Brothers In Blood: For Country

Custler's Almost-Last Stand

The massive engine appeared to melt and roll through the heat. Diesel fumes and exhaust filled the air, along with the roar of supped-up engines and the whine of fan belts. Painted red, white and blue, the Not Dead Yet dominated the competition. Instead of the usual four engines, Custer had managed to squeeze six Ford motors into the front-end assembly of his tractor. The massive tires were streaked with dirt and flecks of paint that had fallen off of some of the other tractors. He listened to the hitch drop into place and tensed, waiting for the signal to begin his run. This was the New York State tractor pull competition. The big one.
The orange flag waved wildly, and his foot hit the gas like a falling anvil. The rear tires gripped the earth. The front end rose five feet off the ground, and the POW/MIA flag pulled taut as he roared down the track. 25 thousand pounds inched up the sled behind him. His front wheels hit the ground, once again allowing him to steer. There was no doubt that he had qualified for the final run.
The volunteers working the pull unhitched him, and he roared back to his place in the lists. The other drivers were staring at him. ‘Can’t take the heat, huh? Just too tough for them dawgies.’ He pulled his hat down over his eyes and leaned back in the seat. His lids had just closed when he heard someone calling his name. Thinking he had fallen asleep for a moment, he cranked the gas and shot out into the track. Custer pushed his hat back and looked around. The ground was flying by him, then he looked ahead.
His tractor had reached full speed and was headed straight for the grandstand. In an instant, twenty feet separated him from the hundreds of spectators. He slammed the brakes and hopped they would work. Across the track, five figures hopped the fence and raced across the hard-packed earth. The sixth flipped over the rail, gold chains rattling, and landed flat on his back. Like lightning, he was back on his feet and running.
Custer swung hard to the left, throwing the careening vehicle up on two uneven wheels. It rolled and took out the supports to the bleachers. he barely had time to recover from his fall before several tons of steel and aluminum came sliding down toward him. A cross beam pinned his arm in the mud, another teetered on the brink of crushing his chest. ‘Wonder if this is how Custer felt with all them Indians riding towards him.’ The structure kept falling, coming down slowly, crunching and bending and bunching up. Out of the din, he thought he heard the buzz of a speed boat, but he couldn’t be sure.
The noise he heard was one of Mac’s many improvising. he had taken the propeller off of a show boat and replaced it with a saw blade. Mac and GD were desperately trying to cut through an I beam. It finally broke loose and Mac took off towards Custer. he planted the beam upright, giving a large section of the twisted metal a place to rest. Screams were piercing the night like bullets.
Mista D, Scud and Whip were hurrying people away, ushering them away from certain death. Joe was on the ground, showing people where to go, yelling for them to get as far away as possible. The four worked as a team, moving the dead-weight of the spectators off the collapsing seats.
In the mud below, GD was wrestling with the beam that trapped Custer’s arm and talking. “Custer, we didn’t reckon on having to save you again. We came to see you whop up on these green horns with that tractor, like you told Scud you was. You put on a good show until you went screwy on us. Keep fightin’ Cuss, we’ll get you out of this.” He stopped when he saw what Mac was doing. “Boy, you can’t lift that beam by yourself, with or without a chain.”
An old rusty chain had found its way into Mac’s hands and his brain had started in overdrive. he wrapped it around the beam, then threw it over a sturdy overhead support. He took the loose end and looked around for a welding torch. Nothing. He tied the chain around the drive shaft for the Not Dead Yet and revved the engine. Even on its side, the tractor still ran well enough. The slack disappeared, a coil of links forming around the shaft. The coil grew larger and the beam that was across Custer’s chest was hoisted into the air.
“Get that old buzzard outta there! We don’t know how long this thing’ll hold!” GD grabbed Custer by the shirt front and hauled him away, out of the danger. Mac turned off the tractor and chased after them. Just before they cleared the wreckage, the improvised I beam support gave out and let the twisted heap sink with a metallic groan.
Custer had lost consciousness under the beams oppression. The four men, after sending off the last of the spectators, raced down the hill to see what was going on. GD was methodically prodding the graying warrior’s ribs, checking for major breaks. A hard kick to his legs showed his spinal cord was still intact, most likely his back was unharmed. Mista D pushed GD aside and slapped his hands down on Custer’s chest.
“You foos betta start prayin’ cause there ain’t no guarantee this boy make it through wid out some help from da Big Guy upstairs.” His eyes crunched shut and he started praying like he was about to die. With the exception of Whip and Joe, the rest of them crowded close around the still form.
“God, you know dis man heya, so much betta then any one of us heya,” D’s voice pounded in their ears, reaching high into the heavens on volume alone. “We know he was a good man, Fatha, and we askin’ you to please let him stay a while longer, Lord. Dis man our brotha in arms, God, and we love dis boy so much. If it be yo will, Lord, let him live and be OK when he wakes up. Dus man been through some tough stuff befo because of how you made him to be. Now, let youself course through his body and revive him. make him whole an’ let him come back to us. Hear our cry, Fatha God.”
Peace descended like a sheet on the men assembled and they felt strengthened by something beyond earthly means. Even Whip, the agnostic couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening around the huddled group.
From the darkness came a light, guiding Custer forward. He emerged into the brightest light he had even encountered, yet it didn’t hurt his eyes. He was flying above the ground, looking down at it as it raced by. Trees with jewels hanging from their branches passed just beneath his feet. He was coming in for a landing. A small grove of trees, numbering nine in all was standing before him. The trees didn’t look any different from the rest, but something drew him closer.
Carved in the trees were names. The biggest tree was carved with D’s name, from its branches hung emeralds and diamonds, larger then watermelons. The other trees where of varying widths, from thick and tall, to short and slender. Whip, Scud, Mac, Flash, Jack, Joe, they were all there. Whip’s tree was the smallest, with tiny rubies gleaming under thick leaves. He looked at the trees again and realized that they all had streaks of gold in the bark and silver rimming the leaves. All accept for Whip’s tree. And his own.
Custer’s tree was different than the others in the grove. As he looked at it, he saw little black lines, running horizontally all along its bark. He looked closer. They were words, words he could read and understand. His eyes widened and his heart beat faster and faster as he read what was written on his tree.
It had the names of every woman he had looked at with a lustful eye, every lie he told, every mistress he had taken in his life, every time he had felt like hurting someone. Every wrong he had done was revealed in the tree. Every person he had sworn at, threatened, every drink he had taken. Everything was there. he glanced at Whip’s tree again. He could see the lines, but he couldn’t read what they said.
“It is not for you to know what is hidden in the hearts of your friends.”
The voice came from all around him, deep and melodious, warm. he looked at the other trees, the ones that had streaks of gold. There were lines there too, but the gold had spread to cover the black marks.
“My son, does this surprise you?”
The voice as inside his head. “Lord, if that’s you, tell me what this whole thing means.”
“This grove represents your brotherhood, each tree a member of that fellowship. Each one of you has grown his own tree through his deeds and how he’s lived his life.”
“I’ve lived a full life, God, so why is my tree so small?”
“A full life isn’t always a good life, actions are not always for the greatest good or honorable on the heavenly scale.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“My son, you’ve lived your life in pursuit of things that have no grounding. Those names on the tree, those marks are the same chains that will bind your soul to the Prince of Darkness.”
“Ozzy?”
The voice laughed. “No, no Custer. Not Ozzy, but Ozzy’s master and the king of his heart. The devil. Only you can chose to break the chains that bind you to him.”
Custer felt something shoot out of his chest. Thin chains, black and twisted were coming out of his skin., flying in away from him. They went out between two trees, into a mass of swirling darkness. Something stepped through the terrible portal. It was in the form of a man, but of incredible beauty and power. He came closer to the grove where Custer was standing.
“.” He pulled an axe from out of the air. “.” He grinned, his vampire teeth gleaming. “” Dragon wings exploded from the devil’s back as he stepped towards the grove. Custer tried to move to stop him, but something held him back. It sucked him away from the grove, away from the blackness, away from the place he was in, back to the earth he knew.
It hurtled towards him from across eternity. He fly over the American continent, zooming towards the east coast. The open field were the competitions were being held slowed underneath him. he could see his friends standing around his body.
“Your time here isn’t done, my son. You still have much work to do.”
“Lord, how can I change what I’ve been? What can I do to save myself from getting dragged to Hell by that monster?”
“My son, I have paid the price for you to live forever with me. I have died in your place so you can sit beside me. All you have to do is believe and trust in me. I’m always here, Hank McCoy.”
Custer jerked under Mista D’s hands. The praying men jumped back. The grizzled head lifted itself off the ground and looked around him. “I guess this means I’m still alive.”
Cheers erupted from the volunteers, from the competition, along with the cries and prayers of thanksgiving. An ambulance came and took Custer to the hospital. A doctor checked him over and released him to his friends who had been in the waiting room. “Just an elevated carbon-monoxide content, but that’ll pass quickly. Somebody’s sure lookin’ out for you, Mister McCoy.” That was the doctor’s diagnosis, all he had to say before he hurried back to work. The friends left the hospital and drove Custer back to GD’s house.
Over pizza, Mac and GD brought the old man up to speed on their situation. he caught on to the plan pretty quick.
“So, these boys in the UN took out Hogan,” He said, summing up the lecture, “And we think they want to take over the USA by shutting down all trade and forcing us to join on of those political unions with them. The boys up top, want us to stop their militias before they can get into the country and set up bases on our soil.” His eyes darkened. “That’s what our boys in office think is going on?”
Grim nods answered him. “Well, then God dammit, lets get started.”
Mac shook his head. “We’re waiting for confirmation of our mission and for the rest of the boys to show up.”
“Just waiting for Jack, right?”
“And Flash.”
He glanced past them, into the back yard. “Boys, Flash is outside in the pool.”
Everyone looked. Sure enough, Flash was sitting on an inflatable chair in the middle of the water. Whip checked his room and found Flash’s camera equipment stashed in the closet. Then, he and Mac disappeared up the stairs.
Flash was his usual self, loud and proud, and couldn’t care less what he was doing as long as it suited him. GD stared at him from the walkway.
“How did you get in?”
Flash smiled and shook his head. “That’s a nice way to greet a friend, Greg. As for my sudden appearance in your midst, I, like a good magician, never reveal my secrets. I’m here now, and that’s all that matters!” he relaxed in the chair and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again. “I thought I saw the rest of the boys hanging around. Where are they?” In the bathrooms and the kitchen, Scud and Custer were filling water balloons. At the front outside spigot, Mista D was filling up his water guns. In the basement, Joe was emptying the ice machine, filling any bucket or basket he could get his hands on and lugging it upstairs. On the second floor, Whip and Mac were pulling the window screens inside the house. Outside by the pool, GD was clueless as to what was going on.
The sliding glass door behind GD opened and Joe came out, pulling two clothes baskets filled with ice. GD didn’t see him coming until it was too late. He was in the pool with Joe dumping ice cubes over him. Flash laughed, until he saw who was coming around the corner of the house. Mista D had his water guns primed and ready. he had built them himself, designed them to deliver the maximum amount of force with the maximum amount of water. These were powerful guns, like portable fire hoses. From fifty feet away, he knocked Flash into the water.
he came to the surface, sputtering and looked up. he wished he hadn’t. From the roof, howling like wolves, came Whip and Mac. Stripped to the waist, they took a running leap from the shingles aiming for the inflatable raft. They hit the water screaming, barely missing Flash. Whip took the raft almost to the bottom of the pool, and Mac somehow managed to get a grip on Flash as he went under. They were underwater for what seemed like hours to Flash. he clawed at Mac until the water around him was streaked with red.
His head broke the surface, screaming and cursing. “Mac, you animal!” he lunged towards Mac, who was holding his ribs. The scratches stung in the chlorine water. He pulled himself out of the pool, semi-red rivers dripping off his body.
“You nut!” Mac was smiling, but it was hiding a burning rage. “You scratch like a freakin’ girl! Cut them nails, boy!”
Flash climbed out after him. “I’ll rip your head off if you do anything like that again.”
“You couldn’t touch me on your best day.”
“Wanna bet?”
Mac shifted his body, exposing his left side to Flash. “Bring it on.”
To the rest, it looked like a fair fight, despite Mac’s forty pounds and ten inches on Flash. Mac was sheer instinct and power, Flash was quick and flexible with a weird kind of, deceptive fighting style. With a grunt, Flash charged him. He met a stiff-arm, throwing him to the concrete. he shook off the pain and came in swinging. His fists made contact, but he paid for it dearly. Mac’s fist crashed into his stomach, the other slamming his ribs. Flash was robbed of breath and doubled over.
“Cool off, Flash.” Mac braced his foot against his shoulder and pushed him back in the pool. Silence ruled the back yard. An innocent, kid-like war game had left one bloody, and another floundering in the water, treading water for his life. Mac turned and walked to his room and dried off.
Flash followed him five minutes later. “Truce, brother?” Mac turned around, his face a sheer mask. “What,” Flash took a step back, “You jumped me!”
Mac stepped forward. “I know that, Flash. Let’s truce...” He grinned. “Until next time, anyway.” They hugged and Flash lit out for the kitchen with Mac snapping a towel behind him. Custer was on the couch, watching NASCAR. “Just like the war. Everybody makes up after a fight. Don’t mean a thing. not a thing.”
Darkness came a few hours later. It found GD, Mista D and Mac in the basement, shooting pool when Custer came down. “Could I talk to you guys a minute?” he asked, and he looked a little shaken. The balls clacked across the green felt in response to Mista D’s shot. “Da’s what we heya fo, Cuss. We heya ta listen. Somethin’ on yo mind?”
The players stacked their cues and Mac moved some chairs closer together. GD could see something was eating the aging cowboy. “What’s up, Hank?”
Custer leaned back in his chair and looked at the floor. He didn’t know where to begin. “Boys,” He began, hesitantly. Would they understand what he had to say? “Guys, something happened while I was out, remember, back at the track. I saw something, went somewhere that I really can’t explain.”
He recounted his entire experience in as much detail as he could remember. The three listeners sat silent until he was done. Pure joy radiated from their faces when he finished. Mista D pushed his chair back and stood up, his smile lighting up the room.
“Kevin, Greg, I think we finally seein’ da real Hank McCoy.” He turned to Custer. “Hank, we been waitin’ fo something like dis to happen fo so long. You seen da truth and you realizin’ that you can’t escape from it.”
“What do you want to do, Hank?” Mac was standing too. “You wanna pray and get yourself straight? You wanna stay out of that hole and break those chains that hold you down?”
In Heaven at that moment, the angels were screaming their lungs out for joy.