“It’s not,” the woman said. “I am Anne. What can I do for you?”
“Is Allen Fisher your son?”
Jack cringed. With a Ranger at the door, he knew exactly what the woman’s reaction would be if she was Allen’s mother.
She looked aghast which swiftly turned to a mother’s anger. “What did he do?” she said through clinched teeth. “I’ll skin him—”
Jack held his hands up. “Not a thing, ma’am. My colleague asked a question that could easily be misconstrued.”
The woman let out a sigh of relief. “Actually we have two Allen Fishers here. My son and my father-in-law, but he goes by the name Chuck, from his middle name. Allen is named for him.”
Jack smiled and looked at Lewis. “ Allen C. Fisher? Pretty decent detective work, Jack.”
“Thanks, but my social skills could be better.”
Jackson explained to Anne the reason for their visit, and she invited them inside. She introduced them to Allen Charles ‘Chuck’ Fisher.
After repeating the purpose of their visit, Lewis offered Fisher the copy of the letter, but he declined.
“I don’t know if I want to relive all that,” he said.
“You wrote in the letter that you hoped your folks might find some comfort knowing what happened to you.”
“I remember, but they don’t need to know. I’m here.”
Jack knelt next to Fisher. “What about the others? Maybe they still have family and friends that might wonder what happened to them. Does it matter if it’s been thirty years? Airman McCluskey wanted people to know why you fought the way you did. I saw the battlefield. It wasn’t a skirmish, and it wasn’t for nothing. You can tell that story.”
Fisher glared at Jack. “You’re an asshole, Ranger. Making me draw from a well of sour water. You’re right, but it still hurts, you know? I’ll do it. Bob and all the others deserve it. Used to be they put up walls or plaques with names on them that nobody ever read. Maybe somebody reads these stories…,” Chuck’s eyes filled with tears, “maybe they see those guys died for something, that we fought for something. Give me the damned letter.”
He read it slowly, and when he was finished, he set the letter aside. “I was twenty years old when that was going on. Joined during the last war with the Russians. Didn’t see any action except doing security stateside. They called us up again when the gasbags started parking themselves over all the big cities. We were south of Norman when the attacks started, then moved north into the city after OKC got nuked. They chose Norman to handle the refugees because they had areas that could hold large numbers. Sports fields, a big university, hotels, stuff like that. It was beautiful city before, but that didn’t last. Things went bad in a hurry. The system couldn’t handle the result of aliens and atomic weapons.”
He paused to take a drink of water. “You read the letter. It was like that. We held at that place till I was the last one. They came at us like Mongols in those old movies, a horde, no tactics, just trying to run over us to get at the refugees. Once I was trapped inside, I thought the assholes we were fighting might try and break in, but they didn’t. I dug my way out. I was hurt, so it took me two days. I went west to the refugee facility and learned that what was left of our opponents tried getting into the wall they’d put up. They didn’t get through, but things were falling apart. There were still some members of my Guard unit inside and a few from other units. We decided we would take those civilians that wanted to come with us, head east, and see if we could find somewhere livable.
“That was the toughest thing… leaving all those people. So many sick and injured… little kids… and there wasn’t a damned thing we could do to help them. We took only those that could walk fast and far. We had to leave the others… it was all coming down. What else could we do? I ask myself that every single day. I know there wasn’t anything, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it.
“There were still weapons and ammo in the facility where I fought, so we stopped and recovered all that was left. We buried the entry hole. It was dumb, but we knew the place was a classified site, so we felt it was our duty to secure it as best we could. I guess we hadn’t fully caught on that there wasn’t any U.S. Air Force or Oklahoma Nasty Guard left. Hell, there wasn’t any U.S. or Oklahoma left… just out of date maps and survivors.
“We heard there were towns in the eastern part of Oklahoma that were untouched by aliens or nukes. Some others in western Arkansas too. We went for Poteau because a couple of the families in the group had relatives there and we Guardsmen were from the area. We made the trip without losing anyone. No troubles either.
“They had aliens in Poteau, but were fighting the things. My family was from the city of Leflore, back when it was just a tiny little place, so I headed for there. The whole area was empty. I wondered where everyone might have gone, because there weren’t any bodies or destruction, just empty places. It was the weirdest thing, walking into your hometown and everyone’s gone. It was like being the last person alive. My guess was most folks would head to Wilburton and I found out I was right. Most all the family was there and I tried to forget about OK City and Norman.
“It wasn’t bad. The people running the show could be assholes sometimes, but they knew better than to go too far. Sometime later Frank Parkes started the towns working together, but the folks running Wilburton didn’t want any part of it. Idiots. We, and a bunch of others, packed up and went to Heaven. Wilburton went under, and some years later when they resettled it, we Fishers decided to stay here. Most of us stayed here when they resettled Leflore too. It’d been too long. It wasn’t home anymore.”
He drank more water, and then picked up the letter again. “That was my story. I’ll tell you what happened at Norman whenever you want, but not today. All right?”
“We’ll do it whenever you want,” Lewis said.
“Fair enough.” Fisher looked at Jack. “When you were inside. You see that plastic board with all the names on it in that place?”
Jack nodded.
“They were all real people and all that’s left of them is words on a board in a buried concrete box…,” he said as tears ran down his cheeks. He pointed at his own head, “That, and memories of who they were. That’s it. Maybe that changes. Thanks.” He shook Jack’s hand, and then did the same with Lewis.
Jack and Jackson thanked Chuck Fisher for his time, said goodbye to Anne Fisher, and then left.
“You’ve made this a most interesting day, Jack,” Lewis said on their way back to the Ranger Center.
“I could say the same for you.”
Jackson had Jack back in plenty of time to make the train.
. . . . .
10
A Ranger’s Rest
. . . . .
Jack spent the night in Girard. He stayed in a boarding house he was familiar with, and the next morning caught a train west where he disembarked at a north-south rail line to take another train north to Humboldt.
The east-west line that brought him there was a new line, but the intersection had already attracted entrepreneurs that saw opportunity at the new train stop. This is the kind of place where new settlements take hold, Jack thought.
A little before noon, a train from the south rolled in and stopped. The engine was a long-serving and well-known vehicle called Old Belcher, a semi tractor converted long ago to serve on the rail. As Jack boarded, a feeling of dread came over him. We’ll be putting Hardin to rest in just a few hours, he thought.
The trip north was not long, a brief stop at the largely ruined city of Chanute, and then a little over half an hour of travel time brought him to the rail terminus at Humboldt. Jennifer stood nearby and smiled when she saw him. He gathered his gear and climbed from the passenger car.
“Jenny and I came to see you home.”
Jack kissed her.
“I’m almost surprised to see you here. I thought at the least you’d be mad and—”
Jen put a finger on his lips. “You won’t h
ear a word from me if you’ll promise you’ll never risk yourself unless you’re sure it’s worth it.”
Jack smiled. “You have it.”
“Good. With that settled, let’s go to Geneva.”
Jenny waited along with a mount Jennifer borrowed from the livery. Jack secured his rucksack and rifle, then climbed aboard.
“Was going to Old Norman worth it?” Jennifer said as they started north.
“It looks like it, but we’ll have to see what Barlo and Amanda have to say.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it when you feel like it. You probably already know this, but Amanda is going to give you an earful over your odyssey, as she termed it.”
“Not today she won’t, but it’ll come. Sergeant Tucker and his team get back safely?”
“Almost. Brian West received a leg wound. A stray round. He should be fine. They confirmed there are TGG teams moving into the Blastlands. Have been for months.”
Jack sighed. “We’ll worry about the rads, necros, TGG, and whatever else tomorrow. I’m glad you came to meet me.”
The two entered Geneva through the south gate and rode to the livery. Sean was there to greet him.
“Welcome home,” he said. “You better report in and get cleaned up. You have an hour and a half until the service starts. I’ll take care of Jenny and get your gear to the house. Glad to see you’re in one piece.”
“Thanks, likewise. How far did you follow TGG?”
“Almost to the Blastlands. Not near as far as you went, and we were a team, not solo,” he said with a disapproving look.
“That’s because Sergeant Tucker has sense. I don’t know what I have.”
“Style, that’s what your uncle Gordon said.”
Jack laughed. “I’ll see you later, buddy.” He looked at Jennifer. “You?”
“I have a few things to check at the clinic. I’ll see you at the service.”
Jack nodded and walked to the Ranger HQ. One of Geneva’s two cemeteries was not far away and Jack could see a small crowd gathered there already.
Jack stepped inside the HQ and saw Amanda. She walked toward him, teary-eyed, and hugged him tight. He hugged her back. “I’m in for it, aren’t I?” he said.
“You bet you are, but not today old friend.” She pulled his head down and kissed him on the cheek. “Captain Drake and the LT are in the office.”
Jack knocked on the doorframe and stuck his head in the doorway.
“Jack, get in here,” Geiger said. He pointed at a chair. “Have a seat.”
He sat in front of Geiger’s desk beside Captain Drake.
The captain tapped Jack on the knee. “I said trust your instincts, Jack. I didn’t know they’d take you to Old Norman.”
Jack looked at the floor and shook his head. “I didn’t either.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. You did a helluva job. Between Sergeant Tucker’s team going above and beyond, Dan Geiger and Art Sierra holding the line here, and you going the extra mile or hundred, I’d say Troop A is earning a name for itself.”
“Do you need to get ready for the service?” Geiger said.
“Yes. I should shave and put on clean clothes at least.”
Drake nodded. “Go do that. You do know we’re only holding a graveside service?”
Jack nodded.
“Are you sure that’s what Hardin would have wanted?” Geiger said.
“I’m not even sure he would want that much,” Jack replied. “He’ll put up with it because Tess would want this.”
Drake laughed softly. “To be honest, I think he’d say you just plant him in the ground and get on with the party. Just make sure you speak kindly when you toast him.”
Dan laughed as well.
Jack stood and turned for the door when he remembered the letter Commander Straily wished delivered. “The Ranger Commander asked me to give this to you,” he said holding the envelope toward Drake.
He took it, a questioning look on his face. “Thanks… I think.”
Jack walked home feeling weary, for several reasons. Tess and Mary were in the living room, as was Mary’s husband, Peter, and their son, Hardin. The boy was smart enough to know something significant was happening, but never met his grandfather and namesake. He was incapable of fully grasping the event about to take place. Jack could tell young Hardin didn’t know where he fit into the scheme of things. I know how you feel, Jack thought.
Jack hugged his mother and sister, shook hands with Peter, and patted Hardin on the head. Few words were spoken. They all sat in the living room for a short while. Finally, Jack stood and said, “I need to get cleaned up.”
Jack washed, shaved, and brushed his teeth. He put on a pair of black pants, polished black boots, white button-down shirt, and a blued-steel clasped bolo tie. He polished his Ranger star, noting the dings and nicks it had already suffered in its brief career, and pinned it over his heart. He slipped the leather loops of the snap fasteners on his holster around his belt at his right hip and popped them closed.
He looked at himself in the mirror. Words of his father echoed in his head. “You wear a tie for only a few things in this life: marriage, court, funerals, and church if you can’t get out of attending.”
On the dresser lay Hardin’s Ranger star, destined for Tess, and the metal button from Hardin’s jacket. He slipped both of them into a pants pocket.
Jack walked to the kitchen. He could hear his family talking to newcomers in the living room. Sean and Amanda’s voices intermingled with Art’s as they spoke. Telling a tale about Hardin, I’d guess.
Jack poured a glass of water and sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the sky.
“Are you sad?” said a small voice.
Jack looked and saw it was young Hardin standing in the doorway. “Sure I am, pard,” he said using the nickname he often called the boy. “Your Mom and I are saying goodbye to our father today.”
“He was my grandpa like grandpa Arthur?”
“Your dad’s father. That’s right.”
“They said he died out alone. Chasing bad men.”
“Yes. He got hurt and just couldn’t make it home. He didn’t want to do it, but he felt it was necessary.”
“Is that why you went off on your own?”
Mary must have told him. Jack thought for a moment. “Maybe... maybe. You want to know a secret?”
Hardin nodded.
“I don’t know why. It seemed to be the right thing to do, so I did.”
“I didn’t get to meet him.”
“You did, but you were very small, not quite born yet. He knew you though, knew you were going to be named after him, and lots and lots of people knew him. They all have things they can tell you about your grandfather.” Jack paused, and then waved young Hardin over. He dug into his pocket and removed Hardin’s star and the metal button. He placed the star on the table and handed the button to his nephew, then told the boy about its connection to his namesake, showing him the wear on both pieces.
Young Hardin rubbed his thumb on the worn edge. “I can keep this?”
“It’s yours.”
The boy nodded. “I’m sorry your Dad is gone.” Hardin hugged Jack’s arm.
Jack put his arm around him. “Thanks, pard. Make sure you save some hugs for your Mom and Grandma Tess, okay? They can use them too.”
“I will.”
“And don’t forget Art. He’ll need a hug.”
Hardin laughed quietly.
Jack set his eyeglasses on the table and dried his eyes. He drank the last of his water and stood as he put his glasses back on. “You coming with me?” he asked.
Hardin looked up at him and nodded.
“Let’s go.”
. . . . .
Those at the Traipse house left together and walked to the cemetery. Jack knew a great many people would be at the service, but actually seeing the crowd was sobering. Nearly every attending Ranger wore attire of similar fashion as Jack. Most Rangers viewed such
dress as the standard uniform for occasions like this.
Most of the crowd stood. There were chairs for those that wished or needed to sit. A row of seats for Tess, Mary, young Hardin, Jack, Gordon, and Art sat near the grave, behind them was seating for others who were close to the bereaved family, such as Gordon’s wife Carol and the surviving Rangers on that fateful mission. The coffin was already in place, the slab grave marker tilted upright for those that wished to look at it.
Captain Drake and Pastor Pyle briefly spoke with the family, and then they moved to stand beside the grave, a signal the service was about to commence. Those that had not yet assumed their places did so.
Captain Drake stood silent for a few moments and looked over the gathering.
“Those of us close to Ranger Sergeant Hardin Traipse know he would not want a long and somber service. As Tess said to me this morning, ‘He’d be eager to be on his way and would prefer there to be more smiles at his back than tears.” That was Hardin Traipse. He was never one to dodge a challenge, and never one to let down those that counted on him. Let’s see to it we don’t let him down either.
“I had planned more to say, but Ranger Commander Straily sent a note he wished to be read aloud. It says all I wished to convey and more.”
Drake cleared his throat. “From, Commander Duke Straily, Freelands Rangers.
“Under normal circumstances, the Ranger Commander would attend the funeral of a fallen Ranger. I am not present at this ceremony for two reasons. First, my duties concerning the issue in the Kings Town region require my attention, and second, my presence may cause a disturbance at an occasion where there should be none. A Ranger is to be laid to rest. It is a ceremony for the Ranger’s loved ones and comrades. It is the last official honor paid to one who served the Freelands and gave his all in that service. I will not be the cause of friction. Any issues between Hardin Traipse and I must be set aside, no matter how we may have viewed one another.
“No better Ranger ever served the Freelands than Hardin Traipse. Often we quarreled over how things ought, or might, or could have, been done. He did not like how I did things and I felt the same about his actions. Nonetheless, Hardin got results, and that is all that matters.
The Blastlands Saga Page 50