Pickering College - Voyageur Yearbook (Newmarket, Ontario Canada)

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Zo THE VOTAGEUR . SHORT STORY 4 llell- Shocked by ll0N Moons THREE MINUTES TO Go! This isn'r the first time the boys have heard that cry, but it might as well be. The effect is instantaneous. Most of them turn a chalky white. The hardened old veterans, shaking inwardly, take out cigarettes and with steady hands proceed to enjoy what may be their last smoke. The younger recruits take it the worst. Some of them start to weep softly. Others clench their hands, grit their teeth, and try to think about something else, but giving that up, they turn for a lastfminute look at sacred letters or pictures. Two minutes to go! A buzz of conversation arises out of the fetid trenches. A whisper, Hey, Mac, If I don't come back give this to my mother in Y, will you? iPause, while coarse, scarred, numbed hands fumble in the tunic pocket for that elusive scrap of paper on which a simple message is written.w Thanks, old man. From another part of the trench, I wonder if I'll come back? Shut up! One minute to go! A last minute inspection of guns and ammunition. A last handshake all around. Whispered words of encouragement. A coarse joke here and there. Muttered curses over some thing gone wrong. Over the top! With a shout the men leap up to be cordially received by a barrage of shells, machine gun's fire, and barbed wire. Dozens fall but they can't stop now. The laddies are carried onward by the seething mass of humanity bubbling out of the graves, called trenches. A shell lands near. Pieces of legs, arms and a sea of blood spout into the air to be received by horrified and shrinking comrades. Onward, onward, their objective the enemy trenches a quarter of a mile away. What a distance! If measured in miles of bloodshed, horror madness and agony, it would stretch far out into space. Only two hundred yards now. Fully one third of that fine regiment is lost in the dust. Soldiers fall beside wounded comrades who, maddened by the blinding, tropical sun and intense thirst, rip open their throats and gorge themselves on blood which then proceeds to flow out a hole in the back made by a flying piece of ragged shrapnel. Finally the trenches are reached. The grim attackers look down on the horrified enemy whose officers led them to believe that their position was impenetrable. Hand grenades are thrown and bayonets Hxed. Heads go soaring in the air like bloody animated jackfinfthefboxes with a mixed ex' pression of horror and incredulous surprise on what's left of the faces. Bayonets are thrust with unerring accuracy between the third and fourth ribs on the left side, Hand to hand fights ensue in which legs and arms are broken with fiendish glee by men crazed with the lust to kill and maim. At last the shots thin down and the fights peter out with the men engaged sinking down in utter exhaustion. The battle is woneeewhat-a lot of holes in the ground.

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THE VOYAGE UR ZS 0 SHORT STU RY Q The Pay-0ff by T. sTEPlmNs0N IKIE BERNSTEIN was worried, to say the least. For two weeks he had been on edge. He was jittery, his nerves were ragged, yet the one spark of manlif ness left in him kept him rooted where he was. Now the day had arrived. 'LSlick Rocco was free again. Mame Bernstein begged him to leave town. She became hysterical. Ike hit her once, hard, and never even bothered to look where she fell. He knew that flight was useless. He must beat Slick at his own game or Mrs. Bernstein would have to look for a new provider. Rocco had gone to the big house for five years on Ike's testimony. Ike no longer regretted having squealed, but now his only thought was to save himself. Ike took his revolver out of the drawer, and practised a few draws. His hands shook, and he cursed his inability to control them. The day dragged slowly on. Ike sat sullcnly, not saying or doing anything. He seemed in a trance. Mame paid no attention to him. She had learned her lesson. About ten o'clock, Ike aroused himself from his stupor. He pocketed his gun, and left the apartment. A car moved slowly away from the curb, near the corner. Ike knew the car contained Slick's men, going to tell him of Ike's approach. Ike set out for the saloon. His control had snapped, and he became aware of the darkness. He moved along warily, yet he was still blocks away. He began to mumble incoherently, and broke into a run. He turned down an alley, just one block from Slick's hangout. He slowed to a walk again. A dark shape appeared at the other end of the alley. Ike froze. He snatched out his gun with trembling fingers, fired, and ran to the prostrate form. He gloated. Well, Slick, I won. Ha, ha, hal He turned the body over and broke into a wild laugh. Ha, ha, ha! That's a hot one! It's only Gus Graziano, the old drunk. Ike snapped completely. He laughed wildly and fired into the air. Answering an urgent call, a police cruiser turned into the alley. A gun was leveled at the raving Ike, and he fell slowly, still laughing at his grim little joke. The police records called Ike's death justifiable homicide, yet the under' world knew he had been paid off in his own coin.

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THE VOTAGEUR 27 a HUMOUR Q The lliEl3ll ill llitdh-llikill by CHARLES T. KING COLLEGE LIFE is kept interesting by the occasional occurrence of the week' end leave. The average inmate in anticipation of this extrafcurricular activity preserves himself in the best of spirits during the monotonous academic lull which is generally regarded as an intermission, a period in which to catch up on lost sleep. When confronted with a weekfend The Studentfghis mother thinks he is-is never at a loss to know what to do. If he is not aware of the general proceedings there are old hands about the place who are ever ready to set the example. A little filthy lucre-just in caseeis The Students'- if his mother still thinks he is-chief requirement. For this meagre necessity 0ur Bill glances at his pocketfmoney account. Either out of embarrass' ment or a degree of consideration for his father's well earned money Willyam retires to the curb and signifies his distress to the passing motorist. He stands on the curb because the law says he cannot stand on the road. He can of course but he may not. What a handsome figure Willyam cuts as he poses there, slicked to make a kill. He wears out a smile, if he still knows how, and holds out an arm at the end of which the primary digit gesticulates violently. The exhaust from the tenth car leaves Willie exhausted but not for long. To be sure, those first ten cars mistook our hero for a road sign. With Parcian persistency he semaphores still another caravan. Mr. Pickusup is alone and Willyam is apparently alone-Fido is doped and gagged in the valise which accompanies Will on such expeditions. Some road maps, banana peels and orange skins, and the Daily Bugle are tossed holusfbolus into the back seat as Willie solves the combination of the door handle. Will's benefactor makes an opening bid which is lost in the muffler which is lost. Will shakes his head. Mr. Pickusup leans over. Will perks his ears in rabbit fashion. Mr. Pickusup spouts for the third time, The ex- haust makes a lot of noise doesn't it? Will nods in assent. In an attempt to create conversation Will asks Mr. Pickusup if he knows when the new speed law comes into effect. On the 24th I believe, comes the uncertain reply. Mr. Pickusup is of the opinion that his rider has flung a hint. I never go much over fortyffive as the steering wheel is loose and above that speed I'm not too sure of her, says he. At that mo- ment Will notes that that limit has been reached. Then a moving moving van obstructs the front view as Pickie accelerates to Hfty, fiftyffive, sixty,- sold-just in time to let a car pass that was in a hurry to go the other way. Willie believes in signs and reads the name on the side of the van unaware how close he came to being the subject of an autopsy. The road goes off in three directions and since Mr. Pickusup is taking