in all his years fighting for his country, sergeant james collins had never seen such a scrawny man. sure, he had laughed when albert volunteered, who wouldn't? a tiny kid like that. of course, he didn't turn out to be a bugle boy. too good with a rifle to waste him playing taps, that's for sure. albert was one crazy son of a gun, in sergeant collins' mind. no one else would've climbed that tree in full view of the rebels to re-hang the flag.
he always gave a fighting chance, that albert d.j. cashier. he was standoffish, aloof, and walked with his chin held high, like he was a foot taller than he really was. sergeant collins was pretty certain that, given the chance, albert would sock a greyback full-on in the jaw and live to tell the story. damn, what he would give to see that.
sergeant collins knew that, logistically, most of his soldiers would die before the war ended. no sense in getting worked up about it, he supposed, we all die eventually, whether it be through battle or illness, murder or old age. it would be sad to see albert go, though. he was a spark.