“You must be Mr. Grafton… that would make you Mrs. Grafton,” the woman said, grabbing each of them in an embrace.  “Thank you for coming… food’s right through here.  I’m Celia, Jaden’s mother.”

“Everyone just calls me Gunny,” he said.

“And, please, call me Melody.” 

“Jaden will be so excited you came,” his mother said, “he thinks you hung the moon, Gunny.  And he has never been as excited about school as he is now.”

“He’s a good man, Celia,” Gunny said, his grin crinkling his face beneath his bushy beard. 

Celia led them through the house and out the back.  It was chilly, but there was a big crowd, maybe thirty people, Gunny thought, mostly gathered around a grill, a smoker and a table loaded with food. 

“Jaden, Mr. Grafton is here,” Celia shouted into the yard. 

A moment later, Jaden, followed by Tisha, emerged from a clot of people near the table and trotted over to greet the teacher. 

“Let’s get you some food,” he said.

***

Gunny and Melody made rounds, talking with a score of people each.  Sometimes together, other times apart.  Everyone knew who they were, they were the only white people at the mostly family gathering.  Unsurprisingly, they were treated like family. 

Tisha was sitting on one of the old swings in the backyard, Jaden leaned against the swing set talking with her.  He’d had a crush on her for years, but only in the last couple of weeks, since they had started running, had he been able to spend any time with her.  Getting to know her only made him like her more. 

“Your uncle sure has taken a liking to Sarge,” she said. 

“He was a Marine… I think he was in Vietnam, too.  They probably have some stories they are sharing with each other,” Jaden replied.  “But I don’t know… he never talks about stuff from back then.” 

“Funny watching them now… you’d think they were best friends.” 

“Kinda makes me happy.  Mom says that Uncle Roger wasn’t the same after that, you know?  I mean, he isn’t messed up, but I guess he was different when they were kids.”

***

Gunny carried a shopping bag of food out to the Suburban while Celia and Melody stood in the kitchen and talked.  Melody was drying dishes as Celia washed.  The Graftons had stayed behind as everything broke up, determined to help clean up.  They had also both spent a while talking with Jaden’s mom. 

As Jaden came back from walking Tisha home, Melody was walking out the door, headed for the Suburban.  Gunny was next to the passenger side, waiting for his wife.  Celia waved as Gunny climbed into the truck and Melody walked around to the passenger side.  He waved at them as they pulled out of the driveway. 

“They are good people,” Celia commented to her son as she held the door for him.  “I’m glad they came today.  Not just to say thank you for Sergeant Grafton getting you to school, but ‘cuz of your uncle.  I haven’t seen Roger smile like that in years,” she said quietly. 

Roger was still in the living room, finishing his beer as the TV played in the background.  Sunday Night Football was on, but he didn’t seem to care less about it… which was unusual. 

“Son,” Uncle Roger said to Jaden, “damn sure glad you invited that old jarhead to the party.  He’s a hell of a man.”

“Yes, Sir.  Good teacher, too.”

“I didn’t know him over there, but we knew a few of the same people.  And I knew of him.  Ain’t many men that have a reputation that carried on half a world and thirty years away.  Least not a good reputation.”

“So, did you guys fight together?” Jaden asked, Celia looking on.

“No… nothing like that.  What he did… I didn’t do that.  He was what they call ‘Force Recon’ and what he did was serious work.  When things was ugly, they called in the Marines.  When the Marines thought things was nasty… they called in Recon.  And if what I remember is right, when regular Recon thought it was impossible, they called in his unit.”

“So, Sergeant Grafton was a bad-ass?” Jaden asked. 

“Don’t talk like that, Jaden,” Celia quickly interjected. 

“Naw, Jaden.  He was who the bad-asses called when they were scared,” Roger laughed.  “He’s the kind of guy you want to be friends with.”

“So, what were you guys talking about for so long, Roger?” Celia asked. 

Roger wiped a tear from his eye real quick.  He looked down at the floor, then up again.  He’d erased the pain from his eyes when he looked back up.  “He just asked me if I was ok.”

“What’dya mean?” Jaden asked. 

“Told me he has nightmares sometimes… asked me about mine.  We just talked a little about it.  It’s been twenty-five years since I talked to someone that knew what it was like.”

For the next hour, the three of them sat in the living room talking.  Uncle Roger had been through a lot, but he’d locked it away and tried to forget it.  Gunny had been the first person he’d been able to really talk with… that understood what he had gone through.  Even Roger and Celia’s dad, who’d seen a little combat during World War Two, had a hard time wrapping his mind around the conditions in Vietnam. 

It wasn’t just the rain and the mud and jungle.  It was that every moment of the day, on-duty or off, they were in danger.  Even when they were well back from the front lines, guys were getting killed. 

His father had understood and dealt with the racism from fellow Marines and officers, and that was hard, too.  But the worst was knowing that you could be a hundred miles from the fighting, and a kid could throw a hand grenade into the latrine while you were dropping off your morning load. 

And when you were out in the jungle, every time a leaf moved, it could be a sniper.  Every squish in the mud.  Every person you saw… man, woman or child… they might be your executioner. 

He didn’t tell his sister or his nephew that Gunny had given him a card, too.  He didn’t mention that Gunny had told him that he could call, day or night.  Or that there were a couple of other numbers written on that card, and if he called, someone would talk to him.  He didn’t share that Gunny had told him that he had the nightmares, too.  Or that the numbers on the card were the people he talked to.

As he looked around, he noted that the attacking forces looked more like a trained insurgent militia than an untrained Azerbaijani mob, and they certainly didn’t act like a random mob.  “They’re using squad tactics and know what positions to try to hold.  They are ripping apart the Armenian civilians whenever they try to break out.”

“Punch some holes for the locals, then, Bobby.  Do whatever you need to do to help out the civilians.  But be quick, we still have to get to the pinned down UN forces.”

Gunny backed the APC right up to the doors of the building with the UN Peacekeepers on the roof. 

“Hold ‘em down, Bobby.  Ronny and I are gonna see what we have up there.”

Gunny Grafton and Ronny Torres exited the back of the APC and headed up to the roof of the building.  As they went up the stairs, they started finding evidence of the fight that had taken place in the stairwell.  The first casualties they ran across were the hostile fighters that had been attacking the UN group.  Then they started running across UN casualties. 

“This isn’t good, Ronny.  Any of these guys alive?” Gunny stated.

“Not that I’ve found yet, Gunny.  This was brutal,” the medic said as he knelt next to another fallen UN soldier.  “If they had anyone that was injured, they likely dragged them up the stairs.” 

In the background he could hear the machine gun firing from the APC outside.  There were short bursts followed by the tinkling sound of the casings bouncing off the side of the armored vehicle.  Obviously, Bobby was getting some hostile activity.  He was holding off the attacking force, pinning them down with sporadic fire from the turret.  Hopefully, some of the civilians that were pinned down in the square would be able to get away from the area.

As they got to the top of the stairwell, Gunny radioed back to the American Colonel that had called him in to rescue these soldiers.  “Colonel Bryce, pass along that we’re here and don’t want to get shot coming through the door, Sir,” he said.  A moment later a woman carrying an HK MP5N opened the door and ushered Gunny and Ronny inside. 

“You in charge?” Gunny asked.  She didn’t understand, so he repeated the question in German.  Then she took him to Gefreiter Richter.  As he looked at the injured German soldier, recognition flooded into him, “Rolf?  Is that you?” Gunny said, kneeling beside the man on the ground.  “Ronny, get over here,” he yelled. 

“These guys are all in rough shape, Gunny, what’s up?”

“This is Rolf Richter.  He’s a friend, a Scout.  I haven’t seen him in over six years.  He used to date Nicole and he’s a friend of Jack’s.”

Ronny started checking the man over to see what injuries he had.  He immediately saw that he would be losing his left leg, if Ronny could even keep him alive.  And he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that. 

Gunny looked around on the roof.  There were dozens of civilians, mostly women and children.  A few were injured, but the real damage had been done to the soldiers.  There were only a handful that were even able to stand. 

“One,” Bobby said over the earpiece radio, “it’s getting hot down here.  How much longer are you going to be?”

“It’s bad up here, too.  We’ve got maybe a hundred civilians to try to evac, as well as eight UN soldiers that are still alive.  When we get them down there, can we get these people away from the heat down there?”

“I guess we have to, Boss,” he replied.

Gunny turned around and looked out at the civilians gathered on the roof.  Then he looked over the side of the roof at the square below.  The protestors were gone, and it was nothing but the counter-protestors, the ones they were pretty sure were Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps or some similar force.  Bobby was doing a good job pinning them down, but it was going to take more than that to get the civilians out. 

“Who is in charge of comms here?” Gunny asked.

Soldat Schmitz raised his hand, “I am, Sir.”

“We need evac.  If they can’t do it, we might have to camp here until I can get my own assets here to get these people out.  Your unit has done everything it could to keep these people alive, but if we can’t get some help, we’re all going to have some more work to do.”

“Yes, Sir,” Schmitz replied.  He then got on the radio and raised HQ to try to get help with the civilians.  At the same time, Gunny called his UN contact to plead the case for getting more help with the civilian evac. 

“Gunny, Rolf doesn’t have much time.  I need to get him to my big bag in the next few minutes, and then we really need to get him to a hospital.  We can’t afford to wait for the UN.”

As much as Gunny hated the choice he had to make, he knew what he had to do.  Rolf wasn’t going to make it through a delay.  His squad couldn’t hold off the forces in the square, and the civilians were dead without the UN forces and Gunny’s small force.  “I need some people to help carry these soldiers down to our vehicle.  And we ARE going to get you out of here,” Gunny said to the gathered Armenians.  A group of women came forward and offered to help, while several of the older men and young boys scattered in the crowd took up rifles.  Without getting word back from the UN forces about reinforcements, the crowd started making their way down the stairway, Gunny and Ronny in the lead, the injured UN soldiers being carried right behind them. 

“Four, this is One, are you ready for us?  We’re coming out.”

In response, Bobby launched a few rocket-propelled grenades at some of the places that were being used as cover by the suspected IRGC fighters.  He followed that up by saturating the areas around them with the Zastava 7.62mm machine gun.  Gunny added to it with the M249 SAW, Squad Assault Weapon, making sure that any resistance was suppressed. 

One of the locals ran up behind Gunny, “I know a way out of here if you can get us around the corner.  There is a subway station, and we can use the tunnels to get away.”

He took Gunny over to show him the subway station entrance.  The former Marine took a few minutes to make sure the station was clear, at least as far as the platform, before coming back over to the waiting APC. 

He stepped inside the back of the APC, “Bobby, we need to keep their heads down while we sneak a hundred people into the subway.”

“On it, Boss.  I’ll light ‘em up.  Give me a ten count and then make the move.”

Gunny quickly stepped out of the APC and got the locals organized.  The people carrying guns were assigned to the front and back of the group, with the bulk of the group unarmed in the middle.  Ten seconds later Bobby threw everything he had at the hostiles across and around the square.  Everything that he had seen move in the last few minutes took fire from him.  Gunny fired a few RPGs at areas he thought might be providing cover for the insurgents. 

As the attack reached a crescendo, Gunny led a group of Armenians toward the subway entrance.  There was no resistance inside the tunnel.  After getting everyone down into the subway complex, Gunny returned to the APC to make a run through the insurgent fighters, making sure they were suppressed, then they would drive to the next station just to be sure no bogies were able to get down in front of the civilians in their escape. 

Ronny was working furiously on several of the injured in the back of the APC.  He was doubtful that four of the nine would make it to the hospital.  Rolf was on the cusp.  The other four were in better shape.  Luckily one of the civilians was an Emergency Room Nurse and she stayed in the vehicle to help Ronny with the injured soldiers. 

“How far from the hospital are we Irena?” Ronny asked the nurse in German.

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” she replied, knowing that every minute made a difference. 

“Gunny, you better step on it.  Rolf doesn’t have fifteen minutes.” 

Bobby came back down inside the vehicle to help Ronny.  Meanwhile, Gunny pushed the armored vehicle as hard as he could through the pre-dawn streets of Yerevan.  It took him eleven minutes, but he pulled up in the ER portico at Yerevan Medical Center.  The nurse jumped from the back of the APC and ran through the door to get a stretcher and help as Ronnie readied Rolf and the six other remaining soldiers to transfer.  Two had passed away from their injuries on the drive to the hospital. 

Ten minutes later three of the soldiers were in surgery, including Rolf.  He’d lost consciousness before being carried to the APC and hadn’t awoken since. 

Gunny took his small team back out to the armored vehicle and set out to find the people that they’d put in the subway tunnel.  He wanted to know that they had made it safe out of the tunnel and back to friendlier territory. 

Nicole had a big day planned.  She’d expected to be in the kitchen all day, but Mike had called the day before to ask her if she wanted to hang out with him for the day in Norfolk.  He was covering the Independence Day Celebration at the waterfront and would be there all day.  He only had a few segments, but the rest of the day he would be just walking around enjoying the event. 

He’d pitched the idea to the production team to have her, as one of their “fan-favorite” on-air chefs, taste a bunch of the food and talk about the event as a “foodie”.  They bought the idea and he just needed her to agree. 

She had a bunch of catering jobs that had to be ready.  Luckily, none of the ones they had going on were full-on with service and everything.  They were pick-up or delivery orders that were pretty easy.  And she had plenty of help.  Patti Gonzales, Erica’s mom, was coming in to help, as was Sherry and even her mother.  Nicole was supposed to be in Norfolk at noon. 

At eleven o’clock she figured out that wasn’t going to happen.  An oven in the shop had quit.  She called Bobby Gomez to see if he could fix it.  That was ten-thirty.  He got it fixed, but the back-up of orders was killing her.  Because of the terrible traffic in the tunnel, it was going to take two hours to get to Norfolk.  Everything was working again, but she wouldn’t be there until at least one. 

“Nic, I can fix this,” Bobby had said. 

“How?” 

“Don’t worry about it.  You’ll be at the waterfront at noon.  Call your boyfriend back up and tell him you’ll be there on time.  Don’t argue with me.”

“Madi, can you talk sense into your man?” Nicole said, exasperated. 

“No, but I also know he’s never told me he could do something when he didn’t have a plan,” Madison Gomez replied.  “Trust him.”

Nicole relented and called Mike’s cellular number back and told him that she would be there.  She said she didn’t know how, but that a friend was arranging transport.  She assumed it would be by boat, but even that would be tight at this point. 

Bobby walked into Nicole’s office, “Do you have everything you need ready to go?”

“I’m ready.  Do we need to head out?”

“Patience, Grasshopper,” Bobby replied. 

A few minutes later she figured it out.  Maybe not as much figured it out as much as saw it.  Duke Smythe’s helicopter landed in the parking lot.

Duke casually walked across the parking lot to the building and walked in the door.  “Hey Nicole.  We probably should be on our way.  I don’t have permission to land here,” he joked with a smile.  He turned and casually headed back out, after picking up a couple of cookies from the counter.  Nicole was on his heels. 

***

Mike Holland was reporting from the Norfolk waterfront when a helicopter swept straight in from Indian River.  It wasn’t police or news, but it was interrupting his broadcast.  He asked to send the live feed to the studio while it landed. 

As he turned to look at the chopper, Nicole Dixon stepped out of the front seat.  She took off her headset, set it on the seat, grabbed a duffle bag, closed the door and walked straight toward him.  His cameraman shot the whole thing.

The production team never stopped Mike’s feed, so live over the air he said, “Damn, my girlfriend knows how to make an entrance.”

“No doubt,” he heard over his earpiece.

He was still looking at Nicole walking toward him when the chopper lifted off behind her and accelerated back to the north again.  Nobody stopped her as she walked right up to him.  She didn’t know he was live. 

“Hi Mike,” Nicole said, very relaxed. 

“Whose chopper?” Mike said.

“A friend.  He wanted some cookies, so we I traded for a ride,” Nicole laughed, with no idea that she was live in a couple hundred thousand homes. 

“Mike, you’re still live,” he heard in his earpiece. 

“Folks, her cookies are THAT good,” Mike said, recovering and looking at the camera. 

“We’re live?” Nicole said, looking at Mike, bordering on horrified at how that must have come across on TV. 

Mike just started laughing.  “That’s live TV, folks.  Back to you in the studio, Sandy… and we’re out.”

“Thanks for warning me Mike,” Nicole said, giggling.  “I look like an idiot now.”

“You?  I look like an idiot.  You look like the coolest chick in Hampton Roads.”  Then they both started laughing. 

“I gotta say, Nicole, Mike,” the cameraman started, “first, Nicole, your cookies ARE that good, and second, that was priceless.  That’s getting played at the station Christmas Party.”  Then he started laughing, too. 

After a minute, Tim, the cameraman, gathered his composure and started working up a plan for them to move around the celebration.  There were a lot of food vendors, a few with some unusual foods, and lots of people.  They were now expected to have a segment every fifteen minutes or so all afternoon, until the fireworks, except during the 4:45 to 7:00 slots which were regional and national news.  In addition to Mike, Nicole and Tim, they had a production assistant, a make-up person and an intern. 

“Timo is here with a booth, Nicole.  Should we hit him up?” Mike asked. 

“Yes, but I have to tell you something…  I might have a conflict of interest.  I’m a minor investor in his restaurant.  I’d hate to have anyone complain that we promoted him out of my financial interest.”

“Really?  When did that happen?” Mike asked. 

“Before he opened.  I hadn’t been there before, but that might be part of the reason he was so excited to see me.  It’s kind of on the downlow, though.  Only a few people know.”

“Ok.  Well, as long as you don’t trash all the competition, it should be ok,” Mike smiled.

***

Timo’s was their third stop.  Nicole had found the best menu items from each of the booths they visited.  She interviewed head chefs when they were available, and with the intern running ahead and giving a heads up, most of them were available during the course of the afternoon.  A couple, aside from Timo, joked about being in school with her. 

They sampled everything from Lobster Bisque to funnel cakes.  Nicole kept a running count of food on-a-stick and hit twenty-one different things “on-a-stick”.  Mike was comparing it to a State Fair in the Midwest.  By the time their dinner break rolled around, none of the six were hungry.  Nicole had spread the food around, dragging the Production Assistant, the intern, the make-up artist, and even the cameraman in front of the camera. 

“Folks,” Mike began, “standing next to me is Tim.  He’s been my main cameraman for the last six months.  If the camera is not quite as steady as it normally is, it’s because Nicole Dixon has all forty pounds of it on her shoulder and is the one doing the filming.”

“She insisted that I get to eat on camera,” Tim said nervously.  Then he took a bite of the corndog and extolled its virtues to the viewing audience.  “Hey, this is a beer-battered corndog.  I wasn’t expecting that.  It’s awesome.”  Then Tim did an interview with the owner of the booth while Mike looked on. 

Tim took the camera back and the team headed back to the remote van to drop their gear and head out to dinner, although none of them could possibly eat after their afternoon “grazing” as Tim called it.  They still went into a nearby restaurant and sat at a table for a little while and chatted while picking at an appetizer and enjoying some cold beverages. 

***

Just before the fireworks went off at 9:15, they did their last remote shot of the day.  After wrapping up, the six of them joked around for a few minutes, and signed a few autographs.  Mike was used to the autograph sessions.  Nicole was shocked the first time a kid came up and asked her for her autograph but got used to it.  Tim was the biggest surprise.  Several people came straight up to him and wanted a “Tim the Cameraman” autograph, and that was exactly what he gave them. 

After the drive back to the studio to drop the truck, Mike drove Nicole back to her shop.  She gave him a quick tour as the last of the delivery crews returned with their equipment.  He was suitably impressed with the production kitchen.  Then they had a goodnight kiss and she returned home, exhausted from a long day. 

It was only about ninety miles from Oscoda to Onaway by air… but he wasn’t flying.  He’d toyed with the idea of finding someone to drop him from a plane and parachuting home but rejected the idea.  It was a fun thought, though.  Instead, he tried to hitch a ride on a plane up to Alpena, but couldn’t find a way there, either.  At noon he ended up on the road outside the base with a pack on his back, wearing his uniform and holding his thumb out. 

His first ride was from a guy about his age that was driving from Oscoda west, over to Mio.  It wasn’t exactly the way he planned on going, but it was in the general direction, and would put him on M-33, which went right into Onaway.  They spent a little while talking as they rode together.  Bill found out that the guy was a fisherman on a boat in Oscoda but had grown up in Mio.  The fisherman had been excited to hear that Bill had gone through paratrooper training and asked what it was like to jump out of an airplane. 

In Mio, he stopped into a place called the Kountry Kitchen for lunch.  Finding out that he was active duty, the owner, a World War Two vet, wouldn’t let him pay for his meal.  And it was really good chicken noodle soup, too.  The staff had been exceedingly friendly toward him.  After the soup, he had a slice of apple pie and then hit the road with his sign looking for a ride to Onaway. 

His next ride of the day came from a beer truck.  They joked about cracking open a couple of cold ones from the back while they drove up to Atlanta… and Bill joked that he’d gone the wrong way, since that morning he’d started out in Georgia, not that far from another Atlanta.  But his ride ended when they got to Atlanta, Michigan.  The driver had deliveries to make and then he was headed to Alpena, which was now the wrong way. 

After getting an ice cream cone in Atlanta at a little stand along the road, and buying one for his beer truck driving friend, he set out north again on M-33 with his sign in hand. 

As he hiked along the country road north of Atlanta, he enjoyed the surrounding forest, occasionally interrupted by a house.  He’d been walking quite a while when he passed by the Montmorency County Fairgrounds.  He’d barely seen any cars, and he was wondering if he was going to be walking the rest of the way to Onaway. 

Just after the fairgrounds, a new looking 1960 Impala convertible rolled to a stop just ahead.  The woman in the driver’s seat waved him over.  He jogged along with the big bag on his back to catch up to where the car had stopped. 

“Where ya headed, Soldier?” she asked.

“Onaway, ma’am.”

“Hop in and let’s get you there.”

He tossed his bag in the back seat and hopped in the front.  The top was down, and it was a beautiful day.  He took off his beret so it wouldn’t blow away in the wind and sat back for the ride.  It was probably only another fifteen miles but riding in the nice car with a pretty woman sure beat walking. 

“What’s your name, Soldier?” she asked.

“Corporal Bill Prince, ma’am.”

“Nice to meet you, Bill.  I’m Betty.”

“Thank you for the ride, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Betty… every time you say ma’am, I age five years.”

“Ok, Betty.  Sorry… It’s a habit.”

“It’s ok, Bill.  So, what takes you to Onaway?”

“I have leave for a few weeks and I’m going to visit family and my girl.”

Betty pouted a little at him, then laughed, “That’s nice.  Too bad you already have a girl; I would have liked a shot.  But that’s ok.”  She gave him a quick wink as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Sorry, Betty,” Bill said with a smile.  “What about you, where are you headed?”

“I’m meeting some girlfriends at Black Lake.  We have a cottage for the week.”

“Sounds like fun.  Where are you staying, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Bloom’s.  Have you heard of them?”

“Absolutely, Wes and Mary Bloom are great folks.  I’ve known them for half my life.”

“So, you know where it is?”

“Sure… need directions?”

“Tell ya what.  Can you lead me there and then I’ll drive you back into town?”

“Yes, ma’am… I mean Betty.  I can do that.  I haven’t seen Wes and Mary for quite a while.  It’ll be nice to visit.”

“Fair enough.”

Betty and Bill drove the rest of the way to Black Lake, driving through Onaway.  When they got there, Betty was greeted by three other pretty women, all in their early twenties.  They had been busy getting settled into their cottage. 

As he and Betty pulled up, they streamed out and started giving her a hard time about bringing her own man… it was supposed to be a girl’s week.  She laughed and told them he’d been hitchhiking and that she couldn’t follow the directions they’d given her, but since he was a local, he’d offered to show her the way.  The other girls were joking that she had all the luck, finding a nice-looking guy discarded along the side of the road. 

Bill excused himself to go see Wes and Mary.  He’d last seen them before joining up in the Army.  A few days before he’d left, he had come out to close-up Nettie’s cottage next door, making sure everything was set for the winter.  While they were talking, he asked Wes if it had been opened yet.  He didn’t think it had, so he went over to check it out and take care of it if she hadn’t been up to the yet.  After about half an hour, Betty knocked on the door of Nettie’s cottage to see if he was ready to go. 

“Are you our neighbor, too?” she asked. 

“No,” he answered, smiling, “I took care of this place for a few years for the owner, and she hasn’t made it up so far this year, so I figured I’d just get everything ready for her.  She usually comes up for the fourth of July.”

“Too bad… again.  Are you ready to head into town, Bill?”

“Yes, ma’am.  Let’s go,” he said, earning a good-natured ribbing from Betty.

As he got ready to get into the car, the other girls decided to join.  He ended up in the back seat between two of the girls.  Not a bad place to be, but he hoped he didn’t run into Christina.  It would become a lot less comfortable then. 

As the car pulled up in front of his house in Onaway, his brother happened to be walking out the front door.  Bill waved to him. 

“Howdy, Walter!”

“Bill!  Is that you?”

“Oh my, they must grow good-looking fellas on trees up here,” one of the girls in the car said, laughing, as Betty pulled to a stop. 

Bill hopped out of the back seat and retrieved his bag from the trunk, where it had been stowed when the other girls had started piling in.  As he turned to thank Betty, she appeared behind him, shook his hand and thanked him for the directions.

“And Bill, we will have a bonfire every night until July ninth, unless it rains.  Why don’t you bring that girl of yours out to say hi?  I think a couple of my friends would like it if you brought your brother out, too.  You know where to find us.”

She blew Walter a kiss and stepped back into her car and drove away as the other girls waved. 

“What was that about, Bill?”

“Oh, nothing, she just invited you to go out for a bonfire.”

Bill started walking toward the door with his pack on his back.

“Don’t leave a fella hangin’, Bill?  Where at?  I’m game!”

His parents were excited to see him.  They hadn’t expected him.  Despite writing every week, he hadn’t mentioned that he had leave coming up.  He was peppered the with questions about how things were going and if he knew where he was to be posted yet, as well as how he’d managed to get there.  They spent a little while talking, but what he really wanted was to go see Christina. 

“She’s at work, Bill.  She gets off in about an hour,” Walter told him as he walked back in the door.

“Huh?” Bill replied.

“Christina.  I know that’s who you want to see.  I mean, you like the rest of us and all, but you didn’t do whatever to get halfway across the country to stare at me.  She’s at work for a little longer.”

“Mind if I take my car?”

“No problem… are you going to tell me where that bonfire is with all those pretty girls?”

“Bloom’s place.”

Walter laughed.  “I guess that’s ok.  I can’t do anything stupid, or Wes will kick my butt.  But at least I can go see how friendly they are.  Maybe I can borrow Dad’s car.”

“Good luck.  We might come out there later.  It depends on what Christina wants to do.”

Bill dropped his bag in his old room and headed out to the car.  As expected, the keys were dangling from the ignition switch in the dash.  The market was only a few minutes away.  He hadn’t known that Christina was working there but thought it might be fun to surprise her by showing up.  Before he went to the store, he stopped by Mrs. Whitmer’s house.  She ran the florist, and he thought he might be able to get some roses from her.   

Mrs. Whitmer was very accommodating.  Since she lived almost next door to her florist shop, he was able to run over and get the roses quickly.  Living in a small town where everyone knows each other has benefits.  She’d handed him the keys to her shop and told him to go grab a dozen, drop the keys back by and they could take care of payment on Monday. 

At five minutes to five, he walked in the front door of the grocery store.  The cashiers were off to his left, and Christina had her back to him, ringing up a customer’s purchase.  He was able to sneak around to her line without her seeing him. 

As she finished up the customer in front of him, she hadn’t even looked up at him.  She looked up to greet him and recognition immediately flooded her.  She was over the counter in a flash, her arms wrapping around his neck.  “Oh my goodness, Bill, I didn’t know you were coming.  When did you get here?  How long will you be here?” she said between kisses.

“Miss Griffen!” a manager said loudly walking toward them.

“Sorry, Mr. Pendergrass.  This is Bill, my boyfriend.  I haven’t seen him since he went back on New Year’s Day.  I’m sorry, I’ll bring my till to the office, I think my shift is over.”

Mr. Pendergrass, still not looking very happy, walked over to the couple as Christina moved back to the other side of the cashier station to close down her register.

“Sorry, Mr. Pendergrass.  I’m Bill Prince.  Sir, it’s my fault.  I didn’t tell Miss Griffen I was coming back into town.  I wanted to surprise her.  Please don’t hold my actions against her.”

“Well, I guess it’s ok, with you being in the service and all.  At least it’s closing time and it didn’t disrupt the store too much.  Perhaps next time you should warn her before you surprise her.”

“Yes, sir,” Bill said, wondering how it would work to warn her before surprising her.

A few minutes later Christina emerged from the office, her register having been counted and her timecard punched.  She ran back over to Bill to hug him again.  She knew that she’d missed him a lot over the last six months, but she hadn’t realized how much she missed him until she saw him again. 

“Any plans tonight, Chrissy?”

“Well, I had a date, but…  you know…” she said back jokingly. 

“Oh, well, never mind.  There are some girls out at the lake that invited me to a bonfire.” He joked back. 

“Don’t you dare!” she said to him.  “You’re mine.  Forever, mister.  Don’t you forget it.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s better.  Now what are we going to do?”

“Well, I’m famished.  Can I take you to dinner?”

“I guess, Mr. Prince.  Can you drive me home to change, or might you pass out soon?”

“I guess we can swing by your house.”

They walked out to the parking lot and hopped into the Model A to drive to Tower.  Chrissy wanted to hear all about Bill’s school and everything else in his life.  Even though he’d written almost every day, and told her all those things in letters, she wanted to hear him talk about his adventures, challenges and triumphs. 

Her parents were glad to see him and greeted him warmly when Christina brought him into the house.  Her mother made a fuss over him and made him a quick snack while he waited for Chrissy to get dressed to head out for dinner. 

Chrissy still had to work, but aside from that she spent almost every moment she could with Bill over the next couple of weeks.  On one of the nights, they actually did go out to Bloom’s Cabins for the bonfire with the girls.  Chrissy had been a little nervous about doing that, but Bill had told her that the girls were friendly, and she’d like them. 

One of the things that happened when she was at the bonfire was her conversation with Betty.  Betty had told her that she had netted quite the man.  He had told her all about Christina as they drove from Atlanta up to the lake.  And he’d been nothing but a gentleman.  He was the kind of guy that they were all looking for.

Another surprising thing that happened was that Bill ended up in the parade on the Independence Day.  They had a spot open on the Veterans Float and asked him to take the spot.  Chrissy was to be the local Beauty Queen that was to sit next to him.  She was actually supposed to sit next to someone else but convinced the other girl to swap. 

A cousin of mine called over the weekend to talk to me about how she should go about publishing her book. (Quick shout out.. you know who you are, and I won’t out you… but when you publish it, I’ll gladly give you some promotion on my blog, FB page and everywhere else I can! Family, right?) And the above mentioned things were all part of the conversation.

Many would-be authors type out that “The End” and then think it’s the end. Not even close. It’s barely the beginning.

There is editing.

It would be cool if there was just one kind of editing. Instead, there are three. To be fair, one of them might have been done before “The End”… that would be developmental editing. Does this idea suck? That is the first hurdle to clear. You might have a chapter, an outline and a written story idea. You have the developmental editor go over your plan with you and tell you if it is marketable. Sometimes, especially with newer writers, we don’t do that until we have a book. Or we don’t do it at all…

Then there is story editing. Does the plot make sense? Are there plot holes? Do we need to rearrange the story? Do the character progressions and story arcs work? There is a LOT there, and paying for a professional to do this is EXPENSIVE. The editor is going to know your book and your characters better than you when they are done. That time and energy, not to mention expertise, isn’t free. But it can be immensely valuable.

Finally, there is line editing. This is the one we all think of. Grammar, spelling, typos. Those need to be squashed like bugs. And, I don’t care WHO you are, they are in your manuscript. Even famous writers with a platoon of editors will release books with mistakes in them. But we have to fight them as hard as possible. All this happened after you wrote the book… and let me tell you, going through your book, over and over, looking for a better way to say something, making sure you didn’t screw up, and that everything makes sense… while staying true to your vision… that is hard. Possibly harder than writing the book in the first place.

Might squeeze a few beta reads in there, too… taking the feedback and using to edit the story.

(just a note, I have found and corrected about 50 mistakes in line as I worked… There will be more later).

And Formatting… If you self publish.

If you hire a publisher, they may (repeat… may) do this part for you. However, in order to get a publisher, you had to format a manuscript to submit, so you still aren’t off the hook. Font, spacing, margins, chapter breaks, page mapping. Whether the book is being read on a phone, tablet, computer, or paper, all of those things have to be considered. And checked. And probably corrected. You can’t control everything. But you have to control everything you can. And make it perfect so someone doesn’t trash you in a review.

And make the cover art fit. And work. And show up when scanning through the stacks at the store or the listings on the online portal.

Just when you thought you were done, here come all of the details that have to be squared away prior to publishing. And it is tough. Or expensive. Or both. And frustrating.

Good grief, I’m glad I’m done… But wait, there’s more.

Marketing.

You did all this work, selling a book or three might be really cool, right? Well, guess what… that is harder than writing the book.

If you happen to be a famous author, the publisher will do this for you. Not out of the goodness of their heart, but you won’t feel it as the cash is slipped out of your voluminous royalty checks. For the rest of us, we are either cutting checks every month, or working our butts off trying to get our title in front of prospective readers. Probably both.

Even giving away books can get expensive. I haven’t used any of the REALLY effective paths, yet. I can’t afford them. I generally spend about $50 to give away books. Some of the bigger name lists cost 5x=15x that. Yeah… $3000 fees to GIVE AWAY FREE books. I can’t justify that. Maybe one day. I won’t get into WHY authors give away books beyond saying that it is part of marketing, and as an Indie Author, I am my marketing department. I can do it myself or pay someone to do it.

None of it is cheap or easy. It isn’t even easy if you just pay someone. Some authors pay someone to pay someone to do that job. You know it has to suck if you want to pay for a level of people to insulate you from even knowing about it.

Yeah, I thought the hard part was writing the book. It should all be coasting after that… making loads of money from my brilliant writing. But, alas, reality disagreed. The real work started after the book was “done.” I found the diamond, but then had to cut it, polish it and then sell it… over and over.

And then there are Reviews.

Talk about chapping my hide.

The BEST marketing is a solid set of reviews. Lot of them. I have given away a couple THOUSAND copies of Planning Vengeance. I have 14 reviews. So, I am running about a 1:200 ratio. I would love to have 50 reviews on that book. That would pull in the readers MUCH more effectively.

I don’t have that many reviews on the rest of my books, though. (blatant plug: PLEASE review my books if you’ve read them!) So I also have to set aside time to hunt for reviews. But, to me at least, it beats paying for questionable reviews. I’d rather an honest three or four-star (especially four) over a BS five-star. Readers can see through those, and I think they just annoy readers. I WANT five-star reviews, but I want to earn them, not pay for them.

Anyway…

his old man off the side in a storm off the Outer Banks, he still felt that the boat was a tribute to him. 

As he sat there at the helm, he noticed someone walking toward his boat.  He couldn’t place him, but he knew he’d met the man at some point in the past. 

“Sean Murphy,” Ed Dixon shouted.  “Permission to come aboard?”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Ed Dixon.  We need to talk about Paul.”

“You a cop or somethin’?  Should I be callin’ my lawyer?”

“Definitely not a cop, Sean.  And I don’t think you want your lawyer to hear anything I have to say.  You probably don’t want me shouting it from here, either.  So… can I come aboard?”

“Suit yourself, Ed Dixon.”

Ed walked the short gangplank onto the trawler, then went forward toward the pilothouse and Sean, waiting just outside it.  As he approached, he put his hand out to shake.  Sean looked down at the outstretched hand and turned away to walk into the pilothouse and have a seat.  Ed followed.

“So, Ed, what’s on yer mind?” 

“Your son Paul is harassing my son and his girlfriend.  Maybe you remember her, Amy Prince.  I think it would be in your best interest to help us put an end to that. In fact, he’s spent the last couple of days following them around.  And of course, you are familiar with him getting locked up for trespassing at the Prince’s house before your last run.”

“What makes you think that I can do anything about it, Ed?” Sean said with a sarcastic tone.  “The boy is big enough to make his own decisions.  And from what I hear, that Amy girl was carryin’ on behind his back with your boy.  Seems to me like there might be a little lesson owed.  Maybe if they weren’t actin’ the fool, they wouldn’t have a problem now.” 

The conversation wasn’t going the way Ed wanted. 

“Sean, I’m going to level with you.  I’m going to make it in YOUR best interest to put your son on another track.  The very last thing that you want is increased attention on you or your business.  And if Paul doesn’t alter his course, you ARE going to find yourself under a microscope. 

“Now my son and his girlfriend have no idea that I’m here to talk to you.  In fact, they are going to talk to Paul to see if he will lay off.  But I’m here to tell you that right now you don’t want to make me an enemy.  And you don’t want your son to do that either.  So… what do you say?  Can we reach an accord here?”

“That sounds awful threatnin’, Ed.  And I’m not one to knuckle under to threats.”

Sean got up from his chair, and continued, “So, what’s to stop me from beating the hell outta you where you stand?  Or hell, maybe even draggin’ your body down to the hold and tossin’ you over on the next run in a couple of days?”

“There are a couple of things, Sean.  First, if you swing on me, you might be in the hospital for that next run.  Second, if you grab your binoculars and take a look over to the top of that warehouse across the way, you’ll see a light glint.  That would be a friend of mine.  And he CAN hit you, through the glass, from there.  If you don’t believe me, step out of the pilothouse and wave.  He’ll wave back.  As far as whether he can hit you from there or not… trust me.  I watched him make tougher shots in Vietnam.  Regularly. 

“I know that some of the people you work for are pretty tough.  Let’s just say that they don’t want me as an enemy, either.  And if I bring heat, the people you’ve been working for will turn on you in a heartbeat.  The next step is up to you.  We can have an agreement, shake hands like men, and both walk away… or we can get in a piss-match. 

“What do you want to do?”

Sean glared over at Ed for a few moments.  He was not liking this one bit.  He wondered exactly what information this guy had and what resources he could bear.  He was really struggling internally.  He wanted to take a swing at him… he wasn’t too worried about the sniper, even if he could make the shot… what really worried him was if this guy really knew what he was up to with his boat.

“Seems I don’t have much choice, Ed.  I guess we’ll hafta be friendly about it.”  Sean reached out his hand and shook Ed’s. 

“I look forward to not having to have another conversation like this again,” Ed said with a smile. 

“Me, too,” Sean replied flatly.

Ed turned and walked out of the pilothouse and off the boat.  As he walked up the quay, he put his cuff near his mouth and asked the person at the other end of the radio, “You hear all that?  Seems like he’d rather play nice.” 

As Ed rounded the corner of a warehouse, and out of sight of the F/V Murphy’s Law, Gunny crawled backwards off the roof of the warehouse he had been perched on.  His M40A1 with its 10x Unertl scope was supposed to be accurate to 800 meters, but he’d made successful shots at 1000 meters and more.  He bundled the rifle back into the hard case he kept it in and hopped into the back of the van Ed was driving as he came around the corner to pick him up. 

“I don’t know if you scared him or pissed him off, Ed.  Do you think he’s going to play nice?” Gunny asked.

“My gut tells me he’ll play nice with us, but he’s the wild card type.  I hate dealing with that type in the field.  I’m pretty sure he is motivated by greed and self-preservation, but the issue is that desire for revenge might overcome common sense.”

The two men rode in silence back to Ed’s office, aside from some small talk. 

“Ed, you know that if you need anything you can give me a call.”

“Absolutely, Gunny.  I’m not too proud to call in the Marines.”

Gunny laughed and climbed into his truck and headed home.  He and Ed had a worked together a number of times and he knew that Ed always protected his team.  If there was going to be any blowback, Gunny had no doubt that his name wouldn’t get dragged into it.  However, even if it did, he really liked Jack and would do whatever it took to make sure the young man was safe.