Called to Arms Again: A Tribute to the Greatest Generation

by J. L. Salter

  Kelly mulled over Wade’s project. “And this is what you’ve been doing, top secret, in Pop’s woods?”

  “Pop’s meadow. The woods’d be too dangerous to catch farr.”

  “Wade, that’s why these are Class Two, or Class B, fireworks.” She couldn’t recall which. “And illegal. Way too dangerous for use by ordinary citizens. I’d sure hate to see you bandaged up with third degree burns on your face, and your fingers all melted together.”

  “Thanks a bunch fer that pretty picture.”

  “Just be careful, that’s all. I mean, if you insist on continuing these experiments.”

  “After you see my new invention working, Kel, you’ll wonder why you ever discouraged me.”

  “I’m sure I’ll be shocked and awed. Just thinking about your safety. I hope you’re taking precautions.”

  Wade rubbed his arm absent-mindedly. “Yeah, I got precautions: long fuse, light quick, and run like crazy.”

  “Stop, drop and roll, Wade.” She shook her head slowly. “If running from long fuses is your elaborate safety plan, you’ll need to remember the fire safety motto. Because you’re going to burn down something. Or burn up somebody.”

  Wade shrugged. Even that had extra movement in it.

  “Okay. But I’ve heard two kinds of sounds. I guess you explained the loud booms. What was the other one?”

  “How did it sound over here?”

  She closed her eyes to help remember. “Loud, but muted somewhat. Almost like it was underground. Like a muffled thump, or kind of like whump… whump.”

  Wade grinned broadly. “That’s my new invention, Vegge-zilla.”

  “Vegge-what?”

  “You know that big ole pumpkin cannon out at Deer Holler Farm?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s what gave me the idea.”

  “You’ve been launching pumpkins up in Pop’s meadow?”

  “Didn’t have enough pipe fer pumpkins. Mine’s fer smaller stuff.”

  Wade patiently explained the length and diameter of his pipe, his clever propulsion system, and the size and type of produce it could launch. Kelly had little concern about the vegetables and fruits, but was definitely worried about his experiments with gunpowder.

  “I’m also going to rig up a little maze, a hayride through the woods, and part of a hay bale fort… fer my nephews and nieces, and the kids of my cousins. I expect at least a dozen kids. It’ll be close to Halloween if I get everything ready in time.”

  “That’s a lot of work just to entertain some kids.”

  “Well, shoot. I guess I like it about as much as them kids do.”

  “Just a big kid yourself, are you?”

  Wade grinned like a very big kid.

  Kelly sneaked a look at her watch.

  Wade noticed and went into the kitchen. He placed his mug in the sink with a loud clatter of other dishes.

  “So, besides all your scientific and ballistic workings, what’s been going on up in your area?”

  “Aw, them gangs and crime. Terrible. You’re lucky, Kel, living out here in the country, aways from all that crime.”

  “What about the thugs who busted in on me and Ginny Cable?”

  “Well, they came here looking fer her, not you. Right?”

  Kelly shrugged and returned to Wade’s original topic. “What kind of crime in Cincinnati? Anything besides the usual holdups and isolated drive-by shootings?”

  “Somebody at work told me about a gang busting in on one of them neighborhoods with iron gates. Somebody got the codes somehow. Anyhow, they wiped out every single house in that whole place.”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  “Some was shoved against the walls… knocked down. One feller got kicked real bad because he told ‘em to get out. One guy got his head busted open.”

  Kelly frowned. “Where were the cops? Nobody called 9-1-1?”

  “Don’t know. Guess one of ‘em must’ve called but sometimes those 9-1-1 guys put you on hold.”

  “Or if there’s a fire or a wreck somewhere, then it takes them half an hour to arrive.”

  “Like I said, Kel, you’re lucky living out here where it’s safe.”

  “Yeah. Safe from everything but lunatic druggies.”

  “If any of them guys comes near you again, I’m going to cut them up and toss their body pieces in that old branch chopper I bought.”

  Kelly started to ask why he acquired a brush shredder, but figured Wade’s need for equipment was similar to how some women think of shoes — they always want more. “Wade, the other day Fred Lee seemed to be trying to talk me out of protecting myself.”

  “How come?”

  “Basically he was assuming that it’d probably only make things worse for me if I fight back.” Kelly gulped. “You know, not that many years ago, they used to teach women to just comply with the attacker’s demands, whatever they were. They said you were less likely to be killed or beaten.”

  “Not sure I’d bank money on that.”

  “Anyhow, I’m interested in your opinion.”

  “Well, I ain’t no trooper. But I tell you this: a feller comes at me and I’m going to get in as many licks as I can, as hard as I can. It don’t matter if we’re fighting fists, knives, clubs, or guns. I plan to give back at least what I’m getting, and likely a good bit more. They might take me down, but it’s going to cost ‘em.” Wade studied her face. “That answer your question?”

  Kelly was speechless for a moment. “You know, I think that’s the most words I’ve ever heard out of you, on a single subject, in one paragraph of sorts, without you jumping up and doing something in the middle of it.” She exhaled loudly.

  “I guess that’s a good bit different from Fred Lee’s advice.”

  She nodded. “I only hope I have enough courage — if the time ever comes — to follow through.”

  Wade stood and put a meaty hand on her shoulder. “You do, Kel. You got guts enough fer any six regular women.”

  As she was about to ask for clarification, Kelly surprised both of them by breaking out in tears. It wasn’t the hyperbole in Wade’s compliment or his hand on her shoulder. Something about the circumstances they’d been describing just made her emotional.

  Wade stood there quietly, hand on her shoulder, until Kelly had cried enough that she could get up and wash her face.

  When Kelly returned from her bathroom, Wade was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  September 29 — Saturday — afternoon

  Kelly had not been looking for a pet when Perra had found her during the previous year, in the dark near the spooky farm house.

  Just over eighteen months old, Perra had ample energy and strength to continue to pester the older male feline, Gato. Kelly’s dog and cat had an odd relationship: little Perra was immature, energetic and extremely bossy, while large Gato was mature, sedate, and ended many tiresome conflicts with one swipe of his long-clawed paws. Young Perra thought she should be the household’s alpha pet, like an eager second lieutenant right out of OCS. But the older Gato, like a taciturn first sergeant, actually ran the outfit.

  Typical temperatures in late September could be shirtsleeves in daytime with coolish evenings and nights. By early October, it would be light jackets in the mornings, but shirtsleeves in the afternoons. Evenings and nights colder. Unless, of course, winter is early this year.

  Kelly realized she needed to update neighbor Diane on what she’d learned from Wade’s morning visit. In late October the previous year, Diane Sutton and her husband Joe had moved to Somerset and occupied the farm house — which everyone said was haunted — also owned by Kelly’s landlord.

  The morning fog had dissipated by the warmer early afternoon. Though Kelly had intended only to speak briefly at the door, Diane invited her in for tea. Kelly followed her hostess and noted how much the farm house insides had changed since Mitch had briefly lived there.

  Diane turned on a stove burner and peered into a kitchen cabinet. “All I have on hand i
s regular Earl Grey.”

  Kelly nodded. One tea’s as good as another.

  Diane was short, currently carrying a few more pounds than she likely preferred, with lively blue eyes and streaks of gray in her hair. Among her favorite topics were two grandchildren and the romance novels she read voraciously. “So what’s up today? Usually you’re at the library or the Y on Saturdays, aren’t you?”

  “Well, Wade zoomed by this morning and I wanted—”

  “Hold on.” Diane’s phone had rung and she remained at the table as she answered. She faced Kelly and mouthed the word mom without interrupting the motherly discourse. Diane’s part in the conversation was minor, mainly acknowledgements here and there. Soon, she said goodbye and folded the phone. “Always complaining about something.”

  Kelly shrugged. Both of her parents had died when she was young. Car wreck. It was hard for her to imagine griping about anything they might do or say if still alive. So Kelly didn’t have any comfort for her neighbor with mom problems.

  Diane rose from the table to retrieve her kettle and poured the boiling water as she spoke. “So your big friend Wade is back in town.”

  “Yeah, remember those noises we’d both heard in the woods?”

  “Don’t tell me that’s Wade!” Diane looked anxious. “Did he get blown up by his own dynamite?”

  “No. But he’s got a huge box of supersonic fireworks and he’s been experimenting. Wants to separate the audible boom from the visual blast.”

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Diane poured tea into both cups. “First of all, those big event fireworks are some special class of explosive and I’m pretty sure the FBI or somebody controls them. Also, he’s going to get himself killed messing with stuff that powerful.”

  Kelly interrupted. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger. Besides, I’ve already told him all that. He says he wants to use them with his invention.”

  “Oh no. Wade an inventor? Do I even want to hear this?”

  “Well, he pledged me not to spoil his surprise, and it is still in the testing stage.”

  Diane held up a hand, her palm vertical. “Okay, you keep all of Wade’s explosive secrets. But I got to tell you: Wade and lots of gunpowder is not a pretty picture.”

  “I know. I’ve already jumped on him.”

  “What did he say?” Diane frowned slightly.

  “He just grinned real big and gave me that Aw, shucks thing he does.”

  “Did it work?”

  Kelly sighed. “Yeah, pretty much. Usually does. I don’t know what kind of sway his Aw, shucks has on me.”

  “I think it’s the aunt instinct most women have. If it was your own kid doing something dicey, you’d stop it and swat the kid. If it was your grandchild, you’d stop the activity, but gently comfort the child.” Diane pointed to her own chest. “Aunts, however, talk stern but deep-down really admire the kid’s spunk. And you just hope he doesn’t get himself hurt. Aunt instinct.”

  “Not sure I agree completely, but interesting theory.” Kelly wasn’t an aunt either.

  Diane took a few tentative sips before something outside the farm house’s west window changed her focus. “You know, we got here last year after winter had already set in. What’s the fall like? I keep hearing people talk about it.”

  “Depends a lot on weather. If frost comes early, the leaves die quicker. This particular season will also be affected by our summer drought, or so says Pop Walter. The leaves drop sooner, so not as many remain on the trees to change color.”

  Diane pointed vaguely toward the trees on the broad hill. “So this year the leaves will start falling before they turn other colors?”

  “Some already have. And it’s only the end of September.”

  “I noticed it was really dry over the summer, but I just figured that was normal up here.”

  “Oh no, we were something like fourteen inches below our regular rainfall this summer.” Kelly joined her at the dining room window. “Pop says there’s usually a peak week when the fall colors are just so. I’ve been here for five autumns and I never know when it is. You look up one day and see yellows, reds, oranges, and browns. A few days later, they’re mostly gone. Boom.”

  “What drops first?”

  “I don’t have a good eye for one tree from another, but Pop says the walnuts shed first, then sycamores.” Kelly held up a finger for each variety named. “Then dogwoods and others I can’t remember.”

  “What falls last?”

  “Pop says maples are near the end, and finally the oaks let go.”

  “You make it sound sad.” Diane turned toward her.

  “Well, I commiserate with the trees sometimes. The pin oaks hold nearly a quarter of their leaves until spring when the new buds finally push them off, despite their stubbornness. The oaks letting go last… somehow I identify with that.”

  Chapter Eight

  October 2 — Tuesday — afternoon

  Foss was hunkered down in Tateville with a mood even blacker than normal. His master plan had hit a snag. Well, several snags. It could be the crime of the decade if only Foss could collect an adequate number of trainable personnel, secure the necessary equipment and vehicles, and select the proper site at just the right time.

  Pretty difficult when you’re working alone. Well, practically alone. Of course, that was the way it often went, according to an article Foss had read; geniuses had to combat ignorance and ineptitude.

  He could do something about his mood but had stopped taking those pills prescribed by the free county clinic because they dulled his creativity. To carry out his several endeavors, Foss needed to tap all his available brilliance. And that was plenty.

  Tateville was where he’d started out as a child, but Louisville was where he learned most of the skill sets needed to start a new collective which would rival those most infamous gangs. Foss figured the celebrity gangs only got so much press because they developed from particular major cities that everybody recognized. Deep down, he knew his destiny was to lead such a group, so it was excruciatingly frustrating to start from scratch and to have to work with such amateurs.

  His partners, the amateurs he seemed stuck with, were due to arrive in half an hour, so the best way to pass that time was to smoke a few joints, which usually put a nice edge on his schemes.

  Herve and Dante were acquaintances from the same Louisville neighborhood and had attended school together until both dropped out, but one couldn’t say they were friends. Both had worked with Foss before, but after each job he demanded they dump all the “chumps and losers” those two kept recruiting. Too unreliable. For his next major incursion, Foss would order assembly of a completely new gang around him and his two lieutenants. Of these two assistants, Herve was the brighter bulb, though not by very many watts.

  This next caper would be of a scope not even imagined by his counterparts in the big name gangs. This one would top all the news bulletins and make Foss wealthy beyond measure. Plus they’d get away scot-free.

  Unlike some of his previous plans, this one required certain very specific advance work, including the reconnoitering patrol to which he was about to send Herve, if that secundo was alert enough to understand what information Foss needed.

  ****

  October 2 — Tuesday — early evening

  Kelly bit the end off her slice of pizza and chewed. She and Mitch were eating early supper at the pizza buffet. They’d arrived at the stroke of six, so they beat the crowds Mitch greatly disliked. After the cool clear morning, it had warmed considerably throughout the afternoon, but presently the temperature was dropping again.

  Kelly had selected only three pieces and didn’t even finish those. Mitch ate at least five complete pieces and had already checked repeatedly for the dessert pizza. Finally it arrived and he was second in line to get a piece — cherry.

  “Is that the treat you’ve been waiting for?” Kelly pointed.

  “Uh huh. But it’s too hot to eat.” It didn’t stop him fr
om tasting it, however. He immersed the burning tip of his tongue into his water cup.

  Kelly watched intently. It was as curious as primate behavior in a zoo, though not as amusing.

  Mitch dabbed a napkin to his lips. “Oh, I’ve got a treat for you.”

  Kelly slid aside her pizza plate and looked up eagerly.

  “Remember Dottie Daniels?”

  “You interviewed her last spring. Gave us a really good break in our investigations. How’s she doing?”

  “Well, she got home from the hospital a couple of weeks ago and now she finally feels up to a visit.” Mitch tested another pizza cherry. Obviously still too hot.

  “Visit?”

  “Yeah. You asked me to see if she’d speak with you about the home front during the war.”

  “Oh, right. For my Vets special. Cool. When do I meet her?”

  “She said tomorrow’s good for her. I figured I’d come get you.”

  “You’re going too?”

  “I’ve been wanting an excuse to visit her again. You don’t mind company do you?”

  “Not as long as you ask.” Her smile was thin.

  “So, how about ten o’clock?”

  Kelly nodded. “Date.”

  Mitch was finally able to begin eating his hot cherry pizza.

  Kelly tapped his hand. “Hey, maybe I should add you to my interview list.”

  “My two years of Rot-Cee didn’t make me a veteran.” Mitch shook his head slowly. “But I did get to hear some of the real vets who came in as guest speakers for programs, class sections, and training exercises. Some of those guys were really inspiring.”

  “So they’re the ones I need to talk to?”

  Mitch nodded. After he’d finally been able to eat the dessert, Mitch returned to the buffet line and scanned the counter like he thought he ought to eat something else… just to get his money’s worth.

  Kelly could see Mitch was so full he could barely move. She went over and whispered, “Don’t force it, Sport. There will be other buffets.”