Called to Arms Again: A Tribute to the Greatest Generation

by J. L. Salter

  “Just a little gum. Why?”

  “Open up.”

  Wade opened his mouth, but only as much as a child on his first dental visit. Ellie reached in and extracted the gum wad like a raccoon pulling bait from a trap.

  “Why’d you do that?”

  Ellie rolled it between her thumb and forefinger, plugged it into the barrel’s hole, and smoothed it out a bit. “Problem solved. Now, duck tape both sides of the patch.”

  Wade triple-taped both sides of the hole, wrestled the drum onto his cart, strapped it down, and drove over to the end of the joined hoses. He disconnected Earl’s sprayer and filled the drum to about three-quarters. He couldn’t lift that much, of course, but he could certainly tip it over, directly onto the smoldering hay bales.

  Kelly and Ellie had watched Wade depart.

  “Ellie, how’d you know Wade had all that stuff in his buggy?”

  “A man just ain’t a man unless he’s got smelly feet, terrible Bless George breath, and at least one roll of duck tape.”

  Kelly smiled. “Don’t get me started.”

  ****

  Animal Control had arrived, received Sergeant Rodney’s quick briefing, and then carefully gone after the goat. They fired four tranquilizer darts toward Billie before hitting with one. Billie’s last conscious thought probably was: Why’d you have to mess up my fun? Of course, few Somerset citizens understand goat lingo and even fewer can divine the inner workings of their unsophisticated and contrary minds.

  Though not formally on duty, Trooper Means was in uniform and had been helping considerably, so he continued working with non-critical matters while the city police processed the two badly bruised felons recently apprehended by Corporal Billie Goat. Means called out to the citizens still standing behind the barricade. “Move all these vehicles, before some officer comes along and writes you up.”

  Ever the optimist, Earl tried to start his yellow Cadillac, but at least one of its numerous bullet wounds evidently disabled something related to ignition.

  Wiping his hands with shop towels, Wade approached Chet, who was near the big trooper.

  “Somebody get that dozer out of this street.” Means pointed and waved. “It’s a violation to block emergency vehicles, and right now, this is the only street that goes through.”

  “None of us knows how ta drive it.” Butter wouldn’t melt in Chet’s mouth.

  Means looked puzzled.

  Wade started to move, but Chet hooked his thumb in Wade’s belt and tugged enough — albeit discreetly — to get his attention.

  “Then how’d it get down here in the street?” Troopers ask good questions.

  “Must’ve been one of them bandits come around behind us while we was watching that-away.” Chet’s other thumb indicated past the barricade and down the street.

  “Yeah,” agreed Wade. “Confusion in the heat of battle. Like that.”

  Means stroked his rugged cheek. “You sure that’s your story?”

  Chet spit tobacco juice and nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll write it down like you said, Pop, but I’m not going to testify either way if anything comes of this.” Means shook his head and turned to leave.

  Wade finally exhaled.

  Means departed, waving his long arms, shouting, and pointing at vehicles.

  Chet tried to whisper, which is difficult when your own hearing is so awful. “Pass the word. It was one of them bandits got behind us and rolled the dozer onta the street. We like ta barely escape with our lives.”

  “Which bandit?” He tried to respond in a whisper, but Wade was unable to be that quiet, period.

  “Just pick one. How about the Toady feller?”

  “This ain’t exactly cricket, you know.” Wade knew about ethics.

  “Cricket’s for them Limeys. Wouldn’t be no dozer tread marks in the street if them thugs hadn’t come ruint my dinner.” Chet looked around. “Besides, while you was joy riding back in that field, there was two sets of punks trying ta git around our ends. If we hadn’t stopped them, maybe they would’ve jumped in that old dozer. Spread the word, like I told it.”

  Wade’s heavy shoulders moved up toward his fleshy ears. “Okay, Pop.”

  ****

  Neither the two lookouts nor the little boy had yet been located. Two other perpetrators were in the ER being treated for gunshot wounds. Most city law enforcement responders had left with the remaining fourteen apprehended felons in two paddy wagons. Only then did Sergeant Rodney finally clear all the defenders to go, with instructions to report the following day at the downtown station for formal statements. Rodney’s very rough diagram of the scene around the barricade included the final locations of the thieves’ trucks. Wreckers would have to wait until after the drill was formally over. He took one final look around the formerly quiet and clean retirement neighborhood, re-checked his drawing, and got into his cruiser.

  ****

  At a card table in the shade near his KSP sedan, Fred Lee spread out his paperwork with the serial numbers and let everybody sign for their weapons. Irene had brought him a fresh, tall glass of iced tea.

  First in line for her bat, Ellie was braced to argue but Means waved her off. “No need to sign, Ellie. No serial numbers.” He smiled.

  “Well, I expect not.” She had some leftover intensity since she’d been denied her opportunity to complain.

  Pete was next in line, to reclaim his deer rifle, shotgun, pistol and belt rig, spiked Springfield, and spotting scope, plus the seven Garands charged to him.

  “Did you realize one of those M-1s has a missing bolt?” Fred Lee pointed.

  “Yeah. Busted firing pin. I had Chet remove the bolt.” Pete lowered his voice slightly. “Didn’t want somebody in the thick of things to pick up a weapon they assumed was working. Ellie kept it pointed at the enemy for show, but if we got to close quarters, I knew she’d rely on her bat anyhow.”

  It was a smart, proactive decision and Fred Lee realized he, himself, might not have thought of it. The kind of detail you learn from actual combat that you don’t pick up in training. “Where’d you get that old bayonet, Pete?”

  “One of the men on North Pleasant brought it with him. It’s a 1905, made for the Springfield but also fits the Garand. He went on up to the main complex but I’ll get it back to him.” Pete conscripted three volunteers to help carry the eleven firearms.

  Bernie got back his Long Tom and asked about his watch, but Fred Lee had not seen the timepiece. Clearly disappointed, Bernie headed home with his squeaky walker to take his blood pressure pill.

  Wade was fourth in line for his .410, paintball pistol, and air horn. Isaiah was next to claim his .22 kit gun. Mitch got back his .38.

  The last two firearms on the table were the 10 mm and .380.

  “You boys sure these are your own pistols?” The trooper frowned.

  “No question, Fred Lee.” Gary sounded sincere.

  Steve nodded.

  “You want to explain why these serial numbers are gone?”

  “What do you mean? I bought that gun last year at the discount store!” Steve was too dramatically indignant. “Those creeps sold me a gun with no number?”

  Gary clearly realized the jig was up and offered no protest. “Would’ve been like a war trophy, Fred Lee. You know, like you took a bayonet from the enemy after a banzai charge.”

  “I understand, Gary. But I can’t let you have these guns. They’re evidence from perps in a multiple felony case. It’s not up to me.”

  Gary shrugged.

  Steve tried to keep up the pretense.

  Gary whacked his arm lightly. “Knock it off, Steve.”

  Later, Fred Lee was inside the Henley condo to use their bathroom. Too much iced tea. When he returned he noticed the dozer hadn’t yet been moved, but continued idling. Several of the barricade folks were still standing around the remaining vehicles, perched on bumpers or looking at bullet holes. Two were sitting on the tailgate of Chet’s rusty truck.

  Leo ha
d already moved his powder blue Crown Vic.

  The trooper called out, “Hey, any of you know how to drive this dozer?”

  Deaf Leo didn’t hear. The others shrugged and looked around.

  Art got to his feet slowly, then came over and peered into the cab. “Standard D-8 dozer?”

  Fred Lee nodded. “Probably.”

  “It’s been a few years, but I’ll give it a try.” Art’s climb up to the cab looked so perilous that the trooper nearly reached for his elbow to help him up. Art got situated in the seat and waggled his lower body as if his posterior was trying to remember something. Then he gingerly touched the levers and jumped very slightly as each one engaged. It didn’t take him long to remember the basics.

  This Caterpillar K model had about four times the muscle of the old eighty-horsepower engine Art had used with the Army engineers in Korea. Its hydraulics were considerably different — he’d used the old type with cable linkage for several functions. The engine was already running, so he didn’t have to hunt for a pony motor, which had gone the way of those cables.

  Fred Lee shouted over the dozer’s noise. “Better lower that blade so you can see where you’re going.”

  Crash! Too late.

  The bulldozer’s massive and surprisingly sharp front blade clipped the left front bumper of Herb’s pick-up. Even if he hadn’t been out cold, the slack-jawed goat — with glazed, wide open eyes and his long, ugly tongue hanging down to the truck bed — likely would not have noticed. Nobody was wearing purple.

  Art threw up his wrinkled hands as he looked down by his feet to locate the necessary controls. Sheepishly and hurriedly he backed up a few feet, engaged the right track while braking the left, and made a lurchy pivot.

  Chet had watched from his truck. “That’s a dadgum shame,” he said to nobody in particular as he pointed with his thumb. “Until he clipped that goat truck, Art was looking as proud as a kid in his first Sunday suit.”

  ****

  Kelly had not yet reunited with Mitch, but she and Wade were together again at the barricade when a Fire Department officer came over and asked about the soaked remnants of fireworks he’d just seen over by the hay bales.

  “Those are 1.3G explosives, only for community displays and such.” He clicked a ball-point pen for emphasis. “You probably know them as Class B fireworks. Not allowed for ordinary citizens. Any idea where’d they come from?”

  “Fell off the back of a truck as I understand it.” Then Wade motioned towards the stake-bed parked down the road with its long trailer behind.

  The fireman looked that direction and nodded. “Oh. Okay.” He clicked his pen a few more times, squinted at Wade briefly, and leaned his face toward the collar microphone for his radio. “I’m going to go see what all they got on those trucks.” He left, clicking his pen.

  “For a second there, I thought you were a goner, Wade.” Kelly spoke softly.

  “Me too, at first. I figure he knows them boys ain’t brought no farrworks up in here. Guess he decided to give me a pass on this one.”

  “I recall you saying once you blew them up, nobody could tell a cherry bomb from a gumdrop.”

  “Reckon them fire guys is smarter than I figured.” Wade shook his head and sighed heavily. “Guess I was wrong.”

  Don’t hear that from a man very often.

  Kelly walked up the hill toward Trooper Means. They both watched as Art, once again moderately comfortable at the controls, drove the bulldozer back between the two condos and then out to the general area it had formerly occupied.

  “Kelly, it’s a miracle nobody got killed out here.”

  She squinted up at him. “Are you going to hassle me about how we should’ve just hightailed it up the hill and let those gang-bangers wipe out this neighborhood? Or tell me that we escalated the violence by resisting?”

  Fred Lee did not reply.

  “Is this going to be all that legal hair-splitting we talked about? That since half of these folks weren’t even residents here, we weren’t technically defending our particular households, so we broke the law?” She poked his Kevlar vest for emphasis.

  The trooper shook his head.

  “Well, I can tell you’ve got something on your mind. Go ahead and lecture me.”

  “No need, Kelly. You’ve just lectured yourself pretty good.”

  She realized he was right.

  “Yeah. I could’ve said all that. But it’s not what I’m chewing on.”

  “Well, for heaven sakes, spit it out.”

  Fred Lee watched Art hobble from the dozer down the hill to his car to check for collateral damage. “You understand, when I’m in uniform, what I say can be construed as official State Police policy, in a sense.”

  “Well, take off your stinking uniform, Fred Lee!” It came out much louder than she’d intended and Kelly realized nearby people were watching. With much lower volume, she continued. “Just go ahead with what you wanted to say.”

  “This barricade represents a lot more than you stopped a gang of punks from hauling off trucks full of valuables.” His large hand waved slowly as he spoke. “What happened out here probably injected more life into these folks than they’ve experienced in several decades. And since none of them were killed today, thank God, it probably added years to their lives. Otherwise, many people this age just steadily decline and decay.”

  “So far, it sounds like you’re talking about a medical miracle instead of Pete’s holding action.”

  The trooper nodded. “What you all did today gave them back a taste of that spirit they had back in the early 1940s. A sense, once again, that they matter — their actions still mean something and they can still make a difference.” When he cleared his throat and swallowed, his considerable Adam’s apple rose at least two inches and dropped again. “You few citizens, of assorted ages and both genders, drew a line on this street and said, No further, turn around. Leave us alone or face the consequences. That’s rare for any generation these days. Making this stand fired up their spirits again and helped them remember what they’d fought for so long ago. Lots of the elderly have already lost hope and many spend their remaining years just waiting to die. This ramshackle barricade gave them hope again, Kelly. Hope and life.”

  Kelly was speechless. Her face felt full like it might explode with tears.

  Fred Lee acted like he didn’t notice. “Oh, there will be consequences, of course. At least investigatory. You might even have a jailhouse lawsuit from that mean-tempered bald dude. But that’s just the price you pay when you stand up for something, something worthwhile.”

  Kelly gulped back her emotion. “We paid a price to make those criminals pay a price.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Something I distilled from two or three recent interviews.”

  “Well, has anything I’ve said sunk in?”

  “I’m not sure I understand everything, Fred Lee, but it sounds like you’re saying that despite how stupid it was to stay, we luckily averted a complete disaster. And in doing so, we somehow managed an unintended miracle.”

  “I guess that’s close enough. But I didn’t say ‘stupid’.”

  “You were thinking it, weren’t you?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  “Well Ellie would say that miracles trump stupid.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, just ask Ellie.” She touched his upper arm and her fingertips remained there for a moment. “So, anything else, Fred Lee?”

  “Just that I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse than that bandage indicates. And, well, I’m proud of you, Kelly. You did a good thing out here today.” He cleared his throat. “But that’s just me talking, not official.” He grinned.

  She teared up.

  ****

  Wade’s ordinary nervous energy was in hyper-drive this afternoon and he couldn’t stop pacing from one clump of remaining defenders to another.

  On one such pass, Pete waved him down. “Glad you brought those homemade bombs, Lawrence.” Pete�
��s lips showed a bit of a smile. “Good job with the diversion along our south flank. After you found the right range, that produce barrage kept them pinned down fairly well.”

  Wade grinned like a shy school boy.

  “I’m not saying artillery would’ve been your thing, you understand.” Pete looked him over like a recruiter might. “But I think you would’ve been good on a killer-hunter team or maybe search and destroy.”

  “What about spying?”

  “No, Lawrence, you make too much noise.” He looked east toward North Pleasant. “I heard a lot of pistol shots from the last of your buggy ride down there. Targets of opportunity?”

  “Naw, I didn’t want to kill any of them punks. But I sure wanted to let ‘em know that Wade was in town.”

  “I reckon they figured that out when you drove right down on top of them, with your siren blaring, and shooting all the way.”

  Wade grinned again, this time from ear to fleshy ear.

  Pete looked back toward his flag, at one end of the mostly dismantled barricade. Then he turned and faced Wade again. “I knew your granddaddy, Lawrence.”

  Oh boy, another lecture coming. Wade braced in advance to act chastened.

  “Didn’t even know Big Wade ‘til we were in the same outfit overseas. Then him and me got to be buddies. I used to tell him stuff about Pulaski County and he’d talk about Cincinnati.” Pete smiled. “When we both got home in one piece, Big Wade said that one day he’d like to have a little cabin somewhere down here around the lake.” He paused. “We both got jobs and had kids. Well, time went on and we both started having grandkids. Big Wade used to tell me stories about how one of his grandsons was always in trouble with cousins, aunts, uncles, just about everybody. Little Wade did this and Little Wade did that. But Big Wade always looked out for you, Lawrence. He was one person you could always go to.”

  Wade remembered, but hadn’t thought of it in many years.