The General's Driver

by Shelley J. Alongi

The General woke slowly, realizing one moment at a time that he lay beneath comforting blankets, warm, secure, snugly protected against the morning.

The first timid exploration of a hand from beneath his protective cocoon informed him that it was, as he had expected, quite cold. As long as he had held command of this army in the cold reaches of the world, he had to admit that he could, in the morning at least, never quite get used to the icy chill which crept into the room, seeping into his bones, laying its glacial hand on everything: his small table, his less than adequate desk, the four walls that surrounded him. Even now in bed it threatened to foray beneath the blankets and steal the precious warmth which had gathered to protect him through the night. In the arms of such luxury, he allowed himself the customary ten minutes to gather his strength, to mentally prepare himself for a day which he knew would be long, exhausting, and, ultimately, rewarding. When he sensed that the moment was right, he pushed the blankets aside, and stood up, ignoring the cold, and shouldering the responsibility of command.

Quickly he tidied the bed, pushed a stray lock of dark brown hair away from his high forehead. He thought it was once again time for a haircut as he came from behind a screen which separated his bed from his desk and prepared to make himself a pot of very strong coffee. He preferred to do this himself, especially in the morning when he was gathering his thoughts. It was his orderlies' and aides' concession to the strict military code which demanded that the General be protected and provided for at all times during his service to it. He knew that they lurked somewhere in the shadows, but was glad they let him have his private space. He dressed quickly in fatigues and was pulling on his boots as the coffee's aroma began to permeate the room. He took a small key from a hook and opened a desk drawer, drawing out a list. He casually glanced at it, nodded. Today he would be assigned a new driver. Why was he being assigned a new driver so late in the game? He thought for a moment as the coffee dripped into the pot. Things like this were always cropping up, but so close to a war? Tensions between enemy forces and his own were heightening by the moment, and turnover in staff was, at this moment, undesirable. Oh, well, thought the General, tucking the list into a uniform pocket and testing the first sip of the coffee, we shall just have to deal with this one, too.

He picked up a sealed letter to his wife, and paused a moment. His command post lying in the cold reaches of the world, and his enemy, vying for the same space, were about to come to blows, and damn it all, he wanted her here with him. He choked back a wave of regret as he fingered the letter. All that would have to wait. He took a deep breath and added the sealed letter to the pocket. He hid his sadness in a swallow of coffee and decided the time had come for him to pass into the next section of his day. His ritual now completed, he emerged from his room, and nodded to his bodyguard, who quickly followed him into the cool, crisp morning.

They made their way across the compound and entered the mess tent where the General joined his young, black staff sergeant, Neal Jackson. Quietly acknowledging each other's presence, they proceeded to a table lined with wooden benches, and joined the rest of the General's crew: his orderly, his aide, and a new person whom the General did not recognize. "This is Jackie Small, your new driver," said Neal Jackson by way of explanation. "She joined staff today and has been briefed. She was transferred from the other base where she worked for the commander of the Tank Division. She is here to take the place of James who was wounded in the attack which heightened the hostilities, sir. She's quiet and professional, and, since she's new, sir, she hasn't pulled Bear duty yet."

Chuckling slightly and allowing a small smile to creep across the craggy plains of his face, the commanding officer extended his hand to the driver. Jackie liked him at once. The handshake he gave her was warm, firm, assuring.

"Hello, Jackie."

The low, dulcet tone of his voice warmed her. She felt as if she were being taken into his confidence. No wonder his men liked him. She remembered briefly the awe with which the other drivers had looked at her when she had been chosen for the general's driver.

"You've pulled Bear duty. You'll like him. He's a kind man and he'll treat you with great respect, Jackie, because you're a woman. He won't look down on you, or try to sleep with you. You can be sure of that."

The General quickly glanced at Jackie, took in her tidy appearance, noted the neat way in which she wore her uniform, her short hair, her erect posture. He noticed that she wore no jewelry, that there was a slight sheen of oil under her nails which perhaps time and necessity had deposited there.

"Good morning, General."

"Neal tells me you're a good driver."

"Neal has done his homework, sir.  He received a good recommendation from the General of the tank division."

"I have supreme confidence in Neal.  If he says you're to be trusted, I believe him."

They ate their breakfast in silence, washing down their reconstituted eggs with hot, strong coffee. Jackie looked discretely at the men who surrounded her. There was Neal Jackson, the Sergeant, Clarke Henry, the General's orderly, Ken Reese, the aide, and finally, the General, whom she knew handled the military's affairs with inveterate calm. Jackie had served the other General with skill, and felt comfortable in the presence of so much brass and Polish. She easily made small talk with the men, waiting for her instructions.

"You don't mind if I bring a book, sir?"

"No, of course not. There is a lot of down time."

By way of small talk, the General now finishing his coffee inquired as to what she was reading.

"Crusade in Europe, General Eisenhower's work on the Second World War ETO."

"Eisenhower?"He nodded in approval."That's not easy reading."

"You are right, of course, General. He tends to add personal encounters in his book. It adds a little warmth to the military detail."

"Military detail," said the General absently, now beginning to think about the next part of his day. He quietly made a signal and Neal rose, a cue to everyone that breakfast was finished, and the business of war was at hand.

Continued—»