Keepers of the Bond: Book I (Ein)

PROLOGUE

Location: the BOND’S Mossy Break Compound

Caddo Lake, early winter

The big, softly muted red globe of the early-morning sun rising above a cypress break in Caddo Lake defines the eastern horizon of our Mossy Break Compound. Beyond the cypress break, a primeval swamp extends to the east and southeast for many miles to just north of Shreveport, Louisiana. A profusion of Spanish moss drapes the large cypress trees that stand as stately sentinels in our compound and majestically filter the early-morning rays that are now lapping at our porch. You can feel the soothing warmth of the rays on your chilled skin.

It is definitely a beautiful early November morning. The ground fog creeps like lacy fingers through the cypress trees and shimmers in mystical patches on the dark water and the lily pads. It will soon burn off as the sun rises higher in the sky, and the warm rays bathe the humus-rich, dark water of Caddo Lake and the rich loam soil. I always found that to be a little sad, but there is always another morning, another day, and the precious gift of life starting anew. You can feel deep in the center of your being the birth of life renewing.

This time of the year, the fern-like leaves of the cypress trees have turned from olive green to varying shades of yellow and rust. The dark gray trunks and bright foliage of the cypress trees, along with the pink clouds and soft blue sky reflecting on the glass-smooth dark water of Caddo Lake, is breathtaking. This just can’t be real, but I know it is real. With the awakening of the day, I would become aware of the subtle smell of Caddo Lake. Due to the heavy vegetation in and around Caddo Lake, along with its abundance of aquatic life, the air always has a faint fishy smell with a hint of musk, earthy yet erotic.

My daddy, Tim McCloud, always said he loved the smell of Caddo Lake because it smelled just like his woman. That is my mother, Tia McCloud, but I call her Mama. Oh, by the way, my name is Pete McCloud. I’m nearly one year old. My daddy says I sleep some, eat often, and shit a lot, but he still loves me. I’m not old enough to tell the story that needs to be told, so I will give a little background, and then we will need to go back in the clan’s history to when my two grandfathers were in the US Army during WWI. When I stop to think about how much I’m loved and how much I love all them who love me, and the BOND, tears always come to my eyes, and I’m a boy of good stock. I’m a Viking of Scot German descent. Daddy says all our men are good looking, intelligent, modest, and well endowed. At my age I don’t understand what Daddy is talking about. I just listen. Someday I will understand.

Anyway, this morning my daddy is slowly pacing back and forth on the outside edge of our deck instead of reclining in his Caddo Lake lounge chair for two with Mama. This morning Daddy can’t sit, so he is pacing while enjoying the sun’s rays and sipping his strong black coffee. Dad always has his coffee in a heavy glass mug that resembles a cypress tree, except the mug has bright colors running through it from top to bottom. It’s very special, because my grandfather, Jo Johnsen, Mama’s dad, made it just for my dad, his son-in-law.

Grandpa Jo was a famous glassblower who at one time lived on the far eastern side of Caddo Lake in Louisiana near Mooringsport, which is just north of Shreveport. Shreveport is an old river port town on the Big Red—that’s the Red River. The Red River is very important to Texas and Louisiana. It’s just one more thing that the two states share. Grandpa Jo learned the craft or art while serving in the US Army during and after WWI. Grandpa Jo’s first wife was Martha, and their son was Caleb. Grandpa Jo and my other grandpa, Jeb McCloud, were friends before WWI. They were Caddo Lake Rats, which is kind of like a BOND of sorts.

They knew each other as small boys on Caddo Lake and attended college together, both in Texas and Louisiana. Both became civil and mechanical engineers licensed in Texas and Louisiana because they lived in both worlds. It’s kind of hard to beat that combination. Anyway, Grandpa Jo and Grandpa Jeb were best friends, and together they established the BOND on Caddo Lake that would spread to other parts of the United States and beyond. Grandpa Jo and Grandma Lil, which was Grandpa Jo’s second wife, lived on the far eastern side of Caddo Lake in Louisiana. Grandpa Jeb and Grandma Betty lived near Mossy Break on the far west side of Caddo Lake in Texas.

Anyway, back to being on the deck with Daddy. I was quite comfortable burrowed into my sack. The sack is hanging around Daddy’s neck, and I’m laid back against his chest with his faded blue-jean jacket covering all but my head and one arm. Mama came up with the idea of the sack while dragging me around on her hip because I didn’t like my playpen. Why would anyone name a portable jail cell for children a playpen? So Mama made a heavy cotton sack with a padded strap to go around her neck and cut two holes in the bottom of the sack for my legs to go through. When Mama would lean forward, I would swing out, with my legs and butt pointing straight down. That way I wouldn’t slide out of the sack. Gravity is a wonderful thing if you know how to use it the way my mama does.

Another benefit that I really appreciated about being carried in this manner was being near Mama’s milk buds. Until I was four months old, Mama would hold me in her arms, lay me against one of the milk buds, and I would suck that warm little point in my greedy mouth and nurse to my heart’s content. The love, the protection, and the warm milk were one of the most wonderful experiences of my young life. Now that I’m older, I just enjoy being near them. Enough about milk buds; let’s go back to the sack. Daddy called it the brat sack and would tell Mama to put the brat in the sack, and Mama would always say, Your son’s name is Peter Jeb McCloud, named after his two grandfathers.

Anyway, Mama ain’t on the porch with us because she’s with Beth Andersen, who is having a baby. Andy and Beth are Mom and Dad’s best friends and our neighbors. They are also part of the BOND, and that is very important.

You can’t quite see their house from our deck, but Dad is watching the white smoke rise in a straight column well above the cluster of water myrtle trees between the two houses before it slowly disperses into the still, cool morning atmosphere. Mr. Andy started a fire in the family room fireplace to gently remove the early-morning chill. Most importantly, it gave him something to do since he couldn’t help with the pain and discomfort that his woman was going through. Men like to solve problems, but all he could do was watch her hurt and solve nothing. My dad starts talking to me like I’m all grown up, saying, Boy, this is sure a beautiful day to be born. Nearly a year ago Beth was over here helping my woman have you. I also started a fire in the fireplace to feel like I was doing something, but I knew I wasn’t doing a damn thing. I sure hope Miss Beth has an easy birthing and the baby is all okay like you.

Doc Ray, that’s Doctor Ray Lawton, is both of my grandfathers’ best friend. Anyway, he will take good care of them like he has with all our family and the BOND for many years. Boy, will you quit jumping? You know we can’t go until we hear the baby scream, ‘Hello, Mom, Dad, the BOND, and Caddo Lake,’ Dad said.

I didn’t know how I should respond to this shared information, so I peed in my diaper. Dad realized what I was doing and with a lower than normal tone hissed, Well, shit. I thought to myself that if he will wait a minute I’ll do that also just for him, and I started straining. Dad began to laugh, and said, Shit, big boy, and make me proud. My daddy is weird, because he finds pleasure in unusual things.

You already know I’m not yet one year old, so this is about a far as I can go. We need to go back to where this all started so you understand who we are and what is happening. Therefore, my two grandfathers, Jeb McCloud and his best friend, Jo Johnsen, along with friends who fate gave them, will continue telling our clan’s story, and in time we will come back to this deck with me hanging in the brat sack, waiting for Miss Beth to have her baby.

CHAPTER 1

It’s late 1918. The location is the endless trenches in eastern France. Two Caddo Lake Rats, Jo Johnsen and me, Jeb McCloud, find ourselves serving in the same outfit during WWI. We are both captains and combat engineers, and the army is using us as troubleshooters attached to the US Army Medical Corps, so we move around a lot as we attempt to solve problems. An elderly Frenchman is our interpreter. He is a professor of anthropology. Before the war, he was involved in research but did at times teach graduate students at the Institute of History and Science in Paris, France. He is a rather small man with a close-trimmed beard and rumpled clothing and looks somewhat like the artist Toulouse LauTrec, who liked to drink a lot of wine and draw pictures of dancing girls. Anyway, the old prof is fluent in English, French, German, and other languages, including Mandarin Chinese, which will become important later as the clan gives you more background information about the origin and rebirth of the BOND on Caddo Lake.

Jo and I receive the assignment to construct a new field hospital. The new hospital is to be located about a half mile behind the Allied front lines, which consist of zigzag trenches that run for many miles through the muddy, shell-pocked countryside. It doesn’t look like it is part of planet earth, and the troops say it looks like hell, but in reality it is much worse. At every intersection of the zig, and the zag, there is a bunker dug into the bank of the trench. The troops in that sector take shelter in the bunker if they come under heavy shelling or air attack. They are safe unless the bunker takes a direct hit. In that case, everyone will be killed either by shell fragments ripping through their bodies or from the mud-covered roof caving in and burying them alive. In most cases, they don’t attempt to recover the dead for a number of days.

The heavy, putrid air in the trenches is beyond description. Replacement troops, on first arriving at the front-line trenches, become violently sick. That lasts a few days, and then they become numb. They don’t care if they were killed, because it would be a relief.

Close behind this environment are the field hospitals. The one Jo and I are setting up is in a small valley that affords the hospital complex some protection. We have our construction team scrape out a smooth, level area with mule and slip. Next we will construct a floor for each tent by layering boards on the ground three deep. We raise snow-white tents on the flooring with a bold red cross on the roof of each tent. German reconnaissance planes, on spotting the hospital, will notify their artillery and air force units as to the location, because no one fires on a church or a hospital.

Always the first tent setup is the receiving station, and wounded start arriving before we have finished setting up the second tent, which is the surgery station. Jo and I stay inside the surgery station until the operating table is secured and level. As we step out of the tent, a horse-drawn wagon is pulling into the complex. Two doctors and five nurses scramble out of the wagon and run to the receiving tent. On entering, one of the doctors starts screaming out orders: Do this, do that, get this boy in surgery, and damn fast. Fuck cleaning him up, if he lives through surgery, then we will clean him up.

We are now standing between the two tents listening to the rough, grumpy doctor’s voice. We don’t say anything to each other, but we both can’t believe we are listening to the raving of a real close friend, Ray Lawton, Doctor Ray Lawton, from Morringsport, Louisiana.

Medics rush out of receiving with a badly wounded soldier on a stretcher, and Doc Ray is right behind them screaming orders at the top of his voice, so the other doctor and nurses who are now in the surgery tent can hear him and be prepared for the soldier being delivered to surgery. As the stretcher passes, Doc Ray makes eye contact with us and freezes in his tracks for a fraction of a second before taking two steps forward to bear-hug both of us. Doc Ray straightens up, looks at us with sad, grieving eyes, and shares with us cold, hard stats.

Jeb and Jo, over half of these boys die in the receiving tent while waiting for surgery. Then another half die during the eight- to ten-hour wagon trip from here to the regimental hospital, because no one is with them to stop the bleeding. Their wounds open because of the rough road, and the drivers can’t stop to help them. These boys just fucking bleed to death all alone, with no one to help them.

Doc’s expression changes, and he says, I can’t think about that, I’m needed in surgery. Doc starts walking to the surgery tent, and without turning his head back toward Jo and me, he comments, Thank God my two best friends are here to help me.

We wonder how Ray is going to take the news that we will be through setting up the complex in a few hours and will have to leave. We will not be staying to help him. These young soldiers and his patients will continue to bleed to death alone.

Just then a wagon loaded with lumber enters the complex. The muleskinner is asking where he should unload. Jo and I walk over to inspect the heavy timber when all hell breaks loose. The first explosion tips over the wagon, dumping the contents where we are now laying on the ground half-dazed. An estimated twenty rounds explode throughout the complex within seconds. We help each other up, look around, and can’t believe our eyes. The whole complex has been destroyed. One wagon with a team of two horses is intact. The two horses are nervous but okay. Combat horses never break and run, but Jo and I run to what is left of the surgical tent. The soldier they were operating on is dead, along with two nurses and the other doctor. Ray is nowhere to be found. Then we notice movement under tattered tent canvas, and there we find Ray alive but hurt bad. His right leg has a hole blown through it halfway below his knee, and the ankle bone and main artery are severed. A stream of blood spews three feet out of the gaping wound with every beat of Ray’s heart. Ray is dazed from the explosions but conscious. We use a link of tent rope to apply a tourniquet, stop the bleeding, and start checking the rest of Ray’s body for additional wounds.

Ray’s head begins to clear, and he asks about the operating team. We tell him all are dead. He asks about receiving. We tell him we don’t know. Well one of ya’ll get your ass over there, and find out.

Jo stays with Ray, and I make my way over to what little is left of the receiving tent. There I find the dead remains of three nurses, two medics, and sixteen soldiers. I return with my report. Doc doesn’t respond to my report, takes a deep breath, and then proceeds to tell us that we will have to cut his leg off.

I respond, Hell no. I’m going for help.

Ray looks at me as if I’m crazy. Jeb, where in hell do you think you’ll find help?

I respond, The Germans have field doctors. I will be back as soon as I obtain their help. I gather up two tent poles and tie white flags to both. I secure them to both sides of the one wagon that survived the attack. I rein the team through the scattered debris and turn east for our lines and the German lines farther to the east of our lines.

As I approach the allied lines, a US Army sergeant stops me. Sir, who are you, and why in the hell are you flying white flags?

I’m Captain McCloud, Thirty-Second Combat Engineering Regiment, in charge of constructing a new field hospital that has just been destroyed by German artillery fire. I need the services of a doctor to save the life of the senior field hospital doctor who is also the only survivor. So, Sergeant, I’m going to the Germans under a white flag to obtain their help in this urgent matter.

Wait here, sir, the sergeant replies.

The sergeant returns with an American major, who salutes, and I return his salute. Captain, if you think you are going to the Germans for help, then you are out of your mind, and I will not allow such a foolish attempt.

Major, with all respect, I’m not under your command, and I am surely going, because it is the only hope I have of saving the life of Captain Ray Lawton, MD, sir.

Where are you from, Captain?

Texas, sir.

Didn’t you damn rebs learn from the Civil War that individuals and states no longer have rights, only the federal government?

Sir, the war that you are referring to was the war of the illegal invasion of the Confederate States of America by Lincoln’s Federalist Army. Regardless of the war’s outcome, Southerners will always maintain individual and states’ rights as established by the founding fathers of our country. That was our country before Lincoln and the Federalist takeover of our country. Therefore, as a Southern officer exercising those God-given individual rights, I will proceed to the Germans seeking help. Major, if you would order the firing of signal flares to get the attention of the German lookouts, I would appreciate it, sir.

Reb, if you proceed, I may order that you be shot in the back.

Major, you do what you have to do, and I will do what I have to do, sir.

With the end of the reins, I pop the team’s rear and proceed into the Allied lines.

Major, should I give the order to have the reb shot in the back? the sergeant asked.

Sergeant, give the signal corporal orders to fire six flares so the Germans will be sure to see him approaching. Then order our sector to cease fire, and let’s enjoy watching the Germans kill the arrogant reb for us, the major replied.

Yes, sir.

At the German lines, a forward observer notices the signal flares, turns his telescope in their direction, and spots a wagon approaching, flying two white flags, with what appears to be an American officer at the reins. He orders all firing to stop in that sector and requests the presence of an officer to determine what action should be taken, knowing that the white flag is to be honored. A German captain enters the observer’s post and focuses the spotter’s telescope until he has a clear view of the approaching wagon. It must be a trap. Why would an American officer use a wagon instead of riding horseback? The captain orders four machine guns to be trained on the wagon, and at his command, they are to fire until the wagon, the horses, and the American are all cut into small pieces.

I continue my slow, steady approach toward the German lines. The German captain has made the decision to be safe and will give the order to fire, white flag or not, because something is wrong. No American officer would ride up to their lines in a wagon. Moments before he actually gives the order, the wagon stops. I dismount and walk a few feet in front of the team with my hands raised above my head. I shout in German, with a strong Texas accent, my request for help. I need a doctor and will bring the doctor back in about three hours. The German captain stands in silence, staring at me. I shout again, Please help me. The captain orders his sergeant to obtain a white flag and accompany him. He also tells his second in command that if anything goes wrong, the machine guns are to level everything, including himself and his sergeant. When the German captain is about six feet from me, he stops. He carefully studies my face, observes the blood smeared on my uniform and hands, and notices my rank as captain. He and his sergeant salute, and I return their salute.

Captain, you have inadvertently shelled our field hospital, killing all except for one badly wounded doctor. If you will not provide a doctor to help him, he will surely die.

American, we do not shell hospitals.

Captain, I know you would never knowingly shell or bomb a hospital or a church. We were in the process of setting this hospital up and were just receiving wounded. Sir, there had not been time for your reconnaissance planes to spot the complex and pass its location to the front lines.

The German captain breaks eye contact with me and addresses his man. Sergeant, go to the medical corps. Bring back our top doctor, along with a nurse and the supplies they will need. The sergeant turns and jogs back, disappearing in the maze of German trenches.

The German captain is quiet, not looking at me, but gazes over the battlefield beyond me. Captain, are you from Texas?

Yes, sir.

Texan, I have kinder in the Texas Hill Country. They love Texas, the Hill Country, and the United States. Do you think this madness will ever end?

Sir, I don’t know why it started, how the United States became involved, or how it will end, but I don’t believe there will be a real victor, just many dead on both sides. God help all of us.

Before the German captain can respond, the sergeant returns, escorting a doctor with his nurse and two medical supply bags.

The doctor, nurse, and I hurry to the wagon and load it. As I begin turning to the west, the German captain salutes, and I return his salute. I drive my team at a faster pace, hoping to arrive back in time to save Ray’s life. As we traverse through the allied lines, I see the Yankee major and salute while we hurrying past him. The Yankee major reluctantly returns my salute.

On approaching the medical complex, I can see it is now a beehive of activity. About a dozen soldiers are recovering the dead and preparing them to be transported to a burial site. The driver of a small, one-horse ambulance is securing his horse, thereby telling me that he has just arrived. I spot a makeshift lean-to with Doc Ray lying on a waist-high table constructed out of scraps from the demolished surgical tent. Jo and the old professor, our interpreter, are both standing beside Doc Ray. Prof caught a ride on the ambulance to rejoin Jo and myself. It is good to see him and to have him back with us.

I pull the wagon as close to the lean-to as I can, and on dismounting, I yell, Is Ray alive?

Fuck you, Jeb.

On hearing Ray’s response, my knees became weak, and it is all I can do to not start crying like a baby. The grumpy, old bastard and good friend is still alive. The German doctor and his nurse are already out of the wagon and running to the lean-to, so I grab both the medical bags and follow.

At Ray’s instructions, Jo has already removed his britches leg, and as soon as the German doctor sees the wound, he changes his focus to Ray’s eyes as he checks his pulse. What blood type does my patient have? Prof translates.

I’m A-negative, and I’m not a patient. I’m a damn doctor, Prof translates.

Check and see if anyone here has A-negative.

I understand the doctor’s question and step forward. I have.

Damn if I will have that sorry asshole’s Texas blood in me, Prof translates.

The German doctor looks at Prof and smiles. They must be good friends. Prof nods.

Prof translates, Rig up a makeshift table next to my patient, uh sorry, the damn doctor, and my nurse will start the transfusion. Doctor, I will give you ether and then start on your leg. I will try to save your leg.

Prof translates, Hell no, don’t give me anything. I want to see what you are doing and be able to talk to you as you patch me up.

Prof translates, You will be in a lot of pain.

Ray looks straight into the German doctor’s eyes. After all the pain that you and I have inflicted on these wounded young boys, it’s past time for me to suffer physically rather than just suffering emotionally, Prof translates.

The German doctor stares into Ray’s eyes. I don’t think you’re a damn doctor. I think you are a brother, Prof translates. The two doctors stare at each other with understanding reflected in their eyes and nod to each other.

After a number of minutes, the doctor checks Ray’s vital signs, and then my vitals. Ray’s color is much improved. Mine is now very pale, with dark circles under my eyes. Nurse, we cannot take any more of the damn doctor’s best friend’s blood, so disconnect and remove the tubes, etc.

I tell the German doctor to stop saying damn doctor. Just call him Ray or asshole.

The doctor and nurse burst out laughing. Prof translates, and Ray smiles. Doc, what should I call you? Prof translates.

Kirk. Kirk then looks at his nurse. Let’s start, Prof translates. Ray nods, and then Kirk hands Ray a rubber bar to bite on instead of chewing up his lower lip and tongue.

The surgery goes well. Kirk is able to save Ray’s leg, and if infection doesn’t set in, his life as well. Kirk’s instructions are for Ray to rest before being loaded into the ambulance wagon for the long, rough trip back to a hospital. Kirk further states that I will have to go back with him and will require a few days in the hospital while my body replaces all the blood taken out of me. I hope we have not taken too much, but Ray needed a lot of blood. It will take Jeb at least six weeks to get his strength back. We nearly bled him to death, but we had no choice.

Ray takes hold of Kirk’s arm and in a weak voice says, Brother, I want to thank you and your nurse for saving my leg and my life. I see your nurse is wearing a wedding ring. Her husband is a very lucky man, Prof translates. The nurse stares at Ray, and tears start spilling out of her soft blue eyes.

Kirk puts his arm around her shoulder, and pulls her to him. She rests her head on his shoulder as she continues weeping. Anna’s husband was killed in combat three months ago, just two days before my wife and daughter were killed in a bombing raid on our small village. Your air squadron was attacking a military convoy moving through our village. The bomb that hit my home was not intended to kill women and children. Therefore, I cannot hate. I just grieve like Anna, Prof translates.

Kirk, and Anna, I’m so sorry, so very sorry. I hate this war. I’ll always remember y’all, and be thankful for what y’all have done for me. I hope we all survive and become friends, Prof translates.

Both nod and turn to the wagon. Jo helps me into the back of the wagon with Kirk and Anna. I insist on going back with them, because I personally want to be sure they get back safe and want to personally thank the German captain, the field officer with kinder in Texas, for his help.

On arriving back at the German lines, the German captain is there waiting to meet us, and in the far background we see German soldiers standing on the banks of mud outside their trenches, watching this unusual spectacle unfold right before their eyes. The German captain salutes Jo and me. We return his salute, and as I introduce Jo, I motion for Kirk and Anna to join us. Together I thank the German captain, as well as Kirk and Anna, for helping us. Jo and I kiss Anna on the cheek, and before we can turn to leave, Anna says that she and Dr. Kirk will be praying for Dr. Ray and for the two of us. The German captain speaks up, saying, Let’s all pray that this madness ends soon. None of this makes any sense, but all of us will do our duty. We have no choice. We nod, and Jo helps me get back in the wagon.

Jeb, why don’t you lay down in the back of the wagon?

No, I’ll sit next to you as we go back through our lines, but don’t let me fall out of the wagon.

Jo smiles, and we start our return trip to our lines. As we approach the Allied lines, a number of American soldiers are standing at attention as we pass through their sector, and they salute the two captains in the wagon. The Yankee major is nowhere to be seen. As I hold my return salute to my fellow American soldiers, I cannot help but smile while thinking how disappointed the Yankee major must be that the Germans didn’t kill the damn reb. How dare anyone still believe in individual and states’ rights?

Upon returning to the destroyed hospital complex, Jo and I notice that all the dead have been removed for burial. Ray is now on a stretcher in the ambulance wagon, with one side of the canvas rolled up so Ray can watch for our return. Prof and the ambulance driver are sitting on the ground in the shade of the ambulance, also hoping we will return, and soon. A gentle breeze is causing a slight movement of the canvas covering the far side of the ambulance. The sound of the canvas moving is the only sound to be heard. There are no birds, just dead silence.

Then a very brackish, sickening acid taste rises from the pit of my stomach to my mouth as my body reacts to the muffled thud of heavy cannon fire in the far distance. A moment later, loud explosions start ripping through the Allied sector of never-ending trenches. The ceasefire is over. Once again the only purpose of being in this place, in this dispensation of time, is to kill or be killed. Jo helps me get on the stretcher next to Ray in the ambulance wagon, and I look at Ray’s face, which reflects the pain he is enduring. Ray, do you need morphine before we hit the road?

Hell no, let’s get moving while we are still alive. When it is safe, we will stop, and I will give myself a shot of morphine. Prof gets in the wagon with Jo, and they fall in behind the ambulance wagon as we depart the destroyed complex.

The ambulance driver looks back at Ray. Sir, I will be going rather fast until we distance ourselves from the battle zone. If you cannot handle the pain because of the road being so rough, just let me know, and I will slow down.

Ray responds, I’d rather be alive and in pain than not in pain because I’m fucking dead.

The driver smiles and hits the horse with the end of his reins, and our long trip to the regimental hospital begins.

After thirty minutes, Ray tells the driver to stop. Ray and I are both propped up at forty-five-degree angles on pillows and blankets. If we had been laying flat on the hard stretchers, the rough road would have beaten our brains to mush. This way it is only our butts that are bruised, and Ray’s leg is screaming. Jeb, hand me my bag. I can’t put off the shot any longer. Driver, the next time we stop, we need to find food, because Jeb looks like death warmed over. Jeb, I’m worried that Kirk put too much of your blood in me. In case we don’t make it through this insane war, I want you to know how much I appreciate what you and Jo have done for me.

Ray, when you get back home and get that beautiful little woman of yours in bed, be sure and watch her eyes bulge because of the additional two inches you have acquired by having so much Texas blood in you. Most important of all, be damn sure to remember to give me the credit for all that additional pleasure she is experiencing.

Jeb, you were born a Texas asshole, and you will die a Texas asshole, but I’ll always love you, you Tex-Ass-Hole. Ray realizes Jo and Prof have walked up to the ambulance. Ray turns his head, makes eye contact with Jo, and asks, Did you hear what I said?

Yes, and I would love to be there when you tell Miss Em where the two additional inches came from.

Both of my best friends are assholes.

Prof comments, Doc Ray, you are very fortunate to have two additional assholes. Most doctors only have one. Everyone laughs. It feels good to laugh about something. We stay in that stretch of road for about fifteen minutes to let the horses rest. The branches of the large trees