Free War of the Eagles by Eric Walters Page A

am.”
    â€œGood. Now you better get going. I don’t want you to keep Smitty waiting.”
    I took off my apron, balled it up, tossed it on the counter and raced for the door.
    â€œNo kiss for your mother?”
    â€œNo time for kisses,” I yelled back over my shoulder.
    I could feel a wave of excitement across the base. People were talking loud, laughing, hustling around. Soldiers, hair slicked down, big smiles on their faces, spilled out of the barracks and anxiously waited for their buddies to assemble. There was a lot of good-natured kidding, shoving and playful conversation.
    For the first time, I wasn’t just watching, but felt part of it all. Maybe I wasn’t going to be doing the same things, but at least I was going to the same place.
    When I got to the motor pool, Smitty was already in the cab of the truck, the engine going. I pulled myself up on the step, opened the door and swung into the passenger seat. We were taking one of the big double axle trucks called a butter box.
    â€œGood to see you, Jed,” Smitty greeted me. “I ap–preciate your help,” he said, taking a big bite from a candy bar.
    Smitty put the truck into gear and it ground and jerked into motion. We bounced out of the big barn housing the vehicles and he cranked the wheel sharply to the right to turn us towards town. Coming up to the front gate, he braked the vehicle and I braced myself against the dashboard as he brought it to a complete stop. Two soldiers blocked our path.
    â€œHi, Smitty. Can you give us a lift?” one of them asked.
    â€œSure, climb on board.”
    They both circled around the front of the vehicle.
    The hood of the truck was so massive they both disap–peared from sight as they rounded the front. They climbed in.
    â€œHi, Jed,” one offered. His name was Rylance. I’d said a few words to him when we met around the camp. He was always friendly and Smitty said he was okay.
    â€œAre you going into town to do a little hunting too?” the other one chuckled. His name was Murdock. He was a nasty piece of work, always talking too loud and bullying people. I always made a point of avoiding him, although he was always asking me to bring him some–thing or other when he was in the mess hall.
    â€œHunting? In town?” I asked puzzled.
    â€œWell, that’s what we call it,” Murdock replied.
    Both soldiers were in their dress uniforms. They had “MP” patches on their helmets and carried nightsticks.
    The “MP” stood for Military Police and their job was to assist the local police with problems that developed with any of the soldiers.
    â€œMaybe instead of helping Smitty tonight, we could convince you to bring along your gun and help us,” suggested Murdock.
    He made me nervous. I’d heard he had a bad temper and enjoyed busting a few heads, just for fun. That at–titude, combined with his size, made him scary.
    â€œIf you think grizzlies and cougars are dangerous and unpredictable, you haven’t seen anything until you see the drunks in town battling with each other,” continued Rylance.
    â€œSorry, guys, he’s with me tonight,” Smitty said. “Be–sides, we can’t have anything happen to Jed here. Between his hunting and his mother’s cooking, he’s the most valuable person in the camp.”
    Soon we turned off the unpaved, uneven road lead–ing to the camp and onto the county road leading into town. Smitty geared up higher and the engine roared, this time much deeper, as we picked up speed. Look–ing to the side I saw we took up almost all the room and I was grateful there wasn’t any other traffic on the narrow road.
    â€œWhere do you want to be let off?” Smitty asked the two MPs.
    â€œDowntown, Third Avenue, right in front of the Royal Hotel,” Rylance answered. “If that isn’t too far out of your way.”
    â€œNo problem. I figured