The door swung open and Tucker ventured out just before dawn. The previous night, he had imagined what the day would be like when he awoke, what the necessary preparations would be, what the battle would require and what the squad meeting would be like afterwards. All this had been replayed in his mind, at least a hundred times.
It was damp, cold and overcast. The hour's eerie silence was broken by a tremendous roll of thunder, and rounding out the conspiracy, as if on cue, Tucker heard the supply train. It would cut off his path and slow him down by several minutes. Tucker was captain; he took his responsibility seriously. He learned the importance of honor, courage and discipline from his father. The old man was a war veteran and had played football in college. Tucker looked up to him.
As he finally made it to the dull-colored concrete building, he ran into the person everybody affectionately called the Sergeant, or Sarge. He was twice Tucker's age. The Sergeant asked him:
"You ready son?"
Tucker met the Sergeant's glance and shook his head yes. They walked together into the shadowy chasm and the door swung shut.
Painting: George Clausen (1852 - 1944)
Inspiration provided by: The Writer's Platform-Building Campaign