THE LITTLEST SPARTAN
Mark Twain wrote that no good deed goes unpunished. Major Blaine finds it is still true.
THE LITTLEST SPARTAN
“One child, one teacher, one lookcan change the world."
— Major Richard Blaine
Men stumble over pebbles, neverover mountains. The shingles on Omaha Beach taught me that.
Looking at the twitching, unconsciousbodies of generals and colonels strewn all over the floor of this large auditorium,I thought that this one time I might stumble over this mountain … or becrushed by it.
I bent by General Eisenhower whoappeared to be coming out of his grand mal seizure … from the French phrasemeaning “great illness.”
I took his neck pulse. It wassteady. Recovery from such a seizure took about 30 minutes. He would have adevil of a headache and would be weak and disoriented.
Sentient mocked, ‘You care?’
‘He is a fellow human being.’
Churchill said in his sonorousvoice. “He will hate you for this when he awakens.”
“He hated me before this, Prime Minister.”
Lady Churchill sighed, “For as muchreason as King Saul hated the young David.”
‘I don’t know how I am going toget out of this one, Sentient.’
‘I have taken care of everything.’
My stomach knotted as sheexplained “everything.”
Bradley grunted, rubbing a foreheadthat obviously throbbed. “Ike and I entered West Point in 1911 and graduated in1915. I know him well, Blaine. He will never forget or forgive this.”
“He won’t remember this, sir.None of those still unconscious will.”
“I won’t lie for you, soldier,”grunted Patton.
“Not asking you to, sir. AgentCloverfield is, at this moment, leading a medical team here to treat the poisongiven to you gentlemen, courtesy of a dastardly Nazi plot to eliminate the veryheart of the leadership for the Allied Expeditionary Forces.”
I smiled dourly. “Luckily, I heardof it from my contacts in the French Resistance and managed to keep the worstof the poisons from being put into your lunches today.”
Montgomery sneered, “For which Iguess you expect the George Cross, of course.”
I smiled broader. “At the veryleast. My pillow is looking empty of late.”
King George shook his head at mewith a dour smile of his own.
“And since I had it created, and Iknow how very little medals mean to you, I will nominate you for one myself.”
Patton stuck out his lower lip. “Andif I tell the medical staff the truth?”
I sighed, “General George Marshallhas been looking for a reason to sideline you ever since that slapping incidentin August of 1943, sir. Do you really want to give it to him?”
And that was how my pillow receivedits George Cross.
General George Marshall, the newSupreme Commander of the Allied Expeditionary Forces --
(Eisenhower’s suicide note wasfound in his left blouse pocket when the medical team arrived to pump all those high-ranking stomachs.
Sadly, President Roosevelt had toaccept uneasy sleep by not having General Marshall in Washington, and thegeneral received the position for which he long coveted.)
Oh, as I was saying … GeneralMarshall had set D-Day for June 5. Loading for the assault began on May 31,running from west to east—
Those coming from a distance rodeto the quays by bus or truck. Those whose sausages were close to the harborsformed up into their squads, platoons, and companies and marched.
Which was why I and my Spartan3oo were unhappily marching down village streets. We had done our fair share ofmarching in Sicily.
I didn’t remember it.
But the others did.
Two rows behind me, Pvt. JohnnyKnight groaned, “Major, have I ever told you how much I hate marching?”
Beside him, Ted “Kit” Carsonsnorted, “If he’s like me, he stopped counting after the hundredth time.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Kit,what with those clodhoppers of yours. But I gots me some delicate feet. Maalways said I should have taken up dancing.”
Pvt. Dee Stevens smiled big, and Cpt.Sam Wilson fought a snort and lost.
Sgt. Savalas, marching beside ourranks, sniped, “How about the two of you taking up a vow of silence for therest of this march?”
Everything was on the move,jeeps, trucks, big artillery pieces, tanks, half-tracks, motorcycles, andbicycles.
Crowds gathered on the streets towatch our apparently never-ending procession. The adults were cheering and givingus the V-for-Victory sign.
As Rabbi Stein and I passed a motherand her ten-year-old boy, he called out to me, “You won’t come back.”
Cpl. Reese drawled, “Cute littlebugger, isn’t he? Major, can I kill him?”
“No,” I smiled. “I don’t thinkour new Supreme Commander would approve.”
Marching beside Reese, Pvt.Porkins laughed, “And it might prove embarrassing if he killed you.”
The two of them had gotten closerever since it seemed like Porkins had been killed during Operation Tiger.
You never know how much someonemeant to you until the moment when you think you’ve lost them.
I turned to see the boy’s mothergive a gasp, pick up the boy, and run to the front of the column.
As I passed her, the boy sobbedthrough his tears, “You will come back! You will!”
Instinctively. I raised my righthand which tingled oddly. “Halt!”
The whole procession froze as ifit had become a still photograph. The only humans who still breathed were mySpartan 300 and the mother and her boy --- whose eyes had become as round ashitching rings.
I bent to one knee and smiled. “It’sa kind of magic, Richard.”
“Like with Merlin,” he saidweakly.
“Yes, a bit. You know my name isRichard, too. Do the other boys call you ‘Rick’?”
His face clouded. “No, Butch callsme ….”
I almost tousled his hair, but I stopped.Why do adults do that to boys? It always made me feel condescended to when I washis age.
I took his shoulder gently withmy artificial fingers. “It does not matter what they call you. It’s what youanswer to that counts.”
My left blouse pocket swelledwith an object suddenly forming in it. Sentient told me what it was. I took itout and showed it to … Richard.
A gleaming gold Spartan Helmetpin.
His eyes grew larger as he tookin my Spartan 3oo patch on my left sleeve. “Y-You’re Major Blaine!”
I nodded. “And you’re my newestrecruit.”
His mother and he both turnedvery pale. “Your first assignment ….”
He swallowed hard.
“Is to never make a statementuntil you have all the facts. Back there, you didn’t have enough facts to knowwe weren’t coming back. And now, you didn’t know for sure that we werecoming back.”
Rabbi Stein kneeled next to meand smiled, “Son, hard times will be here for awhile yet. Your mother needs toknow that your word can be taken to the bank, it’s so good.”
The boy smiled at that, and I said,“That pin will glow as long as the Spartan 300 unit lives.”
“Wh-What if one of you … is killed?”
Porkins kneeled on the other sideof the Rabbi. “One or none, Richard. That is the Spartan 3oo way, right, Reese?”
“Damn, ah, darn straight, Franklin.”
Reese looked towards the mother. “Helikes to be called Franklin not Frank. He has a degree in electronics if you’dbelieve it.”
That shocked me. Not that I didnot know that, but that Reese did.
“Why, Franklin even told mewhere Pvt. Evans missed a circuit.”
Eric Evans grumbled, “Next time,Porkins. You tell me.”
The cold glint in Evans’ eyestold me that Porkins would be very wise not ever to take Eric up on the offer.
The mother must have seen thatglint, too, for she shyly offered her hand to Porkins who rose to take it as ifit were fine glass.
“My name is Betsy, Private Porkins.Betsy Widmark.”
“Franklin, ma’am. Call me Franklin.”
She hastily dug into her apron pocketand pulled out a scrap of paper and a stub of a pencil. “I don’t mean to beforward … Franklin. But we are hardly likely ever to meet again, so here is my address.Write to me and Richard … if you should want to.”
“I will, ma’am.”
Reese nudged him hard in theribs. “Betsy, doofus. Betsy.”
To take the attention off Porkins’blushing face, I squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “You know, Richard, I never knewmy mother. I was placed as a baby in a blue blanket on the steps of an orphanage.”
His face beamed. “Just like babyJesus.”
“Ah, I don’t have those jobqualifications. Besides, I believe the position has already been taken.”
The boy smiled at that, and Isaid, “Watch over your mother as best you can.”
I felt a huge bag form in myright pant’s pocket. I twisted and pulled it out. I shook my head. It washuge. How had Sentient put in my pocket in the first place?
I listened to her for a heartbeat.
‘Look at them, Blaine. They arestarved.’
“This bag is filled with Americansilver dollars minted on the year of my birth. It will never become empty … andyou and your mother will never again be hungry.”
Like the average ten-year-old, helost out to his curiosity and pulled one out.
He frowned. “You were born thisyear? You look older than that.”
Betsy tapped the boy’s nose,causing his face to match Porkins’. “War ages you, Richard. It ages you.”
I sighed. War and Sentient.
I raised my right hand, and theworld breathed a sigh of relief as it stirred around us again.
My Spartan 3oo began marching. I thinkwith lighter steps.
I turned around for a last lookand was startled to see a small Spartan Helmet shining atop the boy’s stunned head.
