Clouds over Laramie Peak

By James Hawley

Clouds over Laramie Peak is the story of the Campbell family, who work a ranch at the base of the mountain called Laramie Peak, just west of Wheatland, Wyoming. It follows the family from WWI to the present, through war and peacetime. It is a story of love, family, good times, and bad times. Adam Campbell begins a loving family that continues through lifetimes, taking both the good and the bad in stride.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781796031591

James Hawley

Jim Hawley is an emergency room doctor in Wheatland, Wyoming. He has a ranch just east of Wheatland, where he and his beautiful wife, Koni, raise and train horses. They have dogs, cats and a goat.

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by James Hawley.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2019905911

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-7960-3161-4

                Softcover        978-1-7960-3160-7

                 eBook             978-1-7960-3159-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/02/2019

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1   July, 1918

Chapter 2   September, 1918

Chapter 3   November, 1918

Chapter 4   Near Wheatland, Wyoming

December, 1928

Chapter 5   October, 1929

Chapter 6   November, 1941

Chapter 7   December 6, 1941

Chapter 8   November, 1942

Chapter 9   February 19, 1943

Southern edge of Kasserine Pass

Chapter 10   July 10, 1943

Chapter 11   Benghazi, Tunisia

1 August, 1943

Chapter 12   Salerno, Italy

September 9, 1943, 0325

Chapter 13   January 17, 1944

Chapter 14   January 22, 1944

Southeast of Nettuno, Italy

Chapter 15   February 20, 1944

Wheatland, Wyoming

Chapter 16   June 6, 1944

Ponte du Hoc, France

Chapter 17   Wednesday, June 6, 1945

Cheyenne, Wyoming

Chapter 18   Laramie Peak, Wyoming

January 1, 1949

Chapter 19   Vietnam

December 27,1967

Chapter 20   Wheatland, Wyoming

March, 1983

Chapter 21   Wheatland, Wyoming

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie,

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though the poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

John McCrae

Chapter 1

July, 1918

Sergeant! shouted Private Edgar Conner. Sergeant!

What! returned Sergeant John Nelson.

Command says to elevate five degrees and fire for effect.

Sergeant Nelson turned to his five gunners. Elevate five degrees and fire for effect!

The pounding in Nelson’s head increased tenfold as the five howitzers fired volleys. The guns fired three volleys then stopped to swab the breeches.

Does command say we should continue? inquired Nelson.

Just a minute Sergeant, responded Conner. After a few minutes he turned back to Nelson. Sorry, can’t reach them. Seems the line must be cut. He looked over at his sergeant. You okay, Sarge?

Headache, replied John.

Here, said Conner tossing John a small tin box. Take two of these.

John caught the box deftly. Aspirin, huh?

Yeah. Take two.

John opened the box and dumped four white tablets out. He popped them in his mouth and quickly swallowed. They got briefly stuck in his dry throat.

Here, said Conner tossing his canteen to John.

John took a deep swallow of warm water. The pills went on down. He looked back toward Conner. Any word from command?

Nope, Sarge, replied Conner. Line must be cut.

John looked over at the wagon of ammunition. Hey, Anderson, go trace the wire. See if it’s cut and repair it.

Aw, Sarge, returned Sam Anderson. I just got to sit down.

Do it! yelled John. And take a weapon with you.

Private Sam Anderson slung the heavy Springfield thirty aught six on his right shoulder and, reaching down to grab the thin, black wire from the radio, began walking along. He let the wire flow through his hand without putting any pressure on it. He followed it a short way then found the break. Setting his rifle on the ground within easy reach, he used his bayonet to trim the rubber insulation from some of the wire and spliced the split ends together. He took up his rifle and ran back to the battery. As he reached the guns, he saw a lieutenant ride up on a bay horse.

Sergeant! bellowed the lieutenant.

Yes, sir, responded Nelson, saluting.

Get the horses up here and move the battery forward. He pointed to the north.

Nelson looked to the north. Yes, sir, he replied. He saluted sharply.

The lieutenant returned the salute, swung the horse to the west and spurred the equine off in that direction.

Just then the phone held by Edgar Conner jangled. Nelson looked over at Conner. In seconds Conner held the phone toward Sergeant John Nelson. Command wants you, Sarge.

John walked a few paces to stand by Conner. He took the receiver in his hand and spoke into the mouthpiece. This is Sergeant Nelson. He paused a second. Right. He handed the receiver back to Conner. All right, you monkeys. Command says to fire one more round then limber up and move north five miles."

The guns fired in series. Nelson turned to Private Alan McMaster. Go to the rear and tell them to bring the horses up. He spat on the ground.

Sure, Sarge. McMaster turned to go but Nelson stopped him with his voice.

With the limbers, you knuckle-head.

Sure, Sarge, grinned McMaster.

Sam Anderson crept back into the battery. He slid over to lie beside Private Conner. What’s up?

Seems we’re movin’, returned Conner.

Great, grunted Anderson. Just after I fixed the radio.

Come on, you idiots, shouted John Nelson. Get those guns’ legs pulled in. Get the limbers up here and begin hitching the guns!

The men, well trained in limbering the French guns, pulled the legs in while others pulled the limbers, which held the shells, up to the guns. Shortly thereafter, the horses arrived, being led by three privates.

Be careful with those horses, continued John. Those are probably the last horses left in France!

Yeah, muttered Sam Anderson. Like the entire country only has twenty five horses.

I heard that, Anderson, shouted Nelson. Now quit your griping and get on with the work.

Soon the guns were attached to the limbers and the horses were harnessed to the limbers.

What now? asked Edgar looking at Nelson.

Let’s get them moving north. Sergeant John Nelson climbed on the limber of the first gun as Conner, sitting next to him, began clucking to the horses and moving them north. They travelled along a path through the wooded area. Large limbs were scattered all around the floor of the woods, blown from their parent trees by German artillery. The going was somewhat slowed by the scattered limbs and pieces of tree trunks blown across the path. But, in time, they reached a point which Nelson felt was about five miles north of their previous position. He had the group move another two hundred yards until they found a clearing in which to set up the guns.

Conner, shouted Sergeant Nelson. Carry some wire back until you find a place where you can patch in and resume radio contact. He turned to Anderson. Private Marris, you and Corporal Edwards take the horses to the rear and set up a picket line. He turned then swung back around to face the horse handlers. Make sure they have something to eat and some water.

Sure, Sergeant, returned Corporal Steven Edwards. I know how to take care of horses. He looked over at Private John Marris. Come on, Tex, let’s get these critters back from the noise.

A southerner from south Arkansas, Steven Edwards had been around horses all his life. He seemed to instinctively know when they were uncomfortable or in distress. He took better care of the horses than he did of the other tenders in his group. He made sure the horses were fed and watered before he let the men eat or drink.

Private John Marris, over six feet tall and over two hundred pounds, was also a great handler of the horses. Being from Texas, he had a good knowledge of horse care. He was quiet and strong. He was a man of action and few words.

All right, men, let’s get those guns set up, commanded Sergeant Nelson.

Hey, Sergeant, came a voice from behind Nelson.

Sergeant Nelson swung around. What? He saw an American infantryman walking up.

Which way to the front? asked the man.

That way, I think, said Nelson flatly. He flung a hand toward the north.

Thanks, Sergeant.

Who are you?

The man looked around. I’m Sergeant Adam Campbell, replied the soldier. With the Fourth Division. I’m here with my little squad.

Well, grinned Nelson. I think you’re more needed up that way. He watched as Adam stared through a dirty grin at the woods to the north of the clearing. Where you from?

Adam looked at him. Wyoming.

No, grunted Nelson. I mean, where did you come from just now?

After leaving Paris, we motored to Meaux, then hoofed it to Vaux, recounted Adam. We then moved through these woods past Chateau Thierry until we stumbled on you.

So, where you supposed to be headin’?

Supposed to be goin’ to Fere-en-Tardenois.

Nelson pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and opened it. Well, as best as I can tell, you over-shot it a little. He looked up to the north. You need to go north and a little west from here. He looked back at the map. Maybe three, four miles. He folded the map and put it back in his shirt pocket. Be careful. Sergy is between us and Fere-en-Tardenois. It is said to be in the hands of the Prussian Guard.

Are they supposed to be somethin’ special? inquired Adam.

The worst.

Well, they better watch out if we stumble upon them.

Well, take care o’ yourself, grunted Nelson. I gotta get these guns set up and ready to fire.

Take care o’ yoursel’ too, grinned Adam as he signaled to his men to move out.

Hey, Sergeant, shouted Edgar Conner. Command says to fire at three fifty degrees for sighting.

Well, as soon as we get set up, we will, yelled Nelson. Tell ’em that!

Yes, Sergeant. Conner put the transceiver to his ear and spoke into the microphone.

Sergeant John Nelson walked behind the guns, checking to make sure the guns were well set and ready for firing. Satisfied that the work was almost done, he shouted, Aim three fifty degrees, elevation forty degrees. Fire two rounds. He glanced over the crews. Two rounds only.

Several minutes later Conner listened to the radiotelephone then, putting it to his chest, yelled to Nelson. Command says elevate five degrees and fire two rounds.

Nelson gave the orders and the guns, after elevating the barrels of the guns, fired two rounds.

After listening for a few moments, Conner put the RT down and yelled at Nelson. Command says to fire for effect.

All right, gentlemen, volley fire… fire! yelled Nelson.

The guns fired together, shaking the ground. The gunners adeptly reloaded and fired again. This occurred four times. Then Sergeant Nelson had them cease fire. He had the men swab the barrels to prevent the hot metal from causing the shells to go off prematurely.

A hundred yards to the north, Adam Campbell felt the concussion of the cannons firing. He heard the shells sing as they passed overhead.

Spread out to the east, men, commanded Sergeant Campbell.

The squad of fifteen other men spread to his right, maintaining a distance of about ten yards between each other, when the ground and blown down limbs allowed. They moved softly forward to the northwest.

Adam flinched.

I think those are outgoing, commented Joseph (Joe) Mann.

I know that, returned Adam. Just still not used to all that noise.

Where you from? asked Lester Mercer. We got that much noise all the time in New York.

I’m from the west, replied Adam.

Oh, grunted Mercer.

Don’t talk much, do you? added Ian McDonald.

Yep, grinned Adam.

Ian stared at his sergeant for a long moment. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it without making a sound. He thought about it again and said, Yep you don’t talk much or yep you do talk?

Adam looked at him, winked and shrugged his shoulders. He barely flinched his shoulders as another round of artillery blasted behind him. Come on, let’s move out.

Adam was twenty years old. He had light brown, almost blonde hair, a thin moustache, bright blue eyes and a thin, scraggly body, which belied the strength hidden below the surface.

Which way? inquired Colbert James. James was short and very stout. He hailed from Vermont and his shirt was soaking wet with armpit sweat.

That way, commented Adam pointing just west of north. He placed his right thumb under the leather rifle sling and began walking in the direction he had indicated.

They walked for an hour and a half then came to an abrupt halt as they heard the loud of staccato of machine gun fire.

Adam unslung his rifle and turned to the squad. That way. He pointed toward the gunfire. He looked around at the men. Have your guns at the ready.

Everyone unslung their rifles and made sure they were ready.

Everyone got extra ammo? asked Adam.

All the men checked their bandoliers even though they had yet to fire their rifles. They crouched and began moving toward the firing at a much slower pace. Moving through light brush and thick logs blown from the partially destroyed nearby trees.

They all looked up as a shell went screaming overhead. That’ll miss us, commented Joe. Probably ours heading for the Germans.

Good, sighed Adam. Let’s move toward the gunfire.

You’re nuts, you know that? inquired Colbert.

Yep, grunted Adam. Boots and saddles, boys! Let’s move! He hefted his Springfield rifle up and began trotting toward the gunfire without looking back. He knew his men and trusted that they would follow him. But, even if they didn’t, his duty was toward the gunfire and that was where he was going.

The others, who had been sitting on the ground, which was covered