Ghosts of California Pt 1

Prologue:
“Times such as these, require heroes of a harder steel…”

Seldom is it given to a man to become a hero in his own lifetime. Even more rare is his passing into history, thence into story and legend, while he yet lives. Yet men such as this do dwell on the earth at all times. Often they are the man next door, the youth digging a ditch, the boy riding his bike, and the only thing that keeps them from being noticed, is that the normal fires of life do not rage hot enough to smelt them from the common iron.
When, however, the circumstances of the world around them call for it, these individuals are capable of rising to such heights, that their lives will become inspiration to a new generation of heroes, who cannot equal them, yet nevertheless aspire to show the courage and strength shown by their new idol.
And so men who in a quiet world would have gone unnoticed, suddenly find themselves in the fore, leading others to glory and death. Those that would follow them must eventually die, however those that lead need not fear, for even if they fall in battle, their names and lives will live on, told and retold until their greatest accomplishments in life have been eclipsed by those attributed to them by others.
Once in a great while however, times will arise that will call for heroes that stand taller than the legends of old. Times that will call for men so far above average that by mere virtue of accepting their fate they become irrevocably changed, and can never walk again as normal men. Men such as this never die, they merely fade away until all that remains are the stories, true stories so fantastic that they are believed legend, and legends that become myth, until the mortal nature of these men is lost entirely.
The only thing that is forgotten is the man himself, who can never return to normal life, and is condemned to wander forever a world that refuses to leave him at peace, and is simultaneously incapable of challenging him to new heights, or sending him through the door of death to eternal rest.
James Carver was destined to be such a man. Little did anyone suspect this young man would one day be a hero. No one expected times to arise that would call to light his superior will, courage and natural ability to lead. Not one person in his small Georgia hometown ever thought to themselves that this boy would grow up to be a legend among heroes, a warrior among soldiers, or the Commanding officer of the most efficient fighting unit that his country had ever seen.
Carver was a fun loving boy, like all boys, and he wanted nothing more from life than sunny day, when he was young, it was for playing in the yard, then for fishing, then baseball. As he grew older his sunny days became more and more mature, he worked on cars, laid concrete, planted crops, chopped firewood, yet through them all there was one constant. Whenever the trees bowed in a breeze James Carver would stop whatever it was he was doing, and enjoy his life.
By the time he reached high-school he had decided that he was in love. He never fell in love, never tumbled head over heels, instead he grew up with her, day after day they were friends. Until one day when the two of them were walking in the woods.
They had stopped to rest on a flat rock, when a slight buzzing caught their attention. As they both turned the snake on the rock behind her struck. Without batting an eye James reached out his hand and caught the snake around the neck before it could bite her.
This single act, the reaction of a split second caused both of them to realize two very different things. She realized that he was not an ordinary boy, and because of her telling of the story he became a local hero. Every girl at the school longed to be with the boy who caught a snake barehanded. His actions were those of a hero, one with ability beyond that of others, saving the innocent from danger.
He interpreted the action differently. He viewed it as a colossally stupid move made because of a subconscious will to protect this girl at all costs. James Carver had not believed that he could actually catch the snake, he merely wanted to keep it from biting her. It was at this moment that James Carver realized that he was in love with Katherine Jacobs.
James was no fool, he recognized even at a young age that he would need something to show if he were to propose to Kate. He had seen his father and older brother go to work at the factory, scraping enough each week just to stay alive. That was not the life that he wanted to offer Kate. He wanted to offer her something a little more secure, nothing fancy, but not tiptoeing the line his father walked.
To accomplish his goal he needed an education, and to get that education he needed money, neither of these were things that he had. Then one night he and two of his friends were sitting on his back porch drinking a beer and discussing their pipe dreams.

One of James’ teammates threw his empty can at the back of the trailer and swore, “Hell, we ain’t never getting out of this town. We can dream, we can talk, but it ain’t never going to do no good. Born poor, raised poor, live poor, die poor. It won’t change just because we’re young and we want it to.”
Jeffery Kentworth, James’ best friend for years, wrapped his hands around his can, “Sure it can. I turn eighteen tomorrow, and I’m walking down to the recruiter. I’ll get out.”
The first one to speak scoffed at Jeffery’s plan. He called it ridiculous, risking your life for nothing, foolhardy, and many other things. Jeffery only nodded his head and watched the sun setting. James saw in his best friend’s eyes the silent resolve to get out. Silently, not wanting to say things he couldn’t back up, he wondered about the military. He had never given it a thought, but now that Jeffery was going to join, it made sense.
James knew that his talents were limited to the physical realm, but he did have an ability. Even after the other two had left James sat on his back porch thinking. It was a relatively peaceful time in the world, the terms only lasted four years. The odds of him dying in combat when there wasn’t a war going on were incredibly small, and benefits would be enough to take the risk.
After all, in four years Kate would be a nurse, or a teacher, and he could come home, he could save enough money to last them while he went to school and learned a useful trade.
He pursed his lips and pulled the tab off of his last beer, he smiled as he flicked it towards the house, he had been drinking for years, and it had never been novel. Even the first night his father let him drink at home, he felt like it was just a way to unwind after a rough day. It had become a tradition for his father, brother and himself to spend Friday evening drinking and talking. Since his mom died when he was young, and his father had never remarried, there was no one to object.
At last his thoughts resolved themselves. He looked up at the moon, already high in the sky and smiled, it might be his last night here for a while, but he’d be back, and when he came back he would have something to offer her.
Slowly he stood, savoring the hot stillness of the summer night air, the singing of the tree frogs down by the creek as the crickets harmonized. Tomorrow he would join Jeffery on his walk to the recruiter, the cicadas would play them a farewell march, and he would be on his way to being somebody.