The Apostates (8 page)

Burke and the Nurse perched on stools at
the far end of the bar. Burke grabbed the drink menus and handed her one. The
establishment was half full; all the patrons were military personnel of the
various branches. Burke could tell the place was more upscale than he was used
to, and probably above his pay scale too. He was willing to play along, even
though he would have been more at home in a blue-collar bar or a dive.

“So, what are you drinking? It’s on me,”
he offered, holding a wad of cash in hand.

“I’ll take a whiskey and ginger,” she
said.

Burke ordered her drink and got himself a
dry martini; he took a sip and could tell it was made strong. He balanced the
drinks and set the Nurse’s whiskey-ginger in front of her with a napkin. She
took a sip and made a facial expression of approval. They sat silent for a
moment, absorbing ambient sound and snippets of random chatter.

“So...Sailor, why did you join up? And,
why did you choose the Navy?” she asked, making conversation.

“Hm, good question. Well, the specific reason ain’t so exciting. I needed to get away from the family orchard. We got a peach orchard business back west. I didn’t want to pick peaches for the rest of my life. The war gave me an out,” he recounted. He took a sip of the martini and swished it in his mouth.

“As for why the Navy...that one was a bit
more deliberate. Ya know, since I was a kid I sorta had an egghead fascination
with naval vessels, and battles...cannons and duels, that sort of thing.” Burke
couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. He was slightly self-conscious
about that fact.

“Well, that’s quite the reason if I’ve
ever heard one, sailor,” the nurse said approvingly.

“Yeah, so...that’s the reason I went with
the navy. I wanted to live on the high seas,” he added.

“I like that you knew what you wanted to
do. Many of these fellows just jump right in and join the infantry. I guess
they kinda consider the Navy for pansies,” she unintentionally insulted him.

At first the comment stung, but he shrugged it off. He was aware of the perception with those grunts that joined up to be some anonymous G.I.; the nameless soldier who is prodded like cattle to rush the enemy under withering fire only to become cannon fodder. At least on a ship you were part of a team, a hive, and a mechanized, human powered machine. You were also much less likely to die. Some people viewed that as cowardice, Burke viewed it this as a survival strategy.

“Yeah, that’s a common attitude they take,
until those grunts are stuck on some beach and have to be bailed out by one of
our heavy bombardments,” he retorted.

“Touché, sailor,” she said.

The nurse raised her glass toward Burke; a
signal to meet her half way with this glass.

“Well, cheers!” she exclaimed bubbly.

“Cheers to what, miss?” he asked.

“Cheers, to your successful secret mission
and to your safe return,” she exuded, as his martini glass collided with her
squat glass. The trademark clink sounded, and they both took a swig of their
drinks respectively.

“What about you? You’re a nurse. Where are
they sending you?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, I think they’re keeping me here. I’m going to look after the wounded soldiers from Europe. It suits me, I don’t think I’m material for the front line. Besides, I have an ill mother to help out with, and with my brother already overseas; I’m all she’s got right now,” she explained. The Nurse expressed a serious tone, but still kept a smile on her face as if to mask some pain just under the surface.

“That’s noble of you, miss. I see that you
have a sense of duty toward your family. I like that,” he admired her for the
strength to nurse soldiers for a job, and her mother by night. Her story made
him feel guilty for enlisting and leaving his aging parents to tend the family
business on their own. And yet his drive to break away overruled his sense of
duty to family. Truth be told, he wasn’t even serving for country or ideology.
Private Burke didn’t give a shit about these things. He had never felt complete
in a small town setting. It couldn’t contain his ambition.

“I wonder, it seems like there are so many
countries jumping into this conflict. Everyone here in the D.C. are so sure
that this war will be over within a year. I sorta have a feeling these views
are a bit too naive.” The nurse said worriedly, as she pulled a handkerchief
out of her purse and wiped her nose.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I mean the Brass are
optimistic as we are committed. Why wouldn’t we trust our leaders? Not going to
lie, I have my worries, but look how big our country is compared to Germany or
Japan. Isn’t it no contest?” he tried to prove his point as best he could. He
finished his martini and signaled the barkeep for another round.

“You’re trouble. Well, I suppose anything
is possible. Maybe our leaders have some secret plan to win quickly?” She
didn’t believe that, but she was trying to stay optimistic.

Burke took a swig of his fresh martini. He
looked at the nurse with admiration, studying her features. He thought that for
a split that he would let this woman have his children, but then he remembered
he was about to enter a war zone and didn’t want to potentially leave children
behind fatherless. But, if he was going to die, wasn’t that more reason to have
kids; to leave his biological footprint behind, to continue on? There was
another hurdle to consider; whether or not she even wanted kids, and if so,
would she even want his kids? He determined that his train of thought was
silly. He was jumping the gun; they didn’t even know each other’s names. Burke
considered that part of their little game; anonymity, and disguised sexual
tension.

“The President...our mission...we’re transporting the President overseas. That’s why it’s so important. I’m worried about what happens if we’re attacked,” Burke blurted out to the nurse.

“The President, Roosevelt? On your ship?”
she asked, interest piqued.

“Yep, that president,” he confirmed,
taking another drink.

“Well then. Shouldn’t you be on your ‘A’
game in the morning? Why are you drinking?” she asked, half shaming him.

“Because I found you,” he flattered; she
blushed.

“I’m serious,” she responded.

“C’mon, I can handle my liqueur. Besides, I’ve only had two martinis. Look this is fairly routine; it’s what you do on shore leave. Also, I’m compelled to get to know you,” he moved into her personal space, face to face. She looked startled for a minute but didn’t back off. Burke placed his lips to her lips. They kissed like they had known each other in a previous life. They disengaged. He drew his hand through her hair, then, took a sip of his martini. She looked at him lasciviously and licked her lip.

“Well, sailor, it’s been quite the night. I enjoyed myself. But, I have to be at the hospital early in the morning, tomorrow,” she clued him that she was leaving by getting off the bar stool and walked to the door.

“Wait, nurse! This isn’t how it’s supposed
to go. I’m Alexander, Alexander Burke. Private,” he introduced himself.

“Pleased to meet you, Alexander. I’m Greta, Greta Sanchez. Nurse,” she shook his hand and smiled. Burke looked at her hoping she would invite him back to her home.

“Night, Alexander!” she said with some
finality.

“Wait! You know about my mission, now we
have to get married, remember?” He was almost desperate by this point.

“Baby, win the war, then come back to me. We’ll talk then.” With that, she gave him another deep kiss and walk out of his life for the remainder of the war.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The morning klaxon blared through the
ship, and Private Burke was awakened. He had a slight headache but was not hung
over. He felt good. He remembered the fun night the night before. He remembered
how Nurse Sanchez’s lips felt and tasted. He missed her already. He thought to
himself that the war better not last long so he can get back and propose to
Greta. Just sail the Iowa directly to Germany and he’d take out the Führer
himself.

Burke dropped out of the top bunk and got himself into his dress uniform. Everything had to be perfect for the honor of the President. He felt that things were starting to happen. Burke always knew he’d be part of something larger than himself, and his destiny was starting to take shape. Or maybe he was getting ahead of himself? Burke hadn’t even been tested in combat or finished a mission for that matter. He thought that maybe he was blowing his load prematurely.

The sailors and crew were summoned to the deck of the battleship. The final preparations were being made for the Presidents arrival. The dress blues and whites lined the deck, and the officers hung excessive amounts of decorations from their chests. The bulwark had been draped in star-spangled, round sectional banners that spanned the perimeter of the Iowa. Star-spangled streamers reached down in all directions from origin points atop masts to lower contact points on deck. A banner with copy was mounted on the bridge superstructure, it read, “Welcome President Roosevelt”. The entire display was fit for some conquering, Caesar. A military band was set up on the periphery of the sailors standing at attention. The band consisted of a rhythm section, a horn section, and a manic, spastic bandleader. They were playing “Hail to the Chief”. There was a stirring on deck and tension increased among the officers. O.S.S. agents came aboard first and shook the officer’s hands then fanned out among the ship, attempting to ferret out any would-be plots against the President.

At long last the Presidential entourage made its way up the gangplank. Numerous nondescript men in monochromatic suits shuffled on deck. Then the President appeared, a debonair enough looking man, smoking a cigarette from a long, slender holding device. He was sitting down, in a wheelchair, with a plaid blanket laid over his legs and he was being pushed onto the ship by one of his generic looking aides.

Private Burke caught a glimpse of the
scene, but a tall sailor in front of him was blocking the full view.

“The President is in a wheelchair? He looks pretty fragile,” he thought to himself disappointedly. Burke was expecting a tall, upright man; A conquering hero. Instead, he was greeted with the reality of the situation, a polio-stricken, shell of a man that was the Leader of the Free World.

The Captain and the officers saluted. The
President was helped out of his chair and given a crutch to help him upright.
When the blanket was pulled away, the gleaming metal of leg braces was revealed
to be encasing the President’s legs. President Roosevelt worked his way along
the line of officers, shaking hands and saluting. The President inspected only
the first line of personnel because of his limited mobility. Then he was helped
back to his wheelchair and carted off somewhere below deck. The band played for
a time more until all the suits disappeared, and the crew and sailors were
relieved. Burke thought that the spectacle felt awfully empty. He didn’t know
how he felt. It was another occasion that he thought would feel epic in scale,
but the reality did not match his expectations. Burke stood in his position
even as all the other sailors had cleared the decks, then, he proceeded to his
action station.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

The battleship had shoved off and was en
route to rendezvous with its escorts. It was making good headway into the
Atlantic Ocean. The weather was cool and clear, and the Atlantic waters were
fairly calm for this time of year. Burke was toiling at his station inside the
three-gun turret on the gun deck. He was cleaning the projectile hoist and
squirting lubricant into crevasses. Another sailor, Private Jones, who was
stationed in the same turret, approached Burke.

“How about that shindig for the President, huh? I didn’t know he was a cripple, though,” Jones said insensitively, as he leaned on the projectile rammer equipment.

“I wonder if the Huns know about his
physical condition. They’d probably think us weak,” Jones concluded. He wiped
his nose on his sleeve.

“I bet they don’t think much of us in
general. They probably won’t until we hand ‘em final defeat. We haven’t really
proven ourselves yet, and they are the masters of Europe,” Burke preached.

“Yeah, well. This is America. We’ve won
all our wars so far. We’ll be in Berlin by next Christmas,” Jones was assured
that what he said was true. He nodded his head because he had proved his own
hypothesis true to himself.

“What if we can’t handle a two front war?
We got the Japs to worry about, remember? Burke retorted.

“So, we’ll take ‘em both on at once. We
have that ability,” Jones argued.

“Okay, maybe we would be able to fight a
war on two fronts at once, but it would be a long war. However, that doesn’t
mean our ship will be taking on Germans,” Burke presented his thesis.

“Why wouldn’t we? They are the enemy,”
Jones was confused.

“Simple, because the only thing between
the U.S. and Japan is open ocean. It’ll be a naval war with them. Our country
will need a sizable presence there. Where do you think we’re going?” Burke
asked rhetorically.

“You really think our ship is heading to
the Pacific? Damn, that’s a downer,” Jones was disappointed. He had never been
to Europe and was looking forward to fighting in such a storied location. He
rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Yeah, I think that’s where we are going,”
Burke answered.

“But, we’re crossing the Atlantic...”
Jones trailed off.

“Somehow I don’t think the President is
heading to Europe,” Burke answered.

“Well, where else would he be going? Jones
prodded.

“Good question. I guess we’ll find out
soon,” Burke said.

“Anyway, what’s the story with that nurse
you met before we shoved off. Did you seal the deal?” Jones elbowed Burke in
the ribs.

“In a manner of speaking. She told me to find her when the war is over and then we are going to get married,” Burke reported reluctantly, wiping his brow with his sleeve and rubbing his hands on a rag. For a moment, he reflected on his time with her that night. Was he a fool to fixate on what she had told him? Was it just a casual dismissal? Maybe he should just go on with his life and get lost in the war effort?