​“Night is now falling, so ends this day; the road is now calling, and I must away. Over hill and under tree, through lands where never light has shone; by silver streams that run down to the sea.” ~ The Last Goodbye, Billy Boyd

 

North Africa, 1942.

 

~*~
 

Clark Landon had a knack for exploring. But that usually wasn’t in the middle of the desert, and especially not when he was supposed to in a meeting with superior officers.

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Yeah. That was going to be something, when he was found, if they even noticed he was gone. Maybe he’d lose his commission and could go back to planting corn on his family’s farm in Iowa.

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He climbed to the top of a sand dune, then settled on the crest of it, stretching his arms behind his head and staring out toward the horizon.

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Sand shifted behind him and he reached for his weapon, instinct screaming he’d have been far too late in a drill.

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“I’d appreciate if you don’t shoot, Lieutenant.” The man who climbed up the slope, sending little streams of sand skittering down the dune behind his boots, wore a gray jacket with an unfamiliar insignia on the collar. He held up both hands, palms empty. “I also don’t carry a weapon.”

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“You don’t, or you aren’t currently?”

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A little smile. The man turned so the collar of his jacket faced Clark, and he noted the silver cross embroidered into the collar. A chaplain, then. The only fully-formed thought he’d had about the chaplaincy was why the army had taken time to send one of them with the paratroopers — parachuting behind enemy lines without a weapon wasn’t exactly a sane choice. But then again, were any of them sane?

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Clark shrugged. “You’re brave coming out here without one.”

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“I try to be with my men. Do you mind if I join you?”

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Yes. “Not at all.” He flicked the single silver bar above the name patch on his uniform, then turned away to look out across the desert.

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Shadows flickered in his peripheral as the chaplain sat next to him. Clark glanced at the man’s name patch — Kuehl. The name had appeared on paperwork back when new men were transferring into the regiment earlier in the year… but frankly, there’d been so many, and he’d just been trying to get a job done.

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After another minute of silence, Clark asked, “Do you have family, chaplain?”

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Kuehl nodded. “A brother and a sister, and my parents.”

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“Any sweetheart?”

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The chaplain smiled again. “I write her when I can. We met my last year of high school.” He glanced at Clark. “You?”

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“Family, yes. Sweetheart, no.”

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“How many in your family?”

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“Five brothers and a sister.”

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Kuehl gave a low whistle. “You’ve beat my family by double. Do you like it?”

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“All the siblings? I guess. We worked hard together, and… they worked to help pay me through West Point.”

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“That’s a gift.” Kuehl rubbed his chin, though there wasn’t even a trace of stubble. “Were you expecting this commission, then?”

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“... Not in a world war.” Clark pushed himself to his feet. “Well, I need to be getting back to camp. I’ll let them know you’re out here.”

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That little smile, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t. The chaplain nodded. “I’ll be out here for a bit, then. Thank you for talking.”

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It wasn’t until Clark glanced over his shoulder from halfway down the dune that he spotted the two silver bars above the name on his uniform. First lieutenant. Kuehl ranked him.

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Clark considered saluting as he reached the base of the dune, but something told him he didn’t mind. Superior officers, on the other hand…

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God help me, if You’re up there. Maybe that was the chaplain rubbing off on him, as he quickened his pace to a jog back toward the tents of their camp in the distance.

 

~*~

 

A week later, all thoughts of slipping away for time to think had vanished about a thousand miles away.

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“Check your equipment before you board,” Clark yelled as men lined up to board the C-47s parked along the asphalt runway. About half of them paid him any mind, tugging straps on their packs and parachutes — but the other half seemed dead focused on the yawning blackness of the open door leading into the plane.

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He couldn’t blame them. After a tug on his own straps, Clark jumped into the plane behind the last of his company and pulled the lever to shut the door. The breathing of seventeen other men echoed off the plane’s walls for a minute before the engines rumbled to life.

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A few men talked with each other as the plane took off, some even cracked jokes, but as they rose into the night sky, stillness settled over the plane.

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Some people outright called them crazy for testing a relatively new style of warfare, parachuting out of planes directly into enemy-controlled areas. He had no argument, really — but if he volunteered, he might as well be all in for it. If he came back, great.

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About twenty minutes into the flight, his radio beeped, and the colonel gave the order for the planes to slow to the speed for their jump. The men in Clark’s plane formed a line near the bay doors as they swung open, some holding tight to the straps of their packs, others just staring out into the darkness.

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“Marcus, lead the jump in twenty,” Clark called to the man in front, then watched the seconds tick past on his wristwatch… “Go!”

Marcus stepped out of the plane and vanished into the night.

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“Go!” Clark yelled to the next, and the next. Man after man took that single step forward… until finally just him and the last man remained.

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“I’ll be right after you.” Clark nodded to him, and he walked forward out into the night. Clark stepped forward and watched the figure fade into the night, then an agonizing twenty seconds later, appear with that little flash of white that meant the parachute had activated.

Clark closed his eyes, took a deep breath of the chilly air, and stepped over the ledge of the plane.

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Falling… wind rushing past his face, stinging his cheeks — thank goodness for the goggles to protect their eyes — he counted in his head, then reached for the ripcord of his parachute.

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His hand closed on empty air. Panic swirled in his chest, but training had taught him how to shove it down — he strained to reach further behind himself, fingers touched fabric, seconds flying past — God no his family, what if — a cloud swallowed him in its mist and then cord — tangled in the strap of his pack. He yanked on it, didn’t budge, still falling — his fingers caught in the strap — pulled his hand free, found the cord — he wrenched on the cord with all the strength of the adrenaline screaming through him.

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Five, four, three — still falling — then the nearly-silent whoosh of the parachute and his harness snapped against his body, wrenching him upwards into the air. 

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Clark closed his eyes, but opened them a second later. The mist around him faded and the temperature warmed. Far below, sand dunes rose and fell in a repeating pattern… he waited as the wind caught his parachute, guiding it in the correct direction, thankfully.

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About a hundred yards from the ground, he finally let himself take a deep breath. The ground rose up to meet him, and he hit the sand feet first, then slid down to a sitting position to let the parachute fall behind him onto the sand.

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For a moment, the wind whispered around him. Yet according to the coordinates of their jump, he was nearly thirty miles behind enemy lines.

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Off to his left, he caught another flash of white, and after bundling up his parachute, he started at a jog in that direction. The wind dried sweat against his face.

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He’d made it another day, at least.

 

~*~

 

They had another jump scheduled in North Africa three days after the initial one. After securing the sites in their mission, they rendezvoused with a larger segment of the 504th, they gathered near the planes again. Apparently the colonel wanted something said before they left… Clark sighed and waited near the bay doors of one of the planes, listening halfway.

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“Now you’ve trained diligently and I want every one of you to show that kind of commitment. We know you’re going to be the kind of troops that we expect you to be. Now the chaplain has a chance to speak with you.”

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Clark straightened. A man stepped toward where the colonel stood near a cluster of cactus plants… he looked strangely familiar from the back, but when he turned, Clark caught the soft expression in his eyes instantly. Kuehl, the man who’d found him on the dune several days ago.

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The colonel nodded to Kuehl, and Clark watched as the chaplain walked over to the cactus and held up a hand toward the men. “You’re all welcome to come… I’m just going to be over here near the cactus to share a few things with those who want to hear.”

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Shadows flickered in the approaching dusk as men moved closer to the chaplain, forming a wide semicircle around the cactus.

He’d looked at more of the chaplain’s paperwork after that day on the dune, just out of curiosity. The man had trained with the 504th at Fort Bragg — both jump and combat training, even though he didn’t carry a weapon now. And from the following he seemed to have now, that had really garnered the men’s respect.

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Clark glanced down at his pack, fingering the ripcord of the parachute. He’d checked it about five hundred times already today. Still, that screaming of his mind, plummeting through the air with nothing to slow him and thinking…

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He forced the thought away and took a step closer to the crowd around the chaplain, for something to distract his mind, at least. The words drifted to him from a distance… “Now, I think we all have a certain amount of fear of facing the enemy. That’s natural.”

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A few of the men shifted, glancing at each other. So much for a distraction.

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Kuehl rubbed his chin, like Clark had seen him do when they’d talked together, then looked out across the group. His gaze found Clark, and he studied him for a moment before facing the others. “But some of you probably have a greater fear than the enemy we’re facing. If you don’t make it tonight, you’ll stand before God, and maybe you’re not ready to do that.” 

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He should have known it would go here. Clark spotted a few of the other lieutenants talking near a C-47 parked several yards away and turned to head in that direction.

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From behind, the chaplain’s voice still carried to him in the quiet hum of the night air. “You don’t have to have that fear.”

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He stopped walking. Had… no, he’d imagined that. Had to. But — had the chaplain said his name at the end of that?

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Kuehl was still talking, the Gospel message he’d heard a thousand times sweating in a stuffy church pew and watching the clock tick by the hours until freedom.

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Could he have really gotten that all wrong?

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“If you want to stay behind a bit and pray together, we’ll do that,” the chaplain was saying. “Otherwise… like the colonel said. We’ve trained diligently, and I’m proud to be serving with you all.”

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Some of the men drifted away from the group toward the planes. Clark’s feet wouldn’t budge.

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At least twenty or thirty men stayed to pray with the chaplain, but as they finished and made their way toward the planes, Clark found himself still standing several yards away from the cactus plant… it’d been the back of the crowd before, but now he stood there alone. Exposed.

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As the last man left, the chaplain scanned the area, and stopped when he saw Clark. He offered a little smile. “Did you want to talk, Lieutenant?”

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“I…” a lump formed in his throat. He did his best to swallow it down, stepping toward Kuehl only so that his voice wouldn’t carry to others around. “I don’t know.”

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“What don’t you know?” Softly. That Midwest accent was almost comforting… the paperwork had said the chaplain was from Minnesota.

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Clark rubbed the hem of his jacket between his fingers. Why was he doing that? Felt like the strap of his pack — “I… couldn’t find the cord of my chute. The other day, during — during a jump.” Probably the chaplain was the best to tell, of anyone. “I — well, I did find it, it was tangled in my strap, but…” that annoying lump in his throat again.

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Kuehl studied him, nodding slowly. “If you hadn’t made it… do you know where you would be now?”

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Something screamed inside at the question, but the answer that slipped out sounded almost broken. “No.”

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“Do you want to?”

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He managed a nod.

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The chaplain put a hand on his shoulder — Clark straightened at the touch, but the man held his gaze. “Lieutenant… did you understand what I said, that you don’t have to have that fear?”

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“I was raised in church. Just… I don’t know. Yes, I understood.”

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Kuehl pursed his lips. He glanced toward the planes for a moment, then back at Clark. “Sometimes… I ask men how much they trust their parachutes.” He inclined his head as if waiting for an answer.

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Ironic timing, after what had driven him up here. Clark swallowed. “I don’t really have a choice about it.”

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Another nod. “But when you step out of that plane, you’re trusting something to catch you. That way your life doesn’t end up in shreds, and… you can fulfill the purpose of your mission.”

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He could see where this was going from a hundred miles away. But after the last few nights — waking up with a scream caught in his throat when he couldn’t feel the ripcord of his pack — “I understand.”

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“It’s the same way with faith in Christ. You step into something unseen, trusting that He’s done all that’s needed to save you.” The chaplain met his gaze. “Do you believe that, Clark?”

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Clark stiffened. “How do you know my name?”

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That little smile again. “I asked some of the others. They respect you.”

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“Is that why you came to find me the other day?”

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A shrug. “In all honesty… the colonel sent me looking for you. But I’d been wanting to speak with you already.”

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Of course the colonel had done that. Clark glanced toward the planes — some of the men were already boarding — and he bit his lip, then faced Kuehl again. “All right, I’ll do it.”

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But the chaplain shook his head. “It’s not just a ‘do it.’ You have to be willing to step into that mission as well.”

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The shouts of some of the other officers drifted toward them. Great, he’d be late. 

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But… he couldn’t walk away. Not into another jump with fear screaming in his chest again.

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He let out his breath slowly, faced Chaplain Kuehl, then nodded. “All right. Please… just tell me what I need to do.”

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The chaplain smiled, warmth in his eyes. “Why don’t we kneel?”

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Part of him wanted to glance around at the other officers. But everyone would see no matter what. This was driving him — he needed that freedom. Something higher to fight for. A mission.

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He knelt in the sand next to the chaplain, bowing his head, then paused. “I… don’t remember exactly what to pray.”

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“That’s all right. May I help you?”

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Clark nodded.

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And there, next to a cactus plant in the sand dunes of North Africa, a few tears of freedom slipped down his face as he spoke the words he’d heard others say so many times. Now they were his.

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He finished and stood, forcing himself to meet the chaplain’s gaze. “Thank you. Can… I ask your first name?”

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Kuehl chuckled softly. “Delbert. Delbert Kuehl.” He held out his hand to Clark. “And I suppose you’re my brother now. To add to your long list of siblings.”

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Clark smiled, shaking his hand, then glancing toward the planes. “I should go. But… thank you. Really.”

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“Thank Him.” Inclining his head upward. “He’s the one who paid for you. I just follow.”

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Clark managed a smile and nodded, then turned and started off toward one of the planes at a jog.

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His chest felt a bit lighter. Adrenaline still surged through, and it was hard to tell if anything else had changed, what with some of the other officers shouting directions at him.

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But that night, staring out the open bay door of the plane into the darkness far below, he knew. The fear that had gnawed him for so long was gone, replaced by… willingness.

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He stepped out into the sky, letting the wind of his fall whoosh past him. And he knew he’d be caught. 

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And when that happened, he’d walk out the mission.​​​​​

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