new writings from Brothers

Billy felt a nudge to his shoulder.  He ignored it.  The nudge became a push, and his eyes sprang open.  Angus was bent over him, hand still on his shoulder.

“You said five am, Billy.”  He lay motionless for moment, head still pounding as badly as he knew it would.

“You got some ibuprofen?”  

Angus smiled.  “I never run outta that stuff,” laughing as he strode off to get it.  Billy knew why.  The two of them got drunk a lot.  It was their go-to medication.  He pushed himself up into a sitting position and stretched his arms upward.  Several moments later, Angus re-entered the living space and gave four ibuprofens to Billy.

Billy turned his head up, looked at Angus crookedly and said, “nothing to drink with this?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I’ll get you something.”  He came back holding a bottle of Surly Darkness, a beer made in Brooklyn Center.  Billy downed the pills while taking a full swig of the beer.  He belched, and then downed the rest.

“So much for breakfast.   We’d better get doing,” Billy said as he pulled a short sleeved T-shirt over his head.  They readied the canoe and enough gear to last for a few days.

They had been driving for about thirty minutes when Angus said, “We don’t even know where they are right now.  How we gonna catch up to them in this rain?” Angus asked the question while finishing off one of the two-day old donuts they had just picked up at the gas station on their way out of Ely.  

“We know they’re going to Agnes Lake.  You know the launch is off the Echo Trail, right?” Billy asked.

“Yeah, you put in at the Nina Moose River.”

“Well, I’m betting with this rain that they stayed at Nina Moose Lake last night.  They got off to a late start yesterday and it would have been stupid to go all the way to Agnes.  And they didn’t seem like the stupid kind.”

“Yeah, so when do we catch ‘em?”

“We don’t, we get ahead of ‘em.”

“How we gonna do that?  We can’t catch ‘em in the canoes.”

Billy Bobtail smiled thickly.  “We’ll take the old logging road and head ‘em off, wait for ‘em, and then, bam,” he took his hands off the wheel and slammed them together.  “Then we got ‘em.”

Angus gazed over at Billy in amazement.  “I never would have thought of that, Billy.  Most people don’t give that old logging road a lick of thought and here we are, using it to catch them dumb nut grabbers.”

“You know I don’t appreciate you bringing up unpleasant stuff like that, especially since I was the victim of that turd whacker.”

Angus laughed.  “You calling yourself a turd?  You said turd whacker, so that must make you a turd.”  He laughed again.

This was exactly what Billy didn’t like about Angus.  The guy was an idiot with a child’s sense of humor, but a useful idiot who bought drinks and allowed Billy to crash at his place on a fairly regular basis.  He glanced over at Angus and allowed him a smile accompanied by a slight chuckle, as if to say, ‘you got me there, Angus’.

The Echo Trail started out as a paved road, but quickly turned into a serpentine, gravel surface that contained many jump-off points for various lakes in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.  Billy guided the 2004 Jeep well past the Nina Moose River parking area and continued on for several miles before turning off on a little used logging road that would take them past Ramshead Lake.  He knew the river was much higher than normal, and he knew by experience that the waterslide portage would be impassable.  

Billy was banking on the portage area to hold the brothers up just enough for Angus and him to get ahead and lay in wait for them on the other side.  He hadn’t counted on the logging road being quite as rough and wet as it was, but thank the lucky stars for the four-wheel drive on his Jeep.  

The Jeep dived into a deep rut, causing Angus’s coffee to spill over his leg.  Angus cried out in expectant pain that never came from the now cooled coffee.

“What’d ya think it would still be hot after an hour of driving out here?” Billy asked in disgust.

“I, uh,uh, don’t know what I was thinking.”  

The road devolved into something more resembling a moose trail, rather than something loggers had last used thirty years ago.

“I think we’re where we need to be.”  Billy peered through an area where the trees appeared to be thinning.  Opening his door and then slamming it with a vengeance, Billy began to unstrap the canoe.

“Get the gear and paddles out.  I’ll get the canoe off the rack and take it to the river.”  Angus did as he was told.

“Bring the rifle, too.”  

“I can only carry so much.  I’ll come back for it,” Angus said in a whiney voice.

“Whatever,” Billy said as he hoisted the canoe onto his broad shoulders and carted it to the river bank. 

The rifle was a Remington bolt-action 700, a favorite of hunters in the area.  It had a Kwik Klip magazine conversion clip that Billy had bought two years ago.  The clip held ten rounds, which seemed inadequate to Billy, but he took what he could get at the time.  It certainly would be enough for what he was planning over the next few days.  

He stopped before he came to the river bank and set the canoe down and waited for Angus.  A minute later, Angus arrived with a pack containing sleeping bags, tent, and some edibles.  He then went back to the Jeep for the rifle.

book club meeting in Montana

I had a fantastic time interacting with  thirteen members of a book club in Billings, Mt.  They had read my last book, The Book Club Murders.
I began my presentation by explaining how and why I began writing and they responded with dozens of questions and comments.  They were a delightful group of present and former educators.  It was clear they enjoyed reading and they had many, many questions about the characters and their motivations in my book.
We began with my presentation, questions, discussion, and then dinner at the country club.  The entire experience was extremely enjoyable with a wonderful group of people who are intelligent, caring, and kind.
The next week, my family and I went to Red Lodge and stayed at the Pollard Hotel where we enjoyed a fantastic Thanksgiving Day buffet, overnight stay playing games and experiencing the new pub.  The next day we did some Black Friday shopping in town and left.
It was a great mini vacation!!

My older brother fought for three years in Vietnam and I have used him as a source of information, however, the following is completely fabricated.

Chapter 18, Gabe’s Lament

Kellan and Jack turned in about midnight.  Gabe stayed up for another hour poking at the fire, gazing at the stars, and remembering a friend who had died in Vietnam.  Bill Poulan had been killed in Pleiku Province, and it was Gabe’s fault, or at least he thought it was.

It was 1968 near the Song Xan River.  Gabe was leading a night patrol through the jungle, one of the things that he loved doing.  In a way, it reminded him of exploring the woods back home in southern Minnesota, only here, his life was in danger every minute, and the feeling enthralled him.

Bill was the Shakespeare quoting buddy who Gabe took an immediate liking to.  Gabe was two years younger, but ostensibly, wiser in the ways of killing because he had already been in Vietnam for two and a half years.

   Bill had joined the marines after graduating Summa cum laude from the University of Iowa.  He could have gone to officer school but insisted upon being a grunt and earning his way.  Gabe always liked him for that, in fact, he loved him in a way that only brothers could.  Most of their free time was spent together, Bill quoting Shakespeare, non-threateningly displaying his knowledge, and telling about his college conquests; Gabe, teaching poker games and bragging about his high school adventures.  They became brothers in every sense of the word, maybe even more.  

The jungle was hushed that night and everyone just had a feeling nothing was going to happen.  The boys were a little carefree and made  more noise than Gabe was comfortable with.  He was using more hand signals and verbals than usual to rein the men in as they patrolled their sector. 

As always, Gabe never relaxed when he was in charge.  The strange, delightful mixture of danger and the unknown kept him on point.  The men in the unit, including Bill, relied upon Gabe to crack down and get serious when it was necessary, but tonight seemed almost otherworldly.  Everyone just sensed this was a worthless patrol so their M16s were held loosely at their sides and they strolled, rather than sneaked, over the pathways of the jungle. 

Bill joined him in the lead, speaking low, but casually, as Gabe tried to remain alert to any movements ahead.  Normally, strict silence was observed as they stole through the moonlit pathways.  Charlie was always near they were told, and most of the time they believed it.

As Bill and Gabe prowled ahead, they whispered, Gabe’s eyes constantly straining to see any movement in advance of their continually changing position.  A snapped twig, a brush of leaves, the sound of a small animal parting the grasses as it escaped from the patrol’s onslaught, fed Gabe and Bill’s imagination.  

Leading a patrol was always the most dangerous position, because of the Vietcong’s penchant for laying booby traps.  Gabe always figured he couldn’t risk other men’s lives with a duty he himself should perform, so he always placed himself in the lead.  Bill often joined him.  Gabe appreciated the fact that Bill thought enough of him to share the burden, duty, and the fear that accompanied the lead.

Tonight, mostly Bill and Gabe seemed to be aware of the possible dangers, mainly because they were taking most of the risks.  As they approached an opening in the jungle, back home Gabe would refer to it as a meadow, he held his arm up, signaling the patrol to halt.  The boys milled about, although they were as noiseless as a nonchalant group of young men sensing no danger could be, the dull commotion of their movements alerted a small group of Vietcong.

They were thirteen and fourteen year old boys with AK47’s, dressed in pajamas; farmer’s children by day, guerrilla warriors by night.  Alerted by the unusual night sounds, the Vietcong tensed as they struggled to see what they assumed was an American patrol.  

Gabe hurried back to his boys, warning them of what possibly lay ahead.  While he did, Bill Poulan stealthily crept forward to the mouth of the meadow, carelessly exposing himself to the antsy group of teenaged Vietcong.  

The sons of farmers by day were without an older member of their Vietcong unit tonight, placing a virginal amount of stress upon them.  Usually, at least one member of the unit was an older, experienced veteran of guerrilla warfare.  There was no such luck for them tonight.

Bill Poulan’s last moments of life were painful and chaotic as he was nearly torn in half by the automatic fire from a frightened thirteen year old kid.  Gabe found himself screaming epithets as he and all his boys slammed themselves flat on the ground and began returning fire in every direction.  He knew it was too late for Bill, who had been in the lead. The only truth he didn’t know was how badly he had been injured.  In a few minutes, as the automatic fire lessened and then ceased completely, he found Bill still alive, but obviously dying, nearly sliced in half by the AK47 slugs that had invaded his body.  

Propping his head on his elbow, Gabe stroked Bill’s short hair, feeling his own tears tumble over his eyelids and alight upon Bill’s reddened cheeks.  

Two soldiers died that evening; one, who’s physical, emotional, and mental being was completely destroyed, and Gabe who left his emotional well-being in a jungle, in the depths of Vietnam.  

Gabe completed his tour in another few months in a different capacity.  It was clear to his commanding officer that he would not, or should not resume his regular combat duties.  He spent the few remaining months of his deployment in Saigon, procuring and filling orders for fighting units.  

When he returned to the states, he tried to be the same old Gabe, and he succeeded for more than two decades, until it all slithered back into his life, unwillingly and unwanted.  His descent into a netherworld was total and unrelenting.

At the Moose Bell Saloon

 Kellan lifted his glass of Pepsi and clinked it against Jack’s tumbler of whiskey sour.

“To Jack, and his amazing ability to withstand a fall from ten feet off the ground onto the back of his head, without breaking his neck or back.”

Gabe became pensive for a moment, his mind seemingly on the painting of a naked lady behind the bar, before he said, “That fall on the head does explain a lot about you, Jack.  In retrospect, it probably turned out to be a good thing for you.  Might have made you smarter.  Up till that point in your life, Sydney and I doubted whether you would be able to uphold the Hula legacy we had set of intelligent, clear thinking individuals, but you appeared to be aroused into a better state of mind after that fall and gave rise to our hopes for you.”

Not rising to the challenge, Jack held his glass securely on the bar and stared at the naked woman in the painting.  As he was about to take a sip of his whiskey, a burly man in his forties drew closer to Kellan and swiped the hat off his head.

A surprised Kellan, turned to the ill-mannered bar patron and said, “Hey, buddy.  Let’s have my hat back.”  He held out his hand, fully expecting him to turn it over.  As Kellan held his hand in front of him,the guy held the hat out and then flipped it to his friend behind Kellan.  

Jack moaned and dropped his chin to his chest. Kellan stood up and again, asked for his hat back.  Each time, when the hat was held tantalizingly in front of him and he reached for it, one of the men flipped it to the other.

Gabe turned his barstool slightly to get a better view of the back and forth action playing out in front of him.  He appeared to be amused while Jack and Kellan were clearly annoyed.  Jack began to stand up and intervene when he felt Gabe’s hand on his shoulder.  He looked over and Gabe winked.  

“I’ll take care of this.”  Gabe pushed down on Jack’s shoulder to brace himself as he stood.  He stepped in front of the burly one and intercepted the hat as it came flying through the air.  

“Gentlemen, we’re all adults here and this seems like a childish game to play at my brother’s expense.  Shall we cease and desist?”

The two neanderthals stood motionless for a moment and didn’t utter a word.  Gabe returned the hat to Kellan and sat back down.  The bigger one of the two dimwits sidled next to Gabe and smiled as he said, “You know we were just having a little fun.  Not much happens on the range and we know you guys aren’t from around here.  So we thought we’d get acquainted.”

Gabe raised his glass, winked at the man and downed a healthy gulp of his rum and coke.  “We appreciate the thought,” he said, and then returned his gaze to the naked woman.

After a pause, the burly one said, “I see you like the picture.  It’s a good one.  She’s a local gal who’s since moved away.  Hasn’t been back for years.”  And then he changed the subject.  He said with a sigh, “You know, I’m kind of a collector of hats and that’s why I noticed your friend’s hat there.”

“Brother.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s my brother.”

“Well, that helps explain that.  I appreciate a man who’ll step up to protect his brother.  Little brother, I assume?  You seem a bit older than he is.”

Gabe, who had consumed the last of his rum and coke, stood up-all five-foot-six of him.  

“Well, gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure, believe me, but we have to get a move on if we’re going to make it to Agnes Lake on time.”  The brothers quickly finished their drinks and stood up to leave.  

The burly one stood, and blocked Gabe’s path to the doorway.

“Tell you what, stranger.  I’ll give you two bucks for that old hat on top of your head.  Whadda ya say?”  He took two crinkled bills from his pocket and held them out to Gabe.

“I say, thank you very much for your offer, but no.”  He began to step around, but the burly one blocked his way again.  The bar was quiet with everyone watching.

“Make it three bucks then.  It’s my final offer.”  He pulled another bill from his pocket.

“No thanks, I’ve had this hat a long time and it’s not for sale.  Excuse us, we’re going now.”  Gabe began to move around the man again.  This time, the man put a hand on Gabe’s chest to stop him.  It only took a millisecond, but Gabe’s right hand shot to the man’s scrotum and squeezed.  The burly one gasped as his body froze and he rose to his tiptoes.  Gabe squeezed a little harder.

“Now, little twinkletoes, we’re leaving.  Is there a part of that message you don’t understand?”  Blinking through tears, the man shook his head no.  His friend near the bar took a step forward, but the burly one getting his nuts crushed motioned him back.  He stopped.

Jack and Kellan walked in front of Gabe, who was still handling the big man’s sack.  They were an awkward couple as they gracelessly made it outside and stood in front of the van.  Jack started the vehicle as Kellan hopped inside and held the side door open for Gabe.  

Gabe looked up into the big man’s eyes and lamented, “You know I’m not your type anyway, don’t you?”  He then let go and stepped through the open van door.  Jack drove off before the door closed and left the man in a mini dust bowl.

After the kidnapping

After ordering the ‘everything you want’ breakfast, Gabe handed the menu to the waitress and smiled at his brothers.

As Jack smiled back at Gabe, he said, “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”

Gabe was still smiling.  “And why not, little brother?”

“Look what happened last night when you ate too much.”  Kellan then  sipped from his coffee cup.

“That, was an aberration.  Won’t happen again in another twenty years.  Besides, I’m not drinking any of the Weed with breakfast.”  Pleased that he had stuck his brothers with the bill, Gabe kept up his self-satisfied appearance.

“Look, Gabe, we don’t mind paying for breakfast, well, maybe a little bit, but we knew that once you got up here you’d be okay with the trip.  Are we right about that?”

“For now I am.  We’ll see what happens after breakfast.”

Kellan laid his baseball cap on the table, sighed, and then said, “Gabe, what else can you do now, but come with us?”  Gabe’s attention turned to the area behind his brothers.

“Well, don’t look now, but there’s a woman behind you that I’ve known for a long time, and I don’t think she’d mind some company for a few days while you guys take off for the wilderness.  What ya think of that?”

Kellan turned, but didn’t see anyone, in his mind, anyway, that might be a possibility.  Jack looked behind them.

“Oh, shit.  That can’t be who I think it is.”  He returned his gaze to Gabe who was laughing uncontrollably, although in a quiet sort of way.

Kellan was perplexed.  “What, who, who’re you talking about?”

Jack rubbed his head with both hands, muttering, “Oh God, Oh God, no.”

Gabe stood up and walked over to the woman as Kellan watched.  

While placing a hand on the woman’s shoulder, Gabe said in a low voice, “Mavis, it’s been a long time.”  The startled woman, turned, and when she saw who it was, let out a squeal and gave him a gargantuan hug that seemed to last forever.

Kellan, who was following all the action, asked Jack, “Who the hell is she, Jack?”

“Mavis Telluride;  I never understood it, but she used to have the hots for Gabe like you wouldn’t believe.  My God, he knows a woman in every city in the United States.”  He clanked his fork on his water glass.   “Gabe’s not all that attractive; I don’t know what the hell he has going on, but women seem to fawn all over him.”

Breakfast came as Gabe continued to visit with the woman.  Jack and Kellan morosely began picking at their eggs benedict and corned-beef hash.  Five minutes later, Gabe returned to the table and politely asked the waitress if she would warm up his breakfast.  Just as politely, she assented and picked up his plate.  Gabe winked.  The waitress giggled.

“Ah, now that was a surprise,” Gabe said.  Jack and Kellan continued to eat and said nothing.  “Well, boys, looks like I’ve got a place to stay for the next week.”  Defeat was in the air.  Jack and Kellan were silent

“What, no comments from the kidnappers?”  Gabe chuckled.  After his plate of food came and a little more flirting between the waitress and him, they ate in silence, broken only by Gabe’s recurrent chuckling.  

Jack finally said something.  “Apparently, you’re very pleased with yourself, Gabe.”  

Parental background chapter for Brothers, Tales of the River Rats

Chapter 11, Robertsdale, Alabama, 1933

They lived in a shack out in the boonies.  It had two rooms to house nine children, 3 boys, six girls and their mother.  Two other children had died in infancy.

Their father, Joseph, who had come to the United States in 1913 from Austria, was an unforgiving man who only showed up to impregnate their mother, give the family a few dollars, and then leave for parts unknown.  He was known as a bit of a dandy who tried his hand at ranching, carpentry, owning a grocery store, and other odd jobs, never succeeding in anything.

One thing the children knew him for was his method of rearing children, which was brutal.  There was never much conversation the few hours he spent with the family.  He craved silence, especially from his children.  His wife was there to be exploited.  If she displeased him, a slap across the mouth was warranted.  If any child displeased him the response was the same.  

Their mother had emigrated from Czechoslovakia in the same year as their father.  They figured she had been a legal emigrant; they weren’t so sure about their father.  Years later, their suspicions were semi-confirmed when one of the adult brothers had visited Ellis Island and found no record of him entering the United States, but he had found their mother’s name while doing a quick search on one of the many self-help computers.

Eight year old Isabel and her brother Adam, who was five years older, squished their way through the swamp that started in their back yard.  Past the swamp lay the creek where they loved to swim and catch tadpoles and crayfish.  The creek was crystal clear with a sandy bottom.  Here, the kids wiled away the hot, humid Alabama days.  They splashed, waded, swam, lounged, and caught tadpoles.  They didn’t really know they had nothing.  They had everything… except a present and loving father.

“Adam, what’s that?” Isabel almost whispered as she stood motionless, staring at a large, black snake hanging on a branch over the water three feet away from her face.

Adam set the tadpole he had been playing with back into the water and followed his sister’s gaze.  “It’s a water moccasin.  Just back away slowly.  It’s poisonous.”  Isabel did as he told her.  “That’s a younger one cause it’s got a yellow tip on its tail. Older ones have one solid color and their bands fade.”

When she was a safe distance away, Isabel asked,  “How do you know all that?”

“I read about ‘em when I go to the library at school.  Miss Wentzel takes us there twice a week and we get to check out books.  I like to read about snakes.”

Isabel scrunched up her nose.  “I don’t like them.”

Adam put his arm around his little sister.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t let anything happen to you.”  Isabel smiled because she knew Adam was sincere.  He may have kidded her at certain times and made fun of her at others, but she knew he would protect her if she needed it.

 They enjoyed the feel of the fine grains of sand between their toes and the soles of their bare feet as they walked away from the hanging water moccasin.  As they moved upstream, the water deepened and touched the mid-thigh area of Adam’s cut-off jeans.  The water reached Isabel’s waist, cooling her in the hot, humid temperatures.

“When do you think Pa will come home?” asked Adam.

Isabel hemmed and hawed, but finally said, “I don’t know and I don’t care.  I’m afraid to talk to him when he’s around.  He always acts so mean and I think we’re better off without him.  Miranda says she’s never, ever talked to him at all.”  Miranda was four years younger than Isabel and always told things to her that she would never say to the other children.

Adam didn’t say anything for the longest time, but just kept slogging through the clear water with his head down.  He knew better than Isabel how cruel their father could be to their mother and all the children.  The older children were the ones who had suffered the most whenever he was around.  The more he thought about it, the more he knew his little sister was right.  The family would be better off without him.

The two of them played in the creek for the rest of the afternoon and caught tad poles and crayfish.  Isabel had developed the most effective technique for catching crayfish.  She always brought along a medium-sized, plastic bucket that she would use to catch the skittering critters as they moved backwards through the water away from one hand and into the bucket in the other.  Adam marveled at her adeptness.  By the time they walked home, the bucket contained fifty-eight crayfish, which they were hoping their mother would cook that evening for supper.  Adam carried the bucket most of the way because it had become too heavy for Isabel.  The taste of freshly cooked crayfish was one of their favorites, along with the biscuits their mother always had available.

The hottest part of the day was hitting at five o’clock in the afternoon as they stepped out of the cooling waters of the creek and onto the squishy grass of the swamp.  They picked their way carefully, as always, so they didn’t sink in the muck up to their thighs.  They made their way across the hundred yards of tufts of grass and mud that stood between them and their shack. 

When they had negotiated the last thirty feet of swamp and their feet were settling on dry ground, Adam stopped in his tracks and peered at a dirty, gray truck parked near the shack.  He couldn’t stop the feeling of dread building inside his brain.  His stomach twisted in knots and his left eyebrow twitched as if in time to one of the jazz records he had listened to in school.  He feared their father was home.

Book club presentation

I'll be heading out to Montana for a book club presentation on November 20th.  Thirteen members of a book club in Billings will be eating dinner, drinking wine and listening to me try to entertain them.  They're a brave group.  They've all read my last book, The Book Club Murders.  I've prepared some handouts and am prepared for most questions, I think.  We'll see.
After the book club meeting we'll be doing some sight seeing (Pompei's Pillar) and probably shopping before heading to Red Lodge and the Pollard Hotel.  It's  a well-known, old haunted establishment in downtown Red Lodge where we'll have Thanksgiving meal and more shopping in the quaint shops of Red Lodge.

Wallflower Reunion----a short story I started a while back. This is the pitch for it.

Rick Steps is forty-eight years old and recently divorced.  His thirtieth high school class reunion is coming up in two days.  Rick plans to go and, hopefully, meet Chrissie Manuess; the girl he fell in love with in eighth grade.  He remained in love with her throughout high school, but never even talked to her, until the day he retrieved her ring when it came spinning towards him on the high school hallway floor.  It was a brief, awkward conversation that ensued.  He always wondered; Did she throw the ring on the floor so he would pick it up and approach her?  He was a wallflower in high school; he was an extremely shy,young man, who was not unattractive, but, nonetheless, lacked confidence.  Although Rick eventually became an attorney and projected a cool, confident demeanor in court, the idea of meeting Chrissie Manuess again filled him with anxiousness, but at the same time thoughts of recouping a lost opportunity for love excited him.  Little did he know the danger that awaited him.

Gabe's verbal rampage

Gabe poured himself a little more of the Weed and then said, “Before you tell it, I think I need to say a little more.  I want you to understand why I am the way I am.”  He paused, sipped his drink and then continued.

“I volunteered for listening posts 100-200 yards into the jungle and me and three other guys would sit there, listen and see if anybody came by, if they did we’d let them go by and then we’d alert the base.”

     “We’d capture a few guys.  Those we captured we had to turn over to the ARVN (Army of the Republic of Vietnam—- South Vietnam)

Most VC were village kids who didn’t have any useful knowledge.

The ARVN would tie two kids up to two different trees as they stood there while the ARVN questioned them.  One time the ARVN interrogator wound a chunk of twine around the VC’s neck and hung a detonator on it.  Then they’d walk over to a third tree (3-4 inches in diameter), wrap it around and hang another detonator to that.  Then without saying another word, they’d activate the detonator on the third tree and blow it up.  After that the VC wouldn’t shut up, they’d tell them anything they wanted to know.”

    “Another trick they had was to take four VC onto a Huey helicopter and without saying a word would grab one and throw him out,  then the other three told anything the ARVN wanted.”

    Jack thought back to the 1969, TV footage he had seen of an ARVN officer shooting a captured VC in the head.  The photograph of the event had gone viral, reaching millions in the United States and around the world helping fuel anti-war sentiments.

“I never enjoyed my part in any of that.  I never got used to it and it sickened me that we had to hand over those kids to ARVN and know how they were going to be treated."

Without prompting, Gabe continued.  He was on a roll and it seemed like he was eager to get everything out.  “We called it Operation Big Dick."

   "We’d taken the hill and blasted the jungle, burning it out for the one star General to come and get some combat points to advance to the next level of pay.  He’d fly in, have a hot meal, stay in a tent, and then fly out later.  This was his combat experience.  This pissed off everybody on the front line.”

   “Most of the guys around got sick, sooner or later, dysentery.  I was so sick one night, we were getting small arms fire.  I was so fucking sick, I crawled out to the shitter, two 45 gallon drums with a plank across it shitting my guts out, when I thought, just kill me.  Everyone had body lice and crawling worms on you, slug like creatures.  They’d get into everything, your shirts, boots, pants.” 

   “Leeches were a problem when you were crossing rice patties.  We burned them off with cigarettes.  If you pulled them off they ripped off portions of your skin so you had to burn them off.  Guys would be spreading their cheeks having other guys inspecting their asses.”  

   “Through it all I had a great time, yahoo.   I was the patrol leader-getting to hand pick my guys;that worked out pretty well.”

   “Then there was the night I spent a million bucks.  We thirteen guys on patrol set up an L shaped ambush-half covered the river trail and the other half covered the river bank.  Half the guys took a  snooze while half watched.”

  “Around 0200 hours one of the guys woke me up and said we had action on the other side of the river.  On the other side of the river we had a platoon sized group of VC’s -around eighty guys.  So, my choice we can hit 'em or not ambush.  Everyone was raring to go and we’d been a little bored anyway so we thought-we’ll hit 'em.  So I got on the radio advised base that we were going to hit them so we needed air cover.”  

Breaking News!

Another grandchild was born yesterday.  It's a girl and her name is Willow.  I might have to start a book involving all eight grandchildren now.

Books

I just finished reading the newest William Kent Krueger book,  Windigo Island.  I enjoyed it a lot and heartily recommend it for lovers of Minnesota authors who include local areas in their writings. I've now started Trickster's Point, another Krueger novel that features private detective Cork O'Conner. Loving this one as well.

War and protest

Gabe stared Jack in the eyes.  “There, you see why I saw a shrink and tried counseling until I couldn’t stand it?”  He shook his head again, giving Jack an opportunity to speak.

“You know, I get a little of what you’re saying because, and this sounds stupid, I know, because I’m going to equate fighting in the war to protesting the war back in the states.”

  “The first time I got involved in a protest there had been a bombing the night before at the Mankato Post Office.  Nobody was killed or hurt.  Whoever did it had set it off at night when nobody was working at the Post Office.  The next day I was in class as usual down at Old Main, the old business school.  A bunch of students had gathered and barricaded themselves and everyone else in a section of the building.  The professors just kind of said, ‘sayounara’, and went to their offices and locked themselves in.  I had to pee so I went to the men’s room on first floor where I ended up at the urinal standing next to one of the typical long haired hippie types.  The guy looked at me, and now I could hear the cops pounding on the main doors which this group of students had blockaded with all kinds of crap, garbage bins, benches, etc.  I think they must have even chained the doors.  I was amazed.  The sounds of the police pounding on the doors and ramming them with some kind of battering ram was deafening.  I was kind of shell shocked, to tell you the truth.  Anyway, the hippie guy standing next to me says, ‘When the pigs break through we’re going to hold our ground and fight.’  

“Well, I nodded my head as if I was totally into what he was saying, but I really wasn’t gonna have anything to do with that, so he finished pissing and took off toward where the cops were trying to bust through.  I went the opposite way and somehow, I don’t know where, I found a door I could get out of and left the building and went back to Searing Dorm.”

“My brother, the brave protester.”  Gabe clapped his hands slowly and laughed.

Jack, feeling a little sheepish and embarrassed, continued.

“Well, yeah, I’m not too proud of that, but, honestly, those hippies were going to get their heads bashed in and I just couldn’t see joining them.

A list of books I have for sale as ebooks or paperbacks on Amazon.com

Trust Me Now, published in 2012

Cassandra's Moon, published in 2013 (the sequel to Trust Me now)

The Book Club Murders, published in 2014

All available in Kindle format or paperback.

Back in Gabe's abode

”God, that was a storm to remember.  The eeriest thing was the brown, green, and yellow clouds that were blowing in from that little bay.  It was like nothing I had ever seen before.”

“The only other time I’d seen something like that was in Viet Nam,” Gabe offered.  

Jack perked up as soon as he heard Viet Nam mentioned.

“Tell me more, Gabe.”

Gabe regarded Jack cautiously, before he said, “You know I don’t really want to talk about that.”

“I know, Gabe, but maybe it would do us both some good.”  A long pause ensued as they both sipped on the Weed.  Finally, Jack dug into his back pocket and handed a couple of yellowed pages of hand written notes to Gabe, who accepted them warily.  

Breaking the silence, Gabe said with wonder in his voice,” These are my letters to you from Viet Nam.  I can’t believe you saved them all these years.”  

Jack nodded and said, “Maybe now is a good time to talk about it.”

  Gabe blinked, holding the papers as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to throw them away or look at them.  Finally, he read the first one aloud:

Tet of 1967.  My unit was sent out to take hill 327 during operation Cochise.  It was just another hill thought to be a VC encampment.  We were dropped from helicopters in the jungle about a klick from the hill and proceeded on foot to take it.  As it turned out nobody wanted the hill until we got there.

With no enemy in sight, we were ordered to set up a perimeter and dig in for the duration.  We dug two man fox holes using folding, entrenching tools and filling sand bags using the dirt dug out of the holes.  These holes were home for the next 31 days and nights.

The days weren't so bad.  We ate in our holes, kept watch, and went out on patrols.  Occasional firefights were the rule.  Constant heat, off and on rain, and poor sanitation contributed to body lice, diarrhea, and jungle rot.  Talk about a bunch of pissed off guys!

Then would come the nights.  It would seem as though everybody in the world wanted our hill.  Mortars, rockets, and hit and run tactics against our perimeter would happen sporadically throughout.

So much more happened here, I just don’t want to write anymore about; I’ll tell you over many drinks some day.

Your brother, Gabe.

Gabe stared off into space and then returned to the next letter and read that one aloud:

We crossed the Pacific Ocean on a ship and hit the beach in Viet Nam in July, 1966.   Night fanfare and a few rockets and mortar rounds were there to greet us.  Temperature and humidity in the 100 degree range and giant Minnesota mosquitoes, lizards, and snakes were also on hand.

All of these things dictated certain sanitations to avoid dysentery, jungle fever, malaria, and a few others.  This is where we first learned about the joyous duty of burning shitters.

We had above ground out houses which could not be placed over a hole in the ground.  Instead, a flap type of door on the rear of the structure gave access to the space under the holes.  In this space were 55 gallon drums cut in half and placed under each hole.  These drums contained 1/3 diesel fuel and 2/3 of, well, you know what.

A detail of young privates would then pull the drums out twice a week and light this odiferous mass and then using long 
sticks would stir until only ash remained.  What a treat!

On a lighter note, two young lads we referred to as Salt & Pepper who had spent the entire shipboard time in the brig joined us on burning detail.  They offered to do the officers territory because none of the rest of the enlisted men wanted to.  They got to the officers territory and immediately tossed burning rags down the holes without first removing the drums.  A beautiful blaze, easily visible across the entire camp was greeted by cheers from some and jeers from those of higher rank.  Needless to say, Salt & Pepper did some more brig time.

One last thing, Bro.  Don’t come over here, no matter what!

Gabe handed the letters back to Jack.

“You got anymore of these?”

“No.  Those were the only two you ever wrote me, so I saved them and figured you would want to talk some day.”  

“Well, a little more to drink, and we’ll talk about it.”  He poured two fingers of the Weed into each glass.  It was beginning to taste better all the time to Jack.

Boundary waters episode

Chapter 7, July 22, 1988

Jack and Gabe paddled the seventeen-foot, lightweight Jensen canoe through choppy waters across one of Insula's widest bays.  Kellan guided his sixteen foot kayak sporting a rod-holder on his right-front gunnel with no fishing pole attached.  He was out for a Sunday morning stroll he had said and  fishing was not part of his plan.  It was different for Gabe and Jack.  Heavy spinners trailed their canoe as they bobbed their way along. 

 The canoe and kayak paralleled each other as they traversed the bay and made their way to an inlet on the northeast section of the lake that would eventually take them to Alice Lake. 

As they reached the inlet, Gabe looked to the southwest.

“I hate to say it guys, but that looks like a storm coming and it’s not a pretty one.  I think we should paddle like crazy back for camp.  We could just make it, I think.” 

Jack and Kellan surveyed the sky, looked at each other questioningly, and then sighed.  They couldn’t see much happening where Gabe had looked, but had seen this from Gabe before.  He had an uncanny knack for reading the sky and being right on when it came time for predicting an “event”.  So, they put the pedal to the metal and hightailed it along the eastern shore back toward their camp.  

Sweat ran down his back as Jack put everything he could into his paddling effort in the front of the canoe.  The Hulas' had been brought up to make the one sitting at the front of the canoe the power paddler.  The occupant of the stern provided less power, but engaged in keeping the canoe on course through adept use of the longer paddle.  

Kellan thrived in situations where he could outshine his older brothers, but he had a difficult time keeping abreast of the lightweight canoe being powered by two men.  He had been a gymnast in high school and college, just missing out on qualifying for the Olympics his last year in college.  Still, his muscular body couldn't keep up with his brothers this time.

They rounded a point and now the two younger Hulas could see the gathering storm and hear the rumbling thunder.  Instinctively, all three put their shoulders harder into each paddle stroke, muscles burning and sweat dripping down their backs as they moved as swiftly as they could to the relative safety of their camp.  

Finally they raced around the last point and into the little bay where they had set up camp.  Low hanging, swirling clouds of green, brown, and yellow rushed towards them.  

"Move it!" Yelled Gabe as they paddled as hard as they could for the sand and gravel beach a hundred yards from their tents.  The wind hit them like a boxer as they jumped from their canoe and kayak and dragged them into the brush for protection.  Turning them over quickly, they huddled under the canoe, holding it down tightly as the wind tried to rip it away from them.  Rain pelted the canoe and them as it was blown sideways by the wind that must have hit seventy miles per hour.  The sound of the kayak being lifted and flung against a tree didn't escape their ears.

And then, just like that, it stopped.

Lifting the canoe over their heads and then turning it upright as they laid it down was surreal.  The wind and rain had vanished leaving water dripping from the nearby bushes and trees.  

Kellan didn’t want to look at his kayak.  The sound of it crunching into a rock or tree was still in his head and he was afraid to find out the extent of the damage.  

He didn’t spot it at first glance.  Walking several feet away from the canoe and turning his head, he spied it fifty feet away, mashed against a huge boulder.  He noticed the top of one of the side walls was bent inward, comforting him little, even though it looked like it was still seaworthy.

Kellan approached the kayak with Jack and Gabe following and grabbed the nearest side wall, lifting and pulling it away from the giant rock it had been slammed into.

After the kayak had been laid on the ground, Gabe walked over and looked at it.

“If it doesn’t leak, it looks useable.”  

Gabe grabbed the handle on the end of the kayak and dragged it to the beach, launching it into the now calm, little bay.  After some maneuvering he arranged his body into it and just sat, checking the bottom for leaks.  

Several minutes later, he called out, “Looks good, no leaks.”

Kellan breathed a sigh of relief as Gabe stepped out of the kayak and dragged it to shore.

“I think we were lucky,” Kellan said.

“No.  You were lucky,” said Gabe.  “We’d have left you here.  After all, it is your kayak.  But, seeing how you’re our brother and all, we’d come back for you sooner or later.”

“Gee, thanks, Bro.  You're a real human being.”

“Never claimed to be one of those.”

Jack jumped into the tit for tat, “We knew you were close, Gabe, but always a little suspect.”

After cleaning up the campsite, which had been littered with cooking utensils, forks, knives, and bowls, the Hula brothers took the food pack down from the tree it had been hung in and gorged themselves on cheese, bread, and summer sausage.

Seminar with Grant Blackwood

We met from 9-5 in the library with author, Grant Blackwood.  It was a great listening and hands on experience.  I came away with a great deal of respect for Mr. Blackwood as a presenter, writer, teacher, and human being.  Many tools were presented to enhance writing skills.  All of them were easy to put into practice and very helpful in dealing with writers' block and generating ideas for writing.  I'll expand upon those in later posts.

In case you missed an earlier post of mine, Grant Blackwood has coauthored books with Clive Cussler, Tom Clancy, and at least one other author whose name I'm having a difficult time remembering right now, but he's pretty famous as well.  Blackwood has also written his own stand alone novels which are in the action/thriller genre.

Grant Blackwood class

I'll be attending a writing class with Grant Blackwood on August 20th from 9-5 in the Austin Public Library.  Mr. Blackwood has written several mystery novels in collaboration with Clive Cussler and Tom Clancy, besides penning his own series of books.
The weekend following that I'll be attending the Austin Artworks Festival and attending several author presentations, including one being put on by Harriet Ulland, who writes non-violent books with a little mystery mixed in.
I'm looking forward to both events with a lot of anticipation.

BTW, I've just added my latest book, The Book Club Murders, to the Austin Public Library.  It is available in libraries across the country if you go to your local public library and put in a request for it.

More conversation with the woodsman

Another pause ensued before, Jack spoke again.  

“When we got to Mom and Dad’s house, the paramedics were already there working on Dad.  He was laying on the steps to the garage with his shirt off while the medics calmly worked on him.  I think he was dead already.  Mom, Ceila, and I huddled off to the side, crying, shaking, not willing to let go of one another.  They said they got a weak pulse so they  took him in the ambulance to the emergency room where we met them. We waited in a room off to the side from where they were working on Dad.  It seemed like we waited for hours, although I’m sure it was only about fifteen minutes.  After a while I couldn’t stand it so I went into the room where Dad was.  The doctor and nurses had stopped trying anything and all I could say was, ‘is that it’?  The doctor nodded.   I was dumbfounded.  I went and got Mom and Celia and we stood there and talked to Dad, no, ordered him to fight and come back to us… but he didn’t.”

Gabe spoke, “That’s when you called me and Sydney to let us know.”

“Yeah.  That was the hardest call I’ve ever made in my life.”

They both sat, elbows resting on their knees.  Words weren’t coming from either one so Gabe picked up the bottle of Jeremiah Weed and filled their glasses again.

“To Dad!” Gabe said as he raised his glass in the air.  Jack did the same and they clinked them together, spilling a little of the weed on the ground.

“That’s a terrible waste of the weed!  Be a little gentler next time,” Gabe said jokingly.

Outside, the weather was getting stormy.  The sound of the wind whipping through the leaves of the trees became stronger and a chill filled the sanctum of the shelter.  Smoke from the dying fire no longer drifted lazily to the center of the abode, moving gently throughout and then over to the cracks between branches that made up the walls.  It now moved directly to the east causing them to move their handmade chairs.

“Looks like a storm to me,” Gabe said in a voice rising above the noise of the wind in the trees.  The wind driven rain began pelting the shelter with a vengeance, followed by hail.  They both moved a little closer to the center to avoid the drops blown in from the side walls.

“Couldn’t you at least have constructed these walls a little more water proof?  You are the woodsman of the group,” Jack yelled above the roar of the wind, rain, and hail.

Gabe retrieved his wide brimmed hat from a corner where the shelter leaked pretty good and plopped it on his head.  

“I’ll bet the golfers are a little pissed off at this turn of events,” he said with a chuckle.

“I checked my smart phone before I came and it didn’t look like anything coming through until later.  Guess the weather man was wrong again,” Jack said.

 The hail only lasted a few more minutes before the rain took over again.  After ten minutes, the wind died down and the rain stopped revealing patches of blue skies and sunshine.

Gabe and Jack conversation

Soon, the stories were coming fast and furious, along with a continual supply of the “weed” filling their glasses.

“Hey, did you ever hear much about how I got lost the first day of school at Banfield?" Jack asked Gabe.  

Gabe had heard the story many times of course, but dutifully listened as Jack recounted the tale of a lost child on his first day of kindergarten.

"I had boarded the bus at 7:15 in front of our house with the Klippers.  I hadn’t known any of the other kids who lived a half-mile north of our house; so it had been a quiet, intimidating ride.  I was one of the younger kids on the bus-being only four years of age."

  Back then a child could enter kindergarten if he turned five before December 1.  Jack’s birthday was a late one-September 23.

"The bus stopped here and there picking up other kids who I didn’t really know either.  I felt out of place as the other kids all seemed to know each other and involved themselves in talking and it was all noise to me as the bus rumbled toward Banfield.”

“When we finally got to school, everybody piled out of the bus like they were going to the fair.  I took my time gathering up my stuff and was the last one off.  I seemed to be the only one on the sidewalk leading up to the door of the school and I never saw the teacher.  I turned around and watched the bus haul off and then walked up to the closed door.  I tried to open it but I could’t budge it.  Not really knowing what to do, I started walking home, only a five mile walk.”  

Gabe pretended to yawn.

“Am I keeping you awake, Gabe?”

Feigning waking up, Gabe shook his head and sputtered, “No, no keep going.”

“I guess you know the rest.  Our neighbor convinced me to get in her car by the Mapleview Cemetery and took me home.  When we got to our place Mom was so happy to see me she hugged me like she was never going to let me go.  And then she got mad and wanted to know what happened.  All I could do was show her the handcuffs I’d found in someone’s yard as I was walking home.  Little did she know that her little kindergartner was beginning his school life as a thief.”

“Yeah, well, that was hardly the worst of it,” Gabe said.

“That was the worst thing I’d ever done,” Jack said indignantly.

“I wasn’t talking about you.  I was talking about me and how I disappointed them every step of the way.”

“You didn’t disappoint them every step of the way.  You just… challenged them to love you.”  

Gabe scrunched up his lips and merely said, “Well …I certainly did that.”

A silence engulfed the two as they sat, lifting their shots of weed to their lips, Gabe totally enjoying his while Jack still gagged his down, although it was getting easier the more he drank.

After heaving a huge sigh, Gabe said,” You know I have many regrets about my life.  The biggest one was not being here when Dad died.”  He hung his head low, breathing heavily while hiding sobs Jack knew were there.

“I have the same feeling,” Jack said.

Gabe looked up quickly.  “But you were here!  You got to see him and talk to him.  I would have said so many things to him, not the least of which was I loved him and was sorry for all the heartache I had caused him and Ma.”

Jack explained.  “I saw him a few days before he died.  We had met for breakfast at the Sterling Cafe with some of Mom and Dad’s breakfast friends.  I had said something, I can’t even remember what it was and then Dad commented on it…and I knew he was wrong, so I told him, with some irritation in my voice, that he was wrong.  Those turned out to be the last words I had said to him.”  He turned his eyes to Gabe who was looking straight at him.  “Gabe…the last words I had said to him were belittling with a little anger showing on my part.  And then when we got the call from Mom who was sobbing that he was having a heart attack and that we should get there right away, all I could think of was don’t die, please don’t die cause I don't want those words to be the last ones that you ever heard from me.”  Jack’s voice was halting and his eyes had welled up a little with tears on the brim of overflowing his lids.

“You can’t hold that against yourself, Jack.  You know that he knew you loved him.”

Jack’s head bobbed up and down in agreement as he said, “I know I know, but still, I think of that and I say to myself, would it have hurt me so much just to have agreed with Dad, rather than letting him know he was wrong?  I don’t know.  I guess we all have regrets.  I’m not making the same mistake with Mom or any of my kids or my wife.  Life is too short to say cruel things in the heat of a moment and not be able to take them back when that person is not around anymore.”

the woodsman

Golfers on hole number one paid him no attention as he passed into their view and hiked to the railroad tracks.  His pace was brisk and the hot sun spurred him onward, making him anxious to reach the shade of Gabe’s comfortable abode in the woods.  It took him only seven minutes to reach the section where he would leave the tracks and climb down the embankment.  He noticed smoke rising from the area where Gabe hung out.  

Must be cooking something, Jack thought to himself.  

He made his way down the slope and crossed the section of tall grass beyond the number two green of the Ramsey Golf Course and into the patch of woods where he would find his brother.  

As Jack climbed up and then down the other side of the small ridge bordering the patch of woods, the pain from his bad hip began bothering him to the point where he had to stop and rest against a downed tree.  The trickling of the creek as it flowed past him, along with the calling back and forth between a couple of cardinals reminded him of how nature was never, very far away, and he understood, partially, why Gabe loved this place.

After a few minutes rest, his hip seemed better and he decided to sneak down to Gabe’s shelter.  

The old elm they had used as a fort when they were kids had long since rotted away, but fortunately, for Gabe, it’s place had been taken by a large cottonwood tree that had blown over during a tornado that had passed through the area five years before.  

Gabe had utilized the cottonwood in much the same way they had as kids when they transformed the elm into their fort.  The tree had created a natural cave area an adult could stand up in with the branches providing some shelter on the sides.  Gabe had then filled in the open spots with cut branches along those sides, making a sturdy shelter that kept out the rain and wind and afforded him the privacy he craved.

Sneaking along through low brush and smiling like a fool, Jack’s excitement grew.  I can’t believe I’m doing this.  Here I am fifty-seven years old and I’m moving through the woods like a kid playing games with my brother, he thought.

After he had covered the last fifteen feet between him and the shelter, he paused near the makeshift door Gabe had constructed.  As he reached for the handle, the door flew open with Gabe’s hand clamping onto his wrist.  Gabe’s hand had lashed out like a striking cobra and he quickly pulled Jack inside the doorway and into the shelter.  

“Don’t ever try sneaking up on me, bro.  You’ll just never, ever, do it successfully,” Gabe said as he smiled and shook his head, sending his long hair flowing from side to side and both of them burst out laughing.

“I should have known better,” Jack admitted.

“Yeah, well, grab a seat and I’ll pour us some weed.  It’s about five o’clock somewhere.” 

Jack looked at his watch.  It was only one in the afternoon, but he sat in one of the hand carved chairs Gabe had constructed out of logs he’d found in the woods.  The chairs were comfortable with a nice slant to the backs, and Jack had brought out cushions for the seats a couple of years before.  

Jack assumed a seat while Gabe poured a couple of shots into the glasses.  

“I saw the smoke.  What are you cooking?”

“Just finished, actually.  Had a nice plate of beans and franks.  Sorry, there’s nothing left.  If I had known you were coming I’d have saved you some.  Anyway, it helps keep the bugs away, too.”

“Nah, that’s okay.  I just came out to talk for a while so I had some lunch already.  I thought I’d check with you on our trip coming up.  BWCA, here we come!”