Called to Arms Again: A Tribute to the Greatest Generation

by J. L. Salter

  “Big Wade’s been gone now twenty years, I guess. I never got to know your daddy much, because he didn’t get down this way. And then you started coming down here — Little Wade, all grown up.” He tapped Wade’s beefy shoulder for emphasis. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that your granddaddy would be proud of what you did out here today.” Pete’s voice was husky. “I think Little Wade has finally grown up. Now you’re Big Wade.”

  Several large tears dropped on the new Big Wade’s old steel-toed boots. He didn’t think he could speak, even if he knew what to say.

  Pete whacked Wade’s meaty shoulder and squeezed it, hard. “Now, get going, before Irene sees what you did to her flower bed out back.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Wednesday at 3:05 p.m.

  Kelly noticed Commander Coffey driving east down Placid Lane from Serenity Drive, the southern route. After four members of the Post firing squad quickly assembled around his pickup, Coffey got out and they all leaned on the sides and back of his cargo bed during the short debriefing. He turned as one of the briefers pointed first to Ellie and then to Kelly — both standing on the Henleys’ front stoop. Coffey smiled.

  Kelly waited as the post commander approached. Ellie had already gone back inside by the time Coffey hobbled to the Henley porch. “Gout,” he said out of habit, even though he’d previously explained his limp to Kelly… and everybody else in town. “You all right, Mizz Randall?”

  “Kelly.” She started to tear up again, but didn’t cry.

  “They told me what happened out here. You did real good.” When he reached to hug her, Kelly melted into him like he was the grandfather she never knew.

  “It was awful. I was scared and I really didn’t want to stay.” Kelly’s last words came out as a whisper.

  “I know. That’s always the way of it.” Coffey patted her upper back gently. “You don’t want to be there but you know you’re supposed to stay. Duty.”

  “I don’t think duty was even in my mind.”

  “Probably wasn’t, Kelly. But it most surely was in your heart.” As Coffey hugged her again, she nearly lost balance and tripped on his aching foot. He groaned.

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay.” Coffey was still wincing. “I’m sorry I didn’t get out here ‘til it’s all over. I’d just now got the message Irene phoned to the Post. I was sitting with my Junie.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Hard to tell.” Coffey smiled sadly. “Different docs saying different things.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kelly looked around awkwardly. “Hope she gets better.”

  He nodded.

  “You know, I think I have a tiny glimmer of why it was difficult for soldiers to verbalize what they’d been through to anyone who’d never had similar experiences.” Her eyes grew moist again.

  He looked around at the vestiges of the conflagration. “I’m glad you understand it better, but it’s a shame it had to be under such circumstances.”

  “Which is the only way to understand it, I guess.”

  “Exactly.” After what felt like a long silence, Coffey pointed. “What’s that on your…?” He pointed toward her bosom.

  Kelly looked down at the small blood stain on her V-neck sweater. Blood looks brownish-black on rust colored fabric. Her fingers hovered over the wound without touching. “Just a ding, really. Didn’t even see it coming. Just felt a sharp sting like the pop of a whip or something. Ellie says it was a ricochet.”

  Coffey peered from the side trying to see the wound. He seemed to wish he could pick up the picot edging to examine her skin directly. “If it wasn’t against the law, I’d give you a purple heart for that.”

  “Against the law?”

  “Used to be anyway. Couldn’t sell medals and couldn’t buy them.” Coffey closed his eyes tightly to help him remember. “Against federal law to misrepresent that you were decorated or fraudulently claim you’re the legal recipient.”

  “Never knew that.”

  “Plus no civilians were eligible, period. Maybe it’s changed since. But I still think like it used to be.”

  Kelly noticed the two nearly identical elderly brothers from Mitch’s task force. “Those two old guys down there.” She pointed. “Know them?”

  Coffey squinted. “Sure. Everybody knows Elmer and Ralph. They’re twins, but about eighteen months apart.”

  “Can you tell which is which?”

  “Only when they’re standing together. Elmer’s a bit more stooped over.” Coffey scratched the back of his head. “Or maybe that’s Ralph.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Kelly surveyed the quieted chaos around her.

  After a significant silence, Coffey’s eyes lit up slightly. “I’ve been thinking about our talk the other day. Next time some reporter asks me why I’m optimistic about America’s future — now I’ve got another story to tell.” Coffey whistled softly. “I’ll say what happened out here with a few old folks in walkers, who can’t see or hear worth a hoot, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with some friends fifty years younger.”

  “Don’t forget the Henleys’ granddaughter. She helped too.”

  Coffey nodded.

  “But Pete was the main anchor. Without him, those punks would’ve wiped out this entire subdivision. And if Ellie hadn’t helped like she did, somebody might’ve got killed out here today.”

  “Today you all were lucky. Some days there is some killing. Both sides usually.” Coffey looked over at the large flag, waving in the occasional light breeze. “As far as Ellie, I’ve been trying to get her to join our Post for a long time.”

  Kelly shook her head. “I don’t believe Ellie ever served in uniform.”

  “You’re right. Not in uniform. But she was a licensed nurse at a V.A. hospital during Vietnam. Cincinnati. Did a heck of a job helping out our boys that came back all busted up. Some of them still come by her place to pay their respects.”

  “Had no idea.” Kelly looked over her shoulder at the last place she’d seen Ellie. “She’s never said a word about that to me.”

  “Probably won’t. Ellie’s not one to toot her own horn.”

  “No, but she sure can swing her own bat!”

  Coffey chuckled. “Now where is that old broad? I want to hear her blow-by-blow account.”

  Kelly wanted to hear it too, even though she’d been present for almost every blow. Ellie’s stories usually had more depth and breadth — more life — than the actual event they represented. The way Ellie told a familiar story, you were hearing it for the first time.

  ****

  Not all the chaos had been outside near the barricade. Since the expansive meal for over two dozen guests had been abruptly terminated, there were still many things to clean and put away.

  Inside the Henleys’ condo, Ellie helped in the kitchen. She paused with some tin foil half way around a platter. “It ain’t what I think yer thinking, Irene.”

  “What?” Irene turned from the sink.

  “I know you saw when me and Pete was talking, even a few times neither one of us said nothing.”

  “Well since you brought it up, go ahead and explain.” Irene wiped her hands on a dish towel.

  “Pete’s one of my buddies.”

  “What I saw was a lot more than buddy. It hurts to have somebody claim a share of my husband.”

  “All we borrowed was Pete’s military part. We really needed a leader today.”

  “Probably true for the rest of them. But you were tapping into something else, deeper.”

  “Irene, all I tapped was his sergeant part. I ain’t touched nothing else.” Ellie paused to see if her explanation was sinking in. “I think you know I used to work in nursing. Sometimes in the ER there wasn’t time to wait for a surgery nurse, so the Doc would grab me and say, ‘Need some help, Ellie’. And I’d drop what I was doing and go help. Most often, he didn’t need to say much more’n that. I had a sense, just knew what he wanted and what the patient needed.” She paused. “And
that’s what I did out here today. I just borrowed Master Sergeant Henley for a couple hours. All the rest of Pete is still yers. And he’s Grade-A prime — yer lucky to have him.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, but I might have to mull it over a while.”

  “Take all the time you need, with me.” Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “But don’t you hold back with yer husband.”

  Irene nodded slowly. She checked to be certain her hand was dry and then extended it.

  Ellie wiped her hands on a paper towel. The two women didn’t shake, or squeeze, or even speak. Just two hands together. Almost like Ellie was returning those aspects of the master sergeant which she had briefly borrowed.

  Irene reclaimed what had been lent.

  It settled things… mostly.

  ****

  One by one, the Legionnaires had drifted away until Isaiah was the last one standing near the remnants of the barricade. Ellie exited the condo, walked over, and grabbed his dark forearm. “I’m glad you came back down here.”

  The old black man moved his other shoulder’s sleeve forward to wipe sweat from his face. Then he sighed. “It got a little dicey out here, Ellie. I’ve spent sixty-some years trying to forget how bullets sound when they’re coming my direction.”

  “Isaiah, I ain’t yer momma, so you don’t have to listen.”

  That got his attention.

  “I know how things was for you in the war.” She pointed to the asterisk-shaped scar near his temple. “And I spent lots time talking with boys in the Cincinnati V.A., back from ‘Nam. Lots was black fellers and lots come home with extra hurt. Not just hospital pains, but ailing in other ways.”

  “Like they’d been set up, used up, and then sold out by the very nation they fought for.” Isaiah’s tone was stern.

  Ellie nodded. “Some of them boys was worse off coming back than they was before they got their uniform. Bad jobs or no jobs, ex-friends treated them funny, families all broke-up. I understand because I saw the look in their eyes. And I know they deserved a lot better.” She touched near his elbow. “And I know you black fellers coming back in ‘45 and ‘46 deserved a lot better, too. You got a Bless George raw deal and everybody knows it.”

  Isaiah closed his eyes briefly. “I had friends wounded, some crippled, and a few killed. Their blood had the same color as white soldiers. They thought their country finally accepted that they’d earned the right to live where they wanted, eat where they liked, and ride any seat in buses and trains. We did earn that right!”

  “It was already yer right, Isaiah. God said so and the Constitution said so too. But what the black fellers did in both big wars plus Korea and ‘Nam — just shined a light on it. On the rights you already had, but some folks had forgot.”

  “Or they never seemed to grasp it to begin with. Ellie, some people didn’t want any light shined on our rights.” He searched for words. “When your skin has color,” he held up the back of his hand, “it stands out in almost every circumstance and you’re always aware of it.”

  “That’s the point I started out to make, Isaiah. They don’t call you the Prophet just because yer momma named you from the Bible. I know you got the Holy Ghost in you. But you need to let some folks see yer insides.” She paused. “I ain’t yer momma, Isaiah, but if I was, I’d tell you to stop focusing so much on the pigments in yer Bless George skin and let folks see what yer heart looks like. Don’t keep yer old heart locked up so tight.”

  It took him a moment to respond. “As far back as a toddler I learned something important. If you ever let down your defenses, somebody — often white, but not always — will come up and whack you for no good reason.” Isaiah thought to himself briefly. “Or, if you let yourself get involved in someone else’s fight, you’ll end up getting a worse whipping than he got.” He fingered the notch in his earlobe.

  “When you helped that cook feller, you done the right thing, Isaiah. And I know it cost you.” She looked into his face. “Anyhow, I’m glad you helped out today. Wasn’t nobody else reliable enough or mobile enough to spell Norm.”

  Isaiah looked back toward the north security position he’d briefly guarded and then at the remaining rubble in the street. “Well, Ellie, I still didn’t feel like my presence was welcome.” Again he held out his dark hand in the bright sunshine. “But I did realize I was needed. So I came back.”

  “You pitched in to what you figured was somebody else’s fight. And that’s why I want to hug yer neck, you old coot.”

  A couple of tears dropped onto Ellie’s shoulder but she didn’t notice.

  After their brief embrace was over, Ellie walked with Isaiah all the way up the hill to his truck, where he put the empty revolver back in his tackle box. His sole remaining live cartridge had been confiscated and not returned.

  ****

  Since all the city police had finally removed every felon and released each of the flankers, there were several other small reunions among the valiant defenders.

  Diane finally spotted Joe, wiping sweat out of his eyes and limping, due to his fall while descending the observation post. He’d been in one of the clusters detained separately from the barricade defenders. She hurried over and hugged him. “You all right?”

  Joe nodded.

  “I’m mighty proud of you, Joe Sutton.”

  He just grinned. Joe remembered the obscure man-rule: If they think you were courageous, don’t mention that you were scared to death.

  “Happy anniversary, Joe.” Diane squeezed him with her arms.

  With difficulty Joe bent his sore neck and kissed her lips. Then they hugged some more.

  Diane turned their embrace in order to move toward their vehicle, but Joe stopped and reached out his right hand to Wade, just then exiting the Henleys’ condo with Roger close behind.

  Wade’s face broke into a huge grin as he grabbed Joe’s hand. Like an overly-enthusiastic child reaching for something breakable, Wade squeezed much too hard. Joe groaned. He’d expected Wade’s normal handshake, surprisingly gentle.

  “Sorry, Joe. Guess I’m still pulling that stiff lever on Vegge-zilla.”

  The afternoon had been intense and distinctly painful for Joe’s multi-symptom body. But it was the first time in several decades that he felt so involved, and in something with such elevated adrenaline. He would miss being one of Wade’s Warriors and he never even got a tee shirt.

  Roger turned over Joe’s phone and then wordlessly patted Joe’s arthritic shoulder as the anniversary couple passed by slowly.

  Roger watched the Suttons depart, arm in arm. “Joe did all right today.”

  “Yeah. Him being all stove up.” Wade nodded. “He could’ve just sat inside the Henley house and nobody would’ve said nothing.”

  “I don’t think anybody able to walk would’ve sat this out, Wade. There was something about it that was too immense, too powerful.”

  Wade was puzzled.

  “Kind of like a tornado… it had a compelling intensity.”

  “Most tornaders make everybody scatter, trying to get away.”

  “Well this one drew everybody in.” Roger moved both hands together. “Once inside, we all felt like we belonged here.”

  “Naw, it ain’t nothing like a tornader, Roger. You read too many books.”

  “So, how would you describe what happened here?”

  Wade thought a bit and then wiped his eyes with a sweaty bandanna. “I guess it’s like bullies hurting some little guy with glasses in the schoolyard. You know you ought to help him, even though you’ll probably get clobbered. But you go anyhow and smack as many bullies as you can before you hit the dirt.”

  “Mine was more eloquent, but yours is more colorful. I think we said the same thing, Wade. These events had a compelling intensity.”

  “You know something, Roger? Sometimes I can’t believe you’re even kin to old Pop Walter.”

  “Half of me comes from Walter blood. The other half is Jenkins.” Roger’s face suddenly stiffened. “My grandfather
Jenkins was sheriff here ‘til he was murdered by bootleggers in the early 1950s.”

  Wade allowed much more silence than he was accustomed to. “Anyhow, you did real good today, too.”

  “Thanks. From you, that’s high praise.” Roger surveyed the erstwhile battlefield. “But it might not’ve gone as well without you and your buggy and all those illegal explosives.”

  Wade grinned and slapped Roger’s back. “Help me pull my trailer loose.”

  As they walked toward the trailer, Roger moved awkwardly.

  “Somebody shoot you in the keester?”

  “No, but I’m going to have some fine bruises from all that jostling around — careening down that rutted hill, soaring across that trench, and flying over the curb.”

  Wade grinned. “Yeah, that was a blast. We ought to do it again sometime, only without them punks shooting everywhere.”

  After they’d unhooked the trailer and backed Wade’s truck around, something low in Wade’s midsection growled audibly. “Hey, I never got to eat.” It was a bald-faced lie. “I’m going to grab me a brat on my way out.”

  Shortly, when he reached the Henley kitchen, Wade grabbed three sizeable bratwurst.

  Irene saw him poking through the fridge and she placed two large plastic containers on the counter near him. “Here’s the rest of the cooked meat.”

  Wade stopped chewing and got rather still. “I’m real sorry about your party being ruined.”

  Irene nodded. “Well, if there’s going to be a luncheon fiasco, at least you need a good reason.”

  “You had about nineteen reasons, by my count.”

  “Those boys needed a good father to teach them how to act.” For emphasis Irene tapped the top container in Wade’s hands. Then she retreated into the familiar and safe surroundings of her kitchen.

  “Or at least to take ‘em behind the woodshed when they screwed up.” Dogs don’t know what a fence means, unless you teach ‘em. Carrying his cooked meat, Wade headed out the front door. When he placed the containers in the front seat, he spotted a new bullet hole in Old Betsey. Wade grabbed a felt tip marker, circled the puncture, and wrote the date. That made number three.