The Legend of Garison Fitch (Book 3): Lost Time

by White, Samuel Ben

  "I didn't find it foolish," he said softly. Then, more in his normal voice, "Surprising, strange and unnerving. But not foolish."

  She smiled genuinely as she said, "I had no idea I would be seeing you so soon."

  "Could've knocked me over with a feather when I saw you," he added with a twinkle, "Captain. How did that happen, anyway?"

  "Everyone that survived Crockett got a battlefield promotion. I just assumed you were Major Kerrigan, now."

  "Not so far as I know." With a somewhat sad look he said, "I think I can understand about you not wanting to be there to say good-bye. I had a friend who—um—left, once, and I didn't want to say good-bye to her, either. Like if I said good-bye it meant everything was over. So, um, I was there when she left but I never could bring myself to say goodbye. Sometimes I wish I had, because later I never got the chance—but other times . . . " Shaking himself of the thought, and putting the twinkle back in his eye, Jason asked, "So why kiss me? Everyone else just saluted."

  He could see the blush in her skin as she replied haltingly, "I'm really not sure. I just found myself running to catch up to you before the train left and, well, it's what I did. I couldn't tell you why."

  "Did you kiss everyone else good-bye when you left?"

  "No," she replied emphatically, bowing her head in embarrassment.

  Seriously, he whispered, "Then I feel especially honored."

  "You should," she laughed nervously.

  "My stars!" she exclaimed, one hand over her heart and the other holding onto her grandfather's badge. She was so astounded it didn't even register on her that she had just used a phrase she had never uttered before in her life. "What happened?"

  "We jumped over sixty miles in exactly no time at all. That lake down there, that's Lake Haskell. Use to go swimming there. Worst tasting water in the world."

  Breathing heavily, she whacked him hard on the arm with the back of her right hand. "What was that for?"

  "For almost killing me," she returned.

  "Killing you?"

  "You made my heart stop! If I'm not mistaken, that can be fatal!"

  "Sorry," he said meekly. "Maybe we should have gone for the slower baptism they used on me."

  She closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to get her breathing and her heart beat under control, then opened them and asked, "You want to tell me what just happened?"

  "I'll give you the short version—at least what I understand of it—but I'll let Gustav and Tony give you the long version." He banked the airplane to head back to Abilene and said with a smile, "Kind of a gas, huh?"

  "I'd say so, yes."

  When they landed on the runway at Kirby and taxied toward Building 7, they could see Gustav and Tony waiting outside. As he pulled the plane to a stop and a sergeant threw chucks under the wheel, it looked to Kerrigan like they had something special on their minds. He was climbing out of the cockpit when he noticed that General Cobb, the commanding general at Kirby and an impressive mathematician in his own right, was standing there as well. Then he noticed that Gustav and Tony had slipped into their uniforms while he was flying. He knew for sure something was up because they never wore their uniforms unless they had to, and especially on a Saturday morning. He had been surprised earlier that Gustav had worn real shoes.

  Kerrigan slid down the ladder a private had provided to the tarmac and came around the Comal 42 to where everyone was standing. He saluted the general in proper military fashion, then could no longer refrain from asking, "What's going on?—sir."

  General Cobb, a portly ex-flier who had been assigned Kirby because he was probably one of the smartest men in the world, returned Kerrigan's salute but looked at Bronwyn and asked, "Captain Dalmouth, I presume."

  "Yessir," she said as she saluted him. "Captain Bronwyn Dalmouth, sir."

  He smiled a friendly smile as he let down his salute and said in a deep southern accent, "My goodness. Last week I was the expert flyer at this post and now I have not one but two certified aces. One of them a double—and a beautiful woman at that." More seriously, he looked up at the airplane they had just exited and said, "And when I see this bird . . . well, I think I need to get some flight hours."

  "Take her up any time, sir. She handles as beautifully as she looks."

  "You better be talking about the airplane, Captain," Bronwyn shot at him with mock offense. She had learned back at A&M, when the word had first gone out that women were going to be allowed in combat, that a little humor went a long way toward easing the tension that existed in a coed troupe.

  As everyone chuckled, the general cleared his throat to restore order and said, "Captain Kerrigan. It was brought to my attention today that something hasn't taken place that was supposed to have happened earlier."

  "What was that, sir?"

  The general held out his hand and a lieutenant who virtually appeared out of nowhere placed what looked like a jewelry case in Cobb's hand. "Thank you, Lieutenant." As Gustav and Tony came closer with beaming smiles on their faces, the general opened the case and pronounced, "Captain Jason Kerrigan, it is my privilege to bestow on you the rank of Major in the Republic of Texas Army Air Corps." He removed the silver stars with the Texas seal from their case and placed them on Kerrigan's flight suit where his bronze Captain's stars had been.

  At a loss for words, Kerrigan went to salute and almost clipped the general in the chin. Only a deft move by the general prevented an extremely embarrassing situation. He finally managed, "Thank you, sir."

  "Thank you, Major Kerrigan." He extended his hand and said, "Congratulations, son." Pulling Kerrigan close, he said in a low tone, "I know you would prefer to be out on the front lines, but I, for one, am very glad to have you here." Motioning to the Comal 42, he said, "I believe you and Eddie and the Captain here may bring an end to this war."

  "I hope so, sir."

  Gustav and Tony came over then to congratulate him, both with handshakes, though Tony tossed in his main expressive component, the backslap. Bronwyn wanted to give him a hug, but refrained herself and shook his hand in proper military fashion. It also crossed her mind—though she hoped it didn't show on his face—that what she really wanted to do was kiss him.

  "This calls for celebration!" Gustav proclaimed. "Would you like to join us, General? My treat?"

  "No thank you, Colonel." Looking at his watch, he said, "I probably better get back to my family. I promised my youngest that I would take him up to Fort Phantom this afternoon. You folks have a good time."

  "Yessir!" they responded in unison.

  Hermisillo, Schulz, and Dalmouth lifted their glasses in salute to the newly crowned major. As he thanked them, Bronwyn shook her head with mock disgust, "I can't believe I got invited to a rank party with a priest, a vicar and a tea-totaling Cambellite."

  "You are free to drink as you like, Captain," Gustav told her. "You are off-duty."

  "Oh, I'm not much of a drinker myself. Usually I'm the one at these parties driving the drunks home. I even drove everyone back to their barracks after my own rank party." After a moment, and another bite of the excellent German food Gustav had recommended, she asked, "I know this is a strictly off-duty affair, but could you tell me what my duties here are? The flight this morning was incredible, but I can't really see that I'm needed here."

  What she was thinking was that she was the best pilot in the corps and it looked like she had been brought along just to be someone's co-pilot. While a part of her was glad to be out of the line of fire for a while, it was a little bruise to her ego to suddenly be viewed as the second best pilot in a unit. And a unit with only two pilots, at that

  Kerrigan then explained to her about the possible disorientation and how he thought it best that there be a back-up pilot—especially if they were jumping from day-time to nighttime, or vice-versa. "So," he told her, "Besides getting you familiar with how Eddie works—"

  "Eddie?"

  "Extra-Dimentional Integrator. Besides getting you familiar with how that works, yo
u need to get rated in that 42 out there."

  She smiled genuinely as she said, "I get to fly the '42, huh?" Looking at the other two officers with a wink, she added, "I should be able to fly the plane and take care of Eddie in a couple days—so I guess you won't even be needed here."

  Matching the look in her eyes, he said, "Fine with me. Then I can head back to the front."

  Standing outside the duplex that was their quarters—hers on the right and his on the left—after they had changed into civies, she asked, "So what're you doing this afternoon?"

  "Little as possible. I may go uptown and get a few things, but other than that I was just thinking of sitting around out here and reading. You?"

  "I need to go—uptown, as you say—and get some things, too. These are the only civies I own. Everything else was lost at Crockett. I bought these in Marathon." She laughed, "You know how hard it is to find something worth buying in Marathon?"

  He chuckled as he replied, "You're welcome to come with me. 'Long as I don't have to hang out around some dress shop while you try on one item after another."

  "I'll try to restrain myself. I rarely take more than two hours to choose between any two dresses. If you're going now, I'll run in and get my purse." At his nod, she darted inside.

  With an innocent voice, Bronwyn asked absently, "Who's Susan?"

  "What?" Kerrigan asked, his throat instantly going dry and his hands gripping the wheel as if he were driving on ice.

  "When we went up today our call sign was 'Susan One.' Was that randomly generated or is Susan someone you or Tony or Gustav knew?"

  He let out a long breath, then said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Susan's my wife's name."

  "Oh my," was all Bronwyn could manage. She tried to think of something to say, but couldn't. She didn't know if she should be embarrassed for having kissed him, or angry that he hadn't told her sooner. While he didn't exactly kiss her back, he didn't push her away, either. And when he told his life story, he kind of left that part out, didn't he? And where did he come off taking her out to eat when he had a wife at home? The more she thought about it, the angrier she became.

  "Stop the car," she suddenly demanded.

  "What?"

  With her hand on the door latch like she just might jump out of the car while it was going, she commanded, "Stop the car, Major!"

  He pulled over to the side of the road confused—they weren't that far from where they were going, after all—and asked, "Something wrong? Are you going to be sick or something?"

  As soon as the car had stopped, she jumped out and slammed the door. She looked like she was about to walk away, then she turned around and said, "I can't believe you! I've heard about men like you. Thinking that all's fair in love and war—"

  Obviously, she wasn't sick, so he asked in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

  "Don't play innocent with me!" She stormed away, muttering, "Officer and a gentleman my . . . "

  He had stopped the car on South First, one of the busiest streets in town, so he pulled up to a place where he could actually get it off the roadway and jumped out of the car. He ran over to where she was climbing the slight incline to where the train tracks divided the south side of Abilene from the north side. When he caught up with her he put a hand on her arm and demanded, "You want to tell me what this is about?"

  She shook his hand off, "Like you don't know!"

  "I don't." He grabbed her arm again and made her stop. "What are you talking about?" There was a faint rumble in the distance, but neither of them paid attention.

  She finally turned around but, with her fists on her hips in a very defensive (if not hostile) posture, grumbled, "You louse."

  "'Louse'?" He stood in front of her, extremely confused. This wasn't the first time she had walked away from him angrily and he'd had to weedle the reason out of her. The other time had proven to be something he had no control over and he had a feeling this one would be as well. There just didn't seem to be a logical reason for her attitude.

  She didn't seem to be too inclined to talk, so he began, "Let's see, you came unhinged when I said—what did I say? What did I say that would make you act like this?" He thought a minute, then snapped his fingers, "When I said my call sign was named after my wife."

  "Uh-huh," she replied stiffly.

  He was still confused. So he continued, "Then you really got mad when—what? What about that made you so mad?"

  "You took me out to dinner last night!"

  "Yeah. So?" The rumbling in the distance grew louder.

  "You held my hand for a moment!"

  "Yeah." It still wasn't making any sense to him.

  Louder, she practically cried, "You didn't even try to push me away when I kissed you!"

  "Why would you expect me to push you away? You're a—you're a beautiful woman, Bronwyn." He had been thinking that ever since that time he had seen her in McIntyre's office, but he had never had what he thought was an appropriate opportunity to tell her.

  "I didn't expect you to, you disgusting louse! But if you're a married man—"

  If there was more to the sentence it was drowned out by the horn of the train that had just hove into view. The rumble it sent down the tracks and through the surrounding ground grew louder as it grew closer.

  When the horn finally stopped Jason told her, still having to yell to be heard over the rumble, "Susan died six years ago!"

  Bronwyn's hands shot to her mouth and her eyes grew as large as sand dollars. With a gasp, she turned around and ran across the tracks, narrowly missing the train and leaving Kerrigan standing alone on the south side of the tracks watching the cars go by from extremely close range. He wasn't surprised, but when the train had finally passed, Bronwyn was not visible. He sighed heavily and walked back to his car.

  He drove around for a little while, trying to find some sign of her, but to no avail. For all he knew she might have caught a lift back to her quarters, he told himself. Abilene had a few taxis, a trolley service that would get her fairly close to the quarters, and a host of very friendly citizens who would be more than happy to give a captain a ride. A pretty, red-haired captain especially, he told himself.

  He found everything he needed—never having been a very imaginative shopper under any circumstances—at Thorntons. He picked up three pair of pants, a pair of "safari shorts" such as he had gotten into the habit of wearing back in his college days in Lubbock, four shirts of varying shades of bland, and several pairs of socks and underwear.

  Thorntons was like no other store he had ever been in. Besides clothing, it also sold household goods like appliances (in short supply due to the war effort), car supplies (in shorter supply for the same reason) and furniture. And upstairs there was even a little cafe, that, he had heard, served exceptionally good food. He had heard Thorntons called "The City Within Itself" and he thought it was an accurate moniker.

  He didn't feel much like eating, though, as it was the middle of the afternoon and he felt bad about not knowing where Bronwyn was. Granted, she had walked away from him and was a grown woman capable of taking care of herself, but he had always been taught that if you gave a woman—or anyone, for that matter, but a woman especially—a ride to somewhere, you made sure that they had a ride back.

  So he threw his stuff in the third-hand car he had purchased (from Thorntons, a week before) and started it up. He didn't really feel like going back to quarters, though, so he headed over to the downtown area with the idea in the back of his mind that he might run into Bronwyn somewhere over there. His only concrete plan was to kill some time in a movie theater. Finding a place to park, he checked the marquis on the Paramount and the Majestic and finally decided on the movie that was playing at the Queen because it was the only one that wasn't a war movie.

  He had gotten there just in time to catch the beginning of the newsreel. He watched with interest as it mentioned the battle of Crockett and sank low in his chair when his name was mentioned as the hero. He realized no one in t
here would have any idea he was who it was talking about, but he still felt uncomfortable. He was made doubly uncomfortable by all the names that were not mentioned. After the newsreel, they showed a comedic short that was a pretty good business of prat-falls and mistaken identity and then went into the movie.

  The movie was a well-written but poorly acted love story about a young couple (he from Eagle Pass, she from Piedras Negras) who had fallen in love but were then torn apart (predictably) by the war. It was still the least warring of the three features he could have chosen as most movie house fair was of the patriotic nature—and often funded by the war department. It struck Kerrigan as very sappy, but he heard a few people crying in the theater, so it must have touched them, he thought. It was tough going to keep from laughing at the people who were crying, but he managed to stifle himself. But, then, he realized that there probably wasn’t anyone alive anymore who was unaffected by the war, so the tears and even sobs were probably understandable.

  When the movie ended and the lights went up, several people applauded. Kerrigan tried to figure out a way to applaud the writer but not the actors but couldn't, so he joined in the applause and told himself who he was giving them to. Not like either the author or the actors were in the building, he thought.

  As people began to file out, he heard someone still crying a couple rows behind him. He thought about telling them it was just a movie—and that it was over—but then reminded himself again that there was a war on and maybe the movie had reminded them of a loved one who was away in the service or maybe someone they had lost. He figured the best thing he could do would be to just walk out and leave the person to their own thoughts.