Free My Honor Flight by Dan McCurrigan Page B

stared off into the distance.
     “You're a
gypsy, aren’t you?  Can’t you predict the future?”
    Everyone was
looking at Cooper.  We had all been dying to ask him about gypsy stuff, but
none of us knew how to politely bring it up.  Leave it to Big Swede to just
barge in with it.
     “It doesn’t
work that way,” said Cooper.  Long pause.
    Old Big Swede
cocked his head to one side, thinking real hard.  “Well then, how DOES it work?”
    Cooper was
frowning as he stared outside.  He looked real defensive, his arms crossed. 
But as he looked over at Big Swede, he couldn’t help cracking a smile when he
saw that big white naked Norwegian sitting there loosely wrapped in a towel,
with his head cocked to one side.  “That’s more from my grandma’s time.  I went
to school just like you guys,” said Cooper.
     “So, you can’t
predict the future?” asked Big Swede.
    Cooper
grinned.  “Nah, I can’t do that.  Before you ask, I can’t put curses on people
either.”
     “Son of a
bitch!” shouted Big Swede. “That was going to be my next question—see if you
could put a curse on old Adolf for us.  Or the whole damn German army!”
    The whole
group erupted into laughter. 
    After that, I
guess we realized that Cooper was just a normal guy, and we weren’t scared that
he was going to put a curse on us or something.  We all started treating him
just like one of the guys, and he took to the group real well.
    Right after
our fight at the farmyard, we all put up in a camp.  Cooper was crying. 
     “Cooper, you
hurt?” asked Cap. 
    Cooper shook
his head and didn't say anything.  Cap eyed him for a minute, nodded to himself,
and walked off.  I guess Cap could tell he was going to be all right.  We all
just kind of laid low for a while.  I figured if Cooper wanted to talk about
it, he’d come to one of us.  He regained his composure a few hours later.
     “Guys, come
here,” Cooper said, as he stood near a fire.
    It was especially
chilly for June, so a lot of guys groaned, but they got out of their bedrolls
and stood around the fire.  It lit up all of our faces in bright yellow.  It
was like black and white, but it was black and yellow.
     “I want to show
you something,” said Cooper.  He grabbed his pack and held up a strap.  The
buckle was twisted and broken.
     “Bullet,”
said Cunningham.
     “That's some
big luck,” said Petey Anderson. 
    Cooper
nodded.  He grimaced as he tried to hold back tears. 
     “Am I
missing something?” asked Petey.  “Good luck’s hard to find around here, pal.”
    Cooper nodded
again, and reached into his coat.  He pulled out a scarf.  We couldn’t tell in
the firelight, but it was pink, with a lot of white embroidery in fancy
patterns.
     “You guys
remember when Big Swede asked me about fortune telling and curses?” asked
Cooper.
     “I knew it!”
exclaimed Torgeson, pushing himself in closer to Cooper.  “I knew you could do
magic or something.  All gypsies can do that stuff!”
    Cooper shook
his head, still fighting back tears.  “No, I can’t do any magic.  But my
grandma made me this before I left home.  She said that it would bring me luck
in combat.  Once.  Then I had to give it away.  And she said it would continue
to give luck once in combat to anyone who owned it.”
     “So why are
you sad?” asked Petey.  “It worked.”
     “I know,”
said Cooper.  “But that means it won’t work any more for me.”
     “Maybe you
could keep carrying it and squeeze out some more luck?” asked Trumbull. 
    Cooper shook
his head again.  “No, my grandma said that once you use the luck, you have to
get rid of it, or bad luck will follow.”
    You can
imagine the thoughts this triggered in about thirty men, the oldest of which
was twenty years old.  There was an explosion of talk about using the scarf for
treasure and gambling.  Some of the guys laughed at how stupid some of us could
be, believing in nonsense like