Mike Elberts was the son of Major Harry Elberts, United States Marine Corp, and had a love so deep for his father it was on the outer periphery of idol worship. In a time when heroes are hard to come by Mike had one in his dad. He always beamed proudly when his father donned his uniform and displayed a chest full of well earned ribbons. Three tours on hostile foreign soil and deeds of bravery above and beyond the call of duty displayed themselves in heroic form in row after row of many colored military ribbons pinned to his uniform. His father stored the medals the ribbons represented in his bureau drawer.

It must have been his military upbringing that made ten year old Mike fall so deeply in love with the rifle Rupert had carved from that piece of gnarly old olive tree. Never in history had a more beautiful gun been created, or so thought the lad. It nearly cloned the ones he had seen the many times his father had taken him on base to watch the rifle drill team in action.

The bolt slid back and forth and even "clicked" when it was fully opened or closed. When the hammer was pulled back and the trigger pulled it made the sound of a cartridge being discharged, only not nearly as loud. The bayonet was even detachable like the ones he had seen at the base and because of the steel color must have been carved from a different part of the tree. Mike could see his face when he looked at the blade it was so highly polished and he could also see the reflection of a bewhiskered old man standing behind him.

"Isn't she a beauty?" Rupert asked as he studied the face of the young admirer.

"A real rifle isn't pretty, and they're dangerous in the wrong hands, but this one is....is....is different. Did you make it?"

"Yes, I carved if from an old dead tree."

"It must have taken you years to make something this beautiful, especially with all the details you've added."

"No, it really didn't take long at all," the elderly gent answered with a smile and then asked, "have you ever seen anyone carve a piece of wood?"

"No, Sir, I never have."

Rupert left for a moment and returned with one of his carving tools. Taking the rifle from the lad he asked,

"What's your first name?"

"Michael," came a quick answer.

"Do your family and friends call you Mike?" Rupert asked.

"Yes."

Rupert laid the wooden rifle on the counter and the lad watched in awe as experienced fingers manipulated razor sharp gouges to carve the name MIKE into the wooden butt. Tiny curlicues formed and fell until the master woodcarver had satisfied his ultra ego that the appellation illustrated perfection. A juvenile mouth opened wide as his lower jaw dropped.

"You just ruined your gun unless you can sell it to someone named Mike."

"So I did," slowly answered the old man. "I don't know what I was thinking. I don't have that many customers named Mike and I can't change the name. I guess I'll have to throw it in the garbage or break it apart and make smaller carvings out of it," and then added, "unless of course you'd like it."

"I'd love to own it but I don't have any money."

"Well," Rupert said after pretending to give it serious thought, "I don't want to throw it away, it is nice, and I'm getting too old to carve anything else from the smaller pieces. Would you take it off my hands so I won't have to destroy it?"

His divinely modeled weapon felt as comfortable and peaceful in his hands as the pillow beneath his head when he slept. Every free waking moment he practiced with the gun exactly as he remembered seeing the Marines do it at the base. Softly he spoke the commands to himself and positioned his rifle according to his own orders. He would fall in facing his full length mirror and snap to attention when he ordered himself to do so. Right shoulder arms, present arms, ready, aim, fire, order arms, and at ease all came in rapid succession as he honored some dignitary with a twenty one gun salute. Hours passed quickly as he practiced these drills and he even became slightly proficient in grabbing the rifle by the barrel, swinging it under his right arm pit, tossing into the air and catching it as it completed its second rotation. This maneuver was the most difficult for him perfect and could only be practiced on the lawn in the back of his house.

Patiently he waited for his father to return home from his mission in South America where he was searching for the wealthy, dastardly, drug lords who lived a life of opulence as they drained the souls from the addicted. Mike would perform a precision drill that would delight his father so much he'd surely receive high praise and a big "well done."

Mike realized there wasn't much he did that didn't please his dad. Wasn't Mike always promoted to man of the house when his father was gone? Wasn't he the would be Marine that was left behind to protect his mother until the real head of the clan returned? It was a duty his father had assigned to him and as the home guard he took the task as seriously as was possible for a young man of ten.

Before he became possessor of the gun he followed a daily routine as closely as any Marine follows a given order. The first thing on his agenda after returning home from school was a cold drink and a piece of fruit to tide him over until dinner time. Next on his agenda was the task he enjoyed least, old demon homework, but he knew the importance of education. His father had joined the Marines as a private and with the completion of night school and college classes had managed to graduate from the "institute of higher learning" as he called college and achieve the rank of Major. He attended every military school the Marines offered and whenever possible attended college classes to work on his master's degree.

Mike was also assigned daily chores, which he did without griping, and found pride in doing whatever else his mother asked of him. Making a bed and keeping a room clean is the duty of all Marines and he did it as well as any young recruit preparing for a Saturday morning inspection. Clothes were always neatly hung, ( usually by his mother after they had been laundered ) shoes lined in a row, and the blanket on his bed pulled so taught it would cause a quarter to bounce several times before it became still. After all of the necessities had been successfully completed he normally watched TV until dinner, ate, watched a little more TV, and then went to his room to play with his computer. However, since becoming owner of his new toy after dinner TV and play time had been happily replaced by rifle practice.

This day had been a sad one for Mike. He and his mother had received a letter from his dad and part of it read. My dearest, There is no place on earth I'd rather be than there with you and Mike, especially during the Christmas season but a Marine must do what a Marine does best. We take orders, protect those he loves, and guard the greatest nation on earth from people who would try to destroy it.

Mike was trying to relieve his mental anguish that evening and with rifle in hand was going through his drills. When he heard the chime of the front door bell. he imagined it was one of the neighborhood women, another Marine wife, making a short stop to talk to his mother. BUT, as the man of the house it was his duty to be sure. His mother was just opening the door by the time he reached the bottom step. It was a Marine Captain who had come to talk to his mother but something was definitely wrong with him. His uniform looked like he had slept in it. A Marine would rather die than walk into someone else's house in a wrinkled uniform and by Mike's standards this Captain was a mess. He heard the Captain say,

"Mrs. Elberts, I'm Captain Franks and I'm afraid I have some bad news for you. Your husband has been classified as missing in action."

Mike saw his mother stiffen, her mouth fall slightly open, and tears fill her eyes. His eyes overflowed too as he walked over to his mother and wrapped his arms around her. She put her hand on the back of his head and held him close but; only for a moment. Mike pulled himself away from her and smiled.

"He's alright, Mom. He's a Marine and has been taught how to live when others die. I'll bet you he comes home soon and will be wearing a special medal for saving the lives of a lot of his friends. We're worrying about nothing you wait and see."

The words from her son and her own strong faith in her husband temporarily stopped the tears and she told Mike he was right.

The Captain spoke again, "Do you have a neighbor you can leave your son with for the night? I need to tell you what happened and it will take some time."

"I have some friends but I want Mike to stay with me."

The Captain looked perturbed as he said, "Mrs. Elberts, you're the seventh person I've talked to today and I still have one more wife to visit before I can call it a day. If you don't want him to leave would you please send him upstairs. There are things his young ears shouldn't hear."

She turned to Mike, "It is your bedtime, Honey. I'll tell you all I can about it tomorrow morning."

Mike never questioned the wisdom of his mother so he kissed her and saying goodnight to the Captain went upstairs. His young mind was working at maximum as he brushed his teeth, put on his pajamas bottoms, and climbed into bed.

Dad can't be hurt he thought to himself. Someone has made a mistake. For him to be missing in action was absurd for wasn't he the best Marine and the best Boy Scout leader the base ever had. Hadn't he taught all the kids how to read a compass, live off the land, and listen for signs from nature that something was wrong. Hadn't the birds suddenly going silent warned them that a snake was near when they were on a camping trip. Hadn't his dad showed the whole troop some bear droppings and told them because they were so fresh the bear couldn't be far away and hadn't they seen the bear from a safe distance. No, his dad was far too smart to let anything happen to himself.

The more he thought about it the more certain he became his dad was all right and would be coming home before too long. He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes with good thoughts filling his mind and just had to tell his mother not to worry. Every thing would be fine. She'd see. He carefully slid out of bed, walked down the hallway, and started down the stairs. Halfway down he saw the Captain sitting on the sofa and his arm was resting on Mrs. Elbert's shoulder like he was trying to console her. Mike sensed something was definitely wrong. His mother would never allow another man to get this familiar and she looked more scared than sad. As Mike started to yell the Captain doubled up his fist and hit her in the face. As she fell to back on the sofa unconscious the Captain walked to the wall and turned off all the lights except one lamp. Mike's first impulse was to run to his mother and help her but instead he quickly went back to his room and dialed a number he knew as well as he knew his own name; 627-4637. Immediately a voice said,

"Security."

Mike quickly and clearly answered, "I'm Mike Elberts, Major Elberts's son. Send help," and placing the phone back on the base reached for his gun. He ran as fast as he could down the stairs just in time to see the Captain reach down and start to take off his mother's clothes.

"Hey," Mike yelled, "take your hands off her."

"She fainted and I'm trying to help her," the Captain said as he straightened up. "You go back upstairs to bed."

"She didn't faint. I saw you hit her. Get out of my house."

A smirk came to the officer's face as he lied to Mike. "I really didn't hit her. Like I said, she fainted and I tried to catch her so she wouldn't hit the floor and hurt herself." All the time he was talking he was slowly walking toward Mike and was within fifteen feet of the youngster before he noticed the rifle and stopped.

"You'd better put your father's gun away before you hurt yourself," he said so softly Mike could hardly hear him.

"This isn't dad's gun. It's mine and I know how to use it. I don't want to shoot you, because you're a Marine, but I will if I have to."

The Captain started walking toward Mike again and said,

"I bet you have a lot of fun with that toy of yours. Does it hold much water?"

"It doesn't hold any water, only bullets, and if you don't leave right now I'm going to have to shoot you."

By now the Captain was within seven feet of Mike and Mike pointed the gun at him and fired. The noise startled the Captain and he stopped dead in his tracks. He rubbed his hands up and down his front and looked himself over thinking he might have been shot and didn't feel it. Mike had backed away and was nearing his mother who was still unconscious on the sofa.

"I didn't hit you that time, I missed on purpose, but if you don't leave here I'll shoot you for sure."

The Captain was smiling and walking toward Mike again.

"Like I thought, just a toy," and after saying that made a plunge for Mike. Youth and quickness were on the side of Mike and he swiftly side stepped the onrush and jabbed the Captain in the leg with his wooden bayonet. The point was sharp enough to cut through the Captain's pants and bring blood.

"You brat, you cut me," he said as he turned back to the young defender. "If I get my hands on you I'll break every bone in your stupid body."

"You'd better hurry then. When I was upstairs I called for help."

Again the Captain stopped, thought for a moment, and continued after Mike.

"You're a smart one. First you try to make me think you're gun is real and then you try to fool me by saying you called for help. Did you call 911?" "Of course not," Mike answered. "They're too far away....I called 627-4637 and they should be here any minute."

The Captain made another lunge at Mike and this time the brave youngster stood his ground and made a thrust with the bayonet pointing at the officer's stomach. The Captain's forward movement and Mike's thrust drove the wooden blade deep into the soft abdomen and the surprised offender stood there for a moment with both hands holding onto the wooden blade. Slowly he fell to the floor. His weight broke the rifle into three pieces leaving the blade protruding from stomach.

At that moment the door opened and three Marine's guards rushed into the room. Mike turned all the lights back on and went to his mother's side. The Marines were surprised to see someone in an officer's uniform lying on the floor in his own blood.

"Did you do this to him, Mike?"

"Yes, I did. He tried to hurt my mother and he told us my father is missing in action in South America."

One of the Marines got down on one knee and looked at the person lying on the floor, another Marine called 911, and the third one was helping Mike get Mrs. Elberts to her feet.

"Son, you're a real hero," the Marine kneeling near the bleeding body said, "and you'll probably get a medal for this. He's number one on the list of the Marine's most wanted bad people. This man is bad and has hurt at least six women that we know of. We've been looking everywhere for him. He was a good Marine for awhile and then something made him go nuts. He was given a dishonorable discharge and sentenced to life but somehow he escaped from the brig. Boy, will your dad be proud of you."

Mike beamed from ear to ear as his mother put her arms around him and squeezed him until it hurt.

"Your husband isn't missing in action Mrs. Elberts, in fact, his whole group will be home in time to celebrate the Christmas season and Major Elberts will really have something to celebrate."

"Mike why didn't you call 911 instead of calling us?" One of the Marines asked.

"It's simple," the youth answered with a big smile, "we're Marines and we take care of our own."

"How did you remember our number? 911 is much easier."

"Not if you stop and look at your number," Mike answered. "What could be easier to remember than 527-4323? It spells jar head."