| This story is for fanfiction purposes only and not for profit. The Combat characters we have come to know and love belong to ABC, but this story plot belongs to Linda Hubly aka Ranger. Copyright 2004. Enjoy. THE PUMPKIN PATCH PAINTING (A semi informal Halloween challenge.) The card game had gone wonderful for Kirby. He had wiped out almost every available male card player in town. His spirits soared as he and Caje ambled their way down to the corner café. The café’s boarded windows made the interior dark and eery with the candlelight shadows playing along the walls. The building was sparsely furnished but what tables and chairs it did hold they were sturdy and solid. The walls were darkly paneled adding to the dark ambiance. Off in one corner of the room was a Gypsy woman playing cards by herself. Kirby smiled over to her and she smiled back. Caje and Kirby ordered a bottle of wine. Caje picked it up to take to a table. Kirby turned back and picked up another bottle. With a big smile he glanced at Caje and nodded his head toward the woman. Caje just shook his and sat down and began to enjoy the wine. Kirby sauntered over to the smiling Gypsy woman. “Madamoisle, some vino?” He asked holding up the bottle. She said in a hearty broken English accent, “Set down GI.” Kirby poured drinks for two. “My name’s Kirby. What’s yours?” “Claire,” she responded. “Ah, I see you play cards Mademoiselle, ah Claire.” “I dabble in cards some,” she replied. “Oh, I do too. Would you like to play a game?” Kirby asked. “You already are. These cards have been set up for you,” she countered. “They have?” Kirby asked incredulously. “How did you know I was coming in here?” “I know many things, Monsieur.” The Gypsy said. “You do?” Kirby asked again with a quizzical look on his face. “I do.” She said. “Like what?” Kirby asked thinking this is getting to be a ridiculous conversation. “By tomorrow’s dawn you will have traveled in a universal light. The sounds of the forest dweller will call you out. Something as black as night will cross your path twice. The ground will try to swallow you up....” the Gypsy woman would have continued but Kirby stood up abruptly knocking his wine and the chair over. “STOP IT NOW. STOP,” Kirby jumped up to say. “You’re crazy.” “I am not crazy. This is all true and there is more,” the lady tried to continue to say. Kirby hollered over to Caje, “I’m outta here.” And he took off at a fast trot for the door. Caje’s eyes followed Kirby out the door. When his gaze returned to where the woman sat, she and her cards were no longer there. “Strange,” Caje muttered aloud as he got up to leave. The Hunter’s moon beamed downward. It searched the landscape It’s light only eerily penetrated the wave upon wave of misty fog rolling inward off the coast and into the marshlands, pastures and woodlands of the French countryside. Trudging along the cool damp woodland path, Kirby shivered forcing him to button his jacket up some more. Hesitating till the Sergeant caught up with him, Kirby railed, “Why’d we pull night patrol, Sarge? Why not second or third squad this time.” Saunders shook his head, “Kirby. Don’t bunch up. Keep quiet and get moving.” Kirby turned back to follow the rest of the men. “Hmmmph.” He indignantly answered. About an hour later Saunders passed word up the line to take five. “Nelson. Stand guard.” Hoo-Hooo....hoooooooo.....ooOOOWWWWW, whoo....whoooo. Kirby jumped from his seat on a nearby rock, “What’s that?” Doc looked up from where he sat. Caje and Littlejohn who were sitting next to each other broke out in grins. Caje asked, “Haven’t you ever heard an old hoot owl call before, Kirby?” “No and don’t wanna hear it anymore. Too mournful for this ole city boy.” Kirby answered. Littlejohn jabbed Caje and gave him a wink. “You know, Kirby, there are a lot of Indian legends and old wives tales that talk about owls. Like this Cherokee story about a daughter whose time had come to marry but she did not like the men in the village. One day a handsome man came to the village and asked to marry her. Her mother asked him if he was a good hunter and he said yes. Every day after they were married, he would bring home small fish or lizards. They thought he was lying about being a hunter and followed him. The wife saw him turn from man to owl and hunt for the fish and lizards. When he came home that night, she accused him of being the owl and that she never wanted to see him again after being tricked like that. He left for the forest and to this day calls out Hooot Hoooot whoooooo.” “Knock it off Littlejohn,” Kirby taunted back at him. Littlejohn continued, “Kirby, owls stand for many things. The Cree Indians believed that they summoned the spirits. The Apache that dreams about an owl signifies death is near. The Dakotas believe it to protect its warriors. The Lenape believed that the owl was their guardian. In Ireland they believed the Owl to be a sign of the underworld. I also read in a magazine that in Germany if an owl hooted at a person’s birth then they will lead an unhappy life and I think it was in France that an owl meant that when a pregnant woman heard an owl they would carry a girl. Remember Patton at Carthage? The myth was that Asgathocles released owls over his troops. The owls then landed on the troops helmets and shields as a sign of victory.” Kirby put his hands to his ears, shaking his head back and forth. He muttered, “I don’t wanna hear any more.” Saunders looked over in their direction and put away the map he’d been studying with his small flashlight. Standing he said, “saddle up. Objective is about half a mile away.” After a quick discussion with Caje on the route to take he told Caje to “take the point.” Billy and Littlejohn followed with Doc and the Sarge behind them. Bringing up the rear was a now overly-tensed Kirby. A small narrow trail headed north veered off the main path. The squad one by one clamored over the slippery mossy-covered rocks that were kept wet by the dripping tree branches. The trail was proving quite the obstacle for Kirby who managed to take a few slips here and there. Each time he fell he swore he heard that damn owl again. The forest trail opened into a small meadow further up. It was weird how the fog didn’t begin until about two feet off the ground and then layered only about five or six feet above ground. The moonlight danced on the top of the moving fog giving off various shades and shapes of the moonlight. The Sergeant and Caje carefully scouted the perimeter of the meadow. Slowly Saunders gave the hand signal to move out. The squad stopped suddenly as Kirby let out a muffled scream and jumped sideways just avoiding a collision with a scrawny black cat. The cat had appeared out of nowhere. It frizzed up its damp bedraggled coat and with iridescent eyes stared and hissed at Kirby and took off on a run. “Come on Kirby. It’s just a cat.” Caje called. “Yea Kirby, just a little cat,” Littlejohn sneered at the man. “Hmmmph!” Kirby snickered as he resettled the BAR to a more comfortable position. Saunders hollered to the squad, “Come on. We’re running late.” A few minutes later Caje came running back to report he had located the old farmhouse shown on Sarge’s map. The squad kept to another narrow trail that broadened out over a fallow field. Each squad member took a short uneventful hop over the weathered and worn split rail fence and headed for the barn. That was all but Kirby. The squad turned around at the scream of pain as Kirby cried out. After taking the short hop over the fence, his right foot had landed on the ground but had continued to sink further into an unseen hole in the ground. Saunders turned to see his men standing agape staring at Kirby. Kirby was trying to pull his leg out of the hole. His leg was buried up to his knee. He looked up to ask for help but got scared at what he saw on his squadmate’s faces. In horror, Kirby asked, “what?” Doc looked stunned, Caje just mumbled something incoherent and pointed behind Kirby. Littlejohn’s mouth still hung open and Nelson looked like he’d seen a ghost. Kirby turned to where Caje had pointed. He had the look of fear in his eyes and the color drained from his face as he shouted, “come on guys get me outta here. Quick.” Saunders slung the Tommygun over his shoulder. He and Doc reached Kirby at the same time. Each took an arm and pulled him out of the hole. “Damn. Bad enough I have to be fight’n over here hoping not to have ta be buried here. Then I go and fall into some fella’s grave.” Kirby mumbled and then took a closer look at the wooden headstone. All that was there was the name Rene Paul. Kirby continued with his tirade, “I don’t like it. Not one bit. Too spooky out here tonight. Owls, cats and now graves. What’s next ghosts”? “Calm down, Kirby.” Sarge told him. “Doc, how’s his leg?” Doc looked up, “nothing’s broken. He should be able to manage okay.” Meanwhile Caje nudged Littlejohn and Nelson, “what do you think?” Littlejohn answered, “They’re just little coincidences.” Caje remembering the Gypsy woman absently stated, “I guess so.” Saunders took a quick assessment of his squad, “Caje, Kirby check out the barn. Littlejohn, Nelson. Check out the chicken coop. Doc, You’re on me. Stay back several feet.”. The squad members found the buildings clear. Saunders gave the signal for Littlejohn and Nelson to move to the back of the farmhouse. Turning to Caje, Kirby and Doc, Saunders told them, “when we get to the farmhouse we’re looking for a painting of a farmer in a pumpkin patch. According to Lieutenant Hanley it should have some important papers behind it.” Kirby disgustedly repeated, “Pumpkins. Halloween. Oh my God. It’s Halloween. I don’t like it, Sarge. It’s an omen”. Saunders glared at the private. “Get yourself together, soldier. It’s time to go.” Nelson and Littlejohn were already making their way toward the back of the house. Saunders, Kirby, Caje and Doc sidled up toward the front of the building. They were hopscotching their way up to the house when Saunders almost tripped over Kirby as he halted forward movement abruptly. “Did you see that Sarge?” Kirby questioned him. “What?” Sarge asked as he peered over Kirby’s shoulder. Caje strained to see anything out of the ordinary but couldn’t. “Ghosts,” Was all Kirby could say. Saunders was fed up by now. “No such thing, get moving!” Saunders said as he pushed on Kirby’s shoulder to get him moving. “There it is again!” Kirby shouted as he pointed. Saunders and Caje still couldn’t make out what Kirby was seeing. “Stay here, Kirby. Cover us.” Saunders said. Sarge and Caje seeing nothing ahead of them bolted to the sides of the front door. Kicking the door in, the Sergeant quickly entered the room pointing his Tommygun around the room finding nothing. “Clear,” Saunders yelled to them. Caje came in behind him. “Nothing but this.” He said with a smile. Blowing about by an open window was a white curtain that in the fog and moonlight just might have looked like Kirby’s “ghost.” Saunders gave a quick smile and shook his head. It didn’t take Saunders long to find the pumpkin patch painting. Taking it off the wall he carefully pulled the backing apart and found the paperwork. “Hanley said it should be here.” Nelson and Littlejohn came through the back door. Littlejohn asked the group, “Who was that lady in white that ran out the back door just before we came in?” Saunders quizzed them, “Who in white?” Nelson looked confused, “The lady in white. She just ran out the back. We thought you let her go.” Doc had come in during the conversation. “I saw someone too, Sarge. They ran off into the woods. It was a woman in a white dress.” Saunders simply replied, “We didn’t see anyone.” Caje’s eyes were opened wide at the news of a lady in white running from the house. Kirby fell to his knees, “I told you so. I told you I saw a ghost!” Saunders tried to quell their superstitions. “No such thing. Come on. Let’s go. The sun will be up in an hour.” Nelson asked, “Isn’t today October 31?” Saunders looked over at him. “No that was last night.” “Oh Boy,” Nelson said as he walked outside. Doc remarked, “All Hallows night.” And a shiver ran up his spine thinking of Halloweens past. Kirby looked at Sarge, “You got what we came for. Let’s get outta here.” Caje stopped Kirby fast. “Kirby. Look.” Sitting on the kitchen table was a photo of the Gypsy woman Kirby had met at the café. The photo was she in a wedding gown next to a man, most likely her husband. Caje gently turned the photo over. It read Claire and Rene Paul, October 31, 1943. “Come on Sarge, we gotta get outta here, now!” Kirby excitedly exclaimed. As he backed out the farmhouse door he tripped over the scraggly black cat sitting on the stoop. Caje and Saunders broke out into laughs and offered helping hands to Kirby. HAPPY HALLOWEEN |
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