Eric Flint: TITLE: Grantville Gazette.Volume XVIII

Hagen's smile disappeared. "Not so good, Herr Johnson. The doctors will not clear him to return to service. In fact, they were talking about a medical discharge."

"Damn," Henry muttered under his breath. "Was it the eye chart again?" Anse was blind in his left eye from splinters.

"No. The chief has a waiver for the eye chart. It was the bucket of sand." Seeing Henry's questioning look, Hagen continued. "You have to be able to pick up a fifty pound bucket of sand. You have to do it twice, once with each hand. Herr Hatfield can't do it. The wound in his arm tore out too much muscle. His hand won't close completely, either."

Henry knew Anse was going to have problems with a nasty wound in his bicep and most of three fingers gone from his left hand. But this was worse than he had expected. "How's he taking it?"

"Not good Herr Johnson. Not good at all. The worst part was the ride home. The chief was not able to hold the reins in his left hand, and I had to drive the wagon."

Yes, Henry thought, that had to be bad. Anse never likes anyone to do things for him. "Where is he? I need to talk with him."

"He is in the living room. He just sits and looks at the television. It is not on; there is no program. He just sits and stares at the blank screen. I am worried about him. I have never seen the chief like this."

"I'm worried too, Hagen. But it is up to us, his friends, to pull him through this. He is a strong man inside; it'll work out." Henry stood and started toward the front door. "Hagen, I want a bit of uninterrupted time with Anse. Why don't you entertain Suse and the boys? Keep them outside for a while."

Henry wondered why he was thinking of gladiators and lions. As Hagen had said, Anse was sprawled on the sofa looking at nothing. He looked terrible. He was wearing his oldest coveralls; almost worn out at the knees. There was even a small rip in the leg. It was very obvious that he hadn't shaved for a couple of days. He had wrapped a bandana around his head to hide his ruined eye. It looked more like he was pretending to be a hip hop gangster than anything else. Henry walked over and sat in the easy chair. There was a long enough period of silence for him to start to fidget.

"Hello, Anse," Henry said.

Silence.

"I said 'hello, Anse.' The normal response is 'Hi, Henry. How was your day'?"

Anse looked around. "Sorry, Hank. I didn't hear you come in. How was your day?"

Anse sounded like a puppet just going through the motions. "My day was fine. How was yours?"

Silence was his answer. "Come on, Anse. Talk to me. I know you went to the medical center. I talked to Hagen so I even know what they told you. So talk to me."

"You wouldn't understand."

" I wouldn't understand?" Henry banged his cane on the floor. "I've walked with this stick since 1968, and I wouldn't understand. Wake up, Anse. This is me you're talking to."

Anse looked up. "Sorry, Hank. I guess you would understand part of it. But you always worked with your head, being a school teacher and all. I've always worked with my hands." He held out his ruined left hand. "Now look at me. What good am I now?"

"So are you going to sit around feeling sorry for yourself or are you going to do something about it? Hagen told me about the bucket of sand. Do you want to get out that old set of weights in the basement and start some physical therapy? Give it a couple of months and we can build up the strength in your arm." Henry could see Anse was struggling not to lose his temper. Good. Maybe a good mad is what he needs.

"I don't have time to do any physical therapy. They're throwing me out of the Army."

"I doubt that. Maybe you won't be a field man any more, but surely Colonel Beth will need you to train engine drivers. You're a good trainer. You trained all the drivers in TacRail, and you helped train all the brakemen. Shoot, you even trained the loaders and loadmasters. That new transportation school in Magdeburg sounds like the perfect slot for you."

"I don't want to be a trainer any more, Hank. I trained Hagen and the three other boys from TacRail who were wounded at Ahrensbok. But I was there with them. I don't want to send boys that I trained out to get killed or wounded when I can't go myself.. It would tear me up if they got hurt."

Henry understood. He had sent men into combat, those many years ago. He tried reason. "Anse, you're fifty-four years old. You had to expect this was coming. You can't go running around playing Alvin York forever."

"Charlie Swartz is still in TacRail and he's almost seventy. I was hoping to last a few more years."

"Charlie Swartz works behind a desk. Do you want a desk job?"

"No desk job."

Henry was getting angry with Anse's stubbornness. "Okay. What if you are forced out of the Army? It's not like you're going to starve. You'll always have a roof and a plate here, and how many companies have you invested in besides Pat's gun factory… six or seven? You'll have a good income to retire on."

Anse gave Henry a pitiful look. "That money is for my old age. And I want to leave something to Wili's kids and Suse."

"So you want to keep working. I can understand that. All right, let's look at the possibilities. With all the new industry starting up there are a score of places for a man like you. You have proved you can supervise and lead men."

"It's not the same and you know it. I don't want some charity job. And that's what they'd be. 'Oh, look at the poor wounded soldier.' Bah. I might as well get a lawn mower and go back into the lawn care business. That, at least, is honest work."

Henry tried a joke. "I don't think that would work, Anse. Most people have goats or sheep to do their lawn mowing."

Anse gave him a look that would freeze water. "You're not helping, Hank. Besides, that was just an example. I want real honest work."

"Okay. You want real work; you could always go to Suhl. Ruben Blumroder offered you a job running his gun shop. Since he was elected to the state legislature he needs someone full time. Or, Pat needs an assistant in his factory. It would be a bit like your old job as a foreman for Ford. Shoot, Gary Reardon offered you the same job in his bolt factory. There are three jobs in Suhl alone, and they aren't charity jobs. You know, I think the change of scenery might do you good."

Anse slouched lower on the sofa. "I'll think about it."

Henry had to work to keep his temper under control. "Anse, at least clean yourself up. You can't mope around the house all day every day. You are starting to worry me and I know you're worrying Dora. Besides, it sets a bad example for the kids. You know how Gerd worships the ground you walk on."

Anse was still staring off into space. "There's another thing. When Wili joined TacRail, I promised Dora I'd take care of him; now look at me. If anything were to happen to him…"

"Dora would understand. She knows you and Wili are closer than brothers. Shoot, Anse, she treats you like the brother she never had. So how about cleaning up a little for her? You've even got Hagen worrying. We're all family here, including Hagen, so for your family pull yourself together."

"Hank, I know you're trying to help, but leave me alone. I have to work this out for myself." Anse got up and walked into his room.

Dora Schultz looked up when the door slammed open and Henry stormed into the kitchen. She had never seen him this angry with anyone, much less Anse.

"I'm getting tried of this shit," Henry muttered. "He can't spend the rest of his life just loafing around feeling sorry for himself." Then he looked around and saw Dora. "Sorry, Dora. But Anse got to me."

"Ja, Henry. He is getting to me too. He insists on wearing that ugly bandana and refuses to wear the eye patch I made for him. He wears the same two sets of coveralls; they are the oldest he has. I must have washed them twenty times since he came home. He has stopped shaving. And worst of all, he doesn't do anything. Before he was always busy. What are we going to do? This is not good for him."