For the Boys

For the Boys By J.M. Snyder The Korean night was thin and cold around us as I followed Bert through the darkened Army camp. In the distance I could hear a steady barrage of shells exploding and the thick choppy sound of helicopters lifting the wounded from the fields—constant reminders of the reason we had been stationed a hundred klicks east of Chorwon for the past seven months. Every now and then the ground shook with the shelling, and I had to raise my voice to be heard over the blasts. “Bert, this isn’t a good idea…” Ahead of me Bert stopped and I ran into his back. “Why not?” he asked, peering around. To our right stretched the mess tent, unlit and closed at this late hour. Behind it were our barracks and the rest of the camp, settling down for the night. Scattered laughter carried over to us on the scant breeze, a few catcalls, someone singing quietly in the darkness. The tent Bert and I shared was that way—we could just turn around now and forget this stupid plan of his. Then no one would know we’d skipped curfew. No one would know we snuck out of the barracks a little after midnight, and no one would know we crept around the camp just because Bert wanted to get friendly with one of the girls in the chorus line from the USO. The show had ended over an hour ago. There were ten performers in all, a song and dance group from back home, out on the front lines to perform for the boys. And Bert thought the brunette with the pageboy hair and the bright smile at the end of the row was too cute to let slip away. “You don’t stand a chance,” I told him when he said he wanted to meet her. “She’ll be gone by morning—” He gave me a wink, his smile infuriating. “They’re staying for a few days.” The moment the performance ended, Bert pulled me from the makeshift pavilion and tried to push his way backstage, but he couldn’t get through the throng of soldiers lining up to talk to the chorus girls. His lieutenant bars meant nothing in that crowd of lonely boys so far away from home, thrilled for a chance to talk with girls who weren’t nurses, girls with pretty eyes and soft curves and flashy camouflage showgirl outfits. “I need to meet her,” he had said, swooning as he stood on tiptoes to see over the other guys all aching for their chance with the same girl. “Did you see her?” “We all did,” I pointed out. I didn’t need to mention that every soldier vied for a few moments alone with her or one of the other girls, and the nurses giggled over the three guys in the chorus line. One of whom I’d like to see up close myself. I wasn’t about to tell Bert that. He knew how I was but it was easier for him not to think of it, and easier for me not to mention it. Personally, I suspected that was part of the reason we were such good friends—he knew I wasn’t after any of the girls he liked, the nurses or the few women at the officer’s clubs, and when he managed to hide his newest fling in the barracks, I wouldn’t wake up in the morning and ogle while she dressed. As I suspected, we didn’t get a chance to speak with the USO entertainers before the bugler sounded out evening taps. Back at our tent, Bert confided in me that he wanted to go back. “We can’t,” I said. “We’ll get caught—” “What’s Sherman going to do?” he countered. Major Sherman was our company commander; Bert was right, he probably wouldn’t do anything, but I didn’t want to take that chance. “Come on, Carl,” Bert pleaded. “I need to see her again. You don’t understand.” Actually, I did. I wondered if I should mention the boy who danced with Bert’s girl onstage, the boy the nurses all swooned over, the one I wanted to meet. I wondered if Bert wanted to hear me talk about how I wanted to see him again, with his muscled arms and dark brown curls. What I wouldn’t give to have a boy like that beside me by the dawn’s early light. But that would just encourage Bert and reinforce the idea that we should sneak out after hours to find the USO tent. As much as I wanted to meet the cute boy from back home, breaking curfew wasn’t what I had in mind. “Bert, look…” It was no use. I knew how it would end. Sometimes I found my bunkmate as hard to resist as did the nurses he talked into sharing his bed.