By Air Mail Ch.01

"Look Craig, I don't care what you try to tell yourself, but you're not weak. You've been helping load Deke's plane and Harry's too. I'll bet that no boy in Portland can do that 'cause it sure isn't easy. You help me at any job that I get handed to me without even being asked to. You never say you can't do it. Nobody yet has said that you're not strong enough, 'cause you are.

Your trouble with fighting is that you can't keep going for long sometimes. If you get wound up tight or you get scared before a fight, then you've only got so much time before you have trouble getting your wind."

Craig looked over past his swelling eye, "So that means that I'll always lose."

Tad shook his head, "Nope. What it means is that you gotta get your licks in while you can. Right at the start, everybody only pokes or swings a little, kind of testing to see what you'll do. That wastes time and wind that you're not gonna have later. So what you gotta do, is when they throw the first swing, you get in there and you give them heck with all you've got before you run out of breath."

"That'll work?" Craig asked in surprise.

"Only one way for you to know," Tad chuckled. "Listen, have you ever watched me fight?"

"Yeah," Craig nodded, "You always win so fast, but I'm not -"

"But WHY do I always win?" Tad asked with a grin, "It's because if I gotta fight, then I'm probably gonna go home in dirty ripped clothes and what's Momma gonna say? You know it'll get loud, right?

So if I'm gonna catch it no matter what, that's what I think of if I have to fight and can't get out of it. That's when I wait for the first punch and then I just let go and give them what they want so bad. I don't fight any harder than anybody else my size, Craig. I fight fast. I've never had to fight the same kid twice, but one time."

"Why did that happen?" Craig asked.

Tad shrugged, "Some people need two lessons, I guess.

But you gotta watch to see what's gonna happen. You can't use that plan if you think you're gonna have to face more than one fool. That's when you gotta pace yourself, and for you, that means that you can't give in to feeling scared or you WILL run out of air."

The next time that it happened, Tad watched closely, but said nothing, not wanting to give away the secret of Craig's limited wind.

When it ended quicker than it began, Craig looked more surprised than the loser and Tad walked him away with his arm over Craig's shoulder again to hopefully hide the signs of heaving ribs and to give the younger boy a chance to catch his breath.

One of the others threw a remark that time and Tad stopped dead and looked back, "Come here," he said, "Tell it to me to my face just once time when I can reach you. If you ain't got the nuts to do that, then shut the hell up or I'll catch you when I can - and I can hold a grudge forever Staanleeey."

There were no takers and they walked off with Craig feeling victorious for the first time in his life. He looked almost dazed by it. When they got home, they were told to go out to the shed at the back and bring in a new sack of potatoes.

They stood not far apart in the dark shed, looking at the size of the task for a minute since there wasn't a lot of room to do anything else. "I'll bet that weighs a hundred pounds, " Craig said.

"There's two of us," Tad reminded him, "We'll just do our best between us and if that won't work, then we'll get one of the empty sacks and take some out until we can carry one bag apiece."

"Thanks for helping me and for looking out for me every time," Craig said looking up, "I always do better when I listen to you and if I know that you're in my corner."

Tad smiled, "I'm always in your corner. You don't ever need to worry that I won't be. That's what we're supposed to do, isn't it?"

"I guess," Craig nodded quietly, "but I don't see a lot of other older kids being the way that you are to me with their younger brothers or sisters."

Tad just shrugged, though he was a little curious about the way that Craig was speaking quieter all of a sudden. To him, it usually meant that Craig was feeling sad over his lousy parents, who'd only written one time asking how he was - and they hadn't thought to write even a line to him at all. Tad just couldn't understand it.

"And I'm not even your brother," Craig almost whispered.

"You're near enough," Tad smiled, "And you're way smarter than I am. I'm always surprised at the things that you know about."

He shrugged again, "And I'm proud of you for it."

Craig looked amazed and it pushed him a little from inside. He'd always felt alone back where he'd come from. It had never been a stretch to him once he'd gotten a little older and thought about that. Nobody was on his side, even in his home and with his family; he'd just been the unwanted, weak underdog who was always in the way.

But that wasn't the way that things were here, he decided.

"I don't know how to say more than thank you for all the things that you're always helping me with," he whispered while Tad wondered why he felt it necessary to be that quiet about things.

He accepted it, though. Once you got to know him, Craig was given to periods of introspection far more than he was himself. Then they got to work and with a lot of grunting, they carried the sack of potatoes in spite of doubting themselves.

Craig came back to himself as the memory faded and then he remembered a time when Deke and his brother Harry had taken Craig along on a cattle drive along the Snake River Plain. No one had even thought of it then because Craig's asthma had been so much better for a long time, but the chill night air down low in the grass had gotten to him anyway.

He lay in his sleeping bag coughing his lungs up and feeling like each labored breath had been a hard-won thing. He'd thought that he'd die for sure.

All of the others -the hands and the other men, even Deke, were beside themselves without any idea of what could be done for the boy - and they were miles away from even a road and it was the middle of the night.

As he coughed and coughed, choking on the cold, dew-laden air and wheezing just to inhale, he saw a lean shape coming his way in the darkness holding something large.

Craig had been not quite thirteen at the time, but he recognized the one out there, coming to him in long, purposeful strides. Tad told everyone to bugger off and give him a little room and the next thing that Craig knew; his cousin was spreading out a blanket and moving him onto it.

Craig was still inside his own sleeping bag and Craig wondered how Tad could do that. Then Tad got down to lie with him, pulling his own open sleeping bag over them both, especially so that it covered their heads.

"Breathe," Tad said gently, "You can't win a two-sided race. You need air, but you're out of control at the same time. Just try to slow down, Craig. You're gulping air so fast and hard that your lungs don't even get time to take out the oxygen. We gotta warm up the air that you do get.

Here," he said in a whisper, "put your face against my shirt - right against my chest, if you can. The air's warmer there and I'll cover us more. Just slow down and try to relax. You'll be better soon, I promise."

In a few minutes, Craig found that his cousin was right. With warmer air to breathe and by re-breathing what was there, his bronchial passages opened slowly and he could get air at last.

Craig remembered ... not bursting into tears exactly, but beginning to weep softly after a little while because he felt so helpless and he'd been humiliated by his body's weakness once again.

Tad was an experienced cowpoke then, sixteen years old and already so worldly. He was already a licensed pilot by that time and he was taller than Craig knew that he'd ever be.

"Shh, Craig, It's alright," Tad had whispered, lowering his head to rest upon his cousin's, "Don't make this harder on yourself. Why, you're smarter than most of these guys and I can tell you, most of them ain't all that tough.

Cookie, he'll turn white and run, just to see a bee, 'cause he's allergic, see? He gets stung, and he knows he's a dead man. He'll have ten minutes and then his throat will swell shut and he'll choke to death and there's not a thing that anyone can do about it.

And mean old Porkchop? I've seen him faint dead away, just because a snake slid across the toe of his boot at dinner one night. I'm not joking. Everybody, every man here's got something that they're scared of."

Craig lifted his head then, and his cousin had allowed it. He remembered seeing Tad's eyes in the darkness, so concerned for him because he now felt less than useless.

"What are you a-scared of, Tad?"

Tad had taken a long time to answer and he'd looked up a little to tell Deke that Craig was getting better and then he pulled the sleeping bag even lower around their heads. He looked into Craig's eyes for a long moment.

"Me?" he whispered, "I'm scared to death right now to lose you."

Craig never forgot that night. Tad had always looked out for him back then. Craig didn't see him as much in those days for the speed at which his cousin seemed to move through life back then. He saw him even more seldom after that. But he never forgot it - or how it had felt to him to hear Tad's quiet words to him. Craig spent a warm night against the strong body of his older cousin who didn't appear to sleep that night at all, preferring to keep watch over Craig and never saying a thing about the way that he had far less warm sleeping bag over him.

Afterwards, they never spoke of that night again.

But Craig remembered.

When Craig turned fourteen, Tad presented him with a .22 caliber rifle, a Mossberg single shot. It had a gleaming fine wood stock all the way out to the muzzle and it was the most beautiful rifle that Craig had ever seen in his life.

"No more plinking and trying to hunt with mine," Tad had laughed, "I expect you to outshoot me with that beauty." Craig hadn't known what to say.

"It's not a regular rifle," Tad smiled, "That one's made for fine shooting. Hell, I think it's only got about four different front sights on it that you can choose from for whatever suits you and the rear sight is what makes the deal. It's a micrometer match sight. Come on; let's head out to the woods, Craig."

Almost ten years had passed since that day, but that rifle was still Craig's most cherished possession and he didn't think that it was strange at all that in his heart, that rifle stood right next to his other most prized possession - which as a very old and worn teddy bear.

It had been a severe shock to learn that Tad had been accepted and ordered to report for flight training for the Army Air Force. Everyone was almost holding their breath in those days, just waiting for the war to start. Well it had already, but America hadn't joined the fight yet. Tad already was a pilot, but he told Craig that it didn't matter. He had to learn the army way if he was going to fly their planes.

Before Craig could really shrink back into himself, Tad grinned and said that they ought to go fishing one more time before he had to go.

They'd always done this the last few years, just the two of them riding off on horseback to a favorite fishing hole together to spend the day. They'd catch what they could and cook it up right there and have a feast on some fine Idaho trout or salmon - if the time of year was right for it.

So that was what they'd done, setting out without eating breakfast, so that if they didn't catch anything, then they just had to try harder. They did pretty well every time and enjoyed the time together after eating their catch - which Craig was always better at catching for some reason which eluded both of them.

The last time, it had been about perfect and they really enjoyed it. By that time, they were eighteen and fifteen and Craig had finally begun to come into his own - though he'd never have said it of himself. As they sidled their horses along on the slow ride home, Craig called over to Tad once they'd reached a meadow where they could ride beside each other.

"I'm gonna miss you, Tad," Craig said, "Probably more than anyone but Mother, Rebecca - and Amelia. Just ... well, take care of yourself wherever they send you and ... please come back to us alive."

"I'll miss you too," Tad replied, though he held it there, not daring to say more for fear of choking up.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do without you," Craig said, fighting back his sadness. "You raised me more than anybody. I've always loved you."

Tad nodded as he looked over, "Ok. It's the same for me. I've never had a chance since you came to us. I love you too, Craig."

That had been almost six years ago, Craig thought to himself. He still missed the cousin who'd been amazed to find that he was related to him the first day and had taken such care of him from that day on. But Craig remembered. As though he had any choice in the matter.

He was a poor boy who was saddled with loving two people, and neither one of them knew exactly how he felt. His sketches of Amelia had been done using only his eye and his mind, guessing the way that she looked when she was naked, now that she was grown up and so beautiful. But in that time after Amelia's heartbreak, it hadn't been the time to exactly speak of his feelings. To Craig, it would be a miracle if she ever wanted to come near to a man again.

His thoughts took a turn then as they did about half of the time when he masturbated up here alone this past little while. Just as he had when they'd met that first time, Chance had stolen into Craig's thoughts again.

Craig was running low on supplies and bright and early one Saturday morning, when it wasn't even full light yet, Craig had risked not signing on watch and ridden into Fairfield to buy some. When he'd gotten there, they'd just opened and Craig parked right next to another war surplus Indian motorcycle, a 500cc 741 Army Scout, which was the more usual steed produced for army use where his was the desert warrior type.

As he'd spoken to the storekeeper, the man said that for a two dollar fee, along with a list, they'd be pleased to have their delivery boy bring his groceries up to the tower every week. Craig was astounded.

"Does he know how to get there? It's a long way up nothing but hill."

He doesn't know yet," the man said, "But it can't be too bad, since you've made it a couple of times. I'll give him a little time for you to lead him so he'll know the way next week." He turned and bellowed and Chance had come walking up with his hand held out, "That your 841 out there?"

They shook hands and Craig showed Chance the road up and the trails where he could shave some of the distance off if he took them. They spent an hour just shooting the breeze and Craig learned that Chance had been in the Army Air Force, just as Tad had been, but he was being taught to repair radio equipment. He'd just completed all of his courses and been waiting for a posting somewhere when the war had ended.

"Since then," he smiled, "I've been working my way from back East on my bike." He'd laughed then, "I've still got a ways to go too, since I'm from Bakersfield, California.But I stopped off here a while ago, to help out my uncle. He's fixing to sell in the fall, so I'll be on my way after that anyway."

They parted company then, but Chance came once during the week before bringing the grocery order up late Saturday afternoon.

"Can I stay the night?" he'd asked, "I closed a little early, since my uncle was already drunk. I'll bet he's asleep by now already."

Craig was a little uncomfortable, but Chance had a way about him and put Craig at ease, "I brought my own sleeping bag, so if you got a few spare feet of floor, I won't bother you much."

But Chance stayed until early Sunday morning and by that time Craig was no longer strictly a virgin. Chance was anything but inexperienced and by Sunday morning, Craig and Chance had done about everything that two young men could possibly so with one another.

Chance returned and stayed every weekend, most often spending most of Saturday up in the cab with Craig, since the firewatch had to go on seven days a week.

But from the second weekend on, Craig was doing his very best not to fall in love, though he supposed that it had happened to a large degree regardless.

When he'd arrived for their last weekend together, Chance had said exactly the wrong thing, though he'd only meant it as a joke. He'd walked in, taken his clothes off and knelt on the floor. While Craig stood staring, wondering what was going on, his lover looked back with a smile and said, "This is your last Chance."

As he remembered fucking Chance for the last time, Craig's hand had been picking up speed and grunting a little, he arched his back right off the bed a little and before he could even reach for his handkerchief, he'd shot his load all over his chest with a quiet cry as he imagined himself in those arms again.