by T W Powell
Ampoules of both the red and green vaccines were delivered to the Shinigami on a subsequent visit to the Golden Gate. The virus and the vaccine were analyzed by Japanese virologists and initial quantities of vaccine were available in a matter of weeks.
Thanksgiving
Thomas Jackson decided he would throw an early Thanksgiving in June. It was just another shitty early summer day at Stonewall Ranch, not a cloud in the sky, virtually zero humidity, a light breeze, and temperatures in the low 80s.
All the men, Junior, Grandpa John, Tom, Carlos, Adam, Tommy, and Dr. Ho took a day off from their latest construction project, a new stone house for the new arrivals. The men were busy sprucing up the yard and setting up picnic tables. It was an idyllic scene with the snowcapped Toiyabes in the background and the calming sound of Stonewall Creek setting the mood.
Pastor Williams had come down from Kingston along with the Skipper family and Juan’s family. Tom had put a pig in the ground the night before and Pastor had brought along some elk steaks to grill over the smoldering mesquite coals. The women were busy baking. Beth and Yen were shadowing Patty and Betty, learning to cook on a wood stove and getting a grasp of the cuisine indigenous to this new land. Gabby was busy making a bunch of her famous tortillas.
A large room in the Jackson’s triple-wide served as Tom’s library. Bookshelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. An American flag stood in one corner and a Marine flag stood in the other. One section was devoted entirely to the Founders and the founding documents. Another section was reserved for practical “how to do it” books. The Jackson Family Bible occupied a special spot on a small marble topped Queen Anne table in the middle of the room. By far the largest section of shelves was devoted to Military History.
Junior put his arm around Bobby Ray, “Let me show you something.”
“Brother Tom, may I show Bobby Ray your Library?”
“Only if I can be the tour guide.”
Tom opened the door, turned on the light, and stepped aside so Bobby Ray could see the entire room.
“I’ve never seen this many books.”
Junior replied, “This is a special place, a holy place. I wish my Pops and Pop-Pop could see this place, but I think a part of them is here right now.”
Tom walked over and steadied himself with his right hand on the family Bible.
“We speak softly in this room. After a hard day’s work, Junior and I come here. We read, we pray, we talk. Most of the time we agree, but sometimes we agree to disagree, and many times we just don’t have any answers.”
Junior continued speaking while Bobby Ray looked at all the books, “Sometimes we’re joined by Grandpa John, or Carlos, or Doc Ho. Sometimes the boys come and talk. It gets really interesting when the women voice their opinions. This room is America. I pray that heaven is just a little bit like this.”
“Junior, here’s a book about PT Boats.”
“Yes, it is. That’s your first book to read.”
Tom’s voice remained low, but took on a different tone entirely, “Private Skipper, you will immediately relocate from Kingston to Stonewall Ranch where you will continue your training under the guidance of Sergeant Johnson and myself. You will be afforded ample liberty to visit family, but as of now, you are back on active duty.”
Junior continued, “In addition to your military training, we need to work on your education. This book about PT Boats is where we start.”
Then Junior picked up a boxed set of five Louis L’Amour Westerns, “Then we’ll move on to these. My favorite is The Shadow Riders.”
Tom pulled a single, hard-bound title off the shelf, “Yep, I like that one too, but may I suggest we all read this one?”
He was holding a copy of L’Amour’s Last of the Breed.
Supper was served early that afternoon. Pastor Williams turned thanks.
Junior then stood and gave a short eulogy for John Nicolescu, “Let’s never forget the selfless courage of our brother, John. We would have never destroyed those Hogs and Apaches without him. Bobby Ray and I could never have escaped without him.”
Tom then rose and memorialized both Ray and Jill, “The bombs that blew up those Warthogs were made by Ray. Those high-tension wires that brought down two Apaches were made invisible by Jill and Ray, two American Patriots.”
There was plenty of food and the food was fantastic. Everyone was laughing and talking and having a good time.
Beth was thinking of Delvin, “I do hope that Mr. Smith is OK.”
Tom broke out laughing, “Slick? You’re worried about Delvin? Don’t you know he’s a damned ‘Hero of The Collective’. That guy is amazing.”
Dr, Ho chimed in, “Yes, his name should be Delvin S. Smith, ‘S’ for Slick.”
Tom was laughing along with Ho, “You’re spot-on Ho, bravo! By the way, isn’t your middle initial ‘S’? What does the ‘S’ stand for?”
Both Doctors Yen and Ho stopped laughing and Dr. Ho’s voice took on a somber tone as he answered Tom’s question, “My grandfather was a doctor in Saigon. He would not desert his patients. He hung on to the very end.
“As the North Vietnamese entered the city, my grandparents sought refuge at the US Embassy. My grandmother was holding my infant father tightly in her arms. The last of the helicopters were leaving when a Marine grabbed my grandparents and lifted them into the chopper. My grandfather thanked him profusely and asked him his name. The Marine replied, ‘My friends just call me Spud. If you’re ever in Winchester, Kentucky, look me up.’
“When Grandfather made it to the States, he settled in Kentucky. To honor that Marine, he started a family tradition. The oldest son of each Pham generation would bear the middle name ‘Spud’. I have not told anyone this story since the Revolution, fearing the consequences.
I am Dr. Ho Spud Pham.”
Junior and Bobby Ray looked as if they had been struck by a lightning bolt. Junior silently rose and walked back to the pumphouse where his gear was stored. He quickly returned with a neatly folded American flag in hand.
Junior walked over to the flagpole, “Mr. Tom, may I?’
“Yes, you most certainly may.”
“Bobby Ray, what do you think?”
“The time seems right to me.”
As Junior hoisted Spud’s flag, he quoted General Douglas MacArthur, “I see that the old flagpole still stands. Have our troops hoist the colors to its peak, and let no enemy ever haul them down.”