Wind Whispers (standard:action, 4122 words)
Author: Alpha43	Added: May 12 2005	Views/Reads: 3659/2375	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
An old WWII veteran makes a long journey to see an Indian friend who also landed on Normandy, and was said to have special abilities.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

travel we ran into most of our missing troops, and amazingly, that 
small band of men had captured the entire Panzer group. Wild and 
unbelievable stories were told about the capture, but they all had 
Lawrence leaping up in the middle of the fire-fight yelling praises to 
the sky. He stayed out in the flesh gnawing and blinding winds, then 
raced to enter the unsuspecting German shelters. Once the Officers were 
held at gunpoint, they had little choice but to order the rest of their 
charge to surrender. 

The official details were never disclosed, but one shell-shocked GI
private was capable of speech and he told stories of Little Baud 
chanting out in the gale force winds, then running head long into the 
German fire-fight. The private became disoriented several times telling 
of the captures, stating he must be losing his mind because it looked 
like bullets riddled Little Baud, kicking up sand directly behind him, 
but he was unharmed. The private confirmed the Officers were disarmed, 
the camp was captured by Lawrence single-handed, with Lawrence turning 
over fourteen vehicles to be destroyed, with 5 Officers and 41 soldiers 
to be placed in prisoner of war camps. In less than a week, Lawrence 
was a Corporal and forever more he was known as ‘Corporal Little’. 

Once out of Africa, we had time to really get to know each other during
our 10-day furlough and while traveling the route that eventually found 
us in England. It is generally known that Indians think plants and 
animals have souls. Taking a deer or a rabbit for food is acceptable to 
the Indians, but it is also part of the animals right of passage, 
providing nourishment, tools, and protection from the elements. I 
learned that his tribe believes the sky, clouds, wind, and all bodies 
of water also have a spirit. Helping all the spirits unite to create a 
bountiful and balanced environment is their tribes eternal goal. 

The word Baud in Chippewa means shrew. Little Baud is named after the
shrew, one of nature’s smallest mammals. Lawrence was barely 5’ 6” 
tall. The shrew is also, pound for pound, or rather, ounce for ounce, 
one of the most ferocious animals known to man. They will take on 
animals many times their own size, they never back down, and they fear 
nothing. I would learn over the course of our military experience that 
Lawrence was aptly named. 

On June 6th, D-Day, many men were lost just getting to the beach, many
more never made it to cover. Vertical cliffs had to be scaled, and they 
were fortified with German bunkers containing heavy artillery. A runner 
came up to our position and said that Sergeant Spires wanted all squad 
leaders to meet at the boulders at 09:00. We stood shivering in the 
downpour, but at least the rain was rinsing off the sea salt and sand. 

Four squads were ordered to circle the high banks and try to approach a
fortified bunker from the sides and rear. We checked our watches, were 
given death packs, which are field bags full of dynamite, and told to 
take out the bunker at any cost. 

It took all morning and a good part of the afternoon to get the four
squads near the bunkers. It also cost the lives of seventeen men. The 
two ravine squads joined together once on top, and we decided to open 
fire on the bunkers to distract the machine gunners, so one man might 
be able to toss a death pack into a gun turret. A private slithered 
two-thirds of the way before being spotted, and we saw his body get 
riddled with automatic weapons fire. 

I was picking a replacement when Little Baud told me to wait. He was
looking skyward, making some strange guttural moans, clicks, and 
hummings. For nearly a minute, Little Baud continued this eerie 
ceremony, then as the winds began to howl, he leaped up, zigzagged his 
way to the fallen GI and his death packs. He appeared to be ignoring 
the wounded private, and was back in his chanting ritual. But after 
only a few seconds, Little Baud stood, grabbed the pack, then dashed to 
the side of the bunker. Casually he lit the fuse, held the pack for 
what seemed like an eternity, then turned and flung the pack into a 
cannon port. The pack had only been airborne for less than a second 
when a huge explosion shook the ground, with smoke and dust blowing out 
of all the gun turrets. Just as soon as the dust settled, Little Baud 
quickly peered into the bunker, and then he motioned the squads up. 

Six or eight of us witnessed Little Baud’s strange behavior, but it was
never again mentioned. Later Sergeant Spires told of an ambush that 
caught him, a private, and Little Baud out in the open on a main street 
while capturing a French Village. One private was killed instantly as 
the automatic weapon sprayed bullets side to side, and Sergeant Spires 
was hit in the belly, thigh, and right wrist. Little Baud was unhurt, 
and that was difficult to explain, because he was in the middle of the 
three standing men as the gunner fanned back and forth. Lawrence’s 
grenade took out the machine gun squad and as Sergeant Spires collapsed 
forward, Little Baud kneeled, catching him, carrying him out of sight 
and range. 

Several other strange events happened while capturing villages across
France and Germany. Once while Corporal Little’s squad was pinned down 
in an old Ale House, air support was called in, but windage or 
navigator error caused the cluster bombs to land on our own position. 
We watched the Ale House disappear in a cloud of fire and smoke, with 
the collapsing rubble sounding like an earthquake. When the dust 
cleared, Creekstone and his men were standing on the rubble, spraying 
their automatic weapons at the fleeing Germans. An impossibility, but 
there he was. Every man in his squad survived that direct hit, without 
so much as a scratch. All of those men knew they had been guided by a 
special force.  Everybody in our platoon sensed that something mystical 
was going on each time Corporal Little was in a fire-fight. Little Baud 
was always in the thick of the fighting, he managed to protect his men 
and gain his objective, and was always unharmed. A few men say they 
have witnessed Little Baud in trances or chantings, with death defying 
acts of battlefield bravery always following those talks with his Gods. 
This quiet man soon became known throughout the entire Third Army. Now 
I am about to visit that Icon. 

The directions say to leave the freeway here, exit 264 on I-75, and head
west about 14 miles on County Road 612, I should find the Twin Lakes 
Reservation. The area is beautiful with huge red and white pines mixed 
with mammoth hardwoods surrounding crystal clear lakes, many of them 
over a mile in length. I am supposed to go past a group of shanties on 
the left, and then turn on the next trail to the right. 

I found the two-track, but soon questioned my decision to turn on it, as
the trail became little more than a couple of ruts in the sand. I was 
looking for a place to turn around when the trail made a right turn and 
I spotted an unpainted shack that was in extremely bad shape. Wooden 
slats were used for shingles and planks on the sand made up the porch. 
No light or sign of drapery was evident in the only window I saw. 
Filled with a feeling of uncertainty, I sat in the car for a moment and 
then decided I better see if anyone was inside. I hadn’t drove all 
these miles just to turn back now, missing a chance to see my old 
friend. 

The sky was clear with many different birds singing a chorus, and what I
believe were tree frogs adding the harmony. I got out of the Buick, 
allowing the door to bang shut, trying to let someone know that they 
had a visitor. I heard a rustling in the bushes behind me, but I have 
no idea what made the noise. I noticed a creek flowing on the other 
side of the shack, with a variety of colorful water lilies, yellow 
cowslips, and dark blue hyacinth covering the far shore. 

As I made my way to the plank porch, the screen door opened and a man in
his middle to late fifties stepped out on the planks staring at me, 
hands in his pockets and saying nothing. He was not a big man and he 
looked like a perfect match for how Lawrence might have looked at that 
age. 

“Mr. Creekstone?” was the first words out my mouth. 

After a pause the man said, “One of them,” still with a somber
expression on his face. 

“I’m Andy Grenier, I was in the infantry with Lawrence Creekstone, and I
received a note from an Alma Creekstone giving me directions to this 
place. Would Lawrence be here?” 

The man said nothing, turned and walked back inside the shack, but he
left the door open. I didn’t know if he went to get Lawrence or if I 
was supposed to follow him inside. I took a couple steps closer to the 
planks when I heard some low mumbles of a conversation. This whole 
encounter so far was somewhat mysterious and at my age and condition, I 
don’t need a lot of surprises. I was starting to get nervous. I know 
the sixty years since I last saw Little Baud had taken its toll on me, 
and I could only guess what shape Lawrence would be in or what he would 
look like. 

I heard a voice get slightly louder and then a young man stepped
outside. My heart nearly stopped and then it made a desperate run at 
making up those lost beats. There before me was Lawrence, the same 
Lawrence that I knew in the military. Not one detail was different 
except for the length of his hair. I could not feel my legs, I was 
getting dizzy, my mind was in chaos. The man had been talking to me in 
the same soft tones that Lawrence always used, and now he was looking 
at me as if waiting for a reply. 

I stuttered, but finally said; “You look exactly like Little Baud did
back in 1942. I’m sorry, your resemblance startled me and I didn’t hear 
what you asked me.” 

The young man smiled and said, “I am Little Baud, one of several. I’m
sure my grandfather would like to talk to you inside. He has been 
feeling poorly lately, he gets sick if he tries to sit up or stand. 
Would you mind coming inside and speaking with him while he stays in 
his bed?” 

“Yes, I mean no! I apologize, but I can’t get over your resemblance to
my WWII friend, I’m still a little shaky. I’ll be glad to go inside if 
you are sure it won’t be any trouble for Lawrence.” 

The man smiled again, said nothing, and stepped aside for me to enter.
It was extremely dark inside and it took a few seconds for my eyes to 
adjust. Eventually I saw that there was someone on a cot in the far 
corner, behind a pot-belly wood stove. There were no rugs on the plank 
floor, and it was a very uneven surface. As I shuffled my way to the 
back of the room, I heard some low moans, and I wondered if I should 
just let Little Baud rest. Then I realized the old man was chanting or 
praying in a rhythmic cadence. 

The corner of the room was even darker than the rest of the shack, but I
slowly made my way up next to the cot. I was still somewhat shaken from 
my encounter with the grandson, but I did notice that there was straw 
sticking out of the sides of the cot, with a moving pad on top and then 
an old flannel blanket. Lawrence had an off-white and severely worn 
sheet pulled up over his chest. 

Even in the dark corner, I could see that Lawrence had long hair that
was in twin braids that lay along either side of his head. His 
pronounced high cheekbones picked up a little light from the dim 
kitchen oil lamp and I noticed his skin was wrinkled from many years in 
the sun. The rhythmic sound ceased when I approached the cot, but his 
lips were moving slightly as if he was still deep in his chant. 

Time had not been kind to either of us, but I could see that I was
indeed looking at my old friend. “Corporal Little, Attention!” I said 
boldly, and Little Baud moved his eyes up to my face, breaking into a 
thin smile. He feebly moved his hand from under the sheet in my 
direction, and I grabbed his shaking forearm. 

His voice was gravely and unsteady, but slowly he said, “My friend. Are
you and your god at peace? I have talked to you many times over the 
years and I wondered if your spirit force allowed you to hear me? The 
years have been kind to me and I tried desperately to share this warmth 
with you. I have been so blessed and I hoped you were equally at 
peace.” 

“After what we saw and endured overseas, my life has been a piece of
cake. There have been a few bumps in the road, but they were ‘No hill 
for a climber’. The last several years have been exceptionally tough 
because I lost my wife of 53 years, but I am slowly getting over that 
tremendous blow.” 

Lawrence turned his head and his eyes widened; he looked annoyed and
upset. Then almost as an afterthought, he relaxed and slowly shook his 
head. “I forget how you people look at life, I thought you had fell on 
your head too many times, but I think I know what you are trying to 
express. The white man looks at a lake, but can’t find the water. All 
things happen for a reason, and usually they occur because we are in 
harmony with the Gods, they are giving us a gift, but you must 
recognize this bounty for what it is. Death of a friend or finding good 
hunting grounds are both gifts in the Gods eyes. 

“When I returned home, the Spirits blessed me with Yellow Lily, and we
had all the joys that the God’s can bestow. Two fine sons, Larry or 
Black Eagle is here, but the second boy was needed for higher things, 
and he never returned from Vietnam. Many moons back, Lily told me she 
was tired and we all asked the gods to give her peace, and soon she was 
in a better place. The spirits can be very generous. 

“I am tired also and I asked Larry’s wife, Alma to write you, hoping you
could help me celebrate my journey. I am so glad you could show up. It 
is a blessing just to see you again; the Spirits are in harmony. Now my 
trip will be even a grander journey. You have arrived on the breeze so 
I can sail on the winds, all things are now complete, I thank you and 
the spirits.” Then his lips silently began to move again. I watched 
Little Baud close his eyes. I stood there for several minutes and 
watched his slow breathing and I was so happy that I had taken the time 
to make this trip. 

A soft hand was placed on my shoulder, turning I saw the grandson behind
me. He was showing me his concern and leading me away from my friend. 
When I walked out on the plank porch, the youth asked me if I had a 
place to spend the night, and he had questions about my trip. He was a 
kind man, who showed true interest in everything you said. 

I was again struck by the tremendous similarity between the lad and his
Grandfather of years ago. We talked until the dusk was a brilliance of 
gold and orange, and in the evening calm, the mosquitoes were 
unbearable. The lad thanked me for coming and said he better get in 
with his Grandfather who has been in this condition for several weeks. 

I did not question or try to reason out the young mans statements, but I
stored his references to life, spirits, and nature like filing away 
reports. I hoped the wisdom of the lad could be recalled as I had the 
peace of mind to digest and process these truths. 

As I was making my way back to the freeway, hoping to find a vacancy at
a motel, I recalled the lad mentioned that lately, once his Grandfather 
was sure the end was near, he had opened up and talked about his youth 
and his days in the military. I was having trouble keeping my eyes 
open, but my mind was alert with some of the comments from Little Baud 
junior. The young man said that his Grandfather talked about surviving 
a dessert storm and he once had to reach very deep into his soul and 
ask all the spirits to work to help protect his squad when he knew 
their building was about to be bombed. 

Many times he became one with the wind, unaffected by the hundreds of
bullets that passed through his space. Most of these times he pleaded 
only with the wind spirits, once because the winds were so dominant and 
the rest of the times he felt as ‘One’ with the wind whispers of that 
force. His Grandfather’s favorite Spirit throughout his life had always 
been the wind. The old man had great faith in all the Spirits and would 
work hard to appease each of them, but the Gods of the wind were his 
most cherished. The lad said he thought that sometimes Lawrence 
actually became the wind! Little Baud lived up to his name, becoming a 
Tribal Elder and many sought out the wisdom of this quiet leader. 

I was deep in thought, remembering the condition of the shanty and
Little Baud’s statement that he was blessed with everything the Gods 
can bestow. Most white men would have trouble seeing a bountiful 
lifestyle as depicted by the environment in which Lawrence existed, but 
again, the Indian’s view of life, and death, is extremely different 
than ours. 

Suddenly, the Buick made a lurch, the car was being pushed by something,
and as I looked up I saw I was about to drive off the road and into the 
deep water-filled ditch. I jammed on the brakes as I forced the 
steering wheel to the left and bounded back onto the asphalt. The car 
had been, and was still being affected by a rhythmic force, coming in 
consistent waves like a cadence. A howling of the winds grew stronger. 

As I came to a complete stop, I was nearly in shock, aware that my heart
was beating at a very rapid pace. I had sweat on my forehead, and 
adrenaline was still surging through my veins. Sitting there trying to 
regain my senses, the car seemed to rock again, and I feared a full 
fledge panic attack when I noticed that I was in the middle of a fierce 
storm. The quiet evening had been transformed, near hurricane wind 
forces were surrounding me. The odd thing was that there was no rain, 
but trees along the road were severely bent, leaves and debris was 
skittering along the road at high speeds, and whitecaps were broad and 
foamy on the nearby backwaters.  Vision was blurred from all the 
airborne grasses, sand, leaves, and debris. 

Strangely, even as the car continued to jerk and the eerie howling
sounds increased, I felt myself calming. I watched the grasses get 
flattened, I saw the airborne sands moving horizontally, and the tree 
branches nearly snapping in the powerful gusts. Then I felt a serenity, 
realizing that I was smiling, as I understood that my cherished friend 
was saying his final Goodbye. 


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