Chapter 7 – A Soldier’s Command
“Come on now, Mary Lou. We’re going to miss the meeting concerning that balloon at the pace you’re drifting through town. There hasn’t been any traffic on these streets for years, so go ahead now and give this car a little gas.”
Mary Lou peeked once more to her right, for the car’s old blind spot always worried her at the intersections. Had she given her environment enough attention?
“Be patient. We’re getting there just fine.”
Sam growled at his niece. “Hell, everyone’s going to decide what to do with that balloon before we get there. Hurry up before Sheriff Conrad does something rash. And if you come to a complete stop at one more intersection that has no stop sign, I’m going to grab that steering wheel myself.”
No matter all the Fu-go balloon’s bombs, every living soul remaining to the community was squeezed into the municipal garage by the time Mary Lou’s car rolled into the gravel parking lot. A cacophony of noise and argument drifted from the garage to greet Sam as he winced and straightened himself out of the passenger seat. That noise silenced the moment those in the garage noticed Sam hobbling towards their debate dressed in that old, soldier’s uniform he used to sport while marching in the community’s parades.
Sam waved his cane. “Everyone put your ball caps back on your bald crowns. I’m not a stone memorial just yet.”
Sam shambled next to Hank’s flatbed and considered the deflated and wrinkled contraption on the trailer. No one said a word as Sam’s hand stroked the balloon’s paper. No one protested when Sam softly poked at the small, corroded bombs with his cane. Who better understood the temperament of such weapons than the community’s aging soldier? Sam removed a pocketknife from his slacks and carefully sliced a sliver of cord from one of the balloon’s ropes, and there was a tear in his eye as he placed that souvenir into his pocket. No one minded. Who better deserved a piece of that relic on Hank Reverman’s flatbed than Sam Crocker?
Sam soon turned back towards the crowd, and he held his shoulders straight and proud as he addressed those in the garage.
“I’ve come to tell you all what we’re going to do with this balloon.”
Sheriff Conrad coughed softly. “Mr. Crocker, we’ve all come here to share our ideas about what we need to do with this balloon. We’re happy to consider your opinion right along with everyone else’s, and we’ll include your idea with all the others whenever we put it all to a vote.”
“Nonsense,” and Sam’s words almost turned to spit for his disgust. “None of you know what needs to be done to a thing like this balloon. This balloon is from another place and time. It’s a piece of history the rest of you know nothing about. You’re all going to listen to me, and you’re all going to do just as I say.”
A few of those gathered in the garage drew a breath to argue, but all of Sam’s potential rivals, including Sheriff Conrad, took another look at the old soldier’s uniform, with its golden epaulets on the shoulders and ribbons on its chest, and decided it best to keep their mouths shut. They should have known that balloon would have summoned Sam Crocker out from his niece Mary Lou’s home. Didn’t it make sense that the balloon would bring out the very best of them? Who within their village other than Sam Crocker would understand what needed to be done?
Sam smiled. “Yeah, I see it in your eyes. That balloon bomb patters all your hearts just as it does mine. So everyone listen real close. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to make sure that balloon lifts back into the sky, and there’s not going to anyone who can tell us to do otherwise.”
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Floating the Balloon Bombs Page 8