Page 11 - Crossing the Deadline

Crossing the Deadline

camp, go past the tents on the right. There’s a platform
nearby. Gather there.”
As I pass, the man grabs my shirt collar. “Hold on, young

man,” he says, pulling me back to his side. “Kinda young-
looking to fight a man’s war, aren’t you?” he asks.
Golden oak leaves sit on his shoulder straps. Major, I
think. I wonder if he’s Major Eli Lilly.

“Well . . . actually . . .” I catch my answer before it slips
out. Robert wrote home of some boys, as young as twelve,
trying to muster in the army. Many wrote the number
eighteen on a piece of paper and tucked it into the heel of

their boots. When enlistment officers asked, “Are you over
eighteen?” young recruits could honestly say, “Yes, sir, it’s a
fact. I’m over eighteen and that’s no lie.”
I recognize I have paused too long and need to say

something. “Save it,” the major says. “I bet you’re ‘Over
eighteen’! Right?”
“Yes, sir,” August Smith answers for me. “We’re over
eighteen, and the Ninth is gonna help end this dadblamed

war,” he assures the major. “As soon as we’re trained, the
Ninth’s gonna end this fight in double-quick time.”
The major eyes me up and down, points his chin toward
the gate, and says, “Get inside.”

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