Circles in the Sand (6 page)

The next day Clint and Lance drove out to inspect the structures still standing in gunnery site. A cantonment area off to the side of the road contained three Quonset huts, their previous use unknown. Two needed some new doors and windows, to say nothing of being cleaned out. Out on the south boundary road, Clint showed the ammo building and race track to Lance.

“As I understand it. The Air Force is gong to install B-36 gun turrets out here. Then they’ll fly drones off this circular track for gunners to shoot at.”

“Must have a high attrition rate among drones…if the gunners are any good.”

“Yeah, from the photos I saw, they aren’t very big…hard to hit something that small, but shouldn’t take many hits to destroy one.”

While they were talking, they heard the noise of aircraft engines in the distance. Searching for the plane, they saw a twin-boom cargo plane headed their way. It descended from it’s route altitude and circled first the town, and then the airfield. “Got USAF markings.”  Lance said.

“A C-119. I hope he’s carrying some good news.”

The plane landed and taxied toward them. Attracted by the noise of a new plane, Sheriff Radecker and Tommy Kerns drove up before the engines shut down. “What’s going on, fellas?”

“Don’t know yet, Sheriff. Didn’t know it was coming in.”

After the propellers quit spinning, a large clam shell cargo door at the rear of the fuselage split open.. A ramp dropped to the ground. Standing behind the aircraft, the cargo master waved something forward. Something was a Jeep, followed by a weapons carrier. Both of them drove up to the standing men. A Staff Sergeant in the Jeep said, “I’m looking for a Master Sergeant Greybull.”

“Right here, Sergeant.” Clint walked over to the Jeep and offered his hand. “Glad to see you, Sergeant…”

“Antonio Elsas. I didn’t know you…”

“Don’t sweat it, Elsas. We don’t wear uniforms on this job. You here to stay?”

“You bet. Vehicles too. That’s Corporal Loren Priebe in the weapons carrier.”

“This is Lancer Werner.” Clint walked over to the weapons carrier and welcomed Priebe. “I’m sure glad to see you guys… and your vehicles. This place will ruin my own truck.”

“Got something else for ya,” Priebe said. “Radio in the back here.”

“Great.” Clint said. He looked under the cover on the back of the weapons carrier. “A light weight ground-to-air job. Except we got no airplanes to talk to. Which reminds me, we’re going to need some electrical power out here.” He started to say something to Lance, when he caught sight of motion out of the corner of his eye. He looked toward the C-119. Two Airmen in class A uniforms walked toward him. They struggled with duffle bags.

“Hey, I hope you guys are assigned here.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” said the nearest. He didn’t sound like a volunteer.

Clint offered a hand to PFC Ross Alcocke and PFC Mitch Kline. “Welcome aboard men. I’m Sergeant Greybull… in charge of this operation.” The weak handshakes both men returned warned Clint of attitude problems.
If they’re not happy, they’ll just have to get over it.
He introduced everyone all around to each other, and to Radecker and Kerns. Then he collected orders from the new arrivals. “Well, lets all get into town. We need to find some quarters, and something to eat, if you guys are hungry.”

Sitting in the restaurant after everyone was fed, Greybull gave the troops a capsule idea of what they were going to do at the gunnery range.

Later, with everyone at the Quonset hut nearest the runway, Clint said, “The first thing we’ve got to do is make this building habitable for an office, shop, HQ, and so forth. I’ve brought along cleaning supplies in my truck. There’s two five gallon water jugs in there too. Sergeant Elsas, you take charge of getting this place ship shape. Cannibalize any doors or windows you need from the other two huts.

Sergeant Werner, you take the weapons carrier and go on a scrounging mission for tables, chairs, or anything anybody will donate that’s of use. We even need a file cabinet to store papers. Start with Mrs. Gilman, the sheriff, and then the McCunes. Oh, don’t forget Chet at the tavern. There was power and water out here in the past. I’m going to get with the power company and also see what I can do about running water.”

Naturally the Valley Power CO-OP was in Glasgow. And yes there used to be power into the gunnery range, but they’d have to send a line man to evaluate our needs. “Oh, and do you have some kind of authorization, Sergeant?”

“Yes Ma’am. Government requisitions slips.”
Good thing for me, LC Jenner is a straight up kind of Officer. He signed the authorization box on all of them.

Clint dropped in to see Sheriff Radecker. “What’s the situation on water around here?”

“Don’t believe there’s any pipe out to the cantonment area. Maybe they had their own well in the past.”

“Any problem with us hauling our immediate needs with five gallon bottles.”

“No, go right ahead. We don’t have water meters. County pays for the system out of taxes. You can fill up any where convenient.”

Back at the hut, PFC Alcocke stopped sweeping and said, “Hey, Sarge. I don’t get it. What we doing this for anyway?”

“Cleaning this hut? Ain’t that obvious?”

“Naw. Why are we here? This doesn’t look like an Air Force Base to me.”

Elsas turned from the window he was installing. “You could say we’re kinda pioneers, Alcocke. We’re gonna create a bombing range for B-50s and B-36s. We get it set up, they’ll come by…and bomb the shit out of us.”

“Oh funnee. You mean I spent four years in college to clean huts and dodge bombs?”

“You been to college? What did you study?”

“Sociology. A study of relationships among groups of people.”

“What did they tell you at the base you came from?”

“Just to get my shit together. I got orders to another base.”

“Maybe the Air Force wants you to study how PFCs get along with Sergeants. You can start by sweeping the rest of all this crap out.”

Watching him, Elsas said, “If you went to college, what did you join the Air Force for?”

“School was out and my draft number was coming up. They told me I could be an officer. They really lied to me.”

“How’s that?”

“Because I wear glasses, I couldn’t be a pilot, so they sent me to OCS.”

“I don’t see no gold bars on your shoulders.”

“No shit. Because I complained about all the chickenshit illegal hazing. They kicked my ass out.”

“Be glad you came here. No formations, no parades, no drills, no officers, just a fun place to be. You can even ditch your fatigues and wear civilian clothes. You get to live in a hotel and eat in a restaurant. This is fat city duty.”

PFC Kline came in from hauling a load of trash out and said, “The way Sergeant Greybull briefed us, it sounds to me we’ll be working our ass off.”

“So? It’ll be real constructive work. A job you can be proud of when we’re done.”

“Yeah? It sounds like a real mess. I hope Sergeant Greybull knows what he’s doing.”

“You guys worry too much. Get cracking again. If Werner shows up with any furniture, I want to be ready for it.”

At Gilman’s, Lance stalled talking to Dorris as much as he could. “Boss says we can use just about anything and everything. This really is a bare base.”

“I’ll look around and see what I can spare. Can you come by later?”

“Sure, but if you don’t mind, I’ll wait, maybe I can help you.”

Dorris shrugged but didn’t object when he followed her around. He stayed so close to her she felt nervous. Dorris donated a settee. Lance hadn’t paid any attention to Lorena trailing them. After Lance left, Lorena said “I believe you’ve got two sergeant interested in you now. He didn’t take his eyes off you, all the time he followed you around. He’s sure a handsome man.  Looks like a movie star.”

“Yeah, but couldn’t you hear him howling? He’s a wolf!  He’s too young for me, and very much too old for you!”

Lance got a card table from the McCunes and two barstools from Chet. At the bank, the manager wasn’t in and no one else could let anything go. The gas station didn’t have anything useful. He could think of only one other business establishment he hadn’t canvassed. He pulled into the parking lot of the Boar Pen and parked next to the Cadillac.

He walked toward the front door. When it opened, Basil Tree walked out working a toothpick. The cowboy stopped in Lance’s way and said, “Ain’t you at the wrong address, fly boy?”

“What’s it to ya, farmer? How come you aren’t out riding herd on a wheat field?”

“I’m a cowboy, fly guy, not a farmer, and don’t you forget it.”

Lance was ready for any movement by Basil. “I’d like to forget you, Tree. Because you’re bullshit up to your eyebrows.”

“Who’s that, Basil? You’re finished for the day. Don’t stand in the way of another customer.” Lance saw a chunky brunet standing in the open doorway. Basil Tree glowered at Lance, mumbled something and stalked off to a panel truck. “Come on in, stranger, we’ll make a friend of you.”

“That’s very cordial of you Ma’am. But I’m not a customer just yet. I’m on Air Force business, more or less.”

“Well, how more or less can an Air Force be?”

“Less is what they’ve givin’ us to start this job. Sent us out here to make a bomb range out of scratch. And scratching is what I’m doing now, scrounging what ever furniture I can get for our headquarters, such as it is.”

“Headquarters?”

“One of those Quonset huts out near the air strip.”

“Madre Mia. Come in,” Looking at his clothes, “Sergeant…”

“Werner, Ma’am. We’d be much obliged for anything you can spare.”

“Have a seat at the bar. Marie-Elena will pour you a beer, Sergeant Werner. I’m going to look around…for anything we can spare.”

Sitting at the bar, out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark movement to the left rear. He turned to see a swarthy heavy Hispanic man in a pork pie hat come through a beaded curtain. He sat at a chair near the door. He didn’t take his eyes off of Lance.

The stunning Amerasian girl he’d seen driving the Cadillac came from another room. “I’ll do it, Mom.” She placed a tall glass with a fine head of foam in front of Werner. “So what brings the Air Force to our mighty metropolis, Sergeant?”

Lance gave her an abbreviated version of their mission. Then, cutting his eyes behind him, “Who’s the heavy guy with the eye trouble?”

“Oh don’t pay any attention to him. That’s El Gordo. He’s some remote relative of Olivia’s. Kind of a body guard, bouncer.”

“I can tell he’s not your welcome greater.”

Marie-Elena laughed. “No, he won’t bother you. So, probably you’ll have quite a few men here eventually?”

“I sure hope so. It’s going to be heavy going, Miss… Gomez?”

“Marie-Elena Gomez. Mom named me after the song.”

“Yeah, pretty girl named after a pretty song. I can see that.” Her subtle perfume touched his nose, receded…returned…He inhaled. “If I’m not too nosy. I thought your  Mom might be Mexican or Cuban, but you could be Oriental.”

“Olivia is my step-mother. Raised me from birth when my mother died. She was Chinese. My father was an Anglo.”

“I guess I was being nosy.”

“No, it’s all right. I’ve been very lucky. She doesn’t have any kids of her own. She has cared for me like I was her real daughter.”

“That’s great. We saw you arrive yesterday…were sitting at Chet’s. He said you just came back from college.”

“Yes. I’ll be a junior next year, U Montana at Missoula.”

He toyed with his beer glass. What he really wanted to ask her about was her personal life.
Was it true what they said about her? Was she really an expensive whore? Was it true that Deutsch bought her virginity?
“So, what are you studying?”

“Up till now, just general courses. I’m thinking of majoring in anthropology.”

“Apology for what? Have you sinned?”

Marie-Elena blushed, then laughed. “No, of course not, you joker. Anthropology, a study of mankind.”

“Humm. Do they also have a study of womenkind? That would be my choice.”

“No, it’s all one study. Have you been to college?”

He finished his beer. “No. But maybe I’ll go on the GI bill when my hitch is up. See if some other school has a womankind course.”

“Oh, you’re just teasing. Here comes Mom now.”

Olivia returned carrying a two drawer filing cabinet. “I’ve got a bigger one now. Don’t need this one, Sergeant. If you can use it, you are welcome to it.”

Werner hid his surprise at seeing a purple cabinet. “Yes Ma’am. We sure can use it.” He took it from her.
Damn. Mama could kick her shoes under my bunk too.
“An’ thank you very much. We’ll put it to good use.”

Outside, Basil Tree leaned on the cab of his truck. “Hey, fly boy, you look real cute with that purple thing. Fits you for sure.”

“Oh kiss my ass, Tree. Don’t you have something better to do than prop up that bucket of bolts.”

“Just keeping an eye on you city dudes. You weren’t in there long enough to do a man’s job. Smatter? Your tool ain’t satisfactory to any o’ the gals?”

“Go piss up a rope, Tree. You talk too much to matter to anyone.”

“Yeah, one of these days you’re going to be talking out of what teeth you got left.”

Lance set the purple cabinet in the back of the weapons carrier. He turned back to face Tree. With his thumbs hooked in his belt, “This is one of those days, Tree. If you’re not just hot air, let’s see what you got.”

Tree wrenched open the door of his truck. “It’s your lucky day, Werner. If  I didn’t need to get back to the ranch. I’d do some dentistry on you.” He slid into his rusty pick-up.

“Go get some help Tree. You’ll need it.”
That chickenshit sonovabitch.

Back at the Quonset, Clint pulled up just behind Werner. Looking into the truck he said, “Let me guess where you got the purple file…from Fritz Deutsch.”

“I don’t know where to find him. Just as well. His tame poodle, Tree, tried to give me a hard time at the Boar Pen. Turned tail when I faced him.”

“All mouth and no muscle, huh?”

“Yeah…Didn’t collect too much. I didn’t hit any of the private houses.”