Fires in the Wilderness (11 page)

“Time!” called the lieutenant.

We returned to our sides of the circle. During the break between rounds, I watched Mike carefully. His breathing was deep and heavy. Though several cuts had opened on his face, he had a determined, angry look. Pick massaged my shoulders. “Jarek, you can't street-fight Mike. If you keep boxing like your father taught you, you can take him. Keep moving and look for your spots. When you caught him on the nose in that last round, he was stunned. Circle to your left and sting him again.”

“Box!”

Mike charged across the ring. I slipped to the side and delivered some hard shots to his ribs. He quickly covered, protecting his midsection with his elbows. He lashed out with a right. I ducked beneath the punch and delivered an uppercut, driving my right hand into his stomach. He grunted, and dropped his guard a bit lower. My gloves then went to his face. I was working the fight like Father had taught me.

I moved in closer, planning to pop him on the chin, when a powerful left hand caught me on the side of the head. My ears started ringing and I staggered to the side. Mike closed in as I shook my head to get rid of the cobwebs.

“Move, Jarek! Move!” someone shouted.

Through my blurred vision, I saw a few guys in the circle holding up clenched fists throwing punches in the air. I was trying to fight back, but my arms felt like rubber. I collected myself and fended off a hard right with my gloves. Then I tagged Mike with a left to the chin that stood him up straight. The crowd was on its toes, shouting and cheering the action.

Mike and I circled each other, issuing fake punches and moving cautiously. He moved in and I side-stepped to the left. From out of nowhere, Mike delivered a crushing blow that found its way between my gloves, catching me square on the chin. Everything went fuzzy. I dropped to my knees as he kept up a flurry of blows. The crowd shouted for me to get up. I couldn't find my legs.

The lieutenant stepped in, “Break it up! Break it up!”

It was over, but nothing was over. I hoped my fight with Mike O'Shea would solve things. I was wrong. Mike would certainly gloat over his victory. He wouldn't forget my challenge. It appeared as though our fight only made matters worse, and nothing would bring Squint back. Nothing!

Before breakfast, I put a cold washcloth on my eye and washed the blood off my face. After morning inspection, I headed to the tool shed to pick up my shovel, as I had every day since my first days at camp. The lieutenant stopped me.

“Sokolowski,” he said, calling me aside. “Captain wants to see you now.”

A thousand questions raced through my mind. Above all, I was worried about keeping my job. If I were to be kicked out of the CCC, it would be another cruel blow to my family. Each step toward the captain's office added worry and dread.

Why did the captain want to see me?

T
he officers' quarters was a separate building tucked away near the mess hall and opposite the rec hall. I straightened myself before knocking on the door.

“Come in.”

The captain sat behind a large oak desk facing away from me. He was bent over in his chair, studying the contents of a file folder.

“Take a seat, Sokolowski,” the captain said matter-of-factly.

As I sat, I studied the room. Plaques and citations lined the walls. All were hung straight and true. Papers on the captain's desktop were square to the corners and neatly stacked. The room smelled of disinfectant, not altogether unpleasant, but sterile and strong.

Captain Mason continued to give his attention to the file folder. The silence was uncomfortable. My guts churned with worry. Had my fight with Mike been the cause of this meeting? Was my offense so great that I had put my family on the spot? I'd seen other enrollees discharged for a variety of offenses. My knees started knocking, and I broke out in a sweat.

I couldn't take the silence any longer. “You asked to see me, sir?”

The captain raised an index finger to quiet me. Then he pulled his hand back and adjusted his reading glasses. The silence continued. Each minute felt like an hour.

Finally the captain swiveled. He carefully removed his glasses, folding and placing them square to the edge of his desk. “Sokolowski, we have serious matters to discuss.”

A hard knot formed in the pit of my stomach. I sat up straight and alert. If it was to be bad news, I would face it without blinking. I would face it like a man.

“First off,” the captain began, “I'm sorry to learn about the loss of your brother. I wish to extend my most sincere sympathies.”

His comment took me totally off guard. I opened my mouth, but no sounds came out.

He cleared his throat with a
harrumph
before continuing. “I don't know what it's like to lose a brother . . . never had one. But I have lost people close to me. If you need to take off a few days—with pay, of course—I will grant permission for a furlough.”

I was surprised by his understanding and his gesture of kindness. The captain had always seemed so distant. This was a side of him I'd never seen.

“Thank you, sir, but I'd like to stay on the job, if it's all the same to you.”

The captain nodded. The wisp of a smile crossed his face. “Very well, Sokolowski.”

“Is that all, sir?” I asked as I put my hands on my knees and prepared to stand.

“No, that is not all,” the captain waved, motioning for me to remain seated. He raised the manila folder he was studying when I arrived. “You're taking a class in motor vehicle operation, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir. I want to be a truck driver. It's all I've ever wanted to do.” The course of our conversation was taking a direction that confused and excited me. “If you need truck drivers, I'm sure I'd do a dandy job for you.”

Without taking his eyes off the folder, the captain responded crisply. “No, you will not be a truck driver, Sokolowski. I'm promoting you to assistant leader.”

“What?” I asked in genuine surprise. “Why?”

The captain focused his eyes on me. “You don't know, do you?”

I shook my head in dumb disbelief.

“Have you noticed that other enrollees follow you? They trust you to do what is right. You're a natural leader.” The captain leaned in toward me. “Just the other day, you took charge of a group of enrollees, leading them out of harm's way when the wildfire crowned. Without your leadership and judgment, lives would have been lost.”

Captain Mason stood up and walked around his desk, leaning on a corner. “You took control in a desperate situation. Not everybody does that.” He paused before continuing. “Think back to when your buddy went AWOL. When you came directly to me, you were taking a risk. You knew that you were breaking the chain of command by going around Assistant Leader O'Shea. Still, you were doing what you thought was right. You stood up for Campeau. That shows courage and initiative.”

The captain put his hand on my shoulder and looked me square in the eye. “The boys in camp respect you. Everybody knows that you've taken a lot of grief from Assistant Leader O'Shea.” The captain gave a wry little smile. “I'll bet that someone close to you was responsible for the skunk that ended up in his tent.”

I let out a laugh, giving away the secret.

He turned serious. “Sokolowski, the enrollees at Polack Lake look up to you. Most would like to be a part of your team.” He paused for a moment. “You're a bear hunter. I need people who show backbone, take initiative, and are natural leaders.”

I was bewildered by what the captain was saying.

“People like Assistant Leader O'Shea are bullies and blowhards. They get things done by pushing and browbeating. People like him are needed in the CCC, but they're a dime a dozen. You, Sokolowski, are very different.”

I was speechless. When I first entered the captain's office, my mind was full of worry about getting booted out of the CCC. Now I was worried about the burden of a new responsibility.

“As of this month, Sokolowski, you'll be receiving an additional $6 in your pay.”

The thought of $6 more each month was overwhelming. “Will the CCC send the extra money to my family?”

“The money is yours. Do with it what you will.”

“Thank you, sir!” I stood and extended my hand. His handshake was firm and sincere.

“You're welcome,” the captain said before shifting his gaze to his desk. “You may be thanking me now, but being a leader can be tough duty. Getting enrollees to do things they don't want to do will take all of your skills. So, before starting your new job, I'm ordering you to take the rest of the day off. Put a cold washcloth on your face. It'll help keep the swelling down.”

As I turned to leave, the captain offered one more comment. “Oh, Sokolowski, there's a staff meeting in the mess hall at 7:00 this evening. Please be on time.”

I
didn't argue with Captain Mason when he told me to take the day off. After applying a cold compress to my face, I decided to take a long walk. Most of my time at Polack Lake had been spent either at the camp or in the pit. A nice walk was exactly what I needed to clear my head. I headed east to get away from the fire area and most of the work activity. On the way out of camp, the crest of a low ridge gave me a commanding view of our community in the wilderness. I marveled at just how much had been accomplished in a short time by a pack of skinny cats.

Dust kicked up from my heels as I continued down the two-track road. Dirty gray sand crept into my shoes. I stopped by the side of the trail to empty them out. For a while, I walked barefoot, feeling the grit between my toes. The smell of summer was heavy on the air. The few remaining trees were in their full majesty. Insects buzzed and swooped. The wildflowers were in bloom, and blackberries offered a treat for the eyes and the tongue.

Somehow, I found myself at the edge of a clearing. A tall oak that had not been taken by the lumber companies stood proudly to one side. Its stout branches were like arms welcoming a weary traveler. It had been a long time since I'd climbed a tree. The wind in the leaves whispered an invitation that couldn't be ignored. I dropped my shoes and took hold of a branch that hovered above my head. My feet grabbed at the rough bark, toes helping to secure the grip. Higher and higher I climbed, until I found a resting place.

Two branches that had sprouted closely together formed an easy chair that was just my size. I took a restful seat there overlooking the clearing. The gentle wind moved blades of grass and leaves in nearby trees. One seemed to call. The other would respond in kind. It was nature's dance. Black-capped chickadees, pine sparrows, blue jays, and other northland birds squeaked and squawked noisily.

A sudden movement caught my attention. A couple of fox pups were playing nearby. They tumbled in the tall grass, nipping at each other's ears. The pups took turns chasing. Back and forth they played. They made me think of Squint and how we would rough and tumble. Despite the yelping and pawing, the love between brothers was something very special. I enjoyed watching their games, but I couldn't control the flow of tears.

Back at camp, word got around quickly about my promotion to assistant leader. By the time I showed up at the staff meeting, I had been congratulated by nearly everyone. The only notable exception was Mike O'Shea. He was the last to show up at the meeting. Mike's appearance was shocking. He had two black eyes that made him look like a raccoon. His lower lip was fat and bore a wide split. It was apparent that Big Mike got every bit as much as he gave.

Lieutenant Campbell formally introduced me as the newest assistant leader at Camp Polack Lake, and the staff applauded—except for Mike. As the meeting progressed, updates were offered on various projects and activities. Roads and trails continued to be cut through the Marquette National Forest. Miles of additional telephone cable were being strung.

Mr. Wilson reported on clean-up operations that had been taking place in the area of the wildfire. A team of enrollees had been going back to the site each day. They carried heavy backpack sprayers filled with water to douse hot spots and put out small outbreaks that flared up from time to time. The forester indicated that it would take a while to get everything under control. At the end of his report, he commented that the enrollees on mopup duty were getting tired and that their fatigue could prolong the work.

One of the experienced local men reported on the progress of a surveying team he was leading. The enrollees were doing a good job of learning how to operate the equipment. Soon they would be ready to work on their own. Another local man reported on the construction of a third fire tower north of camp.

Mike glared at me through the entire meeting. Once the reports were over, Lieutenant Campbell stood. “Any questions or comments?”

I stood so everyone could hear me. “I know I'm the new guy here, but ever since coming to Polack Lake, I've been working with a crew in the gravel pit. The scenery never changes down there.” Several of the leaders chuckled. “I think the guys in the pit would like to see something different. I'd like to volunteer my team to trade places with the mop-up crew.”

“Is that all right with you, Mr. Wilson?” the lieutenant asked.

“Heck, yes,” said the forester. “Have your enrollees meet me after breakfast tomorrow. The boys on my mopup crew will report to Mr. O'Shea.”

The meeting was adjourned, and I headed back to the barracks. Mike hung back to meet me in the shadows. “It ain't over between you and me.”

I stopped and faced him. “Yes, it is. Fighting with you didn't solve anything. It never will.” I turned sharply and walked away.

I smiled as I crossed the parade grounds. Trading jobs with the mop-up crew was a stroke of genius. Not only would we get out of the pit, we'd be out from under Mike's thumb.