Tales Around the Jack O'Lantern Read Free Page B

are?” the younger twin, Tom,
asked his older brother, Art, in a whisper.
    “I think we’re about six clicks from the main road,” Art
replied softly, then seeing the look of frustration on Tom’s face added, “Like
three miles.”
    Tom grinned briefly. “Thanks,” he said. “I don’t know why
they can’t just use miles.”
    They hunkered down behind a huge boulder and listened to the
sounds of artillery fire in the distance. “Sounds like it might be coming
closer,” Art finally said softly.
    “Yeah, but who’s coming closer?” Tom asked.
    “Good question,” Art replied.
    They both took drinks from their water bottles, mimicking each
other’s actions unconsciously and then wiped an arm across each face in twin
synchronicity.   Synchronicity so strong
that the military, who normally separated brothers, decided that this time it
would be a boon for the Special Forces they served for them to be together.   “Which way?” Art
asked Tom.
    Tom angled his head in the direction away from the noise of
the fighting.   “If we can get through
this valley and up on one of the bluffs, we’ll be able to get a better idea of
where our guys are,” he said. “And we might be in a better position to help
them.”
    Pulling their helmet back onto their heads, they moved
slowly around the boulder, staying low and headed down into the underbrush
towards the edge of the forest.   About a
half mile later, Art put his hand on Tom’s shoulder to stop him.
    Tom turned and was about to speak when the quick shake of
Art’s head stopped him.   Instantly alert
he listened intently and heard it too.   In the distance, coming from the opposite direction of the fighting,
were the sounds of voices.
    “Soldiers?” Tom whispered.
    Art shook his head again. “Too unguarded,” he said. “It has
to be civilians.”
    “We’ve got to warn them a battle is coming to their
neighborhood,” Tom said.
    Art nodded in agreement.
    Doubling their pace, but still trying to move stealthily
through the brush, they covered another half mile in no time.   There was a clearing a few yards ahead of
them, so they stopped and listened again.   This time the sounds were clearer.
    “Kids,” Tom said, grimacing. “Dammit, those are kids’
voices.”
    “I remember from the recon map there was an orphanage in the
area,” Art said. “We gotta get them out of there.”
    They moved to the edge of the forest and stopped. “There it
is,” Tom said, pointing to a large brick building on the top of a hill over a
half of a mile away.
    Art looked up and down the tree line next to where they
stood. “If we run out into that field, we’re sitting ducks,” he said. “There is
no protection.”
    They looked into each other’s eyes and understood what they
had to do. In one quick motion, they put their arms around each other in a
quick hug, then stepped back, turned and ran into the field.   The noise from the artillery was closer than
before and they could feel the earth shaking from explosions from larger
weapons, but they continued to run.
    In the distance they could hear the thrumming of a fighter
jet and prayed, if it was one of theirs, it would recognize them and they
wouldn’t become casualties of friendly fire.
    Their feet beat against the dusty, hard ground of the
field.   Their hearts pounding in their
throats, their eyes focused on the base of the hill.   Together, step by step, they ran, praying
they would still be alive at the end of the day.
    They dove into the brush at the base of the hill, breathing
heavily and waiting for a moment to see if sniper fire would follow them
in.   Finally, as their breathing slowed
and their hearts stopped pounding, they heard them again.   The children.   But this time, they were singing.
    “What the hell?” Tom asked, standing and moving towards the stone steps at the bottom of the hill. “What
kind of teacher has choir practice when they hear mortar shells exploding in
the