Billy Boy by Jean Mary Flahive Read Free Book Online Page A

last it was over. In spite of everything, Billy felt proud when Adjutant General Hodson presented the regimental colors and he marched in the formal dress parade, passing in review before his senior officers.
    The night sky swirled orange as Billy stared at the rows of campfires throughout Camp King. It felt good to be with his friends.
    â€œRum’s been flowing all through this camp tonight,” said Charlie.
    â€œDon’t nobody feel much like goin’ to bed,” said Leighton. “Our last night on good ol’ Maine soil for a long time.” He turned his head to the raucous privates at a nearby fire.
    Jeb shook his head. “I ain’t never seen folks so liquored up.”
    â€œLooks like you’re gonna get your chance to see a drunkard up close,” answered Harry. “Ol’ Lars Soule is staggering this way.”
    Reeking of tobacco and rum, a burly, disheveled Lars leaned over and passed his bottle to Jeb. “Hey, Berwick boy? How ’bout a little drink?”
    Billy watched as Jeb reluctantly accepted the bottle and took a short swig. He quickly handed it back. The private grunted in approval and looked around. Billy lowered his head.
    â€œHey,” Lars yelled, stifling a large belch. “Ain’t you one of them dumb cusses in the Awkward Squad?” Billy shuddered as Lars shuffled toward him.
    â€œHere—take a drink.” He belched again and laughed.
    Billy turned his head away from the bottle. “Pa says drinkin’s a curse.”
    â€œWell, your pa ain’t here now, is he?” Lars leaned his face into Billy’s.
    â€œAin’t wantin’ to.”
    â€œWhat a whimpering little toad.” Lars turned and hollered to his buddies at the next campfire. “Hey fellas, we got us a real sissy boy here. Says his pa don’t want him to drink.” Hooting and laughter erupted.
    Billy hung his head, ran his fingers through his hair, then tore at a fingernail.
    â€œLooks like we got us a Sunday soldier. You know what a Sunday soldier is, boy?”
    â€œReckon I don’t.”
    â€œWell, see here … A Sunday soldier is a name we give you dumb little cusses—”
    â€œShut your mouth, Lars.” Leighton’s face was raw with anger.
    â€œOh, look, it’s another fool from the Awkward Squad.”
    Billy heard Harry leap to his feet, saw the heels of Harry’s boots charge at the drunken private. “If you’re looking for a fight, you can start with me. Seems to me we should be getting along, Lars, but if it’s a fight you want, I’ll take you down right now.”
    Harry yanked off his sack coat, tossing it to the ground in an angry flourish. Lars raised the bottle and rushed toward Harry, rum spilling over his head and shoulders as he swung it around in midair. Harry ducked his head and lunged forward, grabbing the private’s arm and twisting it hard against his back. The bottle fell onto one of the rocks that circled the campfire and shattered, the strong scent of rum fouling the air. In seconds Lars was on his knees, wincing in pain as Harry held his grip, preventing the private from striking back, his free arm dangling limply at his side. Out of the darkness, Lars’s drunken friends shouted and lurched for Harry. Leighton jumped to his feet. Charlie picked up a piece of broken glass. Unsteady on their feet, the privates retreated, staggering back to their fire.
    Harry waited a few moments and then released his hold, pushing Lars to the ground with his foot. “Go on now, back to your friends.”
    Wincing in pain, Lars pulled his arm into his chest. He struggled to his feet. “You fellas ain’t heard the last of this!” He turned and spit on the ground. “Especially the Sunday soldier,” he shouted from the shadows.
    Billy’s head fell to his chest. He got up, moved slowly from the campfire, and disappeared into the tent. He lay still as his