by T. C. Driver
This “King of the South” was a light skinned black man very close to ten feet tall. He wore boots and a bicycle type helmet making him look eleven feet tall. I’m good at judging these things because of my old boxing days. This King was a lean muscular seven hundred to eight hundred pounds. His head was large, in proportion correctly to what a ten foot size man should be. The king was the size of any three or four normal men with hands that looked like he could palm a small car.
Now with his mitten off he stood before us in silk, with light weight bulletproof armor in patches. Bare arms neck and thighs. His garments were fancy, with purple, gold and brass buckles. I guessed his arms and neck were both about forty to forty- five inches around.
The king’s sword hung across his back (a long saber). He pulled out the sword and pointed it straight to the sky with both hands. He spoke something and the crowd cheered. His troops and three white robed priests shouted.
“Sons of Ammon, Sons of Ammon, Sons of Ammon.” He then brought down his long blade sword and held it straight out before him. With the length of his sword and his long arms he towered directly over all of us and I’m sure could have killed any man in the crowd at will. His servants, sailors, and we prisoners cowered before him in fear. Marshal Moore was still a little drunk and was bowing very close to me; he whispered in a low quiet voice.
“That’s got to be the biggest Ni...” before that fool Duck could get the “N” word out I back handed him across
the mouth!
“Shut up Duck don’t you even think that stupid?
With the king’s nod his three priests brought Jediah to court before him. Jediah did not bow, or whimper. The young Jediah stood strong before his older brother. The three priests had a cup. Jediah was made to drink it. All three priests now walked back to the side leaving Jediah alone before the King. The giant King Phinehas Emin Patel laid his sword blade across Jediah’s shoulder like he was teeing up his head like a golf ball. The king then said two words unknown to me. He said the words again louder. I was sure that he was about to chop Jediah’s head off. Jediah said nothing. The King said the same words again. Still there was silence. The three priests backed up again. They poured out the rest of the cup and then pulled back their hoods and garments reviling what looked like the doctors staff with snakes wrapped around it. They then bowed and departed. The king and crowd started singing a word I did know, and he put away his sword. The word halleluiah was then repeated over and over. The King picked up Jediah at arms length his seven foot ten inch frame dangled in the air like a child. Phinehas Emin Patel then hugged Jediah to his chest and then placed him down beside him and said.
“BEHOLD! FLESH OF MY FATHER, BONE OF MY BONE,” The crowd roared with approval! The king leaned over and said something to Jediah and then Jediah pointed straight at me.
“Cornelius,” He said.
“Oh shit!” I cried out. My heart jumped a beat! Troops quickly brought my comrades and myself, before the giant king. The King again drew his sword as we all bowed before him. Jediah was still standing by his right side. The king placed his sword on our shoulders one by one and said two words. These were two different words from what he had said before.
“Thank you, old soldier, fellow warrior and friend. You have taught my brother well. Thank you for the lives of my family and of our mother, you will not be tested by the priests this day. You served and answered to an eternal God that day in the desert, not your Northern King or his committee of earthly elders. A greater giant than I also stays my sword this day. Your blood will not be on the house of Patel. You will remain under guard as long as the battle rages.
Tommy Mute came up and gave me a warm embrace. “Welcome to the struggle, Cornelius,” he said. Tommy and I talked about five minutes later on that evening. I told him about Lou dying face down in the sand. Just like Joe earlier, Tommy had nothing to say. He was speechless but his eyes, dripping with tears said it all.
Sixty or so crew members of Jediah’s Yacht did not fare as well as us lowly prisoners. These men were tested by the priests using a test of “Eli.” Two priests brushed something on the chest of the men using hyssop, thus marking the men. Then they filed past a priest named Abiathar and were divided into two groups. One line went to dinner and was now part of the loyal crew and one line went to a firing squad at the edge of ship and they were promptly shot, their bodies hitting the thick seaweed ocean below. Our group was led back to our same third floor prison. One of the old guards was back the others were now all dead. I watched the priest Abiathar dividing the men by looking at their chest, yes looking on the outside. I thought to myself “only Jesus knows the true heart of a man.” In every tribe of man one group is the “go to” experts on truth, and all matters of life and death. Back home in Virginia these high priests are called Doctors or Psychiatrist, thus making humanist paganism the official “go to” religion of Virginia. Who or what do your leaders “go to” or trust “who you gonna call” should we ever give civil authority, kingly power over free men at all? Who does the testing, who makes up the test, are they scientist or false priests? Psychiatrists have no claim to hard pure or even serious science. They are always reduced to playing games with statistics and making up new names for old conditions. They operate in a pagan pop culture of false science, and lies where silly fads are the norm; all or most patients have the latest bull shit condition such as Bi-Polar or Attention Deficit. Young (over active) boys are drugged to make them (almost as good as girls)! Are we are to believe that 50% of young men in many schools now have a chemical imbalance in their brain that needs fixing by these quacks? These modern day witch doctors always over medicate, over bill, and have pushed more people to ruin and death each month than the whole lot of them has helped in all of human history. That is the true science facts. They simply do more harm than good. This is obvious to see in all open and honest double blind medical studies and publications. Most of the students who study this crap in college take the course for the “easy, lazy A” to raise their grade point average, only hopeless losers and worthless bums stay in this field. None of them should be taken seriously, much less given the power to decide another mans fate.
Within hours the large motors of the old destroyer class yacht were humming again. We were all fed well. Jediah’s loyal servants brought us a hot meal and a case of red wine. We were jailed just as before, trying to make the best of our lot. The time was still way before noon and the king was now in control of the ship. He had taken over the master suite and Jediah’s Asian women and made First Mate Cory the new Captain. Our group was busy cleaning up blood and guts and dead bodies. It felt good to be underway again and leaving the nasty Sargasso Sea behind. All the bloody mess did not depress us much, it didn’t seem to matter. After we all worked as a group on cleanup we gathered again in Joe’s Cabin. Joe was making drawings and maps around a small table and as soon as every one was present and settled down Joe started!
“Unk, you had a good view of how many 55-gallon drums of fuel were brought on board from the submarine. Now how many total barrels came aboard?
“At least twenty Joe, but no more than twenty five I kept a close eye” said Unk.
“Yes they must have had a supply very close” said Joe. “Maybe he met another small vessel?”
Marshal Moore spoke up, “that amount of fuel will only push a crate this big but so far.”
“Yes,” said Joe,” That’s my point. We are heading west, we are going after the Ark to finish her off, now what do you think Friday will…”
“RRRaaaaRRrrrrrrrrr”
As Joe spoke the tell tale horn like blast of a Phalanx guns fifty caliber rounds blasted through the quiet afternoon from an automatic air defense system on top of the ship. We ran outside to see a predator drone hit the sea in flames in close proximity of the ship.
“Looks like Friday knows now,” said Unk.
“Joe, where do you figure that drone came from?” asked Duck.
“Not from the Ark, Duck”
replied Joe. “Most likely that drone came from Langley Air Force base if it’s still open. Friday was using it to scope out the threat.
“Yes, said Unk, “I don’t guess these people have been answering the phone much lately in the bridge.”
“What will the Ark do, Joe,” I asked Joe Coe who was still scribbling on his paper!
“Gentlemen, we must get off this tub and fast. The King made a big mistake leaving that Phalanx system on. Friday will blow us out of the water for sure, and quick. His first set of missiles will hit us in minutes. They have slightly longer range than the French missiles that this yacht carries. Friday will fire first to save and use that advantage. Yes, I’m sure Friday will fire on us. We must make a dash up the deck right now and at least try to bet in those motor boats, some of us just might make it. Look down the Port side. That’s what the King and his men are doing already. Marshal Moore spoke up, everybody listened!
“The Ark is listing twelve degrees to port so she can’t get any plane off her deck except maybe an ultra- light craft or two!”
“Shut up and listen,” Joe said, “All of you! The Ark is only 100 miles ahead of us, Friday sees us on Radar, on drone footage and by satellite, he has already fired on us and we will soon be hit. Our only chance is to charge up the deck and get off this boat. Look, I trained Friday, the man has killed hundreds of his own men to save that ole’ tub already. I figure he must have hit the bulkhead door locks even before that missile ever hit the ship!”
“That sounds like John Wayne stuff,” scoffed Unk! As if to accent Joe’s point, the first missile hit our starboard deck just up the ship and below us knocking us all to the floor and ringing our ears as the cabin floor flexed from the blast! “That’s six minutes early, Joe,” I mean Roster T, LET’S RIDE, shouted Unk.”
“Stay down, not yet,” shouted Coe, “They will come in sets of two!” Just then the other missile hit taking out all six motor boats on the starboard side.
“We have two minutes or less,” shouted Joe as our group jumped straight over the third floor railing to the deck below, broken bones, or sprained ankles were of no concern at this point! The stairs and our guards below were blown sway by the first blast anyhow! We robbed a few rifles from dead crew members on deck. One sailor begged “Duck” to shoot him. His legless and handless body was bleeding on the deck. Duck turned his head, and shot him once in the face. Like John Wayne, we ran up the port side of the ship, our two guns blazing what little they could. Unk manned a boat launcher as James Kessler covered him with fire from deck. Some of us jumped head first into the hanging boat. Duck fired his last bullets, and jumped in feet first. Unk was cranking away and shouting jump, jump! James Kessler was hit first, and he fell into the boat, then Unk was showered with bullets from the side, he kept cranking even unto his death. We hit the water with a jolt. Unk must have hit the release button. Gary Litton fell down in the boat breaking a leg as we hit the water. Bullets rang out from above and hit Thomas Briton and our boats motor in the same burst. Big Jim was hit by another quick automatic mussel flash blasting down from the deck above. Our boat scrapped the side of the old destroyer for some seconds nearly capsizing us. Rodney Dole kicked the ship to free us, and was knocked out cold. He quickly disappeared into the raging water. We then bounced clear into the waves and darkness. Two missiles blasted off from the yacht above us on their way to the Ark. Their bright flair lit up the night. Then within seconds the Yacht was hit yet again by a volley from the Ark. In the Flare of the missiles we saw that another boat was down in the water with us. The old destroyer was in bad shape, and on fire at mid ship, but was still standing up straight in the water. We heard Jediah’s small little chopper take off the backend of his yacht before its fire and light disappeared into the night. We were quickly absorbed into the waves of blackness, quiet and solitude. Duck was trying to get the boat started while Joe was at the controls. Moore had been hit slightly on the fore arm and was bleeding, but being the head mechanic he considered it his job to fix the motor. Shooting automatic rifles at them is not good for motors or men. We sat in the roller coaster darkness praising God that we unbelievably had made it off that ship alive!
“Do you see that other boat?” said Joe.
‘No,” I answered! The ocean swells limited our vision, so did the low cloud cover and the loud concussions of the incoming shells had made us all deaf. We could not for some time communicate very well by voice. When Duck got the motor sputtering along using his gum in a vacuum line we all felt it more than heard it. We raised our arms in victory and praise. After an hour the bell ring in our heads subsided enough for us to talk.
“Patel took his chopper southwest” Litton said. “To a submarine I would guess,” said duck. I wrapped up Ducks arm with part of James Kessler’s clothes. Joe said about two words, crossed himself and James went overboard. Next Joe put his hand to Big Jim Calkins neck smacked him around a few times and then Jim, like James went overboard. Duck was sleeping and Joe grabbed him.
“Help me with this one, Cornelius I can’t pick him up! Moore then smacked Joe in the face giving him a bloody nose, not thinking throwing him overboard was all that funny. Joe went back to the front seat without saying a word, and knowing he was in the wrong. During that night we argued about compass readings, what little stars we could see and listened to Thomas Briton moan and cry from his gunshot wounds. By early daylight it was a relief and pleasure for Joe to throw the dead body of “crybaby” Briton overboard.
“Are there anymore of you gonna die anyway crybabies on this damn boat?” announced Joe! “I need some sleep!”
The King of the South had the same obvious plan for the motor boats as we did and his crew had been in the process of loading up supplies and fuel into them when the missiles hit! We had some extra five gallon plastic and one gallon metal containers of gas, only one gallon of water. These motor boats were old mini-PT boats with 454 gas motors that were fast and fun, but did not have much range like diesel motors would. Our motor was sputtering and poorly running because of age and gunshot damage.
After heading west all night we could see the other boat behind us about two hundred yards back. The other boat must have heard us get ours started and then followed us all night. We wondered if it was friend or foe. We kept an eye on the boat behind. It seemed to be one lone man doing the driving. By full light the boat behind was racing towards us, and obviously on fire and smoking badly. We had not the power to out run it and I soon recognized the lone driver. It was Tommy Mute. He pulled up beside us and handed over a five gallon container of gas, and then jumped into our boat holding a half-full box of red wine and a quart of oil. Within thirty seconds Tommy was passed out drunk in between the seats of our boat. He had been driving all night with nothing to drink but red wine. Joe and Duck started sighting the sun and arguing about our course. Gary Litton with his broken leg suffered in silence. At least he didn’t whine like Briton. We wrapped up his leg as best we could. Tommy Mute came to in about two hours. His gas had long since been dumped into the near empty tank. His half case of wine and quart of motor oil could have been just what we needed to survive, praise God! When Tommy Mute woke up that morning he told us that the King himself had thrown him in the boat while Jediah cranked it down. The two of them had pushed the ole big Green chopper off the pad and into the ocean with their bare hands. “The King had let us escape, he told his men to hold their fire as we ran up the deck. They had you in their sights, Cornelius, and did not shoot!” Too bad they shot half of us before the word got out,” said Joe. That sounds like some of the clowns that work for me.” Our group gave a toast to Unk, James Kessler, Rodney Dole, Big slim Jim, and crybaby Thomas Briton. Only God knows the truth of who and why of life and death.
Chapter Fifteen Welcome to Virginia
“Land ho!” shouted Joe Coe. I stood up to “see” (ha-ha), and fell backward hitting the motor compartment very much hurting my back and smashing my old friend Gary Litton. The boat had hit a wave just right to push
me backward. We were in surf praise God. I just stayed down and opened the last bottle of red wine. Gary and I lying down passed the bottle between us as the others were standing shouting for joy. We two needed more medication anyway. A hard thud into the sand told the whole story, the others all jumped out getting their feet wet. I stepped onto the hood and dropped onto dry sand, the last third of the wine bottle still in my hand. Duck, jealous of my consumption rate grabbed the bottle and started chugging. The others shouted “go, go, go, go,” in idiot college kid drinking fashion until the bottle was empty. When the cheering stopped Duck took the bottle and smashed it against the hull of the old fiberglass boat. This did not break the bottle but put a dent and hole in the fiberglass instead. After three “Moore” attempts Duck could not break the bottle so he tossed it into the back of our boat where it shattered into little pieces. Duck burped very loud and raised his hands in victory and we all fell into the dry soft sand in laughter and celebration. The motor sputtered, there was silence as we all listened, and then broke out laughing again. The boats motor had just cut off, she had given her all and “Moore” to get us safely to shore. Praise God!
Our group picked ourselves up and started walking north up the beach. We could see trees and a building in the distance so we kept in that direction. No other buildings were in sight. There was a little white church in the trees with a white hard packed unpaved parking lot. Before we
got there cars started pulling up, two then two more then one. It was Sunday morning and people were arriving at Church. We cut straight in to get off the soft beach sand. The hard ground was a comfort to our stride. Tommy Mute was ahead of all of us, Gary Litton and I pulled up the rear, while Duck and Joe walked together in the middle. By the time all of our ragged group got to the church there were now nine cars, that’s everybody Pastor Woods then stated. The old Pastor welcomed us warmly. Our five was a ragged looking beat up bunch. We stayed in the bathrooms and tried to suck his water fountain dry for some time before joining the service. The people in the church spoke a heavy slang speech that was very hard to understand at first but they sang songs kind of normal. It was hard to figure. The Pastor was a very old frail man who spoke in a soft but clear English voice (no slang twang like the others). We all sat together except Tommy Mute. He paced back and forth in the back of the church and did his daily exercises, and shouted praise God. I thought he might be holiness like me, but I didn’t know about exercising in church. Sometimes you just don’t know what you don’t know.