In 500... (or less)

South Pacific Soft Serve

That little face. It was the face of a thief, a desperate one.

"What do we do with her, Sarge?" Martin asked, gripping the little girl by the arm. She clutched onto her pilfered canned milk for dear life.

I knelt down to look her in the eye, intent on giving her a stern talking to. Language barrier aside, it's not hard to tell when someone is cross, I figured. It's also not hard to see when someone is truly hungry. 

"What is your name?" I asked her. She didn't answer me. 

"My name is Jim," I told her, tapping my chest. "Jim."

"Wailani," she replied as she came to understand my gesture. Her eyes brimmed with tears as I reached for the canned milk. I tried to keep it together. I was tough Marine, but my heart melted right then.

I closed my hand around hers as she clutched the milk, pushing it gently toward her.

"Take it," I said softly.

I looked up at Martin, who let little Wailani go. She bolted away, into the jungle.

"You don't suppose she's stealing supplies for the Japs?" Martin asked, irritated.

"If she is, she's pretty damned brave to just waltz in here under fire to steal a can of milk," I answered. "She looked pretty hungry to me."

I understood Martin's suspicions. We were winning the battle, but we were just as short on supplies as the enemy. 

"Tell you what, Martin. If that little girl comes back and starts swiping hand grenades, then we can string her up as a spy."

Wailani came back a day or so later, but this time she came straight to me. She didn't say anything, she pulled me by the hand toward the mess hall. She pointed toward some of the different rations piled up.

"Take it?" she asked. The little girl was fast learner. I sent her off with a can of beans. I didn't mind trading in a few smokes with the mess officer to square up the deal. He kept his mouth shut.

After we cleared the island, Wailani was a more frequent visitor to our base. She'd bring a fresh coconut or two to trade. She learned English quickly. I found out she was the breadwinner of the family, caring for her mother and baby brother. She was six years old.

I didn't mind the ribbing from the guys. Spending time with her made me feel normal, like I was a missionary or on vacation, instead of being a Marine fighting a war.

"A cigarette each?!" Martin complained as I took up a collection. Wailani's birthday was coming up. "She's a cute little girl, Sarge, but c'mon!"

"Don't worry," I said. "I'll make it worth your while."

By the time I was done, I had two full packs' worth. I was determined to rustle up some ice cream for a little party.

"Ice cream? In the Solomons? In the middle of June?" The mess officer was about to have me committed. We had plenty of canned milk, and idea popped into my head.

"You're right," I said. "A few cans of the canned milk then, and some cocoa powder."

I had everything perfectly arranged. The guys crammed into the mess tent for my promised chocolate ice cream. The planes droned in toward the runway right on time. I hoped it had worked.

I ran out onto the landing strip, the ammo cans swung from the bottom of the plane, filled to the brim with ice cream. The pilot scrambled down and was shocked to see my idea had actually worked.

"I'll be damned," he chuckled. "Homemade ice cream. Looks like we'll be making a bunch more recon flights over Rabaul now. "