Disclaimer: THIS IS NOT BASED ON REAL EVENTS OR PEOPLE!! If it is inaccurate then blame younger me. I was doing my best.
1
Whittlesford, UK, September 18, 1943
The sun hit the trees in a pleasing, colorful display. The crisp autumn air kissed the back of Kyle Dawson's neck as he trudged through the damp English forest. His unit, heading to Belgium tomorrow, worked hard on patrol drills like this one. He thought to himself, "How come I'm stuck on a drill with Paul missing in Nazi Germany...or France, or anywhere in Europe?"
He sighed. Paul, his older brother, joined the army over a year ago to fight in Europe. Two months ago, the army declared him missing. Everyone mourned his sudden disappearance. Whispering amongst each other whenever Kyle walked down the street, people said, "Isn't that Paul Dawson's little brother?" or "I'm surprised Paul left his disabled brother with their drunkard father." Kyle had not been disabled, but he knew what they meant. Still, the thought drove into his mind like daggers.
Kyle had a poor immune system. Whenever the temperature changed, he contracted a fever. Or, if his food touched anything dirty, he grew severely ill. Only fifteen, and no one believed he would make it. Paul believed Kyle could achieve more. Kyle achieved much more. He became a soldier. It didn't matter how he got in the Army, or how old and healthy. It became his sole priority to find his brother and bring him back to America. "And yet again on another patrol," Kyle bristled.
A little tink from a rock on Kyle's helmet made him twirl. He found his bunk mate waving at him. "Bud, why do ya look so agitated? You look like you'll bite someone's hand off!" Kyle, surprised at his greeting, responded with a stutter.
"Oh, hey Jack. I'm just frustrated at the fact that I'm not uh, on the battlefield." Kyle felt sick to his stomach about lying, but what other choice did he have? The army would send him back to Denver, back to his father if anyone discovered the truth.
"Don't act so eager to get into the field, Dawson," His sergeant called. " You will regret ever saying that." Kyle pulled back his dark brown hair and started messing with his sketchbook. Small and jet black with ringlets which held the book together, he took it everywhere, keeping it stowed in one of his many uniform pockets. He loved to stroke the ringlets with his thumb as he sunk deep into thought. The sketchbook - the last thing his mother gave to him before she - "Alright, let's camp here and get lunch ready." The sergeant called out as each man went into position on lookout.
Kyle strode to a stump and sat down as he unslung his rifle. It had no bullets to ensure the safety toward other soldiers who they might encounter. He settled it onto his arms. Kyle noticed it never fit him quite right. Fine by him, he never really fitted into anything except drawing.
Jack sat noisily down beside him and grabbed a cigarette pack from his arm pockets. He had short, light brown hair and gray eyes. "Wanna smoke?" his companion asked, holding one towards Kyle.
He lifted his hands. "Nah, I'm good. I'll have 'em later. Thanks anyway." Jack shrugged and put the one in his hand into his mouth.
"You are so gosh darn weird, Doodle." Kyle looked around to see an outlooker looking straight at him.
"Who, me?"
"Yeah," the outlooker replied, "you turn down every smoke, use the bathroom every time we eat, and you carry that diary with ya."
Kyle felt his face burn . He quickly turned his head away and started a new sketch. His mind couldn't keep off what the man had said. "Private Doodle. Private Kyle 'Doodle' Dawson." He smiled at the thought. Such an interesting nickname. It fit him perfectly, even more than the rifle.
