Historical Fiction

Hidin’ from Prejudice

Kelly Egan (2022)

I nevah thought I’d be forced to live without ‘em. No mattah the contrast of our skin colors, my heart believed we’d make it through. Though every single odd was against our love, I always believed we’d find a way to be togethah one day. Not meetin’ behind closed doors, but walkin’ hand and hand down the quartah so they could all see. I knew he had doubts about that possibility, but I knew deep down he believed it was possible. He always made his choices with lots of consideration and reason. With the way our city looked, his head told ‘em it was nevah possible; at least that’s what he used to tell me. Yet when he looked intah my eyes, I could see his heart had the same hope as mine. Now, that’s all gone. He’s gone. The hope fer our city to be equal died with Jesse.

Every Satahday evenin’, Rita and the girls wanted to go out on the quartah and meet some dreamboats to play backseat Bingo with. I was nevah really fond of that, but I’d go with ‘em anyway. I liked hangin’ out with the girls, and I didn’t wanna feel left out. As the nights went on, they’dall find nifty guys to satisfy their wantins’, and I’d sneak away from Bourbon Street and head ovah to Back O’ Town. If Daddy evah knew I left Bourbon Street by myself, he’d’ve shot me and hung me on the wall ovah his desk. If he knew I’d even step foot in one of the most populah colored jazz bahs in New Orleans, he’d’ve had a six-foot hole ready fer me before I stepped ontah the porch.

I knew there was no sensible reason fer a young white girl to be drahwn to one of them colored jazz bahs, but I could nevah explain my yearnin’ desiah to hear that music. The blowin’ trumpet mixed with the saxophone’s smooth style was the most perfect sound to evah grace my ears. I snuck away almost every time the girls and I would go out, and I’d just tell ‘em I’d met a guy who couldn’t keep his hands off me. I’d just make up some story about what kind of hot rod car he had and they’d go on askin’ questions ‘till the sun rose.

At first, them colored folks were more than puzzled to see me walk through the doors of their club. Most nights, I’d be the only white person in there. I’d grab an open seat in the back and watch the musicians play fer houahs. After a while, my sneakin’ in became a regulah thing. The waitahs and bahtendahs stahted to know me as more than the only white girl in the city who liked colored jazz. Everyone one of ‘em in there became a close friend ‘a mine. They knew me so whell, they’d have my Coca-Cola waitin’ fer me before I even walked in the door. The musicians even stahted recognizing me. Sometimes, they’d even ask me fer song requests. Every time they asked me, I always chose the same song: Louis Ahmstrong’s version of Dream a Little Dream of Me, my all-time favorite. I’d play that on our recahd playah when my folks weren’t home, but that nevah compared to hearin’ it live. Ricky and Tom Tom, the lead singahs on Satahday nights, would just see me sittin’ in the crowd and play the song dedicayted to me.

Sittin’ in that bah surrounded by smilin’ faces of people laughin’ and havin’ fun made me realize how cruel them racists and bigots really were. These people were human, just like everyone else. The pigment of their skin shouldn’t have nothin’ to do with the way they should live their life. If Daddy evah heard me talkin’ like that, he’d send me off to the nearest mental institution, but I didn’t care.

I met Jesse on a beautiful May night. It was a Friday night, so I was plannin’ on catchin’ up on some readin’ until Rita ended up calling me last minute. She stahted sayin’ somethin’ about how her date fer tonight cancelled on ‘er and she didn’t wanna be alone. I felt bad fer ‘er, so I told ‘er I’d meet ‘er out fer a quick bite to eat down on Bourbon Street. I wasn’t gettin’ my hopes up fer bein’ able to sneak away tonight. It was just me n’ Rita and needed a friend. I wanted to be there fer ‘er. I told Momma and Daddy I was leavin’ and kissed ‘em goodbye. Momma told me to be home by ten, per usual, and Daddy told me to stay clear of them colored people. He actually used a different word, but I’m against that kind ‘a language.

Rita and I went to ‘er favorite restaurant right in the centah of the quartah. We ordahed our Cokes and made jokes about the last guy she met at this place; he was a fine lookin’ fellah but accordin’ to Rita, he “didn’t amount to a hill ‘a beans,” which wasn’t really ‘er type. Let’s just say, she won’t even look at a guy unless he’s got a car as shiny as a fresh egg.

We were aboutta ordah our bites when I caught a glimpse of a guy lookin’ in our direction across the restaurant. He was starin’ at the back of Rita’s head like it was the new issue ‘a Playboy. Once we ordahed, I slapped Rita on the ahm.

“Ow! Whaht the hell’d yah do that fer you-”

“Hey, settle down,” I said jokingly. “That guy’s been starin’ at yah since our waitress came ovah.”

Her eyes widened, and she slowly turned around to check ‘em out. He gave ‘er a wink, showin’ off his smile shiny enough to make someone go blind. She gave ‘em a flirty wave and turned back to me, blushin’ like a crazy person. As soon as I saw her gigglin’ and twirlin’ her pearl necklace, I knew I’d be gettin’ ovah to Back O’Town aftah all.

Rita didn’t wayst no time aftah we finished our snacks; she was practically hand n’ hand with that new guy before we payhed our bill. Once she was gone, I snuck right ovah to the jazz club. The girls and I only evah went out on Saturday nights, so I pretty much saw the same musicians every time I went. Don’t get me wrong, they’re the bees’ knees, but I was lookin’ forward to seein’ some new guys on the stage tonight.

I walked through them wooden doors to see Janet Walker, my closest friend in this place. She was the first waitress I met here on the first night I discovahed this joint. She looked up from cleanin’ some dirty glasses, tickled pink to see me.

“Whell I’d be damned! Lucy Moreau, what the hell are yah doin’ here on a Friday? We don’t even got a Coke ready fer yah!” Janet laughed and gave me a tight hug.

“Hey Jan!” I’d always wished I could hang out with Janet like I did with Rita, but I knew Daddy’d nevah go fer that. Who knew what people walkin’ down the street would think.

“I wasn’t expectin’ to see yah ‘till tomorrow! Why you out tonight?”

“My friend Rita’s date ditched ‘er, so I took her out fer a bite to cheer ‘er up.”

“Aw man, well where is she? Was she bein’ a wet rag?”

“Nah, she moved on pretty fast. Let’s just say, she’s winnin’at backseat Bingo right about now,” I said jokingly.

“Whell, lucky ‘er. Actually, you came on the perfect night. My brotha’s makin’ his Back O’Town debut. He’s playin’ the piano in the band tonight.” Rita sometimes talked about ‘er brotha wantin’ to be some kind of musician, but he could getta gig. I’d nevah met ‘em before, but I was excited to hear ‘em play.

“Gee, that’s excitin’! Whell, I’m excited to see ‘em!”

“I’ll get yah a Coke.” I sat at the closest table as Janet walked away. As the band stahtin’ to set up, I tried to see Janet’s brotha, but the top the piano was blockin’ my view of ‘em. Them piano playahs always stand up to thank the audience after they finish a song, so I’d just wait to see ‘em then. The only playah I recognized was Reggie on the sax; he was one of my favorites.

Everyone’d finished settin’ up, and they stahted playin’ a smooth toned melody. I didn’t recognize it at first until I heard the first verse. I couldn’t believe my ears; it was my all time favorite, Dream a Little Dream of Me. At first, I thought it was a weird conicidnce since Reggie hadn’t seen me yet. Only, it was a different version I’d nevah heard before. There was somethin’ different about it that I loved more than the original. As the song continued, and the bridge came to close, the love I already had fer Louis and the song grew to an unimaginable level. I couldn’t explain it. The song finished, and I was in awe.

While I processed what I heard, the hidden piano playah entahed my focus. That’s when I saw ‘em. The moment he caught my eye, the rest of the world faded from view. His tan hat framed his beautiful colored face so perfectly. The stage lights shinin’ on ‘em made ‘em look like a god-sent angel. The spotlight hit him perfectly, and his beamin’ smile was shinin’ brighter than a full moon.

“Thank you everybody. My name is Jesse Walker, and this is my first night here at Back O’ Town…” People whooped and hollahed in his support, makin’ him blush. He was as humble as ‘e was flawless.

“Whell, I wanted my first song I evah played here to be a personal favorite of mine: Dream A Little Dream of Me….” It seemed like fate; we had the same favorite song. His speech slowed down as he looked in my direction. We locked eyes, causin’ sparks of fluttahs to corse through my entyah body. He looked like he’d just seen an angel appear in the joint. His eyes spahkled and his smile fell to a look of pure awe. I wasn’t sure if he was lookin’ at me or just nervous. He snapped outta his trance, continued with his introduction, and played a few more songs. I enjoyed each one more than the last.

When his shift was over, he closed the piano and made his way ovah to Janet. She gave ‘em a big smile and hug. While in my forbidden trance, I’d forgotten he was Janet’s brotha. I snapped back intah reality and walked ovah to them.

“Oh, Jess, there’s someone I wantcha to meet.” She made her way over to me, Jesse trailin’ behind. As she approached me with him stood at her side, he realized who she was introducin’ him to. The same look he had on stage took ovah his face once again.

“Jesse, this is my really good friend, Lucy Moreau,” she said puttin’ her arm around my shouldahs playfully. “Lucy, this is my brothah, Jesse Walker.”

As we met eyes once again, neithah of us initiated a formal greetin’. No hug, handshake, or head nod. We just stared at each othah, forgettin’ howta form words. Aftah what seemed like forevah, I took my lace skirt in my hands and curtsied before ‘em.

“Pleasure to meetcha, Jesse.” As I curtsied, he shook his head in disapproval.

“Oh forget ‘bout all that, you don’t needta’ curtsy. I ain’t the govanah or anythin’,” he said wipin’ his sweaty hands on his dress pants. I subtly giggled and let go of my skirt.

“Whell with the way you played that music tonight Mr.Walker, you deserve some sorta recognition. All your songs were beautiful.”

He paused and looked at me again. His cheeks flushed. The silence lasted until Janet bumped ‘em in the shouldah.

“Jesse, don’t go all shy n’ awkward on me yet! I still got plenty of people for ya to meet!” She took his arm and turned him the othah way. “I’ll be back Luc, just gotta brag to everyone that’s he’s my brotha.”

A disappointed look came ovah Jesse’s face. He silently waved a goodbye to me, and I returned it. Once he turned away from me, my face couldn’t stop smilin’; my cheeks stahted to hurt. Suddenly, when I realized what I was feelin’, my smile fell and fear flowed through my veins.

Aftah that night, I convinced the girls to staht goin’ out on Friday nights instead of Satahdays. I couldn’t control myself; I needed to see him. My feelins’ couldn’t keep me away from ‘em. Aftah a few weeks and a few more light conversations, we stahted meetin’ up aftah each of his Friday shifts. At first, we’d just sit at a table aftah everyone cleared outta the joint and talk about ourselves: music, dreams, beliefs, insecurities, and the world around us. The more learned about each othah, the more couldn’t keep away from each otha. We were drawn to each otha like moths to a flame. Our love for each otha couldn’t be supressed, and it was terrifyin’. We knew how wrong it was, and what the punishment would be if anybody saw us togethah, but we didn’t care. None of that mattahed as long as we had each othah.

Our love for each othah clouded any priah common sense we’d had. Ovah time, our loved stahted growin’ physically. We’d sneak intah the back closet behind the bah aftah everyone cleared out. We knew what takin’ our relationship to this level meant for our safety, but we couldn’t hold back our desire any longah. If anyone saw his colored hands on me, he’d end up in prison. I always warned him ‘bout that, makin’ sure he knew what he was riskin’. Every time I bothahed mentionin’ it, he’d just kiss me for longah so I’d forget what I was talkin’ ‘bout. His lips were the smoothest and most gentle I’d evah felt. Every finger he touched me with felt like a firework. We continued meetin’ up for four months, every Friday.

Our last night togethah was the last Friday of Septembah. I had no idea this would be the night when my world slipped through my fingahs. Rita, the girls, and I were out on the quartah like we always were. They’d all found some desperate guys, which were my ticket to the jazz joint. I snuck off of Bourbon Street and ovah to the bah. I watched Jesse do his songs, smilin’ like I always did when he performed. He closed his set with Dream A Little Dream of Me like he always did, and I awaited his exit from the stage.

We kept our distance from each othah until everyone was cleared out. When the last person left, I ran ovah to ‘em and leapt into his arms, kissin’ him with everything in me. I missed him more each week we were apaht. He held me tight, kissin’ me back with his gentle, soft lips. He put me down and looked into my eyes. His smile was filled with happiness but his eyes looked sad. He went to kiss me again, but I hesitated.

“Jess, what’s wrong? Nobody’s here, it’s okay!” I looked at him with sympathetic eyes. He let out a sigh of relief. He knew I could always tell when somethin’ was botherin’ ‘em.

“Whell, Jan told me that the landlord’s comin’ in one night this week to take a look at the place. She said that if he isn’t pleased with what he sees, he’s gonna shut the place down. And considerin’ he’s a rich white guy from the North part of the city, he’s got all the power to close this place up in no time.” My heart dropped. This was my favorite place in the world. They couldn’t shut it down. How would I see Jesse? What if I never saw ‘em again? Jesse noticed my worry and held me close to ‘em.

“What are we gonna do, Jesse?” I stahted to cry. “What if this gets shut down and we nevah see each othah again?” When he heard those words, he tightened his grip on my arms and positioned me so I could look right in his eyes.

“Hey now, Lu, don’t talk like that, okay? That’s nevah gonna happen. Even if they shut this place down, or one of us moves across the damn country for God’s sake, we’re gonna see each othah. I don’t care about what the people around here think, cause they’ll nevah understand what we have, Lu. I am not gonna let you be a part from me more than you already are.” I teared up more at these words comin’ from him. He wasn’t as much of an open book as I was when it came to his feelins’, but this was the most vulnerable I’d evah seen ‘em.

“How do you know that?” Tears continued streamin’ down my face. Jesse wiped them away with his beautiful skin.

“’Cause…..’cause….’cause I love you Lucy Moreau. Hell, I’m not keepin’ it in anymore; I love you with everything I am. You’re the person I’m meant to be with forevah and I’d die before I’d let someone come between us because of our skin.”

I couldn’t believe it. I’d always had a feelin’ in my gut that he loved me, but I’d nevah thought he’d say it because of the lack of hope for our love to have a future. But he said it, he really said it. Jesse Walker loved me, and I loved him.

“Jesse, I-”

Suddenly, I heard the loudest sound I’d evah heard. My brain didn’t process what it was ‘till I saw Jesse’s face. His eyes bulged out and his mouth let out a gruelin’ scream. I looked down at his chest. He covahed a part it with his hands. I couldn’t tell why until I saw his red-stained fingahs. My stomach and heart felt numb. I couldn’t move. I stood in fear as I watched Jesse’s limp body fall to the floor in front of me. I let out a scream I didn’t know my body could make. I ran to his side, not knowin’ what to say or do. My mouth was only able to say one thing…

“Jesse, I love you, too! I love you, too. I always have! Jesse, please, no, please don’t leave me. Please, I’m not ready for you to go! You can’t go! Please, God, help me!” I looked up to see an unreal sight. It was Daddy, holdin’ a gun to where Jesse and I were standin’ before. I assumed the man next to ‘em was the landlord by his outfit and foldahs. Daddy looked down at me with no remorse for what he’d done. He almost looked proud of his act of brutal murdah. It was as if he didn’t care that his daughter witnessed it eithah. Blood boiled in my veins so much that I couldn’t look at ‘em anymore. I couldn’t process that my father was a murderah while the love of my life was bleedin’ out in front of me. I knelt next to Jesse and grabbed his hand as he gasped for air. He weakly grabbed my hand back.

Before I could tell ‘em I loved ‘em again, Daddy was behind me, grabbin’ me by my arms and pullin’ me away. I screamed as loud as I could, usin’ all the strength I could mustah up to pull me out of Daddy’s arms, but Daddy was strongah. He had my arms pinned behind me, and there was no hope of me breakin’ out. I screamed until Jesse was almost out of my sight. Daddy dragged me out the doors of the joint as I screamed to Jesse for the last time; “I’ve always loved you!”

Vengeance

April Mauceri (2019)

It was a rainy Wednesday morning and Vivian Williams opened her eyes suddenly when she heard the voice of her sixteen year old daughter, Mary. “Wake up, Mom.You’re going to be late for work!” Mary exclaimed as she shook her mother awake.

“Alright, alright, I’m awake,” Vivian answered. “How about you go downstairs and eat the eggs Granny made you for breakfast before you two leave for your first day at work.”

Vivian sat up as Mary ran down the stairs to eat breakfast. She looked to her bedside table to see a picture of her husband Robert. It had been over ten years since officials knocked on her door to tell her that Robert had died during the last months of World War I. Vivian was an army nurse, but returned home only a few months after the start of the war to give birth to Mary. Unfortunately, Robert was never able to meet his only child.

Vivian walked to her dresser and pulled out one of her countless grey shin-length skirts and the white blouse she had ironed the night before. She pulled on her stockings and skirt and fastened each of the buttons on her shirt all the way up to the collar. She then picked up her brown leather work bag, stuffing a second outfit inside, as well as the photo of her and Robert. Vivian slipped on her shoes and closed the bedroom door behind her before walking down the stairs of her home for the last time.

She set her bag down next to the front door and sat down at the table next to Mary and her mother and started sipping her coffee. Her mother had prepared toast and eggs for breakfast, just like every other day. Her breakfast and coffee were no longer warm and she realized just how late she had actually slept.

“My goodness, I’m going to be late!” Vivian exclaimed as she jumped up from her seat at the table. “I’ll see you both after work! I can’t wait to hear all about your first day,” She said as she gave Mary a hug and kiss.

“Thanks, Mom. Have a great day!” Mary called out to her mother who was walking towards the door.

This wasn’t exactly the goodbye Vivian had planned, but it would have to do. She grabbed her bag and walked out the door. She looked out into the street to see the factory her mother and daughter worked at and left to see The Cleveland Clinic. She walked left towards the building she had worked at since Mary was born.

When she arrived at the hospital, she walked down the stairs and directly to the basement. She reached for the wrench in the corner of the musty storage room and unscrewed a pipe just enough for a few drops to leak out every minute. She hurried up the stairs to the room where she and her fellow nurses kept their things during the day. Vivian was always the first nurse to arrive, so she knew she would be alone in the room. She pulled a beaten up notebook full of calculations and equations out of her bag and opened it. She scanned through each and every page to ensure each of her calculations were exactly correct.

Suddenly, she heard the door open. Vivian slammed her notebook shut and whipped her head around to see Elizabeth standing in the doorway with her things.

“Good morning, Vivian,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” Vivian replied as she scrambled to shove her notebook back into her bag.

Vivian and Elizabeth had been working together at the Cleveland Clinic since Elizabeth had gotten a job there at the end of World War I. Elizabeth had been working as a nurse in the same area Robert was stationed before he lost his life. Curious about if Elizabeth had been Robert’s nurse, Vivian searched for years to find any records from the medical center Elizabeth worked at. When she finally got her hands on the records, she searched anxiously to find Robert’s name. She came across the paper and could barely make out the writing scribbled onto it. The one thing she could recognize was the signature of Elizabeth Brent at the bottom of Robert’s death certificate.

Knowing Elizabeth had been watching over her husband as he died, Vivian grew vengeful. She hid it well beneath her sweet pale face and blue eyes and never let her family or fellow nurses see her true feelings towards Elizabeth. Years passed and Vivian watched as each of Elizabeth’s patients died just days after coming into the hospital’s care. She wondered if it was only a coincidence or if Elizabeth had purposefully ensured the death of each of her patients. When Vivian watched as a young boy with just a common virus died under Elizabeth’s treatment, she knew there must have been something going on. She rushed home that night and dug out the old cardboard box full of medical records from the war. She sorted through each document and pulled out documents of each patient Elizabeth had cared for. Vivian rummaged through the papers all night in search of a pattern or explanation of why or how Elizabeth’s patients had all died. For hours Vivian studied the types of medicine, illnesses, and injuries common between patients.

Just when Vivian was about to give up, she noticed on one page that there was a high dose of a pain killer given to a man with a stomach virus. She pulled out the next record to see a high dose of blood pressure medicine given to a man with hypothermia. Vivian checked every single record to find high dosages and wrong medicines prescribed to each and every one of Elizabeth’s patients, including Robert. Vivian shoved the records back into the box and into the back of her closet and turned off the light to rest.

Vivian was unable to sleep for even a few minutes because the only thing on her mind was how she could stop Elizabeth from killing any more patients. She considered reporting her to the hospital, but she knew that Elizabeth would transfer to another hospital and continue to take innocent lives. Vivian needed to get rid of Elizabeth once and for all and she knew the only way to stop Elizabeth was to kill her. But how? Vivian realized it was time to get ready for work even though she hadn’t slept a wink. She walked downstairs and ate breakfast, then walked out the door to a seemingly normal day at work.

As Vivian left the hospital for the day, she glanced down to the basement and noticed a pallet with dozens of boxes on it. She quietly walked down the stairs to check what was inside. She opened one of the boxes on the top to find that it was full to the top with x-ray film. Directly beside the pallet was a steam pipe on the wall. She immediately recognized that this could be extremely dangerous and turned around to report the storage issue to higher-ups. But before she reached the stairs, she realized this could lead to the perfect plan.

Vivian hurried home and rushed straight up to her room. She rummaged through her closet looking for any old notebook with a few blank pages. She grabbed a pencil and started scribbling hundreds of numbers, theories, and chemical equations on each of the pages. If everything she had written was correct, any steam that interacted with the x-ray film would burn the film and react to form a deadly combination of Carbon Monoxide and Nitrogen Oxide. This was exactly what Vivian needed to kill Elizabeth and the perfect way to cause an “accidental” tragedy.

Vivian suddenly snapped out of her flashback and realized that today was really the day her life would change forever. She walked out of the room to report the leaking pipe to her superiors. As she walked away from their office, she began to formulate her plan of escape. She would wait until lunchtime and sneak out of the building with her things before there had been enough time for the reaction to take place. By this time, she would be far enough away from the hospital to remain unharmed and any responders would assume she had died in the midst of the tragedy.

As soon as the clock read 12:30, Vivian knew it was time to go. As she collected her things, Elizabeth walked into the room and asked, “Where are you off too for lunch?”

Vivian panicked and replied, “I’m meeting my mother for lunch.” She hoped Elizabeth wouldn’t ask to join her.

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” Elizabeth replied.

Vivian let out a breath of relief and scurried out of the building with her things. She sat down on a bench down the road near her house so she would be able to see both the hospital and the factory where her mother and daughter were working. She waited just a few minutes to see the horrible aftermath of just unscrewing one pipe. Moments later, she could see the yellow colored gas begin to spill out open windows. She stood up and walked in the opposite direction and past the factory until darkness took over the sky. She opened the door to a tailor shop and walked directly to the counter.

“I’ll need my coat sleeves shortened immediately,” Vivian said with the most confidence in her voice she ever had.

The man looked her up and down and replied, “Of course, right away.”

He led her behind the counter and pulled a curtain in the back room away to reveal an old wooden door. Vivian opened it and immediately heard the sound of smooth jazz music cascading up the stairs. She walked down the stairs and snuck into the ladies room before she could be seen. Vivian removed her dull grey skirt and plain white blouse and slipped on a black, fringed dress that was just shorter than her knee caps. She balled up her old clothes and shoved them into the trash along with her notebook full of incriminating evidence. Vivian looked at herself in the mirror and let down her hair. She reached into her bag and pulled out a tube of bright red lipstick and applied it in one smooth swipe. Vivian walked out into the lively room outside and immediately purchased a drink at the bar. The man beside her glanced her way and said, “I haven’t seen you around here before, pretty lady. What do they call you?”

Vivian smirked and replied, “Margaret Jones.”

Fire squad

Michael Watts (2019)

It was raining. It seemed like every damn day it rained in Vietnam. The rain was heavier than any rain I’ve ever seen in West Virginia. Every minute, the red sand of the beaches was being washed away, and the puddles of mud looked queasily like another red liquid.

Me and my squad were patrolling the canopied jungle, looking for any sign of the Charlies that tormented us so bad. I glanced over at Ace, the heavy gunner of the group. He was cutting through vines and brush with his machete, his bandoliers of ammunition crossed against his chest, and his M60 strapped to his back.

“Ace, man, when do you think we’re going to get the hell out of here?” I asked him

He turned to me chuckling maniacally. “Hopefully, after we kill some more of these damn Victors!” he said pridefully. “If any one of those Charlies comes within fifteen feet of us, I’ll gut him!” Ace was swinging his knife around like a fencer, visualizing the next poor Viet Cong or North Vietnamese that got in his path.

“C’mon, really now, Ace?” I said. “You don’t miss your girl, or your momma, or even America?”

“The one thing I miss is the grand old state of Texas! But we’re not here to think about what we miss, Chips. We’re here to do something about these communists!”

“That’s very patriotic of you,” I said, snarkily, but the sarcasm was lost on Ace.

“It takes a lot to be patriotic out here, Chip. Do you know why?” he asked, glaring at me.

“We’re far from home, man. We don’t even know what we’re fighting for.”

“That’s exactly it! We know the folks in the Pentagon are making the wrong choices, because we see them first hand. Remember Pinkville?”

“Yeah, I do.” I shuddered, forcing away the images of burning huts, and the sounds of children screaming.

“Well clearly, somebody up top wasn’t thinking everything through. But we had to put our heads down and go through with it,” continued Ace, as I nodded in agreement. “Well maybe, for a change, we have some faith in The United States Army and see how it works out. Maybe you should stop thinking you’re doomed all the time. You do know our country’s never going to lose a war, right?”

“Not this one Ace, we’re not doing that well,” I replied.

“Bah, you might as well be a communist for all I care, if you’re not a proud American.” Clearly, I wasn’t as much a soldier as Ace thought he was. Ace had given up on going back home. He knew almost for certain he was going to die out here, regardless of the people calling the shots and convinced himself he would rather die a hero’s death than anything else. I still had some blind hope we would one day win the war, so self preservation was at the top of my priorities.

And blind as hell I was, as the thick canopy of the jungle blocked out the sunlight coming from above, but, unfortunately, not the rain. Our patrol was assigned a two mile sector of a five mile radius around base camp, like a slice of birthday cake, only with landmines instead of candles. It was our job to look for any VC or NVA in our sector and eradicate the threat in the name of capitalism.

There were seven men in my squad. There was Ace and Cowboy, the heavy gunners armed with M60s. Ace, as I already said, was from Texas. Cowboy hailed from the panhandle of Oklahoma, so there was a small rivalry between the two, but they were virtually the same person. I was the assistant gunner to Ace, to help him whenever his gun jammed, or he needed ammunition. Cowboy’s assistant was Ronnie, a black boy from Georgia. He was quiet, but had a natural mind frame for war, and was damn good at shooting an M16.

There were two grenadiers in the squad, and they were twins from the Bronx. Their names were Paulie and Mark, but because they both served the same purpose, we just called them both ‘Kap’ most of the time because their last name was Kapzynski. Their specialty was explosives, making ours work and the Charlie’s not. And lastly, there was the poor bastard in charge of all of us, Lieutenant Dillon.

Many of us had been with Dillon for months now, since our deployment back in February. It was now August, and still none of us knew much about the Lieutenant. There were mumblings here and there, saying he was a murderer released from jail to fight in war, he came here to avenge his wife and children, or he was some secret biological weapon created in a test tube somewhere, but no one knew for sure. One thing was certain though, he was intimidating.

He stood well above six feet, maybe six foot six, and looked even taller in his helmet and combat boots. His face was covered in pockmarks in scars, and looked like it had seen far more than just Vietnam. Dillon’s grizzly looks were matched by his resolute mindset. We used to have a boy with a comm's phone, a large backpack filled with sixty pounds of radio equipment, but we lost three in a row to Charlies, because they were such easy targets. Dillon stepped up and said he would carry the burden of the communication pack. He tossed the thing on his back like a kindergartner and never looked back.

But Dillon was more than just a leader. He was our commander. Part of the respect we had for him was because he was the hive mind behind our squad, calling all of the shots and movements. There were times when I questioned his leadership, like back in March, when the unspeakable acts happened.

It was March 18. We were grouped in with the whole of our platoon, and we were finally supposed to see some fighting. We had only been there for two months, and hadn’t seen a hint of combat yet. The Charlies were sneaky little moles, running up and down tunnels that were below our feet. The platoon was to march into a little village called My Lai, or Pinkville, as we called it, because of the color of the sand. Our commanders told the large platoon that our job was to kill everyone in sight, as the civilians had already been evacuated to safety.

Our squad was to approach the village through the jungle next to the road, making sure that no one was watching our trucks and tanks as they passed down the roads. As we surveyed the village from a vantage point, Dillon called out to the seven of us.

“Boys, once we make it to the village, I need three of you. We’re the fire squad,” he said.

"Fire squad? What’s that Lieutenant?” asked Ronnie, from my right.

“It’s our job to do the burning,” Dillon said as he gestured to some large tanks behind him. They looked smaller than the comm's pack, but they were still large and back mounted. The can led to a hose which led to a nozzle that would spray fire. The tanks were filled with Napalm. “So the Kaps can take down two of these, who’s going to take the last one?”

Dillon was answered by silence. There was tension in the air that could be cut with a knife. The tanks would slow down anyone who was carrying them, making them an easier and larger target for anyone who wanted to shoot at them. And, the target was also flammable, so there would be no injury if it got shot, only a casualty.

The Kaps walked over to the tanks, inspected them for a minute, and helped them get them onto each other’s backs. None of the last four men would budge. Ace and Cowboy couldn’t carry the flamethrowers, they were already over encumbered. It would be me or Ronnie. I glanced over at him. He was far better with a rifle than me, and would probably be a better shot if it came down to combat. With the flamethrower, I could just spray flames at Charlies, and pray that the guns cleaned up the rest.

“I’ll take it,” I said to Dillon. I pull one strap over my shoulder, and then the other, and then buckle the strap in front of me.

“Finally, Chip, maybe this will make you stop being a pansy!” laughed Dillon. My fists clenched tight on the straps on my shoulder. We began our march towards Pinkville. The whole time, Dillon told us to be ready for combat; everyone in this village was an enemy.

We got closer and closer, but the only thing we neared was more quiet. There didn’t seem to be Charlie activity at all: no buildings were fortified and there were no soldiers, that we could see at least. We continued to inch towards the village, but we saw nothing but civilian activity. It was weird… too weird.

We came across some civilians and held them at gunpoint. There was an older woman and a younger woman, a child and a goat. The men were probably above or below us, waiting to ambush. Dillon called for a translator.

“Tell these Chuckies what’s going on,” he said to a man in our platoon. He was Vietnamese, but also American, so he knew both languages. The man looked at the people and started explaining why we were there. The Vietnamese looked shocked. They put their hands in the air.

Now, when we come across villages like this, we never knew what could happen. I’ve heard stories of Charlies running out from underneath the rice paddies and ambushing soldiers just when they think they’ve found peace, so we were on high alert. And yet, as our adrenaline stoked senses took in every detail from around us, nothing was amiss.

The villagers were now screaming and crying. Dillon was looking at them with the same look he gives everything, and turned around to our squad.

“Fire squad, start burning. Start with the houses. Go!” he commanded. And so we followed. Me and the Kaps went to the rice paddies to start razing them. Ronnie and Cowboy came too to provide some cover fire, if we even needed it. We were disappointed. We were expecting combat, but so far none had come. Instead, we had to burn crops that the Charlies probably weren’t using anyway. What a waste of napalm.

‘BANG! BANG! BANG!’ Gunshots echoed across the village. Finally, some combat! We rushed to the scene, barreling uphill and over logs to get to the battle, our flamethrowers slowing us down every step of the way. As we got closer, we dove for cover and turned the safeties off on our M16s. I could see Ace and Lieutenant Dillon standing where they were when we left them, unphased by the gunshots that were just ringing out. Maybe it was a false alarm, so we approached the Lieutenant to see what the issue was.

As we got closer, the source of the gunshots revealed itself. Smoke was still coming off of Ace’s gun. In front of the pair laid the villagers we had seen alive and well moments earlier. Ace didn’t even spare the goat. Dillon turned to the rest of us.

“Time to get to work! Start burning down these huts so we can find tunnels, Fire squad,” he commanded us, and we obeyed. Those people seemed innocent enough. Maybe one of them had a weapon? I didn’t think Ace would shoot them for no reason. Ace had morals. I knew it. I’d seen them. He couldn’t have killed in cold blood, it just wasn’t like him.

I went to the nearest hut and set it ablaze. The dry thatch lit up almost instantly, engulfing the whole building without much effort at all. I took a look around me. The Kaps were standing next to a bigger building, while Dillon entered first, clutching a handgun. Gunshots echoed from the doorway of the hut. Dillon left the hut, looked at the Kaps, and then watched as they set the building ablaze. He beckoned them onward. I had to look away in horror. I continued torching huts, but I double checked to make sure there were no people inside.

As the huts caught on fire our squad started to rendezvous at a hut near where we began, which hadn’t been set ablaze yet. I took one step through the doorway and my heart dropped from my chest probably to the center of the earth. There had to have been 15 children inside that last hut. All of them looked at me with the eyes a dog has before you put him down. I ran out of the hut and throw up outside.

“What, Chips, too much of a pansy?” chided Dillon. I looked up at him, hatred for him seething in my eyes. He took a squat down next to me, his mouth inches from my face, breathing stale warm air onto me. “Are you going to finish your damn job or not? You said you wanted combat, and here it is. Now, you can set that fucking thing on fire or give up the flamethrower and let a real soldier do it!”

“No. A soldier doesn’t kill innocents. Those aren’t my lives to take,” I said vehemently.

“No! A soldier follows orders! Now set that damn hut on fire, and that’s an order!”

“Hey, Chip, you alright over there? Thinking about your girl again?” Ace tapped me on the shoulder, snapping me out of my flashback. The rain was still pouring, and we were still on patrol. “You know I get lonely when we’re patrolling and you won’t talk to me.”

“Yeah, I’m fine man,” I muttered, glancing up at the Lieutenant. Ace knew I wasn’t fine. But that’s how it was. None of us were fine, but we were all kind of living like it. And we would live with our burdens until long after the war, even if we were just following orders.

Viva la Révolution

Catherine Soucy (2019)

We were gathered around the table, trying to keep our voices low. The café was supposed to be a safe space, but one could never know for sure. “As we know,” Antoine said, his voice a whisper, “General Lamarque is dead. Barricades are going up the night before his funeral. June 5th, we fight.” His shaggy hair was hung over his face, falling in strings.

“No more poison in our wells,” Jacques hissed, taking a drink from his bottle.

“That was never proven and you know that,” Alexandre responded. Sometimes I wondered why he was with us. If his new clothes and clean-shaven face didn’t set him far enough from the rest of us, his ideas did.

“Shut your mouth, Alexandre. You know as well as the rest that you don’t belong here,” Jacques answered, his chair scraping against the wood as he pushed back.

“I have a place just like the rest of you,” Alexandre said, his voice low.

“Whatever our reasons for fighting, we’re all on the same side. Let’s not forget that,” Antoine said, trying to diffuse the situation. Both men returned to their normal positions, but it was obvious the tension was still there. “We will be on rue Saint-Martin. Our signal is the red flag. ‘La Liberté ou la Mort.’ It’s going to be glorious, boys. Picture it now; our people perched on the barricades, shooting down anyone who dares defy us. We are going to take back our country, beginning in the heart of Paris.” We had three days before we were to fight for our freedom.

***

“Marie, love, you know I have to go. Cosette will not grow up the same way we did,” I said, holding my hand on my wife’s bare arm. Her face was sticky from the tears, the water evaporating in the hot sun outside our tattered building.

“Without a father?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Yes, it’s hard, but we’re a family, Henri. Are you really going to throw that away?”

“It’s for her. Everything since she was born has been for her. If I die, you will remarry.” I moved to brush a stray tear from her cheek, holding her face in my hands. “I’ve set it up with Alexandre. You know him, he’s been around. He can take care of you, and Cosette is too young to know the difference.”

“I don’t want him,” she answered, pushing my hands away. “I want the man I married four years ago, young, afraid, and pregnant, running away from home. I don’t care if Alexandre can provide for us. If you leave, Henri, you will ruin me and your daughter.”

“Papa, are you going?” a small voice asked. Cosette was standing in the doorway, her baggy clothes hanging off her small frame.

“I am going out tonight, mon poussin,” I told her, scooping her into my arms. “I will be back tomorrow.” Marie shot me a glare, but there was nothing she could do in front of Cosette.

“Okay, Papa.”

I took Marie’s hand in my free one and took them both into our room. My wife’s mending was laid out on the bed, so I set Cosette down on the floor.

“Let Maman finish her sewing. Would you like to hear a story?”

“Yes, Papa,” my daughter answered, her eyes lighting up. There were few ways to keep a four-year-old child entertained when there was nothing to do but work. I was lucky she loved fiction. I told stories until the sun went down and Marie had to put down her mending. It wasn’t long before it was time for them to go to bed and me to start for rue Saint-Martin.

***

“Henri, it’s good to see you here,” Antoine greeted me when I arrived at our designated location.

“How is it looking so far?” I asked, noting the thirty or so men milling around.

“Close to what we expected here. There are, of course, more at the other locations,” he answered, ignoring my look of shock as he tried to turn around. I caught him by the shoulder.

“How much more?” I asked, an edge to my voice.

“Our estimates are close to three thousand,” he answered, shrugging

“You made it sound like there were going to be tens of thousands of us! We were going to be formidable, not some ragtag group.” I thought of Marie and Cosette, together on the bed at home.

“I lied.” It took everything I had not to punch him before he walked off, barking orders. This was nothing more than a suicide mission, and I was no longer sure if I wanted to be a part of it. I leaned against one of the buildings, the cool stone against my back. Tears pricked against the back of my eyes, threatening to spill. I had been a part of the planning for over a month, and it all came to this.

It was obvious we weren’t going to win, and I had my wife and child to worry about. Marie was not being dramatic; it would devastate her if I didn’t come home. Cosette would not only lose me, but her mother as well. If I wanted to make a better life for her, this wasn’t going to be the path. I had to leave before the fighting began.

In the meantime, I worked to help build the barricade. We pulled odds and ends from the streets, anything we could find to build our wall. I slipped away once the structure was complete. I made my way back home in the dark, knowing I had abandoned my friends. Their cause was real, but this revolution would not last. It just wasn’t something I could be a part of in the way that I expected.

I arrived home to see Marie and Cosette huddled together in the bed. Trying not to wake them, I laid down next to the two.

The following morning, we listened to the sound of gunshots.

Rage Against Terror

James Mooers (2018)

The living room was dark and dreary, as though it could feel my pain and was trying to emulate me. The windows and the door had been smashed in. Glass shards, broken pots, and small patches of blood were strewn about the floor. Cabinets stood with their doors wide open, as though begging to be searched for secrets they did not possess. Mama’s chair had been thrown over, and the coffee table in front of it was broken in half.

The only recognizable thing in this home was Papa’s chair, which stood in perfect calm amongst the chaos. It was oddly fitting; Papa was a bastion of calm and wisdom, no matter what life threw at him. I sat in the chair, trying to call upon his strength. The chaos of the room reflected my state of mind, so the calm was beyond my ability to conjure--instead, I sought his wisdom, in how best to kill the men who had taken my family.

I had been out with my friends when they were taken, but I wasn’t dumb. The Germans weren’t content to force us all into this dump and cut us off from the rest of Warsaw. No, they wanted us gone. Cezary’s family had been taken last week. He warned me it would happen to everyone, and I was a fool not to listen. Now, my family was gone, and all I had was my anger.

“Alesky,” came a voice, “are you alright?”

I turned, suddenly aware of the world beyond myself. Cezary stood in the doorway, with a look in his eyes that told me he already knew the answer. He knew my pain, and I knew his. “Were you when they came?” I ask.

“No.”

“There’s your answer.” I went back to my father’s chair and sat down, falling on it in a way Mama would scold me for. I looked up at Cezary, and I motioned for him to come in. He came to my side and put a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. I should have listened.”

Cezary stood, silent for a moment. We both knew it was true, but he held back from scolding me. Instead, he took a breath, “What would you say if I offered you revenge?”

***

Revenge came in the form of the Żydowska Organizacja Bojowa - a Jewish fighting organization. I joined immediately, attended the rallies, and learned how to hold a pistol. We were always on alert, and I was in a fighting unit with Cezary, positioned in the center of the town.

Our unit commander, Henryk, had a rifle he stole from a German. The rest of us had pistols, and we had a small bundle of homemade grenades. We wouldn’t stand a chance against a panzer, but we could take out a few Germans if they came in. Anielewicz sent word that the Germans were coming for us. They were going to enter the ghetto the day before Passover and try to surprise us. Our guns were out, and we were chomping at the bit to pull the triggers. The Germans would be the ones getting a surprise.

***

We watched as the Germans came in from our right, some walking, some riding in an armored vehicle.They were looking for us. My group was on the second story of an apartment building, overlooking the center, just one of many groups. There were a few policemen there, but the rest of us were hidden. We pulled out our guns and waited. “Get ready,” said Henryk.

I lifted my gun and took a deep breath. I picked one man--a soldier, looking through a window to see if there was anyone inside. He perked up when his commander called, shouting at the man to hurry up. “Fire,” Henryk commanded. So we did. I fired three rounds at the soldier. The first one hit him in the shoulder, but the others missed. Some Germans dropped dead, while others grabbed their weapons and returned fire.

I ducked beneath my window and hid as the bullets flew at us. I heard more and more guns join in, and I knew the other groups had begun firing. I put down my gun and took one of the grenades on the table, using a match to light the rag. I scanned the area below us and found the armored vehicle. I threw my grenade, and as it smashed on the hood it went up in flames.

The Germans kept firing, but they were backing away. Their commander was lying dead on the pavement, and the soldiers were trying to avoid his fate. But one of them called out in relief, and they scattered to take cover in the buildings they had searched before.

A Panzer rolled down the street, its cannon aimed at the building next to us. It fired, and the fighters inside didn’t need a doctor to declare them dead. Henryk ordered us to run. I grabbed two grenades and followed the others down as the tank reloaded. An explosion rocked the building, and the shock wave threw us to the ground. We heard the front wall crumble as we picked ourselves up, and we ran out into an alleyway.

“What now?” Cezary asked.

We all looked at Henryk. “It’s a tank,” he said. “The only thing we can do is pull back.”

“We still have these,” I said, holding up our grenades, “We can kill it.” We created a plan as fast as we could and split up. Cezary and I went to the left with the grenades, and we went halfway down an alley that led back to the center. Henryk had gone to the right, followed by everyone else. We waited until we heard shouting and gunfire, and then we went the rest of the way down the alley.

The tank had moved towards the middle, which would make the throw a bit easier. I lit a match as Cezary grabbed the first bottle, and I lit it when he was ready. He threw the burning grenade at the tank and we watched the flames spread across it. We lit and threw as many as we could, not wanting to take chances.

As we readied the fifth, there were two loud gunshots, closer than the others, and all of a sudden Cezary was on the ground, bleeding from his chest. I looked around the corner and saw a German soldier coming at us. He fired at me, and I ducked behind the wall. I reached for my gun, only to realize it wasn’t there. The footsteps grew closer. I looked down at Cezary and saw that his gun was stuffed into his belt. The soldier called out, cursing me in German. Cezary’s body was in his line of sight, but he would kill me either way.

I dove for Cezary’s body and grabbed his pistol, yanking it from his belt as a bullet went into my shoulder. I lifted the gun with my other hand and fired blindly, not counting the number of shots. When I opened my eyes, I saw the soldier lying on the ground, bleeding from his chest and his head.

*****

Henryk came and got me after the fight. Cezary died long before they arrived, and they took his body away. The other groups had heard the fighting and gone to assist, so the Germans retreated out of the ghetto. In total, only a little over a dozen had died. It was a victory we had never even dreamed of. But deep down, we knew, this was a fool’s errand. The Germans would eventually march in and trample our corpses, or just drop a missile on us and be done with it. Lucky for us, we were fools, and we wouldn’t go down without a fight.

Recollections of an Elephant Rider

Zach Chau (2018)

Translated from the original Phoenician text

They were gone. The realization sent shock waves through my brain. They promised they would be back. I waited. The elders of the village told me they were gone. I refused to believe them, and sat in our hut, expecting to see my parents’ faces peek in through the doorway.

I heard something out of the darkness. Footsteps, approaching the house. I looked up with excitement. My parents were home, I just knew it! Faces peered in through the doorway. I shot up and ran towards them, ready to give them a hug. As I got close, I realized the people weren’t my parents. It was another family, and they had come to take my home.

I tried to make them go away, but they wouldn’t. They gave me a parcel of food and kicked me out. I wandered the village for a time, desperately waiting for my parents to return. I quickly gained the name Nokha, the lonesome one. Weeks went by, and I was hungry. Food was hard to come by, and I was too young to hunt for myself. Then, one night a ship floated by on the river.

It was dark. There was thunder in the distance. The elephants were completely spooked. They were trumpeting loudly, their trunks flailing in their cages. The noises scared me at first, but I was thankful for the cover they provided. As quietly as I could, I swam onto the barge the elephants were being kept on. I searched frantically for a hiding place. I could hear men’s voices now, and they were growing louder. I could see a lantern light peeking out from around a corner. Without thinking, I slid through the bars into an elephant cage and curled up in a pile of hay.

BRRRRRREEEEAH!! My eyes flew open, and I looked up quickly. It was still dark. Suddenly, I felt something sniffing around me. It wrapped around me like a boa. I was too scared to move. Its head appeared. It moved towards my face. I thought I was done for, but then I realized the head had no face. There were no bright eyes, nor a mouth with fangs. The head stopped inches from my face. Finally, I remembered where I was, and so I knew what was grasping me. The elephant raised me up in its trunk. We were eye to eye, boy to beast.

I’m not exactly sure what happened next. Perhaps the look of sheer terror on my face made the elephant take pity on me, because she placed me back down on the deck of the barge, right next to her young baby. When the traders brought food and water, she gave some to me. When the afternoon heat became too much, she would spray both of us with water. I was, for all intents and purposes, her second son.

I’m not exactly sure how long we were on that barge. Eventually, we reached a port in Egypt. Looking back, I do believe it was the city of Alexandria, but I’m not certain. Either way, it truly was a sight to behold, particularly for someone from the jungle like me. There were buildings everywhere. Merchants, selling anything and everything imaginable, lined the streets. Magnificent ships were docked in the harbor. Everything seemed to glow in the sunlight. But my stay in the city was short.

Mere hours after the barge arrived, the elephants (as well as I), were transferred onto a small merchant ship. What followed were some of the worst months of my life. The ship’s brig could barely hold the two elephants, let alone a stowaway boy. By some miracle, the crew didn’t immediately spot me. However, this meant I had to spend all of my time on board in hiding. Again, I had no idea how many days or weeks had passed. In the brig, with no windows to speak of, day and night were all relative.

The crew would feed the elephants whenever they remembered (so usually when the mother elephant—I had begun calling her mayi, or mother—began to trumpet loudly). After a while at sea, the ship would stop. I didn’t dare try to sneak out and check where we were out of fear of being caught. It is only now, much later, that I can identify where we stopped based on the scraps of food the crew left for us. So, over what felt like forever, the ship made stops all along the Mediterranean. From Alexandria, it went east to trade with the Arabs. Then, it continued north to Greece, and then around to the small Tuscan ports of what is now the Roman Empire. There were a few stops along the Gaulish coast, and then finally we arrived at our destination: Iberia.

At Iberia, the ship was met by a small landing party. Leading the group was a strong, regal looking man named Hamilcar. Hamilcar, I would soon find out, was the leader of the Carthaginian colony in Iberia. He insisted on personally inspecting the elephants. So of course, he was the one to find me. Being a Nyanja boy, I didn’t have the slightest clue what Hamilcar was saying. But he didn’t seem mad. In fact, behind his surprise, he seemed...intrigued.

The next thing I knew, I had been swept away to a grand estate. There, I was introduced to a boy about my age named Hannibal. He was one of Hamilcar’s sons. We quickly became friends. I would retell the story of my journey, and he taught me Phoenician. Whenever I could, I visited the elephants, Mayi and her son Mwana. Hannibal often came along, but he didn’t understand the elephants the way I did. Even now, I felt a bond with the two that I just couldn’t explain. My parents had left me alone, and Mayi had cared for me in my time of need. We suffered on the merchants’ ship together, and I felt drawn to them.

As the years flew by, things began to change. A war had taken place between Carthage, the nation to which Hamilcar belonged to, and Rome. Hannibal, though young, was being groomed by his father to be a great commander. I, being an orphan child, was forgotten. I was alone again.

I left Hamilcar’s estate and decided to forge my own path in Iberia. It was a struggle. Though I had learned much, I still did not know a lot about my new home. I wandered the countryside, hoping to find a place in society. One day, a farmer offered me a job as a stable hand. It was tough work, but it was something. Over time, I learned not only how to care for the horses, but also how to ride.

Caring for animals brought me great enjoyment, as it reminded me of Mayi and how she cared for me. Animals didn’t see me as different from any other person. To them, I wasn’t a poor orphan, a deep African stray caught in Egypt, or a foreigner in a new land. The horses, just like the elephants before them, accepted me as I was.

At some point during my time on the farm, Hamilcar passed. A few years later, Hannibal took his place as leader of the Carthaginian colony in Iberia and a general. Hannibal and I were both in our late 20s at this time, right in our primes. I had garnered quite a reputation as a horse trainer with my ability to connect to the horses, scaring many of my fellow stable hands. Even after all these years, I was still stuck working for the same farmer, unable to earn enough to buy my own stables. Because of this, I was quite surprised to be woken one morning by Hannibal himself.

“Nokha,” he said, “Please come with me. I need your help.”

So, I, of course, went with him. It’s not everyday that powerful men come asking for my help. Hannibal led me to the army’s barracks. On the way, he explained why he needed me.

“I have a slight problem with one of my war elephants,” he began. “He is quite a specimen: tall, broad-shouldered, aggressive, large tusks. However, he refuses to be saddled. I can’t control him. Hopefully you, as a master horse-whisperer, will be able to help.”

I thought back to my voyage to Iberia, with the two elephants. I wasn’t sure if I would be of any help. Sure, I had been close with Mayi and Mwana, but they had cared for me, not the other way around. I had no idea what it took to train an elephant.

We arrived at the army’s camp. In a courtyard, ten different soldiers stood in a circle around a large African elephant, each holding a rope to restrain the animal. As I got closer, I let out a gasp. I knew that elephant.

“You have to understand Nokha,” began Hannibal, “this elephant has been quite difficult. He is our largest elephant, but he refuses to allow anyone to ride him or even touch him without making a mess. He is quite temperamental. If you can’t get him under control, I’m going to have to let him go.”

I knew I needed to do something. So I walked up to my old friend and put a hand on his trunk. I looked up into his eyes, waiting for him to recognize me. I reached down for some straw and held it near the trunk as well. I reached my head up towards his floppy ears.

“Shhhhh,” I whispered, “Don’t worry Mwana. It’s gonna be ok, but only if you let me ride you. You’ll let me climb onto your back now won’t you? You’re gonna be a good boy, yes?”

Hoping my message got through, I grabbed a saddle, and climbed on his back. I sat up and motioned for the soldiers to cut their restraints. They all stared back at me, expressions of shock written on all their faces.

“C’mon lets go!” I shouted, “Cut him free already!” The soldiers carefully cut each rope one at a time, standing at the ready as if expecting Mwana to charge away at any moment. But he stayed. I led him in a circle. The men all looked up at me as if I was a god. Even Hannibal was dumbfounded.

“Well men, I do believe we have found our last elephant rider,” Hannibal said, a note of relief evident in his voice. Everything moved so fast after that. I was led to the Army’s barracks. There, men were scurrying around in a whirlwind of activity. Uniforms, armor, swords, shields, food, and more were all being carted in and organized. Divisions were out, all drilling with every possible free moment. I was led to the elephant stables. Never have I seen so many elephants at once. 37 elephants, including Mwana, were present. Armorers scurried about, measuring each for a saddle and light armor. I turned to Hannibal.

“What are we doing, going to war?” I asked in jest.

“Yes, we leave in two weeks,” replied Hannibal, as serious as could be. And so I trained tirelessly for two weeks. I became a part of the Elephant Riders. I learned the finer points of elephant riding and combat, as well as a rudimentary run through of Hannibal’s tactics. Above all this, I found a place where I fit in. The Riders were comprised of a diverse group of men. Just like the elephants they rode, the men came from all over. India, Egypt, Iberia, Carthage, and even one man from Syria. They accepted me as part of the group. Finally, I no longer felt alone.

The couple weeks flew by, and we set out for the small port city of Saguntum. We laid siege to the city, and quickly took it over. Then, we moved onwards to Gaul. I was told our end goal was to take Rome. But we couldn’t go by sea, since the Romans controlled it. So, Hannibal had decided to cross through Gaul and traverse the French Alps to invade Rome. I thought he was insane. How would we ever manage to get elephants and Africans to cross the snow-covered mountains of Europe? I had been fortunate enough to have seen glimpses of the mountains and snow on my voyage to Iberia, but most soldiers had never even seen snow.

All the way through Gaul, we were ambushed by native tribes. They came out of the woods, the water, and seemingly the air itself. Every few days, a different group would show up, slowing our march. At first, the sight of elephants trumpeting was enough to send the tribes packing, but that didn’t last long. What should have been a quick advance dragged on.

A few months later, we finally reached the base of the mountains. The troops were all exhausted from the constant assault, and the sheer size of the snow-topped mountains had broken the morale of many of the men.

The crossing itself was tougher than any of the preceding journey. Small, narrow paths, rarely used and hardly fit for an army, were iced over. The cliffs and peaks seemed to be growing ever taller, looming over us all. Food was beginning to run low, and we weren’t fully prepared for the cold. Many men were lost trying to ascend the mountain pass, but no Elephant Riders.

We had stayed upbeat the whole campaign, pushing each other through the tough marches. It helped that all 37 of our elephants survived the climb. We were among the first to reach the peak of our path. There, laid out before us, were the flat lands of Italy. In the distance, we could see the city of Rome itself, shining like a jewel in the noontime sun

A small party of Roman soldiers had been sent to slow our advance over the Alps. As soon as they saw Mwana and the other elephants, their trunks flailing menacingly, they panicked and fled. In that moment, I knew we were destined for success.