Chapter 5 - The Price of Winning
Eli’s victory changed everything except the thing he most wanted changed.
He wanted to be left alone.
Instead, soldiers stopped him everywhere.
“Carter, is it true you shot an observer at eight hundred yards?”
“Carter, how many confirmed kills?”
“Carter, you really fight in Sicily?”
Eli answered the same way.
“No.”
No, he did not want to talk.
No, the stories were not important.
No, he would not demonstrate anything.
But legends do not belong to the people inside them. They belong to everybody who needs to tell them.
By Monday, someone had painted a tiny bird on the side of Eli’s footlocker.
Frank admitted doing it.
Eli stared at the white sparrow.
“You mad?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Paint over it.”
Frank sighed. “You are impossible.”
Across the tent, Jack watched.
He had become quieter.
That was worse.
The first sign came during bayonet practice.
Eli was paired with Tommy Briggs.
Tommy raised his padded training rifle.
“Easy?”
Eli nodded.
They began.
Tommy no longer mocked him. In fact, Tommy seemed almost embarrassed every time their eyes met.
Then Lieutenant Mercer changed partners.
“Mason, Carter.”
Jack smiled.
They stepped into the practice square.
“Control yourselves,” Sergeant Hale warned.
Jack saluted.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
The whistle blew.
Jack attacked immediately.
Not practice speed.
Full speed.
The padded rifle struck Eli across the shoulder.
Pain flashed.
“Jack!” Hale shouted.
Jack thrust again.
Eli twisted aside.
Jack swung.
Eli ducked.
The weapon passed over his head.
Then Jack drove his shoulder into Eli’s chest and slammed him onto the ground.
The air left Eli’s lungs.
Jack stood over him.
“Get up, Sparrow.”
Hale marched toward them.
Eli rose first.
“Again,” he said.
Jack blinked.
Eli lifted his training rifle.
“Again.”
The whistle had not blown.
Jack lunged anyway.
This time Eli moved differently.
Small.
Precise.
He deflected the rifle, stepped inside Jack’s reach, hooked Jack’s ankle, and used the bigger man’s momentum against him.
Jack hit the mud flat on his back.
The platoon erupted.
Jack surged up, furious.
Eli had already stepped away.
Sergeant Hale shoved between them.
“Enough!”
Jack pointed at Eli.
“He cheated.”
Hale stared. “In war?”
Jack said nothing.
“Get off my field.”
That evening Jack did not speak.
After lights out, Eli went to the latrine alone.
Three figures followed.
Jack.
And two soldiers from another squad, Burke and Callahan, both men who enjoyed cruelty when somebody else gave them permission.
Eli heard footsteps and turned.
Jack punched him before he could speak.
The blow split Eli’s lip.
Burke grabbed his arms.
Callahan hit him in the ribs.
Once.
Twice.
Eli’s old injury screamed.
He drove his heel backward into Burke’s shin.
Burke cursed.
Jack slammed Eli against the wooden wall.
“You think you’re better than me?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
Jack hit him again.
Eli tasted blood.
Callahan laughed. “Legend don’t look like much now.”
Jack drove a fist into Eli’s stomach.
Eli folded.
Then they kicked him.
Boots struck his thigh, side, shoulder.
The beating was vicious, but what hurt most was Jack’s face.
Not rage.
Need.
Jack needed Eli to become weak again.
Needed the world to make sense.
At last Frank Doyle appeared at the doorway.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Callahan turned.
“Walk away.”
Frank grabbed a shovel leaning by the wall.
“No.”
Burke laughed.
Frank raised the shovel.
“I mean it.”
Tommy arrived behind him.
Then Sergeant Hale.
Everything stopped.
Hale saw Eli on the floor.
He looked at Jack.
“Office. Now.”
Jack wiped blood from his knuckles.
“He started—”
“Say one more word.”
Jack closed his mouth.
Hale knelt beside Eli.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
Frank helped him up.
The next morning, Jack lost his corporal stripes.
Lieutenant Mercer made the announcement before formation.
“Private Mason will perform extra duties until further notice. Burke and Callahan are confined pending disciplinary action.”
Jack stared straight ahead.
Eli stood two rows behind him with bruising along his jaw.
After formation, Jack approached.
“You happy?”
Eli looked at him.
“No.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“What do you think I wanted?”
“To humiliate me.”
Eli’s voice became hard.
“I wanted you to stop.”
Jack stepped close.
“One day you’re going to need somebody strong beside you.”
Eli stared at him.
“I already had someone strong beside me.”
Jack glanced at Samuel’s photograph visible inside Eli’s jacket pocket.
Eli continued, “Strength had nothing to do with his fists.”
He walked away.
That night Frank sat beside him during guard duty.
“You should hate him.”
“I do.”
Frank looked surprised.
Eli added, “I’m just trying not to become him.”
They stood in silence.
Across the Channel, Europe waited.
Soon, hatred would be easy.
Staying human would be harder.
Sergeant Hale later found Eli behind the medical tent.
“You want charges filed?”
“They already punished him.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Eli touched the swelling along his jaw.
“No.”
Hale frowned.
“Why protect him?”
“I’m not.”
“It looks like it.”
Eli stared toward the barracks.
“If they court-martial every frightened idiot who becomes cruel, we’ll run out of soldiers.”
“That sounds dangerously close to sympathy.”
“It isn’t.”
“Good.”
Eli looked at Hale.
“I want him to know what he did. Prison might let him call himself a victim.”
Hale considered that.
“You think shame changes people?”
“Sometimes.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then consequences do.”
That evening Jack scrubbed latrines while the rest of the platoon ate.
Nobody teased him.
That was worse than teasing.
Tommy eventually carried him a plate.
Jack looked up.
“Thought you were on Sparrow’s side now.”
Tommy set the plate down.
“I’m on the side where people stop acting like animals.”
Jack stared at the food.
Tommy continued.
“You scared me last night.”
Jack laughed bitterly.
“I scare everybody.”
“No. Not like that.”
Tommy crouched.
“You weren’t angry. You enjoyed it.”
Jack’s face tightened.
“Get out.”
“Fine.”
Tommy stood.
“But if you ever do that again, I’m not standing there.”
Jack looked at him.
Tommy left.
May you like
For the first time, Jack had no followers around him.
Only a bucket, a brush, and the knowledge that the men he had tried to impress were beginning to see him for what he had become.
