At The End Of The War - November,1918 Poem by Daniel Brick

Smoke from the fire-fight still swirled
around us, as we carried the Captain
to the shelter of a huge oak, gashed
by bullets and bayonets. We braced
hus body against the bark. His breath
labored, his face wrenched with pain,
we knew what he too must have known:
he did not have long to live. Jake and I,
who knew him from the first year
of fighting, sat close to him, the others
milled around or leaned into the oak.
The Captain tried to speak, but words
failed him. They also failed us soldiers.
What do you say to man dying inch by inch?
Would the Germans attack again before he had
the chance to die in peace? Would we mourners
have to be fighters again, and abandon him?
But the Captain rallied, and greeted each man
by name. The whole scene was like an unspoken
prayer. An hour passed, he was fading from us.
He drifted into delirium. He addressed us
as children, what peacetime ritual unfolded here?
I leaned closer to him and he spoke to the air,
and named perhaps a chldhood friend, "Sam, you know
it is the sweetness of life I'm losing, I'll never
hear PARSIFAL again... " His voice was twisted
into silence. He seemed to sleep, but I think
he was awake but turned deeply inward. The pain
disfigured his face, so I told the medic to give him
more morphine. He rallied again, "No, I'm not going
to need it. Save it for the others." It brought
tears to my eyes to know he was thinking of others
and not himself. I had lost track of the movement
of time. What did it matter with all this death?
I bowed my head, he passed quietly. It was as if
some angel had descended and eased his departure.
I don't believe in angels, but I believe in men
who become more than themselves in crises. The sky
was overcast and air was chilled. It was a Monday
morning,10 am, the war would be over in one hour,
one hour too late for our Captain. How badly
the world will need men like the Captain. How can we
go on without them?