Summary: Why Jeff Tracy chose the name "Thunderbirds."
Author note: I thought it more likely that Jeff Tracy chose the name "Thunderbirds" from Native American legend than after the car (which, incidentally, is also named from the legend).
The man sitting by the campfire had not moved for the past two hours. His face was shadowed by the flickering firelight, and his tall form was wrapped in a homespun blanket.
But although no one could see his face, everyone knew who the solitary man was.
Michael Long River was one of the tough drill sergeants of the Air Force's Officers Training School, Class of 1983.
Worse, he was Jeff Tracy's company commander.
Sergeant Long River was known for his tough, high handed attitude towards his recruits. He relished blaming every single one of his wet-behind-the-ears, rich, educated white boy recruits for all the indignities suffered by the Native American people.
Part of OTS's intensive program included forays into the wilderness, and Jeff, who had hoped that his Kansas upbringing would have prepared him for the long hours under the July sun, was dead tired from all the marching they had done today. Currently, he was sitting a few feet away from the temperamental sergeant on guard duty. Logically, Jeff knew that no harm would befall his company in the middle of nowhere, but then again, one should not depend on logic when it came to the sergeant.
The next hour passed by quickly, and his shift ended when another recruit relieved him of his shift. Too tired to move, Jeff pulled out his bedroll and found a spot near the fire. Ordinarily, he would have chosen something further away from the sergeant, but being awake for over twenty four hours had dulled his survivor reflexes.
But as tired as Jeff was, he was not sleepy. Instead of closing his eyes, he secretly watched the sergeant whittle away at a block of wood. The sergeant had been working on that piece for several days now, and each of the recruits had taken bets as to what it was – without the sergeant knowing, of course.
Tonight it seemed that the sergeant was nearly finished. Although Jeff could not see the object from his position on the ground, he could tell that the knife was not moving with the force needed for carving but moving more gently for smoothing the wood.
"Ain't you got nothin' better to do than stare at me, Tracy?" The sergeant's deep voice jolted Jeff from his musings.
"Begging your pardon, sir, I didn't mean to stare, sir," he replied meekly. He vaguely wondered if he should get up and salute. Even after five weeks in OTS, the intricacies of military etiquette still eluded him.
The sergeant kept his eyes on his work, but Jeff felt that the sergeant was staring at him with an extra set of eyes. "You oughtta be sleepin'. I'll be working you boys hard tomorrow."
"I know, sir. It's just that I'm having trouble sleeping." He hurriedly added in, "Sir."
Sergeant Long River paused his whittling and fixed Jeff with a stare. "Then I guess I haven't done my job right if you ain't tired enough to sleep."
Oh no. The sergeant was going to give Jeff another assignment. "No sir, I didn't mean that. I'm real tired, sir. Just adrenaline right now, I guess." The sergeant just grunted in response. He apparently was in a good mood tonight, so Jeff decided to risk one more question. "Sir, if I may be so bold to ask, what is it that you are carving, sir?"
The sergeant held up the piece of wood to the firelight. It was a bird with a giant wingspan, a huge, curving beak, and fearsome eyes. Its giant claws held a whale. "A Thunderbird," answered the sergeant. "You familiar with the legend of Thunderbird, Tracy?"
"No, sir."
"I didn't think so. They teach you American history in school, but it's still European history. They don't teach you the history of real Americans." The sergeant pulled out a piece of sandpaper and began smoothing the edges.
It seemed to Jeff that the sergeant was waiting for him to say something, and he felt the dark, judgmental eyes on his own. "I would like to learn if you would help me, sir."
After a long moment, the sergeant nodded. "Wakinyan, the Lakota name for Thunderbird, is a sacred animal to my people. He's big, over two war canoe lengths from wingtip to wingtip." Although Jeff had no idea how big a war canoe was, he figured it was pretty big, so he nodded along as the sergeant continued. "Wakinyan creates storms as he flies. The clouds are pulled closer by his wing beats, the sound of thunder is his wings clapping together, sheet lighting is the light that flashes from his eyes when he blinks, and the individual lightening bolts are glowing snakes that he carries with him. Thunderbird is intelligent, powerful, and wrathful. You oughtta never cross Thunderbird."
Jeff eyed the figurine in the sergeant's hands. The fearsome bird did indeed look scary. "A long time ago, there lived a monster whale off the Pacific coast. Whale killed other whales and deprived the Quillayute people of oil and meat. Thunderbird, though a fearsome and wrathful creature, could also be benevolent when he chose. From his home high in the mountain, Thunderbird saw that the people were dying of starvation. He soared over the ocean and then plunged down under and captured Whale. The battle was so fierce that the ocean receded and then rose again. Many canoes were flung into trees, and many people were killed. But Thunderbird eventually succeeded into pulling the evil Whale out of the ocean. He carried Whale high in the air and finally dropped him on the land. Another battle took place, but Whale lost. Thunderbird gave the Whale to the people.
"That day, Thunderbird had saved the Quillayute from dying. The people knew that the Great Spirit had heard and answered their prayer. Even today, we remember that visit from the Thunderbird, which had brought hope and salvation to a dying people."
Jeff would never admit it, but he was quite taken by the story the sergeant had just told him. In his mind's eye, he could envision a large, graceful bird swooping over the land as it watched over the people. "Where does Thunderbird live?" he asked.
The sergeant put away his sandpaper and admired his handiwork. "His home is on the mountains, far into the ocean, and he wants no one to find it. If hunters come so close that he can smell them, he makes thunder noises and rolls ice out of his cave. The ice rolls down the mountainside, and when it reaches the rocks, it breaks into many pieces. The pieces rattle as they keep rolling, and the hunters leave because they are frightened."
"Do you believe the story, sir?" asked Jeff. He was certainly pushing the sergeant's good graces tonight.
"I believe that the Thunderbird spirit is still alive in people, Tracy." The sergeant seemed indecisive for a moment, and then he held out the figurine. "Take it."
Jeff's mouth hung open in surprise. "Sir, I can't, it's yours, and-"
The sergeant sighed. "These days, people are forgetting the stories of my ancestors. White people don't know shit, and most of my own people ain't far behind."
"Then I would be honored to have the Thunderbird, Sir." Jeff reverently held the carved figured in his hand.
"Take care that you bring honor to Thunderbird, or he'll get mighty angry." The sergeant's eyes flashed briefly with humor. "Get some sleep, Tracy. You'll be sorry if you don't, I promise you that."
"Yes, sir." Jeff watched the sergeant put away his whittling tools and spread out his own bedroll.
The wooden figurine felt warm in his hands, and Jeff would later swear that the Thunderbird's eyes glowed red.