Copper Rain

Jobic and Francois' family farm lay, for about a 1/2 mile, adjacent to the town's train station. The farm also lay directly under a path taken by fighter planes going to and from the front lines of war. Often, when pilots saw action on the rail lines, especially valuable steam engine locomotives, they would drop down low and cut across the farm field for an approach. 20 MM and .50 caliber rounds would be fired to affect maximum damage- leaving the stationed locomotives bullet-ridden and, if the bullets hit their mark, with jets of steam hissing out from their pierced skins.

The boys would run around the field collecting the discharged casings that fell like copper rain onto their field with every attack. Boys will be boys and it wasn't long before the collection of these shiny sky-fallen leftovers became a favourite pastime. No sooner would an attack pass than the boys would be out picking up the war's still-warm leftovers. It was on one such outing that Jobic, while stooped to pick up yet another .50 caliber prize, heard the familiar drone of attack planes behind him. He'd been so excited by the chase, he hadn't noticed when the wane of the last squadron's engines became the wax of the next. He panicked as the fighters dropped down in their all-familiar approach and began releasing their rounds of destruction overhead. He screamed to his younger brother who, some 30 metres ahead, stood in between the triggers and their target. Francois threw himself to the ground as bullets overhead began riddling the nearby locomotive with fresh piercings. One pilot's approach was too low and his guns fired rounds into the field around them. Jobic froze as the firing path shot toward Francois and, with a moment that has forever etched itself in to his noble mind, he witnessed a .50 calibre round rip into the ground beside his brother. It peeled a large strip of soil and grass from the earth and sent it flying whole into the air where it momentarily hung, like a wrinkled green snake caught mid-pounce. The bullets continued plotting their line away from Francois and toward the tracks, though Jobic's eyes did not follow. He remained immovable in his fear until the moment Francois leapt up and began to run. Jobic eventually gave chase, once again running through the field, feeling the air against his face and most jubilantly, seeing the image of his brother running ahead.

There would always be plenty of casings to collect while the war continued overhead, though never again would the treasure hunt follow the action so closely.