Grandfather's Will

By Gary B. Boyd

SPC Charles Craigton's life was on the line. To save himself and his squad from sure defeat, he had to draw on an inner strength that transcended the military training he had received. His struggle to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds demonstrates that the past and the future are inseparable in the fight for survival.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491825983

Gary B. Boyd

Gary B. Boyd is a story teller. Whether at his cabin in the Ozark Mountains, at his desk in his home or on his deck overlooking Beaver Lake near Rogers, Arkansas, he writes his stories. His travels during his business career brought him in touch with a variety of people. Inquisitive, Gary watches and listens to the people he meets. He sees in them the characters that will fill his stories … that will tell their stories. A prolific author with more than a dozen published titles and a head full of tales yet to share, Gary submits to his characters and allows them to tell their own stories in their own way. The joy of completing a novel doesn’t lessen with time. There are more stories to tell, more novels to write. Gary expects to bring new characters to life for years to come. www.garybboyd.com

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© 2013 Gary B. Boyd. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/09/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2597-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-2598-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013918397

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Dedication

Preface

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

DEDICATION

This book would not have been possible without my son,

John Gabriel Gabe Boyd. He provided the idea for the

story at age nine. Staff Sergeant John Gabriel Boyd

provided the technical expertise and editing needed for parts of this book.

PREFACE

Resourcefulness. Responsibility. Respect. Even though the commonly accepted three R’s of education have always been Reading, ’Riting and ’Rithmetic, the living lessons that sustain a civilization are derived from commonsense, not academic exercises. The rightfully dubbed Greatest Generation learned those lessons well… to the betterment of us all.

The Greatest Generation is quickly fading into the mists of history. The sacrifices that they made for the United States of America can only be measured; they can never be fully compensated for what they did for us. History has shown them to be of greater mettle than any generation before, and thus far, any generation after. Without question, they stood up and did the right thing when the nation, and the world, needed them. Statistically, as proven by data gathered when men were drafted to fight and die on foreign soil, the nation was undernourished; a product of the extreme economic conditions of their time. But, fight they did; die they did; and the result was a strengthening of the American resolve that neither war nor economy would ever cripple the great nation again.

The Boomers that Greatest Generation bore never came to realize the greatness of their progenitors until the eulogies were read. The Boomers held their sit-ins, their protest rallies and shouted Peace, Free Love and Make Love, Not War, without recognizing that the freedom they had to espouse those sentiments was bought with the blood of The Greatest Generation.

And while they railed against The Establishment, the Boomer begat Gen-X without reckoning the importance of their ancestors. They raised their young with the focus on the ever newer and more exciting future with no time for recollection or consideration of the past.

A new kind of war awoke Gen-X. Full measure of payment for the right to be called Citizen was no longer in vogue, but those true citizens raised their hands and joined a volunteer military to fight the new war. From those veterans of Iraq, Afghanistan and the general War on Terror came a new respect for their forebears. The Greatest Generation was finally afforded the honor it deserved by the men and women who suffered in the tradition of greatness.

Grandfathers are teachers and coaches and mentors. Grandmothers are love. When the unfolding generations return to the way of life that respects and learns from the knowledge and experiences of preceding generations, our nation will become better for it.

Charley Craigton was an ordinary little boy who learned life lessons from his grandfather but only learned about the man after the funeral. What he learned from the man guided him through some of the hardest times of his life. He was a better man for it.

The impact of The Greatest Generation does not stop at the grave.

CHAPTER 1

SEARCHING THE ATTIC

2003—Iraq

Specialist Charles Craigton was hunkered down behind a crumbled brick wall. Incoming rifle rounds spattered the dirt around him. He could not see where the enemy soldiers were hiding; he was not even sure from which direction the spray of bullets came. He did not know whether he would survive or not. He did not know if he could survive his current situation—even if one of the bullets did not find its mark.

SPC Craigton and his squad had moved quickly across the Iraqi desert and through six small villages, subduing and pushing back the stiffening forces of Saddam Hussein’s army. Their tactical mission was to secure the left flank of the quickly advancing Coalition Forces whose objective was to topple the Iraqi dictatorial regime. The strategic goal was to eliminate a major terrorist base from the world. That was all political. All SPC Craigton cared about was his immediate assignment which was to eliminate any threat to himself and the other soldiers in his unit.

As they moved closer to Baghdad, the resistance had grown stronger because the better trained Iraqi soldiers were positioned to defend the country’s capitol. SPC Craigton had battled scorpions, sand fleas, stifling heat and the always present waiting game for three months. His uniform was dirty and sweat soaked. He was uncomfortable most of the time and his current predicament only made matters worse. A few minutes earlier, his squad had been ambushed. The unseen assault came from different points. Because of the uncertain enemy position, the unit was forced to separate and seek cover. SPC Craigton had found the closest safe haven, a bombed out mud brick garden wall. He dived behind the wall, landing belly first on the hard Iraqi soil. While he was trying to regain his bearing, he heard the sound of his head-set radio crackle. The sound was garbled, but he was able to determine that it was his squad leader trying to do a headcount.

Sergeant Washington was keen on SA—Situational Awareness. He had insisted that each member of his squad be equipped with a headset walkie-talkie. Fighting house to house demanded clear and precise communications to avoid unnecessary injuries or death. SPC Craigton reached for the transmitter button and found only the frayed end of the plastic covered wire. His transmitter was shattered on the ground beneath him. He could not reply to let his sergeant know where he was. He could hear the roll call and the individual responses. He knew that because of his lack of response, the other squad members had to assume he was disabled. In essence, he was out of touch with his squad. Worse, they would assume he was dead and move forward with their maneuvers to eliminate the ambush without him. They did not know where he was, or his condition. They would be forced to leave him on his own until the skirmish was completed and the ambushers were neutralized. The feeling of isolation settled into his mind, even though he knew they would not leave him behind for very long. The turmoil and hardship of the previous month swarmed into his mind and tried to weaken his will to fight. Charles, Charley as his friends called him, did not know if he had the resolve to continue.

But, at that point, wondering how he was going to get out of his current dilemma, wondering if he really cared to continue the struggle, he remembered something that happened when he was eleven-years old.

*     *     *

1991—Ohio

Daddies are not supposed to cry.

Eleven-year old Charley’s eyes brimmed with tears and his lower lip quivered as he watched unnoticed by his parents. He had never seen his father cry before, not even on the day of his grandfather’s funeral. Yet, as he peeked around the doorway from the kitchen into the living room, he struggled to breathe past a huge lump in his throat. He felt helpless as he observed the scene in the living room unfold.

Sobs wracked Robert Craigton body as he sat on the sofa with his face buried in his hands. I just don’t know. I just don’t know if I can deal with all these things any longer.

Charley’s mother, Renee, patted her husband’s shoulder and tried to console him. Bob, you’re just upset because your dad passed away. The problems you face are not something you can’t handle. Nothing has changed to make it worse. Your father was a good man and he lived a good life. Remember that. Don’t let his death get you down. Think of how Clarence would have handled everything.

You just don’t understand! If I had Dad’s will, I could take care of all the things that are piling up on me today. Too many things are happening at once. I am totally beat down.

Charley peeked around the door facing and saw his father’s shoulders and head shaking in despair. Tears ran down Charley’s cheeks and his lip quivered uncontrollably. He felt the dimple in his chin deepen. His grandfather used to tease him about how the dimple would crease when Charley cried or became angry. He blinked back the tears and fought the lump in his throat. He wished he was old enough to help. He wished he could help his father. He wished he could talk with his Grandfather, who always seemed to have a solution to any problem.

At eleven, Charley did not understand how his father could be crying and behaving so weakly. Fathers are supposed to be strong. He struggled to keep from crying for his father and for his beloved grandfather.

Robert stood, brushing aside his wife’s attempt to console him. With his head drooped, he repeated, If I only had Dad’s will, I could manage things so much better. It wouldn’t seem so insurmountable. He walked from the living room, slumped forward as if the whole world was on his shoulders.

Unseen, Charley turned and slipped out of the house.

Without being noticed by his parents, Charley walked to the swing that his grandfather had made for him. It was a simple swing, made with chains and a well crafted oak board seat. Hanging from a sturdy tree limb in the backyard, it was a refuge, and now, a reminder of his grandfather. Charley settled into the familiar seat. It reassured him. The comfort of the swing would settle him; it would help him find reason to hope… and maybe an answer. Swinging on the swing his grandfather built always seemed to calm his fears and give him solace. The swing is where he often went to think. Grandpa Craigton used to sit on a small bench nearby and watch him swing. The gray-haired man would often ask him what he was thinking. Charley remembered how those times together always yielded something new, some new idea or concept that made him think even more.

Charley pushed himself into motion with his toes. Frantically, though methodically, he alternatively folded his legs beneath the seat and leaned forward then extended his legs outward while leaning backward holding tightly to the chains. He continued the motion, pumping his legs and reaching toward the sky. He swung higher and higher. He thought harder and harder. He understood that his grandfather had died. No matter how much he had loved Grandpa, he did not let that bother him too much. He had cried at the funeral, just like most people did. He cried within his mother’s embrace when he was told that his grandfather had passed away. He understood that people get old and die. In a way, Grandpa Craigton had prepared Charley for the inevitable. Charley accepted the fact that old people eventually die. Death is a natural part of every life. His father had said those words when he explained to Charley that Grandpa had passed away.

But, Charley did not understand that even fathers cry sometimes. He loved his father, the man who seemed as strong as Grandpa Craigton had been. He wanted to help take care of the things that were causing his father to cry.

The air felt good against Charley’s face. It cooled his skin and dried the tears that had wet his cheeks. Pumping to gain height on the swing helped to melt the lump in his throat. He began to think good thoughts. The swing always did that for him.

Charley loved his Grandpa Craigton. He began to smile as the image of Grandpa’s face formed in his mind’s eye. He closed his eyelids tighter and squeezed away the last bit of sad tears. He began to swing more calmly as memories of Grandpa flooded his mind. Even when things seemed to be going badly, Grandpa Craigton would always say, You have to take the bitter with the sweet. His grandfather would say it with a knowing and reassuring smile that lighted his face and deepened the wrinkles around his eyes and lips. When Charley slowly opened his eyes to a squint, the image remained against the blurred light and dark shapes that were the leaves of his swing tree pressed against the sky. A plan formed in Charley’s head.

Charley wasn’t sure why his parents had not been able to find his Grandfather’s Will. He thought those things were handed to the children automatically when old people died. He was even less able to understand why it would be hidden away from the world. In his mind, Charley was sure that he could find The Will with just a little bit of effort… and luck.

Brandon Deetes walked onto the porch of the Craigton house. Hesitantly, he reached his fist to knock on the door. The small for his age eleven-year old had been friends with Charley Craigton since first grade. They rode the school bus together. Brandon was unsure how to approach his friend after Grandfather Craigton has died. The Elder Craigton had embraced the friend of his grandson as if he were a family member. Brandon called the man Grandpa just like Charley did.

Brandon’s parents had taken Brandon to the funeral but had cautioned him to not get in the way of the grieving family. He was hoping that Charley would feel like playing some video games… or something. He wanted to help his friend grieve.

The familiar sound of a creaking chain wafted from behind the big house. Brandon studied the sound for a moment and decided that Charley might be in the backyard. Grandpa Craigton had constructed a small basketball court, pouring a 15-feet square pad with a goal centered along one side. It was not big, but it was more than big enough for the two young boys. He had also built a swing, hanging it from a huge oak limb. The two boys had grown up together in that backyard, one of the few large yards built for children to play.

Brandon walked to the corner of the house and saw Charley pumping his legs to increase the pendulum motion of the swing. With little effort, he determined that Charley was crying. Suspecting that his friend was hurting because of Grandpa Craigton’s death, tears welled in his own eyes. He watched, now afraid to bother his friend in that moment of grief, afraid