waldopaper

Like Gettysburg for the grandkids

You will hate then when you grow old. Because they’ll always be heroes. And they’ll always be nineteen. — Grandpa George

Changelings and trans-dimensional people

The Battle of Gettysburg had been over for at least a week.  Henry had no idea what fucking day it was.  Pony kept up with Jubal’s boys, and now they had their grim war faces on with their backs to the river.  Henry had to say a sad goodbye to Jubal.  Pony was rested and well-fed.  Henry was not.  Up the road is Pleasanton’s cavalry who will not believe old Dutchy came this far to fix their carbines.  The Parson’s farm was an obvious field for Meade’s army.  Henry proposed to lease the parson’s identity.  Parson is either baptist or anabaptist.  Maybe a calvinist.  Who knows.  But Henry knew the theology well enough to pass through another day’s sleep deprivation and  holy indian medicine. Henry made it into the presence of General Meade himself.  Disguised of course. There Henry rambled some charm in scriptural English about battle on this particular Sabbath.    Maybe Carl was there. Henry got back in time to pay the parson and get a good night’s sleep among the forest people.    

At first light Bean field Hank sat across a cracker box with Dilger’s battery, squatting on saddlebags behind the Shenandoah Café.  Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers, how can ye escape the damnation of hell?  Don’t Bogart that joint Hobo.  Mighty good acid we dropped back on the 80.  Yeah Hen.  Where are the girls.  Vietnam had kept the two bikers rapping that 70s show in formation ever since California.  During the war, Henry’s white plastic helmet had headphones.  Hobo’s steel pot did not.  Hen the scout and Hobo the gunner relied on the kindness of strangers, because the boys brought plenty of fine entertainment and good dope.  They ain’t awake yet Hoob but they home.  Gotta cop some parts and a phone book Hen.  Girls got a phone?  Here’s the number, Hobo.  Don’t fucking lose it.  Hobo studied it for a minute and gave it back.  Didn’t forget the number or show up for dinner.  Theatre girls like to sleep late, but had to get to their waitress job. 

They is mercenaries.  Just like us.