Real Bravery: A World War II Story

By Jack B Patton

A suspenseful story about the bravery of a hockey athlete who became a soldier in the World War II
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pattonstones Digitals
• Release date: Sep 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215201435

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I

BACK IN Grafton, North Dakota, where he played goalie on the championship hockey team, they called him Bitsy. It was not by any means a derogatory nickname. On the contrary, it was held in high esteem by the local hockey fans and the team.

But it was better than his given name Clarence. Bitsy loved and honored paretns, who have been killed in an automobile accident. But he wished his father's name had been something other than Meeks.

He could not remember who had first dubbed him Bitsy. The name stuck to him even now that he was a soldier.

His size didn't matter when he was tending the goal, for he could get down there close to the ice and, with the aid of sharp eyes, snag the puck whizzing for the corners of the cage, turning it aside with his hockey stick. But his stature counted against him in uniform.

They were marching now—at about three o'clock in the morning—down the blacked-out streets of some port in the south of England, the Dakota regiment having just arrived there by troop train from the neighborhood of LOndon. Beside him, towering above him, was Bulldogs Hutson, defense man on the Grafton team. Bulldog was a powerful guy, six-feet-one in his socks, hard as a rock.

Not once, but a hundred times a night, Bitsy had seen opposing forwards flash in on the net only to come up against Bulldog Hutson. Wump! You could feel the jar right down through your bones as the player went down and Bulldog took the puck up the ice. Great eater, Bulldog! Had to be, Bitsy supposed. A big guy like that–

What place is this? Bulldog asked, looking around in the dark, the sound of marching men filling the street, their army boots striking little sparks, like fireflies, from the cobblestones.

I haven’t any idea, Bitsy said. I heard someone say it was Plymouth. I wouldn’t know.

He had never trained himself to be positive about anything, which was, he supposed, typical of his name, Clarence Meeks. He was content to take the middle of the road on things, to sit on the fence so he could jump on either side, whichever side was safer for him.

What part of England is Plymouth in? Bulldog asked,

Kent, I think. I’m not sure.

Know what, Bitsy?

"What?

This ain't a maneuver. This ain’t another transfer to a different camp. Boy, I've a hunch this is it! We're headed for action, mark my words. And he added, Gee, Tm hungry!

***

BURDENED as he was with marching kit, Bitsy yet managed to reach into his blouse pocket for a small package of peanut brittle, the last bit of candy in the parcel he had received from Janie. He gave it to Bulldog, and the star defense man casually accepted it without any thank-you.

Why didn’t they tell us then? Bitsy asked.

Tell us what?

That we were headed for action. Bitsy shivered a little, for the night air was cold.

Say! In this man’s war a guy doesn’t know what the hell is coming off. Tasked the sarge just before we climbed aboard the train. He said, ‘Soldier, even the King of England doesn’t know where we're going’.

Who does, then? Bitsy’s voice was plaintive. Somebody must know!

No talking, men! came the order from ahead of them.

No nothing! Bulldog said, disgustedly, eating the last piece of peanut brittle. Gee, kid, I’m still hungry!

Bitsy lowered his voice. You know, Bulldog, when you come to think of it a guy never does know where he’s going.

Shucks! I always know.

I mean a guy gets up in the morning to go to work, and maybe something happens—an accident or something—and the next thing he knows he’s in a hospital. And maybe, because of the accident, he loses his job, and lands in a different kind of job entirely. Take the war, for instance. A year ago none of us had the slightest idea we'd be in England.

That’s right, Bulldog said.

What’s more, a guy doesn’t know when he’s going even on his greatest adventure of all.

What’s that?

When he dies, or is killed.

I don’t aim to get killed, Bulldog said. I’m going after that twenty-five grand, and I aim to be alive to spend it.

That