Fires in the Wilderness (7 page)

“We best keep our eyes wide open from now on,” Yasku said with a touch of fear in his voice. “The story about that crazy lumberjack ghost keeps me awake at night.”

The walk back to camp that evening was full of good-natured joking. Still, we kept a close eye on the brush and trees alongside the road just in case our bear friend was in the area. When we got back to camp, we learned that Pick, Stosh, Yasku, and I were suddenly famous. The gravel truck drivers had spread the story of our wild animal encounter. Everyone in camp called us the Bear Hunters.

We enjoyed our newfound status. For some unknown reason, Mike was none too pleased.

D
ays and weeks passed without much changing at Camp Polack Lake—until one night in June. Someone in our tent had the homesick blues. Boys aren't supposed to cry. Yet soft, whimpering sobs mixed with snoring in the darkness. There was no way of telling who it was. No one got up to offer support or comfort, not even me. I would come to regret that I didn't help a friend that night.

At 6:00 a.m., the morning whistle sounded. Yasku sat up on the edge of his cot and scratched his belly. Pick drew the covers over his head. “I say we snitch that whistle and bury it in the woods.”

“Hey, where's Stosh?” I asked.

Pick pulled his covers down, sat up, and looked at the empty cot. “Maybe he's in the latrine.”

The word latrine was another military term that we had come to use without a second thought. After some confusion, we discovered that a latrine was a community bathroom. Lieutenant Campbell told us it was a French word.

We dressed and made up our cots, leaving Stosh's the way we found it. Then we went off for our morning duties. Still no Stosh. Pick, Yasku, and I feared the worst. Our daily routine continued as if nothing happened. We had our flag raising and did our calisthenics—push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks. We policed the grounds, picking up scraps of paper and anything else that didn't belong. The captain insisted that his campsite be spotless.

After breakfast, we fell in for roll call. When Captain Mason called Stosh's name, there was nothing but silence.

Stosh's name was called again, louder.

“Maybe he's in the latrine, sir,” I said hopefully.

“Go check up on him,” the captain said as he continued the roll call.

I ran back to the latrine area. He wasn't there. Then I did a quick search behind the mess tent. No luck. When I reported back, the captain split up the work gangs and had us search the camp and the surrounding area. Stosh was nowhere to be found.

After our quick search, the camp reassembled for work detail. Once again my buddies and I picked up shovels and headed off to the gravel pit. Yasku spoke up to Mike. “Ain't we gonna keep looking for Stosh? He can't be far off.”

Mike spun around to face us all. “No, we ain't gonna keep looking for Stosh,” Mike said sarcastically. “Your buddy is AWOL—you know, absent without leave. If and when your buddy comes back to camp, I'm going to recommend that he be kicked out of the CCC. Captain Mason will do it, too. He listens to me.”

The morning walk to the gravel pit seemed much longer than usual. We walked in silence most of the way, looking desperately for any signs of Stosh. We held out some hope that he'd just wandered off and was somewhere near camp. But as hours passed, it was clear that he'd run off.

Pick spoke to me in Polish. He kept his voice down to a whisper so Mike couldn't hear. “We've got to do something. Maybe the bear got him. Even if he ran away, Stosh is sure to come to his senses sooner or later.” His eyes studied me and the other guys. “When he does, he'll want his job back.”

“Today the three of us will work as hard as four,” I replied quietly in Polish. “We'll make up for Stosh's share. Tonight I'll talk to Captain Mason before Mike can get to him.” Pick shared the plan with Yasku.

Through the day we worked harder than we had ever worked before. Mike gave his silent approval as we shoveled load after load into the endless line of gravel trucks. Our muscles screamed and our backs ached with strain. At the end of the day, we shuffled to camp, drained and bone-tired.

After a cold shower and a change to my dress clothes for supper, I walked over to Captain Mason's tent. I was scared, but there was no turning back. Stosh needed me, and my other buddies were counting on me.

A
s I approached his tent, I could see that the captain's head was down and he was focused on the paperwork in front of him. “Excuse me, Captain Mason,” I said nervously as I stood at attention and saluted. “May I have a word with you?”

The captain returned my salute. “Stand at ease. What's your name, enrollee?

“Jarek Sokolowski, sir.”

“What brings you here this afternoon, Sokolowski?” the captain asked as he straightened himself. He squared all the edges of his papers and files, placing them neatly on his desk. Then he lifted his gaze and looked me in the eye.

“My friend is Stoshu Campeau.”

“Ah, the young man who went AWOL last night,” the captain said as he turned and opened the top drawer of a file cabinet behind his desk. “Campeau . . . Campeau,” the captain muttered. “Here we go, let's see what we have.”

Stosh's name was neatly lettered on the tab of the folder that Captain Mason retrieved. He opened it and examined the contents. His lips moved in silent speech as he read.

“Hmmm,” the camp commander muttered as he stroked his chin. “It appears as though your friend has been placed on report several times by Assistant Leader O'Shea. The paperwork indicates that Campeau is a bit of a goldbrick. Now it seems he's deserted.”

“S-s-sir,” I explained nervously. “Stosh is only a little homesick. He's really a good worker. I'm sure he'll be back in camp in no time at all.”

“Stosh . . . is that what you call your buddy?”

I nodded.

“Have you talked to Assistant Leader O'Shea about this matter?

“No, sir.”

“Well, Sokolowski, I have to be straight with you. I don't like people who go AWOL. What's more, I made it perfectly clear that if enrollees have questions or problems, they're to talk with their assistant leaders, not me. Do you recall those instructions?”

“Yes, sir,” I said weakly.

The captain picked up a pencil from his desktop and rolled it between his fingers. “President Roosevelt has given us jobs at a time when there aren't jobs to be had. When someone goes AWOL, like your friend Mr. Campeau, the CCC looks bad and I look bad. Worse yet, it makes the president look bad. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, sir, I do. All of us know how important these jobs are. Our families are depending on us. It's just that Stosh has never been away before. He's just a little homesick, that's all. I am sure he'll be back tomorrow. The next day at the latest.”

“Well, Sokolowski,” the captain said as he closed Stosh's file and put it aside, “with Campeau's work record, I am not inclined to take him back. My first thought would be to discharge him and send him home.”

My heart sank. I knew that Stosh needed this job. His family needed the money that the CCC sent each month. Stosh's father was sick. His mother had no job. And his brother and sister were hungry and suffering. I swallowed hard before continuing.

“Sir, I'll be responsible for Stosh when he returns. I'll make sure that his record is clean from this point forward. The guys in my work crew have agreed to pick up Stosh's share of the load until he gets back. When he comes back to camp, all I ask is that you give him another chance.”

Captain Mason bounced the eraser end of the pencil on his desk as he thought. “You should have talked to Assistant Leader O'Shea about this matter. However, it took a lot of guts for you to come to me, Sokolowski. I admire that.” The captain sat back in his swivel chair and leaned hard on his right elbow. “The CCC allows me a certain amount of discretion in these matters. So, if your friend comes back in a couple of days, I will consider taking him back. You see to it that your crew picks up Campeau's workload.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” I saluted awkwardly.

The captain returned the salute crisply. Then he shot me a serious look as he leaned forward. “Just make sure your crew picks up the slack. And one more thing, Sokolowski: from now on you are to report all matters to your assistant leader. Understand?”

“Yes, sir, I understand perfectly.” I saluted the captain and left his quarters.

When I returned to my tent, I shared the news with the guys. We were all happy that the captain would give Stosh another chance once he came back to camp. Supper tasted extra good that night. Our spirits were high because we were certain that Stosh would return soon.

That night thunder rumbled off in the distance. We were headed for rough weather once again—and rougher times.

J
ust before lights out, Mike burst into our tent. The violence of lightning was in his eyes, and thunder was in his voice. He scanned the tent and settled his attention on me. His chest rose and fell with each breath. Mike was seething with anger. “You!” he commanded as he pointed his finger at me, “Outside! Now!”

I knew I was about to get chewed out for going directly to the captain. Mike stormed out of the tent, and I followed him outside. Pick and Yasku looked at me sheepishly as I passed by their bunks and into the night. I half-expected that my friends would get up and follow me out of the tent in order to share Mike's rage, but that wasn't about to happen. The roll of thunder was coming closer and closer.

Once on the parade grounds, Mike turned to face me. His fists clenched. “What gives you the right to go to the captain behind my back?”

“What? I didn't go behind your back.” The lie tumbled out of my mouth. I knew full well that I had gone behind O'Shea's back. For some reason I wasn't willing to fess up to it.

Guys who were out for an evening stroll took to walking on the other side of the parade grounds when they heard Mike starting in on me. Here and there you could see heads popping out from underneath tent flaps. Those who enjoyed gossip would have a good story to tell in the morning.

“Well, mister, a chain of command exists in this outfit. It's pretty simple, even for an idiot like you.” Mike poked his finger hard into my chest. “You don't go to the captain. Understand?” He poked me again, harder. “If you've got a question . . . if you've got a problem . . . if you've got a gripe . . . you come to me. You don't go to the captain. I go to the captain. Got it?”

I scanned his eyes in the low light of nightfall. “I was just trying to help Stosh. That's all.”

Mike grabbed me by the shirt with both hands. Rough arms pulled me close to his face. The smell of onions on his breath was sickening. “I don't like you. In fact, I don't like your little Polack buddies either. I should have cleaned your clock the first day I met you on the train. Now you go directly behind my back and beg the captain to save that lazy Stosh's job. Don't you ever go behind my back again.”

“I-I-I was j-just trying to help my friend,” I said. “I didn't mean any harm by it.”

His anger shocked me. Mike shook me furiously, nearly ripping my clothes. “Listen and listen good,” he said. “I don't care one iota about what you were trying to do. If you ever go to the captain again, I'll break you in two.”

Mike bit off his words as he continued his rant. “Tonight I got chewed out by the lieutenant. You know why?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“I got chewed out by the lieutenant because you went to the captain. The captain lambasted the lieutenant because you didn't follow the chain of command. The lieutenant took some of my hide because you didn't follow the chain of command. Now it's my turn to pass along some wisdom and a warning to you.”

He turned his head and focused his right eye on me. “If you and your buddies think you've had it rough so far, I got news for you. I'm gonna do everything I can to make your lives miserable. You'll have the jobs nobody wants. I'm gonna work you like dogs. Wait and see. You're gonna beg me to kick you out of the CCC. And if you screw up even one time, I'll have you on the next train back to Polack town whether you want to go back or not.”

O'Shea twisted his head and looked at me closely. “That's funny ain't it? Jarek Sokolowski gets kicked out of the CCC at Camp Polack Lake and is sent home to Polack town.” He laughed deeply, then suddenly turned silent and serious. Mike released one hand and balled it into a fist in front of my face. “Do you understand me, or do I have to explain myself further?”

“I understand. You don't need to explain any further.”

He released me and stomped off into the night. As I gathered myself, I noticed guys pulling their heads in and closing tent flaps. Lightning lit the sky and the clouds opened up. Rain fell in buckets. The real storm was yet to strike.

Mike was right. I was wrong. Still in all, no matter how much talking or going through proper channels I would have done, Mike had proven over and over that he wouldn't listen to my side of an argument. It would have been useless for me to take this problem to Mike. He had given me no choice but to go directly to the captain. Still, he didn't see it that way.

I didn't follow the proper chain of command. So, I was on the hot seat. What made me mad was how Mike O'Shea handled the problem.

I
t had been raining around the clock since I had gotten my chain-of-command lecture from Mike O'Shea. Stosh had been gone three long days. Sunup tomorrow would be day four. Captain Mason told me he might allow him back if he returned in a couple days. By most accounts, a couple means two. Stosh was stretching his luck. What's more, all of us were exhausted from picking up his slack.