Stolen Liberty: Behind the Curtain

by Thomas A. Watson

  Randy called Robbie as he and Cody threw suitcases in his Blazer. Robbie just heard, ‘Kristi’s in trouble’. Hanging up on Randy before finding out anything else, Robbie jumped on his Harley, speeding to Chicago.

  What did they know about plumbing? Not a damn thing.

  Stopping at a Lowes before reaching Chicago, Randy bought some tools he thought he would need for plumbing. Seeing they had books on the subject, he bought one of each. The books weren’t for him, they were for Book. That was where Charlie got the handle ‘Book’. He didn’t read; he soaked up a book.

  Randy loved to read and could’ve done it, given enough time. But Charlie could sit down, read a damn book in a few hours, and then teach it.

  Even though Robbie lived the furthest from Chicago at the time, when Randy drove up to Kristi’s house in Oak Lawn, Robbie was in the front yard with a shovel, digging. Robbie never told them until a few years later, he had evaded two cops who had tried to pull him over.

  When Charlie showed up, Randy held out the bag of plumbing books, only to see Charlie had already stopped and bought some. For five days, the four dug up the yard and fixed the plumbing, then the floor of the house that had been ruined.

  They bought what was needed for the repairs. Since Charlie was still in school then he couldn’t buy much, but he bought what he could. Kristi was beyond tearful for their help. But when she tried to pay them for their time and the mountain of supplies they’d bought, the four carried her outside and rolled her around in the muddy yard. Seeing the four ‘uncles’ and their mom playing in the mud, Clark and Emily ran out and joined them.

  Randy laughed, remembering the neighbors watching them with wide mouths when they’d rolled around in the muddy yard with Kristi and the kids.

  Everyone that had made that trip out of hell, all stayed in touch. The others didn’t check up on Wheaton’s family like the trio did, but they hadn’t made the vow. Cody had adopted the vow since the trio followed it, and he stayed with one of them depending on who needed him. All the rest of the team saw Kristi and the kids when they made the trip up to the retreat several times a year or during birthdays.

  The retreat was over two hundred fifty acres in Meigs County, Ohio. An old farmer, Winston Zimmer, who lived next to Randy’s dad had the land and kept a small herd of cows. One day, Mr. Zimmer had asked Randy while he was in rehab if he would look after the place. It was a hundred and sixty miles away, but Randy agreed. When he got there the first time, Randy was in heaven. The ‘herd of cows’, turned out to be ten cows and one bull.

  Over half the land was covered in timber and a small river ran through the western side. The other half was field and had an old barn. Walking the property, Randy felt at peace for the first time since coming home.

  Returning to his truck, Randy saw he didn’t have cell service and drove to the town of Lookout before he got service again. When he saw bars on his phone, he pulled over and called Robbie and Charlie. It took them both some time to understand because Randy was talking a thousand miles an hour. Charlie was living in San Antonio for rehab and Blaster was in Atlanta. Hearing the excitement in Randy’s voice and him saying he’d found ‘peace’, both loaded up after hanging up and drove to Ohio.

  The next day, Randy showed them the property and like Randy, they’d felt peace walking the field and woods. Walking the property, they found where the river formed an oxbow that covered twenty acres and made camp. For three days the trio camped, feeling more like their old selves.

  When he got home, Randy talked to Mr. Zimmer, who like his dad, was a vet. The old man saw the excitement in Randy’s eyes and Randy begged him to let them build a small cabin. Just seeing Randy, the boy he’d watched grow up get excited again, the old man said he didn’t care as long as Randy checked the land often.

  A year after that peaceful day, and what Randy still didn’t know, his father went to Mr. Zimmer and bought the land, putting it in a trust in the old man’s name. Seeing how much it helped his son and his team; Randy’s dad, Oliver, couldn’t run the risk of them not being able to have a place to recuperate.

  The land was just called ‘the retreat’. When Cody showed up at his house, Randy took him to the retreat that day and Cody felt whole again. They invited the others, and like the trio and Cody, they fell in love with the retreat. Like visiting Kristi, the trio and Cody now visited the retreat once a month most of the time. They hunted, fished, rode four-wheelers, or Randy’s horses when he brought them down, sat in the clubhouse watching college football, or just walked the woods.

  Out of everyone from the team, Cody was the only one who’d never popped back socially. He always lived with one of the trio, helping them with work. It depended on the time of year to which one he lived with. During the fall, he always lived with Randy to help with the harvest and moved between Charlie and Robbie. A few times, Cody had even stayed with Kristi because her schedule changed, and the kids needed someone at the house. Cody was never a burden. Wherever he was, Cody worked, and like the trio, he was a bachelor. Only a few years younger than the trio, his gentle face and small stature made him still look like he was a teenager.

  Not to say they didn’t date, except for Robbie. If it was female, Robbie would chase it. To date, Robbie’s longest relationship with the same woman that Randy knew about was sixteen days. Randy had dated several women but had never connected with one. Most got pissed at his relationship with the others and Kristi. When he saw that, it was over. The team, like Kristi and her kids, were family and were part of him. If a woman couldn’t accept that, then he didn’t need her.

  Walking out to the living room that held his gym, Randy looked out the window and saw his parents’ house was still dark. “Dad doesn’t get up till five,” he said, turning to the clock on the wall and saw it was 0330.

  Working out for an hour, Randy went to his room and grabbed his clothes. On his dresser, he saw pictures of the group at the retreat. The next picture was Aaron and his family standing in front of his cabin at the retreat. Aaron had been wounded in the chest and abdomen loading up in the Pathfinder. It took four months before he was able to return to active duty, but Aaron didn’t re-enlist. A year after that trip, he’d exited the military and went to college, getting a degree in accounting. While he was in school, he got married and everyone liked Elizabeth, or Liz. They had two kids now; both boys, Andre who was nine and six-year-old Eli. Glancing over the other pictures and seeing only the trio and Cody not married, he sighed. “Maybe one day,” he said.

  Walking into the kitchen and turning on the coffee pot, the phone rang. He turned to the phone smiling. “That is Book because Blaster will be shacking up with some woman at this time.”

  Not even looking at the caller ID, he grabbed the phone. “Hey, Charlie,” Randy answered.

  “You alright?” Charlie asked in a groggy voice. It was weird or maybe not, but whenever one of them had a nightmare or was feeling down, the other two knew and would call. Most of the time, it was within hours, case in point, right now.

  With a grin, “Yeah, I’m good, Charlie. Just reliving that last day in hell. Was it last week you made the trip?” Randy asked, trying to remember when he’d called Charlie.

  “Week before,” Charlie answered with a yawn. “You want to head to the retreat this weekend?”

  “Brother, Emily’s birthday party is Saturday, we can’t miss that.”

  Charlie laughed, “We can leave after the party if you need a trip.”

  “I can’t remember the last time we didn’t spend more than one day at Kristi’s,” Randy mumbled, thinking of all the times over the years they had been to Kristi’s.

  Silence filled the phone for several minutes. “Um, I don’t think we ever have,” Charlie finally answered. “But I don’t have court for a few days, so we can drop by the retreat.”

  Laughing, “Charlie, I promise, it’s all good,” Randy said. “You sure you just don’t want to go back and try to catch that fish you missed last weekend?”

&nb
sp; “I told you, that wasn’t a fish, it was a whale,” Charlie said in a stern voice, suddenly very awake.

  Grabbing a coffee mug, Randy poured a cup. “Babyface up yet?”

  “No, I had him type up some requests for production and a set of interrogatories last night.”

  “Oh, come on, he’s a Ranger. Can’t you find him something cool to do?” Randy chuckled, taking a sip.

  “F.O., Randy. He asked, and I showed him how last year. Don’t worry, he’s going to work on my truck tomorrow. That stud enough for him?” Charlie laughed.

  “Yeah, I guess,” Randy said, putting the cup down. “Tell Cody, Dad was asking if he would be coming over soon to help start plowing the fields.”

  “When Babyface wakes up, I’ll tell him,” Charlie said, knowing Cody would take off after hearing Randy’s dad needed him.

  Several seconds passed and Randy became serious. “Has Cody talked about going to see his family? His dad is in the hospital.”

  Letting out a long sigh, “No,” Charlie answered. “I asked him yesterday and he just blew me off. Then last night he told me he was with family.”

  “His dad shouldn’t have said what he did when Cody was in the hospital,” Randy said, more to himself than Charlie.

  “Yeah, having your father tell you that your sacrifice didn’t mean shit, even for your team, really puts a damper on the family dynamics,” Charlie admitted. “Like the kid said, he’s with family.”

  “Yeah,” Randy groaned. “Well, I have to go over to the Richard’s farm today and work on his tractor. If I miss Blaster’s call, tell him I said thanks for checking.”

  “You’re a machinist, what are you working on tractors for?”

  “He broke the axle and I’m going to fix it, so he doesn’t have to spend ten grand for a new one,” Randy laughed.

  “Yeah, that seems a bit steep for an axle,” Charlie chuckled. “Call if you need me.”

  “Will do, Book.”

  “Hey, tell Mom and Pop ‘hi’,” Charlie said. Out of everyone’s families, Randy’s was the only ones who understood. Randy’s dad Oliver had served in the Army and been downrange. He understood and helped more than anyone. Randy’s mom, Lena, was just loveable and holy crap, could she cook!

  “Can do, Book. If you need me, call,” Randy said, hanging up.

  Chapter Three

  Cleveland, OH

  Charlie sat by the pool and sipped his orange juice, eyes focused on the iPhone as he read the e-mail message. Ignoring the few curious looks coming his way from the early morning crowd at his gym, the young man took a few seconds to swallow his juice and digest the words on his screen. He gave a little sigh before setting the device aside, locking the screen, and padded barefoot over to the edge of the pool.

  With his pale white skin, evidence of his Irish and English roots, the mottled brown and dark gray scars showed in graphic detail. Like a map of some undiscovered continent, or a particularly gruesome series of tattoos, the scars covered him front and back on the left side in a scrollwork of pain and horror. He knew people looked away. Charlie couldn’t really blame them. He wanted to look away himself, but he was trapped on the inside looking out.

  Only here, at the pool, did Charlie allow others to see. Probably went back to his rehab time at the Burn Center at Brookes Army Hospital in San Antonio. With his burns came surgeries, multiple surgeries, and then rehab between the surgeries. As the burns healed and the skin grafts took, or not, the patients needed to be engaged in some sort of physical therapy. Those tissues and muscles needed to be pulled and stretched regularly, or the patient might never regain any range of motion. For Charlie, his favorite therapy was time in the pool. Now, twelve years after his last battle, he still found his peace at the pool, or on the range.

  He used the first few laps as warm-ups, getting the blood flowing and doing that all-important stretching as he let his mind go. Charlie focused on his breathing and motion, allowing the concerns of the day to slip away. After that, in a relaxed, almost Zen state, he hit the next ten laps hard. Exploding through the water like a knife, he stroked through the length of the lane and then pushed off smoothly on the flips. Pushing his body past its limits, he then throttled back, languidly paddling through another lap as his body began to cool down and recover from the exertion.

  He longed to kick it back up, do more sets, and work his body to complete exhaustion. He wanted that razor’s edge he used to feel, but it was a Friday and he still needed to go to work. Charlie wasn’t a soldier anymore, and he had bills to pay.

  Floating over to the tiled steps, Charlie gripped the edge of the pool with his left hand and pulled as he rose from the slightly chilly, chlorinated water. The choice of hand was no accident. The same explosion and fire that’d transformed his body into a patchwork of twisted scar tissue and slightly more regular stretches of harvested skin grafts, also cost him most of the last two digits on his left hand. Most, because he retained the last joint; the proximal phalanx as one of his physical therapists had called it, of his ring finger while the pinky finger had been amputated down to the knuckle.

  With just the index and middle fingers left whole, along with a stub of the ring finger, to balance out his heavily-scarred thumb, Charlie knew his left hand more resembled a lobster’s claw than anything else. Them’s the breaks, he told himself, and lessons learned, hard lessons involving copious amounts of sweat and tears where no one else could see them fall, taught Charlie not to baby that hand. So, by leaning into his left hand, he shifted his weight into the palm as he leveraged himself out of the pool and onto the skid-proof concrete and tile of the apron. From there, he rose on slightly shaking legs and tottered over to his gym bag, robe, and towels arrayed around his chair.

  “That was some workout,” a stranger’s voice stated, coming from behind him. So much for my situational awareness, the swimmer chided himself as he forced himself not to react. Female, he thought, and with a familiar accent. Not exactly Southern, he decided. Texas, maybe, he thought. Youngish, but not juvenile. Educated.

  “I was in a hurry today,” Charlie replied, reaching for the towel and wrapping it around his neck. Finally turning with his robe in hand, he caught sight of the speaker. She was tall, maybe five feet nine inches, and wearing one of those sleek, black one-piece suits favored by serious swimmers. That seemed likely, given her well-defined shoulders and tight, muscular build. Her hair was up in a cap, but from her pale brows, high cheekbones and almost Elfin Nordic features, he was willing to lay any amount of money she was blonde. That contrasted nicely with the dark blue eyes, he concluded.

  He took everything in at a glance, rather than ogling the hot chick who dared speak to him. And yet…

  “You done checking me out?” she asked, but there was no challenge in her voice.

  “Actually, just trying to place you,” Charlie replied, his voice steady as he spoke. “Not many show up this early to the gym on a weekday, and the ones that do generally try to avoid the Phantom whenever possible.”

  “The Phantom?”

  “Of the Opera,” he answered, and to punctuate his statement, Charlie theatrically shook out the terrycloth robe in a flutter of fabric and donned it like he was stepping into a cape.

  That seemed to catch the woman off guard, and she wrinkled her brow for a moment. Charlie thought it was cute and then had to fight the smile. She was attractive, though not normally what he would have considered his type. More honestly, what he would have considered in his league. Even before he’d gone bobbing for French fries in the deep fryer, he thought wryly.

  That’s what one wag had called it, back at the burn center in Texas. There was some grisly truth to the joke, in Charlie’s case, as the best they could tell was he’d been caught by an exploding fuel oil bomb. Somebody’s cooking oil tank, his surviving squadmates insisted. Staff Sergeant Mallory might not have coined the phrase, but he was willing to steal it for his own use. Where Charlie suffered mainly from surface burns to about thirty-five percen
t of his body, Mallory had been blown up in an IED attack and then burned, so he’d been subjected to a ‘shake and bake’.

  Mallory, in addition to the third degree burns on his chest and face that claimed his right eye and part of his nose, also suffered with the traumatic amputation of his right leg above the knee and his right arm at the elbow. Man was a physical wreck on the outside, but still had the morbid sense of humor common in frontline troops. He’d also served as a pillar of strength for the mostly young men who sought care at the hospital.

  Thinking of Staff Sergeant Mallory made the smile slip out anyway and yet, this hot blonde was still standing there. Looking a little confused but not frightened by his appearance. He wanted to just turn and walk away, but he didn’t dare. Attractive women seldom stuck around in his presence, and even if she wasn’t interested, he needed to treat her politely. What the locals referred to as the Cities might take up a sizeable chunk of real estate but in some ways, the four cities reminded Charlie of a small town. At least, in the way the gossip mill worked, anyway.

  Despite his concerns, the young lady in question just shrugged off his attempted joke and addressed his earlier comment.

  “I actually just started this week. Like you, I prefer to get my workout in early.” Then she paused and stuck out her hand like it was the most normal thing in the world to do.

  “My name is Joan, by the way. Joan Norgren,” she said, and despite her slight accent, she shook hands like a Midwestern farm girl. Firm grip and looked him straight in the eye as she pumped his arm.

  “Charlie Tucker,” he managed to say. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. This is a good gym, and most folks are very friendly.”

  Joan flushed for some unknown reason at Charlie’s words before replying and Charlie again felt a twinge of unease. After the last round of plastic surgery, the exposed bone in his jaw was no longer visible and finally the built-up shelf of tissue that was his left cheek nearly matched the natural one on his right side, but nothing could really cover or fix the raw-looking, discolored patchwork of skin stretching from his left temple to the bottom side of that surgically repaired chin. His doctors finally admitted what he could clearly see, which was his rough and tattered scars might never smooth out, and the tight quirk to his lips gave him an almost sinister twist when he wasn’t careful. Even after hours practicing in front of the mirror, he knew he still screwed up at times, even after all these years.