BROKEN WINGS

Within 48-hours Doc was on a commercial flight heading home. In his bag, he had a cream and brown colored piece of paper that read, “Discharged.” This was the day that he had fought so hard to avoid. And he had lost.

Doc couldn't help but think about the last few years and how his downfall had started. He leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.

Dad sat reading the evening paper, “The Times–Standard”. It only came in the evening. Mom was absorbed in an Agatha Christy novel. The two girls and Adam were outside playing.

Tommy came walking down the hallway and sat down on the edge of the couch. He let a big sigh escape as he did so. Neither parent took notice. They both sat there busily reading to themselves.

Outside Tommy could hear the kids at play. He was wishing to himself that he was younger and could go out and play too. But he had already graduated from high school and his job as Paul Bunyan’s voice at the Trees of Mystery had closed for the winter months.

“Besides,” Tommy thought, “I don’t want to do that for the rest of my life.”

Tommy sighed again. Still, Mom and Dad did not look up or give Tommy any attention.

Tommy stared out the large sliding glass door into the back yard. His thoughts drifted back into another time. He was just a little boy then, when his family moved into this house. That was back before there were four children. It was just Adam and himself then.

He looked at the Alaskan daisies that he had spent a week after school planting. They were all white with brilliant green stems that stood out against the dull gray redwood fence he helped build less than seven years ago.

There was the swing set with its rusted green legs and cross bar that he could not recall never having been without. It had saved his life once by providing plenty of entertainment the one summer he was grounded to the back yard all three months.

Just over the fence was the old apple tree that was shade from the afternoon sun for the summer months. He spent last summer with Linda. She was gone now, back to Southern California.

Tommy’s parents continued to read as he sat there with his thoughts. They were mostly memories, more than thoughts.

“Thoughts collect dust, memories live on,” Dad had once said.

Tommy was trying to make a decision - an important one. At first the decision seemed to be easy, but the more he looked around, the less thought he had and the greater the memories he found.

Until this time, Tommy thought of memories as something old men passed back and forth in front of the hardware store. Tommy knew he wasn’t an old man, yet the flood of memories weighted him down until his heart felt like that of an old man. Tommy pushed himself upright and squared his shoulders. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. It was a loud and long noise.

Both his Mom and Dad stopped what they were doing and looked at him. Tommy took another breath.

This one was longer and deeper than the previous one and said, “I’ve decided to join the Air Force.”

For a moment, nothing happened. Both parents sat there in stunned silence. Then Mom started to cry as Dad stood up to shake his grown son’s hand.

By the end of the week Tommy had visited with the recuiter again and found himself on a bus heading south to Oakland. He had an appointment with doctors at the AFEE's facility.

Tommy was behind the rest of the group, who had already finished their initial interview with the doctor. But Tommy was left behind because the doctor wanted to ask more questions of him.

He was interested in the x-ray photograph of Tommy’s face where the left eye socket showed an irregularity. He needed to know how the hair line fracture occurred and why it wasn’t listed in any of Tommy’s medical records.

Once the doctor was satisfied that the old injury would be of no problem to the future airman, he sent him on his way. “Just go down the hallway and turn left, following the red line,” the doctor instructed. Tommy dutifully did as he was told.

The red line led to a doorway with a sign on it. The sign said to knock first and this is what Tommy did. A muscular man opened the door and Tommy stepped inside.

Once inside the muscular man went behind a long counter, reached down and pulled out a clear plastic container. He handed it to Tommy and said, “The restroom is right there.” He pointed to another door on the other side of the room. “Go fill it up,” he added. Again Tommy dutifully did as he was told.

Once he was finished he took the container back to the counter. The muscular man was not there, so he sat the plastic container on the counter and stood there waiting.

Suddenly the door behind Tommy burst open and a young man who looked to be in a terrible rush stepped inside the room. He had not bothered to read the sign that said knock as he just came in and closed the door behind himself.

He stood next to Tommy, his eyes searching around the room as if he were looking for the next thing he was supposed to do. With out warning he reached up and grabbed the plastic container of clear yellow liquid and started drinking it.

At the same time the muscular man returned from a side door behind the counter. He wrinkled up his nose in disgust as the young man finished off the last of the liquid.

The young man set the now empty container on top of the counter and smiled at bother Tommy and then the muscular man. Neither of the men smiled back.

The muscular man behind the counter lifted his brawny arm and pointed at Tommy, “You pass.” Then he pointed at the young man standing next to Tommy, “You, I want a word with.”

Then he added, “Just follow the red line to the right as you leave.” And even though Tommy felt very sick to his stomach, he dutifully did as he was told.

Later he would wonder what had happened to the guy who had been behind him.

Two weeks later Tommy was riding a southbound bus, headed back to the Oakland AFEE. From there he was scheduled to board a plane bound for Texas. It would be the first time he had been on an airliner since his Grandma Agnes had died 15 years earlier.

It was raining when they pulled through the gates of Lackland Air Force Base. The sign over the guard station read, Gateway to the Air Force.” Tommy thought to himself, “That’s pretty catchy.” He was feeling nervous because be was not certain to expect during basic training.

During the flight from California the group had been load and boastful. Suddenly they were quiet. The silence grew more and more severe as the hours on the bus increased. At the airport a sergeant had screamed at the group and called them names. It was no longer a great adventure, it was now serious business.

The bus made a noisy hiss as it came to a stop. To the right was a yellow building with several doors. They were all open and the florescent lights threw their bright white light out onto the puddle water of the asphalt parking area.

The door to the bus opened up and on stepped a man. He wore a green poncho and smoky bear hat covered with clear plastic. “Alright, ladies, off your butts and on your feet,” he shouted.

Tommy felt a terrible tremble develop in his knees, but he did as he was told. In his right had he held his orange Adidas bag. It was the one he has used all through high school.

It took only a few minutes to get the bus unloaded. And in those few minutes everyone was soaked except the sergeant in the poncho and smoky bear hat. He stood there looking at them. He slowly moved his head to the left and then to the right. He had both hands on his hips as he stood there looking at them.

Soon another bus pulled up in place of the one that had just deposited the wet group standing on the wet asphalt. They too unloaded just as quickly, which was not quick enough for the first group.

“Alright, Ladies,” the man in the poncho and smoky bear hat bellowed, “Pick up your bags.” As quickly as they could the group of young men, including Tommy picked up their bags. It was not quick enough they soon found out.

“Put them down!” the man shouted. Then as quickly as he finished the first order, he said, “Pick them up!” Again the group tried to get it right. And again they had failed.

The rain beat down on them so hard that it splashed back up into their youthful faces once it struck the asphalt’s surface. This routine continued for nearly two hours.

“Pick them up,” the man in the poncho and smoky bear hat would shout. Then “Put them down.” Over and over this continued until he was finally satisfied that the group had done it in unison. From there he counted them off in fours and allowed them into the building where it was dry.

Basic training was six weeks long and tt slipped by quickly for Tommy. He was promoted to E-3 upon graduation and he found himself being shipped out the back gate of Lackland to Brooks Air Force Base, which shared boundry-lines with each other.

Charge of Quarters happened to exchange shifts every eight hours in the barracks. And at six Master Sergeant Goodwin handed Tommy the keys to the building, the logbook and went home. It was up to Tommy to make the rounds of the building. He leafed through the book to take note of how others had made their rounds.

The pattern was nearly always the same. Walk through the floor from which your bunk assignment was located then walk around the outside of the building. Of course, Tommy decided to be different.

His bunk was located right next to the outside door. If a person were coming in that door his room was on the right.

Tommy had one more stripe than everyone else. That made him the odd man out and he ended up with a room to himself. He stepped out into the hallway and face up the hall. “CQ, CQ, CQ, I have charge of quarters until 0200 hours.” That was the tradition for this barracks. With that Tommy turned and walked outside.

Texas evenings in the summer are hot, muggy affairs. This night was no different. It just seemed muggier. The skies were cloudy as well and there seemed to be a slight breeze blowing in from the south. “Thunderstorm,” Tommy said to himself.

After walking completely around the building and finding nothing out of the ordinary he headed up the outside stairs to the third floor. Men were not allowed on that floor, as it was a women’s dorm. He knocked on the door and asked one of the ladies if everything was okay. “Yes,” was her one word answer.

Then it was down the same set of stairs to the second floor. He entered the hallway and announced, “Charge of Quarters.”

Several doors closed upon his announcement.

“Whatever’s going on, I don’t care,” Tommy said to himself. Then he added as an after thought,” just as long as the building doesn’t burn down or blow up while on my watch.”

The same happened as he announced himself on the first floor. He walked through the length of the hallway and entered his room.

He sat down at his study area, opened the journal and wrote down, “1814 hours, nothing remarkable.” That was his entire log entry.

The next two hours were the same: nothing remarkable.

An hour later that would change.

It was a couple minutes after nine when the base emergency siren sounded somewhere in the darkness. The wind had picked up and some rain fell. It evaporated as soon as it struck the hot pavement. The sky had a nasty dark pall to it.

The siren meant tornadoes.

The wind whipped Tommy’s hat away as he stepped outside. He started to chase after it but it disappeared into the shadows of the night. He continued on his fourth round.

The rain that fell, felt good. It cooled Tommy off in the heat of the evening. He could tell that a major storm was head their way. Then the lighting struck. It was a blinding flash of white light that left him temporarily without sight. The roaring boom of a thunderclap followed it closely.

He stood still waiting for his sight to adjust. Then he noticed that it was pitch dark. The lightning had struck a power pole on the other side of the mailroom and knocked out the electricity.

Still the siren wailed in the distance.

Tommy’s eyesight started to return, adjusting to the darkness of his surroundings. He headed up the outside steps towards the third floor.

Snap, buzz, pop!

Those were the three distinctive sounds he heard just south of where he stood. He looked in their general direction. What he saw caused a wave of alarm to rush over him. A cold sweat and a sick feeling in his stomach over took him, as he could hardly believe his eyes.

In the distance, cutting a wake of destruction were three funnel clouds. They were clearly out-lined in the cast of light of the power lines they snapped in half. They appeared to be getting closer.

Tommy bound up the stair well and pounded at the door. No answer. The tornadoes grew larger as the flashes silhouetted them. He knew he had to act.

The window shattered under the impact of his boot. Tommy reached inside and unlocked the door. He pounded on each individual door. Women poked their heads out of their rooms in disbelief that a man had come into their barracks against lawful orders. Tommy shouted at them to get to the bottom floor as quickly as possible.

“Tornado, tornado!” he shouted. “Get out now! Get to the first floor. Take cover!” he called out again and again.

Tommy ran down stairs to the second floor and repeated himself. There was a rush of activity. Men were racing for the nearest exit. He could hear the echoing of their boots on the steel grate step outside. He followed close behind.

The wind was vicious and unforgiving. He found it hard to breath and even harder to get the door open to the bottom floor and safety.

“Everyone, in the hallway,” Tommy screamed as loud as he could. The roar of the wind nearly drowned out the sound of his voice as he continued to shout instructions, “Lay down, now!”

All around them, they could hear glass shattering and wood breaking. Tommy could hear someone saying, “The Lord’s Prayer,” in the huddled mass of humanity hiding on the hallway floor.

Then the barracks shook as if the wind had picked each brick up one by one in rapid succession and laid them back down. The building heaved, and then it groaned.

Then there was silence

They remained huddled in the cramped hallway in complete silence and the darkness of the night. Soft crying and whispers could be heard.

“O’Gorman, Smith?” Tommy asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” answered one of then the other.

“Keep everyone right here—I’m going for help,” Tommy directed.

“Okay,” O’Gorman with his soft Irish Brogue called back as Tommy headed for the exit.

He had to push hard as the steel frame of the stairs had been ripped away from the wall and partly blocked the door from opening. He slipped passed the twisted metal.

There was a beam of light in the distance.

“Over here,” he called out,

“Tommy! Is that you?” A voice replied back.

“Yes sir! Frank?” Tommy responded.

It was Sergeant Joseph. He rushed up to meet him.

“You okay?” he asked.

Tommy nodded his head yes to the question.

“We’re all down on the first floor. The stair way is damaged,” I reported.

He told Tommy to turn around and take a look at the building. He lifted his flashlight up and ran it along the top of the building.

The lump in Tommy’s throat made it hard to swallow. The third floor was missing and the middle section of the second floor was torn away and lay in a pile of rubble on the ground stretching out into the parking lot.

Later that week, a Board of Inquiry was convened. They wanted to know if any lawful orders had been violated when Tommy entered the women’s dormitory by force.

He stood before the Board and admitted that he had kicked in the window and had run through the third floor. Tommy also told the Board that he knew he was forbidden from entering that floor.

Upon his admission, the Board had no other choice but to request two Article Fifteens, which is non-judicial military punishment. The first one was for willfully damaging and destroying government property. The second one was for disobeying a lawful order from a superior officer.

“You know I don’t want to do this to you,” Captain Smith said as he laid the paper work out on his desk.

“Yes, sir,” Tommy said.

“If it was up to me I’d give a commendation for saving those women’s lives,” the Captain continued.

Again, Tommy said, “Yes, sir.”

Then the Captain handed Tommy his pen. He quickly signed the Articles and came back to attention.

It proved to be the longest five months Tommy had ever known. He was thankful that the technical school was over, but he wasn't looking forward to his new duty sight in Wyoming.

It took less than a month for Tommy to develop his skills to the point that NCO's and officer were taking note. He had even earned nickname Doc from his co-worker and new friend Barney.

The buzzer sounded but the rider did not get off. The pick-up men rushed over to assist him off the back of the bull. But still he stayed on the beast.

Suddenly the cowboy came off the back of the bull. His hand still caught up in the strap. The bull shook him like a rag doll. Still the ride could not get loose.

The pick up men tried to get him undone. The bull fighters ran back and forth attempting to get close enough to undue the limp form attached to the spinning bulls back.

The bull raced across the open arena and smashed his left side and the cowboy into the railing. Then he dashed back and smashed the rider into the other side of the arena fence.

The medical crews were all along this fence. They had stood and watched in agony as this helpless cowboy continued to be thrashed about by this ton and a half monster. As he passed by the medics he blew snot their way and raked the slats with his razor sharp horns.

Still the pick-up men and rodeo clowns could not get the man untied from the bull. The animal charged off to the other side of the rodeo grounds. Then he changed directions. He spun back and forth and still the cowboy remained secured to the animal back.

On his third pass at blowing snot and raking the fence post, Doc decided to do something. Rodeo rules prohibit the involvement of anyone not hired to do what he was about to do.

Doc pulled out his boot knife and flung himself over the fence and side ways over the bulls back. The bull spun to his right, the side Doc was on. Doc felt his black and white horn touch him in the back. However the young medic was too far in for the brute to hook him.

The rag doll cowboy was hanging from the bulls left side. Doc started cutting away at the rawhide that held him.

Suddenly the bull was spinning to his left. He shook his head as he leaped into the air on each successive spin. His skin slipped underneath Doc as he struggled to hold on. Then he spun to his right again. His horn struck the medic in the right lower back just above his hip. It felt like a two-by-four had just been broken over his body.

At that moment the cowboy fell away and Doc found himself pitching backward with a handful of leather in his hand. He heard a dull thud as he felt his body drop into the soft loam. Doc’s instincts took control of his mind and his body and he immediately started to crab-crawl backwards and out of the way.

The bull dug at the earth where Doc had lain. The bull-fighting clowns moved in. They now had two victims to save from this raging beast.

The bull was spinning to his right, digging at the air and then the ground with his horns. Doc continued to roll away and crawl to escape him. Doc thought he was closer to the fence and safety than he really was. He had been nearly in the center of the arena. Now he had only six more feet to go.

One of the bull-fighters raced in front of Doc. He passed with in inches of the bull and those razor sharp horns. The bull tracked on him. He followed this with a leaping spin to his left which carried him away from Doc.

Doc looked over his left shoulder to see how far from the fence he was. He rolled to his left and started to get up when he heard more than felt, a terrifying pop come from his left leg. The bull was standing on Doc’s Wranglers.

The bull was looking at the clown. In less than a second he was off and charging the clown and Doc was free to move more towards the fence and safety.

The searing pain that followed was so intense that Doc could no longer hear the crowd any more. Time slowed down to a crawl as he laid there and looked at his left leg growing longer as he dragged himself to the fence.

Doc was now on his belly and had a hand on the lowest fence rail when the other medics yanked him under the fence. The bull was being head by a pick up man and they came tearing down the line right when Doc had been lying.

Doc’s head was swimming in pain. The medic’s left leg hurt even worse and his lower back throbbed. The medical crew immediately cut his dirt-filled Wranglers off as well as his snap button shirt.

Doc rose up to look at his leg, which looked to be half a foot longer than his right. He could see his knee cap appeared to be missing. There was a large lump in the middle of my thigh. He concluded his thigh bone must be broken.

He wiped my brow and discovered fresh blood matted over with the rich brown dirt of the arena. Doc’s hands were skinned as was his right elbow. A traction splint was put on his battered leg and he was taken to the hospital. Doc was given a shot of morphine to help with the pain.

“You’re pretty lucky,” said the Doctor when he finally came too. “No broken bones and only a bruised kidney and displaced knee cap.”

Doc was in the hospital for three days. As for the rag-doll cowboy, he was treated for unconsciousness and ended up riding again the following day.

“If only they had a pain reliever for injured pride,” Doc told himself.

Summer flew by and the first of a number of snowfalls blanketed the region. Doc remained busy as he and his friend and co-worker found themselves working in positions not normally associated with their work field.

“Let’s quickly load him and get out of here,” Dave said to Tommy.

They were standing knee keep in a Wyoming snowfield easing the dead and frozen body onto the stretcher. Their breaths came quickly like puffs of smoke, which hung in the air momentarily, but rapidly, fell to earth as it froze.

Tommy worked quietly. He knew Barney on the other hand had to keep talking. It was his nervous habit to chatter while around a body.

“Damned bag,” Barney growled.

He had been fumbling with the olive green piece of plastic for a couple of minutes. The zipper was stuck, than it tore. He wadded it up and tramped back to the waiting ambulance.

When he returned he carried a folded sheet. Barney flicked it out, still holding onto the edge and let the white material float down on the body until it was draped.

Doc moved quickly around the stretcher tucking in the outside edges. Then he clicked the safety belts in place to hold the body onto the stretcher.

Together the two men gently lifted the stretcher until the wheels locked into place. Then they muscled it through the snow to the running ambulance.

Once inside Doc unbuckled the dead man. He lifted the sheet and started to undress the body.

“Come on, we don’t have time to back-strap him,” Barney said pleadingly.

That was the procedure Tommy was preparing to do. He knew he had to cut the tendons to keep rigor mortis from causing the body to move into strange positions.

Barney continued his argument, “We’re only a few minutes from the base. He’ll be okay.”

Doc thought about it for a moment, and then pulled the sheet back over the body, “Well, at least help me get him turned around.”

The body had been loaded feet first which did not look right.

Barney shook his head and turned to crawl into the front of the cab. “He’s dead. What’s it matter?”

Doc sighed loudly as he buckled the safety strap back into place.

Soon Doc was up front as well, in I the drivers seat. Barney reached over and picked up the microphone to radio in their position and estimated time of arrival.

Doc let out the emergency break and the ambulance moved forward through the snow.

As soon as Barney hung up the microphone he turned on the heater full blast. He knew that if his feet were cold than Doc’s feet must be frozen. Tommy had suffered frost bite less than three months ago and was in constant pain when his feet grew cold

“Thanks,” Doc said cheerfully as he secretly wiggled his painful toes.

He thought about how well the recovery had gone in spite Barney’s fear of dead bodies.

Doc chuckled at the thought, "Just like the government to give morgue detail to a person scared of death people.”

Within minutes they were passing through the gates of Warren Air Force Base. It had started snowing again. The gray asphalt was already covered over in white. Doc flipped on the windshield wipers on, then grabbed up the microphone.

He had effectively learned to tune out Barney when he was on a nervous talking jag. He called in that he was less than two minutes from the hospital.

Suddenly Barney’s eyes grew wide and his talking became a stammer. Doc looked at his partner and noticed movement out of the corner of his eye.

The fact that the movement was startling and that Barney screamed caused Doc to react by slamming pm the brakes. The ambulance started to slide, the rear end swinging hard to the left.

The ambulance was going around in tight circles, sliding wildly out of control through the freshly fallen snow. Barney had gone wild. He was unbuckled and standing hunch, back against the windshield. He reached down and flung his door open and bailed out into the whiteness.

Doc did not see him jump. Instead he heard the noise of the door opening, then the blast of cold air rushing in to replace the warm air from the heater.

Within seconds the ambulance came to a stop. It rested sideways in the street, its front wheels on the curb of the sidewalk. Doc popped open his door and bolted like a coyote held in captivity.

Three strides from the ambulance he collected his wits and drew his pistol from its holster. He raised it and slowly moved around so he could look into the ambulances windshield. The pistol shook as his hands trembled.

The sight that greeted Doc caused him to lower the weapon and gently thumb the hammer back into its resting place. The snow was starting to fall harder and a crowd of concerned onlookers had started to form.

Doc turned to see if he could see Barney anywhere. He jogged up the street to where the vehicle grew out of control. He could find nothing. Barney was nowhere to be found.

Doc jogged back to the ambulance just as a security police cruiser pulled up. Sergeant Jenkins got out and walked over to Doc.

The Airman explained what happened as the Sergeant climbed up into the cab to have a look. He came out laughing.

Barney later explained what happened. He saw the body slowly sit up. Then it started to reach out towards him.

“That’s when I bailed out,” he added, “I didn’t stop running until I reached the hospital.”

Doc sat there silently reliving those few minutes of terror, and then sighed heavily.

Then Barney asked, "Did you really draw down on an unarmed dead man?"

Doc just looked at him, then got up from his seat and walked out of the office.

Winter was a busy time of year for the two young men. The pair found themselves transporting base personnel from their homes in Cheyenne to the airbase. It didn't matter what time of day it was or what the weather was like.

The siren wailed each time the ambulance approached a cross street. He could hear Barney in the back talking to medical control on the two way radio.

“We’re in route with a thirty-eight year old male who appears to have suffered sudden death,” said Barney. He stopped and pressed the head set closer to his ears. “Negative, there appears to be no cause.”

Doc blasted the siren again and grabbed the ambulances microphone and laid it in his lap. Then he thought, “What a rotten time to going onto base-it’s quitting, time there.”

Then he pulled the microphone up to his mouth and began to speak “Warren Hospital, this is medic four.”

The radio cracked alive, “This is Warren, go ahead four.”

“This is four,” Doc began, “we are enroute to you with a thirty eight year old male with sudden death, request clearance at front gate. Our ETA is less than five minutes.”

“Thirty eight year old male sudden death, ETA front gate less than five request clearance,” repeated the voice from the radio, “Ten-four, Warren Hospital, clear.”

Doc reached over and hung the microphone back in its holder. Three minutes later he flipped on the siren again. He could see the top of Interstate 80 just ahead. Beyond that lay the Front gate to Warren AFB and Doc wanted the gate guards to know they were coming.

Less than a minute later the ambulance passed under the interstate. Doc could see the front gate entrance now. He started to cuss.

“What’s the matter, “Barney asked from the back.

“Looks like the gates blocked,” Doc yelled back over his right shoulder and over the siren.

Barney poked his head through the cubby hole that separated the two airmen.

“What?!” he said in alarm.

“It’s blocked,” Doc repeated “Looks like they’ve got K-9’s working a car in the emergency lane.”

“Oh crap,” Barney replied.

He pulled his head out from the cubby hole and re attached his seat belt. Doc immediately pulled the ambulance into the left lane without slowing down. He had made a decision to run the gate.

He picked up the radio and said “Warren Hospital this is Medic Four. The front gate is blocked. Our ETA is less than half a minute. We are code three.”

He dropped the microphone in his lap and took a stronger grip on the steering wheel.

The siren was still wailing as the ambulance passed beneath the overhang of the gate. Doc could see the guard in the shack ducking back inside and behind the wall. His eyes showed disbelief.

Crash! Crunch! Grind!

Those were the noises made as the siren suddenly stopped in mid cry and the red and blue flashing lights arched white. Doc looked in his mirror and knew that the over hang was too low for his lights and siren and now they were laying in scattered pieces behind him.

He turned his attention to getting to the hospital.

The following day, Doc was summoned to the commanding officer’s office. He knew that he was in trouble from the moment that he arrived at the hospital and had unloaded his patient into the waiting care of the emergency room Doctors.

Doc knocked three times on the Colonel’s door and entered, he closed the door behind himself. He saluted and announced himself as ordered. He held the salute until the Colonel returned it.

Then the Colonel cleared his throat and began "I understand you had a split second decision to make yesterday.”

“Yes-sir,” Doc replied

“Why don’t you tell me about it,” the Colonel requested.

Doc complied, trying to not leaving out a single detail. The Colonel stood up when Doc was finished telling his story and walked around to in front of his desk.

He stood only a couple feet from Doc. Then he asked the frightened young man, “Would you do anything differently, if it were to happen again today?”

Doc thought for a moment, replying, “No sir.”

The Colonel sighed and walked back around his desk.

“I was afraid of that,” he said.

He sat down, picking up a pen, he signed his name to a piece of type written paper. He looked up at Doc and said, “I am revoking your military driving license by direct order of the Base Commander.”

The Colonel paused momentarily as if choosing his next words carefully, “Son, if it were me in your place I would have done the same thing. However the Base Commander believes you endangered his people by crashing the gate like you did. Let me have that license, now.”

Doc reached into his left rear pocket and pulled out his wallet. He removed the license and handed it over to the Colonel.

The Colonel took it as Doc saluted. Once the Colonel returned his salute, Doc was dismissed and he left the same way he entered.

Fortunately there was more to life in the Air Force than work. Both Doc and Barney had developed a love of hiking, camping and exploring the rugged Wyoming wilderness. The weekends never seemed to come fast enough or be long enough for everything they wanted to do.

The seven figures were strung out along the base of the glacier. It was not an expedition by any means, just a group of friends walking on the crusty ice. None of them were aware that there was anything more than a mountain range beneath their feet.

“Never realized how quiet it could be,” one person said to the group. Another shot back, “Or how cold!”

Everyone laughed.

Barney led the parade since he was the most familiar with the area. Doc followed up in the rear. And each hiker was separated by at least ten feet and equipped with shoe shoes and hiking poles.

Deanna turned to Doc, “It sure is pretty up here.”

She took three more steps than added, “Ain’t got nothing’ like this in Texas.”

Doc smiled.

Barney, who was raised in Texas, shouted back, “Hey, don’t be puttin’ Texas down like that.”

More laughter.

The group was made up of medical personnel from the hospital. It was a three-day holiday and they were going to make the most of it. This was their second day in the back country with the snow and higher elevations.

The day before was spent mostly driving four hundred miles. At every turn it seemed they stopped to look at and photograph the scenery.

When they finally reached the park it was late afternoon. That left them with just enough time to get moved into the cabin.

The cabin was of typical 'A' frame construction, designed to have an extreme sloping roof so that the snowfall would not build up and eventually crush the building. The brochure said it could sleep ten people comfortably so there was extra room to spare for all the extra equipment they dragged along.

Alan was from Ohio and he explained, "It's flat for the most part.”

Later he would confess that he had never been isolated like they were now. He came from a large family and a populated neighborhood. He was also the top ranking person in the group.

Linda and Steve worked together in the doctor’s office. They did the prescreening and medical workups on patients prior to the doctor seeing them.

They did everything together yet claimed not to be couple. Everyone else knew better though.

Then there was Ed. He had been assigned to a remote station in Alaska.

“It was my choice”, he claimed, before the trip no one could understand why anyone would ask to assign to a remote station, soon everyone recognized in himself or herself why he would do so.

Lastly there was Jocelyn. Like Doc and Barney this was her first duty sight. She had met Doc during a routine flight physical.

She grew up in the Cascades of Washington state and was quite the tomboy. Her independence and the fact he thought she was cute, caught Doc’s eye immediately and he asked her along.

That first night in the cabin was strange as Alan pulled out his mini-television and turned it on. He could only get one station to tune in from Denver, Colorado. The seven huddled in mass to watch the fuzzy screen as it bathed them in bright gray light.

“Thought we were supposed to have electricity?” Alan asked.

Doc shook his head sideways, “Nope rustic means no electricity and no running water.”

Everyone stopped and looked at Doc.

Then Linda spoke out, “What do you meaning no running water?”

She stood in the center of the cabin with both hands on her hips.

“What are we going to do for the bathroom?”

Barney piped in and said “It’s out the back door.”

Linda walked to the back door to look out at the outhouse. She pulled the door open and in fell a wall of powder.

It rushed over her before she could do anything. She just stood there as the rest laughed.

“According to the map, “Barney said, “We should head up that way behind the cabin.”

“Thought you knew this area,” commented Stephen.

Barney defended himself by saying, “I do. I just never started from this place before.”

He turned and tramped up the rise.

The sun had risen about two hours ago before they started off for a day in the snow. The hike up the mountainside was harder than any of them expected. They rested several times for several minutes as they made their way higher and higher.

As they spread out each member of the party became lost in their own thought as the majestic mountains enveloped them. Several times the seven stopped just to look and take pictures.

The air was clear and cold. A slight breeze blew down from the summit. It was silent.

The group crunched on. Doc paused momentarily to listen harder than he had before.

"Quiet! Quiet!” he calmly shouted.

Everyone stopped and looked back at him, as he stood frozen with his gaze transfixed up the mountain towards the summit. Each member of the group looked around at Doc then up the slope to the top of the mountain.

Doc shot a glance towards Barney. Barney knew the look, the focus of Doc’s eyes. He had seen it before. Doc sensed danger and the hair on the back of Barney’s neck hackled.

“Avalanche!” Doc stated.

“Run, Barney, Run!”

They all took off after Barney. Each trying desperately to reach the other side of the bowl before the white death swept them from the face of the earth.

Stephen tripped and stumbled, then fell. Alan dragged him to his feet, and then Jocelyn went down. She got up without any assistance.

They could see the wall of loose snow flying their way and they were trapped directly in its path. It curled up and over much like a wave of water.

It was the air in front of the actual avalanche being pushed ahead. It blinded them of the approach of the real danger.

They were all within steps of safety on the other side of the bowl. Suddenly Deanna lost her footing and fell, sliding spread-eagle down the hill nearly twenty feet.

Doc changed his direction and rushed to her aid. He pulled her to her feet and half ran and half dragged her to the wall. Barney was there to grab her arms and yank her to safety.

Doc jumped for the wall himself but it was too late. The edge of his right snowshoe was caught up in the roaring flow of snow and ice. The sound was deafening, louder than a fighter aircraft preparing for take off.

Doc saw Barney’s mouth open, but he could not hear what he had said as he was suddenly swept away.

Doc tumbled viciously head or heels. He felt chunks of ice slam into his body. He lost his ability to recognize up from down, but his instinct to survive had kicked in and he recalled his training.

He started swimming the backstroke, trying to stay above the snow and ice. His mind raced ahead, “What if I’m upside down and going backwards?”

However he just kept swimming as hard as he could.

Without warning it started to slow down, then it stopped altogether. That was Doc’s signal to try and make a fist with his hands and put them in front of his face.

The idea was to create a bubble of air in front of his nose and mouth and hopefully push the snow away from his face so he could breathe. This might increase his chance at survival.

Doc pushed against the snow with all his might. It moved very little. He realized he was entombed in a silent and cold block of ice.

The cold numbed and blocked out the pain of what he figured was a broken leg. His left leg was behind him and it felt twisted inward.

Then there was the crushing sensation of the snow as it settled firmly against his chest. It squeezed at him like a vice grip. Still he managed to flex his hands and push against the snow that threatened to close in on his face.

Everything was dark and he could not tell whether he was upside down or right side up. The silence he found himself in was as deafening as the roar of the avalanche. Then he relaxed. Panic had faded from his being and waited for death to take him.

Crunch, crunch, crunch, was the sound he heard.

It was distinctive in the prison of silent cold death. Then Doc heard more and more crunching noise. He recognized it as footsteps.

He started to struggle, pushing harder against the snow that pushed down on his face. He felt more than saw a bright burst of light across his check bones.

His eyes were covered with snow and he was unable to see because of that. However he could tell he was upright and been able to push an opening in the snow.

“Hey!” Doc called out, “Over here.”

He could see shadows moving from side to side and then voices. He was going to survive after all and his friends were going to save him.

Barney lay on his stomach and gently wiped away the snow that had frozen to Doc’s eyelids.

“Doc, buddy, speak to me," he cried out.

Doc tried to blink but it was hard. “Hi ya, Barney, get me out of here. I feel an ice age coming on.”

Barney started laughing as the team pitched in to dig Doc out.

After surviving the avalanche's grip and a short recuperation period to heal his dislocated hip, Doc was back to work. He and Barney though had decided it would be best if they stayed close to the base the remainder of the winter.

"So much snow," Doc muttered.

Barney looked over at him, replying, "Yeah, and I'm sick of it."

Being from Corpus Christi, Barney had never seen so much snow in all of his life. Doc came from an area where it rained a majority of the time, however his dad grew up in Iowa’s snow country before moving to Oklahoma.

Occasionally a light snow would blanket the valley floor along the north coast of California. But it would soon disappear as the sun rose to its summit in the daytime sky.

Miniature snowmen of about one or two feet would appear, but it was all that could be mustered from such a snowfall. And riding a piece of cardboard down a snow covered hillside was no more or less exciting than a grass slope in the summer.

Doc was eighteen when he saw his first blizzard. It was Thanksgiving Day when over two feet of the fluffy white stuff fell in a single sleep. At first Doc thought all the snow was exciting, until he had to dig his way out of the barracks.

Dad had told him and Adam about how the snow would drift so high against his parent’s home, which he would have to climb out the second story window just to get to school. Then Dad would have to walk two miles to get to school. Suddenly Doc appreciated that story and found himself believing every word too.

Doc had just purchased a new pick-up truck the night before the snow fell. He drove it onto the base from the car lot.

He was happy to have the truck. Now Doc could go camping and fishing and hiking and he didn’t have to depend on anyone else for a ride.

Yet the following morning as Doc walked out to the parking lot nothing looked the same. So he didn't panic at first when he couldn't find his truck.

He was certain he had parked it right under the street lamp in the corner of the lot. He remembered it being close to the curb, but now Doc couldn’t find the curb.

All Doc could see was a gigantic mound of snow where his truck should be.

It dawned on Doc and he felt a surge of panic. The snowplow had buried his pick-up truck under nearly thirty feet high pile of snow.

After calling his commanding officer then the base commander, Tommy resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to wait for the snow to melt before he could drive his pick-up truck.

He ended up walking to work.

Spring brought a sense of renewal to the souteast corner of the state. Both Barney and Doc relished the idea of enjoying the natural warmth the sun had to offer. What they didn't know was Spring brought with it a new and unsuspected danger.

“Tornado reported jus’ north of here,” Sergeant Mitchell stated as he came into our office.

Doc looked at him as memories of Texas raced through his head. Feeling a pit of fear welling up in his stomach he commented, “I didn’t know there were tornadoes in Wyoming.”

Just then the hospitals intercom sounded off with the three bells meaning to get a persons attention. It was affective as long as it didn’t scare a person to death first.

It was the hospital’s Commander, Colonel Signorino. “Attention all staff, prepare to evacuate patients, guests and personnel to below ground shelters.”

Doc’s telephone rang and he answered. It was Captain Coville. He told him to meet him in the orderly room immediately.

He let Sergeant Mitchell know and he headed straight down the hall passed the pharmacy and the flight surgeons office. He turned to his left and entered the orderly room. The Captain was already there.

Coming to attention next to him, Doc started to say that he was there as ordered, but the Captain cut him off. Instead he turned and smiled, saying, “I volunteered your services to the Colonel.”

Doc raised his left eyebrow. It was widely known that Captain Coville enjoyed creating situations for him to volunteer for.

He waited for the other shoe to drop. It did!

“Your record indicates that you are an expert on tornadoes," he started, "the Colonel needs a posted look out on the roof and I told him he should use you."

Doc’s face felt like a wild fire out of control. He knew he was bright red.

He was instantly angry. Yet Doc gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.

The Captain knew Doc was mad and that’s what he wanted. He refused to let him have his moment as he continued to smile his cruel little smile.

Behind him Doc heard Colonel Signorino say, “Lieutenant Brown, go unlock the roof hatch for the airman. He’s volunteered to be our sentry."

Lt. Brown’s keys were giggling in his hands before the Colonel had completed the sentence.

Tommy followed the Lieutenant out of the Orderly Room and back down the hallway he had just come from. Once they made the corner he slowed his pace and waited for Tommy to catch up with him.

“Coville really doesn’t like you, does he?” The Lieutenant asked as Tommy came shoulder to shoulder with him.

“No, sir," is all the reply Tommy made.

Anger had given way to fear. Doc did not want to go through another twister again.

The Lieutenant stopped in the supply office and signed for a set of field glasses and a radio. He handed them to Doc. They continued down the hallway to Engineering in silence.

Inside Engineering he walked to the far wall and started climbing up the ladder. He unlocked the hatch and climbed down.

Doc grabbed hold of the first rung and the Lieutenant put his hand on my shoulder. “You showed a lot of courage back there,” he said.

Then he shook Doc’s hand as the airman continued up the ladder.

Just before Doc pushed the hatch open he shouted up, “You know if it gets to dangerous get back down here and head for the shelter, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” He responded.

Lieutenant Brown smiled as Doc pushed open the hatch, climbed through then closed it behind himself.

The winds’ bite was ferocious. In the distance Doc could see the long gray-black snake reaching down from the overcast skies. It touched the earth with a roar as it tore apart whatever lay in its path.

It whipped pieces of corrugated tin through the air as if it were onion-skin typing paper. It lifted mobile homes from the ground and smashed them like cardboard boxes. And cars and trucks were tossed about like Matchboxes on a playground.

Doc could not tell if he was sweating from fear or from the humidity in the air.

He continued to watch and report its distance to the commander by hand held radio. Finally it crossed over I-80. It was less than two miles away and appeared to be approaching the hospital quickly.

Doc radioed in, “Funnel cloud, crossing freeway, moving in our direction.”

“10-4,” was the commanders’ response.

Doc could hear the general alert inside the hospital become a general alarm. The situation had turned from serious to grave.

The sound of the bell continued for five minutes. The Colonel was not taking any chances.

Doc waited for the general alarm warning to end. He radioed to the Colonel but no answer.

He called again, still no answer. He radioed once again and still, no answer.

It occurred to Doc that the Colonel had gone to the underground bunker. The bunkers had been designed to withstand nuclear penetration. That meant he could no longer receive or send signals.

Doc rushed over to the hatch as the first of the rain started to drive down on him.

“This is how it happened before,” he thought.

He pulled the handle on the hatch and it refused to come up. He pulled harder and still it would not budge. It was jammed. Doc looked up and could tell the funnel cloud had moved closer.

Doc lifted the radio to his lips as he stared out at the writhing mass of psychotic wind. “I’m trapped on top of the hospital roof. The twister is just about on the building. Does anyone copy?”

There was nothing but the gentle hiss of airwaves with nothing to say.

The wind stripped the hat from his head. It headed away from the storm. He decided he would have to jump from the second story if he were to survive. Tommy decided to follow the same path his hat had taken.

He looked over the edge to see what was down there. It was another roof. So Tommy climbed over the side and dropped down to it. He raced across that roof and looked over the edge. It was the ground. Tommy leaped over the side.

He hit the ground with a thud. The wind was momentarily knocked out of him but he kept moving. He tried every door he came to. They were all locked.

At the front of the building Tommy decided he could wait no more. He thought about smashing in the window near the front door to get in. However the last time he broke a window he received a non-judicial court martial.

Instead Doc moved out onto the lawn. He lay down on his stomach in the grass. His eyes were shut as tight as he could make them and prayed as loudly as he could. The wind rushed the words from his throat, drowning them in its force.

The wind buffed him. Doc could hear his clothes flapping as it surged over him. At moments, it flapped so viciously that his uniform stung him.

Time seemed to come to a halt. Then there was the deafening rush of silence. Doc’s ears rang with it as he lay there in the sweet smelling grass.

Soon an all-clear alarm sounded. Doc stood up feeling shaky. Lieutenant Brown was the first to come to his aid. He helped Doc into the Emergency Room.

Doc lost the radio and binoculars that the Lieutenant had signed for. He felt bad and all he wanted to do was sleep. Yet Doc felt compelled to do one last thing and he asked for the Lieutenant's help.

They walked down to the Engineering Office. Each took a turn looking up at the roof hatch. Then they looked at each other, neither one of them could believe what they were seeing.

The lock was securely fastened over the hasp.

The snow was replaced by frequent and sudden rain showers But that didn't dampen Doc or Barney's spirits. The pair looked at it as all part of the bigger adventure the Air Force had to offer.

By this time the two had gotten involved in recreating the taditions that the base had sprung from. This included reorganizing a Calvary unit to represent the base since it was once known as Fort D.A. Russell.

“Darn liquid sunshine,” Doc said as they stepped off the bus. It had rained all the way from Cheyenne to Denver as the bus traveled throughout the early morning.

The horses were already in Denver. A caravan of horse trailers had started out two days before. Doc was supposed to be down there with them at this time but he could not get away from work.

Minutes after their arrival the skies started to clear and the rain stopped falling. All around the stabled horses the sound of water dripping from the eves and falling to the pavement could be heard. But the air smelled clean and crisp and the horses’ ears were all pointed forward.

All twenty were looking forward to the Saint Patrick Day Parade. The horses had no idea that it was called such. For them it was a chance to get out and stretch. It was an opportunity to show off their skills.

The same could be said for the riders. They too had been looking forward to this day. This was the Fifth Cavalry reorganized.

And this group of twenty horses and riders had practiced hundreds of hours for this event. It was their first time riding as a unit and this was the pay off.

Once the horses were saddled up and ready, it was time to mount up. The sharp sound of sabers striking against the hard saddles echoed through the city streets between the buildings.

The blue wool itched against Doc’s skin. He had decided to discard the long handles for this ride.

The humidity was high and he could feel himself sweating with the underwear on. Now he was sweating and this time he had nothing to prevent the wool from rubbing against his skin.

Doc reached up and grimaced as he raked his hand over his chest several times. “No time to change.”

Doc stood up in his stirrups and waved the signal to form up. Then he moved his horse out and onto the parade route.

“Hard Tack, lets do it right,” Doc muttered lowly to his horse.

Hard Tack’s ears flipped back for an instant and then back to the forward.

It had been a stormy relationship between these two, rider and horse. Neither had selected the other. Both were simply assigned to each one another. It was a random act.

The first day Hard Tack decided he was hungry so he bit into the straw hat on Doc’s head. He jerked away but it was too late. Hard Tack was bounding around the corral kicking up his heels like a kid at play.

“My hat!" Doc screamed as he piled back over the fencing.

But before he could get the hat away from the horse, it had eaten most of the brim and was working hard at chewing off the crown. Doc pulled the cowboy hat away from Hard Tack.

“You stupid horse!” he shouted as he slapped the animal on the rump and climbed back over the fence.

The entire outfit laughed at the incident. A couple cried and one rolled on the ground as Doc placed the now chewed-on hat back where it started. With the hat on his head, Doc knew he looked more like a rodeo clown than the commissioned officer of a Calvary unit.

The crowds were thick and the cheering full as the Calvary unit moved through the streets of Denver. There were several flag laden viewing stands and as the senior officer of this unit Doc relished the act of pulling his sword from its scabbard and saluting the symbol of the nation.

Midway through the parade they were scheduled to have a demonstration about how a fight was fought during the Indian Wars period. Upon attack, a bugle would sound and e very rider was to dismount and force his or her horse to lie down. The dismounted rider would then pull out their carbine and commence to fire on the attackers.

The signal sounded, a single black powder rifle fired into he sky. And as planned and as he was trained the bugler sounded his horn and riders jumped from their mounts and using the reins pulled the horse over on their sides.

With carbines pulled and laid over the saddles of their horses the twenty members of the Fifth Calvary Reorganized commenced firing on the imaginary attack of plains Indians.

Doc remained mounted on Hard Tack. He was directing fire from the high position, which was the custom of the day.

His saber drawn and flashing in the sunlight Doc pointed out where the hostiles were. They continued for five minutes, firing frantically as their horses fought them for their heads and attempted to stand up.

Just as the announcer was explaining this and just as the riders were regaining their mounts, Doc noticed Hard Tack’s ears were twitching wildly. He reined the horse back to the left a little but Hard Tack kept drifting to the right.

Suddenly and without warning Hard-Tack jumped forward. Doc was preoccupied with trying to re-sheath his sword. As he managed to hilt the blade and just after cutting the back of his left hand on the razor sharp edge, Hard Tack bolted, racing head long towards the crowd.

And as if Moses had raised his staff against the Red Sea, the line of people parted. This allowed Doc and the run away mount to pass through them unencumbered.

Hard Tack broke to a dead run through the open park as Doc struggled to reach for the reins and keep his seat at the same time. With one hand, wrapped and threaded through the mane, Doc leaned forward as he stood in his stirrup and grasped one of the reins.

He pulled back.

Doc found himself tumbling through the air. He landed on the ground with a thud.

The breath was knocked out of him. Hard Tack fell as well.

He rolled over on his back with all four legs thrashing wildly at the now blue skies. He rolled over on Doc as he came down. However Doc relaxed as Hard Tack struggled to get to his feet.

Once Hard Tack completed his roll and found his footing he stopped running. He just stood there as if feeling the limp weight of his motionless rider. Doc’s feet were still both in the stirrup and he had his bloody left hand still tangled in the mounts mane and a single rein gripped in the right.

Doc gulped in air as soon as his lungs allowed him. Hard Tack shivered. A mounted police officer stood next to the pair.

“You okay?” he was asking Doc as he reached over and gathered in the other rein.

Doc answered, "Yeah, thanks."

Being a solid trooper and the senior officer Doc headed back to his unit. They had moved on without him as the parade could not wait. And other than stained in grass and little bruised he joined up with them a couple blocks later.

Doc reached down and patted Hard-Tack on the neck, “Its okay, boy.”

The horse flipped his ears back for a moment then back to the forward position.

The rest of the parade continued with out a hitch. Doc dismounted his troopers then slowly and painfully climbed down out of the saddle.

“What happened?” was the question at the moment. All Doc could do was shake his head silently because he did not have an answer.

“He never acted like this before,” Doc said to Barney.

Barney was helping to get the horses back into their trailers for the ninety-five mile trip home.

Other than a minor abrasion on his right fore shoulder and a small blister on his left rear flank Hard Tack was fine. The vet walked out of his stall, "I think it was a piece of cap in his hair that caught fire, causing him to act so wild.”

He turned and latched the stall gate shut. Then he continued by asking, “How’s that slice on your hand?”

Doc held up the bandaged hand and replied, “It’s a little painful and I'll have a scar, but other than that it’s okay.”

“You sure you’re alright?” Barney asked Doc.

“Yeah,” he responded as he led the horse to the trailer.

Barney stood there a moment watching Doc load the animal. He handed Doc a small bag of oats then said, “That was a nasty wreck."

“Yeah, and the only thing that hurts is my pride and this stupid cut,” Doc replied as he held up his left hand. He had sliced himself with his sword during the fall.

Then he added, “Want to go have a beer?”

Barney smiled, “Let’s go and I’ll buy the first one.”

Darkness filled the bar as they stepped inside from the bright glare of the afternoon sun. Within moments their eyes had adjusted well enough to notice that there were several women in the bar. All eyes were on the two men in their cavalry uniforms as they walked towards the bar.

The woman on the end of the bar turned in her seat and got up. She walked around the corner of the bar and asked, “What’ll it be gentlemen?”

Dave cleared his throat and answered, “Beer, one each, please.” He leaned against the wooden structure, placing his back to the wall-full of liquor.

The tender placed two brews full of head running over on the counter and Tommy reached into his trousers and pulled out a ten spot and slid it to the barkeep. Dave just stood there looking around the room and at all the women.

He leaned over and whispered out of the side of his mouth, “There’s go to be a least ten women here.” He paused to sip his beer then added, and they’re all beautiful!”

Tommy took a mouthful of beer and turned around to have a look.

Within minutes Dave was standing in front of the jukebox fishing change from his pant pocket. A young woman quickly joined him. She had on tight fitting jeans and a halter-top. Her skin was tanned a light brown to match her auburn hair.

She leaned against him as he inserted coins into the slot of the machine. It was obvious to Tommy that she was helping Dave make a selection of music and Dave was enjoying the assistance as well as her company.

Tommy turned back to the bar and nursed his beer as well as his hand. “That’s a nasty slice on your hand,” a woman’s voice lilted from beside him. He looked up and in the direction, smiling relied, “Yeah, not a good day in Bedrock.” She laughed.

Tommy noticed her dazzling white teeth and the long blonde hair as she tossed it back and forth. “Names Tommy,” he said.

“Hi, I’m Angie,” the blonde returned. Then she added, “Your friend doesn’t waste anytime.” Tommy looked back where Dave was and discovered he was sitting in one of the darkened booths.

Angie asked, “Want to go sit down where it more comfortable and more private?”

“Sure,” Tommy responded. He picked up his beer and took another drink of it. Then they walked over to a booth that Tommy allowed Angie to pick out.

As they walked to the booth he noticed that the women were all talking to each other. He was being checked out and he felt certain he was the topic of conversation. The looks followed by hushed whispers and giggles told him he was right.

“So, is this your first time in Denver?” Angie asked.

“Naw, been here several times,” Tommy answered. “But it’s the first time we’ve had a chance to visit a bar, though.”

Angie smiled, “Knew you’d never been in here before, because I’m a regular.”

“Well, Dave and me thought we’d died and gone to heaven when we first set foot inside this place,” Tommy said, “I mean, so many women and we’re the only guys.” Tommy sipped at his beer.

“Oh you’d be surprised,” Angie said. She took a drink of her beer. “How’d you cut your hand?” she asked as she reached over and lightly ran a finger over the gash.

Tommy gulped a mouthful of beer. Her touch had sent a shiver through him. Then he replied, “I cut my self on my saber.”

She just looked at him. And after a few seconds she asked, “You’re kidding right?”

“No,” Tommy came back. Then he explained why he had a sword and how he came to cut the back of his hand.

Angie moved closer to Tommy. He could feel his excitement rise as she sat next to him listening to as he told her what he did for a living.

She rubbed her had gently on his thigh. “Want another beer?” Tommy asked as he slid away from her. She nodded her head up and down. Tommy got up and walked the few steps to the bar.

He could feel his head swimming as he thought about how friendly Angie was. He turned to look back at her as the woman behind the bar got the two beers.

Angie smiled and Tommy smiled back. He turned back to the bar and paid for the beverages. His eyes swept over the room and slight cold washed over his person. He picked up the drinks and headed back to the booth where his new friend sat waiting for him.

They sat and talked a while more and drank their beer. She sat next to Tommy all the while.

After Tommy had gotten them each a third beer, Angie asked, “Do you always take your time when a woman throws herself at you?” She smiled.

“Sometimes,” was the only thing Tommy said in response.

“So why now?” she asked. Angie sounded nearly impatient with Tommy

Tommy smiled, then leaned back in his seat and replied, “I don’t know exactly.” He paused a few more seconds then added, “Things just don’t quite add up.”

Angie started fidgeting with the cocktail napkin in front of her. Then Tommy looked at Angie. She wasn’t smiling now.

“First,” Tommy started, “Dave and me are the only guys here or as you said earlier ‘I might be surprised’,” He sipped at the frosty mug. What would I be surprised at?”

Angie looked down and leaned back with a large defeated sigh. Then Tommy asked, “Would I be surprised to find out that Dave and I aren’t the only males in here?”

Again Angie sighed. Then she looked up at Tommy and smiled. “You’re pretty cool. Most guys would have figured it out and started throwing punches.”

“Let’s go rescue my friend,” Doc smiled.

It would be the last time Doc visited Denver as a member of the U.S. Air Force. He would also find himself at odds with a new commanding officer. The outcome would be less than what Doc had in mind for himself.

The fight started months before just after Captain Coville arrived at Warren Air Force Base. He was a career reservist and navigator specializing in B-52 bombers. He took an immediate dislike to Doc because of the young airman's independence.

For over a year Doc had no direct supervisor. He was running the office of Environmental Health all by himself. Doc used the regulations to maintain the administrative aspect of the job. His job performance rating was an over all seven. And in Air Force terms that was pretty good considering he was not technically in charge of his work area.

Captain Coville had not completed his training in Environmental Health. Everyone in the specialization had to attend the eleven-week course at Brooks Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. He came in and started directing Doc to do things that were not within the regulations. They ended up butting heads over this. And it was obvious Doc was going to lose.

“I don’t care what the Air Force says,” Captain Coville stated.

Doc just shook my head. They were at a missile silo. Doc had his hazardous materials suit on and was checking the regulator of the self contained breathing apparatus strapped to his back.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said looking at Captain Coville, "You want me to pour this jug of bleach in the sump?”

Captain Coville was red in the face as he replied to the question, "That’s what I just said to do!” He was angry with Doc for asking.

Earlier in the week their office had detected algae in the sump. According to Regulations the algae should not be there and it could clog up the pump during general use. Their job from there was to determine how algae were getting in the sumps water and then have civil engineering fix the problem.

Instead Captain Coville felt the most expedient way to deal with it was to go down below the rocket thrusters of the missile housed in the silo and pour a gallon of chlorine bleach into the sump. His theory was that the bleach would kill the algae and the problem would be solved.

He verbally reprimanded Doc on the day he proposed this solution. But Doc stood his ground and said, "That’s nothing more than a band aid.”

Captain Coville’s response was quick and loud, “You are this close to insubordination, mister!” Doc shut his mouth at that point.

Their next confrontation was over a stethoscope. For over a year Doc had been single handedly monitoring the various work environments of the base. This involved spot inspections and physical examinations for the personnel of those work areas.

During physical examinations he did a complete hearing, coordination and lung capacity test. That meant he spent a lot of time taking not only blood pressures but also listening to the breath sounds of patients. He had his stethoscope with him throughout the day.

The customary practice of all medics was to either put their stethoscope in their back pocket or to drape it over their neck when not in use. Doc did not like to fold his up and stuff it in his rear pocket. He preferred to drape it.

One day he was on his way to the flight surgeons office when he heard his name being called. It was Captain Coville.

Doc turned around, “Yes, sir.” He walked back towards him

“You’re out of uniform,” he said.

Doc stopped and looked down the front of his body. His name tag was on the correct side above the pocket. His gig line was straight. He looked to be in perfect order.

“Excuse me, sir?” Doc replied.

“You …are…out…of…uniform,” Captain Coville repeated. He spoke at a much slower pace.

“Where, sir?” Doc asked.

He pointed at Doc’s neck.

“That,” he as he pointed at the stethoscope Doc had draped over his neck. Doc immediately lifted the device from my neck. “I don’t want to see that on your neck again,” Captain Coville said, "Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Doc replied, "Where do you want to see it?” I could not help but antagonize him.

“You’re to carry it, not wear it understand?” He said.

“Carry it, not wear it,” Doc responded, "I understand, sir.”

With that he turned and headed back down the hallway towards his office. Doc continued down to the flight surgeons office

A couple of days later, Doc was coming out of the office when Captain Coville shouted his name again. “Come here!” he yelled.

Doc turned and walked up to him. “Yes-sir?” he asked. He could tell by the tone of the Captains voice that he had done something to displease him.

“Your out of uniform again, damn it!” he said in an angry voice. Again Doc checked himself over and found nothing.

“Where, sir?” he asked.

“That goddamned stethoscope!” the Captain responded.

Doc reached back to his right hip pocket and pulled it out. He looked at the officer with a puzzled expression. “I thought you said I could carry it?” he asked.

Captain Coville grew red in the face. “Right! Carry it. That means in your hand not in your pocket!”

“I’m sorry, sir, I misunderstood your instructions. “Doc replied.

Captain Coville turned away and marched down the hallway towards his office. Doc continued down to the flight surgeons office to complete the physical examination he was in process of doing.

A few minutes later Dave called Doc, "Make yourself scarce, Captain Coville’s got a letter of counseling for you to sign.” Doc hung up the telephone and sat there.

The next telephone call to the office was from the Captain. “I want you here, pronto. You’ve got two minutes.” He hung up the phone.

Doc grabbed his office keys and headed directly to the Captains office. When he got there, he stopped at this door and adjusted his uniform. Doc looked at his watch. He had a minute to go as he knocked on the office door.

He called out, “Enter.”

Doc opened the door and found Captain Coville standing behind his desk. It was cleared off except for one piece of paper. “When I say two minutes, I mean two minutes,” he yelled at him.

Doc did not reply. He just closed the door and stepped briskly to the front of his desk.

“Reporting as ordered,” Doc said as he came to attention and saluted.

Captain Coville did not acknowledge his salute so Doc held it. The Captain stood there and stared at Doc. He knew Doc would not speak until he acknowledged the salute. That is the custom within all branches of the military.

The enlisted person reporting to an officer always salutes and the officer responds by saluting back. Then the enlisted person comes to attention and is then able to answer questions.

After half a minute of glaring at him the Captain saluted Doc. He tossed his right hand up to his forehead and Doc dropped my salute.

“Yes, sir!” Doc shouted out.

“Yes, sir, what?” Captain Coville shouted back.

“Yes, sir, Captain” Doc responded.

“Yes, sir what?” he asked again.

“Sir, you asked if you had told me about wearing the stethoscope around my neck and in my back pocket,” Doc said. Then he added, “Yes, sir, you did.”

“Then you knowingly and directly disobeyed a lawful order,” he commented. Doc did not say a thing. Captain Coville reached down and pushed the piece of paper across the desk. “I want you to sign this,” he said.

Doc picked up the single page and read it. He being was counseled for wearing his stethoscope improperly and for listening to his supervisor.” Doc signed the document with out an argument.

About a week later Staff Sergeant Ross asked Doc, “Why don’t you take leave and go home for a while?”

Doc shook his head and said, “I don’t have enough time saved up.”

“Well I can call the Red Cross and arrange leave through them,” Sergeant Ross replied back.

“Okay,” Doc responded.

He just got off the telephone with his Dad. His father told him that he had begun treatment for cancer of the colon. Doc was floored by the idea that his Dad had cancer.

Then he laid a bombshell on the young man. He told Doc that he and his Mom were separated. Suddenly Doc’s family was falling apart and his Dad was deadly sick. All he could do was sit there at his desk and reel from the shock.

“This is all I need,” he thought.

Doc recounted the incidents of the past few weeks where he had received several letters of counseling as well as letters of reprimand. He had a new non-commissioned officer in the office named Sergeant Mitchell and Captain Coville was still riding him at every turn.

Everyone around Doc could see the way things were going. He found himself eating lunch and dinner alone. Others would get up and leave if when he sat down with them. They were afraid to associate themselves with Doc. They feared that he would take them down with him. Doc felt increasingly isolated and depressed.

The topper, before the news about his Dads illness and the family problems had been being forced to move back onto base. Dave and Doc had tried to live off base but because of a series of financial set backs they had to move back to the dorms.

Staff Sergeant Ross worked directly for Captain Coville so Doc should have suspected something. However he offered to get leave for the desperate young man through the Red Cross and at that moment in his life Doc would have accepted help from anyone who offered.

Within days Doc found himself on a C-130 aircraft on the way home. He had two weeks of emergency leave and was planning to use it all. Doc sat and reflected on the events of the past two weeks.

“I’m glad I caught you, Doc,” It was Sergeant Cheryl Crady.

She worked in the doctors’ office across the hallway from him and asked, “I want to know if you can watch our house while were on leave?”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Doc answered. Then he asked, “When are you and Robert leaving?”

“Next week,” she said.

Two days later she came across the hallway and let Doc know her house keys were missing. She told him that she believed Airmen Blair had taken them. “We’re going to get the locks changed,” she said. “Are you still going to watch the house for us?” Again, Doc told her yes.

Two days later she came back across the hallway to Doc’s office to let him know that she had found her keys. “I’m going to give you mine, now” she said. She handed me the key. “We’ll be gone tomorrow through next Friday.”

By this time Doc’s emergency leave had been arranged. “Cheryl, I won’t be here when you get back, I’m going on leave too.” Doc told her.

She frowned at him and asked; “You can’t watch the house then?”

“Yeah, I can,” Doc answered, “But only until Wednesday evening."

“Oh,” she commented, “Well, I tell you what then, before you leave give the key to Sergeant Reich.”

Reich worked with Cheryl's husband. In fact Staff Sergeant Crady was Sergeant Reich’s supervisor. It seemed natural that he should get the key.

The Crady's left on schedule and so did Doc. And just as planned he gave the Mann’s house key to Sergeant Tanner.

After a week of leave Doc decided to go to Requa Air Force Station and call Dave. He wanted to see how Dave was doing and what was going on. Doc used the closed circuit telephone system that inter-links all bases together.

He dialed Dave’s extension. Dave picked up the phone on the second ring. “Hi, Dave,” Doc said.

There was a long pause before he answered. “Hello Doc,” he stuttered. Then he added, “You’re in big trouble, Doc.”

Doc hesitated to ask him why.

Finally Doc did and Dave informed him that First Sergeant Fife and First Lieutenant had found some stolen property belonging to Staff Sergeant Mann in his dorm room.

“You need to get back here quickly and clear this up,” Dave said finally.

Things had just gotten worse.

Now Doc stood accused of theft according to Dave. His mind was swimming with the picture of his being arrested and led away to the brig.

The last seven days of his emergency leave were long and drawn out. Doc decided not to tell anyone about his problems. There were enough difficulties at home already.

He boarded the commercial airliner filled with dread. Doc did not know what to expect upon his return to the base.

Doc had secretly called Dave three more times that week to find out further developments. He had even called Master Sergeant Fife to talk to him.

He just said, "We’ll talk when you get back.”

Doc met with Captain Olsen soon after he arrived back to Warren Air Force. He was assigned as Military Legal Counsel for the case. One of the first things Captain Olsen asked Doc was, “Why did you steal the stuff?”

Doc responded with,” I didn’t steal anything!”

“Don’t give me any of that crap,” he replied, “And don’t tell me you’ve been set up!”

Doc’s eyes widened and his jaw went slack because that is exactly what he had been thinking. His heart sank as he sat there and realized he had been assigned to a lawyer who had obviously been through this before. Doc was just another soldier caught up in a bad pattern.

“So what do you want me to do?” Doc asked after a long silence.

“I want you to tell me the truth,” he shot back.

“Well, sir, I guess I have nothing to say to you since you’ve already convicted me,” Doc finally said.

There was another long silence between the Captain and his client.

“If you have nothing to say then you’re dismissed,” he said.

Doc stood and saluted him, The Captain responded with a salute. Doc turned and left his office.

Once in his room, Doc just sat on the edge of his bed. The sun was down and the room was dark before he moved. He was severely depressed and he had no one to talk too about what was happening.

The following day, Doc was called in to the First Sergeant’s office to look at the evidence that had been collected.

“Is this yours?” Sergeant Drum asked as he held up a plastic bag containing a small instrument bag.

It was a black bag no bigger than a woman’s hand purse.

Doc shook his head, no. Then he spoke,”I’ve never seen it before.”

“Okay,” the Master Sergeant continued.

Then he lifted up another plastic bag. In it was a black square shaped pouch. Doc recognized it immediately. It was the otoscope his Dad had given him nearly two years previously.

Again he asked, “Is this yours?”

“Yes, it is," Doc quickly responded.

The Master Sergeant raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh?” he questioned, “How do you know it’s yours?”

“Because it looks exactly like the one my Dad gave me,” Doc answered.

“Can you prove it’s yours?” he continued to press.

“Yes, sir, I think I can, if you’ll open the case,” Doc responded.

He opened the plastic bag and removed the black case and laid it on the desk in front of Doc.

Then he said, “Prove it.”

Doc opened the case by flipping the lid up exposing the silver instrument it contained. He lifted the scope out of its molded holder and exposed the writing underneath it. It was his name and address from his home in California.

The First Sergeants eyes widened at Doc’s proof. He reached over and took the scope out of his hand and placed it back in the case. Fife sealed the case and put it back it to the plastic bag.

Finally he picked the last bag he had on the right hand corner of his desk. In it Doc could tell it was a piece of cloth that had been folded multiple times.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

“No, sir, no idea,” Doc answered.

“This is a tapestry that I found in the dresser in your room,” he said. Then he added, “How did it get there, any ideas?”

Doc nodded his head slowly up and down.

“Well, tell me,” he demanded.

“You or somebody who works for you,” Doc said.

The First Sergeant turned red in the face, “Why you little son of a bitch! Are you calling me a thief?”

“No, sir,” Doc shot back, then he added,” I never, said you stole anything. I said you or somebody who works for you put it there.”

“Don’t get smart assed with me mister,” he stated.

Doc cut him off, “Or what, I’ll get kicked out of the Air Force?”

Then the young man grew indignant, “and further more Sergeant Fife, my mother is a decent person, not a bitch. You make another nasty remark about her and I’ll jump your ass right here. Do you understand me?”

Doc stared straight into the blue eyes of the older man.

“Christ, son I wish you would,” he growled at Doc. However he never made another comment about Doc’s family.

By this time Doc had pretty well figured he was in a no-win situation. He was going to be kicked out and that he had nothing else to lose at this point. He decided it was time to go for broke.

“Sarge, tell you this. I live in Senior Airman Walters’s old room. He’s your tittless WAF and has access to the entire dorm. He’s buddy-buddy with Tanner who works with Mann. He’s also a pal with Pool who was accused of stealing the Mann’s key before they went on leave. Finally I know that you, Frasier, Berman and Mann are all hunting buddies. Can I make it any clearer for you?” Doc finished.

Master Sergeant Drum sat and listened. He was pale looking

Then Doc added, “Another thing, I read what Tanner had to say in his letter. He says that he saw the tapestry. It was in the bag but never removed yet he was able to identify that it had lions on it. How is that?” Doc was mad and on a roll. “Plus he had a key—that I handed over to him—to the Mann’s' pig sty.” Doc leaned back on his heels momentarily and stared back at the First Sergeant.

Finally the First Sergeant said, "Get the hell out of my office. The next time I see you it’ll be at your court martial.” Without bothering to say anything or use any facing moves or even come to attention, Doc left the orderly room immediately.

Once in the hospital corridors he felt suddenly ill to his stomach. His legs became weak and grew shaky. Doc had just played his hand and now it was their turn.

“You're relieved of your duties," Captain Coville said as Doc stood in front of his desk. “You’re to report to First Sergeant Drum. He’ll assign you to your detail.”

Doc’s stomach turned sour as he thought about the implications of this move. He was being removed from his job and the office and he had no idea where he might be working from day to day.

Worse yet, Doc was now in the hands of First Sergeant Drum. He could assign Doc to wash vehicles or cut grass or even clean urinals. He realized that they were now going to attempt to break what was left of his stubborn spirit.

It had been fighting back that had sustained his spirit. Doc had a typewriter and a telephone. The combination was his allies. Now they were going to take them away from him.

That change left Doc emotionally unbalanced. He felt even more unbalanced by the very idea that he would have little idea where he might be working from day to day let alone what I would be doing on a daily basis.

He slowly walked down the long hallway from Captain Coville’s office. His path took him passed the hospital wards where he had spent many of his off duty hours helping the nursing staff with the little stuff like getting extra pillows or assisting with bed pans for patients.

Sometimes Doc just stopped to talk to the patients. He felt sad, wishing that he could have someone to talk with at that very moment.

Continuing down the hallway and after making the right hand turn past the wards, Doc walked by the Mental Health Office. He reflected back to the week before when he had his appointment with Major Gavaskar.

“So you here because you steal stuff?” he asked in a thick East Indian accent.

“I have no idea why I am here, “Doc replied back. Their interview lasted for only five minutes. He asked a series of questions regarding Doc’s childhood then dismissed the beleaguered young man.

The following day Doc was told he had an appointment with Captain Anthony Ledbetter. His first question was, “So you know your getting kicked out of the service, right?”

Doc answered, "It looks that way.”

Then he surprised Doc by asking, “So can I have your uniforms?”

Doc was not polite when he told him that he could not. That interview did not last long either. Again Doc was asked more questions about his family life. He left that meeting angry.

Doc turned the doorknob to the Orderly Room. First Sergeant Drum was in the middle of the room. He was talking to Sergeant Berman. They stopped and both looked at him. “Good,” Sergeant Drum said. The tone of his voice was mischievous.

Within minutes Doc was standing in front of the building’s operation supervisor. He was a civilian and he was telling Doc what he expected him to do for the next seven hours. He asked, “Do you know how to push a lawn mower?”

“Yes, sir, I do,” Doc answered.

“Good, let’s get out to the ambulance bay and get busy,” he concluded.

For the next three weeks Doc worked at whatever task needed completion. He painted dorm rooms, mowed the lawn, scrubbed pots and pans, cleaned toilets and washed vehicles.

The time alone gave him an opportunity to think.

Some days were clear as he realized what he needed to do next. Other days were filled with anger and bitter hatred. They had set this up to break him, to force him to swallow his pride and possibly cause him to admit to something Doc had not done.

Several times Lt. Frasier and Captain Coville reminded Doc that all he needed to do was admit that he had stolen the things from the Mann’s. But his time working alone gave him a chance to think this over. It would be so easy to do and then he might be able to salvage what was left of his military career.

But Doc’s conclusion was always the same; he would never admit to something he had not done.

None of the pieces fit in Doc’s way of thinking. And it seemed that he was the only thinking about that. He had gone from having an over all performance rating of seven to a three.

He was a member of the Base Ceremonial and Honor Teams. He had supervised himself for over a year in an office that needed more than one person working in it.

Doc volunteered for extra duty in the emergency room and on the nursing wards. He was trusted to conduct sensitive interviews with regard to sexually transmitted diseases.

And now he was being made out to be a thief. None of it made sense.

Finally, Doc received the official paperwork that concluded that he had misappropriated the Mann’s' personal items. That’s what the piece of paper read: misappropriation.

“What does that mean?” he asked Captain Olsen.

“It means they have investigated you and have concluded that they don’t have enough to charge you out right with theft,” he answered.

The last two times Doc had met with the attorney he had listened and given him advice. The first piece was to keep his mouth shut. “You’ve already said too much,” he commented. Then he added, “Don’t let them know what you’re up to or what you are thinking.”

“What if I’m asked a direct question?” Doc started to ask.

Captain Olsen cut him off, “Then tell them this—say it exactly---“On the advice of my legal counsel I cannot answer that question.”

The second piece of advice was to reply to the charges. Doc wanted to stay in the service and he needed to tell why.

At first, Lt. Frasier had pressed for a full court martial. Doc told him to bring it on. Now he was going for a discharge. Captain Olsen concluded that the emotional out burst towards the First Sergeant had caused them to rethink their position.

“A court martial can be fought,” the lawyer said. “And everything is on the record. A discharge can be handled more quietly. It’s off the record and harder to fight,” he finished.

It took Doc three days to finish writing his formal reply to the discharge being brought against him. He had locked it up in the top drawer of his desk to which he had been reassigned after it was decided that he was not being demoralized by doing physical labor.

The next day Doc was called into Staff Sergeant Berman’ office, where Lt. Frasier, Captain Coville and Master Sergeant Drum each held a copy of his reply in their hand.

“This is nothing but lies,” Staff Sergeant Berman said as he waved the document in Doc’s face. For the next two hours his reply was torn apart point by point by each of these men.

Immediately following this meeting Doc telephoned Captain Olsen. “You get down here, ASAP,” he practically shouted over the receiver.

As soon as Doc hung up the phone he called Captain Coville and told him that his attorney wanted to see me immediately. “Over my dead body,” he said and he slammed the phone in Doc’s ear.

Doc called Captain Olsen back and told him he could not leave because Captain Coville forbids it. He said he would take care of it.

Doc hung up the phone and sat there with the knowledge Captain Coville would be in the office at his desk in a few moments. “Your ass isn’t going any where,” he shouted as he stepped in the doorway. Just as he completed the statement the telephone rang.

“Is Captain Coville there yet?” the voice calmly asked. It was Colonel Hu.

“Yes, sir," Doc said. He handed the telephone to Captain Coville, saying, “It’s for you Captain.”

He took in and brusquely said,” Yeah, what is it?”

Then his tone of voice changed. He grew more polite and civilized as he answered Colonel Hu's questions.

He hung up the telephone and looked at Doc, "Get your ass out of my office, now!” The force of his yelling caused him to fall against Doc and he physically pushed the young man away and out the door into the hallway.

Doc walked across the base as quickly as he could. He fought back the tears that flowed freely as he entered and sat down in front of Captain Olsen. It had finally happened, they had broken him.

His ability to control his emotions had finally reached the point that he could no longer hold them in check. It had taken all Doc could do to keep from striking out at Captain Coville.

After Doc settled down and had gained control of his emotional out burst, Captain Olsen directed a question at him “Would you like me to engineer an Honorable Discharge for you?”

He was asking Doc his opinion. He wanted to know what Doc felt about this.

He went on to explain, “This stress isn’t going to let up and you’ll never get off this base. They’ll ride you till you do something stupid. Let me put a stop to it right now,” he said.

His voice was soft and gentle. There was no business in his tones. He was leaning forward with head cocked to one side as if listening intently for Doc’s answer. He made direct eye contact.

Doc’s head was hurting and his nose was running. His eyes burned and he knew they were blood shot and swollen. He sat there and thought about his question and the reasoning behind it. The Captain sat there and waited patiently for Doc to come to his decision.

The younger man blew out a large breath and nodded his head up and down. Finally, he mustered the courage to say, "Yes, if it can be Honorable”

Suddenly Doc felt a great weight lift. The burden he had been carrying around was gone. He sat there in this leather seat and contemplated the gravity of that final decision. Finally Captain Olsen said, "Go wash up and straighten your uniform.”

Doc left his office and headed to the men’s room. He looked at himself in the mirror as he splashed water in his face to relieve the burning eyes.

“It’s going to be alright now," he told himself.

THE TIRE BURNER

The night had a bitter chill to it, which was strange for the north coast. There was no rain falling, just a cold wind blowing in off the Pacific Ocean as Brady made his way home from the radio station in the dark.

He had traveled this path many times both during the day and while the stars were out. He walked home from KPOD along C Street, passed the old high school where his mother had been a student in the fifties. He continued down the hill towards the fire station and then to the cemetery.

Brady had both family and friends buried there. It did not bother him to walk through the grave yard even on nights where the weather would have tortured a more spiritually possessed person.

His path continued outside the cemetery on the back side of Northcrest Motors, where both he and his father had worked a few years before. Now just his father worked there as General Manager.

Brady could see the old tire burner in front of himself as he walked a steady pace along the path. He thought for a moment about how many times he had loaded the black rubber tires into the old steel furnace and poured the mixture of gasoline and diesel over the mass and lit it on fire.

He thought, “There’s something strangely satisfying about seeing that black smoke oozing out of the chimney.”

Suddenly his reverie was broken by a voice just off the path and in the tree line to his right. “I was told I’d find you here like clock work,” said the voice.

The small hairs on the back of Brady’s neck stood up. He knew the voice and male violent character that it belonged too. His mind flashed back a half dozen years.

“I’ll be right over Kathy,” Brady said as reassuringly as he could.

He gently placed the telephone receiver down on the cradle and stood silently for a few seconds. He was attempting to gather his thoughts about him.

His parents had gone to bed a couple of hours before and Brady was the only one up. He had been sitting in front of the television when the phone rang.

It was his friend and a neighbor girl, Kathy. She lived across the field from his family’s house. She had called crying, saying that the guy that Brady had introduced her to a week ago had just raped her and had let two of his friends rape her as well.

Brady went to the hall closet and reached into his father’s old unused service jacket. The inside pocket held a special key that he had once been shown. That key went to a small gray-brown lock box that lay on the top shelf behind several mason jars of nuts bolts and nails, inside the wood shed.

The seventeen year old walked outside to the shed and stepped inside. He pulled on the string cord that brought to life the single naked sixty watt bulb in the plywood and two by-four ceiling.

He carefully stepped up on the small tool bench and reached to the top shelf. He lifted the dusty box out of its resting place, set it on the bench inserted the key, twisted it and lifted the lid.

There wrapped in oil cloth lay his fathers service pistol. A forty five caliber hand gun that his father had been given while serving in the Korean War and then carried with him the four times he had returned to Vietnam to serve his country.
Brady picked it up.

Within minutes he was on his way across the large open field to Kathy’s house. He did not dare tell his parents where he was going because they would want to call the sheriffs office and then his father, who was also the town of Klamath’s constable and fire chief would have to be involved.

Brady wanted to solve this problem all on his own.

When he arrived at her front door, she let him in. Her mascara was all runny because she had been crying. He put his arms out and she fell into him sobbing.

“Have you called your parents?” he asked her.

“No,” she said, “I wasn’t supposed to go out and I am afraid they’ll be mad at me.”

She continued to cry. Brady let her cry for a minute or so.

Then he suggested, “Maybe you should call them.”

Kathy sniffed, “I’ve got a bigger problem than that.” She paused and looked down. “I can’t stop bleeding,” she said.

She pulled down her jeans and revealed that her white panties were soaked red with blood.

“That’s it, Kathy,” Brady exclaimed, “I gotta go get my Dad.”

She started crying harder, falling to the floor and curling up into a little ball. Brady walked quickly into the bathroom and grabbed a towel.

He returned and placed it between the young woman’s legs. He pulled her jeans off and then retrieved a yarn comforter from the back of the couch and laid it over her.

Next he picked up the telephone and dragged it to the side of his friend and dialed his own home number. As the rotor spun around with each number he thought about how he would explain leaving the house and having his father’s gun.

“Hello?” It was the voice of his father. “Brady? Is that you?”

The young man spoke as calmly and deliberately as possible, quickly explaining what was happening.

“Okay, your mom and I will be right there. You stay put, got It.!” instructed Dad.
”Yes sir,” Brady replied.

Within minutes his parents were there. His mother sprang into action by helping to move Cathy to a bed and getting her comfortable. His father called the Air Base and requested an ambulance.

The ambulance arrived long before the sheriff deputy did, so Brady’s father left instructions with his wife to tell the deputy to meet them at the Base infirmary. Then he left with the ambulance, leaving Brady and his mother alone to wait for the law to arrive.

In the meantime Brady’s mother decided that she should call Kathy’s parents to let them know what had happened. The deputy arrived while she was on the phone.

Once the officer was on his way to the base and Kathy’s parents were notified Brady and his Mother started the long walk back across the field. They did not speak as there was not much to say at a time like this.

Finally as they walked up the steps to the house Mom turned to Brady and said,”I’m proud of you. It’s what’s known as a judgment call and you made it---right or wrong---and you stood up for it. I’m proud of you.”

She hesitated for a moment then added, “If you wanna go up there to hold her hand and be her friend you can.”

Brady hugged his mother tightly and kissed her on the forehead before racing into get the keys to his Dodge Plymouth.

As he drove the few miles up “the hill” to Klamath Air Base, he fingered the pistol still tucked in his belt line. He decided to put it in the center box before entering the main gate.

Once at the hospital he tried to see Kathy but the medical technicians would not let him. Instead he sat in the waiting area near the two Air Police Officers and the sheriff deputy.

He eavesdropped on their conversation about what had happened. The more Brady listened the more he realized that they were not going to do anything.

They called Kathy a tramp, because as the two air police men had put it, “She’d been in the dorms with several airmen on different occasions.”

Brady had heard enough. He got up and went to his car.

He retrieved the pistol and walked over to the barracks. He knew where the room of the main rapist was and walk straight up to it.

He could hear laughing and talking coming from the room. He reached down and tried the door knob. It turned. He pulled the slider back on the pistol, twisted the door’s handle and pushed it inward.

There they were---all three of the men that Kathy said had gang raped her.

Brady raised the pistol and leveled it waist high. Their laughing and talking stopped, as they looked at the pistol and the young man holding it.

“I trusted you,” Brady started out, “With my friend and you guys all took turns at her.”

The oldest one, about twenty-three, responded, “Now, Brady it wasn’t like that.”

He was cut off, “Wasn’t, like what?” Brady asked. Then he added, “Wasn’t like what? How do you know what I’m talking about?

The three looked at each other with wide and frightened eyes.

Behind Brady came a small noise. He stepped back and towards the far corner of the room, looking to the door on his right. It was Dad and the Base Commander.

“Brady," said the commander, “You don’t wanna do this. It’ll ruin you’re life too."

The major stepped inside the doorway but away from the young man.

“I wanna confession from them. They raped her and she could have bled to death from cutting her up like they did,” Brady responded.

His father spoke, “It wasn’t a cut, Brady. It was a tear like having a baby.”

Then he added, “It doesn’t bleed all that much, jus’ looks like it does. Kinda like a head wound.”

Brady thought about it for a few seconds. It did make sense.

“And perhaps," he thought, “I’m overreacting.”

He felt the tension slip out of his shoulders out through his head. Without warning, the Major and his father sprang on him like cats on an unwary mouse.

The two men wrestled the pistol from the teenagers hand and pinned him to the floor. Brady did not have the strength to put up a fight so he laid there like a limp noodle waiting to be arrested for having assaulted the three airmen.

In the meantime, the three airmen wasted no time in scrambling out of the room. They rushed out into the hallway and into the waiting cuffs of the sheriff and air police.

The commander and Brady’s father let the young man up as soon as they had the pistol secured. The commander pulled the clip out of the gun and slipped it in his pocket.

Brady watched as the officer popped each bullet deftly out of the clip and then replaced the clip in the weapon. He slid the hammer back again, causing the bullet in the chamber of eject.

With reflexes of a juggler the commander caught the shell in mid air and stuffed it in his pocket as well. Then he handed the pistol to Brady’s father, saying, “Good thing that show piece of yours ain’t loaded.”

His mind raced back into the present moment and the danger he was facing now.
”Look,” Brady said, “I don’t want any trouble with you.”

The man laughed and asked,” What? Don’t have a gun this time, huh?”

Brady felt for the knife near his back pocket.

“You ruined my career," the voice in the shadows said, “And I always said I’d find you alone one day.”

Brady slowly withdrew the knife from its sheath.

The man stepped forward and out of the shadow of the tree line. Brady could see he still had the physique of a body builder. He also noticed that the man had something in his right hand as he approached Brady.

The man snorted,”This time I brought the gun and I made certain to load it."

He pulled back on the double action hammer, making a loud click-click sound. Brady knew that if the man was serious, he did not have much time.

“You ruined your own career,” Brady responded,”you did the raping not me.”

“Yeah, but everyone knew she was a slut and wanted it,” the man replied.

“No,” Brady stated calmly, “She was a confused fifteen year old kid who jus’ wanted some sort of attention.”

He snickered again, “Well, she got it didn’t she.”

The man bared his teeth in a fiendish smile that sent chills along Brady’s spine. Then he asked, “Didn’t anyone ever tell you, it’s not smart to bring a knife to a gun fight?”

As the rhetorical question passed his lips, the man raised the pistol and stepped forward. There was no time for Brady to think, just react as he stepped forward and to the left of the man.

There was a blinding light, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. The man had pulled the trigger. The pistol went off again and again.

By the time the man fired his third round though, Brady had a grip on the pistols barrel. All three shots had missed their intended target.

Brady held tightly to the gun as the man slammed his left fist into Brady’s head. Brady continued to move forward and then to the right of the man, pivoting under his arm.

As he did, he stabbed violently at the man’s lower torso. The pistol went off again, this time harmlessly into the air. Brady continued to jam the knife at his assailant.

He heard the man gasp out a breath of air as he drew back the knife. For the sixth time the pistol discharged. This time it fired into the ground as the man slowly dropped to his knees.

Seconds later Brady stood there holding the gun in his hand by the barrel. The man had pitched forward and collapsed face down into the dirt.

Brady did not move for nearly two minutes. He was frozen, listening for noised from around the area. He could hear nothing out of the ordinary.

Still he waited.

As he waited, he reached down and felt the neck of the man lying on the chilly earth before him. There was no pulse.

He rolled him over, revealing that the lifeless body had died in a state of surprise. The man’s eyes were wide open, not expecting to be overcome by a knife verses gun fight in close combat.

Brady squatted down by the body. He heard the words of Major Graham echoing in his head, “It’ll ruin your life…”

He realized that the Major had been right and was still correct. This incident would ruin his life and the piece of trash he had just killed would be the one to get off easy no matter what.

Brady looked around and decided that his best course of action would be to dispose of the body. He was so close to the graveyard and just beyond that was the old swamp area.

Then he realized that the body could be discovered and that would lead to a murder investigation. It would be better if the body disappeared completely.
Brady looked around and saw the old tire burner.

“That’s the best place to get rid of the body," he thought.

Brady quickly went over and opened the burner. He tossed four tires inside it and doused them with the diesel fuel.

He added four more tires and then more fuel. Brady struggled to lift the body into the furnace and get it centered on the tires.

Brady added four more tires and the fuel and then repeated the process one more time. Finally he pushed the igniter and the furnace roared to life.

Shaking and feeling terribly sick to his stomach Brady walked through the cemetery and down into the swamp. He tossed the pistol into the deepest channel he could see after taking the chamber out and throwing it off into another part of the swamp.

He walked back up the hill and through the grave yard once again. He opened the furnace and tossed as many tires onto the raging fire as it would hold.

The black smoke billowed out of the chimney as the tired cooked down into ashy soot. He stood there, watching the furnace as it continued to push the smell of diesel fuel, gasoline and rubber into the atmosphere.

While he stood and watched, the sky grew cloudy and the stars went away along with the moon. Minutes later started raining, muddying up the pathway where the pair had fought to the death.

As Brady walked away from the furnace he could hear the rising sound of the rain drops as they struck the super heated blasting furnace, hissing in a sinister way.

The young man could not help but wonder, “Is this what Hell will sound like?”

MOURNING OLD JOE

Miscellaneous Short Stories of Tom Darby

1. THE REANIMATION OF SAMUEL HARDY

It was the final weekend of the summer and Billy and Paul pointed their BMX bicycles westward down the old dirt road and the best place to do some high jumps and hard landings in the area. They pedaled to the abandoned Toano rock quarry in an effort to forget school was to start the coming Monday.

The two 12-year olds slipped through the cyclone fencing which had been pried loose by a group of teenaged boys the summer before in search of a place to drink stolen bottles of beer. The chain links had been turned upward and hooked to the upper edge of the fence. It was a hole just large enough to allow a BMX bike through as long as the rider wasn’t on it.

Down inside the quarry, the boys raced over huge piles of gravel. They leaped their bikes as high as possible and landed with enough control to continue racing around the site.

“Up there,” Billy pointed. “That where I wanna go,” he said to Paul.

They rode up to the crest of the quarry and looked down into the gapping pit, searching for what they called “a good line,” to ride down.

Each boy moved back and forth looking over the high edge for a possible trail to the bottom. Neither one wanted to make the lengthy trip around the lip of the quarry and admit defeat at not finding a more direct path down to the bottom.

“Well, do you wanna try it?” Paul asked.

Billy looked down the proposed “line,” and shrugged, “As long as we go slowly the first time.”

He was worried about the possibility of falling down the side of the quarry and landing in the jagged rocks below. They pushed their bikes out onto the embankment and faced them down hill.

Billy was in the lead. He had only gone a few feet when his front wheel knocked an object loose from the earth. Paul saw it roll down the face of the cliff and he stopped to look at it was, because it didn’t appear to be a normal looking stone.

As he inched his way closer to the ledge and looked over, he was horrified to see a human skull with vacant eye sockets peering straight back at him. He quickly scrambled away for the edge of the rock face and yelled for Billy.

“Stop!” Paul nearly screamed.

Billy skidded his bike to a stop and turned around in the seat to look back at his friend. He saw Paul sitting on the ground with his back against the stony face and he had a look of fear on his face.

“What is it?” Billy asked in an impatient tone of voice.

Paul looked at him and answered, “I think it’s a skull of a dead person.”

The sun was starting to fade and the teams of Elko County deputies and Nevada state troopers were still searching for remains along the wall of the rock quarry. It was estimated that they had discovered 22 unmarked graves in a quarter acre patch of ground.

Detective Leach was on a cell-phone talking, “Each body is in a wooden casket.”

A voice on the other end of the cell-phone asked, “Are they buried at various depths?”

Leach responded, “Yeah, some a couple feet down others deeper.”

“It sounds like an old cemetery, maybe a forgotten family plot,” the voice said. It belonged to Nevada state archeologist Walt Franco. He was the states leading authority on all matters regarding historical artifacts.

Then Franco added, “I’m on my way.”

By sun up, Franco had led the two teams to the remainder of three more caskets. They each had been photographed and a detailed map had been drawn showing each body’s exact location.

“Look at this Walt,” one of the state troopers said.

When Franco viewed what the trooper had found it left the scholar puzzled. There was no getting around the fact that the body in the old wooden box had been moved after death.

The box lid had the letters “SH,” and the number “54” written on it. They were formed by using brass tacks; however it wasn’t the only casket to be marked in such a way. What made it so unusual was the fact that both thigh bones had been laid out to create an “X” over the chest of the body and the skull was replaced in an upside down position.

Each body was removed and taken to the state lab in Reno for further study. Meanwhile Franco went to Carson City to search the state achieves. He needed to do some research and it didn’t take him long to find what he had been looking for.

He picked up the telephone in his office and dialed. A few seconds later a woman answered.

“Hello,” she said.

“Good morning, Sandra,” he replied.

Sandra Goodall glanced at the clock on top of her bed stand. It wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet.

She asked, “Do you know this is Sunday?”

Franco said that he did. Then he told her what had been unearthed at the abandoned rock quarry. Goodall was suddenly awake and the fact that it was the latter part of the weekend no longer mattered.

She hurriedly dressed after hanging up with Franco. She could hardly wait to get to the state lab and start her examinations. She realized that this case could be the thesis she had been wishing for in her lengthy process for a PhD.

Franco flipped through the yellow leafs of paper. It was a land registration book that had been buried in an estate sale and he had purchased for the sum of one-dollar. The leather-bound book had been a solid source for Franco on a number of occasions.

He ran his finger down page 92 and found what he had been looking for: Hardy. It was the name of the family who had first settled the area prior to the year 1850. The last name fit with the “H” on the coffin.

Franco turned on his computer. After waiting for it to come to life, he typed in the name, Hardy.” Much to his surprise he found a list of names including a “Samuel,” who was listed as having been “put to death by hanging” in 1871.

While, Franco believed he has resolved who the family plot belong too and the possible identity of “SH,” he still had no answers as to why “SH” had been defiled they way that he had been.

It was early Monday morning when Franco drove into Toano. He was there to see if he could find any records on the Hardy family. Within and hour he had an answer to his puzzle.

Franco found a cracked, red leather bound book in the counties library that contained hand written notes from the Toano’s town meetings. As he read it, he tried to imagine the scene.

It was 1883 and Samuel Hardy’s eldest son, Eli was asked to appear before the towns elders. It seemed that they had a strange request to ask of him.

“We’d like permission to open you’re fathers grave and stake his body to the ground,” one of the men said.

Another piped in, “We want this to above board.”

“Why do you want to do this?” Eli asked.

The group of elders looked about at one another, and then someone answered, “We have reason to believe your father, Samuel Hardy is a vampire.”

Eli was silent as he reflected on the fact that his father had been hanged for murder. It was not a pleasant thought. He was nearly 17 years old when his father was found visiting the decaying body of a young woman he had killed nearly three-weeks before.

It took less than a day for a jury to find him guilty and sentence him to death by hanging. Eli still heard the endless whispers about his family and had on more than one occasion thought of leaving Nevada for land out west of the Sierra Nevada mountain range.

He also thought about the rumors about hundreds of sheep, cows and horses found dead. He also knew that several young women had been attacked in the 12 years his father had been executed; some had even been killed.

Eli himself had told his wife Sarah on more than one occasion that he had felt his father’s presence. Fearing that he might be accused of being in league with a murderer or worse, a vampire, Eli Hardy quickly consented.

“You have my permission,” he said.

That same day a small group of men went out to the Hardy family cemetery and located Samuel’s grave. Four men set about the task of digging up the casket. Also present was one of Toano’s priests, its medical doctor and a mysterious figure from Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Once the earth was pulled away, one of the four men digging used the edge of his spade to pry off the top of the box. Inside they found only the bones of the deceased Samuel Hardy. There was nothing left to stake the body to the ground.

However the mysterious stranger recommended a course of action to prevent even the bones of Samuel Hardy from rising again. Quickly, they did as was recommended then returned the body back to the earth.

That was nearly 135 years ago. Now the body of Samuel Hardy was lying on a chrome steel table in the state medical lab. Sandra Goodall was completing the final examination of the man’s skull.

She had been working on what had been dubbed by the local press as the “Hardy Project” for the last eight months. Goodall had compiled hundreds of pages of notes and felt certain that she was nearly done with the 25 bodies. Soon they would all be returned to Toano for reburial in one the local cemetery.

“SH,” or Sam as he was affectionately known, was the last body that she documented. Goodall had found that he had lived the hard life of a farmer, possibly raising sheep or cattle for a living.

Sam had died at the age of 54. At the time of his death, he had an open wound on his lower right leg that probably caused him to limp. Goodall had also discovered a trace of white growth attached to the outer tips of the Sam’s rib cage.

She concluded that Sam had the consumption. Today it was known as tuberculosis. Goodall theorized that it had been a fairly slow process and agonizingly painful for Sam. She also noted that two vertebrae in his neck had been crushed.

Goodall had painstakingly glue the shattered bones back together. She wanted a clear idea of what had killed Sam. She deducted that he had probably choked to death before his vertebrae gave way under the weight of his body.

Her conclusions were backed up by historical facts that Franco had found in the same months he spent investigating the small family plot. He discovered that Toano had been plagued by a severe case of consumption in the late 1800’s. He also had the record of Samuel Hardy’s execution and the later defilement of the single grave from the red-leather book.

Franco also found a rare instance where a 19-year-old woman named Mercy Brown of Exeter, Rhode Island was exhumed after it was suspected she was a vampire and feeding on her brother Edwin.

Rhode Island archivists Anne Paulo told Franco, “Mercy’s heart was removed, burnt and the ashes were fed to Edwin as a remedy.”

The rearranging of the bone was a harder puzzle to solve for Franco. He had to look over seas for his answers. And it was in Ireland and Egypt that he found it. Both countries had historical references to “decapitating bodies,” and used the skull and cross bone symbol to denote the possibility of the “walking dead.”

Sandra Goodall placed the skull of Samuel Hardy at the top of the body. It was the first time in about 125 years that his body had actually been assembled in its proper form. She sighed as she looked at the old man’s bones. Goodall decided she would deal with his remains on Monday.

“It’s the weekend and you can wait a couple more days, Sam” she said aloud as she turned to switch off the lab’s lights and lock the door.

It wasn’t until Monday morning that the bones were discovered to have been stolen. The state police investigated and concluded that someone had been hiding inside the building when Goodall was locking up.

“She never had a chance,” the detective said. Then he added, “He attacked her from behind, but I think she got a piece of him.”

“What makes you say that?” asked another investigator.

“Look at the blood trail,” he answered, “whoever did this was dragging his right leg slightly.”

2. PERFECT DAY

A narrow beam of sunshine pushed its way between the two curtain halves and into the small one room flat. It was enough to cause James to blink slightly then wake up.

He looked around the room for a moment, puzzled by his surroundings then remembered he was now a civilian, living in the civilian world. He rolled over slightly and picked up the half full pack of Marlboros and his lighter.

As he worked to light one of the cigarettes, he slipped his legs over the edge of his bed and drew in on the cigarette. He blew out the smoke and thought, “I need to quit these things.”

James recalled that he started smoking as a response to the stress he felt out in the arid desert of Iraq. He needed something to do with his hands after that first fire-fight and one of his buddies offered him a smoke.

“That’s been a long time ago,” he thought. James realized that he’d no longer need them as he wasn’t in a place where 10 to a 100 people got killed everyday by snipers or car bombs.

He smiled, knowing he had survived all that. ”Today’s a perfect day,” he James thought.

Now that James realized that he was back in the World, he relaxed a little and snuffed out the cigarette between his fingers. He resolved that this cigarette would be his last one.

He looked around his room and reached for his jeans.

After getting dressed, James walked to the window and peered outside. He still felt a small reservation about standing directly in front of the large piece of glass. His combat instinct always came on strong as he approached the window.

“After three weeks,” he thought, “You’d think I’d shake that whole idea.”

The street was busy; cars, truck and buses driving by. He could see the corner market from his place and a he decided to go over and buy a cup of coffee.

James had come to enjoy the sweet taste of a French-vanilla cappuccino. He had drunk the stuff the Army tries to pass off as coffee for much too long. The cappuccino was a benefit of being a civilian once again.

He grabbed up his camera, draped it over his shoulder and stepped out of his room and into the hallway.

Down stairs he stood on the sidewalk watching as people walked by completely unconcerned with the activities going on around them. It was something he had never paid much attention to when he was younger.

He was just 18 years old when he joined and after three tours in Iraq, he was the old man of the outfitted when he mustered out four years later. He saw that a number of things in the World had changed since he had been away or perhaps it was he who had changed.

Either way James was now a free man to pursue his dream of being a photographer. That’s why he was living in New York City rather than returning home to the farm in Nebraska.

The decision had been met as a scandal by his folks and friends back home. However James knew that he couldn’t return directly to a quiet life of farming after the three and a half years he had spent in the Middle East. He needed the excitement of a large city like New York, besides that is where his school was located.

He waited for the little green man to appear on the crosswalk light across the street. When it did, he moved with the mob of humanity from one corner to the next. He repeated the action again to get to the market.

James poured his coffee and paid the clerk for the hot brew. He stepped outside and wondered what he would do with the remainder of his day.

“I think I’ll just walk around and snap some photos for the hell of it,” James thought.

It was about that time that a young white man walked up to him and asked, “Hey buddy, you got a light?

James placed his cup of coffee on a yellow pole that was employed by the market to prevent vehicles from driving through the large glass doors and windows and reached into his shirt pocket, searching for the book of matches only to realize he had left them on his nightstand in his room.

Then he awful realization came to him; he was about to be mugged by the white man asking for a match. This realization was too late.

Without warning, he was facing a pistol and the man was yanking his camera from his shoulder. James grabbed the strap, hoping to hold onto his prized-possession.

James saw the flash of the gun barrel but never heard the report. He felt a heavy punch to his chest and that the punch had knocked him down. James was surprised by the lack of pain.

When he awoke, he was looking down on an ashen-colored black man. It was his body, laying flat across the sidewalk as a small crowd had formed around him.

James recognized himself. He was confused by the sight of his lifeless body. He saw a small wisp of steam rising from his cup of coffee as it was still resting on the top of the yellow pole. In the distance was the sound of sirens.

James felt a warm sensation envelope him as he floated ever higher. Then suddenly his view went dark and knew he was dead.

It was the ending of a perfect day.

3. THE TWELVTH STEP

“This is your room,” the woman said to Daniel as she turned the key and pushed open the door.

It was a very elegant room. The bed had a dark and high headboard. The covers were layered with quilts to help keep out the chill of the Humboldt County nights. The lace of the curtains allowed the room to filled with just enough sunshine as to warm the place comfortable.

Daniel placed his small leather case on the foot of the bed and said, “Thank you,” as the woman closed the door behind him. This was the first time he had ever looked lodging at the Charlotta bank. He was planning to meet his mother and step-father for dinner here than spud the night at the once famous Inn.

The Charlotta Inn had been the stopping place at one time for movie stars and gangsters. Now it was considered off the beaten path and though it still drew a rare visit from a movie star or outlaw type, it had settled into its more conventional role of historical Inn and local watering hole that served lunch and dinner to the year round tourists and accommodated over night guests like Daniel.

Its history had its moments of stardom such as appearing on film and in trial records during murderous acts. None were more sensational them those of the man rumored to have been shot on the front porch after a late night game of cards. This man managed to return to the front lobby and had climbed up the stair case but died, having fallen into the arms of his wife.

The man who shot him was never caught.

Daniel had always heard the stories. He enjoyed them, considering them both history and folklore at once. Yet he never paid any mind to the whispered notion of the ghosts that haunted the inn. He never had too as he had never stayed there until tonight.

He met his mom and step father at seven as planned. They ate dinner and they sat and talked into the late evening. It was nearly eleven o’clock when they decided it was time to head for home. Daniel offered to purchase them a room for the night, but they refused, opting for the comfort of their own bed at home.

After saying goodnight in the parking lot, Daniel wondered out to the edge of the woods. He could hear the laughter coming from the bar as it echoed from the backside of the Inn. Somewhere in the short distance he heard a couple of pony’s wicker and whinny.

“I’m glad something’s haven’t changed,” he said to himself.

Again he heard laughter and loud voices from the bar. The night air was getting a bit chilly so he decided to wonder over and check out the tavern.

Once inside he was surprised to find only the barkeep and two patrons at the bar. They were watching television. “Must have been the idiot box I heard,” he muttered to himself.

Daniel ordered a shot of whiskey neat, tossed it back and headed up stairs for the night.

He walked slowly up the stairs towards his room recalling warmly the wonderful evening he had just spend with his parents. He was also looking forward to some sleep. As he made the top of the landing he heard the distinct sound of high heeled cowboy boots out on the front porch.

Inside his room he sat on the edge of his bed and labored to remove his own high heeled cowboy boots. Once they were off, he wiggled his toes. “It feels good to have those things off.”

Suddenly he heard a faint “popping” noise, much like a champagne bottles cork letting loose under pressure. Then he heard a door open and close hard. This was followed by footsteps on the outside of his wall by the head of his bed.

He felt more than heard a “thud” as something dropped downward and then against the wall, shaking the bed frame and him on it. Daniel could hear a soft sobbing just beyond his wall.

Daniel jumped up and raced around the corner and peered into the dimly lit staircase only to see nothing but a tapestry covered steps. He walked down to the bottom of the land and back up estimating where he had first heard the “thump” on the wall in his room which caused his bed to move. It was twelve steps.

Daniel continued up the remaining steps, pausing at the top long enough to look back at the empty stairwell. He returned to his room and lay in his bed tossing and turning, thinking about the strange occurrence he though he had witnessed.

He was still thinking about it when he awakened from his sleep having dropped off some time early in the morning. He quietly showered and shaved and dressed, wishing to get down to the Inn’s restaurant before it closed.

Daniel could not help but recall last night as he past the very spot in the staircase where he felt certain the unusual noised had come from. He paused and shifted his weight on the twelfth step as if to test it, wanting to see if it made any weird noises. It did not.

After breakfast he wandered out to his truck and turned it north on Highway 36 towards his mom and step dads home. Still Daniel couldn’t shake the strange feeling of the night before and how spooked it left him.

As soon as he arrived at this parents home he told them what had happened. They did not seem surprised. “I’ve heard others say the same thing,” Del, his step dad, said to him.

Daniel finished his story, and then it dawned on him that perhaps he heard more than the foot steps on the stairs.

“Maybe,” he said to himself, “I heard the card game as well and their horses tied up outside. “He felt as sickening chill rush over his body as the idea came to him.”

Later that night Daniel was sitting in the living room when he decided he wanted to read something. “Anything will do,” he told himself. So he picked up an AA pamphlet and read the 12-steps on the back.

When he got to the final step and read the words, “Having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps,” Daniel stopped, having recalled the number of steps in the staircase. His entire body shuttered as he quickly put the pamphlet down and fumbled for the television remote.

4. THE CHRISTMAS STAR

“Oh, Mary, my dear wife,” said Joseph the Carpenter, “we shall rest here in this manger for there is no tavern open for us.”

“It shall be alright,” Mary replied,” My worried Joseph, will be alright.”

“I pray that it shall,” Joseph responded as he helped her down from the donkey and in the hay.

“It is time,” Mary said as her breathing became labored.

Joseph watched and helped as best he could while Mary gave birth to the baby named Jesus.

Overhead a star shined brightly. It was brighter than any star ever seen. Then angels appeared. They whispered among themselves so as not to wake the newborn babe.

Soon shepherds arrived at the stables entrance, walking on broken sandals. They said in unison, “We have heard of a King being born here.”

Joseph just nodded his head and Mary warmly smiled as the three ragged shepherds walked up to the manger to gaze upon the sleeping baby Jesus. They smiled, then kneeled down and began to pray.

Just as that happened, three Kings appeared at the stable’s entrance, asking about the baby. They asked in unison, “Is the child-King born upon this blessed morn?”

Again Joseph nodded and Mary smiled as they walked up and looked into the manger at the baby.

The first King said, “I have frankincense to offer.” He handed it to Mary for the baby and kneeled to pray.

The second King said, “I give myrrh to him.” He gave it to Mary for Jesus. He kneeled and began to pray.

The last King gave incense to the baby’s Mother and also started to pray. As the third King started to pray the Angels started to sing “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

Without warning all the stage lights came on and the Director shouted, “Alright folks lets call it a night! Don’t forget tomorrow night is opening night!”

Soon everyone was gone. Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, and the Kings. The little Baby Jesus and all the host of Angels in heaven were gone. The stage was in total silence. The props were put away except for the star. It still shined brightly.

Someone had forgotten to turn it off…or was it something else?

5. MOURNING OLD JOE

“Don’t know how I done it,” the Coosie said out loud to no one in particular. He shook his head and let out a long sigh.

“Its okay Slim,” one of the young buckaroos commented. They had all heard it before and they didn’t want to hear it again. They all sat around the campfire or near the chuck wagon eating the beans and warm biscuits that the Coosie had served.

“I know it’s only been a couple of days since we ain’t seen Old Joe,” said the Coosie. “But it sure seems longer,” he added. He poked a long branch into the fire, stirring up the orange ambers. The fires light danced yellow and red in his nearly white beard.

He was the oldest man there. That was no doubt. And he proved it. He could remember things about the lay of the land that some of the young ones never knew. He could read nearly three hundred different brands without pause and he could make a mean son-of a-gun-stew. He had been the outfits’ cook for the last eighteen years.

Now old age seemed to be creeping up on him. And he didn’t like it one little bit. His memory seemed to be failing him and the hands knew it. Worse yet, so did the jigger-boss. The Coosie had been seeing it in Reds’ eyes for the last couple of days.

The Coosie rose up off his haunches and grabbed a few more pieces of wood and tossed them on top of the fire. The flames danced back to greater life. The Coosie sighed again.

He turned and looked south. “Where in the devil is that Houlihan?” he asked. He’d sent Smitty back by hoss the moment he realized that Old Joe was missing. The way the Coosie figured it, the button should have been back by now.

The night wranglers could be heard catching up their mounts and saddling them. They had a two-hour watch ahead. The Coosie was certain that they missed Old Joe’s company by now. He breathed another sigh and shook his head. He felt full of grief over the loss of Old Joe.

There was work still needing to be done, so the Coosie set about doing it. He moved the wagon-tongue around till it pointed to the North Star. Then he set about washing up the tin ware in the bucket. He hoped as he worked that the young Houlihan would be back before the camp pulled freight. Everyone was miserable without Old Joe.

The Coosie could imagine the aroma of Old Joe as he poured the piping hot liquid into a cup. “Want another cup of Joe?” a voice asked inside his head.

The room was silent as the old man finished up his story. Then came a little voice, “Is that true?” one of the nine grandchildren asked Grandpa Smith.

He pulled a couple of times on his pipe and then answered, “Yep.” He blew out a thick cloud of blue smoke and then added, “I know it to be true as I was the young Houlihan that rode all day and night to fetch the missing bag of coffee beans.”

“Okay,” a woman’s voice came. “It's time for bed.”

“Ahhh,” responded all nine grandchildren at once.

6. RIDER OF THE STORM

“You’d best take a look at the obituary,” Iris said as she held out the section of the Reno Gazette Journal for him to read.

He looked up from sharpening his knife with a half smirk on his face, asking, “Why is my name in it?”

Daniel could tell by the look in his wife’s face that she was serious. He reached up and took the extended newspaper in hand. He scanned quickly through each name on the clean colored page. Suddenly his eye stopped searching. He had discovered the recognizable name of his friend.

”Well, I’ll be a son of a ..,” his voice trailed off as he read the obituary.

“When’s the last time you spoke with Sam?” his wife asked.

Daniel fumbled with the paper for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure.

“It’s been a couple of years,” he answered. Then he added, “Just before he headed for Europe. I didn’t think he’d follow through though.”

Again his voice trailed off as he re read the obituary and faded into a memory Sarah’s voice came over the intercom to the always busy promotions office, “Daniel, you have a call on line seven, Daniel, call line seven.”

Daniel pushed back from his computer dreading another interruption as the dead line for the proposal he was working on loomed closer. He picked up the receiver and pushed the button next to the red flashing light. “Hey, hey,” came a voice over the line.

Daniel responded as he had hundreds of times before, “Hey.”

It was his friend Sam Anderson.

“How you doing?” he asked Sam.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Going to go to Europe and bum around for a while.”
“Say what?!” Daniel asked with surprise.

”Yeah,” he said, “I’m gonna go to Europe,”

There was momentary pause. “Are you still there?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” responded Daniel, “I’m just surprised that’s all.” Then he thought to ask,
”How you going to get there,” Sam laughed.

“I’m going to fly,” he answered.

Daniel knew that he had asked a dumb question or had at the very least phrased it incorrectly. “No,” he shot back,”I mean how are you going pay for it?”

Daniel knew Sam always had money difficulties. Sam answered,”I got my income tax check so I’m going to buy a one way ticket.”

“A one way ticket?!” asked Daniel.

“Yeah, I don’t plan on coming back,” Sam continued.

Daniel thought this over for a few seconds. “How will you live?”

Sam had a smile in his voice and replied,” I’ll be a day laborer.” There was a long pause between the two men. Sam added, “Besides I still have a problem with junk.” He paused again than said, “I can’t quit fixing.”

Daniel just sat there and listened as Sam laid out his plans for a two year European vacation as he was calling it.

“And finally,” Sam concluded, “when I’ve seen and done it all, I’ll pull a Jim Morrison.”

Daniel recalled how Jim Morrison had died. He seemed to have it all. He was the lead singer of the group called the Doors. He had money and plenty of women yet he died during a heroin overdose.

Daniel sighed heavily. Then he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He thought to himself that Sam won’t go through with it. After a few more minutes of conversation they said good-bye to each other and Daniel hung up the telephone and returned to the proposal waiting on the computer.

“That was two years ago,” he said out loud as he continued to think.

“What was?” Iris asked
“It was two years ago that he said he was going to pull a Jim Morrison.”

Iris frowned, “So?”

“The obituary says,” he picked up the paper, “Sam Anderson died in his sleep while on vacation in Paris, France.”

Iris shook her head, “I still don’t get it.”

“That’s how Jim Morrison of the Doors died---in Paris in his sleep,” he said.

“I didn’t know that, “she replied.

Daniel got up from the table where he had been sharpening his knife. He picked up his coffee mug and stepped outside through the sliding glass door. He looked southward towards the remnants of Wedekind City and shed a silent tear for Sam Anderson.

THE LAST CHAMPION

A couple of his classmates snickered when they heard Taz say, “I’ll join.”

Then one of the girls said, “Coach couldn’t even get you to run a hundred steps last year during P.E.”

Taz ignored the remark and the chuckling and kept his hand raised to make certain that the new Cross Country coach had seen him. The young man didn’t know it but he would be one of only four boys from his entire school to sign up for the sport.

The following day, the four boys walked across the street from their school to the park for the first day of practice. They were met there by the coach.

“I’m going to make things simple,” he said. “I expect you give one-hundred percent everyday at practice and I expect you to do your best at every meet.”

The coach paused, his hands firmly placed on his hips as he looked at each boy, then he added, “Any questions?”

After a few seconds he said, “Good! Now I need five laps as soon as we get warmed up.”

By the end of his second lap, the coach could tell that Taz would require more time and effort to complete the assigned run. He could see that the young man was overweight and not used to the level of exercise required to run a three and a half mile race.

Still he had to admire the fact that the kid wasn’t complaining or giving up. It took him twice as long to finish the five miles as it did his other three team mates.

“I’m not very good at this,” he complained to the coach after he caught his breath. Then he added, “Maybe I should quit before I embarrass you or the other guys.”

The coach stepped up and looked the 15-year old in the face and asked, “Did you give it your all today?”

The teen sheepishly answered, “Yes.”

“Good! Then I’ll hear no more talk about quitting!” the coach barked at the startled runner.

The team worked out with one another for the next two-weeks. They ran not only in the park across from the school, but they also ran in the hills surrounding town, using old cattle trails for their workout paths.

At the first race, the competition was steep. Nearly 200 runners had arrived to run through the mountains over looking North Lake High School. The best place anyone from the team was 55th.

It was Taz who did the worst though. He placed last in his division, even being out paced by the girls as they started half an hour after the boys took off in their race. I took the young man more than twice the time it took others in the race to complete the course.

The coach felt a knot in his stomach as he stood waiting for the last member of his team to cross the finish line. He also felt bad for the young man as he came around the corner and through the gate onto the football field all the while being passed by girls his own age.

Taz refused to give up.

The next week the same thing happened, followed by the same occurrence the following week. Taz refused to give up and by this time he had gained a small fan based, made up of runners from other area teams, who willingly cheered him on as he ran towards the finish line.

By the seventh and final week of the regular season, coaches were standing along the sidelines cheering Taz as he dashed towards the finish line. Some had even started chanting his name, “Taz, Taz, Taz…” until he finished.

One coach even went as far as to nickname him “Last Place Lane.” At first Taz’s coach was angry at the idea of such a rotten thing to call a child, but Taz smiled and said that he like being called that.

“Why?” the coach asked.

Taz smiled and then explained, “It makes me feel like a champion simply for finishing.” Then the young man added, “Besides last place is a place. There are a couple of guys who dropped out in the middle of the race.”

The coach nodded his head in agreement with the teenagers’ statement.

That’s when it occurred to the coach that Taz had the right attitude about sports and sportsmanship. He also realized that while Taz may have been the team’s worst runner, he was also the last champion.

STRUCK BLIND

While visiting the Veteran Administrations Hospital for his annual physical, Tommy got off on the wrong floor. He promptly got lost. Tommy knew he had never been very good at finding his way around government buildings.

It was the third floor where the door to the elevators opened and he instinctively stepped off without looking at what floor he was on. Tommy was supposed to go one more floor up. However it would be fifteen to twenty minutes before he would discover this.

Wandering up and down the corridors of this building, Tommy searched for the set of offices that he needed to visit. He had been to them before, one year ago, so he knew they existed; however Tommy could not remember what they looked like. And to him all governmental offices look the same anyway.

As he searched for the office numbers, he came to the Chapel. Every VA Hospital has one. It was here he also discovered the only telephone on the floor. Tommy lifted the receiver and started to dial the number to the clinic that he was by now already late for, when he notice a man seated in the chairs of the Chapel. He could hear him crying.

Gently Tommy hung up the phone and quietly he walked into the seating area and sat down beside him. He had both hands over his face and was softly weeping. Tommy leaned over and whispered, “Brother, are you okay?”

He looked at Tommy and said, “Yeah, I am.” He paused to catch his breath. He obviously had a breathing problem. He explained that as a baby he had an accident that had broken his nose and had caused him pain throughout his life. Several times he had lost jobs because he could not catch his breath and now at 70 years old the doctors had discovered the problem and were going to be able to fix it for him. “I cry because I’m happy,” he said.

It was hard for Tommy to stop crying as he laid a hand on his should and asked if they could pray together for a successful operation, quick recovery, joyful life and a gracious God. He thanked Tommy and said, “God bless you,” as Tommy left to make his appointment. Those words made him feel heroic.

After his doctor’s appointment, Tommy dropped back down to the third floor and the Chapel. The man was gone, as he had expected him to be. So Tommy rushed off to speak to the Chaplain. He wanted to tell him what I had done. He followed the signs that had arrows pointing to his office. He searched for nearly half an hour and could not find his office. Tommy had to get back to work, so he left.

It was later the next day that it occurred to him what had happened. Tommy was relating the tale to friend when this thought crossed his mind: He wanted to tell the Chaplain what he had done, when in truth, he had done nothing at all. It was the Holy Spirit that had done it. And it was also the Holy Spirit that had blinded Tommy from seeing the Chaplains office so that he could not go barging in there; make a fool of him claiming to have done something that he had no right to claim.

Tommy looked at his friend and scratched his head and asked, “I wonder if met a Vet on that third floor or an Angel in the Chapel and if it really matters anyway?”

RIDER OF THE STORM

“You’d best take a look at the obituary,” Iris said as she held out the section of the Reno Gazette Journal for him to read.

He looked up from sharpening his knife with a half smirk on his face, asking, “Why is my name in it?”

Daniel could tell by the look in his wife’s face that she was serious. He reached up and took the extended newspaper in hand. He scanned quickly through each name on the clean colored page. Suddenly his eye stopped searching. He had discovered the recognizable name of his friend.

”Well, I’ll be a son of a ..,” his voice trailed off as he read the obituary.

“When’s the last time you spoke with Sam?” his wife asked.

Daniel fumbled with the paper for a moment in an attempt to regain his composure.

“It’s been a couple of years,” he answered. Then he added, “Just before he headed for Europe. I didn’t think he’d follow through though.”

Again his voice trailed off as he re read the obituary and faded into a memory Sarah’s voice came over the intercom to the always busy promotions office, “Daniel, you have a call on line seven, Daniel, call line seven.”

Daniel pushed back from his computer dreading another interruption as the dead line for the proposal he was working on loomed closer. He picked up the receiver and pushed the button next to the red flashing light. “Hey, hey,” came a voice over the line.

Daniel responded as he had hundreds of times before, “Hey.”

It was his friend Sam Anderson.

“How you doing?” he asked Sam.

“I’m fine,” he answered. “Going to go to Europe and bum around for a while.”
“Say what?!” Daniel asked with surprise.

”Yeah,” he said, “I’m gonna go to Europe,”

There was momentary pause. “Are you still there?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” responded Daniel, “I’m just surprised that’s all.” Then he thought to ask,
”How you going to get there,” Sam laughed.

“I’m going to fly,” he answered.

Daniel knew that he had asked a dumb question or had at the very least phrased it incorrectly. “No,” he shot back,”I mean how are you going pay for it?”

Daniel knew Sam always had money difficulties. Sam answered,”I got my income tax check so I’m going to buy a one way ticket.”

“A one way ticket?!” asked Daniel.

“Yeah, I don’t plan on coming back,” Sam continued.

Daniel thought this over for a few seconds. “How will you live?”

Sam had a smile in his voice and replied,” I’ll be a day laborer.” There was a long pause between the two men. Sam added, “Besides I still have a problem with junk.” He paused again than said, “I can’t quit fixing.”

Daniel just sat there and listened as Sam laid out his plans for a two year European vacation as he was calling it.

“And finally,” Sam concluded, “when I’ve seen and done it all, I’ll pull a Jim Morrison.”

Daniel recalled how Jim Morrison had died. He seemed to have it all. He was the lead singer of the group called the Doors. He had money and plenty of women yet he died during a heroin overdose.

Daniel sighed heavily. Then he said, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

He thought to himself that Sam won’t go through with it. After a few more minutes of conversation they said good-bye to each other and Daniel hung up the telephone and returned to the proposal waiting on the computer.

“That was two years ago,” he said out loud as he continued to think.

“What was?” Iris asked
“It was two years ago that he said he was going to pull a Jim Morrison.”

Iris frowned, “So?”

“The obituary says,” he picked up the paper, “Sam Anderson died in his sleep while on vacation in Paris, France.”

Iris shook her head, “I still don’t get it.”

“That’s how Jim Morrison of the Doors died---in Paris in his sleep,” he said.

“I didn’t know that, “she replied.

Daniel got up from the table where he had been sharpening his knife. He picked up his coffee mug and stepped outside through the sliding glass door. He looked southward towards the remnants of Wedekind City and shed a silent tear for Sam Anderson.

METALLIC THUNDER

It had started two weeks before when Karen had called Daniel and said, “We need to get your truck moved before it gets towed”

Daniel was in agreement, however life happened and his wife, Mary’s father died and the entire family had to go out of town for funeral arrangements and the funeral.

The next time Daniel heard from Karen was the evening they returned home.
She had left a trite message starting, “If you don’t get your truck moved, it’s going be impounded and then auctioned off.”

That peeved Daniel off right then and there. He picked up the telephone and called Karen’s house. Her husband answered. He told him plainly. “I don’t like to be threatened like that and if you’ll give me the address where I can come get it I have arrangements to have it towed.”

Karen’s husband replied, “Well, I’ll have to ask Karen if I can give you the address because I don’t know about that.”

Daniel cut him off “Is there something you guys are hiding?” No?” he replied

“Then just give me the address,” Daniel demanded, “I don’t want my truck to disappear suddenly.”

“It won’t,” the husband respond.

“What do you mean?” Daniel retorted. “It already has once. You moved it to a secret location without telling me without telling me and won’t tell me where it is now.”

“That’s up to Karen,” he said.

“Look I’ve been threatened with having it impounded and auctioned off and I don’t have a location where I can come get it. If those two things happen I will take action, do you understand me?” Daniel said.

“Are you threatening me?” he asked.

Daniel answered, “Nope, promising.” He gently hung up the telephone.

The following morning Karen called at 6:30am. “Hey, I didn’t like you threatening my man like that, “she said.

“I didn’t threaten, I promised. I need an address,” Daniel quickly cut to the point.

“I’ll call you right back,” she replied and hung up the telephone.

Finally, two hours later she called Daniel back with an address. “How fast can you get this thing out of here? She wanted to know. “I’ll have a tow truck ordered before I’m enroute and I’ll be there in less than 20 minutes,” Daniel answered. He was feeling pretty steamed because she had made him wait for so long.

As he pulled out of his driveway he called the tow service. They said they would be there within half an hour. Daniel sudden felt better. He was glad to be getting this done.
In less than twenty minutes he had pulled up in front of the house where he was told he could get his truck.

Unfortunately while he could see his truck in the back yard he could also see the two rottweiler dogs patrolling the area just beyond the “Beware of Dog” signs. Daniel got out of his truck and walked up to the front door and knocked on it three times. There was so answer. Again he knocked. There was still no answer.

He looked around and saw Karen’s pickup truck parked in the driveway so he knew she had to inside the house. He knocked once more. Again getting got no response, Daniel walked back to his car and reached inside, he picked up his cellular telephone. He dialed her cell-phone number.

She answered.

“Are you going to answer the door?” he asked.

She paused then said, “Not until the tow truck gets here.” Then she hung up.

Daniel climbed into his car and relaxed while waiting for the flat-bed tow truck to arrive. When it did, he walked up to the door and knocked again. This time Karen answered just as she said she would. “Can you put the dogs away?” he asked.

She smiled, “Their really sweethearts so it’s okay to go in.”
Karen closed the door. Something about the situation did not sit well within Daniel. He felt it appeared all too simple so he said to the tow truck operator, “Wait right here, I need to see how friendly these dogs really are.”

With that Daniel slowly opened the rolling gate. He knew his answer within a heart beat as both dogs alerted and raced towards Daniel growling and barking. Daniel pushed the gate closed as both dogs hit it with forceful violence. “Sweethearts my butt,” Daniel thought, “so let’s see how well she respects outlaws.”

Daniel walked over to his car and retrieved his cell phone once again. This time he called his brother Adam. He knew that his brother had contacts with some outlaw motorcycle gangs. “Hey Adam, I need some help,” he started off. Daniel explained the situation. A couple minutes later he hung up and walked over to the tow truck operator. “If you can come back in about 30 minutes, this situation should have cleared itself up, “

Daniel told him. “Yeah, I can do that,” he responded as he climbed up in his cab and drove away.

Karen shouted out the window, “See what you get for threatening me and my old man?”

Daniel just smiled at her and walked over to his car, casually leaning on it, not the least bit worried. He knew Adam would come through.

At first the sound was like that of freight train several miles away across the open plains, yet it grew louder and louder. Then the first of the bikes rolled into the narrow cul-de-sac, these were followed by even more motorcycles.

Soon the noise was deafening. The bikers, most in their gang colors, sat there revving the throttle as they waited for the return of the tow truck, Daniel was more than amused when he saw the look on tow truck drivers face as he wheeled the flat-bed truck around the corner only to find the street and cul-de-sac choked with the loud rumble of motor bikes.

As he stopped his tow truck, so did at the motorcycles’. They turned off their engines in unison. Daniel remained leaning against his car as the shortest member of the gang got off of his cycle and walked up the pathway to the front door of the house.

He knocked on the door and Karen slowly opened it.” “Ma’am,” he said, “We’ve come to retrieve our brother’s truck.”

Daniel couldn’t hear what Karen said. He could only see her lips move slightly. She disappeared behind the closed door. A minute later both dogs were called from the back yard and two of the motorcyclists went into the yard and pushed Daniel’s truck out into the street.

The tow truck operator hurriedly moved into position to load the truck. Once it was on the flat-bed, the motorcycle gang fired up their bikes and like metallic thunder, roared out of the cal-de-sac and down the street. Each one gave a salute to Daniel as they rode passed.

A BOX TURTLE IN A BAG

The sun was setting in the Oklahoma sky as the pair drove towards Tulsa from the smaller town of Muskogee. It had been the first time Kyle had ever been to the town in which his Grandpa Tom had grown up and later died. Now he and his Dad were returning to their hotel room after a full days visit.

“Those are armadillo along side the road,” Kyle said. He was talking about the mangled bodies of the hard-shelled animals, now road kill which lay along the highway as they sped by.

His Dad, Tommy, thought to himself, "Cripes, I hope we don’t hit one of those things.” He knew that if an armadillo ran out in front of their car it would cause considerable damage.

Just then Kyle yelled, “Look out!”

Tommy jerked the car hard to the right, attempting to avoid a rock in the path of his tires. But it was too late, he struck it and it ricocheted off the bottom of the car twice.

His son spun around in his seat to look out the back window, “You just ran over a turtle!” He looked at his Dad, expecting him to stop.

The look worked. Slowly Tommy backed the car up to where the object lay in the middle of their travel lane. He got out and walked over to it. Kyle was right, it was a turtle.

The creature was dead though as all four of its legs hung limp from its shell, as did its head. To make matters worse, the turtles tongue dangled loosely from it slack jaw. Tommy returned to the car and was met by Kyle.

“Ah, the poor little guy,” Kyle said, as he held out his hands to hold it. “I can’t believe we killed it.” He was obviously saddened by the whole affair as he slumped down by the side of the car while Tommy opened the trunk of the car and searched for a plastic bag. “Yuck, he just crapped on me!” Kyle shouted.

Tommy laughed at his son as he took the dead turtle from him and put it in the empty grocery bag. And as Kyle was cleaning the turtle dung off his hiking shorts, the deceased reptile was placed in the empty ice chest inside the car’s trunk. Then the pair continued down the road.

The following day, Kyle and his Dad had plans to bury the turtle on one of the many little side roads in the area. They ate breakfast and wondered out to the car.

It was Kyle who decided to pop open the trunk and look at the remains of the turtle again. When he did, he was surprised to find the plastic white bag moving around in circles. He hollered, “Dad, it’s alive!”

“Well I’ll be,” was all Tommy could say. He was surprise to see the plastic bag as it bumped into the sides and corners of the ice chest. Gently he reached down and picked everything up. The little beast was strong as ever and struggling to get out of the bag.

He held on to the bag as Kyle reached in and pulled the turtle out. He set the softball-sized reptile on the asphalt near the car and watched it. At first the animal didn’t seem to want to go anywhere, and then he started walking in circles. The circles were to the right only.

Tommy looked at his son and said, “We can’t very well let him go like this.”

Kyle smiled, “Then can I keep him as a pet?”

“Only, if he doesn’t get better before we get home,” was his Dad’s answer.

They spent the next hour getting the needed supplies such as an aquarium, bedding and worms for their journey back to Nevada. They wanted to make the trip home for the new pet as comfortable as possible.

It took the box turtle two days too stop walking in circles, by that time the pair were in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Kyle decided to name his pet turtle ‘Keeble,’ after a cartoon character he knew.

Still, Tommy knew there was something not quite right with the thing. For instance, it refused to retract its head or legs when either he or Kyle came near it. That seemed unusual. Every turtle Tommy had ever come across had reacted to the presence of a human by retreating into its shell.

‘Keeble’ also had no problem being hand fed, though watching him eat a worm was nasty business. Finally, there was the fact that the turtle followed Kyle everywhere as if Kyle were its family. This forced Tommy to keep the turtle with them knowing it would not have sense enough to protect itself in the wild.

That night Kyle asked to talk to his step-mom. He decided to tell her about ‘Keeble.’ Instantly Tommy could tell that the conversation was not going too well when Kyle said, “Hey Lynn, it could be worse.” The thirteen year old paused for a second, “We could have run over an armadillo and be bringing that home instead.”

Tommy had to step outside the hotel room so his wife wouldn’t hear him laughing.

SHOT FOR A KNOT

It had been a rather pleasant autumn day for a Civil War reenactment. Daniel pulled his truck up under the “Hanging Tree,” as it was known in Genoa. The small town had once been called Mormon Station and was the oldest known settlement in northern Nevada. Today however it was being overrun with visitors for the annual Candy Dance and Daniel was there to be an active participant.

His unit, consisting of both Confederate and Union forces had established a small encampment in front of the towns museum. It had a beautiful sloping hill with a nice shade of trees and place ready made for recruiting new members to the organization and that’s what Daniel set about doing.

It wasn’t until after late afternoon that he was relieved by another member so that he might be able to take in some of the sights and sounds of the festival. Daniel was tickled to discover that he also had the privilege to escort Miss Katherine Marie and her South Georgia friend Miss Christine through the event grounds.

Together the trio headed happily along the rows of venders displaying the many crafts and arts of the day. Miss Katherine Marie shined in her purple evening gown and Miss Christine flashed wildly in her red satin dress. Daniel stood out like a sore thumb between the two in his dark blue wool uniform. Still they absorbed the festive atmosphere.

It was Daniel who saw the trouble that was approaching them in the form of gunslingers. He recognized them as Southern sympathizers who would not let him pass due to the fact that he was wearing Union blue. To make matters worse, Daniel realized he was unarmed.

“I see we have ourselves a Blue Belly,” said the leader of the band.

The leader stepped up and into Daniel’s path, barring his ability to continue escorting the two women.

Daniel paused, smiled and said, “Excuse me, sir you are in the way of these two ladies.”

The leader looked around and then said, “No, I’m in your way Billy Yank. Are you prepared to die or make music?”

Daniel said nothing.

“Perhaps you don’t know who I am,” said the leader. He paused, and then proceeded to tell, though no one had inquired, “I’m Doc Holliday and I come from Georgia.”

With that he threw back the right bottom of his jacket, exposing an ivory handled six shooter.

“As you can see Doc Holliday of Georgia, I have come unarmed,” Daniel calmly replied, “as being prepared to die or make music, I am a believer in Jesus Christ, so I am forever ready for death.”

He slowly reached into his sack coat and with drew a silver harmonica, “I am also prepared to make music.”

Daniel blew into the little device sounding out, “Dixie.” The group laughed and wished each other well then continued down the street in opposite directions.

The streets had long since closed up, the vendors had packed away their goods, the friendly face of Old Man Moon had shined his smile between the riffles of clouds which layered the night-time sky and the festivities had moved themselves to the dance. And it was after nine when the threesome decided that fifteen hours was enough for one day.

They decided to head back to where there vehicles were parked. It was a large now, mostly vacant field, filled with fresh cut hay, bordered by rows of cottonwood trees including the infamous “Hanging Tree.”

Once they got to the car that Kathy and Christy were driving, the two women decided that they had enough of the hoops they were wearing under their dresses. Kathy’s came off without any problem.

However, Christy’s hoop had developed a knot and refused to be undone. It was decided that Daniel needed to get his truck and get a flashlight so that the situation could be better looked at.

Minutes later, Daniel found himself standing in the middle of an open field hold a flashlight on the backside of Christy as Kathy worked to get the knot undone. The knot was proving to be more difficult to get out than it was to get in.

“I told you not to tie it in a knot,” Christy scolded Kathy.

“I know,” answered Kathy.

Daniel added his two-cents worth, “We can always cut it.”

“No!” was the resounding reply from both ladies.

A few more minutes of picking at the knot produced no more success than when they first started. Kathy was getting annoyed and Christy was exasperated.

“Here, hold my hat,” Daniel said to Kathy. She took his kepi.

He bent over and grasped the knot between his teeth and rolled it over a couple of times. He could hear Christy ask, “What in the world are you doing?”

Suddenly the knot loosened and the cotton sash that held the hoop skirt up slipped away. At that same moment there was a heavy sound from the right of the trio. It was some one walking through the hay field.

“Why you Yankee Bast…” it was Doc’s voice. Daniel recalled it from earlier in the day. It was heavier and he sounded sluggish. It occurred to Daniel that the man was perhaps intoxicated. Doc never finished the sentence, or if he had the sound of his voice was interrupted by the report of his black powder pistol discharging towards Daniel.

Daniel had seen him as he walked up to the car and then fumble for the six shooter. Now Daniel found himself temporarily blinded by the muzzle flash of the pistol.

Quickly the two women raced to get into the awaiting car. They drove out of the field like old-time moon shiners with the revenue man hot on their heels. Daniel ran for his truck too, high tailing it out of the field behind the women.
It wouldn’t be until he was half way through Carson City that he would come to realize that he was at a reenactment.

Daniel looked at his bloodied knuckles and wondered aloud, “Will Doc remember shooting at me or that I broke his nose?”

ONE CONFEDERATE WEEKEND

After a four hour drive to the small town of McCloud, the father and son found their way into the Union encampment. It was just before two and the temperature was well into the nineties. They were hot and sweaty, hoping to see members of their group.

They slowly drove through the rows of tents and parked vehicles, but didn’t see a single person they recognized. So they stopped at the registration tent and Kyle got out and asked where the Comstock Civil War Reenactors would be setting up. They pointed to the area and Tommy drove over to it to wait for someone to show up.

It was at this point that Tommy started to wish he had purchased his own tent. But unfortunately he had not and had to rely on the club to bring him one. They waited for nearly four hours before deciding to go into town to grab a bite to eat.

This was the first signal of the trouble that was to come.

After eating the pair decided to visit the Suttlers in the historic part of McCloud. Tommy wanted to purchase a new pair of blue uniform pants anyway. This also gave them a chance to look for other members of their club.

While paying for his pants, Kyle came up to his Dad and said, “The Johnson’s are here. I just ran into Timmy.” The Johnson’s were a family that had just joined the group during the summer.

Tommy turned and saw Kurt, the father and husband of the Johnson family. He walked over and said, “Hi,” offering a hand as he did. The two shook hands. The conversation went immediately to the location of other members.

“Their all over on the Confederate side,” Kurt said. He explained how he had run into Captain Auld earlier and that the Captain had told him that in the nine-year of doing Civil war reenacting he had never played a ‘Johnny Reb.’ Tommy felt a sense of shock wash over himself because he didn’t want to be a rebel and he didn’t have the uniform to play the part either.

Soon after leaving the town site, Tommy and his son pulled into the Confederate camp and discovered the Captain sitting under a fly, dressed in a brand new gray uniform. “Welcome, boys,” he hollered as he puffed on a long stemmed pipe.

In a matter of minutes Tommy discovered further that the Captain had brought some of the groups six foot tents, but had managed to somehow load only the seven-foot poles. Tommy mumbled, “First a Confederate, now no tents to sleep in.” He shook his head as he sat on his wooden chest feeling over whelmed by the situation.

Soon other members of the club managed to find their way over to the encampment, but they were mostly Confederates anyway. So they were used to being on the side they were on. These members took pity on Tommy and his son and did their best to accommodate and uniform them.

The sun was starting to set when word started to pass that the barbeque dinner that had been planned by the hosting club was no longer going to happen. Several people grumbled including Tommy but the complaints fell on deaf ears. It was the Johnson’s who were kind enough to share their supper of stew, salad and bread with Kyle and his Father.

By the time supper was finished, it was nearly dark and the two families headed back to the encampment. They all joined into the singing at the tent of one of the members until it was necessary to build a campfire.

Tommy and Kyle excused themselves at that time to complete setting up their sleeping area under a fly that had already been staked out earlier in the day. They each new that it would be a cold night and that before dawn broke they would be shivering in their sleeping bags.

When it was time to go to bed, they lay down but the activities in the encampment continued. There was singing and music playing as a group of Reenactors talked and drank, laughing and telling stories about this and that. It made falling asleep impossible to do for the pair.

It was long after midnight when the party decided to adjourn for the evening. Captain Auld and his bunk mate stumbled through the tents and into the area where the pair had set up for the night and were now joined by a third person. The Captains bunk mate was loud and continued to talk even after laying down.

The situation grew worse as the bunk mate fell asleep and started swearing as he talked in his sleep. It took the Captain two attempts to wake him up and make him stop. By this time the night sky had started to lighten up and the stars faded. Soon it would be morning.

Drums and fifes broke the stillness of the morning. The sun had yet to touch any part of the valley and they were already being called to get up and prepare for the coming day. Tommy could hear his son’s teeth as they chattered from the chill of the air.

Kyle rolled over and stood up. “I’m heading to the bathroom,” he said. Breath smoke slipped from between his bluish lips.

His Dad was sitting up when he returned. The young man sat down next to him. He sighed and looked at his Dad and said, “I didn’t sleep at all last night and now theirs not going to get us any breakfast as promised either.” He sighed, adding, “I’m starving.”

Tommy replied, “Okay, let’s get our crap together and go to town and gets some breakfast.” He stood up and started rolling his sleeping bag up. A couple minutes later he was folding up his cot and loading it in the back of the truck. Kyle did the same.

Before they get the trunk loaded they had to push aside the garbage that had somehow found its way into the bed of the pick up. It had suddenly become used the encampments dumping ground since nobody seemed to have brought plastic bags. The duo would have to dump the trash in the town at one of the waste cans on the public square.

Once the trash was gotten rid of and their wooden trunk was secured, they walked down the street to the only dinner they could find. There they sat and enjoyed a hot breakfast of eggs, potatoes and toast with a couple of cups of coffee to wash it down with. As they ate, they enjoyed the view of watching the Confederates marching into McCloud to occupy the town.

After breakfast they headed into the town square to meet up with their group. There they milled around, looking at the various items the Suttlers had offer. It was about an hour into this that the general alarm sounded that Union troops were on their way and soldiers scrambled to grab their picketed arms and form up.

Tommy found himself separated from Kyle at first and then he found he could not find anyone from his club. He walked up and down the street where the units were formed up. Several times he was pushed back from the street and warned not to step into the street by a bellowing soldier.

The fighting between the Confederates and the Union lasted a little over half an hour. Still Tommy and Kyle could not find their group.

They stood at the entrance to the train’s platform waiting for the possibility to get onboard. The Conductor stood at the end of the platform directing passenger to the various cars and where he wanted them to be seated. It was here that Tommy bumped into Kurt Johnson, who was having the same difficulty as he was.

Kurt decided to go speak to the Conductor. When he came back he was excited, “I just spoke to the owner. We can get on board now.” Tommy and Kyle along with Kurt and his family of five lined up. The Conductor directed them to the adjoining car, a flatbed with hay bales for seating and occupied by Union troops. They followed the Conductors instructions.

It was at this flatcar that they encountered a Reenactor wearing a Union major’s uniform. He refused to allow them to board the flatcar. He directed them to go around to the other side of the flatbed. “Okay,” Tommy commented, “he’s starting to tick me off.”

Once on the other side the seven scramble aboard the train, having to pull themselves over the rails since there wasn’t a ramp or steps. Tommy was the last to get on board when he heard the major yelling at him, “You can’t be on my train!” He continued to yell using profanity.

Tommy had been in the process of sitting down, ready to ignore the Major. But the foul mouthedness and the fact that the Reenactor chose to yell from across two flatbeds at them so disrespectfully left Tommy in a state of anger. He pulled off his satchel and undid his belt, then removed his bear-claw necklace. He stood up on a bale of hay and shouted at the Major, “Come over hear and say that to my face and I’ll show you what’s real and what’s fake!”

It didn’t take long for the Reenactor Major and two Reenactor soldiers to come down with him to his side of the flatbed and order him and the six that came aboard with him to get off immediately. “I can’t have civilian’s riding a troop train!” he shouted.

“You idiot!” Tommy replied, “We’re all civilians, including you! And we’re all Reenactors!"

“Well, I can’t have you riding my train!” he shot back.

Tommy shook his head sideways, “It’s not your train!”

The Conductor, who was standing there, finally said, “Hey, we gotta get going. Sorry.”

Tommy realized that he was taking the Major’s side in this argument. And he was doing so only because of time. Tommy stood there and thought momentarily, “I could make this real for him and these two bozos.”

He was looking at the fact that he was standing above the Major and he could easily jump down, landing on him. The move would be a surprise and he could take the buffoons sword and the two half-wits he brought with him would not have a real chance to fend of a ‘real’ sword attack.

Then Tommy thought about his son who was standing just behind him and the other three boys of the Johnson family. They had probably already seen way too much in poor behavior from Tommy as it was. Then there was Mrs. Johnson as well. Tommy didn’t wish to embarrass her any further than he had, besides jumping from the train would might show that he was al’ natural underneath his kilt.

He also took into quick consideration the tender condition of his already broken back. A five foot jump from a train’s flatbed could be very harmful. He thought better of the action. Instead he opted to assist the others off and be the last off himself.

As he disembarked, he looked at the larger of the two men and replied, “That’s right, keep yourself between me and that Major.” Tommy grinned and looked from him to the shorter, harder man.

Tommy continued to stare into the short mans deep-set, blue eyes as the taller one asked, “Did you just threaten our Major?’

“Make of it what you will,” he answered. He never moved his eyes from Blue-eyes; rather he continued to grin slightly.

“Want us to call the cops?” Tall man hissed. “We can have you tossed outta here.”
Tommy didn’t bat an eye, “Do what you want.”

Blue-eyes blinked and said, “Punk.” He stepped back several steps before turning away.

Tommy stood there and watched as they stumbled over the loose rocks trying to catch up to the Major who was escorting the Johnson family around to the front of the train. He wanted to pick up a rock and toss it at one of them but instead he shouted, “Hey fellas, thanks for playing!” He lifted his kilt, exposing his behind to them. There was a great round of applause and laughter followed by three thundering cheers as the soldiers cried out, "Zoo-wah, zoo-wah, zoo-wah."

“Come on, Dad,” Kyle said, “Let’s get out of here.” They turned and walked down the length of the train in the opposite direction. Neither one looked back as they heard the whistle sound and the steam locomotive pull out of the station a few minutes behind time. And they didn't see the Johnson family; they supposed that they had charmed the Major into allowing them to ride elsewhere on the train.

“Hey, sir,” came a voice from behind them. Tommy turned to see a man dressed in period-clothing. He carried a hand-held radio.

The man asked, “What happened back there?” Tommy explained how Kurt had spoke to the owner and was told he could get on the train and that the Major kicked him and his son off. Then the man surprised Tommy by saying, “I’m Jeff Forbis and I’m the owner.”

Tommy took a deep breath because Jeff was not the man that had identified himself as the owner. He suddenly realized that he had been had by the Conductor and why the Conductor has so willingly given into the Major.

In the end Jeff offered Kyle and Tommy each a lunch and an apology for the screw up. Tommy also apologized to Jeff for having lost his temper and acted so poorly in front of not only his guests but also his employees. The two men shook hands and parted company.

Once in the truck Tommy looked at Kyle and said, “Son, I’m sorry for embarrassing you with my bad temper and ruining this weekend.”

Kyle smiled at his Dad and replied, “You didn’t embarrass me or ruin my weekend. Being a damned Confederate soldier overnight did that. Now let’s go home.”