Forget Me Not, Books I, II and III

The War Years

North Africa

Fall, 1942 

Alongside his crew, Calvin's hands worked their magic to repair one of the U.S.S. Langford's massive guns as its nose pointed out to sea, waiting for its chance to spit fire again. It had just jammed and his captain continued barking orders over the radio for the crew to get it back to work. The Langford rarely saw much action, so this moment clapped panic onto its inhabitants with attention and fury. He was just about finished his side of things. The sweat that had been beading on his forehead was now slipping down his face steadily.

"Seaman, you got her fixed yet?" shouted his commanding officer through the crackling radio.

"Just about, sir," Calvin spoke for the rest of his crew manning the gun.

"Got it!" a guy named Cornwall shouted. The gun was back in commission.

"She's ready to fire, Captain Lloyd."

A few weeks ago, Calvin had been home patrolling the Mid-Atlantic and New England coast protecting convoys and the shoreline from impending German U-boats. Only a shot or two had been fired from his ship the entire six weeks he'd been aboard. Then they got orders to head to Norfolk, Virginia. From there, he and his shipmates were to transport several hundred men aboard their destroyer to the shores of Casablanca for an invasion. The United States and England wanted the spot and the Germans were in it. It had taken two weeks to get there, and three days for Calvin to become immersed in the reality of war. He wanted to be back home. He wanted to stay on board. He wanted to kiss his girl. He wanted to fight. He had a question to ask her. He had orders to carry out, a mission to complete, an objective to maintain. Win. Conquer. Destroy. Lord, had he become an animal? Or was he experiencing something that was merely a part of human nature? Unfortunately, sleep-rare days and nights left no time to contemplate such things. And at the moment, he had just been commanded to fire at will on the Italian light cruiser attacking them.

BOOM.

That came from him.

BOOM.

He missed his target.

BOOM.

Again.

BOOM.

Got 'em.

It was doubtful they would get him back. Small and quick, destroyers like the U.S.S. Langford were very hard to catch, but on the same token, they were also very easy to break.

Reroute.

BOOM.

BOOM.

BOOM.

The men fired from the ship's guns, but it was a torpedo blasted from the Langford that finally sank their enemy. Calvin watched the flames engulf the Italian ship in the distance. That could have easily been their boat, their crew.

The chilly morning poured into a rather warm afternoon and soon dusk approached. The blasts surrounding the Langford had dissolved into different, more familiar sounds. The ship churning and thumping. The water sloshed against the bow. Safe again with no other enemies in sight, they were back on patrol. Most of the men were relieved from their duties, but Calvin lingered for a while on deck, staring out at the fading coastline as the ship moved further from shore.

"That means you, too, Wynne," said a thick-necked petty officer.

Calvin blinked and stood sharply at attention, his hand pressed to his forehead in salute. "Yes, sir."

When the petty officer had gone, Calvin closed his eyes and stretched out his weary fingers. His stomach expelled a nasty sort of growl, and he realized for the first time that day that he hadn't eaten. All of a sudden ravenous, he headed for the ship's galley.