Free Pages of Promise by Gilbert Morris Page B

that kept their minds from the misery of the life they led.
    When they finished their meal, Richard said, “We better get back and let the other guys come and get some of these crocodile eggs.”
    They traipsed back, relieved two men, and replaced them in the trenches. From time to time, Richard glanced over to see Smith, about fifty yards away, but mostly he scanned the horizon. No one knew when the next attack was coming, but, wearily, they knew it would come. The marines had taken Siberia and Bunker Hills in mid-August, and the fighting had hardly let up since then.
    Hearing a noise behind him, Richard turned quickly, not really expecting trouble but ready for it. He smiled when he saw the chaplain, Captain Prejean, strolling along through the mud as if he were back on his farm in Louisiana. Prejean was an educated man, like all the chaplains, but he had a Cajun accent thick enough to cut with a knife. He was a slight man with a dark-complected face enlivened by gray-black eyes. “How you are today, marine?”
    “Fine, padre. Get down before you get shot.”
    “I’m not gonna get shot, me,” the chaplain said. He stood bolt upright and stared placidly across the open plain broken by hummocks and gullies. “I think we’re gonna have a good sun in two or three hours,” he observed. “You want a candy bar? I got a Snickers.”
    “A Snickers bar? Give it to me, padre. That’s a gift from heaven.”
    “No, that’s a gift from me. Heaven gives different kind of gifts.” The chaplain smiled, squatted down, and fished the candy bar out of an inside pocket. It was crushed and pushed out of shape, but Richard didn’t care. He tore the wrapper off, took a bite, and chewed it, closing his eyes in ecstasy. “That’s as close to heaven as I’ve been lately.”
    “You ain’t been very close, have you? Not you.” The chaplain smiled, and his white teeth gleamed against his dark skin. “You a good Christian boy?”
    “I don’t reckon I am. I oughta be. My folks taught me the Bible.”
    “You better listen to your folks.”
    “They’re a long way away.”
    “But the Lord God, he’s not far. Not him. He’s right here in the mud.”
    “God in the mud. Doesn’t sound right somehow.” Richard ate the candy bar in small bites, crunching the nuts between his teeth and enjoying it as he had not enjoyed anything in weeks. “I oughta take part of this to my buddy,” he said.
    “Where is he? I got another one just like.”
    “Over there. See?”
    “Oh, yeah. Well, I’ll go in a minute. Anything I can do for you?”
    Richard grunted. He looked up at the chaplain and said, “What’s the use of it all, padre?” He swallowed the last morsel of candy bar, licked his finger, and shook his head with disgust. “We chase these birds up north, and they get reinforcements and chase us back south. Every time we play that little game and dance that little waltz, we lose good men. They lose more than we do, but that doesn’t help me any. I don’t see any sense in it.”
    “It doesn’t look so good, does it? But I tell you, we’re only seeing what happens in this one little place. I mean, when they came at us yesterday that was all any of us could think about, especially you men up on the frontline. That line coming across there, and the tanks that would be right behind ’em, and the planes coming down to strike us. That’s the whole world, isn’t that right?”
    “You got that right, padre.”
    “Well, no way to get out of that. When we got a toothache, all we can think about is that toothache. A hundred thousand people might die of starvation in India, but our toothache is what we think about, not those people dying.” He settled down on his heels and spoke quietly. He had a classroom air about him, and Richard suspected he had been a teacher, a professor, at some time. “What’s happening in the big picture?” Prejean asked rhetorically. “Simple. You know what the sign of the Communist party is?”
    “A