They reached Wisconsin Dells in mid-morning.
Rory pulled to the curb in the downtown area. “We should probably find a place to stay. There’s enough to do and see here that we’ll want to stay more than one day, I’d imagine. That sound good to you guys?”
“I’ve been checking out what’s around here,” Cary said, phone in hand. I have a suggestion. We’ve been staying in fancy hotels. How about something different? There are cabins and cottages for tourists to rent. I read about one with a private beach on a lake that sounds amazing. I don’t know, maybe they won’t rent it for only a couple of days, but they probably would if they had a vacancy. What do you think? Our own beach, our own BBQ pit—it sounds great to me. Maybe get away from plush hotels and fancy dining?”
“I’d vote for that if we could find a good place. Trace?”
“Anything’s okay with me. Everything we’ve done has been so, so wonderful—way outside anything I’ve known before.”
“Okay,” Rory said. “Give them a call. If they don’t have exactly the
one you want, ask for suggestions. They’d know more about this stuff than we’ll
find searching the net.”
They ended up with a private, six-room cabin on Lake Delton, across the Wisconsin River from Wisconsin Dells. They each had their own bedroom. It was a spectacular cabin with air conditioning—the temperatures were running in the low 90s during the day—and all the amenities. Rory made a fuss out of the price, but that was for show. He loved the place as much as the boys did, and there were no fusses made about Morris.
It had a small, sandy beach fronting the lake and was far enough from any other cabins that Cary’s thoughts ran to skinny-dipping as soon as he saw it. Trace was looking, too, and when he caught Cary’s glance and Cary winked at him, he had no problem reading Cary’s mind.
They decided to eat at the cabin, so Rory took them to a grocery store where they loaded up with supplies for the three days Rory had been inveigled into spending there. They also found a rack of brochures near the store’s door that advertised all the activities in the area. They collected a pile of them.
Wisconsin Dells sold itself as the Waterpark Capital of the World, and the brochures showed why. There were many of them. But there were also other things that excited the boys’ imagination. Go-Karts, zip lines, tours, an amusement park—three days didn’t seem enough if they were going to see and do everything.
They put all the groceries away, then Rory asked, “What’s first?”
They sat down together and looked at all the things to do in the area. They decided that they’d hit two of the most famous water parks, the one at the Kalaharie Resorts and the Noah's Ark Waterpark. The Kalaharie park featured indoor water slides, whirlpools, their Master Blaster water coaster, and an outdoor park with a lazy river and other water coasters and a spiraling flume ride.
Noah’s Ark claimed to be the largest park of its kind on the planet and home to dozens of attractions, including the Flash Flood flume ride and a meandering lazy river with waterfalls. It had just added a side-by-side tube racer, Raja, which sent riders shooting around 335 feet of track before they plunged 37 feet into the mouth of a king cobra.
Other attractions at Wisconsin Dells and Lake Delton included a scenic river walk, the Wisconsin Deer Park where they could feed and pet the deer, the famous Duck tours of the local forested area and the lake and river, Witches Gulch which could only be reached by boat on the Wisconsin River and had unique rock formations, a wildlife park, an amusement park and more. There was a store in town which specialized in fudge and the Goody Goody Gumdrop featured over 1,000 kinds of candy.
The boys wanted to visit the water parks first. They’d been cooped up in the car for two hours and wanted to do something active. They hit both parks, staying at the second one till it was dark. Rory had bought steaks to barbecue at the cabin, and shrimp, horseradish, lemons and chili sauce to make shrimp cocktails with. It was a late dinner because the boys didn’t want to be pried away from the parks.
Rory felt that Trace was finally acting age-appropriately. He and Cary were enthusing about the slides they’d been down and the all the things they’d done. Trace was holding his own, even arguing with Cary about which were the best. Rory loved listening to them. It seemed now he’d now have two teens to deal with instead of one-and a-half. He was expecting to enjoy it.
They were two happy but very worn-out boys. They finally settled down when they reached the cabin.
The BBQ grill was gas fired, so there was no wait for the coals to be ready. The steaks were thick and would take some time, even only being cooked to medium-rare, which was what Rory told Trace they’d be having. Trace said other than last night in Rockford, he’d never had a steak cooked anything but well done, and that only once or twice in his life. He said he’d never understood the fuss made over them. Last night his eyes had been opened. He liked steak now.
The three worked together in the kitchen after Rory had about needed to horsewhip them to get them off the couches where they’d collapsed. He told them he wasn’t doing dinner by himself, and if they didn’t help, they didn’t eat. They looked at each other, weighing the consequences, and reluctantly rose.
Rory had Trace make the salad, which mostly consisted of emptying a bag of greens into a large bowl and setting it and salad bowls onto the table along with a couple of bottles of salad dressing. He set the table, too. Cary had made shrimp cocktails before at Rory’s house and knew what to do without instructions. Of course, Rory couldn’t stand not telling him what to do even when it was obvious it wasn’t needed, and Cary kept telling him to keep his mind on his steaks and let the professionals do their thing.
Trace was kept laughing by their insults. When he had first heard them doing that, it had scared him. All the insults he’d ever heard—and there had been plenty—had been meant to be cruel and hurtful. He’d been amazed that these insults were meant to show wit and humor and affection.
After dinner, the boys flopped back on the couches. Rory did the dishes, then went into the living room. The boys weren’t asleep but appeared to be in a state of drugged semi-consciousness. He gave them a stare, then went to his room and collected a towel, and making as little noise as he could, went outside.
The night was warm and almost velvety in its blackness. Rory walked down to the lake, shed his sandals and stuck a toe in the water. He’d expected it to be cold, perhaps even icy. It was surprisingly warm, and he smiled. Then he stripped, waded in up to his knees and dived all the way in.
He swam to burn off some energy, then spent time floating on his back. The sky had been overcast when he’d come out but was now clear, and billions of stars speckled the firmament in glorious profusion. Rory was at peace and felt all the stresses of the past few days’ trials slipping away.
He was startled to hear voices—whispering voices. He slowly turned his head so he could look toward the beach. The two boys were there, and he could just barely hear Cary speaking.
“Shhh. We want to surprise him. He doesn’t want to swim naked with me. Thinks it’s somehow inappropriate.”
Trace: “Isn’t it?”
Cary: “Nah; that’s old-people thinking. Where’s the harm in us being together naked? Swimming naked isn’t sexual; it’s athletic more than anything. Well, maybe it’s kinda bonding, too. Come on, join me this time. I won’t even look if you don’t want me to.”
Cary slipped off his shorts and underwear, all he had on, and turned toward the lake. Watching the boys from some distance away in the water, Rory could just make out Trace hesitating, then also stripping.
They moved out into the lake as silently as they could. When he saw Cary glance at Trace—evidently the desire to look overwhelmed his desire to be honest—Rory took a deep breath and submerged.
When Cary turned back, looking out into the lake, Rory was nowhere to be seen.
Cary panicked. “Rory!” he shouted. “Rory!”
After swimming silently underwater, a skill taught in Ranger training, Rory suddenly shot up out of the water right in front of the boys, screaming, “YAAAAH!”
It was a good thing the boys were both young and healthy. No paramedics or defibrillators were needed.
« »
The next day, Rory said he’d like to see some of what the area had to offer other than the water parks. Their first visit was to the Wisconsin Deer Park. Rory enjoyed watching Trace’s face as they got up close with deer, elk, goats, lemurs and llamas. There were feed stations throughout the park where appropriate animal feed could be bought; Trace’s eyes grew large as the animals nibbled it out of his hands.
There was one small deer, not much older than a fawn, that seemed to shy away from the tourists. It wasn’t getting any attention at all until Trace spotted it. He moved slowly toward it, then crouched down for his last few steps. He held his hand out, and the deer took the final steps and, glancing up at Trace several times for reassurance, ate the food. Trace managed to pet it, and the deer moved closer to him. It actually looked disappointed when he was out of food. Or was it that the petting had stopped? Either way, the deer moved away and Trace simply watched it, an expression of longing on his face.
Trace came back to the other two and said a bit forlornly, “I wish we could keep it. I think it likes me. I’ve never had a pet.”
Rory took him to a close-by bench and sat down next to him. “Trace,” he said in a soft voice, “you’re going to be living a different life now, and you’ll be changing. Most of the changes you’ll make will be good, and afterwards, over the next couple of months, you’ll like who you are a lot better. But there are two things I hope you keep. They make you special. You are sensitive and caring. Most boys don’t have those qualities. They’re into themselves and not others. You do have them, and they’re the best parts of you. They’re special. Please, don’t lose them.”
After the Deer Park, Rory thought the boys were ready for action. He took them to the Wilderness Resort where they played laser tag, rode the zip line and, what Cary loved best, raced on the go-kart track. Rory had a hard time getting him out of one.
In the afternoon they rented kayaks and spent some time exploring Lake Denton. Then they went back to Wisconsin Dells and enjoyed the amusement park. Trace was scared of the roller coaster, but then, before they left, went on it and then went again.
They ate at the cabin again. All three found they liked being together in the quiet of the cabin after being out and about all day. There was fresh-caught fish being sold in Lake Denton that was the daily take from the lake. Rory bought some filets and grilled them for dinner. Trace again did the salad, and Cary showed him how to make bleu cheese dressing. They had baked potatoes with butter, sour cream and chives. The boys flaked out on the couches again after stuffing themselves. Rory had the lake to himself that evening. The boys were done in.
They spent one more day and night in the area and cabin, then headed back west the morning after.
Rory had discussed what to see on the way back now that they’d done the water parks and other attractions and exhausted themselves in Wisconsin Dells. The one thing that Trace had heard about and wanted to see was Yellowstone National Park.
“Well, how about this? We get to Sturgis today, sleep there, then drive to Cody tomorrow. We should get there in time to stop at our dude ranch and get you on a horse, Trace. Cary’s an expert now; he’ll show you around. Then, it’s not that far to Yellowstone; we can make that early enough to look around and see the bears. You’ll enjoy that.”
“Sounds good,” Cary said. “How long till Sturgis?”
“I was afraid you’d ask that. Let’s just say it’s a good thing we got an early start. We do have a long drive today. Maybe you can tell Trace about Sturgis.”
Cary did, and unfortunately, what he chose to talk about instead of all the motorcycles that visited it every year was the fight Rory got into when they were there before.
“This huge guy knocked me down and stood over me because I’d touched his motorcycle. Just touched it! Rory didn’t like that. He’s kinda protective of me. I like that. My own dad only sees me as a meal ticket. Anyway, Rory trash-talked the guy to make sure the guy would go for him. He did; he tried to headbutt Rory, and Rory, cool as a cockatoo, defended against it and then poked him in the throat. The guy ended up on the ground gasping for breath. We simply walked away.”
“Were you scared?”
“I sure was. Rory acted like nothing had happened. He wasn’t even breathing hard.”
Trace shook his head in wonder. “Can you teach me how to do that, Rory? Better still, just teach me how to be brave.”
Rory didn’t answer, instead said to Cary, “You mean cucumber. I don’t know whether cockatoos are cool or not.”
Cary threw him a look, muttered, “You and your expressions!” which caused Trace to forget his question, and the boys began talking about something else. Cary’s tale, though, had nudged Rory’s thoughts back to his Army training. That was where he learned to defend himself during far more intensive training than the early sessions he’d had in Landale with Garland Tate. But the bulk of his advanced training came in the Army. He’d learned hand-to-hand-combat techniques. Over time, that training, intense and rigorous, gave him confidence he could defend himself, and with that confidence, the fear he’d lived with growing up receded and then disappeared.
He remembered that training and what evolved from it. That reminded him why his time in the Army ended when it did.
« »
Rory joined the Army the day after he got his high school diploma. He didn’t hide his sexual orientation, which was only a problem with the man in charge of his drill instructors, Staff Sergeant Milton. The staff sergeant had no qualms about hating gays and did what he could to embarrass and punish Rory. Yet Rory managed not to succumb to the staff sergeant’s determined efforts to get him to quit. What helped Rory escape happened early on, when, while still working through his basic training trials, he was noticed by a master sergeant and selected as a candidate for Ranger training. Rory jumped at the opportunity. This wasn’t only a chance to test himself against the elite, it also meant no longer being under the thumb of Staff Sergeant Milton.
Ranger training was two or three times tougher than what he’d had in basic so far, but the difference in the men in charge of the training was significantly different, too. They were just as tough, they demanded even more from their charges, but they weren’t trying to make anyone fail. It was up to the men to succeed in the tasks given them, and some of those were brutal. But it was the tasks themselves that caused the men to quit.
Rory proved to himself he could push himself to him limits yet not give up. It was a proud moment for him when he was awarded the uniform patch of a Ranger and the tan beret that was also a mark of a Ranger. He was also promoted to an E-5 sergeant.
Due to of his exceptional skills in hand-to-hand fighting—he’d hated it, but he’d worked harder at it than he did in anything else because he refused to be beaten by it—his first assignment as a Ranger was to teach recruits going through basic training in that skill. Unfortunately, this put him back under E-6 Sergeant Milton, the staff sergeant who was in charge of the entire basic program for the unit Rory was in.
Rory was below Milton in rank and only in charge of hand-to-hand training. The sergeant would often come and watch and was outwardly critical of the way Rory taught his charges. He would frequently step in and take charge of the session, pointing out in front of the troops just where Rory was failing.
It came to a head with Private Saunders.
Because Rory was responsible for the hand-to-hand fight training, or brawling as the men tended to call it, he got to know the personalities of all the men he worked with. Some loved fighting, most accepted it as part of their overall training, and a few hated it with the passion Rory had had when he had started with Mr. Tate.
Rory was at a loss as how best to motivate and train one man in his squad. His name was Luke Saunders. Luke hated everything about basic training and especially brawling. Eventually, Rory sat down with him for a man-to-man talk.
Saunders said he’d joined the Army at his wits’ end because he screwed up everything he tried. He was uncoordinated, not very smart, and scared of his own shadow. His dad had said the Army would cure him, make him a man, give him some pride. In reality, it just made him feel worse about himself because he was worse here than in the real world. He thought the world would be better off without him in it, and he’d be done with all his failures.
That very same day while Rory was working with all his men, having them paired off and working on moves he’d taught them, he paired himself with Saunders. He’d decided to allow the man to beat him, give him some success, and maybe start to change his attitude. He showed Saunders a takedown method, then faced off with him.
Saunders did the move correctly but way too slowly to be effective, but Rory went down. “Damn,” he said. “Good job.”
Then they both heard, “What the fuck was that?”
Sgt. Milton strode up and confronted Rory. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of my way. I’ll show him he has to do more than that.”
He stepped in front of Saunders, said, “Okay, do that to me,” and when Saunders tried, Sgt. Milton slipped the hold and punched Saunders hard in the stomach. Saunders folded up, and defenseless, was hit in the face and knocked to the ground. He was unconscious as he hit the ground and, sprawled in the dirt, his arm was folded under him at an odd angle.
“That’s how to train these guys. We don’t mollycoddle them in my outfit. I see that again, you’re going on report.”
Rory had had it up to his ears with Milton. Still, there was a hierarchy in the Army that was taken very seriously. E-5s don’t chew out E-6s. It just wasn’t done.
So Rory maintained his cool, but held Milton with his glare as he spoke to him. “You don’t know what’s going on here. This man is next door to suicidal. If we want to keep him in the Army—which is our mission, your and my purpose here—he must gain some confidence and self-esteem. Doing it your way, you very well might just push him over the edge. If so, his death will be on your hands.”
So saying, he turned his back on Milton and strode away. Milton yelled at him to stop. Rory kept moving. Milton had no choice but to let him go. Rory could simply say he hadn’t heard him, and quibbling over that in front of a superior officer wasn’t something Milton would do.
Rory wasn’t sure what he should do. He did know that Milton wouldn’t change, and it was possible he’d even treat Saunders worse to get back at Rory. If the man had given up, that sort of thing seemed likely to push him over the edge.
He figured he was making a mistake but decided Saunders’ life was more important than a petty argument or what might result from him facing off against Sgt Milton or taking this higher. He’d already tried and failed with Milton. If his Ranger training had taught him anything, it was to not stop when you hit a roadblock. You kept going.
So, he went to the lieutenant who had command over both Sgt. Milton and him. He told him that Saunders should be given a medical evaluation and then an entry-level separation from the Army, a discharge for people who were unable to pass basic training.
The lieutenant, a young man just out of West Point in his first assignment, looked at Rory and said, “You take this up with Staff Sergeant Milton, not with me. Follow your chain of command. That’s an order, soldier.”
Rory was going to argue, but all that would do would get him reprimands and not help Saunders at all. So, he needed to think about this some more. Going over the lieutenant’s head wasn’t what one should do if one wanted a career in the Army. But should Rory just let what happened to Saunders and why it happened be overlooked?
He thought about it that night and was still fretting about it in training the next day. Saunders was back with the hand-to-hand training unit, although he was wearing a sling. “Dislocated shoulder, Sergeant,” he told Rory when asked.
“Do you have clearance to be here?”
“Yes, but not to engage in any activities that require me to use my left
arm.”
As hand-to-hand combat all included the use of both arms, even the exercises and stretching they did before commencing, Rory had Saunders stand by and watch. “Try to learn how some of these techniques are done so you can do them yourself when your shoulder’s right,” Rory told the man.
They were working on defending against a bull rush when Sgt. Milton walked up. He came directly to Rory.
“Why is this man standing idle. Get him working with the others.”
“Medical excuse because you injured him yesterday, Sergeant.” Rory’s eyes were lasering into Milton’s.
“Your insubordination isn’t going to get you far in this man’s Army. Maybe only as far as the stockade. I want this man learning how to defend himself. He sure fucked that up yesterday. You haven’t taught him shit. Get him in there.”
“Medical excuse. Not fit.” Rory took a half step closer to Milton. He’d love it if the man would hit him.
Milton looked like he would. His face was bright red, and the veins in his neck were standing out. But he feared if he did what he so wanted to do, he’d get reported for striking a man under him, and it’d be bye-bye Army career.
He did what he could, though. He turned and approached Saunders. “Get in there, soldier. You think the enemy cares that you have an owie? Get rid of that sling and stand fast and put that man down when he rushes you. Do it. Do it. Now!”
Saunders’ face paled, but he took off the sling, winced and held his arm up with his other hand, and moved onto the line where the men were taking charges from the other half of the group.
The man facing him saw him waiting and charged. Saunders just stood then, cradling his arm and half turning away so he’d be hit on the other side, which is what happened. He hadn’t even set his feet, and when the man ran into him, he was slammed onto the ground—onto his injured shoulder.
Saunders screamed. It was so loud everyone stopped what they were doing. Sgt. Milton saw what had occurred and turned and walked off the training field without a glance at Rory.
Rory helped get Saunders to the medical unit along with the aid of the man who’d knocked him down. “Why didn’t he protect himself?” the man asked Rory. Rory just shook his head.
The doctor treating Saunders was livid. He tried to blame Rory, but Saunders said no, it was the other sergeant. X-rays showed more damage, damage that would take weeks to heal. He was fitted with another sling and a shoulder brace, given a packet of pain pills and released.
Rory stayed with him when he was treated and walked out with him. Saunders had his head down. He muttered, “I’m just no damn good.” Rory wasn’t sure, but thought Saunders was talking to himself.
Rory was walking him back to his bunk. They had to cross the main street, and they stopped to let a short convoy of troop carriers by. Without any warning at all, Saunders calmly stepped out in front of one them. An instant later, he was dead.
« »
The next day, Rory asked the specialist acting as secretary if he could speak to the captain.
He was allowed into the man’s office. Rory saluted. The captain asked him what he was there for. He didn’t invite him to sit.
“I’m here to talk about Private Saunders, who died yesterday on the base, sir.”
“Yes, a tragic accident. Did you want compassionate time off? Did you know him?”
“Sir, it wasn’t an accident. He killed himself. That’s tragic, yes. But it could have been avoided. I spoke both to Sgt. Milton and Lieutenant Conway about how mentally fragile the man was, how he’d spoken of suicide. Neither of them would listen to my recommendation for a mental review. Then, even knowing of Saunders’ physical condition and his mental state, Sgt. Milton ordered him into combat training against the doctor’s specific orders. He ignored the medical hold. Saunders was wearing a sling, for God’s sake!”
The captain was silent for a moment, then said, “And why are you speaking to me about this?”
“Because neither of the men I warned about Saunders should get away with this. A man is dead due to their lack of action. It’s dereliction of duty. This was not an accident and should not be handled as one. Saunders was a human being, and his welfare was the responsibility of the Army. This matter needs to be handled in an honorable way, not simply dismissed.”
The captain stared at him for a moment, then said, “This will be handled through an investigation internally. As you’re no doubt aware, the Army does not like embarrassments. I’m sure whatever happened, it happened because Saunders didn’t perform like a soldier as he was trained to do. Thank you for the information you’ve provided. You’re dismissed.”
Rory saluted, turned, then stopped and turned back again. “Sir, is that what the investigation will find? That he didn’t protest the illegal order he was given? That he didn’t run away when the man was coming at him, so it was his fault? It wasn’t. The man was depressed and suicidal—not of sound mind. He’d basically given up. He was incapable of performing as he’d been trained. If that isn’t what the findings of the investigation will be, if instead they excuse those who had a responsibility for him and didn’t exercise it, if they blame Saunders because the Army doesn’t like to be embarrassed—well, that isn’t good enough.”
“Soldier, you’re out of line. And I dismissed you.”
“Yes, but I’m not dismissing this incident. If the Army won’t take responsibility, I’ll make sure the public knows how enlisted men are treated. I’ve lost respect for the Army. I went through Ranger training, and it taught me you don’t just quit when things aren’t going your way. It taught me honor, too. This situation is totally devoid of honor.
“I’m not quitting on this, Captain. Someone, someone above you, obviously, will listen to me.”
The captain’s face was reddening. He appeared to be hunting for the right words to say. Rory beat him to it. “I’m sick of this. You want this off your desk? Okay. I’ll give you an out. Give me a discharge, and I’ll go quietly. That would be best for everyone. You really don’t want me around, the way I’m feeling now. Or keep me here and let this play out. No one will like the outcome of that.”
The captain opened his mouth, then closed it and swiveled his chair to look out the window and not at Rory. It was an entire two minutes before he turned back.
“Dishonorable discharge,” he said.
“Honorable, or I’m not agreeing. I seem to be the only one being honorable in dealing with Saunders. How many people do you want hearing about your sergeant and lieutenant?”
The captain grimaced, then sat up straighter. With an angry face, he said, “All right, honorable, but only because you passed the Ranger training. I have to honor that. But I want you packed and off the base in an hour, speaking to no one. The separation papers will be at the gate.”
Rory nodded, saluted, and left. Back in his barracks, he collected the few things he had, threw them all in his duffel bag, then walked to the gate. The man there had his discharge papers. He handed them to Rory and pressed the button to open the gate.
Rory’s Army career was over. He came to fully realize how he felt about that over the next few days. He’d loved the challenges the Army had presented him, challenges he’d accepted and overcome. He’d liked working with the men he was training, facilitating their growth. What he’d hated was the lack of freedom he had, the orders he had to follow that made no sense but couldn’t be argued or disobeyed. He’d also seen and despised when men without censure used their rank to demean and defeat other men. He’d decided that on average, he’d matured while in the Army but accepted that this episode in his life had come to an end.
« »
What happened to Saunders was the motivation for Rory to write his book. He hadn’t had adequate closure from the Army. Writing the book gave him that. He got what had happened off his chest at the same time he was able to put his childhood in perspective.
He altered the events in the book enough that the Army, or at least the people he’d been involved with while there, were suitably camouflaged. He never heard a word from them; as far as they were concerned, the book was just another work of fiction that didn’t put the Army in a favorable light. He hadn’t expected any flak from the Army. He figured they still didn’t want to be embarrassed.
« »
The ride to Sturgis seemed to take forever. They made it, finally, feeling wiped out. Even Morris seemed to be glad to finally get out of the car, looking for dinner.
They left early the next morning. Heading for Yellowstone.