A Soldier's Christmas Memory
It was the evening before Christmas Eve, and I padded along in my boots headed for the snack bar where I hoped to have coffee and conversation with my army buddies.
Walking along lost in thought, I suddenly felt a tremendous slap on my back that hurt just a little also. I stumbled a little and turned to look around for Father Brewer, the only person I knew who would dare deliver such a blow to a young GI, a "trained killer." Indeed, I thought I saw his slight figure up a head, hunched down into his overcoat against the damp chill of the German night. I thought I could make out that deep chuckle of his in the distance also.