War of the Eagles (4 page)

As big as they are standing, it's frightening to watch one of them coming down. I saw them cut one of the big ones down at the camp. The sound was like a freight train steaming through the night. Even though I wasn't standing anywhere near it, I felt a surge of air rushing out of the way, and then, unbelievably, I felt the ground jump up.

Those soldiers, most of them from back east — none of them with any experience taking down trees — had no idea. The army tried to keep everything that hap– pened really hush-hush, but in a place as small as Prince Rupert, there were no secrets. Especially if your mother worked there. The first few trees they felled came down in ways and directions that weren't expected. Bulldozers, jeeps, and buildings were smashed. These at least could be replaced. But there were tragedies as well. People got hurt and one man was killed. I heard the tree fell squarely on top of him and he was driven straight down into the ground like a tent peg. My mother told me they had to dig him up to bury him again. At first they used dynamite, tons of it, to try to blast away the rocks, as well as the tree stumps after they had cut down the trees. They got better with experience. And smarter. You just couldn't make a base here like you could down south. You had to build around things, not just over top of them. Finally they learned to leave the really big trees and rocks and built around them.

The camp came up on me sooner than I expected. The bulldozers and chain saws had become quiet a few minutes before. I was amazed at how much bigger it had got since my last visit three weeks ago. At the very center, where they had started, all the trees had been taken down. The sky was exposed and the ground was a sea of brown mud. Toward the outside, the big trees still stood but the underbrush and smaller trees had been cleared away.

Breaking up the brown of the earth were the build–ings littering the ground. They'd started trying to lay the buildings out in a proper military style; straight lines with regular spaces between the buildings. Pretty soon they had the sense to give it up and the layout of the base now had more in common with our village than any plan they started with. I counted fifteen buildings. That was five more than the last time. This was a prob–lem. The mess, which was where my mother slept in a bedroom off the back, was no longer at the edge of the clearing, backing into the trees. Now the cover of the forest was at least twenty-five yards away and I'd have to pass almost directly under the windows of more than one building to get there.

A wooden boardwalk ran between all the buildings. At places it was elevated far off the ground with steps leading up and down. They needed the boardwalk be–cause the ground. exposed to rain every day and without any plants to absorb or hold it, had turned into a sea of churning mud. The only places where there wasn't mud was where there was rock. The gravel paths they'd put down before the boardwalk just kept on disappearing into the mud as the men walked on them.

At the center of the camp was a large, flat piece of rock. This open space, about the size of a baseball in–field, was the parade grounds. The mess, officer's club, showers and commander's office all bordered this area. In the middle of the grounds a flag pole flew the Union Jack which flapped at the top.

One other change I noticed was a series of targets which had been placed along the east side of the camp. Directly behind them, forming a high wall, lay the newly killed corpse of a giant Douglas fir. I figured this was a practice shooting range, and the tree was meant to capture any stray bullets which missed the targets. I'd watched them taking target practice before. I couldn't believe how bad some of them were. I only hoped the Germans were even worse.

From my hiding spot, beneath the skirt of an ever–green tree which reached right to the ground, I scanned the camp. There were only a few men in sight, heavy boots sounding against the wooden walkways. They were moving toward the mess hall. Glancing at my father's watch which he gave me when he left, I saw it was a few minutes after five o'clock. I knew almost everybody on base was now inside the mess, having supper. Most of the men would be eating and then getting ready for leave down in Rupert. I heard a few voices, loud laughter and then the slamming of a screen door. Two soldiers had come out of the building just off to my left and strolled away.

The sweet smell of a fire found its way to my nostrils. Over to the right, a good hundred yards away, there was a blaze burning in the fire pit. A thick pall of smoke rose straight up, until it got to just above the level of the tallest trees, and then it was caught by wind and blown away. Ever since they'd started clearing away the space for the camp there'd been a fire burning, night and day, getting rid of all the scrub and wood. Tadashi's father had told me that on a clear day you could see the smoke rising up over the camp from way out on the water. The fishing boats could use it like a beacon to find their way back to port.

I sat down against the trunk of the tree. The fallen pine needles formed a cushion between me and the ground. To get to my mother, I'd have to move across camp, over open territory, directly to the back door of a building that held almost every soldier at the base. I dug a hand deep into my pocket and pulled out the letter. I thought about what my Naani had said; Easy, just don't get caught. I had to give it a chance.

“Move it! Come on outa there!” a voice screamed.

My heart almost jumped out of my throat. Who was it? Were they yelling at me?

“Get out! Shoo!” screamed a second voice, this one much deeper than the first.

I held my breath. Maybe they …
Baanngg!
The sound was deafening, instantly accom–panied by the whizzing of a bullet past my ear and the twang of a branch snapping.

I threw myself against the ground and sharp pine needles imbedded themselves in my hands and face. I heard yelling in the distance, and the sound of doors slamming and heavy feet against the wooden walkways. I heard voices from all sides of the tree. Out through the thick branches I saw pairs of feet and legs, a safe distance back from the tree. Lying perfectly still, I suspected I was invisible unless I moved.

“Everyone quiet!” a voice called out in an English accent like my father's.

There was silence. Then I heard the voice, and one or two others, but I couldn't make out the words. Silence, and then that voice came again, calm and quiet.

“If there is a person beneath the tree, you should come out at once. If you do not, we will assume it is some sort of animal and will commence firing.”

On all fours I crawled, branches whacking me in the face. I cleared the last branch, my left arm gave way and I crashed face forward into the thick mud. Lifting my head, I tried to brush the mud away from my eyes with my mud-covered hands. I looked up to find myself in the middle of dozens of soldiers, all with their rifles trained on me. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out.

“Put your weapons down,” came the voice, which I now realized belonged to Major Brown. He stood directly in front of me.

I'd never had a gun, loaded or unloaded, pointed at me; I felt a rush of relief as the rifles were lowered.

“So, this is what a mountain lion looks like,” Major Brown said sarcastically to one of the soldiers at his side. “Bring him to my office.” He turned and walked away. He stopped ten paces away and turned around again.

“And send me the sentries who are on guard. I want them to explain how he managed to get by them.”

Two pairs of arms grabbed me and I was pulled up, and off the ground, to be set back down on my feet on the walkway.

“Mighty stupid. Coulda got yourself shot,” said one of the soldiers.

“After the major gets through with you, you might wish you had been shot,” chuckled the other.

“Could somebody go back and get my gun?” I croaked.

“Your gun?”

“My rifle. I dropped it under the tree.”

“Private!” he yelled over his shoulder to one of the soldiers who was walking behind us. “Go back to the tree and find the kid's weapon.”

We moved along the walkway, crossed the table rock of the parade grounds, past the flagpole, the rope twanging against the metal pole, and came right to the major's office. The officer knocked.

“Come,” came the reply through the closed door.

One soldier opened the door while the other pushed me forward so I entered before them.

“Here he is, sir, the prisoner, sir.”

“Prisoner?” Major Brown questioned.

“Yes, sir,” the soldier said very formally. “Do you wish us to stay sir, to act as guards, sir?”

“I think I shall be safe. Sit,” he ordered, fixing me with a steely gaze.

I heard the door close. The two soldiers had beaten a hasty retreat.

“Explain your presence on my base.”

“I was just coming to visit my mother,” I stammered.

I found it impossible to meet his gaze and looked down at my muddy feet. “I wanted to give her this letter from my father,” I added, pulling it from my pocket. It too was mud stained.

“Your mother?”

“Naomi … Mrs. Blackburn.”

“I thought you looked familiar, hard to tell through all that mud on your face. We've met on one of your too-frequent visits here.”

“Yes, I mean … yes, sir.”

“Why didn't you come in through the front gate?”

“I took the short-cut,” I lied.

He nodded his head in agreement, but he looked like he didn't believe a word I'd said.

“Sergeant!” he barked, and I jumped slightly out of my seat.

The door opened instantly and a soldier appeared at my side.

“Bring Mrs. Blackburn.”

“Yes, sir.” The soldier turned on his heels and hur–ried out the door.

It would be good to have my mother here to protect me from this man. Then I thought, who would protect me from my mother? There was a knock on the door.

“Come.”

The door opened, but instead of my mother, it was a soldier carrying my rifle and backpack.

“What are those?” the major asked the soldier.

“His,” he said, motioning to me. “Found . . . under the tree, sir.”

“Put them on the desk and leave, private.”

The soldier responded quickly and was gone. I no–ticed that he, like the other soldiers, seemed fearful of the major.

“Why did you need a rifle to deliver a letter?”

“For protection or to hunt,” I answered. I thought it best not to mention to fend off the spirits.

“Do you hunt?”

“Yes, most days.”

“With success?”

“Most times,” I said. This time I tried hard to keep my eyes focused on his but failed and my gaze again fell to the floor.

“My men have had less success. So far all they've got are mosquito bites, sprained ankles, and lost.”

“Not much game, close in here.”

“No, nothing. That is why I did not believe it when the sentry said he had taken a shot at a mountain lion under a tree. A wild animal is too clever to be seen by any of this lot. What were you doing under the tree?”

“Just watching,” I again lied.

“Watching? Were you hoping to see something funny?”

“Funny? I don't understand.”

“You are not alone. Watching these, shall we say soldiers, in training, is at best amusing. Thank goodness the near–est German soldier is over six thousand miles away. Then, again, it isn't the Germans we're here to worry about.

Where is your father that he needs to write you letters?”

“He's in England,” I answered. “He's a fighter pilot.

Spitfires,” I answered. This time my eyes remained locked on his. I saw a look of acknowledgment.

“Main event. That is where the war is happening.

The place where they should put soldiers with experi–ence, not in some summer camp thousands of miles away. I envy your father. Your mother never mentioned any of this.”

“She doesn't like to talk about it.”

“You should be very proud of him.”

“I am.”

He looked down at his wrist watch. “Now, if your mother would only honor us with her presence.” His voice had softened.

The door flung open without a knock, and my mother ran in. She came directly to me and gave me a big hug.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” I felt embarrassed to be hugged in front of the major.

She turned to him. “You better explain yourself. How dare your men fire at my son!” Unlike the soldiers she had no fear of him. I'd never known her to be afraid of anybody.

“Firstly, Mrs. Blackburn, it was an accident, and sec–ondly, as you would know if you knew my men, the safest place to be when they shoot is where they are aiming.

Believe me, that man will be dealt with. Now, would you please pull up a chair and join us?”

She crossed over to his desk and picked up my gun and knapsack. She placed the rifle in my hands and put the knapsack on her lap as she sat down.

“Your son says he is here to deliver a letter to you. I will forgive him for trespassing on a military base, out of respect for you and your husband, but I do not believe that is all there is to his visit.”

I again found my eyes focusing on the floorboards.

“Of course, there's more to it,” my mother answered.

I looked at her in shock. What more could there be?

“He brought something for you,” she said, patting the knapsack.

What was she talking about, I thought as she started to unbuckle the bag.

“Here, I'll have to warm it up, but you can tell from the smell even when it's cold, how wonderful it'll taste.”

She pulled out the container holding the cooked rabbit and placed it on his desk.

The major took off the layer of wrapping and peered inside. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A sigh escaped his lips.

“I thought you and the officers might be tired of all the canned food I have to keep giving you,” my mother said.