"Hey!"
"A hook! Attach it to the plane!"
Parks unbuckles and moves fast. If he isn't making his machine tread, he and Milkman go under. He fumbles for the hook and its attached steel cable. The waves strike, pummeling blows to his body, as if the river craves man's defeat. In the blinding light, he secures it around the arm of his plane at the shoulder joint. "Pull, pull, pull!"
Five minutes of work put the fighters up to their necks in the frigid broth before the dull grind of a winch motor does its duty. "Hold on!" Gray yells again and again. "Zafra, keep reeling them in!"
Water drains once more. Benny can't feel his feet or his fingers. Lungs are muddy. He can only watch the world of light and shadow, the lightning that plays a blitzkrieg melody along the ruined building, explosion upon explosion. He sees the ship. X, bobbing up and down in the chaos stream, a refuge from the nightmare.
Before he passes out, a forked bolt of heavenly fury illuminates the land. They are back, back on Earth, familiar territory. So is the devilish black hand tower of Motherville. Up, remaining tall.
Still there...
"Wh-wh-who's there?" Blurry vision clarifies into the soft, luxuriant features of Frederica Musa. A light bulb behind her head makes her angelic. Her face is marked by gauze pads, face paler than the norm even for her with bluish rings under the eyes. She's in Navy blues too big for her. Benny takes it in, his brain yet to put things together.
"Oh, Vecchio!" She hugs the life out of him. He takes it, but winces the entire time. Every square inch is in a brutal state. Muscles spasm, refuse to obey him, the leg is in a cast. Just picking his head off of a pillow is murder. Crank recoils from him, smiles, hugs him again. He can't take much more.
"Okay, kid, okay!" He hears his voice, scratchy and tepid from a sandpaper throat. "What gives? Where are we?"
"On the ship. You know, the one you got out of Wilmington?" She rubs his big hand along her subtle chin.
"Great. So then, we made it?"
"We did." She breaks down before him. Not in the usual, girl crying kind of way. The shoulders dropping, head fallen, chest caved in flavor of defeatism. A hard mood for what should be victory. Right?
"Kid?" He wells up inside. Please, not after everything...
She grips his fingers tight, bites her lip. "We, um, never found Turner. Or um..." The tears come down. He wants to wipe them, but he's weak. A hand goes up to catch them but falls back down. "Thurman. They found him. But um, he was drowned, um..." Crank collapses onto her guy, curls up over him.
Work, you stupid arm! He finds the strength to get the flimsy sheet around her, rubs her back.
Gulp. His eyes moisten. "Uh, a-anything else?"
"Not now, Vecchio. Not now. Later."
In the sterile chamber, he holds her close until sleep takes them both.
The deck of the X is spotless. The sun, high as a kite, bright like hope. Benjamin Haskins, the Brown Bear, stands before the boxes sporting a new cane and a worsened outlook. Coffins of the plainest sort, four of them, waiting to be picked up by family. He stares into the gorgeous Down Jersey skyline, taking in the view but never forgetting the names of men he never had the time to get to know well enough.
Private Thurman Willis, the brave and the bold. Cause of death: drowning. He cut the Beast, but did not live to tell the tale to his children, or even his buddies. If only we could be as valiant as he...was.
Private Jacob (Jake) Goldman. Cause of death: blunt force trauma. Right after they all plunged through the wall, Goldman lost his way. Sucked up in one of many whirlpools made by the storm, he struck his head against an object. A salvage team found him at the bottom of the Delaware. Don't think he wanted war, like I begged for it. But he gave as good as he got. Wish I'd gotten to talk to you. Wish.
Corporal Carson Wilkes. Apparently his injuries were internal and unnoticed on Pea Patch Island, for he was never transported with the others to Motherville. Once the weather calmed, they found him, face down on a crescent sand bar, the remains of Pea Patch, right next to a singed and blackened La Donna. Brother. I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for you, but you end up with the one-way ticket. You and Skinny both remind me of the fellas from the Great War. I had to part with them too. Not fair. It's not right.
I failed. So much blood and sweat, but they still die. Benny salutes, does the whole shebang military ordeal as officers from the Canadian government come for Wilkes. He keeps it up as Willis' defeated mother and sister, Goldman's large Chicago clan come to mourn and claim bodies. Country folk. Passive men in yarmulkes. A parade of women in black veils and men in Navy white uniforms pass by to offer condolences.
Ordeal. That's what it feels like. Not an honor or a duty. Not even a success because the war is over. The whole planet is in jubilation because the terror which swept the Nazis, the Fascists and the Japanese under the rug, not to mention almost the Allied Forces, is dead. The days he spent resting, despite himself and the others continuing to be weak from the innumerable problems of flesh breaking dimensional boundaries, contained naught on the radio but those joyous outcries from persons around the world.
But brothers-in-arms are dead. So to Benny, it doesn't matter. Someone, in this case something, came in to take lives all for selfish gain. Why? It happens every so many years and never ends but why? My job was to complete the mission and bring home the boys. I can't ascertain completion. I didn't even bring back half.
How can I be thinking of how gorgeous today is when my guys are...maybe it's because a day like this shouldn't have to be ruined by...stop it. Nothing you could have done. Can't change history. I mean, if there'd been no Motherville, how much longer would we have fought the Axis? No. Too deep. Save it for another time. I met the girl of my dreams because of Motherville. Ouch! There's a swift kick to the heart.
Let it go, Benny.
Hands are shaken to the point of monotony. Benny wishes this day would die. La Donna rests at the ship's aft under a tarp beside Milkman and Lawman. What remains of the M2 tank and even the remains of the Beast. they'll come back. Machines do that with proper maintenance, the good ones, and the bad.
What remains...
Then there's Crank. Cheesy, happy, sunny Crank. Kisses every visitor, salutes with a grin without fail. Scamps around in her oversized black work boots, hair blown everywhere in the wind, making lives better. She lets out her grief in the dark, but in the sun, she radiates. He wishes he had some of that now. Roy Fuse is in a wheelchair. Thank God it's not a permanent residence. Inhaled a load of petrol water and will be bedridden for months. Good news is, he gets a golden ticket to Seabrook and family time. Sick? yes. But a temporary happy ending beats none at all.
Ceremonies come to an end. The boys are gone, in more ways than one. The sun sets lovingly enough to make a grown man cry. X begins to sail back to the City of Salem. En route, she takes on surprise visitors.
Special Technologies drifts in on the Yorktown, anchored farther out in the Delaware Bay. Chief Fish and an assortment of nameless lugs reach X by means of two R-4 Sikorsky helicopters. They travel in the newest toys. Benny finds them silly, the wobbling R-4's, and the men. Chief is surely not how Benny pictured him. This leader who hopscotched the country playing a game of survival is just over five feet tall, moves like a tortoise. Fish finger points everything jostling about in his sagging black ST garb and matching fedora. He points some more. To the lugs to shake hands. To Traveler Gray to back away. To Benny and Crank to follow him inside.
They enter the door and wander the halls until Fish is satisfied, evidenced by him pointing at a door to the galley. Fish takes the first seat. Benny pulls one out for Crank before meandering down to the other end. Crank is exuberant, weak from the dimensional shift, but hopes are high. The last thing Benny needs or wants is a meeting.
"Traveler Haskins. Mechanic Musa."
That's that for a long time. Crank sits waiting anxiously. Benny wonders how ancient Fish is. Eighty? Ninety? The wrinkles are so deep and the
eyes so yellowed and gray. How does he get around? Do they make ST exoskeletons for centenarians?
Quiet.
Men have died and we haven't had time yet to catch a break. Get on with it!
"This, situation, has placed a considerable strain on the nation, on men. And women." He taps Crank on the back of her hand. She brims. "But now, a hush has fallen over the land. President Roosevelt has spoken with me at great length. Special Technologies is determined to rebuild the Hangar in Salem. Bigger. Better. Our robotic agents will be expanded upon greatly in that town, the epicenter of our Anti-Motherville task force." he raps his fingers on the table.
"That's it?" Benny has a gruff demeanor. "That's all the news that's fit to print, Gramps?"
Crank is shocked. "Benny! This is the Chief."
"I know good and well who he is, Crank. And you know what? Big deal. Like we didn't know this area would become the biggest fortress in the United States. Motherville is sleeping, right? I was at the debriefing. That's the closest approximation the lab boys can give us, right Chief?"
Chief gets a tad humbled. "Er, yes. Yes. That is the assessment. The signals emanating from the black tower have reduced by around ninety-eight percent since the storm subsided. A state of torpor would be an accurate summation."
"Exactly my point. The response is obvious." Benny slaps the table, scaring Fish, making Crank insecure. "Listen, it's not that I don't appreciate your promotion, but...where's Roscoe Turner? You remember him? The biggest name in aviation and the backbone of your pet project! Where's a fleet of trucks to rebuild Salem and Fort Mott? What's the status of the remodulateds after Motherville took a powder? I bet you wasted no time bugging Congress for additional millions to fund Motherville tower research or to make new weapons or whatever the proposal for them is called, but the people at ground level have to pick up the pieces, pay for it themselves, and have a nice day. Right?"
"Son, I understand your frustration--"
"No! You don't! Crank doesn't either. I did my bit in two, count 'em, two wars! Yeah I signed up! Yeah I wanted a double dose of the action! But the aftermath, heh! The aftermath is always a shot in the collective groin, isn't it? Go home. Play pretend. Pay for the damages out of your own pocket. No! Not this time! Too many went home in a pine box! And when all's said and done, the bureaucrats swoop in cut up the remains! If you can answer my questions, by all means do so! If not, I'm headed for the door!" He heads to it before the Chief can open his dry mouth.
"Traveler Haskins." He's pointing again.
Sigh! "Yeah?" Benny squeezes the doorknob.
"You and Musa are still recovering from the effects of another world. We've no idea what the side effects might be. You two are hereby relieved of duty pending a full recovery, followed by a leave of six months. After then, and only then, are you to return to Salem to help with the rebuilding."
Benny opens the door and steps out. Crank jumps up to follow.
"And rebuilding Salem and all surrounding municipalities as well."
Benny stops dead. Does he mean it? I don't really know the man, but...if things can't be uplifting from the ground up this time around, I'm done. He returns to shake the Chief's bony hand. "Thanks, Chief. I will hold you to it."
"Of that, Traveler Haskins, I have no doubt."
Chapter Thirty-Four: Bedside Manner at the End
March 4th, 1945
Salem
Salem County
Down Jersey
"So, there it is, brother. The rest of the tale." Benny ends the war story on a hearty sigh. He's got on the fine suit he wore on the date with Crank, the fedora tipped to the left. Color has returned to his face the last few weeks. The cast came off, though Benny retains the cane and a swell limp. Skinny Bubba has been sitting up in his hospital bed, digesting the story Haskins told of another world and the downfall of Mother.
"Heh! Just like that, huh? Crumbled like dried up cake. So, what are they gonna do about the tower?"
"Study it. We can't dent the thing, so it ain't going anywhere. Have to face the fact that--"
"We're stuck with her. Sooner or later, she'll rebuild too, and come back for our hides."
"Yeah, Skin, yeah. You know what? You're a regular breath of fresh air, aren't you?"
Skinny laughs and gets off the bed. He's dropped loads of weight, but therapy and time have given him more muscle and a second lease on life. "Oh! Floor's cold as ice water! Where are my slippers at?" He finds them, shoves them on and scuffles to the other side of the ward to check up. Benny follows.
Lying on the bed, ghastly but alive, is Larry.
"Morning, brother. Can you hear me?" He holds his hand and looks at Benny. "Yesterday he spoke for the third time. A few sentences. All of them about girls." He chuckles.
"Hey pal, it's Benny. Don't you worry, you'll be as good as new any day now." He looks at Skinny Bubba for confirmation.
Skin nods and gives a thumbs up. "Doctors say he'll pull through. Around noon they sit him up in a wheelchair and let him get some sun. By the time you and Crank get back...speaking of which, Mister Haskins."
"Right, right!" He shakes Skinny's hand with an added hug, the way men do. He ruffles Larry's hair, and limps for the door.
"Benny!"
"Yeah, Skin?"
"Leave the war behind you, man. The world ain't on your shoulders. It's on all of ours. keep it in mind."
The statement floors him. "Got it."
Where was all of this amazing weather and fragrant scents during the entire war? Salem is pristine in terms of climate. Maybe the storm did it. Who knows? But spring has blossomed early and the dogwood is pink and white and the air is majestic. Benny breathes wholesome oxygen. His spirit is light, and he can't recall when it last had the pleasure.
Parked out in front of the hospital, green and glossy, La Donna. His ace gal sits behind the wheel in her ST cap, jacket, a tight sweater and a black skirt with violet border. She radiates happiness while chatting it up with two locals.
"...I've had her up to two hundred, but only one time! I'm thinking of replacing the machinegun with a pulsating beam of light. You know, like Buck Rogers has! Yeah, and..."
She gabs on as the locals feign understanding. Benny catches their eyes. He gives them a goofy smile, hands in his pockets. "Hey, Crank."
"...but without the added output of the peri-dimensional engine, I haven't yet figured out how to account for stockpiling an extra energy..."
"CRANK."
"...I'll get it sure enough! Once Roy feels better he can help me--"
"Crank!" Benny gets into the car and slams the door.
"You don't have to yell, or slam my door, Vecchio! I told you to be careful with her!" She gives her guy the face of death before turning back to smile at the Locals. "This is my boyfriend, Benny! I'm taking him to Avalon to meet my family! Well, nice talking to you!"
"We're taking a nice, slow country ride to see them, right? These back roads are long." Benny would love nothing more than peace and quiet, a breeze on his face. He rolls the window down to await it.
Crank goes dead. "What's that mean? You don't like how I drive? I'm the best driver in the world."
"I'm not saying that, kid. I'm saying after all we've been through it'd be nice if--"
She floors it. Right down Market headed for Broadway. "Arrivederci!" She looks back at the locals and not at the road. La Donna burns rubber tearing around the corner.
"Crank!"
Down the road she zooms, headed east. Along the way, a middle-aged man screams and holds on for dear life. The locals, watching the auto disappear, shake their heads.
"Dead man walking."
"Yessir, I second that motion."
And the cranes rolled into town. The cranes, the supply convoy, the food and Special Technologies came into the city of Salem by every conceivable means of transport. They brought a new architecture, a new defense and a new way of life. Salem County started on the road to change.
As she slept, Down Jer
sey transformed.
Epilogue
They feel the wet soil beneath their feet, the freshness of the night air. Nine persons on the bank of the Delaware, five men and four women. The world is brand new before their eyes. No one else is along the stretch of land, but in the distance, they see it. Something inside, deep, inspires them to go there.
The city of Wilmington. Evacuated two months ago, but now, she has regained many of her people. Bombed out industry is on the move. Cars are driving down its hilly streets. People. Action. Society.
The nine want to take it in, every aspect. Stranded at sea, cut off from a homeland they barely recall, they have no other momentum save one. For months the bodies lay in the machine, slumbering. Today is the wake up call.
Forward.
Through the woods they creep, silent as felines. What will they do? How will they do it.
The first house they encounter, an old one of brick from Penn's days suits their purpose. They enter. A sleeping couple, elderly, unaware, snore for the last time as knives separate each larynx. The nine scour the house until all possessions of note are theirs: money, identity papers, clothing, jewelry, a Dodge truck and a '40 Ford Coupe in the barn out back. These will do.
Before sunrise, they've eaten a meal with the couple's food and set the house and barn alight. Two in the Coupe. Two in the truck. Five on foot. All in different directions. Before the part ways, each looks upon the other, knowing what the other is thinking. Their eyes, all identical. One red, one green.
"We will need sunglasses."
"Ja."
"Success or death."
"Ja. Sieg heil."
They will take jobs. They will learn about society. They will do these things, following their unified instinct deep down until it should, one day, tell them otherwise. Follow the one true goal, and wait.
The instinct is life to them. It tells them the one word, in a whisper behind their individual thoughts, neverending. Awake and in their dreams, she calls...
Down Jersey Driveshaft Page 33
