Page 45 of Cry Havoc
“Jesus. And your dad never told you any of that?”
Tom shook his head.
“I would hear things from people who stopped by to see us in Colorado. Ostensibly they were there to see the man who owned the ranch where my dad was employed as the majordomo, but I got the sense a lot of them just wanted to see my father. I heard about Ho and the Deer Team from Fenn after he got into the booze. Like a lot of his generation my dad came home from the war and got to work. They had trained up for operations at Fort Pierce, Florida, so he went there first. He tried college through the GI Bill, which is where he met my mom. I get the impression that, after what he had done in the war, he felt trapped in a classroom. Then he got a job offer from the Poe family in Colorado, a family who certainly had OSS and CIA ties. William Poe put me through two years at UC Santa Barbara.”
“I thought you said you worked your way through school shaping surfboards.”
“I did. Kind of. I paid for the in-state tuition. Mr. Poe covered the out-of-state difference. It really wasn’t a big difference then. I hear it’s getting worse now, but it felt like a lot to me at the time. Told me that since I was in Colorado because of him, it was only fair that he picked up that part ofthe tab. I think he was proud when I dropped out to go to ’Nam. My dad was too, though it was hard to tell. My mom was devastated.”
“All moms are devastated. They lived through a world war. Watched their fathers and brothers march off to battle. They don’t want their sons dying in the jungle for this foolishness.”
“Or any foolishness.”
“So, you spent time in both Florida and Colorado?”
“I have some memories of Florida, but I grew up primarily in western Colorado. My dad was a worker; up before dawn and back after sunset. Large property. We had help; a Lakota Indian and his family lived on the property as well. They still do. I think I spent more time with him than my father.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s not that he wasn’t loving. He just came from a generation where kids were meant to be seen, not heard. The ranch was a ways out of town, but we had frequent visitors. Poe was a powerful man, so all sorts of people passed through that ranch. The property even had a separate lodge for them. My dad traveled with Mr. Poe frequently. When I asked him why he had to be away so much, he said that men like Mr. Poe had a lot of enemies and that he was there as an extra set of eyes.”
“Like security?”
“I guess so. My dad wasn’t big on explanations, though he lit up at the card table. Great memories of playing with him and my mom, fire keeping us warm on a cold winter night. My mom insisted we only speak German or French at the card table.”
“Are they still alive?”
“Yes. Working that same ranch. Mom teaches school in Gunnison County. She’s hoping I come back to finish college and do something safer.”
“Safer than this? That leaves a lot of open territory.”
“That it does.”
“Maybe that’s why we work well together.”
“How’s that?”
“I grew up in Minnesota. Family lore has it that our darker skin is from Dakota blood, but who really knows.”
“That why you carry the tomahawk?”
“That and the tie to the French and Indian War. Our tactics are not so different. Is the Lakota why you carry that blade in civies?” Quinn asked.
Tom tapped the back of his belt where he had affixed an EK Model 2 knife, a double-edged spear-point blade with a full tang and walnut grips weighted with lead for balance. He had modified the sheath to mount horizontally so it would be hidden by his shirt.
“Beats the little .25s they give us for R&R,” Tom said, referencing the small-caliber pistols he and Quinn both carried in their pockets.
“I don’t want to get shot with one.”
“I don’t want to get shot with anything.”
Tom reached behind his back, unsnapped a button with his thumb, and extracted the long, narrow blade. He handed it to Quinn.
“Interesting design. You don’t see too many of these.”
“Mr. Poe gave it to me when I enlisted. I got fairly good with blades on the ranch.”
“From the Lakota?”
