Albert's Silent War

Albert Talbert was saddled with a name that rhymed, a face that scared small children, and a legacy that would be impossible for a less private man to live down. He was blessed with an uncanny mechanical ability, a deep belief in the God he believes guides us all, and with a courage that's rare among men.

Albert Talbert was a sergeant in the U.S. Army at the very end of World War II. He was nineteen, big, and ugly. I'm not sure which part made him most effective. Nineteen was young to be a sergeant, but at that point in the war, when most new recruits were 17 and 18 years old, at 19, and in for 2-1/2 years already, he was considered a battle-seasoned veteran. He was 26 when he shepherded new troops in Korea, and close to 42 when he asked to go to Viet Nam. Now, old to be a sergeant rather than young, Albert's sense of responsibility towards young soldiers had never wavered. He'd progressed from young, big, and ugly, to old, big, and ugly, at least in the eyes of his men. Nonetheless, he was a good sergeant as far as his men were concerned, for all that he held his men tightly in check. He commanded a respect that younger sergeants envied. When other platoons were less than considerate of the village women as they swept through, Albert Talbert was known to knock heads together if his men got out of line. It became known as a "Talbert Headache", and wasn't an experience any of his men wanted to repeat more than twice.

I'll leave the war hero story to Albert to tell, should he choose to do so one day. It's enough for me that I've heard it from his own lips, and am quite convinced that it's true. Maybe it's because I had to coax each bit of it out of him, as he and I, as well as three travellers waited to see if morning would come, or we would die first.

Albert's silent war that I referred to in the story title wasn't based on his few and far between words. Albert's silent war was the war he fought deep within himself every minute of every day that he served in the military. Albert had been a Quaker you see, and though he'd given up his religion when he first enlisted in 1942, those deeply-held beliefs never really let go of him entirely. He was a peacenik in a world mad with war, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from from being right in the thick of things. He could have gotten conscientious objector status - one of the few groups to whom it was still available during WWII, but he didn't even apply. He mentioned more than once during that long, long night that perhaps it's not those that would love war that should fight it, but rather, those that hate war and killing, and so will do what's necessary with sorrow, with honor, and with respect.