Moon Over Manifest

As for news from abroad, I had tea and cookies yesterday at Koski’s Diner with Mr. Fred Macke, on a purely professional basis, and he said that at the capitol building in Topeka, where he is the assistant to the assistant, there is much talk of armistice and a possible end to the war in Europe.

Who knows, maybe our young men in arms are closer to the homecoming we have all been praying for.

Remember, for all the whos, whats, whys, whens, and wheres you don’t even know you need to know, turn to

HATTIE MAE HARPER

Reporter About Town

PVT. NED GILLEN

MONT BLANC

OCTOBER 4, 1918

Dear Jinx,

What’s doins in Manifest, kid? Big orange harvest moon in your piece of sky yet? Rainy here lately, skies cloudy. With the cold that’s been settling in on us at night, I’m figuring it’s October, though I’ve lost track of the days.

We’ve had a rough go of it lately. Our regiment is down to about half strength. Had our share of casualties because of this awful war. But we’ve had just as many guys taken out with dysentery and influenza. It’s like their bodies are so worn out, once a sickness gets hold of them, it just gets worse and worse till they’re gone. Heck, Holler, and me aren’t sure how we’ve stayed ahead of it so far. Velma T.’s elixirs ran out a lifetime ago. Guess we just run so much no bugs can catch us. That’s what we like to think, anyway.

Right now just being here makes me think of home. We’re stuck in our trenches. Stuck meaning it’s so muddy I’m not sure I could get out if I tried. Rain’s let up for now, but with wet clothes and wet blankets, it’s almost better if it keeps on coming. Better than the wind picking up and chilling our bones.

So, you’re wondering why all this makes me think of home. It’s the farthest thing from it.

Up to my neck in mud,

Ned

P.S. later in October

    Was running back to my regiment today from a rendezvous with command. Still had a couple miles to go. Tearing through trees, trying to stay in the shadows, I had a bag loaded with cans of beans for the fellas. A branch caught the bag and yanked it open. My buddies hadn’t eaten in days, and I wasn’t leaving without those rations. I had the bag half full when I saw him: a German foot soldier six feet away, eyeballing me through the sights of his gun. Nothing but our own puffs of frosty air between us. I was as good as dead, and for the life of me, all I could think to say was

Ich habe widerlich footen. I knew that wouldn’t help. So, with nothing to lose but those beans, I just kept picking them up, slowly, one after another. Old Jerry lowered his gun and said two words before walking away. Two words, Jinx. “Zuhause gehst.” Go home.

Don’t I wish, buddy. Don’t I wish.

The Jungle

AUGUST 11, 1936