January Dawn (12 page)

“How many of your family is in the military?”

“My uncle and two of my cousins and my father was of course. My grandfather died in Europe during the Second World War. It’s a kind of rite of passage for a Redman boy to go into the military. It was never said, but growing up I always felt like I was expected to enlist. I never really had any desire to join up. I just wanted to a get a football scholarship and go to college. And then this war happened, and they reinstated conscription. The Army came to my school and sponged up all the able-bodied eighteen year olds in my class. They labeled us for recruitment and by December my school rushed us through a ramshackle graduation, a semester early.”

Alex wiped his chin with a napkin, leaned back in his chair and let out a huff.

“I thought you said you wanted to become an officer?”

“I do. Once I was conscripted, I really didn’t have a choice. I decided I’d make the best of the situation. Hell, at least I’m not in high school anymore. I hated that place more than anything.”

“What’s school like?”

“It’s a lot like our classes during Basic. Instead of teaching army stuff, they taught you math and science and literature. It was all boring. They never really taught you anything useful.”

Math and science? That sounds like fun. And literature...I need to learn how to read.

“Can you teach me how to read?” I asked, a bit ashamed and immediately regretting asking.

Alex looked at me for a little while, mulling over the mental enormity of the question I hit him with. His eyes looked at me, but they were seeing deeper than what was in front of him. For a second there, he looked almost sad.

“Sure, Colton. I can do that,” he said.

We sat in silence awhile, watching the foolish shenanigans of the party guests and enjoying each other’s company. The party had been going on for hours. It was getting late and people were throwing back drinks left and right and getting rowdy.

There was a group of young men and women getting unruly on the cushioned patio couches that lay u-shaped around a dome covered brazier. A couple situated in the corner were busy getting touchy feely and making out, while a group of four girls next to them were throwing back shots, completely oblivious to the couple.

Next to them was a man in uniform on his knees with his head buried in the chest of a busty brunette. The others around them were chanting and cheering as the man in uniform tried to drink from the shot glass that was lodged between the woman’s breasts. With a great bravo from the crowd when he finally did it, the man kissed the brunette forcefully and then bowed to his audience. It was Gammon Junior. He noticed us far away in our corner, held up his empty shot glass for us to see, nodded and went on laughing with his friends.

“Unbelievable,” Alex said, disgusted. Not by the act, but by who it was. He got up and slid in his chair. “You want another drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Alex disappeared up into the house as I sat there alone like an owl on its perch, silently observing. The party goers, I noticed, clumped together in cliques, some over here, some over there, but mostly everyone was pleasantly personable to each other, which gave the party a very delightful atmosphere.

Down in the field about a hundred yards behind where I was sitting, I could see a herd of youngsters dancing and lounging around a large bonfire. The flickering yellow glow of the fire lit up their smiling faces. One of the kids stoked the fire with a leafy branch. I watched as the red hot embers fluttered upward into the night sky before burning out.

A voice snapped me back into reality. “Congratulations, son.”

I stood and saluted General Gammon. “Sir.”

“Relax, this is a private event, no formalities here. I was coming over to congratulate you on your graduation. It’s a great achievement.”

We shook hands. “Thank you, sir.”

“It takes a special young man to be a good soldier. And I see it in you, Tennpenny.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Walk with me.”

I meandered alongside General Gammon as he led us around the outer rim of the party, giving us room for privacy.

“You see all those old men up there on that porch,” he said, referring to the old guard. “Those were some of the best and brightest soldiers of their time. Those men all started out on the bottom. Now look where they are. They can hardly walk with all those medals on their chests.” Gammon pointed to a man seated to the right of Silas Redman.

“You see that Navy fellow sitting in the rocking chair there, that’s Vice Admiral Kearney. Kearney enlisted at the age of eighteen and started out as a lowly seaman onboard the CSS
Jackson,
stationed for non-combat duty off the coast of Cuba. For ten years he served onboard the
Jackson
, only rising up to the rank of Chief Warrant Officer. He couldn’t go any further. Not in peacetime. There were too many men in the service with no room for promotion.

“When war broke out with Russia, the
Jackson
found itself in the Black Sea hunting down merchant convoys. One day, while cruising alone they came upon a small convoy. The Captain greedily turned and fired his broadside from a couple miles out. Someone must have fallen asleep at their post, because two MiG fighter jets providing air support for the convoy swooped down and put six rockets into her port side.

“The
Jackson
was listing badly and fires had run rampant in many of the compartments. The two MiGs came back for a second pass, this time sweeping the deck and the bridge with 30mm cannon fire. The Captain and most of his bridge crew were killed. Kearney was the highest ranking officer available at the moment, and realized that if he didn’t act fast, every soul on board would go down with the ship, so he shouted out orders, mustered up the bridge crew survivors and got the
Jackson
out of Dodge as two Russian frigates were coming in to finish the kill.

“For his heroism, Kearney was given a promotion and command of the
Jackson
.” Gammon paused and let out a sigh. “Now, two decades later, Vice Admiral Kearney is the sole remaining Atlantic Fleet Commander. He’s got his flagship, the
Jackson,
and another cruiser holed up in the Port of Savannah with nowhere to go. The US Navy sits and waits a few miles out there on the ocean,” he said, turning and looking to the east, where nothing but a dark wall of trees sat in the distance, outlined at the top by the faint gray sky. “Like a shark, circling and waited to devour its injured prey.”

Where is he going with this?

“That man standing at the back of the group, the young one, that’s Captain Lorraine, tank commander in the Tenth Armored Division. He served under me down in South America a few years back. His company was ordered to link up with a neighboring infantry division for an assault the following day. Lorraine put his company in motion, driving through hamlets and towns on his way to the rendezvous point, but he was fed faulty intelligence.

“One of the towns he was traveling through was a town called La Riviera. Intelligence told him that the town was cleared, but it wasn’t. Lorraine’s unit was ambushed as they crossed an intersection halfway through the city. Fearing for the lives of his men and not knowing whether to press on or to retreat, Lorraine made a quick decision. He pulled his tank out of line to provide covering fire as he let his company continue onward toward the rendezvous point.

“Lorraine sat in that tank firing round after round at the enemy, almost leveling half the block. His covering fire allowed his company to escape the ambush with minimal casualties, but as the last tank cleared the intersection and Lorraine moved his tank to follow, an RPG took out his treads. His actions spared the lives of his men, but by doing so he had to surrender himself to the enemy and spend four months as a prisoner of war.”

I stood there and listened to his stories, not knowing why he was telling me this. The men were gallant, yes, but his tone suggested that he wasn’t just telling me a heroic story for the sake of telling me a story.

“Sir, why are you telling me all this?”

“War is unforgiving, Tennpenny. Ordinary men are asked to do extraordinary things every day. Men like Kearney and Lorraine made necessary decisions in the midst of the unnecessary situations they were put in. They had no time to think. They could only act. Like I told you before, a man’s actions are what define his character. I know about your past, I know where you came from and I see how far you’ve come. You have a promising future. You and Alex. That’s why I assigned you two with the Ninth Infantry here in Savannah. Georgia is my area of operations, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me. With the right guidance by the right people, you two will have a promising career ahead of you. And my son also. I assigned him to the same unit.”

At the mention of his son, I remembered his speech from yesterday.

“That boy in your speech yesterday, was it your son?”

Gammon let out a deep breath as his eyes found his son over by the brazier.

“He asked me that when he was eight years old. I didn’t know how to answer at the time. I left that afternoon for a nine-month deployment overseas. As he grew older he grew more resentful of me for being gone so much. When his mother died, that really threw him over the edge. I tried my best to be a good father, to make good decisions for him, but everything I did seemed to push him farther away.

“I left him with my brother when I deployed. I paid for his schooling and sent him presents on his birthday. It didn’t matter. He refused to have anything to do with me. When this war started I did everything in my ability to keep him from enlisting. I knew which direction this country was heading in and I knew how this war would end. I didn’t want him anywhere near the fighting. He’s a smart boy, he doesn’t need to get bogged down in the blood and mud like an old army dog like myself. If he just continued his schooling, he could amount to something better than me. I insisted on paying a full ride for any university he chose, but the next day he went into town and enlisted just to spite me. Now, all I can do is surround him with good people and hope and pray this war will spare him.”

Gammon gulped down the last sip of his brandy. I knew by ‘good people’ he meant me and it had me thinking about Kearney and Lorraine.

“Sir, how do I know that I’ll make the right decision when something comes along?” I asked.

“You don’t,” he said frankly. “You choose the decision that you believe in the most. It’s just a feeling you get. Sometimes your decision comes from the heart, which is pure emotion. And sometimes it comes from your head, which is straight practicality. There’s a time and place for both of them. When Lorraine made his decision to stay behind and cover his men, he knew it wasn’t practical, he knew there was a chance he wouldn’t make it, but his heart drove him forward. His love and his devotion to his men overruled the practical thoughts in his head. Don’t try to be someone you’re not, son. Be who you are and the right decisions will come naturally to you.”

Gammon patted me on the arm and slowly roved his way back to the porch whistling to the band’s fast paced tune of “Dixie.”

I sat back down at my little corner table. Alex must have gotten side tracked, because I didn’t see him the rest of the night. I leaned back in the wicker chair and replayed Kearney’s and Lorraine’s stories in my head over and over.

What would I do in a situation like that, when there’s other lives on the line and the clocks ticking down?

The rest of the party was a blur, literally. The passage of time appeared to me in a sort of mental fog. I was lost in thought. My eyes looked, but did not see. People were dark figures moving aimlessly through a blurry haze.

After a while, I got up out of my stupor and made my way to my room, where I was glad to finally get out of my dress uniform. I took a hot twenty minute shower, dried off and slipped under the covers of my new favorite bed.

Per usual, I tossed and turned in bed struggling to fall asleep. It wasn’t until well past midnight when I managed to doze off. But when the clock next to my bed struck 5:57 AM I was wide awake and already sliding into a pair of jeans. I tiptoed downstairs, not wanting to wake anyone.

The house was a mess with dirty plates, empty beer bottles, wine glasses, and stale food littering every surface. I even found a half-eaten pork sandwich on the dining room floor.

I’ll clean this up
, but first I decided to explore the library a little more. Standing up close to the immense bookshelf made me feel insignificant. I walked down the wall running my fingers over the spines of the countless books, each one mesmerizing with its mystery. Thousands of words in each book and I didn’t have the ability to read what they said. So much information within the palms of my hands, yet still so far from my reach.

I ran my hands on the cool brown leather chair, sat down and swiveled around to the desk. On the desk was a calendar with scribbled writing on it, a handful of pens and pencils, a gold lamp, and a glass framed case. In the case sat a baby blue colored ribbon with a gold medal, all laid over a black velvet backdrop.

The medal was a star lying on a golden wreath being held up by an eagle that had its wings spread out and a sash that ran across its body. There was a word printed in capital letters on the sash.
I’ve seen this medal before. Gammon had one just like it.

I adventured on, caressing the rest of the bookcase and then focusing my attention on the piano. It looked even more spectacular in the early dawn light that glimmered over its smooth surface. It looked delicate and very expensive, so I gingerly hovered my fingertips over it. My hand rose and fell as I traversed the black keys that stood like mountains over the white keys.

I wonder what it sounds like
.

I slowly pressed down on one of the keys and a high pitched hum echoed through the house, so loud I thought I surely must have woken everyone up. I immediately moved away from it, red-faced with embarrassment.

In the kitchen I found a box of trash bags in one of the cabinets by the refrigerator and started the monumental task of picking up all the garbage left over from the party.

I nearly filled an entire bag with the trash from inside the house. Outside was even worse, but I sucked in a gulp of sweet morning air and got on with the cleaning, starting on the porch.

“Usually I’m the first one up every morning.” Mr. Redman stood in the doorway.

“Good morning, sir.”

“Morning. You sleep alright last night?”

“Oh, yes sir. I always wake up early. I don’t want to miss a minute of the day.”

“I know what you mean. I appreciate you cleaning up around here. I’m going to grab a cup of coffee real quick and I’ll come and join you. You want one?” I hadn’t noticed Mr. Redman’s accent before now, but he spoke with that same slow, deliberate drawl I had heard in town the day before.

“No thank you, sir.”

Mr. Redman and I spent the early morning hours making the house look spic and span. We swept all the floors, wiped all the surfaces, collected all the trash and folded up and stored all the extra tables and chairs. After spacing out the rocking chairs evenly on the back porch, Mr. Redman took a seat, but didn’t rock back and forth.

“Thank you for all your help, Colton.”

“It’s the least I could do, sir.” I wiped my hands on my jeans, leaned on the porch railing and peered out into the backyard. The sun was barely a hand or two over the horizon.

“You’re a working man, aren’t you, Colton? I could tell the moment I shook your hand yesterday,” Mr. Redman said.

I looked down upon my hands, rough and craggily from old scars and long days out in the fields.

“Yes sir. I’ve worked…I’ve worked many years,” I confessed honestly without revealing too much.

“Hard working men are hard to find these days. I’ve tried to teach my sons the value of hard work. Alex never seemed to take on to what I tried to teach him when he was younger. He took it as me being hard on him.” Mr. Redman sipped at his coffee and peered out into his backyard at the land that his family has owned for so many years.

“Your son is a good man. I never would have made it through Basic if I didn’t have him to show me the way,” I said.

“I hear it the other way.”

“Sir?”

“Alex told me that it was
you
who got
him
through Basic,” Mr. Redman said, peering up at me over the lip of his coffee cup as he drank. “Which is a helluva thing for my son to admit. He’s usually not one to give praise so easily.”

“Yeah, I learned that the hard way.”

“I had a long talk with him last night after the party. I asked him how everything went and I could tell by the way he talked that something inside him had changed. His whole demeanor is different.” Mr. Redman trailed off in thought, but quickly snapped to after another sip of his coffee.

“Alex was a troubled boy for a while. He angered real easy, especially with me. I reckon I’m not devoid of all the blame. I didn’t exactly provide him the easiest childhood. My family has had to deal with the consequences of my actions for a long time. I feared for Alex when he shipped off to Basic. I knew that he would have a rough time of it, but I let him go anyway. I thought the Army would help him like it had helped me when I was his age.

“I was in the military a long time, Colton. I know what good soldiers are like…and bad ones. I’ve seen my fair share of both. The one thing I came to learn from my time in the service is that a soldier is who he is because of what he is willing to fight for. Nine times out of ten a soldier fights for the man standing beside him.

“When I enlisted I was bunked with this frail eighteen-year-old kid that looked like he would be crushed under the weight of his own helmet. That kid’s name was Dominic Gammon. We became good friends over time and it occurred to me that the reason I fought so hard to be the best I could be was because I didn’t want to let my friend down. The point being, Alex cares for you a lot, Colton. He told me all about you. He told me how you constantly had his back during Basic, how you have this constant drive that compels you, and how you have this insatiable desire for knowledge.”

Mr. Redman stood up, his presence completely dominating the atmosphere.

“My son came home a changed man. He’s more driven, more open-minded, more compassionate, more loving and he says he owes all of that to you. Since you entered my son’s life, he’s become the man I’ve always known he could be.”

“I’m not sure I can claim the credit for all that, Mr. Redman,” I said.

“Yes, you can.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “General Gammon told me your story. I wanted to know what kind of man would be watching my son’s back. I couldn’t ask for anyone better. As a father, as Alex’s father, I’m proud to shake your hand and to thank you for all that you’ve done and all that you will do for my son.”

Mr. Redman shook my hand warmly, his shallow eyes glowing fervently. He didn’t seem anything like the villain that he was made out to be. In fact, I had a growing admiration for the man. All the stories I had heard in the barracks were surely wrong. He seemed like a good man and he was obviously still deeply respected by a lot of people.

I sure hope I don’t let him down.

*

Mrs. Redman called out for everyone to come eat, breakfast was ready. When I rounded the corner to the dining room, I was presented with the finest scene I had ever been blessed enough to see. It was like an image torn straight from my endless book of dreams.

The table was set end to end, plates and bowls elegantly arranged with forks, knives, and spoons resting to the side on a folded napkin. Nearby sat polished glassware and several platters delicately arranged with scrumptious looking food. Mr. Redman was already seated at the head of the table. I could hear hurried footsteps coming from upstairs as Mrs. Redman came in carrying a dish with two oven mitts.

“Good morning, Colton,” she said, cordially enough. I had the strange feeling in the back of my mind that she didn’t like me being there.

“Good morning, Mrs. Redman.”

I stood off to the side waiting for instruction, not wanting to impose upon their kindness.

Alex came in the room next. “Have a seat Colton,” he said, gesturing to the seat at the end of the table, himself taking a seat next to me.

One after another, the other Redman children found their places at the table. Alex introduced me to them as they sat down. Lucas, age seven, was the youngest boy in the family. Ben was next at ten, followed by Sarah, a shy little girl around fourteen, and Sam, a young man about a year older than Sarah. He had a head full of hair he held in place with a camouflaged ball cap.

And of course Tessa.
So beautiful
. She came down wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. She was finishing up tying her hair in a ponytail as she sat down and wished everyone a good morning. She smiled when she saw me.

I sat there with my hands in my lap watching the hub of a family breakfast. There was so much going on, with the two youngest boys punching each other, Sam, Sarah and Tessa arguing over a basket of biscuits, Mr. Redman and Alex talking about the war and Mrs. Redman trying to corral all the nonsense. It was perfect. It was everything I could have ever wished for. Mr. Jeffries told me about the Thanksgiving dinners he used to have with his family, when he was younger. This was exactly how I imagined it.

Despite all the nonsense, the food dishes were passed around and I found a mound-like glob of food on my plate. Alex told me not to be shy and that there was plenty of food.

Mrs. Redman asked Lucas and Ben how school was that week and they both wildly talked over each other about how they both got a part in the school play. She went around the table asking all the children about their schooling. I perked my ears up a little more when Tessa spoke. I wanted to know more about her.

She told her mother about her upcoming volleyball matches and asked if she would come watch. She was answered with a, “we’ll see, honey”.

Alex was the only one that talked to me, but it didn’t bother me at all, I was pleased sitting there quietly. He had such a lovely family.

“So, Colton, tell us about yourself, what corner of the world are you from?” Mrs. Redman asked out of the blue, her seemingly icy attitude replaced with a feigned warmth of curiosity.

The table hushed but for the clanking of silverware on dishes. They all wanted to know who this stranger was at their table that had been sitting there all quiet-like.

I couldn’t recall exactly where the Stephens plantation was, but I did remember overhearing something the Army recruiter said on the phone the day I enlisted.

“I’m from over in Wilcox County, Alabama, ma’am,” I said, trying to sound educated and not use my plantation bred manner of speaking.

“Oh,” she said all sweet-like. “And how was life over in Wilcox County before you enlisted?”

“Ma!” Alex interjected, obviously annoyed.

“What, honey?”

Alex talked to her in a hushed tone. “I told you not to--.”

“Honey, he’s our guest. I was just having polite conversation.”

“It’s alright, Alex,” I said. “It wasn’t particularly interesting, Mrs. Redman. Wilcox County isn’t exactly known for anything but its crop fields.”
And its slavery.
But I didn’t say that.

Mr. Jeffries taught me the value of honesty and I didn’t want to betray that, but I also wasn’t exactly lying. It was more like skirting the edge of the truth.

“Oh, so your parents are farmers?” she asked.

Infuriated, Alex dropped his fork and stared hard at his mother. He knew somehow the conversation would turn to this and knowing how sensitive I was about the subject, he didn’t want me in the spotlight like that.

Sitting calmly in his chair at the other end of the table, Mr. Redman looked up from his plate, also intrigued as to what my answer would be.

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am. I never knew my parents.” I paused and then, without thinking, “I lived with Mr. Jeffries.”

“Was Mr. Jeffries a relative of yours?”

I chuckled quietly and nervously to myself and said, “No ma’am. Mr. Jeffries was a colored man. He raised me since I was a boy.”

A curt “oh” escaped her lips. She didn’t ask any more questions after that. She just sat there, her back straight, taking small bites off her fork and not even bothering to look down at my end of the table.

I wonder if I said something wrong
.

I had Lucas and Ben to thank for ending the awkward silence that followed. Just like the erratic tendencies of a child’s mind, they changed the subject and were asking permission to go play in the woods after breakfast. They said they had found a cool tree that would be excellent for climbing. Mr. Redman told them it was alright by him.

Breakfast ended without any further conversation that involved me. Mr. and Mrs. Redman disappeared upstairs and one by one the Redman children went about their weekend activities and left their dirty plates sitting on the table. I took mine and placed them in the kitchen sink, following Alex’s lead. He apologized for his mother’s behavior and lurked off into the library.