Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

The army colonel behind the desk was getting older by the minute, his face swollen in rage, blood pressure at record levels for a man still alive and standing.

“Christ on a pogo stick, Trent! Have you gone insane ? You going raider on me? Losing your grip? What in God’s name are you trying to do? Kill all the outlaws by yourself? Are you crazy? I watched that little scene from the window. What was that? Code Duello? Shootout at the OK Corral? Jesus, Trent.”

The words launched at the man lounging in the solitary chair in front of the desk were delivered with enough force to make a private in a foreign army thousands of miles away snap to attention.

Trent could not keep the smile off his face as he contemplated the irreverent picture conjured up by the army colonel. Leave it to an ex-drill instructor to come up with something like that.

The smile did not quite extend to his eyes. Eyes were a picture into the soul and that was haunted with too many memories, and too much death.

“Conversation kind of dried up, Frank.” His was voice soft, in contrast to the verbal fusillade coming from his superior, echoing through the building like a thunderstorm over the horizon. Too many had made the mistake of thinking he was like his voice. Too many had died trying to figure out the difference.

Frank Bonham, a field colonel retired to a desk job by a host of 7.62mm pieces of lead fired from an AK-47, glared at the man lounging in the chair before him. An enigma. A throwback. Born two centuries too late.

The colonel finally wore down, bringing his breathing back to normal, glaring intensely at him. The man before him always rankled his sense of honor and fair play, even when he’d been married to his daughter. But he was so damned good at what he did. His gun, an old single action revolver, was so damned fast. What had he read in an old novel? The sibilant whisper of snake-fast hands. Most men carried some brand of auto-loaders. They’d have anywhere from eight to sixteen shots as fast as they could pull the trigger. Trent told him you just need one shot. If you need more than that, it’s time to ‘beat feet and get out of Dodge.’

He didn’t often play by the rules, albeit rules being freshly made up or rekindled from the old days. Usually, they just didn’t apply. His honor was a closely-knit thing that only Trent could fathom, and he didn’t share much.

He watched him unwind his lanky frame from the wooden chair, finally standing in front of the desk, making a visible effort at straightening sore muscles and stiff joints.

“Trent, you can’t just up and shoot people like that.” The colonel’s voice and blood pressure finally seemed back down within reasonable limits.

“What would you like me to do, Frank? The man was a hard case, a merc for hire, and Ben Hobbs was out there with him. I don’t know what his problem was, maybe he just didn’t like the way I put on my hat. It doesn’t matter because I didn’t have any choice. You, more than anyone else, should realize that. These people won’t come in peaceably. They aren’t afraid of us, Frank. To them, the army is trying to tear down their way of life, and they don’t like it. That’s how you got your legs, or don’t you remember?” His voice was level, and controlled. Turning back to the chair, he stooped to retrieve his hat from the floor.

“Wait a minute, Trent.” He waved a packet of papers at him. It was twenty years since The Fall, and the army was still trying to run on paper.

“I have a proposition for you.” He talked fast trying to hold Trent’s attention. “All the particulars are in these sheets. These are letters of authority, signed by me. Who to contact, stuff like that.”

Trent wheeled to look at the Colonel. “Letters of authority for what exactly?”

“There’s a situation west of here, about sixty miles. Big lake area in the Ozarks. It’s a place called Big Springs. They have a good thing going out there. The place is starting to grow and has its own economy. Do you realize how important that is? They’re raising their own food, making their clothes, running two grist mills so they can grind grain and another one to saw lumber. They are not dependent on anyone. Unfortunately, raiders are also terrorizing them. The name Pagan Reeves keeps popping up. He may be the head snake, or just working for Jeremiah Starking. We don’t know. I need you to find out.”

“You mean scout the situation, and report back.” Trent was skeptical, and showed it. Taking the sheets of paper, scanning the information. “Why doesn’t the Army take care of this? That’s right up their alley. The exercise would do them good.”

Frank stood up, looking seriously at him. John was his oldest courier. He was also one of his closest friends, yelling and screaming aside. “John, civilization is gaining a foothold. That news flash may have passed you by. You are making people nervous around here. My superiors think you’re getting a little wild for the present locale.” He smiled grimly. “Besides, most of my men are busy guarding the pack trains coming out of the cities. They can’t be spared.”

“So what’s the deal?”

He eyed his friend with the same scrutiny he’d give a live grenade. “I have a commission for you.”

“I don’t want to be an officer in your damned army.”

“Not that kind of commission.”

Trent smiled as he saw the colonel had just about reached the end of his patience.

“We’re reinstating the office of the United States Marshal. I want you to be the first charter member.” Bonham reached into a drawer, pulled out an object, and tossed it on the desk in front of Trent.

The object on the desk was a five-pointed star, surrounded by a smooth silver circle. In the center the inscription, US Marshal. They’d tried, but couldn’t buff out the dents and scratches in the old star.

“What’s this, Frank, a bullseye?”

“Take it, John. It’s about the only job I’m going to have for you.” There was just a hint of pleading in the colonel’s voice.

He sighed, and held the colonel’s gaze. “Nope.”

“What?”

“I’m done, Frank. I’m tired, and I don’t want to do it. Do you know there are parts of this country where I can go and not see anyone for months? Months . That sounds good to me. Real good.”

At that moment, the door to the office swung open, and the girl that had been waiting outside strode into the office. She offered her hand to an astonished Colonel Bonham. “I’m Katherine Stephens. Call me Katie.”

“Hello, again.” Her voice smoothed out, became soft and throaty. She had changed into different clothes, jeans and shirt, and he was right about her hair. It fell to her waist She reached out and softly caressed his side. “How’s the wound?”

He felt heat start at his collar and work its way upward, as Frank looked suspiciously between the two of them. “I decided to call you Katherine.”

Katie looked at him, momentarily nonplussed. Regaining her composure, she turned back to the man behind the desk. “Colonel, I need to talk to you.”

“Please, have a seat.” The two men looked quizzically at each other, shrugging their shoulders.

“I couldn’t help overhearing you mention Big Springs. That’s where I am from.” It looked like she was getting ready to launch a long story, so Trent found another chair, turned it around backwards so he could lean his forearms on the back, thumbed his hat back off his forehead, and settled in. Even if he didn’t like the story, he could always just watch the girl.

“I have some pack animals with supplies that I need to get to Big Springs. I had hoped to hire some men to help, but so far haven’t found anyone I’d trust. Colonel, I need an escort.”