Author: Sam

Story: I Spy With My Little G.I.: 3 of 17

Series: The War Within

Feedback: Yes, please? Especially constructive. samwise_baggins@yahoo.co.uk

Webpage: http://www.geocities.com/samwise_baggins/index.html

“Johnny?”

A knock on the Chaplain’s door drew the man out of his deep thoughts. He pushed away the personal problems for the moment, calling out “Come in, Emil.” There were some very pressing questions he wished answered, and his own concerns could only distract him from the coming confrontation.

Smiling, the small redhead entered, letting the door softly close behind him. “Hey, Johnny.” His auburn curls were still damp from a recent shower. The doctor moved over to take a chair, not standing on ceremony.

That was a good sign in Father Mulcahy’s eyes. He smiled and gestured to a pitcher of water on the Army-issue table. “Let’s talk, Emil.”

“Ah, that sounds ominous.” Still smiling, apparently quite relaxed, the young man moved to pour himself a drink. “Is this as a confession or old friends?”

Father blinked, his head lifting slightly as his eyes widened. “What does it need to be?”

Emil slid once more into his chair. “Friends for now… might get serious later. So, you wonder about my life since you left, right?”

“Particularly your life as an Army Surgeon.” The Chaplain leaned forward, settling elbows on knees and folding his hands together, fingers interlocked. “What happened, Emil? Something…” thinking for a moment, searching for a phrase, the priest soon gave up and sighed, sitting back in his own chair, “something is different…”

“Not the clothes; I’ve always dressed like this. Father liked giving us his cast-off uniforms.” The doctor looked straight at the priest and smiled, head tilting to one side. “It can’t be my profession. I’ve wanted to be a doctor for a long time. Is it that I finally chose the military? Because I didn’t; I was drafted.”

The Chaplain shook his head, confused. “How is that possible? They don’t draft… people like you, Emil.” He didn’t know why he shied around the words. They were normal, harmless words. But something, somehow, gave him the impression that perhaps Emil wished to keep his secrets close. In the 4077, secrets spoken out loud had a tendency to be overheard, after all.

His friend laughed. “Oh, that. Well, they did this time. You see, when each of my brothers was old enough, they signed up for Selective Service. When it came my turn, Father signed me up without considering the ramifications.” Emil shrugged. “I don’t mind, really. My Commanding Officer already knows everything he needs to. In fact, so does *his* Commanding Officer. Everything is perfectly above board, Johnny.”

Standing, Father Mulcahy strode towards the desk on one side of his tent. He thought about his friend’s words, about what he knew of Emil. This wasn’t an easy problem, no matter how the doctor assured him it was cleared with the authorities. Finally, he turned to face the seated surgeon.

“Emil…”

The smile was gone from the petite man’s face. He stood and shook his head. “Don’t make me request a confessional, Johnny. I don’t want to do that.” He sighed and moved to his friend’s side, seeing the worry and sorrow in the priest’s eyes. “Look, I’ll tell you everything as a friend if I can, but I have to swear you to secrecy. I’m not…” he shook his head. “Maybe I should demand the confessional. Then I know you wouldn’t tell.” Emil raised his eyes to meet those of Father Mulcahy’s. “I know how seriously you take your promises; I can only think you’d take vows to God just as seriously.”

Father Mulcahy made his decision. “Emil, we don’t need the confessional. The only way I’d say something is if somebody’s life was in danger.” He gestured towards the chairs, taking his seat once more. “Tell me… what’s troubling you, old friend?”