to the top deck? I want to see the lights as we get closer."
"I think that's a good idea sis. The lower deck will get crowded once we dock."
She starts to run off, completely forgetting me and the luggage.
"Hey, hey, hey! Get back here missy. You can't just leave our stuff alone, or your poor brother."
"Oh… yeah. I've got my case then, you've got yours." She says, picking up her large suitcase.
"Much better. And here, take my hand. You can lead us up top."
Ten years old and full of life, those were good times. But despite the hardship, at least Riley gets to experience something other than the bottom of a copper mine. Two wrong turns later, we finally make it to the top deck, just under the pilot house. Smoke from the twin stacks billows up into the starry sky, yet both are slowly washed out by the bright lights. And here I thought Butte was a big town, St. Louis is like El Dorado by comparison. A city of glistening lights across a river that flows with a slow, calm, confidence to the distant sea. The big wheel in the back of the boat does its laborious work pushing us toward a new home and a new life. A soft breeze blows in from the cool water.
"Ethan… I'm cold." Riley says while letting out a big yawn, whiskers twitching from the sudden chill."
"Here, come sit next to me. We'll watch the city together."
As Riley sits, I undo dad's old coat and wrap her around one half, pulling her close into me. Her shivering stops after a moment as my only family relaxes under my arm, hugging my tail for extra comfort while hers swishes back and forth gently in contentment.
"Will you wake me up when we get close enough?"
"Of course. You try to take a nap in the meantime. It's going to be awhile until we find a place to rest for the night."
A deep sigh, closing my eyes for a moment to take in the last fresh air we'll get before docking at the city, I tilt my head back and stare up into the black, letting the smoke carry me back into distant memories. It's too bad every time I fall asleep for real the more unpleasant memories return. Nine years later, I can still hear the guns, I can still see their faces, I can still taste the gas. But before those nightmares can get their grip on me once more, a slightly out-of-tune fiddle comes within earshot as we pass under a railroad bridge.
"Old man river!" A moonlit stranger bellows from the bridge before mixing his string notes with poetry.
"That seems far too austere a name.
For something made of mirth and rage.
O, roiling red-blood river vein,
If chief among your traits is age,
You're a wily, convoluted sage!"
Did he practice that, or make it up on the spot? I can't be sure either way, but the sudden disturbance has, annoyingly, woke Riley from her sleep. Rubbing her eyes, she follows my gaze.
"Who's that?"
"Oh, just some fool trying to get himself ran over."
We listen to another verse, but it's hard to keep up with the wordsmithing. "Ethan, what does 'countenance' mean?"
"I don't know Riley. We'll have to get you one of those books with all the words in it."
"You mean a dictionary?"
"Yeah, that. Try to ignore him kiddo, we'll be out of earshot soon enough."
The figure moves down the bridge and back into the darkness of the shore, whilst we glide onward to St. Louis. Riley once again nestles herself under my arm and I get back to enjoying the gentle rhythm of the steam engines pushing us along the current. Twenty minutes pass, though I wish they could pass slower. Finally, the dock is in sight. A three chime whistle moans above us, signaling the crew and passengers to prepare to disembark.
"Alright little lady, better get up and enjoy the view before we get lost in those concrete canyons."
Riley rubs her eyes before excitedly leaving my side to lean on the rail. Cars roar through a city packed with stores, industries, and houses. Before joining her, I pull out an old worn photograph in a brown leather frame. One side is mom and dad, and on the other are our brothers.
"We made it, everyone. We finally left Shamrock City behind. I only wish you could be here with us to see it. To be here with her. Especially you, mom. To tell you the truth, I'm terrified. I don't know if I can do this, but I will keep Riley safe, and I'll find us a home."
The boat's whistle blows again as the dock approaches. The engines slow, then stop as we coast up along the pier. I put a hand on Riley's shoulder.
"Okay little lassie, let's go find a place to bunk for the night."
Ten minutes later, we're off the boat and on dry land for the first time in a week. There's not a lot of money left, so there's no sense wasting money on a cab. We hit the streets and alleys, stopping to ask a beat cop where a safe place is to stay the night. With a destination finally in mind, we melt into the city, becoming one with it and it's great seething masses of felines living a million different stories at the crossroads of commerce, industry, and crime. I can feel it within me as we unpack at a little hole in the wall. Hope. At last she has risen from that field in France and has come all the way across the sea in a moment when I need her most. My hope that St. Louis will finally set us free. Hope that whatever comes tomorrow, a better life is still ahead of us.
As I undress down to my a-shirt and shorts, I look behind me to see that Riley is already asleep. Of course, her small frame has still managed to take up all the space on the bed, but I find a way to squeeze myself between her and the wall. I feel her instinctively snuggle close to my side as I lay back, aware even in her dreams that I'm still there. Her protector and guardian. What I don't think Riley knows is that I need her just as badly. She's all I have left of our family, so I breathe a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that this city will provide the future we need.