If you want to increase your success rate, double your failure rate.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Jap Juice Chapter 7

Chapter 7
The hammer


    As the last of the words came out of Jack's mouth my stomach tightened.  I knew without a doubt what was in those barrels.  Or what used to be in them.  I didn't want any part of them.  I wanted out of that barn and far away from that journal as possible.  This was bad juju and I was scared.  A feeling had crept over my body like a thousand centipedes crawling on me at once and I wanted to scratch at them.  In fact I wanted to itch them till they bled.  Itch until it hurt so bad that I couldn't think about those damn barrels.
     The thought of centipedes brought me to my senses and I peeled my eyes from the journal, that lay there on the barrel, and looked up at Jack.  He was standing there, arms raised above his head, with the hammer in his hand.  The horror in my eyes must have been enough to cause him to pause and I was able to deflect his strike just enough that it was only a glancing blow off the rim of the barrel.  The thud echoed off the cinderblock walls and seemed to drop to the floor.  He had tried to bust a hole in the barrel.  " What the hell do you think your doing", I hollered at him.  "Are you fuckin crazy", I asked him.  "Just trying to get a little Jap Juice", he said.  His eyes were glassed over and I knew he was in his crazy mode.  I had to get him away from those barrels at all costs.  "Grandads comin down the hill right now", I lied.  "Lets get out of here.  If he catches us he'll be pissed."  I watched Jack transform or morph or whatever you want to call it,  back into his old self and we both ran out of the barn.  I stopped halfway and ran back inside too get the hammer.  I looked everyehere but couldn't find it.   When I looked back at the barrels I swear I could see them moving.  Almost breathing.  Breathing in the dust motes that were dancing in the flashlight beam only moments ago.  Maybe not breathing but feeding. 
     Back outside we climbed up in the treefort and just stared at each other.  "You think that stuff is true", he asked me.  " I don't know", I replied.  "Theres no other entries after that one so probably not", I reassured him.  I didn't think he needed reassurance.  Quite the contrary I believed.  "He died", Jack said blatantly.
There was no emotion in his voice and it made me nervous.  "He flat out got killed by the Jap Juice", he said.
"What are you talking about, and what the hell is Jap Juice?", I asked him.  "That polock from the journal", he said.  " He went up and looked inside the barrel and whatever was in there killed him", he sputtered.  He was getting excited and the color in his cheeks was turning bright red.  He looked like a kid who has just finished a romp in the snow and has came in for cocoa.  Soon he would begin cussing.  Jack always cussed when he was excited.  "Jap Juice is the shit in them fuckin barrels ", he yelled.  "It's the secret weapon that dude was talkin about".    " Theres no such thing as Jap Juice", I told him.  Although at this point I wasn't sure myself.  I just wanted to go back to being a kid and building a tree fort.  " Then you explain why there is a journal about barrels,  in your barn,  sitting on a bunch of barrels", he said to me matter of factly.  I retold the story of the boat company again and I could tell he wasn't buying it anymore.  I wasn't either but I was too scared to do anything else.  For good measure I asked him," if that's what you think is in there then why do you want to open it up and kill yourself".   "It's probably expired by now', he said.  I thought to myself," big boy what's in those barrels doesn't expire and if you open it your soon to be not chuckin anymore wood like old Mr. Wood chuck.  That barn  killed him too."  I didn't say that because to do so would just verify what we both were thinking.  "We will ask grandad tonight at supper", I told him.  That seemed to appease him for now and we tinkered with the fort some more though niether of us was really into it now.  We were both lost in thought over those stinkin' barrels.
    Supper rolled around and we scrambled back to the house.  After washing up we took our places at the table.  We said grace and I secretly asked for a little assistance with these barrels.  We gorged on meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy.  Grandma sure knew how to cook.  I had almost forgotten for a moment about the barrels when Jack piped up.  " What's in the barrels down in the bottom of the barn", he asked Grandad.  As long as I live I will never forget the expression on grandads face.  He instantly went white and he choked on his food a little.  "You boys stay out of that barn", he said.  "You got no business being in there in the first place".  "If I catch you in there again you won't like it none too well".  That was final and Grandad meant it.  He never even finished his dinner.  He got up and strode into the back bedroom. I could hear him on the phone talking in a raised voice though I couldn't make out what he was saying.
   We finished our dinner and were having apple pie when grandad walked back into the room.  He looked sternly at me and said," Tomorrow morning your friend needs to go home and no more building on your playhouse until I say so".  With that said,  he walked outside and I heard the rumble of the old Lincoln engine and the gravel crunching under the tires as he drove down the driveway.  I looked at Grandma for a little help and she just went about her business like nothing had happened.  That this was just another normal night.
I was dumfounded and I looked over at Jack and he looked back at me his eyes screaming " I tolds you so".
       Sleep didn't come easy that night and when I finally drifted off,  it was a restless sleep.  Sometime in the middle of the night I awoke to a strange noise.  I lay there listening for a minute when I heard it again.  I rolled over to see if Jack was awake and if he had heard it. Jack was gone.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Jap Juice Chapter 6

Chapter 6
The Journal

Jack and I stared at that journal for what seemed an eternity.  The humming noise was fading in and out and Every so often I thought I smelled smoke although less and less.
I said to Jack," That's personal stuff we shouldn't be opening it".  Jack had already turned to the first entry.
He read aloud:

September 1st 1944

We have arrived at Saipan Island in the middle of the night.  The ship has been bombarding the Island from about two am this morning.  The constant booming has my head splitting in two.  I will be departing on the second wave we are set to go at 8 am this morning.  It has been a long ride to get here and I am anxious to get off of this ship.  The constant humming of the propellers has worked clear to my bones and I swear it will drive me crazy if I don't leave soon.  I am not anxious about where I am going though.  The Japs are dug in well and have been giving the 28th hell on the other side of the Island.  There's talk of a new weapon on board that we are supposed to try out once we hit the beach.  Some sort of chemical or gas thing.  However I'm not sure if this is just rumor.  Long days at sea have led to chatty lips.  Hope all goes well.  God be with us.


September 3rd 1944

So far so good.  We encountered only sporadic resistance upon hitting the beaches.  CO says the Japs are dug in at the air strip and will not be retreating at any cost.  We have established a decent beach head and will be headed inland at first light.  We spent the first two days mainly unloading and setting up command posts on the beach.  A few platoons went out for recon and have located the enemy not too very far ahead of us.  We keep hearing that the Japs will sneak in during the night and kill us while we sleep so sleep has not been easy to come by.  There is still talk of this so called secret weapon but I still have not seen it.

September 4th 1944

We spent the whole day yesterday in a constant firefight with the Japs.  Those little dinks are tough bastards.  CO was right,  they will not surrender.  We had a group of them pinned down in their bunker and when they ran out of ammo they tried a bayonet charge right at us in broad daylight.  They are fearless and although I hate them I respect their fighting spirit.  It seems as though we will have the airstrip secured by end of day on the 5th.  I am exhausted and we have lost 4 of our platoon members already.  I pray for a chance at sleep.

September 5th 1944

We have secured the airstrip and CO says that gives us a place to launch our heavy air bombers.   From here they can reach the Japanese mainland.  Casualties have been heavy nearly 3500 dead marines already and we are only half way through this horrible place.  Replacements are slow to come in and when they do they are killed almost as fast as they arrive.  We are trying to oust the Japs from these high hills and rocky ridges.  They are dug in well and we have to practically drag them out by hand to kill them.  I don't care anymore.  The more Japs I kill, the better I feel.  We have begun using flamethrowers.  We use covering fire while a marine runs up to the bunker with the flame thrower unit.  The Japs duck into their hole until we quit firing and when we stop it's too late he is already there burning them alive.  For awhile we were shooting them when they came running out on fire.  Now we just let them burn.  I feel my humanity being torn to shreds.

September 6th 1944
Same today as yesterday.  Kill more Japs.  I wonder if they have a limitless supply of them on this Island.  We have already killed thousands.  I am so tired.  No more talk of the secret weapon either.  Of course there is only a handful of us left alive that were first off the ships and had heard about it anyways.  The rest of them are all green.
Almost to the top.  CO says once we take the summit it will be all downhill from there.  Part of me says his analogy is truly based on geography.  I can't believe anything will be easy.

September 7th
I heard about the secret weapon again today.  said they were gonna drop it from a plane on the summit.  Seems as though we can't budge the Japs out of  there and they want to try something else.  We laid low most of the afternoon resting.  CO says to expect a charge tonight. Right at dusk some planes flew over the top of the hill .  I thought they were going to bomb them but I never heard any explosions.  We could hear a lot of screaming coming from the ridges tonight.  It's terrible.  I put my hands over my ears but I still hear it.    Maybe the Japs are just trying to scare us.  Psych us out before they charge.  They have to be running low on ammo and getting desperate.  CO says we will be taking the summit tomorrow at all costs.  I will say my prayers tonight.

     Jack continued to read the journals events of the next day.  Apparently a friend of this guy had died and he had wrote a tribute to him.  It was all so terrible what these guys had to go through.  The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up and I shivered.  It was cold in there.  I hadn't noticed it before but it was frigid.  I wondered how that could be when it was almost ninety degrees outside.  I wanted to leave but Jack kept on reading.  I shivered again

September 9th 1944
May God help us.  I don't know what the hell is going on up here.  Miller is dead and I am the only one left in my platoon now.  They sent me up here to scout and get a body count.  It is quiet here I am scared.  Miller gave me a shock yesterday and I can feel something in the air.  It's not right.  An evil surrounds me up here and I can't wait to leave.  The stench of the bodies is overwhelming and I have wrapped a shirt around my face to block it out. 
They told me to wait here until reinforcements show.  Nothing is happening so I am taking a few minutes to write while I can.  I still can't figure out what happened here but it is terrible.  I keep noticing the barrel in the center of that clearing right in front of that jap bunker.   The bodies that are closest too it are all missing their eyes.  Many times the birds will pick them out and eat them but this doesn't resemble that.  Besides I have not seen one bird, animal or even flies on the corpses.  There is a noise coming from the area where the barrel is laying.  It sounds like something is in there crawling around perhaps a crab has made it's way in.  There are bunches of them crawling all over this place.  My mind says no but I must go have a look.  The barrel has markings on it although I can't decipher what they are.  They appear to be Japanese or Chinese characters or something resembling them.  In the center it appears to be two big markings that somewhat look like the letter J.  I will find out when I check on the noise.  God willing I shall return.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Jap Juice Chapter 5

Chapter 5
The Discovery

   We awoke the next morning with a renewed vigor and were both extremely anxious to get outside and get to work on our fort.  Of course there was no way were we getting out the door without a proper breakfast and a steaming mug of hot cocoa.  Grandad was in the kitchen in his usual morning attire which consisted of shorts, a t-shirt and his brown robe complete with matching slippers.  Whenever I stayed there it was the same routine.  Grandad would holler,"Mother how do you want your eggs?"  Grandma would reply, "feed the children first Chester".  He would snort and I could hear her mutter under her breath," I've been eating my eggs the same way for 35 years and still you ask". She was in the living room, where she sat on her rocker, newspaper in hand, watching the Today show with Bryant Gumbel.  Grandad would reply, " I know that Margaret but today might be different".  I would giggle and Grandma would continue muttering out in the living room while Bryant rambled on about whatever was current that day.
    Soon we were dressed and outside.  The air was still warm, leftover from the day before, and it promised to be a hot one.  Down the hill by the barn the big old oak sat, beckoning us to clamber up and build away,  so we did.  All morning we worked on that fort and I couldn't help but notice how I would see Jack looking at the bottom of the barn.  I would stop what I was doing to say something to him and he would be staring at it.  His eyes glassed over, almost trance like.  I didn't like the look and it was becoming more frequent.  By the time lunch rolled around it was near ninety degrees.  Grandma brought lunch down to our construction site, a platter of sandwich wedges and a pitcher of ice tea, and we paused in the shade of the big oak to replenish our energy reserves.
    It was then I asked Jack," why do you keep staring at the barn?"   He looked at me, there was that little spark in his eye that I didn't care for, and said,"just curious about what's in them barrels".  I told him that those barrels were full of some chemical that they used at the boat factory for making the fiberglass hulls.  It was a lie.  I didn't know what was in those barrels but I had overheard a conversation my Dad was having on the phone one day about barrels of chemicals being buried in a landfill.  They had traced those barrels back to a boat building company that was a customer of ours.  There was a lot of hub bub about it although I didn't understand nor particularly care,  it had just stuck in my head and I pulled it out and fed it to Jack.  Some part of me told me not to mess with those barrels and I knew jack was itching to check them out.  I hoped this story would deter him but I had my doubts.  "Well if that's the case then it won't hurt none to go and look at them some more", he said.  "Grandad don't want us getting in to all of his stuff", I told him.  I knew right then and there I was sunk.  Sunk like the mighty Titanic.  Jack was too crafty for me and I knew in the end we would end up in the barn messing with those barrels.  "Then why don't he say nothing about all the wood we keep pulling out of there?", he asked.  "Fine", I said "but were just gonna look at them".
"Sweet", he said and was up and on his way to the barn, uneaten sandwich dropped in the dirt.
   I ran after him hollering to wait but he was on a mission.  When I finally caught up to him he was standing in front of the barrel that had been tipped over.  He had a flash light in his hands.  "Where in the heck did you find that?", I asked him.  "On your Grandpas back porch", he answered.  Great I thought.  Not only are we snooping through all his stuff but now were swiping things off of his porch.  I was doing the math in my head and it was adding up to be "getting into trouble" type of day.  "Roll it over", he said.  I walked around to the end of it and gave it a kind of running push.  I was expecting it to be full and when I went end over end and landed on my head it was quite a surprise.  Jack was laughing his head off and I sat on the old dirt floor(older than the outside dirt anyways) seeing stars for a moment and I actually remember feeling quite relieved about it being empty and not having to worry about Jack wanting to bust it open.  I stood up and brushed the dirt off of my knees, told Jack to shut up and quit laughing, and composed myself.  "Let's check the other ones", he said.  The second was empty as well and we started to roll it away when we noticed a small box that must have fallen between the two barrels.  It was one of those old ammo boxes they used during the war.  At least it looked like something of that nature.  It said 7.62 mm on the side and CAUTION in big letters.  So we were on the right track anyways(to nine mile and back as the car commercial says).  "Hold this", Jack said thrusting the flashlight into my hands.  He reached down and picked up the box and set it on top of the last remaining unchecked barrel.  The wood on the top had deep scratches in it and there were stains all over it.  I shivered at the thought that they might be bloodstains.  It had a small lock on the front.  It was pretty rusty and before I knew it "Crack".  Jack had hit it with a hammer.  I didn't even notice he had brought a hammer in there.  I thought to myself, "Don't lose that hammer or Grandad will have my hide".  He had loaned us two hammers for our construction venture and made me promise I would bring them back intact.  I had promised and here Jack was beating on a lock, on a box that wasn't ours, with a hammer I had promised we wouldn't break.  This was shaping up to be a fine day.  The lock broke before I had a chance to protest any further and Jack dropped the hammer in the old dirt.  I reached down and picked up the hammer, not wanting to offend my grandad, and placed it on the barrel.
   We both peered into the box.  It was full of dust and Jack gave it a good puff of air.  Dust swirled into the air and I remember the way it danced in the beam of the flashlight.  The dust motes would swirl and rise, swirl and rise.  Inside the box was a leather bound book of some sort.  Nothing else.  Jack reached in to grab it and I could hear my voice faint, almost like someone talking in another room, I heard the voice say, "leave it alone Jack", and "let's get outta here".  I think it was my voice but I couldn't hear it too well.  There was a humming noise that was getting louder by the second.  I could sense a vibration, like a ships propeller shaft turning under your feet.  Faint but it was there.  I felt like I was wearing ear muffs, like the big green ones my Dad made me wear when we went to the shooting range, I could hear but it sounded so distant.
Mostly I felt and heard the humming and as Jack flipped opened the cover I swear I could smell smoke and through the smoke I could taste seawater.  He opened the cover and it read:
My Journal
Lieutenant Schlebeski.
29th Infantry Division
United States Marine Corp.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Big Buck

Hello all and welcome back.
I had to interupt Jap Juice to bring you this.
I finally got my buck!!!!
Shot him this morning(friday 27th)during a deer drive behind a friends house.
He came running out of the timber into a grassy area 4 does in the lead.  He was running full tilt and was about 50 yards away.  I only had about two seconds to shoot before he went into more timber so I just shouldered and shot.  Instinct goes a long way some times.  He went down like a ton of bricks.  He has an 18" outside spread.  8 points and weighed about 140 dressed.
I also shot a large doe on the morning sit.  She weighed about 130 dressed out.



Here is a picture of the doe where she fell.

We had a spritz of snow the night before so it was a great morning to be hunting.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Chapter one changes

Please read the minor changes to chapter 1.
I felt this necessary to help you follow the story line better.
My head tends to think faster than my fingers can type.
This is being written without editing so occasionally I may have to change a few things.  Bear with me. 
I will inform you if this happens.
Forgive my misspellings and bad composition but it's free right?
No dates and events are historically accurate.  Only close!
Stay tuned!!!!!!!!!!

Jap Juice Chapter 4

Chapter 4
The barrels

That summer, the one from way back in 1984, was the year we discovered the barrels.  Jack and me that was.  If I remember correctly it was August.  It was hot and humid.  Grandad would say, "It's not the heat it's the humidity".  The Tigers were on their way to a World Series victory,  we were out of school,  and the world was our playground.  I was going to work with my father in those days.  My grandad owned a rubbish company and my father ran it for him.  Grandad lived on the same property where the business was run so I would hang out with him most days.  Grandad had started the business when he returned from the great world war in 1946.  He had served in the navy and oh how he hated the Japs.  "Dinks", he would say.   We would bug him constantly for war stories.  He never would tell.  The closest he ever came was that summer of '84 ,one hot and humid night after about twelve Molson's Golden and a bottle of  Mad Dog 20/20. The mosquitos were so thick you could cut them with knife.  The humidty of the day still lurked even though the sun was setting.  The fading sunlight cast a deep red glow over grandads face.  The rocking chair he sat in gave a soft squeak every now and again.  Jack and I were sitting on the porch with him swatting mosquitos  and Jack just up and said out of the blue," you ever kill any japs in the war?"  The squeaking stopped and grandad just stared out at the setting sun.  The reflection in his eyes made them seem on fire.  He  said very softly, just above a whisper as if this was meant for our ears only, " the thing that kills Japs best is Jap juice."  He was silent for a second and the look on his face and his glowing eyes kept us silent as well.  I had that uncomfortable feeling like we had gone too far but couldn't turn back.  Like that dream where your running to get away but no matter how hard you run you can't get anywhere.  Only this was real and I squirmed a bit.  This seemed to jar grandad from his daze.  He said, with a bit of a slur,"Jap juice does the job real well, too well in fact.  We got three barrels left".  He was off somewhere else right then.  No porch, no mosquitos.  His eyes burned with fire and sweat popped on his brow.  He leaned forward in his chair, speaking to whom I'll never know, and said very shakily almost blubbering," Sir please don't use them barrels.  There is something wrong with them barrels and it aint right."  "Look what it did to Miller sir, we got to quit using it".  I believe with no uncertainty at that point that I saw tears streaming down grandads cheeks.  I was scared.  Jack was scared and I was just about to tell grandad we were headed home when he spoke.  His voice sounded tired and it creaked like the loose board in our staircase at home.  "Stay away from the barrels", he said.  He leaned back, closed his eyes and a few seconds later we heard the unmistakable sound of snoring.  Grandad had left the day behind.  I looked over at Jack and he was staring at Grandad and he was grinning. 
     It was the very next day when we found the barrels.  Jack and I had stayed the night at Grandads and after a big breakfast we headed out to play.  We were building a fort in the big oak behind the barn.  The oak was old and the limbs were big.  Just right for a tree fort.  We had completed our ladder up to the first of the giant limbs and we needed a big flat board for the base so we went on a hunt to find one.  We ended up in the bottom of the barn.  It was a little dim in there but we could see well enough.  Moving slowly, eyes scanning for anything fortworthy we made our way into the barn.  We had made it all the way to the back of the barn and into one of the corners.  There it was,  an old piece of plywood just the right size for a tree fort.  Judging by the amount of dust and dirt on it no one was going to miss it.  "Grab it on that end and pull", I told Jack.  He grabbed and started to pull it off of whatever it had been stacked on.  "I need help", he said.  I walked over to his side and together we gave it a heave.  It was stubborn at first but it eventually started to slide.  "It feels like it's catching on something", I told Jack.  "Just pull harder you big wuss", was his reply.  With a giant pull we freed the plywood from whatever it was hung up on and in doing so we heard a big thud from behind the board.  We looked at each other with a sheepish grin and at the same time said,"oops".  Then we scrambled behind the board to see what fell over.
    Behind the soon to be floor of a tree fort stood two barrels.  Laying on it's side on the dirt floor was a third.  Some old tarps lay on the floor in a heap.  The apparent cause of our stuck plywood. We both just looked at each other.  An erie silence settled over the dim corner of the barn.  Breaking the silence I said to Jack," let's go, grab on", motioning to the plywood.  We carried the wood outside and leaned it up against the base of the tree.  I felt better being out in the sun again.  There was a cold sensation in that barn.  I couldn't exactly place it but it felt like the cold air pocket  you sometimes feel on a warm summer night.  It felt disturbed in there.  Like we had stopped time and everything had ceased to function for a minute.   Out in the sun the feeling began to fade and we were soon hammering away on our tree fort.
     We made great progresss on the tree fort that day and with much begging and whining we secured a weekend stay with my grandparents.  We went to bed that night in the spare room where grandma keeps her sewing machine.  We slept on the floor because the spare bed wasn't big enough for two of us.  I was tired and sleep came quickly.  The last thing I saw before drifting off to sleep was Jack grinning at Grandad.
   

Jap Juice Chapter 3

Chapter 3
Jack

The year was 1984.  I remember that year for a few distinct reasons.  It was the year the Detroit tigers won the world series.  Kirk Gibson, Alan Trammel, Lou Whitaker(sweet Lou as we so affectionately called him), Lance Parish, Chet Lemon and all the rest of the guys.  I can still remember going to Tiger games that summer with my aunt and uncle and my older brother.  The smell of the hot dogs and popcorn and peanuts- "get your peanuts, hot peanuts", the voices forever echo in my head.  Funny how things stick in your head but I swear whenever we went to a game they were always playing the Seattle Mariners.  It didn't matter,  the Tigers were hot that year and I got to see them play.
    The next thing that I remember from that year was that there was a marriage in the family and the whole family drove down to Florida to witness the occasion.  All the aunts, uncles and cousins loaded into vehicles and we headed down.  There must have been twenty of us in that familycade.  Florida and thirteen years old go hand in hand.  I had a blast.  Grandad would take us out at night to go "shrimping'.  We would anchor the boat in the middle of the river and then hang lights over the side that dropped down into the water about a foot deep.  Then we would lower giant nets, about 3 feet across, down into the water next to the light.  When the shrimp floated by,  with the outgoing tide,  you simply moved your net in front of them and voila you had a shrimp.  The nets were really long as well to keep the shrimp from swimming back out.  I would fish in Grandads canal, swim sometimes too.  Although the water was quite brackish and there was rumors of alligators still roaming,  nothing can deter the will of a thirteen year old.  Florida and I fit together like peas in a pod.
     The other thing event I remember that year was Jack.  Jack was a new friend for me. We moved in to a new house and he lived across the street and down one.  Kitty Korner we called it.  He was one year older than me but still in the same grade.  Skinny pole of a kid.  Sheepish grin always adorning his face.  Jack was the type of kid that seemed to be "your average run of the mill school kid".  Average grades, mild mannered, respectful to adults.  The kind of kid teachers like to have in class.  Easy kids.  They passed all their classes didn't cause trouble and never needed any of the teachers precious extra time.  Now I don't have anything against teachers in general but I always had the feeling that there are some kids they don't want to deal with.  Like they know if they start to pry open the lid a little then eventually it bursts open and stains their new white pants.  No one needs a stain to carry around.  Jack was one of these. I don't think any one was certain about it but they had an idea.  Best to let sleeping dogs lie.  Jack had a side to him that could scare you some.  Jack would carry on about things, bad things, how he was gonna do this or do that,  then he would say, "naw only joking". But it was too late,  you were already scared and you couldn't tell if he was joking or not. 
      His parents had been divorced for awhile.  His mom was dating this guy named Phil.   He wasn't very nice.  We always tried to stay out of his way when we were at his mom's house.  Jack's mom was always out with Phil( it was later rumored that Phil was dealing cocaine at that time) so we ruled the roost most of the time.  Jack taught me how to order pizza for the neighbors(that was before caller id) and have it delivered while we peered out the windows and watched the confusion unfold.  Jack taught me how to "nigger nock".  We would run up on the front porch and hit the doorbell or bang on the door and then hide in the bushes and watch the home owner's reaction.  He taught me how to tear the hood ornament off of someones car and sell it at school.  That was a big thing in those days.  A big Rams head off of a pick up was worth five dollars.  One time Jack had a hold of a rams head and was pulling with all his might but the thing wouldn't budge.  So he started jerking on it.  When it finally let loose, after much grunting and cursing,  it sailed through the air and landed smack dab in the middle of his front teeth.  He knocked out 6 teeth and shattered three that night.  He was a mess.  Of course we made up some lie to cover it up and it worked. 
      I suppose in a way most of these things were boyhood activities that many kids do.  I'm sure your right but... Most kids don't blow up frogs and turtles with firecrackers though.  Most kids don't shit on a piece of paper and then put in the neighbors mailbox.  Most kids don't  steal little kids trick or treat bags either.  But Jack did.  That was his evil side.  It was mostly me that saw it.  Why?  I'm not sure but I know one thing for sure.  I wish I wouldn't have become Jacks friend that year.  I wish I wouldn't have let him talk me into so many wrong things.  I wish he would have never seen the barrels in the bottom of grandads barn.  I think Jack's evil was drawn to those barrels.  Nothing I said or did was probably going to change that.  Destiny or fate.  "Six of one- half dozen of the other", my father used to say.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Jap Juice Chapter 2

Chapter 2
The Barn

The barn had always sat towards the rear of the property.  As if barns could get up and move anyhow.  It was a three story job built in 1947 after Granddad came home from World War Two.  Red stained wood above ground, cinder block walls on the bottom.  The bottom was a walk out style.  One way in and one way out.  The floor was dirt back then.  It would later be filled with concrete to make way for storing more important things.  Important things that could not sit on a dirt floor but had requested concrete.  What things?  I never was sure,  adult things I suppose.  Didn't really care I just understood that when concrete was poured it was for important things.  Concrete was expensive and my Dad and Grandad wouldn't waste money on it if it wasn't necessary.  Until that day though  the floor was dirt and to me dirt was right.  Especially at age 13.  "It was old dirt", I told myself.  Dirt under a barn was sure to be older than outside dirt.  Had to be.  That's the way things worked when your thirteen. 
    One time a woodchuck decided to make it his home and dug a hole next to one of the walls.  My father laid in wait with a 22 caliber rifle and made sure Mr. Woodchuck didn't "ruin the foundation".  How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?  "None that little bastards deader than dead", my father chortled.  He laughed and I just wondered what Mrs. Woodchuck would think when she came home and found Mr. Woodchuck not chucking anymore.  That is if he ever chucked in the first place.  My father took the remains of the animal and threw him in his own hole and buried him.  Now the barn was a bit of a Mausoleum I suspected.  Although no epitaphs were scribed on the walls there was a significant hump in the dirt floor which stood for something. 
    I spent many hours in that barn.  Imagining the olden days and what they were like.  My grandad had these old records that were as thick as a baby's finger.  They had old sounding names on them and some of them were in French or Spanish.  I wasn't sure but they had La in them so that made them foreign to me.  Old golf clubs mad of bamboo that I would sometimes sneak outside and hit rocks with.  Crates, slatted crates that were used for carrying stuff.  Some of them said navel and the word Florida so I figured them to be old orange packing crates.  My grandad would go to Florida in the winter so it made sense to me.  He was always bringing back fruit.  Soda too.  There was no deposit in Florida so each can was ten cents cheaper.  He would bring home cases and cases of soda in his great big motor home that he drove south with every year when the  temperatures started to "work " his rheumatoid arthritis.  Once the can was empty he would work it in with some of the Michigan cans.  The teenager at the store counting cans at the returnable counter was none the wiser and my grandad was a little richer.
    The windows in the ground level were covered in that grimy dust that seems to hang out in old barns.  So there was always light but a spooky light at that.  There was a set of stairs that led up to the attic area.  You could stand straight up in there but only in the center as the roof tapered down to the eaves.  There wasn't much up here.  Some old trim boards a couple of old hoses that probably had a hole somewhere in them but no one wanted to take the time to patch them so they bought new.  An old baby's cradle decorated the corner.  Spiderwebs clinging to the spindles that made up the sides.  And books.  Old books covered in a thick film of dust.  Their pages, yellowed on the edge, emitting that unforgettable musty smell.  "The barn was a musty sandwich", I mused to myself one day.  Musty on the bottom, musty on the top.  Musty at suppertime as the old saying went.  
Mouse droppings littered the floor as well.  Apparently the mice were only allowed to use the attic as their rest stop because you didn't find the droppings on the floor of the main barn.  A dead bird lay in the middle of the floor and at the right time of day the light would stream in from the solitary window and shine on it.  Illuminating it and I thought that it could have been some sort of avian God.  The mice would bring it offerings and then being frightened by the avian God run away with droppings marking the way.  Their little footprints embedded in the dust for time to wash away.  I didn't care for the upstairs much so I pretty much stayed out of there.  I wasn't afraid but I was uncomfortable.  Later I would find out that it was the bottom of the barn I should have been afraid of.  It was in the bottom of the barn where the three barrels stood.  The three barrels I would later find out contained what we called Jap Juice.

Jap Juice Chapter 1

Chapter 1
The beginning

Writings found from the Journal of Lieutenant Schlebeski.
29th infantry unit United States Marine Corp.
Found with decedents remains on Saipan Island September 9th 1944


September 8th 1944
Private Miller was not one of your typical marines.  He had a side to him that said he grew up mostly because he had to.  None to serious, always messing around.  Sometimes he even cut his hair in a funny way to get a laugh out of the rest of us.  "A New Jersey boy,  born and raised", he would exclaim.  As if that was all we needed to know to make things understandable.  I didn't understand at all.  As far as I was concerned New Jersey was close to New York that meant it was a big city and therefore I wanted nothing to do with it.  "Michigan born and raised", was I.  Farm land and woods.  I suppose Private Miller had more reasons than New Jersey for the way he acted but in spite of it he kept the mood light.  Occasionally he would get a laugh from one of us.  Most of the time it was just a shake of the head.  A shake that meant mostly I don't get you.  Like when you were young and did something stupid and your mama just stood there, hands on hips, shaking her head.  Yeah that kind.  I can remember one time he snuck into the latrine and placed a piece of thin(in those days everything was thin) white bed linen over the toilet and then put the lid down.  It would have been funny, should  have been funny but it was the drill Sergeant that was the first one to use it. The commotion woke us up that night.  I can still see the Sergeant waddling back to his barracks cussing  the whole time.  Pants still around his ankles as though pulling them up was not an option.  His duck like motions as he tried to run walk the fifty paces back to his quarters.  In my mind I can still see the shit caked to his ass or maybe that was what I wanted to see because it was dark and he was far away.  Frankly I didn't even know the prank was in play so it must have been one of those memory recall thingamajigs.  Like how you think you can remember your 4th birthday party solely based on seeing a picture of the event.  Whatever it was it was funny.  At first.  Many push-ups and sit-ups were done that night trying to eradicate the wrong doer from our ranks.  No one knew who it was.  We had a good idea but no proof.  We wouldn't have squealed anyways.  Marines don't do that.  Miller kept quiet and all eventually faded away.  Except that no one ever went to the latrine without checking the seat first.

That was the way Private Miller was.  Always a goof.  Always a smile on his face.
Until today when I saw him huddled behind that rock ledge.
His eyes were bloodshot and filled with horror.  I could smell the sweat on his body form three paces away.  It was a rank smell like an old football jersey washed in vinegar.  Bitter.  He was shaking uncontrollably.  As I  knelt down beside him I smelled feces.  I could see he had bitten the tip off of his tongue and blood ran out of his mouth like a bird bath that someone left the hose in.  It filled up and spilled over.  I remember thinking that he had probably tripped and bit it off but I knew in my mind that was not the case.  Private Miller was in a bad way.  Not the rolled up jeans and engineer boots bad either.  This was more of a coming down the mountain and the brakes quit working kind of way.  He just hadn't made it to the bottom yet.  Yet was extremely close though.  I hollered for a medic.  I carefully stood up and peeked over the rock ledge.  You couldn't be too careful.  The Japs were sneaky and even though the battle was over and most had retreated there was a always a sneaky(that was the term we used for a sniper) waiting to put a bullet in some nonchalant GI's head.  What I seen still haunts me to this day.  Bodies lay strewn everywhere.  Pieces and parts.  Brains and bellies.  Mostly Jap but some American as well.  At first glance it looked like a mortar attack had finally found its mark.  That's what happens when mortars hit smack on. " Shit gets blowed up" as we liked to say back then.  I had seen it before, not that I was used to it.  In war ones eyes seem to look over things and not at them.  It is how we deal with such horrific events.  I chocked this up to a direct hit and wondered what had come over Miller.  He had seen this type of carnage before and though each one exhibits his own kind of response I couldn't help but imagine why this one was so different for him.
I began my way back down the rock ledge to help with Private Miller, half way down I stopped.  Something up there was wrong.  What was it.  It was like trying to remember someones name by reciting a bunch of names in your head hoping you will come across it.  Except this was a different version.  I could see the severed heads and arms.  Entrails strewn everywhere.  But something was wrong.  Something didn't fit.  The flies!  Where were all the damn flies.  It only takes a few minutes on this Island before the flies get to your body.  Normally after a battle the buzz from so many flies made it hard to hear.  But here there was none.
I crawled back up the ledge and looked again.  I kept expecting a stiff breeze up there to enforce the no fly zone.  I had already began making up puns about it.  War is hell on a guys head.  I reached the top and all was the same. No magical eraser came through like I had hoped.  There was no breeze either and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.  At attention you might say.  Then I noticed something else.  There were no craters.  Bomb craters that is.  You can't even throw hand grenades without leaving a crater let alone mortars.  And where was the fire?  There was always fire.  The only thing that looked real was the 55 gallon drum tipped on it's side.  It's lid lay askew on the side. What the hell was a fuel barrel doing up here.  You couldn't even get a jeep up here.  My mind was racing and I wanted to crawl up there and walk around and reason with myself that there was craters I just couldn't see them from my vantage point.  That the fires had just burned out magically taking their smoke with them.  I wanted to make it make sense but I couldn't.  I just huddled there, frozen.  I knew that if I went up there I would be laying next to Miller, shitting myself and chewing on my tongue like a piece of Bazooka gum.  I lay there tears streaming down my cheek.  Knowing that up there was evil like I had never seen before.  Evil that was not of a warring nature but worse.  Much worse.  So I just lay there against the rocks.  Eyes squeezed shut and hoping that when I opened them all would be fine.
      I left the front line and headed back to report to the captain what I had seen.  After debriefing I went to find Miller in the hospital tent.  He wasn't in there and after a little searching I found out he had died.  I write this in my journal today in remembrance of private Miller.  He was the last person left alive on this god forsaken island that I had taken training with back in the states.  Tomorrow I must return to the spot above that ledge and try to understand what happened.  I don't want to but I feel I must.  If only for Miller.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

What if......

I suppose all this deer hunting is really going to mess up my style of thinking.  I am spending way too much time sitting in a chair doing nothing but reading and watching out a small window hoping a deer will show up to alleviate the monotony of a particular outing.  I have started short stories,  I have created a few limericks and poems,  I have conjured up images of large racked deer from nothing but stumps. 
The stories I have stored in my brain,  where likley they will turn to dust and disappear under the heavy load of life that is stored there as well.  I will be unable to bring them back to life should I choose to act on one of them.  Which I have felt inclined to do as of late.  Just a short story perhaps.  One that will silence the little demons in my head for just a short while.  A story about what if.  Something you can ponder over and get your cogs turning.  Shake the dust out of your imagination and press the little red start button.  Can you do that?  Can you step away from yourself and think what if?  Not the what if I won the lottery either.  We all dream that one but that only happens to those who don't need it.  I'm talking about the what if that wakes you up at night wringing wet with sweat and a scream pursed on the edge of your clinched lips..  The what if that makes the hair on the back of your skin stand up when you reach around the corner in a dark room to flip on the light switch.  Not sure of what is lurking in the depths of the dark.  The undead dark.  Surely that is where the what ifs lie in wait.  The what ifs floating through the air on a warm summer night.  You have felt it.  A cold quick change in temperature.  Just for a moment.  You wonder what evil  has just floated by.  Under the dock at your familys cabin on the lake.  You don't dare swim under the dock.  Why?  Sometimes the answer is best left alone.  Left dead.  Left to float throught the air on those warm summer nights.  But what if it won't stay there?  What if......
Be careful the sun is setting.

Friday, November 20, 2009

First week of Deer Season

On the 14th I had a lot of food prepping to do.
15 lbs of chicken wings to smoke.  Sauces to make for the wings.  Brisket to finish.  Cheese to smoke.
I needed to pack up all things non-perishable and have it ready for a 5:00 AM departure time.

I also made a trip out to the farm to set up my "kitchen".  I did not want to try and set it up before lunch or the morning of when it was dark.  I had two turkey fryers, a coleman stove, bowels etc...

The chicken wings I prepped with a meat cleaver.  Too many for a pair of poultry shears.  I would have had blisters by the time I was finished.  I seasoned them with a mix of Lawrys seasoning salt Tony Cecheros cajun seasoning, chili powder, salt and pepper.  Then I loaded them in the smoker and set it at 225 degrees.

I let these cook for 3 hours.  Refrigerated them and the next day roled them in flour and deep fried them.
Once deep fried I tossed them in their respective sauces.

We all met at Smitty's for beakfast on the 15th.  There is always a bunch of people that show up for breakfast.
Here is Smitty


Breakfast in the making


Broker Bob and Andy in chow mode!!


Trevor and Grover deep in coversation.
(probably about why they dress like twins)



We left Smittys full bellys protruding and made the quick drive to the farm.  Ten minutes away is all.
I was first so I unlocked the gate and pulled in.  Then Jerry and Grover.  Then Broker Bob.  Then Andy.  Then Texas(running late I might add).  Phoenix showed up after we had all departed for our blinds.  He works the late shift so his clock is all messed up.
Grover likes to make fun of Jerry and I because it never fails when we get to the farm we have a certain urgent need.  Grover "takes care of business at home" he says.  Well guess what?
Somebody had to make an emergency run into the plowed field.  We just happened to have a spotlight and a camera ready.


Well we all got to our blinds well before sunup.  Got settled in and waited.
And waited.  And waited.  And waited.
Nothing showed.  I sat in my blind until 11:30 and never seen one deer.
The guys seen a few does and Andy had a hail mary shot at a Big Buck but missed.  Broker Bob let a small 4 pt pass.  Other than that......nothing!
We did not have even one deer on the ground opening morning.  First time since I've been hunting these grounds.  So LUNCHTIME!!!

The whole crew showed up for lunch must have been over twenty people.
I cooked hard and fast.















It took awhile but Grover finally downed the first deer of the weekend.  It was a one horn spike.  His first buck.(unicorn)

I hunted hard for three days and never did see one deer from my blind.
It was a very uneventful opener. 

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Beautiful sunrise

While I was typing out my brisket post I noticed some nice colors peeking in the window at me from the Eastern horizon.  So I grabbed the camera, shoes and a jacket and headed outside.  Big Brown Dog apparently left some stick unchewed so he went out as well.







The moon is showing through the tree branches.  If you zoom in you might see it.
The next picture shows it better.








Now I am waiting to see if actual sunrise will be pretty or if the clouds are going to block it out.

Looks like the clouds stole the show.




Last but not least the unfortunate stick!


First Time Brisket

Two briskets were donated to me for deer camp chow.  I was originally going to do them in my smoker
but I haven't created a way to smoke for a long time at higher temps.  I needed at least 8 hours at 225.
I could do that with propane but that's a lot of propane and it's expensive.
So I rigged up my propane BBQ grill to get the job done.

I took the grates out of my grill.  I have an adjustable splatter guard on my grill so I used that and laid it directly on the burner elements in the bottom of the grill.  Next I used some metal and formed two pockets on each side of the grill.  I filled these with charcoal and lit it via WPT (wicked propane torch).
While the coals were busy ashing over I filled a pan with apple juice and place it on the bottom between the two charcoal pockets.  It would sit directly under the brisket. I took one of the grates I had removed earlier and placed it in the center section. 

Any grill can be converted like this.  I used two pieces of flashing for the pockets. Just bend them into an L shape and use the grill as the opposing side.  Use any piece of metal for the bottom as well.  Except for treated metals.  Galvanized and the like.  Be careful of aluminized metals as well.  I suppose if you don't have any metal around you could rig this with aluminum foil.   You could also steel some of mommas bread pans for charcoal pockets if your brave enough.  I stold one for the apple juice tray.  She won't know until she reads this and I will have it back in the cupboard by then. LOL

I had two briskets one of them was supplied with it's own rub.  Thank You Texas!
The other, thank you Grover, I created my own rub using Tony Cechceros cajun seasoning, chilli powder, seasoning salt and a touch of fresh ground blackpepper.  I rubbed them first with a dab of olive oil then rubbed the seasonings liberally all over them.
 

I trimmed the briskets so there was only about a 1/4 inch of a fat cap on them.
Let them come up to room temperature and sent them on their merry way.

This picture was taken at 12 noon.  The temp had stabilized at 235 ish.  I'll be honest you really have to watch your temps with this set up.  Adjust air flow as needed.  I just propped the lid up when it became to hot with a chunk of steel.  Every hour on the hour for 6 hours I would put a new batch of hickory chunks directly on the coals.  These were soaked in water so they didn't burn up as fast. You can see them in the pic above.


.
Just about every hour or hour and a half I would add more charcoal
Instead of leaving the lid up while the black burned off the charcoal.(I didn't want the fumes to contaminate the meat)  This usually takes 5-10 minutes.  I used the WPT.  I had the charcoal nice and grey in about two minutes.  Minimizing heat loss to the meat.
Here is hour number 2

Every hour I would flip the brisket and mop it with a mixture of orange juice, apple juice, honey and sugar.
This kept it moist and the sugars combined with the rub on the meat made for a very nice bark.
Hour number 3

The dripings/splattering you see on the right side metal is not from the brisket.  This piece I used as a drip guard in my smoker.  Again on the hour I flipped, mopped and added wood or charcoal.
Big Brown Dog was there as usual.  He loves to cook!!!

Hour number 4

By hour number 5 it looked the same so I stoped taking pictures.  The meat was in it's holding stage.  This is where you need to break it.  Patience is a virtue.  Internal temps leveled off and it seemed as though nothing else was going to happen.  It looked and smelled done.  It felt done.
It wasn't finished yet.  You need to break down the collagens inside the meat.  Time and temp is the only thing that will do this.  Let it ride. As long as your moisture levels are good you can smoke away.
All of this information I gleaned off of the internet by the way.  I am a true first timer at brisket. 
I took everybody's experiences and used them.  It's hard to trust when the meat is screaming at me that it's done.  I am a push tester for meat.  I don't use thermometers I just push on the meat with my finger.  The firmness of the meat tells me when it's done.  This was telling me done.  So I trusted all of you folks out there and I was not let down.  After hour number 6 I quit adding hickory chunks.    During the whole process I kept the temps between 200 and 235 with an occasional spike up to 300 if a piece of hickory caught fire.
At hour number 8 Texas came over and we brought one in the house.  He carved off a piece and pronounced it done.  As you can tell by his name he is not from Ohio.  He knows BBQ!
I was secretly estatic when he said it tasted good.  "Nice job Bushman"
I wrapped them in foil and placed them back on the grill to finish out.  I would let them set on the grill while the charcoal burned out.  I let them stay out there over night.  It's just as cold as my fridge.
They will stay encased in their tinfoil sarcophagus until I deem them ready for sacrifice on Sunday afternoon.
Tune in for the deer hunting posts.  It will probably end up a mini-series.  Final pics of the brisket will be seen on those blogs.  All in all it was a successful smoke.  With the help of all of the internet info and Texas I think it went well.  Although Big Brown Dog just doesn't have the stamina for a 10 hour cooking sessison.