Maine: The Reunion

Originally posted August 7, 1996, not long after the Battle of Lubbock. However, due to Internet problems, only parts 1 and 3 made it into the archives. © 1996, by Scott Bernier. First HTML-ized on 18 March 1997. Updated 30 July 1997.

Return to Scott's Stories page.

The ceaseless West Texas wind gusted a moment and dragged some of the ashes with it. One Air Force soldier passed a group of investigators, waving his credentials and proceeded onward through the gutted remains of Reese Air Force Base. Who are we kidding here? There were no remains, except for the foundations and some ashes. Everything else burned completely.

Captain Stickney, who formerly served at LuFI, proceeded onward towards his goal. The foundation of the late Colonel Oullette's office. Once there, he looked about to see where the investigators where. They were far off. Stickney went to the corner of the concrete slap, which had cracked from the intense heat of the fire storm that had been the result of the destruction of the base.

Stickney looked about a second time and bent down. Using a small crowbar, he jimmied through the cracked and broken concrete to the dirt below and dug-down about 6 inches. Stickney looked about a second time and then stuck a hand into the soil and removed a round, metal cylinder. He turned it on end and unscrewed the top and removed the contents, which he placed within his field jacket. He then replaced the cylinder and recovered it.

Stickney got-up and started to walk away from the area casually. As he walked by the investigators a second time, he waved his credentials again and they let him go on his way. Within an hour he was in the air and on his way to one of the few Fudds he could trust with that which he recovered. Eight hours later he landed at Brunswick Naval Air Station and an hour after that, he arrived at Maine Fudd Volunteer HQ.

Someone rapped on the door.

"Enter.....Captain Stickney? George Stickney! This is wonderful!"

Major Steve Blake leaped-up to greet his old friend, one he hadn't seen in over a year. He wasn't sure if Stickney had been at the recent battle.

"Of course it's me, Major Steve Blake," Stickney replied. "Ehl'mar, is that what you've got to do these days to get those stripes? Nearly get killed in the line of duty and then get shipped way out here?" Stickney smiled and hugged his old companion despite the bun's protests.

"Did you get the papers?"

"Oh, come on Steve, you know me better than that. Of course I've got them." Stickney removed a small wad of documents from under his shirt and placed them on the desk. Steve pawed through them: old records, a few bearer bonds, deeded mineral rights to almost two whole Texas Counties (Steve [BOINK]ed upon seeing those. He knew Oullette had some mineral rights, but he didn't realize how much.), and most importantly, the Colonel's will. Steve glanced through it quickly. A tear came to his eye. He looked up to his old friend.

"Thanks, George, you've done the Colonel proud."

"Hey, nothing to worry about, it was easy to get. Those government investigators aren't about to start diggiing-up the concrete foundations to find the answers to their questions. But enough with business. Call in whoever your second in command is."

Blake paged Eugene Pomerleau, who came in almost immediately and saluted both his superiors.

Stickney looked the sergeant up and down as Blake introduced the two to each other. "Pomerleau, huh?" Stickney said after the introduction. "Sergeant, you're in charge of the base this evening, my old drinking partner and I are going out for a few drinks."

Pomerleau saluted as Stickney scooped-up the protesting pro-Fudd devilbunny. At the door he turned back to Pomerleau. "Any suggestions on a good pub in the area?"

"Sir, this is edge of Maine civilization. Theeya isn't much to choose from. 12 miles northeast of here, there's The Point Aftah sportsbah in Winslow. Across the rivah in Watahville theeya's the Chez nightclub and a few ratholes that get shut-down by the police nightly. Or you could head 20 miles southwest to Augusta..."

"No that'll be fine, Gene, I can call you Gene right? I'll be taking the Major to that first place you mentioned. Wonder how they'll react to a talking rabbit." He grinned deviously, dragging the protesting Major out the door.

"If he causes you trouble, remind him that Doc ordered him to take some time off!" Sgt Pomerleau hollered out the door to the two officers.

George had sobered-up a bit from his elation on base. On the way-up he had asked about the wife and kids only to learn that Steve had yet to tell them. Before George proceeded, Steve had told him not to even think about encouraging him to contact his wife, for the last Fudd to do so had been captured afterwards by the devilbunneis. Elh'mar knew what had happened to that poor soul. And so here they were in The Point Aftah with a bunch of locals, cheering on the Red Sox, awaiting to be served. A drunk wandered by them on his way to the rest room. He paused a few minutes later on his way back by.

"Ah...ah've seen you around before, havensht ah?" The drunk was staring at Steve Blake while George Stickney looked on. Both could smell the alcohol on his breath as he spoke. Realization came upon the drunk's face. "You'ah thh...thhhaaat bunny. You know the one inzsh that King Horror Movie....Demon...no that'sz notz it.. Devilbunnies! That'z what it washz called!" The drunk turned to the bar in general and pointed to Blake. "Look we'shve got a movie star with ushz!" He in turn collapsed on the floor as the wide screen blared on about the forth inning.

Blake looked to the ceiling, (sighfluff)ed and turned to his companion. "It's not like being on a big base, like LuFI, George. I just can't go about freely looking like this, especially since we released that film. Not to mention, it's rather hard going out in the public like this and try and keep the war secret." By now a small, unwanted crowd had gathered around their booth.

"Well I'll be Numb as a Hake..."

"...if it ain't him..."

"It is the bunny!" This particular patron turned to Stickney. "But you I don't recognize from the film. Ah you his agent?" He turned to the bartender. "Mike! Get these two celebrities what evah they want on my tab!"

The waitress, a bit homely and overweight...then again, in Maine that's how they like'em as some of the better known Maine story tellers would say: 'Gotta have a BMW...Big Maine Woman, for they'ah shade in the summah and warmth in the wintah!' But we digress. The waitress finally came up and took their order.

"A Samual Adams," Stickeny stated.

"A Diet Moxie™ followed by a Geary's Lager," Blake replied.

There was a gasp in the crowd.

"I thought that stuff burned bunnies!"

"Darh, that was in the movies, Hubeht."

"That's what that guy said a month or so back on the radio!"

"You're quite the ventriloquist theeya."

Blake (sighfluff)ed and turned to the crowd. "Regular Moxie™ would burn me." He saw what he was looking for in the crowd. "You there...yes you, over here." He paw-waved one of the patrons over. "That is Moxie™ you're drinking?"

"Of course, t'ain't no bettah drink for a Mainah!"

"Dip your finger in it and flick a drop right here on my forearm, er, paw."

The patron did as he was asked. Steve winced as smoke wafted-up from where the drop of Moxie™ burned into his flesh. The crowd oo'd and ah'd for a while and then they began to talk among themselves again until the waitress returned with their drinks. Steve sniffed the Diet Moxie™ carefully to insure it was what he ordered and then before a hushed crowd, he guzzled it, wiping the froth with the back of his paw. He didn't flinch.

The crowd cheered, clapped and hollered.

"Alright, alright," Mike the bartender called-out. "Enough tricks, let the two celebraties be."

The various patrons went back to their various booths and stools and turned back to cheering on the Red Sox, which lost against Toronto in the third extra inning. Soon afterwards, the crowds dwindled, even though it was still a few hours before last call.

"That's Maine for you," Mike called from behind the bar. "We'ah one of the few places in this town othah than the convenience stores that ah open past 8pm. The rest of the town has long since rolled-up the sidewalks for the night, including Iggah*"

At this point the two friends had had a few too many drinks and were laughing at each other's stories from times in the past. Mike walked the last of his regulars to the door and locked it behind him. He proceeded to the counter.

"Alright! What gives George Stickney!" Stickney and Blake turned to see that Mike had a double barrelled shotgun turned on them. There was no one else left in the bar. "When did you sell-out to the Devilbunnies!"

*-I G A--Independant Grocers Association supermarket. Native Mainahs tend to pronounce acronyms like words.

The weapon being trained on them, sobered Stickney and Blake up somewhat. "Do I know you?" Stickney asked.

Mike looked incredulously to Stickney. "What do you mean you don't recall Mike Avery? We served together up at Loring. You can fool my half-wasted patrons, but you can't fool me, George. Why did you sell-out to the fluffers?"

Stickney looked carefully at the shotgun toting bartender, squinting his eyes. "Well I'll be, I never recognized him with the beard. How about you, Blake?" Blake shook his head in the negative.

"Now don't you start insulting the dead by calling that bun, Steve Blake. I heard all about how he died at Waco."

"That's right, you didn't transfer to Reese with the rest of us, deciding to take-up the 'home guard' as you called it. Most of the story behind Steve's death was just a ruse. Hogwash."

"George is telling the truth, Mike." Blake looked over his bunny body. "I had an accident during the Battle of Waco '93. Guess I wasn't quite up-to-date with my Anti-Bunnies shots."

"And you're telling me I'm full of hogwash!"

"Perhaps you aren't the Mike Avery, whose backside I saved by taking the rap over the mashed potato incident with Colonel Oullette back in '86. The very incident that I never told another soul about until now."

"Impossible..." Mike lowered the gun slightly. "What about Carolyn and the kid."

"They're tending the farm still up north. I never told her about the accident that did this to me. As far as she knows I'm doing secret work for the government. Every month she and the kids get the majority of my paycheck. Sit down, pour yourself a cold one and we'll fill you in."

Mike finally gave in and pulled-up a stool. The three old war-buddies conversed through-out the night and got totally wasted. In the morning, Mike insisted that they crash at his place above the bar. He sent a quick phone call to Maine Fudd Vol. HQ informing them as to the where abouts of the Major and Captain who returned to the base a bit hungover late that afternoon with a 'new' recruit in tow.