Clay had used his US Army retired government identification to go to Eielson Air Force Base and notify the US Air Force Security Force commander of the training day and all the weapons fire. The commander knew the Militia was in legal possession of automatic weapons, but it left some of the entry controllers at the perimeter posts with an unsettling feeling to hear what sounded like a prelude to World War Three out there across the highway.
At six p.m., or 1800 hours military time, Colonel Wickersham had a big surprise for his troops. A three-ton truck arrived, and within forty-five minutes, the men were licking their chops as they watched several cooks barbecuing beef and pork over propane grills. Foil wrapped potatoes and corn on the cob, already cooked back at the restaurant, were staying warm in the campfires built up by the troops. Clay made sure to pick up all the weapons, securing them into the weapons truck, before the iced up kegs of beer were unloaded from the big truck. One-hundred and twenty men and women were very appreciative after a long day of training, and best of all, there had been no injuries.
Clay and Emy’s future wedding was toasted several times, and then the Colonel was saluted with raised plastic cups of cold beer from a boisterous crowd. From the looks of this group, Clay knew the Colonel had all the troops he needed for whatever he had planned. But outside Emy and her parents, and his own hide, his other major concern was finding out who was putting up all the money for this operation. That tingly feeling on the back of his neck was making him real unhappy. It was the kind of weird ticklish feeling he got right before a good plan fell apart. The last time was with those CIA clowns, and it made him wonder if the CIA was backing this plan, trying to stir things up here in the far north and maybe agitate old Mother Russia and bring back the Cold War. He knew the CIA hadn’t been happy since the Great Wall came down and a civil war up here in Alaska could very well create the very needs to bring back the old CIA glory days of skullduggery and mayhem.
THE WEDDING/SANDERS’ HOUSE
JUNE 6TH
Clay made it through the ceremony without feinting or stammering his words, and he only had one drink at the reception, which was the Best Man’s toast. Colonel Wickersham, Clay’s Best Man, was quite a romantic, as he presented his oratory to a crowd of nearly three hundred people, most of them standing elbow to elbow in the backyard of the Sanders’ home. By the time the reception was over, the final beverage figures totaled out to five twenty-five-gallon kegs of beer, five cases of imported French champagne, five-cases of assorted bottle of liquor, twenty-cases of assorted sodas and ten-cases of bottled water. The caterer provided twenty-trays of assorted meats, cheeses, fruits and breads, sauces and nuts. The wedding cake, which was supposed to feed three hundred-people, didn’t make it, but thankfully there were two very large sheet cakes on the side to help out. Being summer time, there was also fifty-gallons of ice cream in assorted flavors. With all the food, drink, plastic and paperware, plus caterers’ cost and the wedding dress, Mr. Sanders was looking at a final bill of over twenty-five thousand dollars. He was in shock, but then he remembered how beautiful his lovely daughter looked as she walked up the aisle to be married to that vile man he had foolishly allowed to enter his home not so long ago. I should’ve shot him when I had the chance!
CLAY & EMY’S APARTMENT / FAIRBANKS
JUNE 20TH-SATURDAY MORNING
Clay was still asleep, and Emy was up making morning coffee when there was a knock at their door. They were living in Clay’s apartment, but looking for a larger dwelling since coming home from their all-too-brief of a honeymoon in Hawaii. Emy glanced out the window and saw it was Norm Johnson, dressed in a black t-shirt and blue jeans. The Fairbanks temperatures were in the high 80’s, and their apartment was being cooled by two rotating fans. Emy grabbed up her robe, pulled it on, and tied it closed. She then opened the door, greeted Norm, and invited him in for morning coffee. “He’s not awake yet, Norm, but I’ll roust him out.”
“I really hate to disturb you two, but the Colonel’s called for an emergency staff meeting. Something’s come up… maybe another Exxon Valdez disaster, but he wants us out at his cabin ASAP.”
Emy nodded her head, pointed to the coffee maker, which was nearly finished in its brewing cycle, and went toward their single bedroom. “Clay, wake-up… honey. Clay…” She sat down beside him and gently shook him from a sound sleep. He was supposed to have the weekend off, and they had stayed awake until the wee hours watching movies and cuddling on the couch with a bowl of buttered popcorn.
Clay woke up with a start and automatically reached for the pistol he normally would’ve had under his pillow, but had placed in his dresser before moving Emy into his home. Mom & Dad Sanders wanted them to stay with them, even offered to convert the garage into an apartment, but Clay explained how he needed his freedom to move about at night. He often did his running late into the summer nights or early morning hours, and when his nightmares hit, he was up late watching TV. Emy had witnessed one of his PTSD nightmares in Hawaii and had held on to him as he fought his way through the hellish episode, leaving him in a thick layer of night sweats.
“What’s up!?” Clay asked, as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and scooted himself up into a sitting position. He then heard someone out in the other side of their apartment and asked, “Who’s out there?”
“Norm Johnson, Clay. He’s here to pick you up. The Colonel’s called an emergency staff meeting out at his cabin and wants all his officers. Norm is here to pick you up.”
Clay sucked on his top lip, bringing some moisture to his dry mouth, as he considered this. Whenever he was called for one of these surprise meetings, a scare ran through him, that his true identity had been discovered. But he didn’t want to alarm his new wife. “Tell Norm I’ll be right out.” She gave him a quick morning kiss and added, “Make sure you brush your teeth, buffalo breath.”
“And I got married for this!?”
“No, you got married for this.” Emy set down on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and gave Clay one of her best thirty-second heat-filled kisses; an Ann Margaret and Elvis Presley from Viva Las Vegas style of moment.
“Oh yeah, now I remember… Why don’t you tell Norm to go have breakfast at Denny’s and come back in an hour or two?”
“No, lover boy… Your Colonel is calling, and Silas Wickersham hates to be kept waiting.” She got up and left the room, leaving a bewildered undercover operative sitting in bed with a thousand thoughts racing through his brain. But the first thing he needed to do was take a shower and then find out what had happened to his pants. Emy had taken it upon herself to check his pockets for change whenever he came home, put the findings in a coin jar and then if she felt the pants were in her opinion soiled enough, toss them in the dirty clothes hamper. The apartment didn’t come with a washer and dryer, so they had to use Far North Laundromat down the street. If his wallet and comb were on his dresser, then his pants were gone, and he needed to find a clean pair. He had also learned how his young wife was removing cash from his wallet and had to check it to ensure he had enough to pay for his lunch before he sat down at a restaurant and ordered. She had learned it from her mother, to remove the extra small amounts of cash and save them up, to make sure they had cash at the end of the month. She was also stashing money into a new savings account they had just opened. Emy hadn’t said anything to Clay, but she wanted to buy a house and needed some money put aside for furniture and appliances. They could use their military time to receive VA assistance in the home loan and shouldn’t have to worry about a down payment. But a home needed far more than simply floors and walls, and she wanted at least a three bedroom because she wanted children; another topic the newlyweds had only briefly discussed.
“Good morning, Norm,” Clay said as he entered the kitchen area and took the blue ceramic coffee cup being handed to him by his wife.
“Sorry to wake you up, Clay. But the Colonel telephoned me at five a.m. and put an alert call-up into place. For some strange reason you weren’t ans
wering your phones, so I was sent over here to collect you. He’s holding the meeting out at his cabin, and before you ask me, I don’t know why we’re going there, and I’m too tired to play guessing games with the old man. So, I am here, and we need to get going. If you’re hungry, we can stop by one of the fast food joints and pick up something.”
Clay looked over at Emy, “Do I have any money left?”
Emy turned a shade of red and then grinned, “You have $20 in your wallet and both bank cards.”
“Well, it seems I won’t starve at least.” Clay looked over at Norm to explain. “Emy’s mother taught her to keep a tight control over the purse strings in the house, and though I make really good wages, I often feel like a pauper. But I’m ready. He gave Emy another kiss and then asked Norm, “You want me to take my car out, too?”
“Naw…with the cost of fuel we’re better off with one rig and the road to the cabin will already be filled with the other staff members. Thinking about food, maybe we should get something for lunch too, I imagine we might be out there all day. You know the Colonel; once he starts talking, it could make for a very long day.”
SILAS WICKERSHAM’S CABIN
CHENA HOT SPRINGS ROAD
JUNE 20TH
The dirt road leading up to the cabin was blocked bumper to bumper with assorted trucks and all-wheel drive SUVs; enough vehicles to show Clay how it appeared the entire officer staff of the Alaska Defense Force Northern Command Militia was most likely present. Clay carried a Glock 19 9mm pistol in an inside the pants holster in the middle of his back and had it covered over by a dark blue t-shirt. He was wearing brown jeans and a pair of Sear’s black and white tennis shoes. He knew the cabin would be full, as it was during the officer’s retreat, but the meeting was being held out back. To help with the mosquito problem, Silas had three of the propane anti-bug deflectors going, and they were doing a reasonably good job at keeping the enemy at bay.
All the officers, from platoon commanders on up, were sitting in cloth camp chairs. Silas had picked up fifty of them last year in garage sales and had them stashed away for just such a meeting as this. He had used them for campfire and bonfire nights, and at five-dollars apiece, they were quite the bargain. The men and women were set up in a half-circle around an unlit fire pit. Clay saw he was the last one to arrive and ignored the smirks he received from his fellow militia officers. He also noticed the Colonel had a large black chalkboard set up; five-feet wide by three-feet tall. It was currently blank.
“Well, I see that our recently wed training officer has arrived,” Silas said. “Now be kind, gentlemen and ladies, our young captain was supposed to have today off, but his unkind employer has called upon him once again.” Silas looked at Clay and asked, “Is Emy mad at me, Clay?”
“Don’t expect any Christmas cards this year, Colonel.” This reply brought about a polite chuckle from those in attendance. Donuts and sweet rolls, along with coffee and tea, had been served. Silas had lunch being prepared at the Chena Hot Springs Resort, and he had only two hours and fourteen minutes of time to conduct the first briefing before meal time. A second brief would follow, and then the troops would be released to go home.
“Now then, as to why you’re all here… You’ve all taken an oath of loyalty to Alaska, to our Militia and to me. Most of you, but not all of you know about another faction inside our Militia, and this is why you are out here today.” Silas went on with the same sort of speech he had given Clay not so long ago in Major Peterson’s home. The officers remained silent, but a few became agitated as they learned about the election process of 1959.
“Several years ago, without the authority of the State of Alaska or the Alaska Defense Force, I created a smaller militia faction known as the Freedom for Alaska Militia or the FFAM. Now before I go any further in discussing this faction, I will ask that if any of you have the slightest objection or feel uncomfortable with what has been said here already, this is the time for you to leave. Nothing will be said against you, and I will respect your honesty. Your rank and service with the Alaska Defense Force will continue on and this I promise you. Not everyone agrees with another person’s vision, and this is the moment to bow out. We will take a break of ten minutes for all of you to consider this and talk among yourselves. If you wish to depart, please advise either Major Peterson or Major Johnson… we will try to get your vehicles moved out during the lunch break, and in the meantime, you can relax in the cabin.”
Clay was not surprised when they returned after the break that not one officer had gone against the Colonel. Before continuing on, he then administered an oath of allegiance to Alaska and the FFAM. This was one of the parts of working undercover Clay disliked so, giving his word or taking an oath and knowing both were lies.
“All right then…I should advise you now that each of you has had an extensive history check conducted on you. From criminal record, work history to credit scores. If you notice anyone missing here, it was because an officer may have failed one of these areas and were not selected for this special militia force.” Silas picked up a long wooden pointed wand and waved it over the officers. “This is why you have worked together over the last twenty-four months, in preparation of the upcoming operation. Only three people have known about this plan, Majors’ Peterson and Johnson and me. In the next week or so, you will learn the complete details of this operation, from what it involves and possible consequences that may result.
“However, over the next few hours, we will discuss tactics, equipment needs, and issuance, deployment of manpower, and usage of high explosives as a justifiable deterrence. As to our target and why it was chosen…I have selected Eielson Air Force Base, during the 4th of July Celebration and Open House. The Thunderbirds will be providing an air show, and more than fifteen thousand people are expected to be in attendance. All we need is five-hundred well-chosen healthy hostages to be held inside the main hanger, in order to gain the eyes and ears of the world news organizations. Such an act will allow us time to present our petition to the United Nations, as Joe Vogler attempted so many times and was blocked by the United States. We are out to right a wrong and bring about a second and lawful election for statehood. We of FFAM declare sovereignty for our beloved Alaska.”
THE END
I hoped you enjoyed this book. The publisher and I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave a review.
Part Two of this story is coming soon.
Thank you,
William L. Casselman
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William L. Casselman was raised in Southern California, and he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force in 1971 to become a Law Enforcement Specialist/Military Working Dog Handler. He served the next ten years in the military and met his lovely wife, Mona Sue, at Eielson AFB, Alaska.
A Vietnam veteran, he left the service to become a police officer in Dillingham, Alaska and spent the next twenty years in Alaskan police work. From patrolman to investigator, he has worked with four police departments and became Public Safety Director for the City of Whittier during the tragic Exxon Oil Spill of Prince William Sound in 1989.
William, a 38-year Christian, retired as Senior Investigator for the State of Alaska gaming program. With over 40-years in Alaska, six children and nineteen grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren, William and Mona Sue now live in rural Alaska.
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