When We Were Soldiers, chapter 1
Slowly I creaked my tired body up the stone steps that led to where my brother was. It was a huge accomplishment, mind you, since I was now in the winter of my life, not in the summer of my life, like I was back then. The talk of seasons aroused the memory of that summer day where all I had was put on the line, when all I had to hold on to was lost. But never mind about that. An old man has many stories to tell, many stories that number as far and as wide as these brothers that lay at my feet.
A twenty-one gun salute salvoed across the grassy plain. Another soldier coming home, I thought, not jumping at the noise. Years of being used to cannon fire and cries of young soldiers screaming for mercy, morphine and their mothers dulling the brain to any noise whatsoever that had the remote chance of scaring someone.
I wasn't just someone.
In the summer of 1944, I was Major Gerard Way.
Finally making it to the top, I try and stand up straight, but to no avail. Foolish me, I think, as I hobble down the long rows of names that I remember, and some names that are from others who followed in my footsteps, or in whose I followed myself. Sergeant. Captain. Private. Unknown. The titles range from the lowest of the low to General. A tear squeezes out of my tired eyes and runs down my weathered face. I must carry on.
Reaching my destination, I gaze to the soldier's tombstone at which I stand, the tombstone that has the only name engraved on it that I ever cared about, along with a star pendant that matches the one I carry in my pocket everyday. The Congressional Medal of Honor. Every soldier would die for one of those, the highest honor presented by the president to the soldier for a job well done.
And my brother, First Lieutenant Michael Way, did.
------
December 12, 1943
California
Second Lieutenant Gerard Way shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Where was he? He thought, starting to pace slightly in the cramped train station bustling with uniformed and ununiformed individuals saying good-bye and welcoming loved ones home. Only for a little while.
At long last, the swinging doors revealed a disheveled young man bearing horn-rimmed glasses and mousy brown hair, unlike Gerard's sleek black hair and piercing eyes. Corporal Michael Way was in a wool jacket and a tartan scarf like his brother (Gerard was not in a scarf) and the jacket was partially unbuttoned exposing his uniform. His luggage in one hand, he muttered a 'sorry' before Gerard clasped him on the back, a soft smile on his face.
"Time to get to the front lines again, little brother," he said, motioning for the steaming trains.
"Gerard!"
Two squealing woman ran up to the duo. The voice that spoke sent shivers of anticipation up Gerard's back. He turned around immediately, a grin spreading over his face.
The first woman had soft curly brown hair and warm almond-coloured eyes. Under her jacket was a nurse's outfit, and her small bag was over her shoulder. She was followed by a shorter blonde nurse, who was huffing to keep up with the nimbler of the two.
"You wouldn't leave us to sit with strangers, would you?" The blonde spoke with a thick New York accent. The brunette merely smiled at Gerard, and he returned the gesture, running an arm around her.
"Oh, Olivia, I would never do something like that."
The quartet accustomed to each other, they set out for the train, talking and laughing the whole time. If one was paying attention, he would even hear a Christmas carol or two sang by the joyful foursome. And Gerard was constantly giving adoring looks to the pretty nurse Olivia, and a kiss or two in between looks.
'Tis the season. Not only the holiday season, but the season for war. America was shipping boy and girls off to Europe, like packages of health for the boys already there, and packages of death for Nazi Germany who ruled most of Europe with an iron fist.
A few hours into the train ride to New York City, Gerard was looking out the window, Olivia's head in his lap, and Michael and the blonde named Sally asleep against each other. The door for their compartment opened silently and a young man came in and issued a telegram to Gerard. He was a shaky looking man, whose eyes darted around nervously. He bore a medic's patch and back, and after Gerard scanned the letter with eagle eyes, he looked up at the boy, who was trembling.
"Your name?" he inquired, and the man could have died on the spot.
"F-Frances Iero. S-sir. M-medic for the Th-third Company, s-sir."
Gerard scanned the boy over.
"Whose compartment are you staying in?"
"The one across f-from yours, s-sir..."
Gerard's gaze softened as Olivia stirred in her sleep.
"Well, Frances, find me when we arrive at our destination. You're in my company now, soldier."
"Y-yes sir!"
The boy gave a stiff salute, then departed quickly and silently.
A twenty-one gun salute salvoed across the grassy plain. Another soldier coming home, I thought, not jumping at the noise. Years of being used to cannon fire and cries of young soldiers screaming for mercy, morphine and their mothers dulling the brain to any noise whatsoever that had the remote chance of scaring someone.
I wasn't just someone.
In the summer of 1944, I was Major Gerard Way.
Finally making it to the top, I try and stand up straight, but to no avail. Foolish me, I think, as I hobble down the long rows of names that I remember, and some names that are from others who followed in my footsteps, or in whose I followed myself. Sergeant. Captain. Private. Unknown. The titles range from the lowest of the low to General. A tear squeezes out of my tired eyes and runs down my weathered face. I must carry on.
Reaching my destination, I gaze to the soldier's tombstone at which I stand, the tombstone that has the only name engraved on it that I ever cared about, along with a star pendant that matches the one I carry in my pocket everyday. The Congressional Medal of Honor. Every soldier would die for one of those, the highest honor presented by the president to the soldier for a job well done.
And my brother, First Lieutenant Michael Way, did.
------
December 12, 1943
California
Second Lieutenant Gerard Way shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Where was he? He thought, starting to pace slightly in the cramped train station bustling with uniformed and ununiformed individuals saying good-bye and welcoming loved ones home. Only for a little while.
At long last, the swinging doors revealed a disheveled young man bearing horn-rimmed glasses and mousy brown hair, unlike Gerard's sleek black hair and piercing eyes. Corporal Michael Way was in a wool jacket and a tartan scarf like his brother (Gerard was not in a scarf) and the jacket was partially unbuttoned exposing his uniform. His luggage in one hand, he muttered a 'sorry' before Gerard clasped him on the back, a soft smile on his face.
"Time to get to the front lines again, little brother," he said, motioning for the steaming trains.
"Gerard!"
Two squealing woman ran up to the duo. The voice that spoke sent shivers of anticipation up Gerard's back. He turned around immediately, a grin spreading over his face.
The first woman had soft curly brown hair and warm almond-coloured eyes. Under her jacket was a nurse's outfit, and her small bag was over her shoulder. She was followed by a shorter blonde nurse, who was huffing to keep up with the nimbler of the two.
"You wouldn't leave us to sit with strangers, would you?" The blonde spoke with a thick New York accent. The brunette merely smiled at Gerard, and he returned the gesture, running an arm around her.
"Oh, Olivia, I would never do something like that."
The quartet accustomed to each other, they set out for the train, talking and laughing the whole time. If one was paying attention, he would even hear a Christmas carol or two sang by the joyful foursome. And Gerard was constantly giving adoring looks to the pretty nurse Olivia, and a kiss or two in between looks.
'Tis the season. Not only the holiday season, but the season for war. America was shipping boy and girls off to Europe, like packages of health for the boys already there, and packages of death for Nazi Germany who ruled most of Europe with an iron fist.
A few hours into the train ride to New York City, Gerard was looking out the window, Olivia's head in his lap, and Michael and the blonde named Sally asleep against each other. The door for their compartment opened silently and a young man came in and issued a telegram to Gerard. He was a shaky looking man, whose eyes darted around nervously. He bore a medic's patch and back, and after Gerard scanned the letter with eagle eyes, he looked up at the boy, who was trembling.
"Your name?" he inquired, and the man could have died on the spot.
"F-Frances Iero. S-sir. M-medic for the Th-third Company, s-sir."
Gerard scanned the boy over.
"Whose compartment are you staying in?"
"The one across f-from yours, s-sir..."
Gerard's gaze softened as Olivia stirred in her sleep.
"Well, Frances, find me when we arrive at our destination. You're in my company now, soldier."
"Y-yes sir!"
The boy gave a stiff salute, then departed quickly and silently.
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