Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  Brightly colored gift wrap and lengths of shredded ribbon were scattered about all over the living room floor and Mr. Sanders, who was sitting in his chair, attired in blue wool flannel two-piece pajamas underneath a thick dark blue terry robe, was busy admiring his new set of power tools from his wife. This was a special floor kit of battery operated hand tools, and he couldn’t wait to get out into the garage to see how they worked. Mrs. Sanders was dressed in a flowing green, blue, and white robe over a light blue gown had her hair covered by a white and blue scarf and wore silver and pearl earrings in her ears. She was reading the warranty paperwork for her new commercial grade six-quart Kitchen-Aide Mixer, which had come in cobalt blue. She had also received a completely new set of dishes from Emy because the old set had suffered from heavy ware and there were a lot of nicks and cracks. The previous Thanksgiving bash had taken its toll.

  Clay set on the floor cross-legged, putting together his new radio-control 1968 red Camaro, which came with a hand controller. He could tell this was not the cheap twenty-nine dollar and ninety-eight cent toy he’d seen in the stores, but the more expensive model, which included all the batteries and could do everything but stand on its rear bumper and salute the flag. This was a gift from Mom and Dad, knowing he’d have to wait until summer to use it out on the parking lot. Still, they figured he could probably play with it down at the dealership shop and showroom to gain expertise.

  Emy set at the other end of the couch from her mother and right above Clay. She had received box after box of clothes; sweaters, blouses and skirts and then opened one gift to find a collector’s vintage GI Joe doll from Clay. He had bought it on an auction on E Bay for a bit more than he planned and she really loved it. The twelve-inch GI Joe had come with an M-1 Garand Rifle, his complete uniform and helmet and a footlocker with several items in it. It wasn’t a first issue GI Joe, which was worth up to thirty-thousand dollars, but it was quite old. In her way of thanking him, she thumped him on the head with a couch pillow.

  Once he had his car and hand control together, Clay asked Mr. Sanders if he could take it out into the garage to see if it worked all right. He also asked Dad to accompany him. When Emy got up to join them, Clay asked her to remain with her mom, “I’d like to be with your Dad for a moment, okay? It’s a guy thing.”

  “Sure, go, do your guy thing!” Emy said in a tone, which carried a bite with it. She’s fought that guy thing in the military for four years and was really wary of it, plus she wondered what her boyfriend had to talk to her Dad about?

  Mrs. Sanders looked up from her warranty paperwork in time to see them walk out into the garage. She had heard the conversation and had some idea of what Clay wished to speak to her husband about. Being a gentleman, in fact, a former officer and a gentleman as verified by Congress, he wanted to do the right thing by way of their daughter. She grinned and then covered her face with the paperwork so Emy wouldn’t see her smile. She didn’t want to ruin the fun if she was right.

  It was nearly 20-minutes later before the two men came back into the kitchen, where Dad grabbed a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator and poured a glass over ice cubes for him and Clay. They then came into the living room, and Dad called out to Mom, “Honey, what say you and I go upstairs and grab our shower. I’m beginning to feel like one of those loafing couch potatoes Emy used to bring around here.”

  “Dad, some of them were between jobs, and they were hungry…”

  “Just kidding, Honey,” Dad said as he walked out of the living room. Then he turned, waiting for his wife and said, “Any of your friends were always welcome here, even their appetites… even that galoot.”

  “What’s a galoot?” Clay asked.

  “I’m not sure, but in that tone, I’m thinking he means it in a nice way. Must be a term he picked up from one of those westerns he watches. John Wayne, Audio Murphy or Robert Taylor comes on, and it drives Mom right out of the house.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed your dad really went in for the old movies, especially the black and white ones. He’s got me hooked too. John Wayne was the king of western movies, I read somewhere he did something like two-hundred movies before the cancer took him.”

  Emy grabbed Clay by the hand and led him back to the couch, sat him down, and landed right beside him with a soft thump. He draped his left arm around her, brought her close and kissed her with gusto, bringing a grin to her face. “Was that a John Wayne kiss?”

  “Nope, his were fast and hard, like this.” Clay gave her a quick, but a meaning kiss. “Women knew they were kissed by the Duke and never forgot it.”

  “Well, I prefer the long soft kiss if you don’t mind. You’re liable to bust out my front teeth with one of those Duke’ kisses, and I’d look pretty funny.”

  Clay pointed toward the Christmas tree, “I notice there’s still a gift over there, you might go see who it’s for…might be for me.” Emy pushed off of him to stand up and took three steps to the tree, dropped to her knees and reached underneath to find a medium sized box wrapped in blue velvet-like wrapping paper and white satin ribbon. The bow was silvery and was large enough to take up one-half of the top of the box. The address label said it was to Emy and from Santa Claus.

  “Such a beautiful box, I almost hate to open it.” Carefully, she removed the ribbon and untapped one end of the paper to pull the box out. Once removed, she noticed the box was a plain cardboard box, with no markings of any kind. She brought it to her right ear and listened to it, wondering if anything inside would be making any sound and then as an afterthought, she shook it gently. But it still didn’t make any sound. So, she untapped the top of the box and was surprised to find a smaller box inside- which was also unmarked. She looked over at Clay, who was shaking his head to say he had nothing to do with this and held his hands up to emphasize his innocence. So, she kept going and went through seven-boxes until she reached a small white box. Then her heart jumped, but she didn’t want to hope too much. Knowing how Clay thought about things, this could be a bracelet, a necklace, or even a broach, but she pulled the white box out and removed the jewelers’ box from within it. Now Clay was grinning wide as she slowly opened it and found an extremely beautiful engagement ring inside.

  “This was my mother’s ring, Emy. I had to have some work done on it and add a few precious stones to honor your birth month…but…will you marry me, Emy?”

  She looked deeply into his eyes and studied his face, remaining silent for a moment and glancing back and forth between the ring and Clay’s expectant expression. “You must have wanted this some time ago to get this beautiful work done.”

  “Truthfully, I didn’t make my final decision until last night. I wasn’t sure I would be good enough for you, knowing how I carry along a lot of baggage. But last night I prayed, as I do every night and I felt I received my answer for us to become what the Bible refers to as One Flesh…one being instead of two. We join together for eternity in all ways.”

  “But Clay, I’m not saved, as you would say and I’m not sure I’ll ever be. Doesn’t your Bible say something about being unequally yoked…Christian and not Christian being forbidden?”

  “Not forbidden, but unwise. But I still have hopes you will come around, just as I did. Until then, I will continue to pray for your heathen soul. So, what’s your answer, Sergeant?”

  “I’ve been in love with you for so long, almost from that first shameful night. You’ve been my knight protector, and now you will be my king. Yes, Clay, I will marry you.” She fell into his arms, and they kissed until they heard Mom and Dad entering the room, clapping their hands. Mom came over, wanting to see the ring, oohing-awing, while Dad shook Clay’s hand and pounded him on the back with his left hand. “Welcome to the family, Clay!”

  Doc Adams is gonna kill me! He’s is just gonna kill me. If he doesn’t pull me off the case, he’s liable to do something else drastic. Knowing the kind of hardball these feds play, they’re liable to even go so far as to threaten my Emy’s life if I blow this now ove
r love for one of the terrorists. I just can’t believe this has happened to me or how I allowed it to happen as if I had no choice in the matter. Someone sprinkled some kind of magic love dust in my face, and I was helpless. It’s going to get dicey now, I wonder which side of ol’ Doc I’m going to see now

  11 - WEDDING, OR PLANNING A D-DAY INVASION

  SANDERS’ HOUSE, FAIRBANKS, ALASKA

  MARCH 20TH

  The Wedding date, how big a wedding and who to invite was a matter debated back and forth between Emy and her parents over the dinner table and in the living room until it got so bad Clay was making excuses to stay away from the house. Finally, a decision was made based on compromise, setting the wedding date for June Sixth. It would be held in the backyard, with Clay’s pastor handling the official side of the ceremony. No more than one hundred and fifty people would be invited and then came the matter of selecting the one-hundred and fifty. Clay made it easy on them by choosing not to invite anyone from Minto and only ten-people from his church. This gave the Sanders a choice of one-hundred and forty people to choose for their mailing list. Being a wise man, Mr. Sanders decided to stay out of this part altogether so he could tell all his friends who were not invited; he had no choice in the matter. Now it was time to figure out the wedding colors, style of wedding dress and the wedding cake. When Mr. Sanders estimated the costs for the wedding, he made a single attempt at suggesting elopement and nearly had to sleep on the couch. His wife did not think his suggestion was at all very amusing. Clay even offered to cover half the expense and was promptly turned down, but by protocol policy, he would be allowed to cover the costs of the wedding ceremony rehearsal dinner- to be held at Pike’s Landing.

  Clay had taken one piece of his future father-in-law’s advice to heart, “the wedding belongs to the wife and her mother, just stay out of the way and be around to say ‘I do’ at the appropriate moment.’” Whenever Clay came over to the Sanders home, it was wedding this and wedding that and he was beginning to think an overseas assignment to Afghanistan could be sounding pretty good about now.

  WICKERSHAM CAR DEALERSHIP

  MARCH 21ST

  Silas sat behind his desk, an open can of Dr. Pepper in his right hand as he reviewed the training reports Clay had just brought him. Clay, wearing his oily coveralls from three hours of helping rebuild a short block engine with two recently hired mechanics, finished off a can of Pepsi and waited to hear what the Colonel had to say about last weekend’s training session. They had held the training out at twenty-two mile Richardson Highway, so Clay could set up a series of combat courses for both rifle and handgun and run squad-sized units through. But he was unsatisfied with the results and recorded it for the Colonel to review.

  Silas set back in his chair and studied Clay for a moment, who looked back at him over the top of his Pepsi can and waited for his boss to speak. He had learned enough about the man over the last few months to remain silent until Silas opened the conversation.

  “You were clearly not impressed with our troops from what you wrote down here. I can understand the shooting scores and the need for more practice, but we all know ammo costs money, and we have a training budget I need to stick too if at all possible. But there’s something else here, Clay… I’m reading between the lines here, yet I feel you’re hedging about something, and not coming right out and identifying in your report. I am curious what it is.”

  “Can I be candid, Sir,” Clay asked. He reached forward and tossed his empty soda can into the office’s black metal trash can.

  “Of course,” Silas said. “I always expect my employees and my officers to be honest with me. Whether it’s about the dealership or our militia, and I thought by now, you would’ve realized it.”

  “Old military habits die hard, Colonel,” Clay said. “Junior officers are usually compelled to stand around, observe and keep their mouths shut unless called upon directly. Even then, a response is to be brief and to the point.”

  “Yes, I seem to remember…All right, Captain, I am soliciting a response, but please in some detail.”

  Clay thought about how to frame his reply for a moment and then stood up and walked over to a dry erase board Silas kept mounted on the wall in his office. He often used it to keep track of projects, but today it was empty. Grabbing a black dry erase marker, Clay quickly wrote out a diagram of the local unit’s chain of command, going down to squad level. He didn’t list names only platoon and squad numbers. He then circled several positions and stepped back. “Colonel, these are your problem areas as I see them. You have two lieutenants who know almost nothing of leadership in how to best use their NCO’s. They bypass their NCO’s and go directly to their troops, which upsets their NCO’s and creates a void between the lieutenants and their sergeants. These NCOs I’ve circled should be back in the ranks. They’d actually be happier there. They dislike the responsibility and can’t shoulder it very well either. Rather than act like an NCO, they behave like a buddy, and a squad becomes a headless click of high-school students. This is causing a breakdown of leadership in these platoons, which affects the ability of your whole unit.”

  Silas studied the drawing from his chair, then stood up and walked over to the board. He picked up a cloth that hung from a thumb-tacked string and wiped the board clean. “I had no idea, Clay.”

  “I believe, Colonel, part of the problem stems from so many of these soldiers having grown up together. It can be hard to give orders to your buddy. Part of the problem could come from the idea of how the unit is only a volunteer thing and not a real Army unit, where they were paid twice a month, housed and fed. I know a lot of these soldiers would follow you anywhere, Colonel, but I am not sure they all have your vision… at least not the way you explained it to me.”

  Silas returned to his chair, set down and gazed at Clay, who remained standing. “What is your recommendation, Captain?”

  “First off, I believe a series of weekend drills. First one with officers only… second one with NCO’s only and third one with the whole unit. Part of the training will involve leadership training, military exercises, and marksmanship, and this may mean you will have to buy the ammo yourself, Sir. Then we finish off the weekend with an inspiring speech from you and an oath of loyalty taken by the troops. This will give those who want out a chance to leave honorably, and you will then know the ones who stay, will stand with you.” Clay walked over to Silas’s desk. “Sir, you haven’t taken me into your confidence of what action if any you intend in the foreseeable future and I can understand. But you will have to know who will stand with you, when and if a snafu develops in your operation and people begin getting hurt. Who is weak, and who is strong?”

  Silas thought about it for a moment and then nodded his head, “All right, Captain. Arrange the retreats for May. We’ll hold the officer’s weekend at my cabin on Chena Hot Springs Road. The NCO training and Unit training will be at twenty-two mile Richardson. Order what ammo you need and have it billed… have it billed to the Militia for annual qualifications. I’ll put the money into the account from my personal funds to cover it and advise Anchorage the extra expenditures was due to poor shooting scores. They won’t even care as long as the money comes from somewhere.”

  “Sir, what about the food costs… at the officer’s weekend retreat? “Clay asked.

  “My dealership will cover it, and I’ll probably list it as a community expense. I learned early on in the car business how to play the tax game.”

  “I’ll handle it, Sir.”

  “No, you will get with your Operations Officer, and the two of you will handle it. I’m not going to have my shop supervisor burned out because he’s been burning the candle at both ends. Now get out of here, I’ve got cars to sell and a dealer to fire. I hate deadwood, and I’ll only carry a dealer so long before I let him go. Besides, she was never cut out to be a dealer…too soft-hearted.”

  “Don’t women make good car dealers, Colonel?”

  “You bet! Normally they go right for th
e throat faster than most men, when dealing with finance companies and banks, then turn around and give their best smiles to the customer sitting across the desk from them. This one, though, she just didn’t have the predator instinct.”

  Clay grinned and left the office, he needed to go check on his floor and make sure no one had dropped a lift on someone foot.

  BASSETT HOSPITAL, FORT WAINWRIGHT

  MARCH 24TH

  The outside temperature on post was holding at minus eighteen degrees, and inside the hospital lobby, the steam heat from the post’s massive coal plant was sixty-five degrees. This made for a sudden change in air temperature when Clay came through the double sets of doors and quickly took off his winter coat. With so many retirees in the Fairbanks area, it wasn’t unusual to see men on post, especially the hospital, PX or commissary, with hair was too long or wore beards. So, Clay had no trouble fitting in with his blue plaid long-sleeved shirt, brown down vest and insulated Carhart Bibs. He was letting his hair grow out, but only his sideburns and mustache were out of line with military standards. The Colonel had been giving him the once over every now and then but hadn’t come right out and said anything. A lot of the militia troops were in major violation of military standards, but it wasn’t enforced too strictly. Though Clay knew Silas disliked any facial jewelry for men, while in uniform or any facial tattoos.

  Clay was on his way to the elevator to make his appointment with Doc and wasn’t looking forward to it. He had to explain why he thought it okay to become engaged to a suspected domestic terrorist, for whom he was investigating and Clay, who had racked his brain for days with a good story, couldn’t come up with anything Doc would understand. He knew he was finished and would probably be hanging his career up too, if not on his way to Kansas for an extended stay in Leavenworth Federal Penitentiary for wayward GI’s.

  Halfway through the lobby, he was bumped into by a uniformed nurse, who dropped her clipboard an a couple books. Being a gentleman, Clay knelt down to help here. In the process, she slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand very expertly, thanked him, and then disappeared down the hall. He knew better than to open a paper out here in the open and went to the second floor by the stairs and found the men’s room at the far end of the hall. Secluded in a stall, he took a seat, took the paper out of his pocket and opened it. First thing he noticed was the name of his two Washington DC officers; Thomas Cleffinger, Deputy Director for the FBI and Bradley Carlson, Supervisor with Homeland Security.