“There was a young soldier from Munich{br}
Whose penis hung down past his tunic,
And their chops girls would lick
When they thought of his prick, {br}
But alas! he was only a eunuch.”
-author unknown

# Soldiers Tale

by Caesar, Copyright 1994, Revised 2007

License: Creative Commons Attribution-No Derivative Works 3.0

Sicily was not what Ed had expected. Lieutenant Edward Thurmann and his haggard, war-weary platoon had slugged over the hills while slowly beating back the Germans. Ed was part of the famed British Eighth Army as it made its way across the harsh island, having an important part in the taking of Valguargerna. The Canadians were well-known for their worth in wartime, proving it in countless battles during the first World War that few could remember or pronounce properly.

Yet at this battle, the taking of Valguargerna, a significant thing happened to the young lieutenant. It wasn’t the small town, nor that particular battle, as it was just another weary day in the life of an infantrymen. No, it was his attempt to change his fate that made it important.

His name was Sergeant Thomas. And during a lull in the artillery bombardment, which side owned the large calibre guns didn’t matter, two worn and dirty soldiers huddled as a German sniper attempted to pick off any movement about the shallow hole that the soldiers lay in. Rank had little importance in the dusty hole, as the two men awaited for a flanking manoeuvre to free them from the exposed spot they found themselves in. Lieutenant Thurmann spoke to the sergeant of second section, attempting to hide his fear as well as comfort himself with the sound of his voice.

Sergeant Thomas was four years older than his lieutenant and recognized the futile attempt at self control in a desperate situation. So the man chatted openly, if not with much cursing, with Ed Thurmann. The older man pulled his canteen cup from his utility belt, then pulled a well-worn dry photo surrounded by dirty socks from the cup. He handed it to his platoon commander.

The photo was yellowed with age and use, yet the ageless beauty of the young woman in the photo was unmistakable. Rolly Thomas yelled over the sound of a distant bombardment, “My wife!” He was obviously proud.

“She’s beautiful!” Rolly barely heard him as a few shots from the sniper flew over their heads. As such, the Sergeant missed the wide-eyed look of the lieutenant as he gazed at the gorgeous woman. She looked barely twenty. She wore a flowery skirt, as was the style when they left for England, and her light curly brown hair pulled back revealing her neck and high cheekbones.

It wasn’t at that moment that the “plan” came to Ed, nor did it really occur what the consequences of his actions were until a decisive moment came. Three days later, Ed Thurmann had to send out night listening posts while the remainder of his platoon rested. Sergeant Thomas’ section was chosen for the duty. Being the man he was, Rolly Thomas would pick the most dangerous of the forward holes for his listening post. That in itself wasn’t anything out of the normal routine of an infantryman.

What happened next was.

Rushed intelligence came by runner to the platoon CP, or command post, and was immediately given directly to the officer in charge - Lieutenant Thurmann. The orders were simple and to the point: a German company was to advance on Ed’s platoon to “test the waters” and to capture prisoners. Just another long night ahead for the platoon commander. Yet two things would influence his decision this night. One, the runner was killed by a stray mortar round less than 500 meters after leaving the platoon CP. The other was that Ed had been plagued by the image of Rolly’s wife since first seeing the photo.

That was when the decision was made. Without the knowledge of his own commanders or the rest of his platoon, Ed held back the information. It was a passive action. He didn’t even consider the full breadth of the action until the next morning.

The attack came, and the platoon was surprised, but with help from an artillery battery and two lost Churchill tanks, the Germans were repelled, yet not without loss.

Rolly Thomas’s body lay under a ground sheet before the sober lieutenant. The chaplain was due to come at any moment for the personal items on the man’s body. Quickly, Ed turned his friend on his side and pulled the canteen and cup from the webbing. Inside was the photo.

“Coming!” Mrs. Thomas, widow of Rolly Thomas, opened the door. Standing with his back to the sun was a man in the uniform of a infantry officer, a captain.

“Isabell Thomas?” the deep voice asked. The pretty woman began to shake. Not since that terrible day barely a year and a half ago when a uniformed man had come to tell her that her husband was killed in action was she so scared. She would always fear the sight of an unknown man in a uniform at her door.

“Yes?”

“My name is Ed Thurmann. Rolly was in my platoon when he died. May I come in?”

She felt slightly better. This was probably just a sympathetic visit and not an official one, meaning no bad news from the Defense Department. “Of course. Please...” She closed the door after the tall man entered her simple home. He followed her eyes, and she felt reassured that his visit was friendly, for he was smiling happily and looked excited. But Isabell noticed that behind the eyes was something else, some darkness, but she immediately passed that off as his experiences in the war.

“You are just as Rolly described.”

He looked overjoyed and took her hands in his. She felt warmed and a bit surprised at this introduction.

“I wanted to see you and tell you that I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, it was very difficult for several months afterwards. Would you like some tea?” She spoke kindly, but wanted to cover her awkwardness. This officer spoke as if he had known her for years. With her hands still in his, she headed him towards the couch. “I still have terrible nightmares.” He let go of her hands as she left him to enter the kitchen. “I don’t know how he died. Were you with him at the time?” she called from the kitchen as she filled a kettle with water.

“Yes, he was laying right next to me when it happened.” Ed stood in the entrance to the tiny kitchen and continued to lie. “I believe that I would be dead today if not for your husband’s gallantry.”

She looked sad yet also pleased by these words. “Cream, sugar?”

“Sugar, please.” She continued to prepare the tea. “After that horrific night, I was commendated and eventually given my captaincy. But it was your husband’s bravery and courage that really turned the Huns. I recommended him for his medal.”

Isabell smiled at the tall man, happy that her husband had had such a good friend during a difficult time, and sad that he could not be here with the two of them right now.

He followed her back to the living room, standing to drink his tea, while she sat. Ed paced slowly about the small room and took in the decor and memories, many small reminders for Mrs. Thomas of her lost husband. “This house is just how I pictured it. You are just as I pictured!” She nodded but was unsure of what to say to his particular attitude. “The last words Rolly ever said to me were, ‘Take care of my wife’.”

She covered her embarrassment. “Oh, that was just like him. Worrying about me even until the last moment.” A tear appeared in the corner of her eye. “I’m doing fine - his parents are helping out and I have some wonderful neighbours.”

“Of course.” Ed Thurmann almost said it absentmindedly. “Perhaps I could come by sometimes just to say hi?”

Contrary to what she really thought she answered politely, “Of course. But I really am fine.”

Edward stood to leave, placing the cup and saucer on the short-legged table. Isabell also followed him to the door, leaving her tea on the table. Her arms were crossed about her, almost as if she were hugging herself, and she felt great sadness and pity, a return of the emotions she had felt when the news of her husband’s death first reached her, which was caused by the visit from the officer and friend to her late husband.

Silently Ed turned and looked into the sad eyes of the woman who had plagued his thoughts and was directly responsible for his judgement of death on Rolly. All the damp cold nights, looking upon her photo under a tarp with only a match to light her face. It had been a happier face than the one before him; also it looked ten years younger than the woman before him. Yet in his obsession he loved her frantically, possessively, and with deep unnatural desire.