Storyteller, Colin & Anne Brookfield [best fiction books to read .TXT] 📗

is no need to wait any longer to publish his story.”

“You’re right Maria. I’m so grateful for your help.” Maria, a journalist and a friend, had promised to publish Major’s story after his death.

It was almost two hours later, and within the comfort and warmth of his cabin that Mike began his story. Maria switched on her tape recorder.

“In 1974 as a sergeant in the US army, I was stationed in the Phuoc Long province in Vietnam and with six other men in my group, our job was Reconnaissance.

The army allocated a German-Shepherd dog called ‘Major’ to me, who became our ears, eyes and nose. He saved our lives time and time again, never missing a mine, booby-trap or ambush that the enemy had laid for us.

My most horrific experience occurred when I got separated from my men whilst on patrol in dense forest. I had stumbled into a clearing, where a group of unarmed US prisoners had just been executed. The Viet Con officer still had the executing panga, which is a machete, in his hand. Before he could turn on me, Major rushed in and sunk his teeth deep into the man’s right thigh. I fired and it struck him in the shoulder; he fell and his head struck a rock, so I left him for dead.

Eventually we were pulled back to Saigon, and orders came through for our repatriation to the USA.

There was great shock and enormous anger amongst the dog handlers when they were informed, that the dogs would not be repatriated. I had never seen so many men near to tears and mutiny, when they were ordered to leave their canine friends, that like Major, had saved our lives so many times.

We knew that as many as 5000 of these canine heroes, had been used throughout the whole campaign, and of the official policy of destroying the dogs when an army is repatriated. Fortunately, I had anticipated this possibility, and made plans with an influential friend at a nearby airbase who was prepared to smuggle Major out of Vietnam and into the United States. Major would then be passed on to another friend of mine for safe keeping.

There were ructions when I had no dog to hand in, because many other dog handlers had also ‘lost’ their dogs mysteriously. The reality of course, was that they had been smuggled to safer places.

Shortly after returning to the US, I was demobilised and soon reunited with Major, but my life had to be changed.

I grew this bushy beard originally as a disguise, and dark glasses became a permanent feature. My disguise had become an imperative if Major and I were to remain together. I could take no chance of being accidentally recognised by someone who had known us in Vietnam. The disguise made me feel safe, so I got a job and a rented house for us both.

It was all going well for a year or so. Then one day, when I was with a family friend in the local shopping mall, Major suddenly froze and his hackles went up. He almost pulled me off my feet as he leapt forwards with gnashing teeth towards a man facing us. In that split second, I knew I was looking into the eyes of the panga-wielding Viet Cong officer I had left for dead in a far away forest. By some miracle he had obviously been saved by his compatriots.

The guy ran off in panic, but not before I had passed Major’s leash to my friend. I was in hot pursuit at a safe distance behind so that I wasn’t seen. I chased him for quite a few blocks until obviously feeling more secure, he slowed to a walking pace and entered a detached house in a quiet street. Nearby, there was a high-rise block apartment building, which I entered and then made my way to one of its high open landings. This gave me a clear, back and front view of the guy’s house.

It was almost dark before the man re-emerged. He backed his car from the garage and started to wash it. So it was obvious this was his residence.

I made a telephone call, and the man was investigated. He was subsequently arrested for having false identity documents, belonging to a Vietnamese American who had worked at the American Legation in Vietnam. For his trial, I had to attend Court.

The evidence supporting my claim that this man murdered American soldiers, was based on three things. Firstly, Major’s teeth marks were found exactly where I said they would be. Secondly, so was the shoulder bullet wound and thirdly, Major’s reaction to him.

“The Military were present in the courtroom; they were with the man who was being held under close arrest. My greatest sacrifice was enacted on the day of the Court’s summations. I was seated at the time in the courthouse lobby when the court usher entered, and requested my presence in the courtroom.

The usher was extremely surprised when I walked over to another man and took the leash from him of a large German Shepherd. The dog and I then strode straight into the crowded court. All eyes turned towards us as the usher railed his protestations.

“THIS is Major!” I shouted, “the army dog that was with me, and bit that bastard standing in front of me. MAJOR is my witness. HE will recognise the murderer.”

I then stepped closer to the man, and the whole court jumped in fear as the gentle dog leapt forwards against its leash, towards the prisoner.

The presiding judge brought the courtroom quickly to order.

“Both you and your dog are quite extraordinary,” said the judge. The courtroom went quiet whilst the judge contemplated his next comment.

After what seemed to be an age, the judge suddenly broke the silence.

“Despite our gratitude for what has been accomplished, you have nevertheless broken military law and made an illegal importation. Major is military property and will be handed over.”

I remember there were gasps from the courtroom.

“Those bastards will have Major put down,” I replied, “and that’s not going to happen.” At that point the police surged forwards, so I withdrew a Browning automatic pistol from my pocket and they all stepped back a few paces.

“Don’t follow me if you value your lives,” I shouted as I backed out of the door. I don’t think anyone had ever seen a man and a dog move so quickly out of sight.

My friend had been waiting close-by with my car engine running, and raced to our rescue.

Major was whisked away to this cabin to stay here with my friend, but for that little episode, I was given two years in prison. It would have been longer, if my case had not caught the public’s interest. They released me after 18months for good behaviour.

The authorities were furious with me because I would not tell them where Major was hidden, or who had flown him from Vietnam to the United States. Believe me, I feel real good about that!”

Maria switched off the tape recorder and looked at him. “You know Mike, Major was very lucky to have such a Righteous Man as a friend.”

 

The Last Master

Lottie burst into the room with the news that King William had died, and they had a new monarch.

“Queen Anne! We now ‘ave a lady on the throne,” she cried out. “Pr’aps now, we’ll ‘ave someone that’ll make our lives less miserable. I’m plumb worn out Jed. We’re always ‘ungry and as likely we’d be dead if it weren’t for you being such a great wonder at peoples boot repairs, those as got ‘em should I say; there’s few enough of them and getting fewer.

She stopped suddenly. “Oh....!” She spluttered into silence as she pointed her finger under the table at their dog Scruff. “We’re done for!!” she screamed, “Look what ee’s got lying between his front paws; it’s one of the master’s fine riding boots and it’s got bite marks on it.”

 Scarcely had the shock registered on them when a loud banging almost shook the front door off its hinges. Jed quaked, as he hurriedly pulled the door aside. For a moment Lord Landbury and his estate manager from the Great House glared at Jed, then switched as they spotted Scruff under the table.

“That damned dog of yours was seen making off with one of the master’s very expensive riding boots,” exploded the estate manager, “the one lying under your table at this moment; it matches the other one I have brought with us to prove the point.”

At that moment Lottie surged forward proffering the missing boot towards its owner, hoping that this would bring an end to it. The effect was quite the opposite.

“Ruined!” raged Lord Landbury throwing the boot to the floor in disgust and doing the same with the other one. “I’ll give you six weeks and within that time, you will find the money to buy me another pair of the same quality, or be evicted.”

The silence that followed their departure seemed deafening. Lottie had collapsed in her chair close to tears. Scruff wasn’t looking too happy either; his chin was on the floor and one of his large paws lay on top of his head in disgrace.

“Ee’ll have to go!” shouted Jed angrily.

“No ‘ee won’t!” retorted Lottie, “Scruff catches the rabbits that stop us starving to death.”

Jed picked up the damaged boot and looked it over. “It’s not very well made,” he observed. Then with an unexpected outburst of enthusiasm he exclaimed excitedly, “I can do it! I can do it! I know I can!”

“What are you blathering about you poor man,” sobbed Lottie. “We’re finished! It’s pushed you over the edge. You’re mazed.”

“No I ain’t. I’ve got the skill and some better leather than them boots are made of; I can take a cast from the inside of ‘is old boots, to get the foot shapes and size.”

Jed got to work immediately digging a deep hole by the side of their vegetable patch.

“Oo are yer thinking of burying?” asked Lottie anxiously as she took a firm grip on Scruff, and pulled him away from the hole.

“I’m after the special clay lower down; it’s brick-making clay and doesn’t fall to pieces when it dries; it stays in one ‘ard lump.”

A distraught Lottie wailed, “You’re mazed, what’re yer going to do, eat it?” and she ran off into their hovel.

Shortly afterwards, Jed coated the inside of the master’s rejected boots with hot fat, so that the damp moulding clay he gradually filled them with, would not then distort the leather’s shape.

For the next week the filled boots gradually steamed-dried in front of their wood-fuelled fire, whilst Jed prepared and cut shapes from his meagre supply of leather. Then in the fraught hope the clay would be hard enough, began the skilful process of cutting the old boot leather free from their inner clay castings.

“Ow’s that?” he said to his wife. “The perfect moulds to shape the new boots’ leather on. Now I can start making a new pair.”

“Can yer really?” she gasped. “I can’t see it meself.”

Two rabbits arrived at their feet that evening, which was a rare happening. It looked as though Scruff was trying to make up for his bad behaviour and