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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781467036597 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 09/27/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 267 KB |
Read an Excerpt
Giant In The Hills
By Phillip A. Elwood
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 PHILLIP A. ELWOODAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4670-3661-0
Chapter One
Coleman Aerospace was a company built from the ground up. They built many types of aircraft, from small, four-place private planes, to fighters and huge military transports for the Air Force.The company founder, himself no less than a workaholic, sometimes spent as much as sixteen hours a day on the job.
He was the type who would much rather be down on the assembly line with the workers, or out on the flightline with the flight crews than in a dull board meeting.
Today, as usual, Bill Coleman was tired. He leaned back in his huge leatherofficechairandstretchedafewkinksoutofhissix-foot-three-inch frame, and then bent back over the stack of papers piled on his desk. Occasionally, his gaze would wander to the big mural window and out over the city. His tired eyes would to come to rest on the Space Needle or some other structure in Seattle's skyline; then he would struggle to return to his work. It might have been his company, but he still couldn't sit and daydream when there was work to do.
The big office was indicative of the life Bill Coleman had lived for the past thirty years. Decorated in a decidedly masculine way, the walls were paneled with dark wood and the air smelled of leather. One wall was covered with pictures of vintage aircraft.
Shelves held detailed scale models of his own flying creations while another wall was dedicated to his other passion, hunting. Trophy heads glowered down at him as he worked. Two white-tail deer were mounted on one side, the elk he bagged in Colorado in the center, and next to it, a grizzly bear he called Ol' Lock Jaw.
The desk was a necessary evil he disliked, so he kept it covered with as much litter as possible, seemingly to hide all the work. An experimental fuel pump was used as a paperweight while plans and sketches were tossed helter-skelter over dull financial reports and sales projections.
Nancy Morton, a tall attractive Irish redhead and his secretary of fourteen years, trotted in and flopped another stack of unopened mail in a vacant corner of the desk, then quickly turned back toward the door.
"What's this?" Coleman asked angrily.
"The morning mail," Nancy replied tersely.
"Why isn't it opened and sorted?"
"Because I refuse to do anything beyond my job description for a grouchy old Pudknocker like you!"
Nancy could talk to her boss like that, but no one else dared to. He knew she could run the office without him, and run it like a Swiss watch. She was also his best friend. At least his best female friend. She'd stayed with him through strikes, recessions, lay-offs; she'd even worked without pay during a rough time in the early going. She'd also been there when his wife Myrna died, there in a way no one else could have been. As far as he was concerned, she could talk to him anyway she wanted to.
"Pudknocker?" Coleman hadn't heard that for a long time. "Where did you hear that colorful euphemism?"
"From some of your old Air Force buddies," she told him. "They told me you were a Pudknocker during the war, and you're still a Pudknocker today. Besides, it fits. You've been terrible to work with for months and Pudknocker sounds like a good name to call an old grouch like you."
"Old?" He protested.
"Yeah, old!" She retorted. "At least you act old. When was the last time you took any time off, five, six years ago? Just take a look at your face."
"What's wrong with my face?" he demanded, stroking his chin.
"It's tired," she told him. "Just like the rest of you. If you don't get some rest pretty soon you're gonna collapse, then where will this company be?"
Coleman sat and stared at Nancy for a few seconds letting her words sink in. "You know, you're right."
"Damn right, I'm right," she told him smuggly.
He thought for a second or two then told her, "You know Nancy. I haven't been huntin' for ... God, I don't know how long. Maybe it would be a good idea to go away to the mountains for a couple of weeks. I could get five or six of the guys from the plant and take off for northern California, or Canada maybe." He paused and gazed up at the bear head mounted on his wall. "Old Lock Jaw up there looks kinda lonely after all."
"Now you're thinking."
"Tell you what old girl, I'll start puttin' this thing together in my head and let you help out by makin' any necessary arrangements for me. Okay?"
"You got a deal, but don't ever call 'Old Girl' again."
"Will you lay off the Pudknocker?"
"Fair enough."
"Good. Now get outta here so I can finish up this pile of work."
"On the way," she said; then she turned and intentionally swung her ample hips on the way out. Coleman grinned and dove back into the paper mountain in front of him.
* * *
Later that evening, at his home on the shores of the Sound, he sat down in front of the sixty inch flat screen TV with a frozen dinner and a can of Coors to watch the news.
The house was big and luxuriously furnished. He sat in an over-stuffed chair that also reclined and rocked. The crackling fireplace filled an entire wall. The bookcase adjacent to it was solid oak and filled with books on flying and wildlife. Pictures of Myrna were scattered among the books, as were one or two of his dead son, Richard.
Richard died testing one of his father's airplanes, a jet fighter that had never been off the ground before. Coleman loved his son, but felt no guilt over the accident. He understood the risks any test pilot took, and so did Richard. He felt no guilt, but plenty of grief.
The den's polished hardwood floor reflected the picture on the screen, and the volume was high to compensate for his lost hearing due to years of working around jets without hearing protection. Bill Coleman was content for the first time in years. Nancy's lecture had hit home and he knew he'd feel a whole lot better after his trip to the woods.
* * *
Art Mather's phone rang loudly and startled the cute secretary right off his lap. He chuckled and patted her thigh as she grinned and walked out of the office. He had an entirely different type of relationship with his secretary than Coleman had with Nancy.
At her own desk, she picked up the receiver and said professionally, "Law offices."
"Molly? This is Bill Coleman. Is Art in?"
"Yes Mister Coleman, one moment." She buzzed Mather's desk and he promptly picked up his phone.
"Mather," he said, as he leaned back in the expensive leather chair.
"Hey old buddy, how's it going?"
"Bill, nice to hear from you. Is this a social call or business?" Mather said, he was Coleman's company attorney.
"Pure pleasure Artie," Bill told him. "I'm planning a hunting trip and I wanted to see if you'd like to come along and do the cookin'"
Mather chuckled. "Sure thing. When are you wanting to go and how long are you wanting to stay?" He wedged the phone between his neck and shoulder as he flipped through his appointment book.
"In a week or two. I'll finalize everything with you as soon as I check with everyone else."
"I'm the first you've asked then?"
"Why sure, I wouldn't go if you couldn't come along," Coleman said, laughing.
"Well as far as I'm concerned it sounds great," Mather said. "We haven't been hunting together in years."
"Okay then, I'll call you back tomorrow."
"Oh Bill? By the way, just what is it we'll be hunting?"
"I have before me old friend," Coleman gloated. "A permit to bag four, count 'em FOUR, grizzly bears right here in Washington State. All I have to do is fill in the names. We'll be hunting near the Columbia River just north of the Yakima Reservation."
"I thought grizzlies were endangered or something."
"They were until just recently. The hunting ban was dropped and now a hunter can get a grizzly once a year. At least until the guys at Wildlife and Fisheries change their minds again."
"Great!" Mather said. "Okay pardner, sign me up!"
"You're signed, I'll get back with you as soon as I firm up the rest of the party."
"Fine. See you later then."
"Oh, and Art ..."
"Yeah?"
"Give Molly a squeeze for me okay?"
"I certainly will," Mather grinned. "Bye."
Mather hung up then pressed the button on his intercom. "Molly," he said lecherously.
"Yes sir?" Molly answered.
"Would you come in here for a moment?"
* * *
Coleman called the others and invited them along, each were excited about the trip. After Mather, he called Hank Bollens, head mechanic of Coleman's company then Eddie Miller, a young engineer.
Eddie was new with the company but Coleman had taken a strong liking to him because he reminded Coleman of Richard. Surprisingly, he and Richard were very much alike.
Miller was almost the same age as Richard and had the same good-natured personality. Unofficially, and completely without Miller's knowledge, Coleman had adopted the young engineer as a surrogate son.
Finally, they all agreed on a date and time to begin the trip. They'd leave on a Friday night and stay out two weeks on horseback.
Mather's father would provide the horses and a trailer to transport them to the area they would be hunting, along with a crewcab pick-up truck to pull it. It would be a fine way for Bill Coleman and his friends to relax and get away from it all for awhile.
* * *
The hunting trip started out pretty well. Few problems arose as they made the preparations to go. They left the elder Mather's farm southeast of Renton and headed east toward the Columbia.
Working their way south, they found a convenient place to park the truck outside of Wenatchee and then set out on horseback.
There were six horses altogether, one for each man to ride and two pack animals. Bollens received the honor of handling these two cantankerous beasts. They were laden with the tent and other camping gear, as well as all of the provisions.
Hank Bollens had also been with Coleman since the beginning. He was a jet mechanic in Korea and later in Viet-Nam, then worked for Boeing after retiring from the Air Force. When Coleman began his operation, Bollens was the first one Coleman asked to join him. Hank knew jet engines like the insides of his eyeballs.
Coleman suspected that it had been Bollens who told Nancy of the Pudknocker crack. Hank was Bill's best male friend.
They had all agreed that none of them would shave until the first grizzly had been bagged. Four days into the ride, they all sported a healthy growth of itchy stubble.
According to the local Wildlife authorities, they would soon be in an area where bear sign was plentiful. They all hoped to get a trophy on this trip since it was their first one in years. Each of them, except Eddie Miller, had got one on previous trips.
Art Mather shot an elk on their last hunt. It was so big its antlers touched the eight-foot ceiling of his den while the neck, mounted on expensive German walnut, nearly touched the floor.
Bollens' trophy was a beautiful whitetail buck, bagged in the same area a few years ago.
Eddie had never been on a hunting trip before. He really didn't like to ride horses all that much and would much rather be home with his fiancée'. But Coleman was the boss, and one didn't refuse an invitation from the boss, no matter where he asked you to go.
But as time went on, Eddie began to enjoy the outdoors and the company of these older men. He respected them and enjoyed working with them back at the plant.
Coleman was having the time of his life. He felt relieved of the many pressures of running his own corporation. Nancy deserved a bonus for this vacation idea.
He found himself thinking a lot about Nancy the last few days. He remembered her loyalty, her charm, and her great figure. But mostly he remembered the way she made him feel, significant, respected. And yes, even loved.
For years they had been close friends but nothing more. And after Myrna's death, he escorted her to several company functions where a date was practically mandatory, and even a couple where one wasn't. After one such event, she'd spent the night with him at his home on the Sound.
Afterward, he felt such guilt and disloyalty to his dead wife, that he buried himself in his work and never asked her out again. She was sensitive enough to never press the matter.
Chapter Two
After nine days on the trail, exhaustion and frustration plagued the unsuccessful hunters. Long, bone-jarring rides between campsites wore them all down to near zombie-ism.Art Mather's cooking had been the only enjoyable thing so far. An alchemist of a camp cook, he magically transformed the lead of canned meats into the gold of "Spam Ala Arte'".
Eddie, unaccustomed to riding such long distances, developed a painful saddle sore in the worst place imaginable. Hank fell from his horse while crossing a stream, catching an irritating cold and Mather complained about the lack of help around the cooking fire. Only Bill Coleman enjoyed himself. Contented, he relished the fresh air of the outdoors and the freedom of the woods. He didn't really care if he shot a bear or not.
On the tenth morning, they decided to end the hunt and start back toward the waiting truck for their return to civilization.
Bill didn't care. He had enjoyed himself even if the trip ended without success. He was glad he had taken it.
They rode in silence, fatigue taking its toll on the joviality. The horses plodded along the narrow trail as if they too were bored with the whole thing.
Around noon, they decided to stop long enough to have a light meal. They staked out the horses and built a small fire in a ring of stones near the side of the trail.
Coleman stared off into the distance across a large valley to the west. He saw a wisp of white smoke against the various deep greens of the forest. It lazily curled skyward from a far away farmhouse.
A bald eagle, now as common sight as pigeons, soared over distant trees in an aerial ballet of swoops and dives and long-sustained hovers.
Long, thick, untended grass waved with the wind like rollers on a bright green sea, stretching to the valley floor a mile away.
The weather was perfect for a trip the woods. The high blue sky and brilliant sunshine both calmed and exhilarated him, easing the soreness of the long ride.
Mather fried a few slices of the canned meat and they all sat down to eat. Eddie flopped down next to Coleman and, loud enough for Mather to hear, told him, "I'll sure be glad to get back Bill, I'm getting tired of eating Spam."
Coleman grinned. "Me too kid," he told him.
"You guys don't like my cookin'?" Mather asked, his face drooping sadly with a hurt expression.
"We love it Artie, it's great. Great!" Hank told him, sniffing.
Mather took a lot of kidding about the cooking, but none of it was serious. Enough complaints and he might make one of the others cook next time. And not one of them could match his expertise.
They finished the meal and cleaned up the metal plates. After watering the horses at a near-by pond, they saddled up and started out again.
The hours dragged on as they plodded down the winding trail. They were quiet most of the time as tired men will be. Then as the sun dipped toward the horizon, they decided to camp before it grew too dark to set up the tent. The tent was big enough for the four men to sleep in, while still leaving plenty of room for rolling around.
The horses were tied to a taut picket line between two trees and before long a fire roared in front of the tent flap. Sore muscles loosened and riding pains eased as they stretched out and ate one more time. Mather cooked considerably more at night so they wouldn't awaken hungry before morning.
Once again, Eddie Miller sat next to Coleman and they talked of many things. Eddie told Bill that he was very happy at the plant and Coleman complimented Eddie's work, which he had noticed since hiring the young man. Eddie thanked Coleman sincerely, flattered that the boss showed an interest in his work.
The rest of the night, jokes flew in all directions. A couple of times Coleman thought he'd burst a gut laughing at Hank's crazy war stories told through the older man's stuffy nose. They were only half true actually, which only added to their hilarity.
Finally, they retired to the tent and slipped into their respective sleeping bags. After a few last minute wisecracks and horrible puns contributed by Eddie, they drifted off to sleep one by one.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Giant In The Hills by Phillip A. Elwood Copyright © 2011 by PHILLIP A. ELWOOD. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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