“No.”
“What?”
“I’m telling you the museum piece has a better angle.”
Derek stopped smiling.
Walter walked toward his trailer.
He picked up one of the chains.
It was heavy.
Rusty.
Old.
Derek called:
“Absolutely not.”
Walter turned.
“What?”
“You are not attaching that thing to the tanker.”
Walter looked at the chain.
“Thing?”
“The tractor.”
“I know which thing you meant.”
“This is an active recovery scene.”
Walter nodded.
“Then recover it.”
Derek's face hardened.
“Sir, I’m not going to have an eighty-year-old farmer get hurt because he wants to prove something.”
“Eighty-two.”
“That doesn't help.”
Walter smiled.
The deputy stepped between them slightly.
“Everybody relax.”
Walter looked at Derek.
“I don't need to prove anything.”
Derek laughed.
“Sure looks like it.”
“No.”
Walter dropped the chain into the mud.
It landed with a heavy metallic slap.
“What I need is the road.”
That line reached several workers.
One smiled.
Derek did not.
Walter continued.
“My south fence is down.”
“Cattle get through, your traffic problem becomes my problem.”
Derek shook his head.
“You can't just walk into a professional recovery operation.”
Walter looked toward the tanker.
“You invited me when you blocked my road.”
Derek stared at him.
Then pointed at the Farmall.
“Hook that toy to the tanker and you'll bury it beside the trailer.”
Walter looked at the tractor.
Then at Derek.
“You've spent eight hours trying to drag it out.”
He lifted the chain again.
“I only need thirty seconds to turn it.”
One worker laughed.
This time Derek turned on him.
“What's funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Then get back to work.”
The worker walked away.
Walter looked toward the county engineer.
A woman in an orange vest had been standing near the tanker's front.
She had heard most of the conversation.
Her name was Sarah Mills.
Thirty-eight.
Civil engineer.
County road supervisor.
She walked over.
“Mr...?”
“Hayes.”
“Walter Hayes?”
“Yes.”
“You own the section south of here?”
“Most of it.”
Sarah nodded.
“I've seen your name on drainage maps.”
Walter looked impressed.
“Someone reads those?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
She looked toward the tanker.
“You've been watching.”
“Few minutes.”
“What do you think?”
Derek interrupted.
“Sarah, don't encourage this.”
She ignored him.
Walter said:
“Your ditch isn't the main problem.”
“What is?”
“Road shoulder failed under the rear.”
Sarah nodded.
“We know.”
“Old road base is still under the east side.”
Sarah's expression changed.
“How do you know?”
Walter pointed.
“County Road 7 used to run six feet over.”
Sarah stared.
“When?”
“Before they widened it.”
“What year?”
“Seventy-nine.”
Derek sighed.
“We are seriously discussing where the road was fifty years ago?”
Walter looked at him.
“Forty-seven.”
Derek threw up his hands.
Sarah crouched.
She touched the muddy gravel.
Then looked toward the strip Walter had identified.
“Old alignment?”
Walter nodded.
“My father helped grade it.”
Sarah stood.
“You're certain?”
“About as certain as I am that I don't enjoy standing in mud.”
Sarah walked toward one of her crew.
“Get the probe.”
Derek stared.
“Sarah.”
She turned.
“What?”
“You're taking this seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Based on an old farmer's memory?”
“Based on the fact that our current shoulder is saturated and he's telling me there may be compacted base underneath that strip.”
Derek said:
“We already tested the shoulder.”
“Not there.”
One county worker returned with a probe.
They tested the ground.
The first spot sank easily.
The second resisted.
Third.
Firm.
Sarah looked at Walter.
“You're right.”
Walter nodded.
Derek crossed his arms.
“Fine. There's firmer ground. We still need to get the trailer onto it.”
Walter pointed toward his tractor.
Derek laughed again.
“No.”
Sarah looked at the Farmall.
Then Walter.
“You seriously think you can rotate the rear?”
Walter said:
“If everybody stops trying to pull the front at the same time.”
Derek stepped closer.
“Let's make something extremely clear.”
He pointed at the tanker.
“This isn't a hay wagon.”
Walter nodded.
“I can see the tank.”
“This is specialized recovery.”
“I can see the trucks too.”
“One mistake damages equipment.”
“Then don't make one.”
Several workers turned away so Derek would not see them smiling.
Derek lowered his voice.
“You enjoy this?”
“What?”
“Making me look stupid in front of my crew.”
Walter looked genuinely surprised.
“No.”
“Then stop.”
Walter took off his cap.
He scratched his gray hair.
Then replaced it.
“You're doing that part yourself.”
Silence.
Sarah coughed to hide a laugh.
Derek stared.
Walter turned toward the tanker.
“I don't want your job.”
“Good.”
“I don't want your trucks.”
“Good.”
“I don't even want your coffee.”
Derek looked at the cup in his hand.
Walter continued.
“I want you to stop pulling against the ditch.”
Sarah asked:
“What exactly would you do?”
Walter looked at her.
“Use the tractor only to change the rear angle.”
“Not recover the tanker.”
“No.”
“Your tractor acts as directional control.”
Walter nodded.
“That's your fancy term.”
Derek said:
“It doesn't have enough weight.”
“Doesn't need to pull the whole load.”
“It could slide.”
“It could.”
“Chain could fail.”
“Could.”
“Tanker could shift.”
“Could.”
Walter looked at him.
“That why we think first.”
Derek's face reddened.
Sarah stepped closer to Walter.
“Show me.”
Walter did not touch anything.
He walked the route.
Pointed.
Explained where he believed the rear needed to move.
Sarah listened.
Derek listened despite himself.
One of Bulldog Recovery's senior operators, Tommy Reed, joined them.
Tommy was fifty-six and had been running wreckers since before Derek graduated high school.
He studied Walter's idea.
Then crouched near the mud.
Walked to the opposite side.
Returned.
Derek asked:
“Well?”
Tommy looked toward the Farmall.
“It might work.”
Derek stared.
“You cannot be serious.”
Tommy shrugged.
“He isn't asking the tractor to recover it.”
“I know what he's asking.”
“Then?”
Derek pointed toward Walter.
“He showed up fifteen minutes ago.”
Tommy looked at the tanker.
“We've been here eight hours.”
That hurt.
Derek turned away.
Walter did not celebrate.
He understood pride.
Farmers had more than enough.
Pride got tractors buried.
Pride got cattle through broken fences.
Pride made men keep turning bolts after they had already rounded the heads.
Walter had learned long ago that machinery did not care about embarrassment.
Machines only cared about forces.
Ground.
Weight.