Pop-Pop — A Short Story
E mergency sirens filled the air. The alarm ebbed and flowed as the horn circled around the pole which it was mounted; the sirens retreated and advanced like ocean waves assaulting a shoreline. The old man bolted upright in bed before his arthritic hips could object. He picked up the robe crumpled at the foot of the bed and wrapped himself in it. His 1937 M1 Garand hung upon the bedroom wall and he grabbed that too. Outside, he surveyed every direction of the sky. It was a nice, clear day, and he neither saw nor heard approaching aircraft. He knew that could be a deceptive assurance, the military technology the younger generation toyed around with could fool advance radar much more capable than the human senses. The new wars were different from the old. Back when the old man wore his country’s uniform, the fighting was amongst men. Nowadays, it’s a race to the best technology. War was cold enough before you could press a couple buttons and