January Dawn

by Cody Lennon

  We each took a glass.

  “To the Confederacy,” Alex said, raising his.

  “To alcohol.” Beauregard followed suit.

  “To us,” I said, not knowing what else to toast to.

  Just as Hayes raised his glass to say something, a young blonde with a short tank top and low cut jean shorts walked by and Hayes said, “To jean shorts.”

  I shot back the liquid, coughed and felt my throat burn.

  “What was that?”

  “That right there was straight up, back country South Georgia ‘shine. You like it?” I nodded in approval. It tasted good and I wanted more. I was determined to let loose and have a good time with my friends tonight. It might be my last opportunity, I thought.

  The night went on and I threw back round after round of whatever they placed in front of me. After about the third shot, I felt woozy and my vision blurred, but I kept on drinking nevertheless. I didn’t say much, I just sat there and listened to them talk. And wouldn’t you know, all they talked about was the war.

  The walls of the bar were made of brick and decorated with military surplus and flags from every branch and service in the military. I was admiring an old steel helmet that was mounted on the wall that had a three inch jagged gash along the top it, when I felt a punch on my arm.

  “I asked you a question, Colton,” Beauregard said.

  “What’s up?”

  “I said, you know why the Army gave us a week off before we have to report to our assignment, right?” I shook my head.

  “Because they know us army dogs don’t have such a good survival rate. They know there’s a good chance we might not see home again, so they do it to try to keep morale up. They send us home, they make momma happy, they make us happy and then they send us out to get shot up.” Beauregard leaned in close. “Us soldiers put our boots to the ground and fight the Yankee scum face to face, unlike air force air heads and navy squids, who get to sleep in warm beds every night.” He raised his voice at the end so that everyone around us could hear. We got a few hurrahs from several of the army dogs around us and a few irritated looks from the airmen and navy men.

  “You have to respect those airmen, Walter. You have to admit they do a lot for us grunts,” Hayes interjected. “I talked to my uncle the other day and he told…”

  “You and you’re uncle.” Alex laughed, taking a swig from his beer.

  “I’m serious, listen. He told me about how his squad was sent to clear out this building, right, so they started clearing it floor by floor, looking for some suspected artillery observers. It’s all clear up to the sixth floor and when they move to go up the seventh…WHAM…they’re ambushed by Yankees.

  “He said for the next three days they fought room to room and only managed to push up to the ninth floor. He had to kill a few Yankees with his bare hands and, well what I mean is, for three days they fought to clear this building, their running low on ammo and water, and guess who shows up, the goddamn Air Force. Two Black Hawks and an Osprey. The Black Hawks sprayed the shit out of the floor above them with machine gun fire while the Osprey launched a crate full of supplies onto the ninth floor for my uncle and his squad. In and out in two minutes, just like that.”

  I always got engrossed in Hayes’s stories. He was always so lively with the hand motions that accompanied them. Hayes idolized his uncle down to every last fiber in his body. At times, though, I think I was the only one that believed the stories. The others sure didn’t.

  “Did they clear the building?” I asked.

  “It took another two days, but they killed every last one of those sons of bitches. The Army is awarding him a Bronze Star for his actions.”

  “You’re so full of shit Hayes,” Alex said.

  “You believe what you want to believe, Alex. I believe my uncle. I’d be lucky to become half the soldier he is.”

  The overhead lighting switched from its fluorescent blue to a moody red. Someone rang a bell and the crowd cheered.

  “Boys, boys, boys, why all the hostility?” Gammon Junior ducked his head into the conversation and threw his arms around Alex’s and my shoulders. His breathe stank of filth and alcohol and his shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, had too many buttons undone, which left his dog tags to flop out uncontrollably. There was the unmistakable imprint of lipstick on his neck. “Don’t you know you’re supposed to save that anger for the Yankees?”

  Junior splashed his beer all over me as he went to take another swig.

  “What are you doing here, Junior?” Alex asked.

  Junior always got under Alex’s skin. In Basic, his irritable, no care in the world, minimalist attitude always brought the ire of the platoon down upon him. Worse yet, he knowingly pressed everyone’s buttons. He was a sorry excuse for a soldier, especially for the son of a general.

  “Don’t be so cranky, Redman, geez. You have to get used to me sometime, being squad mates and all.”

  Alex clinched his fists.

  “Junior, if you act like this when we’re deployed you’re going to get all of us killed.” Beauregard said. Junior roared with fictitious laughter.

  “Y’all actually think we’re going to get deployed? You forget who I am. My father isn’t going to send our unit into battle. He’s scared I’d bring shame to the family name.”

  I mustered up some drunken courage and said, “You know nothing about your father.” Which, in hindsight, could have been worded better. But being my first time drunk and all, I had no control over myself.

  “Oh, and you do, slave boy?”

  Alex, Hayes and Beauregard all stiffened up, ready to pounce on him in my defense. I thought about telling him about my conversation with the General, but I thought better of it. I was in no condition to knock any sort of sense into him right now.

  “What the hell is your problem, man?” Alex said.

  “Relax, playboy,” Junior said, as Alex took a step toward him. “I just wanted to come over and thank you for the party the other night.” Junior wobbled a bit. “I got me a nice piece of tail.” The blonde girl with the tank top and jean shorts we saw earlier came out from the crowd, grabbed Junior’s arm, kissed him on the neck, whispered something in his ear and led him away.

  “See you later, boys,” he said.

  “How does he get girls like that?” Beauregard asked.

  “He’s either extremely well endowed or he pays them a lot of money,” said Hayes.

  “Probably the latter.”

  A sudden urge to pee panged my gut. I had drank too much.

  “Excuse me.”

  Walking was difficult for me. Everything in my sight swayed side to side as I stepped, but I made it the restroom without making a complete fool out of myself. I was much relieved when I finally reached the urinal.

  There were strange noises coming from the stall to my left. There was the sound of kissing, then zippers and then grunts.

  When I was finishing up, four men in navy uniform with the familiar anchor insignia on their collars barged in. They weren’t there to use the restroom. I watched them as I went to wash my hands in the sink. The four men checked underneath both stalls. They found whoever they’d been looking for.

  “Open up.” The man banged on the door with his fist, before taking his jacket off and rolling up his sleeves. He had a huge anchor tattoo on his forearm. “Open up dammit!”

  The door lock snapped and the door opened.

  “Can I help you with something, gentlemen?” Junior asked, walking out of the stall, buttoning his jeans. The cute blonde girl was behind him, her hair and clothes a mess.

  The front man grabbed Junior by his shirt, slammed him against the wall, and held him by his throat.

  “Jarred, please! Don’t hurt him.” The blond girl barged out of the stall, but one of the other men held her back.

  “You think you can come in here and steal my girl, grunt?” The tattooed sailor asked.

  “I didn’t steal her. She came to me,” he choked. “Obviously your little
pecker’s not big enough to satisfy her.”

  The sailor delivered two charged punches to his stomach and then kneed him in the groin. Junior tumbled to the ground in pain.

  I stepped forward to help, but one of the other sailors placed himself in front of me. He was a big, bulging man with a bald head and arms thicker than my legs.

  “Leave,” he barked, shoving me away with his stubby hand.

  “That’s my friend there.”

  “You can have him back when were done.”

  The tattooed sailor picked Junior off the ground and set him back on his feet. Junior had a smile on his face.

  “It’s alright, Tennpenny. I’m just having a friendly conversation with my new squid pals here,” he said, drunkenly slurring.

  Jarred the sailor sent two right hooks into Junior’s jaw, causing a trickle of blood to run down his chin. He failed to wipe the smile from his face.

  “Jarred, stop!” The girl cried, before Jarred slapped her hard in the face with an open backhand.

  “Shut up, bitch. I’ll deal with you later” he said at the girl, now sprawled on the floor sobbing.

  “That’s enough.” I took another step forward, but I couldn’t get past the bald man.

  “What now? Are you friends with the whore too? Get lost,” Jarred said to me. “Sanchez, get rid of this doggie.”

  The bald man twisted me around by my arm, put his boot to my back and sent me face first out the restroom door.

  I landed with a thud among the legs of a few strangers. A couple hands kindly lifted me up off the floor. I shook myself loose and the liquid courage inside me sent me back for more. Junior might have been an asshole and the girl might have been a whore, but I’d be damned if I was going to let a few navy squids win this battle of interservice rivalry.

  Before my sense of logic could kick in, I found myself barging back into the men’s restroom ready to confront all four men by myself.

  “Hey squid,” I said, landing a right hook against the bald man’s face, almost losing my footing in the process. The room instantly exploded in a swirl of smoke and debris. I found myself on the floor choking on dust with chunks of drywall and concrete bouncing all around me. All I could hear was a high-pitched whine that pulsed with the pressure in my head.

  My first thought was that I didn’t know my own strength, but as my hearing gradually recovered, I could hear a litany of screams and earth-shaking booms that sobered up my rattled brain almost immediately.

  I sat up, dusted the debris off and tried to orient myself. The far wall was gone. Now it was a pile of rubble, a couple busted water pipes, and a clear view of the river. The lump of debris next to me on the floor shuffled. I threw aside a couple ceilings panels and helped the bald man up. He had a gash on his forehead.

  “Can you walk?” A nod. “Get out of here.” As he left, someone else came in.

  “Colton, are you okay?” It was Alex.

  “Yeah, help me get them out of here,” I said, pointing to the five other bodies buried in debris. With Alex’s help, I got everyone out. Beyond bumps and bruises there were no serious injuries.

  Stepping over the rubble and into the small crater outside on the riverside sidewalk, I could hear more explosions and screams amidst a couple dozen car alarms and emergency sirens.

  “What’s happening?”

  “Listen,” Alex said. We could hear what sounded like freight trains passing overhead, followed by rumbling and thunderous explosions. “They’re shelling us.”

  “Who?”

  “The U.S. Navy.”

  The Talmadge Bridge was just barely visible to the north of us. It was silhouetted by a blazing orange glow that emanated from the Navy base.

  “Are they invading?” I asked, remembering Gammon mentioning this as a possibility.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go home. We’ll be safer there.”

  The shrill whistling of the shells dissipated into a low, hollow swooshing as the shelling shifted south. We took the chance to run back to the car.

  The drive back to the Redman Plantation was nerve wrecking. Emergency and military vehicles sped through downtown streets at breakneck speeds, heading in the direction of the explosions. There wasn’t a single civilian outside. They must have all ducked at the sound of the first explosion.

  The only damage we saw was when we drove by the Port Authority building down the street from the bar. Half of the structure was caved in and the rest had flames towering out of its shattered windows. The missile that struck outside the bar must have been a stray from the salvo that was meant for the Port Authority building.

  We made it back in reckless time. Alex swerved the truck to a stop. The house was dark. The only light was the auburn glow above the trees in the direction of town. We bounded the steps with one leap. At the front door we were met with the slick metal barrel of twelve-gauge shotgun.

  “Dad,” Alex said.

  “Boys, get in here.” Mr. Redman scanned the area outside the front door, shut it and locked it. “Downstairs.” He ushered us to a door underneath the staircase.

  In the dark basement, we found the rest of the family huddled on a mattress in their nightclothes and wrapped in blankets. Mr. Redman must have grabbed them straight out of bed.

  “Alex!” Mrs. Redman said. “You’re okay. You had me worried sick.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay, Ma.” Alex embraced his mother.

  “What’s going on out there?” Mr. Redman whispered to me at the base of the steps.

  “They’re shelling the city, sir.”

  “Did you see any troops? Us or them?”

  “No, sir. Do you think it’s an invasion?”

  “No, not yet. It’s a preliminary bombardment. They wouldn’t risk invading a city without softening it up first.”

  Mr. Redman went over to a cabinet and pulled out a shotgun and a box of shells and handed them to me. “I’m going back upstairs to keep a look out. Stay here and watch over them for me.”

  Mr. Redman disappeared into the darkness at the top of the steps. I slid my back down the wall, sat down on the cold concrete floor, loaded six shells into the loading port of the shotgun and laid it across my lap.

  The adrenaline in my body had begun to run out and the musty air of the basement mixed terribly with the alcohol in my stomach. I felt nauseous. I was twenty feet from being killed. If that shell had landed a little closer I could be dead right now.

  The roaring hum of another salvo of missiles passing overhead rattled the house to its core. It made my stomach churn. Alex huddled his family together and held them close. I could see their bodies trembling with fright, even in the murky darkness of the basement.

  Tess held Lucas in her arms and whispered in his ear trying to soothe his whimpering. She found my eyes in the dark. Tears ran down her cheeks. I wanted to tell her it would be okay. I wanted to hold her hand in mine. I wanted to take her far away from all this. Living in fear is no way to live, I knew that better than anyone.

  They don’t deserve this.

  I checked my watch. It was six minutes after midnight.

  *

  The shelling stopped around twelve thirty, but we erred on the side of caution and stayed in the basement until one, when Mr. Redman gave us the all clear to go back to our bedrooms. There was no sign of any invasion tonight.

  The kids sleepily moseyed their way upstairs to their bedrooms. Tess asked my help with little Lucas, who was sound asleep on the mattress. I scooped him up in my arms. He wrapped his tiny arms around my neck and rested his head on my shoulder. With Tess leading the way by candle light, I carried him to his room. I could feel his little heart pounding on my chest in rhythm with mine.

  I gently placed him in his bed. Tess tucked him in and as she left, she placed her hand on my arm and whispered thank you.

  On account of the night’s happenings, I decided maybe it would be a good idea to stay in Lucas’s room that night. If the Yankees decided to shell the city again, I could grab Lucas
and head downstairs. Besides, I didn’t want to be alone and I wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.

  The bombardment had knocked out all of the electricity. There were no fans or air conditioning to cool the house. Only Lucas’s sleepy breaths churned the stagnant air.

  I opened the window to let in a cool breeze. The faint sound of sirens was barely audible in the distance.

  The candle light on the dresser cast grotesque shadows on the wall. One shadow sparkled upon the wall like a thousand crystals as the candle spread its light through a glass of water sitting next to it. Underneath that shadow was a bookcase, only three shelves high. Easy enough for a child to reach.

  There was a heap of books on the bottom shelf, some thick, some thin, the spines printed in all colors. Why not?

  I grabbed an easy-to-read looking book that jutted out of the pile and sat on the floor with my back to the wall.

  The cover was bright red, with yellow lettering hovering over a stuffed bear in green overalls. The bear was reaching down to pick up a button that had popped off his clothes. I turned the cover to the first page of the story and I was instantly engrossed. Not so much the words, no, there were way too many and far too big for me to even attempt to read. It was the pictures I liked. They told the whole story.

  It all took place in what looked to be a toy store. This teddy bear was the last toy on the shelves. The poor bear figured out that nobody wanted to buy him because he was missing a button. He went in search for it. Making his way upstairs, he…

  The door to Lucas’s bedroom creaked open.

  “Hey,” Tess said.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  She shook her head. “I’m too scared. Can I sit with you?”

  I moved one of Lucas’s stuffed animals to make room for her next me. She snuggled up close and pulled at the blanket that was around her shoulders.

  “Aww, Corduroy,” she said, noticing the book in my hand. “That used to be one of my favorite books. Can you read it to me?”

  Why would she ask me that? She already knew I couldn’t read.

  “I was just looking at the pictures.” I felt embarrassed. I couldn’t even read a simple children’s book.