by Larry Hunt
In a matter of minutes he had a circular BBQ enclosure that the grill would sit perfectly upon. He filled the enclosed space, made of stones, with broken tree limbs and anything that would burn but not smoke or give off a bad odor. He proceeded to build himself a rip-roaring fire – once the fire had died down to hot embers he knew the steaks would be ready for cooking. Throwing the steaks on the makeshift grill, he jumped back upon the boat and headed for the other red cooler – it contained nothing but real ice and adult beverages - he reached for a dripping ice cold Budweiser, held it to his forehead and sighed. As he was grabbing his brew he glanced over at Sarge. Sarge was already on his second or was it his third?
“Slow down Pop – better pace yourself. How many have you had?”
Sarge said, “Hell who’s counting, besides I have an excuse - I’m a wounded man and my shoulder hurts!” Sarge was sitting on the ‘yacht’s’ deck with his back leaned against the port side of the cabin talking with Spook and Captain Knight, free and easy. Spook was explaining Sarge’s wound and the bomb crater – ‘I hope Spook watches what he talks about and I hope Pop especially watches that valuable rucksack that is his constant companion’, Little ‘S’ thought to himself. Meanwhile Tinker gladly assumed the ‘job’ of grilling the steaks.
Captain Scarburg, with brew in hand, joined the three ‘happy warriors’ at the boat’s cabin. “Pull up a stool," motioned Sarge pointing to an empty spot on the deck. Turning back to Captain Knight he slurred, “Sorry for Junior’s interruption, you were saying?”
Barely sober enough to talk the Captain said, “Oh, I was just about to tell… uh… uh… what the hell WAS I going to say… ooh yeah… you know how it’s interesting that you’ve got a son named after you - Robert Junior. I too have a namesake son - Hu… Hu… hold on a minute… I’ll… uh… uh… get it out - Hugo… that’s right… Hugo Jonathon Knight. Strange thing tho’ my Junior was our second son. Our first son we named ‘Trey’ like… you know number three, but he was number one - what the hell… I can’t figure it out either I believe we wanted his name to be Trayton… I just… just… know when the second son came along I wanted a son with my name, so we named him Hugo Jonathon Knight, Junior… Damn seemed like it made sense at the time. I can’t even make sense out of it now… but hell this coming 25th of… of… damn what month was it… oh yeah… July… July, yeah that’s right… July… he will be one year old.
Little ‘S’ chimed in, “Damn, my son Robert Scarburg, III is one year old too and we call him ‘Trey’ also...what’s the odds!”
Sarge, using his ‘church key’ punched a little triangular hole in another frosty cold brew and replied, “Now ain’t that fine, we both got Juniors. Hope yours turns out better’n mine,” he said winking at Captain Scarburg and grinning.
Both Captain Knight and Little ‘S’ had finished eating and were sitting enjoying the ‘gifts’ from the red box. Sarge, vigilant always, was keeping one eye peeled on the river watching for the escaped PBR. It was obvious the Captain had equaled or had already exceeded Sarge’s ‘dead soldier’s’ count but barely coherent he began speaking to Little ‘S’. After a couple of sentences Little ‘S’ perceived Spook, an ol’ CIA man too had ‘spilled the beans’ to the Captain, his CIA cohort, about The P.H.O.T.O. but what the Captain was saying, tipsy tho’ he was... was... very interesting.
* * * * *
It seemed that Captain Knight was not an actual military Captain at all! This identity was just his CIA cover in the unlikely case the plane was lost and the ‘Captain’ was taken prisoner. He had nothing that could show he was connected to the CIA. He was just an ordinary civilian bush pilot flying his beautiful DeHavilland ‘Knight’ delivering his cargo of “Fuel Oil” to remote logging operations. The ‘Captain’, was, in fact, head of one of the ‘Agency’s’ top Intelligence groups. Their specialties were in special warfare techniques, counter-intelligence and any and all affairs concerning the Russians.
He had flown this rescue mission since all the other CIA pilots that could have been used were engaged in various other mission essential flights. The ‘Company’ upon receiving the message from the American Embassy in Bangkok was aware of OPS 113’s importance and deemed it urgent they get rescued as soon as possible.
Upon hearing this confession and realizing Spook had filled the ‘Captain’ in on their mission and their discoveries; Little ‘S’ called Sarge and Tinker over for a ‘round robin’ meeting. Tinker was sitting close by and had already heard most of the men’s conversation. Sarge, after downing his last Bud, had gone back on guard duty at the PBR’s bow and was totally unaware of what just transpired.
When all were assembled Little ‘S’ explained the Captain’s true identity and how he had recently gained knowledge, from Spook, of The P.H.O.T.O. The others sat waiting for the ‘great’ announcement, what was it to be? Of course, they could kill the ‘Captain’, couldn’t they? Nah, even Tinker couldn’t fly the DeHavilland out of this river hellhole, even if she had a pilot’s license (which she did).
* * * * *
The ‘Captain’ was the first to speak. Everyone moved closer thinking a deep dark secret was about to be revealed. It was...somewhat. He spoke quietly and distinctly, choosing each word carefully, “You folks are on to something… something really BIG.
This is huge – if all you have told me about the photographs are true, and I certainly do believe you, the connection you have found with the Kennedy assassination is… is there another word for huge? You all realize there were conspiracy theories about the assassination being connected to the Russians, the Cubans and even to the Mafia. Jack Ruby was supposedly a patsy, Lee Harvey Oswald did not work alone; President Kennedy did not die at Parkland Hospital in Dallas; Lyndon Johnson had him killed, on and on they go.
If any of these theories are true, and with just the little that you have discovered, it appears some are – you all are in grave danger – not only from possibly the Russians, the Cubans, the Mob, it could even be our own U. S. government. These people would go to any length and spend any amount of money to silence you.
And that bag of microfilm and documents, oh, my gosh, Fort Knox would not have enough gold to buy it. And what about the ‘silver men’ where did they go? You know they are pissed! And that Russian Colonel, you know he’s not gone forever either.”
Everything had been happening so fast throughout the afternoon that nightfall had slipped up on them. They were all still sitting on the boat about three sheets in the wind from all the brews from the red ice cooler but the Captain WAS making sense.
What were they to do? They wanted to lie down and sleep but events were overpowering them. They had to have A PLAN!
“Listen,” the ‘Captain’ said, “you all cannot take that rucksack of information back to the your headquarters! You will not be alive in 24 hours after that data is revealed to them.
It is not in their interest, they will say it was for the good of the Nation or ‘American Security’, anything to silence you. They will make up some story that they think they can sell to the American public. It will be believable too, just look at the Kennedy assassination cover-up.”
“Someway, somehow, by whatever means you four MUST reconstruct those machines – you have the expertise to do it and in that bag you have the plans that instruct you how to build them.
From this day forward, trust only each other – the four of you must do whatever it takes – and I mean whatever it takes to prove to the world that John F. Kennedy was not assassinated but MURDERED in a plot to accomplish what? That’s what your task is to find out!!”
Silently they sat on the deck of their ‘yacht’; cold American adult beverages in their hands, all eyes looking down at the deck, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
* * * * *
Sarge snapped out of his mental fog. “The ‘Captain’s’ right. This is bigger than us; it’s bigger than the CIA or even our own government. And the ‘Captain’ is right about anot
her thing too – the Kennedy Assassination had a sinister plot behind it – someone should expose it and I am thinking we should be the ‘someone’ to do it.”
Little ‘S’ spoke next, “Pop you know whatever you say is good with me. I’m with you!”
Tinker said, “I’ve got nothing better to do than get myself killed finding out who killed your president… sure, I’m in too. What about you Spook?”
Spook said, “Big ‘S’, Little ‘S’, if both of you agree… I go with Tinker, count me in also!”
The ‘Captain’ caught by surprise at those names said, “Who the heck are all those little and big ‘S’s and spooks and tinkers. You people must all be crazy…. with this utterance he toppled over onto the deck, spilling what was left of his umpteenth brew.
The others laughed and let him lie where he fell. Tinker removed the empty Bud can from his firm grip, threw a poncho over him and quietly speaking down to him said, “Yep, believe ‘crazy’ is right, ‘Captain’.”
As usual Sarge said he would stand watch at the river and instructed the others to get some rest. He wanted the peaceful quietness of the night standing next to that gushing flow of river water. It calmed him, and let him think. Think about the mystery message on the plastic sheet and the scarlet letter “Z” on the Bible… Pondering over the ”Z’ and the ‘mystery message”’ he pulled out the Bible from his ruck’ and reading found this verse in Daniel 2:19 that stated, “During the night the mystery was revealed to David in a vision …” ‘Why?’ thought Sarge, ‘can’t God give ME a vision? Oh well if I need a vision maybe God will give me one.’
His shoulder hurt but ‘hell’, he thought, ‘I’ve been hurt before and much worse, right now I need to think.’ Think he must of… of… dare he say it… A PLAN!
CHAPTER TEN
TIME TO LEAVE PAC TOUL
Morning came with its dampness and its usual grey overcast sky – as Sarge stood watch on the river bank late last night he heard, this time real, rumbling of thunder toward the southwest. He watched the sky occasionally light up with the brilliant burst of flashes of lightning from behind a thundercloud but it was a long way off. The storm never materialized into a full-blown thunderstorm, at least, not one that was heading their way at the moment.
The ‘Captain’ had also brought some real coffee with him. Now they could drink honest to goodness actual coffee, not that powdered stuff they had been enduring.
Sarge had a C4 fire started using Little ‘S’s BBQ pit and the coffee was beginning to again fill the air with that most delectable aroma. Oh, the powdered stuff smelled good too when brewed when you had nothing else, but this today wasn’t just good - it was heavenly.
Sarge pouring some hot coffee into his canteen cup got to thinking what was better smelling than fresh coffee. The only think he could think of that was, maybe, as good but he wouldn’t say better was fresh baked bread. That was good too he thought.
Those lying half dead on the ‘Minnow’s deck from the previous nights bout with ‘lets see who can drink the other under the table’ party began to get a whiff of the glorious aroma of Sarge’s freshly brewed coffee. Their eyes began to open. Egad! They might still be among the living!
Sarge yelled, “Come and get it, while there’s still some left!” That got their attention. Over the side of the boat they came leaving poor ol’ Tinker limping along on her sore leg. Spook thinking of the fresh hot coffee, forgot about Tinker but just for a moment, he turned and helped her from the boat and brought her a canteen cup of the hot delectable nectar.
As they were sipping their coffee, no one wanted to ask the question. Little ‘S’ looked at Spook who looked at Tinker who looked at Sarge. Their eyes only met for a moment and then each glanced away, someone please ask the question. ‘What are we going to do? Are we leaving?’
* * * * *
Before any of them had a chance to ask, the ‘Captain’ spoke first, “Well I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but those four 55 gallon drums will not pour themselves into the Knight’s tank. I have a hand pump in the storage locker, if one of you can stand on their feet I think we need to get started.”
Everyone headed toward the ‘plane, leaving Tinker to hobble along after them. She managed to pull herself upon the ‘Minnow’ and limped across to the other side to watch the gas filling proceed. By the time she arrived the first drum was already opened and a fuel hose was dangling from the wing tank fuel filler hole. Little ‘S’ was the hand pump operator.
This progressed slowly but eventually the four barrels were empty – now the DeHavilland’s tanks were topped off. As each barrel was emptied it was summarily pushed overboard into the flow of ol’ man river. As the last barrel was cast overboard into the swift river current Sarge noticed some objects stored on the wall of the Dehavilland – parachutes - it was parachutes!!
U. S. Air Force B-4 parachutes, but parachutes nevertheless.
He counted, one, two, three, four, five - five ‘chutes - now Sarge had the beginning of a plan.
All assembled back on their boat, the ‘Yacht, the ‘Minnow’, the piece of junk, the dilapidated wreck but one they would always cherish. It was their place of safety. It saved their lives. The ‘Captain’ spoke, ‘Get all your gear aboard the DeHavilland, and I’ll see if I am a good enough pilot to get us out of here!”
Sarge quickly answered, “What you see is what you get ‘Captain’, if we can’t carry it, it won’t be comin',” pattin’ his ruck’ now carried by Little ‘S’. He instructed Little ‘S’ and Spook to police up (Army slang for clean-up) the area. “Throw all visible signs that we were ever here into the river – kick down the BBQ pit, toss all cans into the river, police up any fired brass, toss it too. Leave nothing that would show that any Americans were ever in the vicinity.”
Little ‘S’ trying to be cute said, “Pop, this fire is still smoldering, ‘Smokey said most forest fires are caused by careless campers!”
“Smokey’s damn right!! I hope this whole friggin’ place burns to a charred wasteland after we have gone! In fact, as we take off I’m goin’ to throw a half-smoked Winston out just to make damn sure it does!”
Sarge continued, “Little ‘S’ cut the stern line holding the ‘Minnow’ and undo the line holding the tail of the airplane. Once you all are on the DeHavilland Spook will stand on the pontoon and cut the boat’s front bowline and let the PBR drift down the river – whoever finds it will not know where it came from. Tinker get on the plane but before you do, here’s the thing, I’ve come up with… A PLAN.”
I have already discussed this with the ‘Captain’ and he is in total agreement – Spook you told me before that you had two brothers in the CIA also, right? (Spook nodded in agreement) One of them is posted to Thailand, right? (Spook again nodded) Once we get airborne you radio the one in Thailand and have him meet you wherever he wants close to the Cambodian/Thailand border. Once we hook up with him we will move on to Plan B.”
“What is Plan B, Pop?” Little ‘S’ asked.
“How the hell do I know I’m just now coming up with Plan A. Oh, there’s one little thing I forgot to tell you about Plan A. Once we clear the mountains that divide Cambodia and Thailand there are five B-4 Air Force personnel parachutes in the plane… we are going to don those and jump at Spooks rendezvous point with his brother.”
“What about the DeHavilland?” Little ‘S’ wanted to know?
“We’ll set her on autopilot, put the remainder of that stick of C4 in the cockpit and let her fly until her tanks are sucked empty and crashes – boom,” answered Sarge. “They will barely find enough to recognize what kind of plane she was after she hits the ground.”
“To hell with this stupid flying disaster stunt, let’s return to the part about “donning” and “jumping,” Tinker said with a hint of terror in her voice. “I don’t think I like the sound of those words. Why can’t we just set this contraption down on some river or lake over there in Thailand? Jumping out of a perfectly good airplane d
oesn’t make any sense to me at all!”
“Okay,” Sarge stated. “If we set her down on some lake in Thailand, like you want, eventually she will be found and the authorities will know that we are missing. They will launch and all-out search looking for us – remember we don’t want to be found. If the plane explodes on impact, and trust me it will, they will think we were blown to smithereens. Terminated, end of search, we’re home free.”
“Now let me tell you about the parachutes…” Sarge started.
“Hold on Pop, we’ve all jumped before what’s the big deal?” asked Little ‘S’.
“First, ALL of you haven’t jumped before. I know Tinker hasn’t. Looking her way questionably, “Have you Tinker?” Sheepishly she dropped her head and looked at the deck and shook her head ‘no’. “Darn Tinker is there finally something you haven’t done? Well anyway, the ‘Captain’ probably is new to this too, right?” Sarge said looking toward him.
The ‘Captain’ grinned, “No, I’m fine…I’m jump qualified too!” he said.
“Well hell, smart butts, I know Spook has never jumped one of these B-4 ‘chutes and I bet none of you have ever jumped one either. There’s no static line! You will have to pull the ripcord yourself. Once you jump from the plane count to four and pull. If nothing happens, don’t worry; you won’t have time to worry about it very long. If it opens, and it will - maybe, (grinning), just use the same PLF (Parachute Landing Fall) procedures you already know. You know, feet together, knees slightly bent, hit and roll. Piece of cake, oh, by-the-way Spook remember I told you Special Forces had a guarantee with their ‘chutes, this time if yours don’t open you’ll have to take this one back to your friends at the CIA,” Sarge said grinning as he headed toward the 'plane.
* * * * *
“Time to saddle up,” he said, “Let’s put the fire out and load the dogs, the hunt is over, everyone get on board the ‘plane. Here Son I’ll take my ruck’ You’ll have to help the ‘Captain’ get this baby cranked.”