Going Home (40 page)

“What are they saying to him?” Roy asked.

“Telling him to shut the fuck up, basically,” I replied. I spun the dial on the radio to the freq I was expecting Sarge to come up on. I usually called him, but I hoped today he called me. The hisses, pops, and whines filled the earpiece as I tried to tune the radio. Suddenly, it all cleared as a signal came up in Sarge’s gravelly voice. Two words came through the speaker. “Broke Dick.”

“What the hell?” I said out loud, reaching for the notebook in my cargo pocket. Flipping it open, I went through page after page, looking for “Broke Dick.” On the back of the last page, against the hardcover, I found a few rather colorful codes. This particular one coincided with what I just heard on the radio. Martial law had been declared, and radio transmissions were being DF’d. DF stood for direction finding. Well, no shit, Sarge. I just sat there. He had a printed reply that I was to make, just a couple of clicks of the PTT button. I decided my reply was better and just as short.

Keying the mic for a second, I replied, “No shit, Sherlock,” and released the mic. I can only imagine the colors that old bastard’s face turned when I did it.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t going to transmit!” Roy shouted at me.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. You asked me not to, but I didn’t commit either way. Did you catch the part about martial law?” I asked.

“Yeah, we heard it. Figured it would happen sooner or later,” Norm said.

“You guys still heading for the range?” I asked.

“This doesn’t really change anything for us,” Norm replied.

After taking down the antenna and packing all the radio gear, we started back out toward the range. Our current position was just south of Kerr Lake. Norm’s crew had a topo map of the area. After a quick check, it appeared we were about fifteen miles from the range. Fifteen miles of scrub between us and it. Man, this was going to suck. After a short discussion, we all agreed to go over to Kerr Lake before heading to the range. This crew had a place on the east side of the lake, and we all could use some water and rest.

They wanted to check in with their people too about what we just heard on the radio before heading to the range. Since this crew hasn’t done anything to make me suspect any foul play, I agreed. After all, if they wanted anything I had, I would never have woken up from my nap.

We walked east toward the lake in the fading sun. The air was cool, and the evening was nice. The sounds of the insects in the piney woods filled the air, disturbed only by the soft crunch of our boots on the sand. We were walking down a dirt road. I personally thought this a little foolhardy but was assured that we were in no danger out here “in the sticks.” The little road broke out into a clear-cut area right at dark. Leaving the relative comfort of the trees, we headed across the chop and came to a road called Moorhead Park, which led to a boat ramp on the lake. As we approached the lake, the temp seemed to drop; it felt cooler closer to the water.

We walked down to the water’s edge. The view across the lake was beautiful. The western horizon was a beautiful shade of rose. I actually felt kind of relaxed. The eastern sky in front of me was a deep blue, almost black. Roy came up to where I was on the dock. I had walked out onto it, one of those floating ones. “Hey, can you set up your radio?” he asked. He was standing beside me with his arms folded across his chest, looking across the lake.

“Oh, now you want to use it?” I half laughed.

“Well, I thought we’d call a cab, unless you want to swim.” He nodded across the lake.

“Gonna call your folks on the other side?” I asked him without looking over.

“Yeah, they have the radio on. I know what freqs they monitor, so I’ll call for a boat,” he replied.

“Sure, I could use a boat ride,” I said.

We walked back to where I had dropped my pack on the bank. No one had tried to get the radio themselves. That made me feel a little better about this whole detour. I set up the radio, throwing the antenna up through a rather short tree, but no farther than he was going to transmit, it should be fine. After getting it set up, Roy came over and knelt down.

“Hey, uh, you mind giving me some privacy here?” he asked.

That made me a little nervous. What didn’t he want me to hear? “Well, that makes me a little nervous, ya know.”

“I dig it. It’s not like we’re setting you up for anything. It’s just that we don’t know you. Just like you don’t know us, we don’t want you to know our call signs and freqs,” he replied.

That actually makes sense to me but still made me a little uncomfortable. I agreed, however, and walked off toward the lake again, my carbine slung over my shoulder. Roy made his call, and a few minutes later, he came up beside me on the dock. “Thanks, man; our ride’s on its way.” Far across the lake, the faint sound of an outboard motor could be heard, but it sounded far, far away.

Mike had the pin in the old Evinrude changed in no time. All the while, Sarge sat in the driver’s seat with his boots up on the engine’s cowl, drinking a beer. Mike finished up and climbed back in the boat. Sarge handed him a cold beer as his reward.

“Thanks, Sarge.”

“You earned it; just don’t wreck my damn boat again,” he said with a sly grin.

“Deal,” Mike said as he turned the bottle up and drained half of it in one long pull. “Damn, that’s good. Of all the things in the world I’m going to miss, cold beer will be the worst.” He turned the bottle up and drained it. “On a hot day, I’d almost suck a dick for a cold beer.”

Sarge looked up at the young warrior. “Really, hmm.”

Mike got a worried look on his face. “I didn’t mean literally, dammit!”

“Who you tryin’ to convince, me or yourself?” Sarge jabbed back. He used a paddle to push the boat off the sandbar and into the river and then sat down and lowered the outboard into the water and started it up. Putting it in gear, he headed back down the river. The other two boats fell in line. Mike stepped up to the bow and picked up the SPW and sat down on the cooler as Sarge flipped his goggles down.

The rest of the trip up the river to Turkey Island went uneventfully. They made it without seeing another boat. Passing the island, Sarge knew that after two more turns in the river, his little canal would be on the right. Slowing the boat, he began to scan the river’s edge. It didn’t take long to find it—the little cut that ran off to the north. He followed the river until it was nearly the width of the boat.

“Catch that tree ahead,” Sarge told Mike.

Mike stood up, and Sarge brought the boat slowly up to a large old cypress tree. The other two boats came up from behind and shifted into neutral, letting the boats drift up and form a chain. Ted was looking around. “Now what?”

“Keep yer panties on, Maggie,” Sarge said as he stepped up to the bow of the boat. Lying over the side, he reached down into the black water and groped around. “Dammit, where are ya? Come on, what the hell?”

“There ain’t no oysters down there, ya know,” Ted called out.

Through his goggles, Ted saw the old first sergeant turn to look at him. Even in the dark, it was enough for him to look away into the swamp like a kid would when mom or dad gave them “the look.” Finally, Sarge called out, “Ah ha!” With a grunt, he pulled the end of a large old cypress board out of the water. Pulling the old board up, they saw that it must have been five feet long, three inches thick, and about twelve inches wide—not to mention cut from a cypress log that probably lay in the river for a hundred years. He held it out horizontally over the river.

After a couple of tries, Sarge let the board go. It appeared to be floating on the river. Fishing his hands in the water around the edge of the board closest to the boat, he made a couple of adjustments. Once he was satisfied with its location, Sarge stood up and stepped out onto the board, one hand on the old tree for support. He began to dip the toe of his right foot into the water, feeling around. Finally, he settled on what he was looking for and stepped forward, repeating the process with his left foot.

Mike was standing in the boat, watching this in amazement. “Oh, my god, the old fart can walk on water,” he said out loud. Doc and Ted started to laugh.

Without even looking up, Sarge fired back, “Shut up, asshole, or I won’t give you a beer when you’re done.” Mike just shook his head.

After a couple more steps on the water, Sarge disappeared into the blackness of the swamp. It was as if he stepped out of this realm; he was just gone. If it wasn’t for the sound of him moving around in the blackness just out of their sight, the guys could have thought he was eaten by the night. Mike flipped his goggles down just in time to the see the end of a large cypress plank falling out of the night. He jumped back, stumbling over the cooler. “Shit!”

From the black came Sarge’s reply, “He-he-he.” After a couple more adjustments, the old man came out of the swamp and walked right up to the boat. “All right, boys, tie the boats together and follow me.”

With the boats all tied together, Doc and Ted climbed from boat to boat to reach the plank bridge Sarge had laid out. Once they were in the boat with Mike, they all looked down at the bridge. “What the hell is this?” Doc asked.

“Just a little secret of mine. I drove some posts down into the water here; that first board I cut from an old cypress log I pulled from the river. Its waterlogged and sinks, so I leave it between the posts. Once it’s down, I can get back in here to the other one, stepping on the tops of the other posts. That takes me back to my boardwalk. Come on.” Sarge turned and walked off into the black swamp. The three guys were standing in the boat. Mike looked over at the other two and shrugged his shoulders. As gingerly as he could, he stepped out onto the board. He looked like he was walking through a minefield the way he moved.

Following the boardwalk, they came to a little cabin built on posts sunk into the swamp, using cypress trees in some places for additional support. The cabin was completely invisible in the dark. The only way they knew it was there was that Sarge had lit a hurricane lantern inside, lighting up a rectangular block in all the blackness. As Mike walked up, he had his arms out like he was balancing himself. The sense of vertigo in the darkness, no handrail on the boardwalk, worked to make him feel as if he was going to fall over.

Inside the cabin, Mike looked around. There were deer hides on the walls, a turkey tail in a fan, and two gator skins stretched out. Looking around, he said, “What the hell is this?”

Ted came up behind him and stuck his head in the doorway. “Looks like a poacher’s shack to me.”

Mike started to laugh out loud. “Holy shit, Sarge is a fuckin’ poacher!” He doubled over with laughter. Sarge came up behind him and kicked his legs out from under him, causing Mike to fall back, banging his head on the plywood wall.

“I ain’t no damn poacher!” he yelled out.

Seeing what his raiders had been, Thad fell back onto the bench seat with a bellowing laugh. As he did, the knuckles that went through the glass pulled out. The pain from that made him quickly bolt upright again, breathing in hard through clenched teeth. “Ooooo!” He was shaking the hand. Taking a look, it wasn’t bad, just a bunch of small cuts, nothing serious. He kicked out of the bag and got out of the truck.

Walking to the back of the truck, he picked up the coon by the half of its tail still there. He was holding it up at eye level, looking at what was left.

“Damn, mister, you ruined it,” came a small voice from his right. Thad looked back over his shoulder and saw a boy of nine or ten standing there. He was holding a little Marlin .22. He startled Thad, but Thad just didn’t feel threatened.

“Yeah, ain’t much left, huh?” Thad replied.

“Watcha gonna do with it?” the kid asked.

“Nothin’. You want it?”

The boy’s face brightened. “Yeah, sure. My mom’ll make something out of it.”

Thad held the carcass out to the boy, who came over and took it as if he was being handed a loaf of bread. He held it down to his side and looked at the truck. “You shore are lucky to have a truck that runs.”

“Yeah, I got a long way to go, though. Where you from?” Thad asked him.