:...”To my best friend till the end& my best girl. It is hard for me to say this, but you are very- special… And so I’m hoping you two will forgive me for what I must do. If you love me as much as I you, you will remember me happily. And the stars will always shine upon you forever.
Your loving love and pal, forgive me and stay always having happiness.”
Joseph Calvin Wiley~
Josie C. Wiley was caught and arrested on charges of criminal assault and robbery, he was sentenced to 25-years. He now spends his time helping other in-mates learn, and helps in the in-mate infirmary, as a doctor’s assailant. Josh and Sallie were never implicated on the crime. Their whereabouts-unknown.
The end
‘Eye of the Eagle‘…
[Seven]
Bo met Chris Sommers in boot-camp in ‘67. They became fast-friends. Chris had medaled in sharp-shooting. They bunked alongside each-other. Bo taught Chris about native-American ways. And Chris fed Bo Jon some of his home-cooking... Spending six-months at Fort Bragg to become PFC-U.S.M.C.s. After boot-camp, Bo and Chris went their own ways. Bo Jon was assigned the DMZ, as Information-Specialist and Chris, Special-Forces. Chris was given the title:”Eye of the Eagle”, by Bo for his shooting-ability. They enjoyed the other’s company. Spending their time off-duty talking about home, family and friends… They were two-soldiers making it through boot-camp…
Chris and Bo had one last-outing, with on official-R& R… Then, they’d begin their-tour into resign-duties. Their differing-attitudes toward events, attitude and military government-policies had sent them to the fighting… He was a ‘country-boy’ from Nebraska, he-knew that he’d do some fighting. And Bo knew he’d do his best, wherever he was sent. The ‘conflict’ into Vietnam would take a heavy-price. And counter-attack and the deployment, began taking casualties as high-technology battled guerilla over-running, by Communist-soldiers, Vietcong and villager-sympathizers, a slaughter, a massacre and needless, destruction eventuated as the stage played-out…
…In his 4-year enlistment he earned battlefield-honors;taken by the ‘fateful’ experience-of-actions. After a final involvement he’d grown older, “wiser” and dis-enthusiastic about the whole-thing. At the returning to headquarters in Japan, he would leave his military-career behind, all-together…
During the war, Bo met Chris in Nagano in a coffeehouse under Mount Fuji. Bo had finished his last stand-down and was heading to the states. Chris talked of the war, the hardship of destruction and disillusionment. Men, whose families and friends back-home were in disapproval about the whole government-enlistment…
Vietnam, had been a “fiasco” and many families had lost their sons to an uncertain outcome… When he’d left from home, the world was a different-place. It-was all that some of his fellow-G.I.s could do was to keep-up their-duty. …Many didn’t return-home, some were forever marked, drugs had come into many men’s lives and derision, dispair and deviation had become, a-way of life…
He’d watched men die, good soldiers lost their-lives, and public-‘symbols’ of strife… …“Jon, we’ve had a good time training, together”, said Chris. Bo acknowledged that, and that they probably had the last-of their-good conversations, together… They had-finished their training, and done the regimental dress-blue ceremony.
***
Before all this, they were assigned location-of duty… …Bo Jon was sent to the DMZ, and Chris sent to “Zebra-Company”-known at the time, was under-covert assignment over the Loas-Cambodian border… Chris knew his job-well. And was not shy, his Commander had especially, chosen-him. He was a proud-Marine, devoted and strong. Bo Jon had fulfilled his-mission in-training, and was given a crucial-job;still, a possible-protective hot-spot… Both, knew what being a Marine-was all about. Turning-point, was now, done. …They promised to meet again under Mt.Fuji, after the war within 48-hours they’d be on planes to Asia. As L.B.J. announced reinforcement were being sent to the Asian-quarter men coded to the U.S. had begun the fight for their-country…
***
Bo Jon and Chris, stayed in-touch until war severed the line, and battle required full-attention. ‘Super-imposed’-on this was the moral, stress and pressures of being “Always Faithful”… During this, Bo and Chris did meet under, impressed-circumstances for an hour they spoke of how the war had went Chris was no longer enthused;his Unit had seen massacres and slaughters, and he was no-longer “Gung-ho” with all-of it. And that he’d never return-home… He’d grown fond of Asia and its “pure” and disciplined-life, he even, knew a village that would accept-him for as long as he wished… Both then, wished each other well and said farewell. After the war, Bo-returned home as a soldier, and in a stand-down. He-returned to his-reservation to a ceremonial-return, and as a respected-member of his tribe… Most-men both during and after the war, had hard-times many lost friend’s;girlfriends, wives, the respect-of-family and community;due to the demoralized, state-of-war effort which had divided a nation.
***
…One-day, Bo Jon was at his-home in Secato-S when a telegram, arrived. He-was not aware of anyone who communicated still, in this-manner. It read “Bo Jon, old friend(Stop). Having rough-time of it(STOP). Needing your skills, well-known, I hear(Stop). Orient is nice place, but America is the Land of the Free(Stop). Meet me at ‘your’ place, on May 8th(Stop). See you soon, Amigo(Stop). Chris Sommers-Nam-Pen, Vietnam p.o.
…It had been 32-years since the end of the conflict and everyone had forgotten, now a telegram from deep within Vietnam was home of a disenchanted-soldier. War had proved to be “hell” for men who had in-service, in Special-Forces given assignments in potentially, perilous-regions. Many died, some had permanent mental-problems and other came-home demoralized and misunderstood. It was Americans who doubted and couldn’t realize the effort given-by gallant-men, who devoted their lives to duty and country.
Chris eventually, came to fight-in Search and Recon, over the border;an elitist-fighter, he had to take on grievous-terms and succeed-at insurgence;that meant many men had to died. After President Nixon ended the Vietnam military-battle they never could accomplish or achieve in some-ways. Chris never returned-home, he’d found a life among the villages and made a relationship beneficial, to both. They-accepted him, embraced his-spirit while he-respected their itinerary, a strident-enforcement… Though, he-never deviated in, all his regimental-resigns he never return-home again. The status of USMC-ranking infantry-men. With the espousing of their duty, to be in the highly, volatile-places of combat and to Protect and Serve, the nation. Chris was professed in both his competence, and his inspiration. To make such a man, disenchanted-by his purpose was no “less” an unfortunate turn-out of private-experience. He-had walked away-from something that no-longer brought such-importance to occupation. The Asian-sector was about as foreign to an American and as civilized as an un-Americanized country, could be. Bo began to realize Chris, was truly a-driven individual. What lay-over the horizon, was the assistance Bo Jon could arise…
Bo Jon was at home, 30-miles from Reno, when a knock came at the door. He opened it and there stood a light tawny haired grayish complexioned six foot-four man dressed in Italian-leather from shoes to jacket. Underneath he wore a silk oriental sapphire shirt. His face was clean, hair well-kept and trimmed and wore a Chinese ornament on a gold necklace. If not for being from the Far East he’d seem quite elegant he smiled at his friend almost ingratiatingly, but proud, he did so, demurly with a kind-satisfaction/acceptance. The wind blew across the range, on which sat the ranch of Secato-S.
“Bo, my friend it has been a long-time past.” “You are a sight for sore eyes”, a sufficient-salvo, for what was constitution. It was Spring of ‘98, Bo Jon had taken a routine break from ranching to eat, take an update from comp-net exchange and itinerary, e-mail.
***
He had learned the ways of the Vietnamese people, making friends ,and of their culture;being things he should l
earn of a society, not held of high-esteem by the Western-world… All the complexities of
western-culture fell away and allowed him to forge a new-form of living and orient to a culture. It had been a resolving catharsis-for him. As Communist N.Vietnam, had taken over the simple ways-of a country.
Chris had proven himself a part of the society, though he didn’t have to keep a socialist perspective or conform to now, long since settled-communism he was free to live his-life independent of the political custom. When he left behind the American-conflict upon which the war killing-fields, the battlefields eventually were over-grown, vanished and erase till long forgotten. Children grew-up, loyal-villagers became heads of their community and they-supported their-culture and society, and with him, honored cordially to be a respectable-member. He then, progressed in his-role in the community. He taught them things they had no idea, and brought great-benefits to those a-half a globe away… For this, he realized he had found a-”blossom” that came-out of the bloodshed… With all that he was militarized to do, he was himself a gift-of-promise that he never ‘forgave’ himself… He invested enumerable-times making good out of what was errand. To a point that brought what either-side could do, with this, immense engagement he-lived a life of supplicant…
While he-resided among them, he gained a lot of profound-skills and genuine life-rules. It-was not just a poor-country but a land-of ‘harmony’ and basicness. He accomplished-principles that lasted a life-time. As time passed, he decided to make solitary jaunts into the jungle to find, what was told-of by the elders as an ancient-culture long abandoned, but part of their-history. It held the ‘precepts’ of what was the ways taught, long ago. They were “holy”, but he was invited to do, as he pleased.
Finally, he found several-dozen old Buddhist-temples dating-back to 300 B.C. He made trips there regularly, as the elders explained what was the old-teachings and ways. He became adept, at it. They even, said he had a ravenous-appetite for the forgotten. Chris’s eye for detail made him an authority on the subject. When visitors visited the region, he was made their-guide. They came-back and payed money for tours;paying money for excursion into the dense-jungle just to find-out about relics he was genuinely an astute travel-guide that the area-official made him area-devotee, he was given a contract to do as he pleased. Within months, he was making regularly showing specific-regiments. He had found a niche, predominated it then, with the assigning as ‘precision-profferer‘. He promoted, amassed and magnified the motility-sense of relic-models. He began to get-paid then the government gave him free-run in all-aspects. He-resounded in mastered-motivation, he had a “mission”-from which he would both find worthwhile and would eventually, be the cause of his problems…
It-seemed that free-enterprise was tainted, he was under the impression that his-”freedom” would only last until a new-ruling office, came-in. About 5-years ago a new ruling-party of the sector was not going to let the ancient-rights of their forbearers be taken advantage-of, by someone alien to the country. About that time a small-group of antique-buyers sophisticated in old Buddhism came and asked Chris for a look-see. He gave-them a run-down of the history of the region and community-design then they asked how much… He told them it was worth over twenty-billion in open-market, they then said when can they’d come to finished the purchased. He was astonished and dismayed he tried to tell them it was not for sell, he did so several times;they kept speaking in Manchurian which he had little-knowledge. But what he could understand was they had made a deal. He knew he had made an irrevocable-act.
Within a month, the new-council had put-out a warrant for Chris Sommers arrest, it was then spread through-out Asia, with money he had and friends he was able to hide till he reached Japan where he caught a plan to the States under a seudonym. Chris after a blissful 22-years he was in serious trouble in the land of his choosing. He knew with a new-guard he’d be running through-out Asia. With the threat of his freedom with many years he’d be serving time in-prison.
All this Bo was told-over a meal at an Reno dinery with his now on-the-run friend. Bo Jon had listened, edifyingly. He began to balance the situation in his mind. Putting the whole symposium-together eying and piecing his-thinking into ordinate-places. He-told him he’d stay him up at his ranch, and then made sure he had told no-one. As the two returned to Secato-S, he phoned and e-mailed a military ranking-officer of his friend and what his situation had happened. He had a repertoire with him asked him with discreet questions what he-could do or what might be his best outcome. “He would be best to find the individual who offered to buy, otherwise he’d need a look through international-channels.” “You know Bo do some investigative work…” “I can hook-up you up with an operation-computer her at Marine-HQ.” “Here’s the name:’Sea Dog’…”
Bo sat at the comp entry screen when he went to work. The screen went on, Bo knew exactly where he wanted to in-file. He had pictures, documents, reference, data analysis and dated-material he perused-adaptively. Forming an astute residual, where he compounded and alluded to digital, corroboration. After varying charges, where Chris’s name came up and to the reverence he graded and granted establishing directive-enumeration;elucidating effective, concurrence etching genuine, allusive considerations. In a myriad of information. Attributes and formative importations. Now he could piece-together the pretext his preliminaries, fitting his-profile… Out of 16, identities he looked up…
~~~
The Japanese Orient Industries had conglomerated through-out Asia, proper. Their-power followed the establishment, social-structure and if not fulfilling, investing-in what was a “ground”-industrialization. Many parent-companies, successful-speculations, bank and leading profiteers had their hands in lucrative growth, with governing self-interest committees they formed a denison-affiliation in legal, popular and consumerism that was rising, in every ideologue-culture. Thus, in the United States, known as monopoly and antitrust precipitations. Bo venture into these upper-eschelon privileges to the point of manifests and thusly, “instigators”…the oracle-orchestrators. Those-behind these absolving, arbitrators: Bo didn’t waste no-time, he’d contacted in lesser Asianics, that specifically a syndicate had infiltrated-through ‘maxims’ with ‘private’ advantage of government-proctor and most likely, abjured in the facilitation-of inferring, preseminations…
International-authorities immediately, to assign legal-defense for Chris J. Sommers Arrest had been withheld under consideration-of evidence of subversive entities, in substantial-contendment. Filed it down to 6, which had hard-hitting depiction that could be his-’persona invictus’, he quickly gave it systematized and regimentized final-”edges” and “angles” to three-suspects… Now the finalizing, was to take-place. David Shasuraimasi, 48, president and CEO of Fumori Enterprises for seven-years. Widely, known well-to-do& venerable professer of Buddhism post-boom speculator; pulled-up by-the-bootstraps, Asian boomer… Bo Jon read of his dealings, in principle-actions his motives, enterprises and personal-enterprises. He did a flash down, of his registered-life. 34-minutes of investment-recovered the paraboling, extract-data.
Chris rode-out into back-country some 32-miles, he rode Bo’s most obedient Morgan-stallion with pack and sleeping-furrow, food and water, his-horse would last for the full-trip. He’d find-him… Chris was wondering what his friend could do, while he sat alone out, in the beautiful but lonely wilderness… The sun-had, reached its height then was on its way-down while the sands and drifting-clouds blew, calmly. He gazed-into the distance and remarked-at how ‘beautiful’ it was to be there, at least unintently. The skies fleered in across-the-horizon, and he became restful and decided to quietly think to himself, he dozed-off for a while under the sleepy evening-sky. A shadow fell-on him while lying on his satchel. He awakened suddenly looking at the image hanging over him… It was Bo Jon. He’d been given a notice of transaction to relieve Chris of any blame…
***
...”Please send further report to your federal agency.”
~~~Agent of the U.N. Deputy officer
*New York, NY
The end
The Depths of Alfredo
[Eight]
On the outskirts of Reno, New Mexico was a large shanty-town village which had stood for half a century… Lived-in and kept-up by migrant-workers from Mexico looking to start a new-life and do crop-work for pennies to survive. The corrugated sheet-metal, old worn wood and brick-made the small make-shift homes, livable. The city, which was some 25-miles away, tolerated-it as the poor immigrants held-on, to one day achieve the American-Dream…
Pedro Hernandez Guerrara was a single-parent child, of 16. He, and his-sister Patrice grew-up poor alongside many other poverty dwelling-neighbors all hoping to succeed in the U.S. All had the same dream, and entire-families pooled what little they made to save for better-times hopefully, ahead… Each day Pedro would go-out to play with the other children in the dirt-lots. Many of the kids couldn’t afford clothing, or shoes. They played bare-footed or in hand-me-downs, most couldn’t pay for going to school some ways-off. Pedro’s uncle Hernando had taken the kids on trips. He worked at a butcher-shop and was making a bit-of money. Pedro’s friends were not interested-in going to school. They figured it was not worth there time. Pedro’s mother wanted-him to continued his-education.
After much dispute while in school, he was told that his favorite-class instructor wanted to speak with him… He was a dark skinned, well mannered Latino. He was well-dressed cordial, intelligent and kind. Pedro sat down with him, they talked. His teacher told him a story:‘A long time ago, a poor family from Mexico came to America‘…;he went on about how the boy’s father, mother, uncles and aunts and their 8-children survived during the hardships and still, at the end the day of shear-cropping they celebrated being-together;at the end of the story, Pedro was told that the littlest-boy was looking him straight-in the eye… Pedro, came home crying& went to his-room, his mother, who was in the kitchen knew, that he would have to come to an understanding, alone…
The Continuing tales of Bo Jon Littlehorse, P.I. Page 8