“I love you, my darling,” his wife whispered in his ear.
“I promise I’ll come back, sweetie,” the American lieutenant replied.
New York’s Penn station was humming. Men had been called up to the war effort, and in the next few weeks they’d be shipped off to the UK. Something was brewing. Something big, a huge operation that would save Europe from the hell of fascism, from occupation, from the executioner’s axe. Europe was at war, and after the attack at Pearl Harbour it was time for America to enter the fray. Cries went up around the station; women wailing as their husbands, their fiancées, their brave men prepared to depart. Mothers told their sons to be brave. They were barely twenty years old and off to save Europe once again, though this was only the beginning of the end of the Second World War. The first trains were leaving. The soldiers leaned out the windows to wave goodbye. They promised to come back alive. Their families waved back with tears in their eyes. The trains lurched forward, and the wheels scraped along the tracks. This was goodbye, the grand departure. Steam billowed from the engine car. The lieutenant had just ten minutes left with his wife.
“What will I do if you don’t come back? You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me! Please don’t go. I love you...”
“I can’t stay. America is at war. It’s my duty.”
“Do you promise you’ll write me?” his wife asked.
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything that happens to me. Don’t worry.”
“I tried to come with you! But the Air Force Infirmary Corps wouldn’t take me. I did everything I could to follow my man to the end, through good times and bad, sickness and health, in peace and in war. I did everything, but some other woman got selected to serve instead. My love, I wish that I could have come with you!” the woman cried.
Tears ran down her cheeks, and she crumbled in the lieutenant’s arms. He hugged her tight and consoled her. She loved him more than anything; he was her idol, her perfect man. Despite her sadness, she was proud of her husband, going off to fight in the name of what was right, in the name of peace and the world that might yet be.
“I promise we'll have all the things we ever wanted once this is all over.”
“I need to tell you something,” she murmured in his ear. “I had a dream. I saw a child...”
“When I get back, I promise,” the lieutenant insisted.
“Swear to me,” she said.
“I swear,” he answered, raising his right hand.
She wiped away her tears and pulled him close to her. The lieutenant’s heart was pounding. Her embrace gifted him courage. She took his hand and held it to her stomach, but he had not a clue. She smiled at him, not daring to tell him that she’d thrown up every morning for the past two weeks. It was not the time. She didn’t dare speak, she was too afraid; she took his hand and placed it on her stomach again. He still didn’t understand. That was why she loved him, his gentle innocence. He’d always been that way. Proud to be a lieutenant, proud to serve his country.
“France! You’ll have so many things to tell me. When you get back, you’ll be a new man, an experienced pilot, and when I tell you I had a dream...”
“Sweetie, I have to go — the train’s leaving.”
“I love you!”
The lieutenant climbed into the carriage. He looked for a seat. The soldiers were stowing their bags in the overhead racks, everything shoved in wherever space could be found. They smoked cigarettes, swigged from bottles and played cards. It was almost friendly, the atmosphere in that train. The lieutenant wasn’t in the mood to relax and looked for a spot near the window so he could look at her for as long as possible. She was there, she was beautiful, and she loved him. Finally he understood, just as the train rolled off to war.
Alan Alfredo Geday