The Uvalde Raider

by Ben H. English

  Following the woeful tune, the Air Force honor guard stepped forward and folded the American flag draped over the casket. With practiced care, the officer in charge came up to Micah and presented the triangled colors. As Micah accepted the proffered symbol, the young first lieutenant spoke softly. “On behalf of the President of the United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Colonel Ezekiel J. Templar.”

  The Air Force officer took one step back, then saluted slowly and reverently. Doing a smart about face he joined his detail and they quietly marched away, the only sound breaking the silence being that of his whispered commands and their obeying footsteps.

  As Micah’s eyes followed their progress, he was distracted by a haunting pair from his faraway past looking back. They belonged to the former LTJG Thomas A. Eggers, standing inconspicuously at the rear of the crowd. Eggers raised a hand and lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement. Micah stared back for a moment, then nodded in response.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Some hours later found Micah alone on a bit of high ground to the east side of the Nueces, behind the family place that Blackstone Templar had pioneered nigh a century and a half ago. Amid so many who wanted to speak with him after the funeral he had been unable to locate Eggers again. The man vanished from the cemetery site like an imagined apparition who had never really been there to begin with.

  Micah sat quietly on a large rock, deep in thought while surrounded by ghosts of other times or places. He gazed up and down the river, both directions away and as far as he could see. It was at the low point of the year but soon the spring rains would come, turning what presently looked like no more than a stream into a raging, churning monster.

  Today the hoped-for rain had recast itself into little more than a sparse drizzle, but as in all things important the hope never goes away. Hope and faith, patience and prayer. Most every man who has ever accomplished anything worthwhile understood the paramount importance of those words.

  Seeing Eggers again had carried his mind back to the Da Krong. From where he sat, the nature of the terrain and the positioning of the Nueces itself assisted in his personal journey into the past. Just below his rock outcropping, the river made a sharp jag to the east before it continued on south. The ground ahead sloped down to the river bank, making for similarities to where his platoon had been situated all those years ago.

  Micah studied the gravelly, rock-strewn river bed as he pursued the erstwhile wanderings of his mind. It was about two hundred yards across, very close to the distance Eggers had to negotiate and the water was about waist deep. If you could cover his side of the river with jungle, and the other side with clumps of trees and overgrowth separated by stands of elephant grass, it could be the Da Krong during the dry season.

  But this was Texas, not Vietnam. There was no jungle and no LTJG Eggers trying to get across. Nor was there an Amos A. Johnson or a Chapo Gonzales ready to risk their lives to cover him. No sound of rifles or machine guns, no mortar fire and no NVA sweeping down from the other side. There was nothing but the peaceful quiet of a southwest Texas winter evening. He wondered if it was this quiet along the Da Krong now.

  The sound of footsteps coming from behind brought Micah back to the here and present, and he turned to see Abby walking silently down the dirt path to him. In one hand was some sort of small package, and she smiled tenderly at her husband as their eyes met.

  “Evening, Hon” he said. Micah reached up and took her free hand, and she leaned down and kissed him on the forehead.

  “Not interrupting anything am I?” she asked.

  “Not anything that hasn’t been thought through before,” he replied. Micah moved over a bit to let her sit down beside him.

  “In fact, I’m glad you walked down,” he continued. “The seating ain’t much but the view sure is nice.”

  For a while they sat in silence, just soaking up the comfort of each other’s company.

  “Solomon and Kate are headed on to San Antonio, they need to get Jamie on a flight back to Annapolis” she commented.

  Micah nodded in acknowledgment before adding a reply. “That young man is going places, Solomon and Kate have done well by him.”

  “Solomon said that after things settle down some more, the two of you need to get lost in the Sierra Quemada for about a week,” added Abby.

  Micah allowed a flicker of a smile along one corner of his mouth and nodded again.

  “That would be good,” he replied thoughtfully. “Really good.”

  “He’s a good man” Abby confirmed, “and I think the world of Kate. Living closer to them is something I’m looking forward to.”

  “Still ready to head for the sticks with a retired speed cop and bona fide crazy man?” Now he was smiling.

  “I’d go most anyplace with you, crazy man” Abby murmured as she moved closer to him. “And to that little place along Alamito Creek most of all.”

  Once more the quietness enshrouded them as they stared off across the river. The cloud layering was still there but the sun was peeking underneath as it set in the southwest. The ensuing effect was one of those magical golden hours, the time of the evening when the land takes on that certain tint that only accentuates its natural contours and colors. Even the clouds themselves were lit up as the refracted light took their normal shades of gray into hues of yellow, red, pink, purple and that ever-present sheen of gold.

  “That is…beautiful,” Abby breathed.

  “That it is,” agreed Micah.

  Not another word was shared as they watched the brilliant orange orb slip below the horizon, taking the golden tint and the rainbow of other colors with it. Abby let out a sigh as it all disappeared before them and the chill of dusk began to set in.

  Glancing down at the small package Abby had set at her feet, Micah asked her about it.

  “Well, I meant to give it to you before you left the house,” Abby admitted. “A very nice man approached me after the funeral and asked me to give it to you. He said his name was Eggers and that you would understand.”

  She looked questioningly at her husband. “That’s the man you helped rescue in Vietnam, wasn’t it?”

  Micah slowly dipped his head in affirmation as Abby handed it to him. He examined the small package that was wrapped in plain brown paper. On what he judged to be the top was the inscription “To Micah Templar,” handwritten in a neat, precise prose.

  Curious, Micah removed the packaging that enclosed a cardboard box. Removing the lid, he started examining what was inside. There he found an evenly folded sheet of white paper and a smaller, dark blue box with gold edging. Unfolding the paper, he found himself reading a copied commendation for the second highest medal of valor in the military services of the United States of America.

  THE SECRETARY OF THE NAVY

  WASHINGTON

  The President of the United States takes pleasure in presenting the

  NAVY CROSS

  to

  THOMAS AARON EGGERS III

  LIEUTENANT

  UNITED STATES NAVY

  For service as set forth in the following

  CITATION:

  For extraordinary heroism during the month of January,1969, as a pilot in Attack Squadron ONE HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR (VA-164), embarked on U.S.S. HANCOCK (CVA-19). While conducting night time bombing operations against heavily defended enemy positions in the A Shau Valley area, Lieutenant (j.g.) Eggers’ A4E was struck by opposing ground fire. Though his aircraft was critically damaged, Lieutenant Eggers completed his bombing run and only then ejected over the enemy held area. Demonstrating the courage and alertness of a well disciplined fighting man, for the next two weeks Lieutenant Eggers successfully evaded ongoing enemy attempts in capturing him before making contact with friendly forces along the Da Krong River. Alone, with scant food and water while being pursued relentlessly by enemy ground troops, he exercised outstanding professional skill and resourcefulness,
and displayed great courage as well as fearless devotion to duty. His indomitable perseverance and conspicuous gallantry were in keeping with the highest traditions of the United States Naval Service.

  For the President

  John H. Chafee

  Secretary of the Navy

  Micah handed the copied citation to Abby. With respecting fingers, he gently lifted the lip to the small dark blue case. Contained within was the unmistakable gold cross with the sailing ship displayed in the middle, suspended by a dark blue and white center striped ribbon. There were also two additional slips of paper folded inside the case. Micah picked up the first. It read:

  “It would be an honor for you to consider this on loan to your family until your uncle receives the just recognition he deserves.

  From a grateful nation as well as myself,

  Thomas A. Eggers III

  Da Krong River Valley

  ‘Class of 1969’”

  Somberly, Micah handed this slip of paper also to his wife and opened the third one. It was a quote from the award-winning book These Good Men by Michael Norman, another Marine who had served in Vietnam.

  “I now know why men who have been to war yearn to reunite. Not to tell stories or look at old pictures. Not to laugh or weep. Comrades gather because they long to be with the men who once acted their best, men who suffered and sacrificed, who were stripped raw, right down to their humanity. I did not pick these men.

  They were delivered by fate. But I know them in a way I know no other men. I have never given anyone such trust. They were willing to guard something more precious than my life.

  They would have carried my reputation, the memory of me. It was part of the bargain we all made, the reason we were so willing to die for one another. I cannot say where we are headed. Ours are not perfect friendships; those are the province of legend and myth. A few of my comrades drift far from me now, sending back only occasional word. I know that one day even these could fall to silence. Some of the men will stay close, a couple, perhaps, always at hand. As long as I have memory, I will think of them all, every day. I am sure that when I leave this world, my last thought will be of my family and my comrades.

  ...such good men.”

  As his vision began to blur from the tears forming in his eyes, Micah passed the quote over to Abby. He sat there, staring off into nothingness as she read the note to herself. Then she wrapped her arm around Micah’s waist and held on tightly, never saying a word.

  They sat together in this manner for some time. Micah thought about the events that had occurred over the past two months and not that far away, and of others that occurred decades ago in another place and life entirely. To be certain, there were differences but so much more was the same. Both had called for the same fidelity, the same love for another, the same sort of sacrifice.

  Those connections also extended into the past, bound tightly with the history of his family in Texas and long before. To the very birth of a nation that promised so much, but demanded those same qualities and grit to fashion fine words and philosophy into hallowed ground ready for all comers.

  That was when it all came together for Micah Templar, and when he understood with a defining clarity what made the crucial difference in the lifespan of all men, all families and all nations.

  “Hon, do you remember the story in my family about Blackstone Templar’s last words before he died?” he asked quietly.

  “You mean those inscribed on the tombstone?”

  “Yeah. They are the last four words of the last sentence he uttered. The complete quote was ‘It’s a grand country, boys, and it’s land worth dying for.’ It was something my father had me memorize as a child, I guess every Templar has done so since that tombstone has been there.”

  “I know our sons did,” she replied. “You saw to that, and so much more.”

  “We both did,” he corrected gently. “You were there with me every step of the way, and often enough by yourself because I was headed out the door putting on a hat and a gun.”

  “And I was wondering if I’d ever see you again,” she added. “I prayed for you each and every time you went out that door.”

  There was a delicate pause between the two. “Sorry,” Abby started. “I should not have said that, at least not now. It’s just with all that has happened over the past two months, I am still working through it myself.”

  Micah turned his head and scrutinized his wife of twenty plus years. They had married before his last deployment overseas, and it was Abby who helped him out of the despair of so much unvented anger and pain when he came home. In that and from then on, both realized how much stronger they were as a team than they would have ever been if left to themselves.

  Abby looked up and met his gaze, smiling again. “Why did you ask me about the inscription?” she asked.

  “Well” he began, searching for the right words. “Because I don’t think ol’ Blackstone finished that final thought. Either that, or he didn’t see it the same way I do now.”

  The puzzled look on her face beckoned him to explain further.

  In response, Micah reached over and took his wife by her other hand. “Much like you, lately I’ve been thinking through a lot of things. About the war, Tio Zeke, Max, my family and why we are who we are.”

  He halted for a moment, sighing heavily. “Right on down to our two sons and whoever follows after them. Abby, what happened out at the Albright’s was not the end of what’s to come, it’s only the beginning. Our world is changing into something different than either of us ever wanted or expected.”

  His wife remained absolutely quiet, her eyes searching his.

  “Blackstone spoke of the land,” continued Micah. “But it’s not just the land, nor is it really the people. It’s the beliefs they carry with them, those things they hold sacred and are willing to fight for. Once they lose that will to fight, they lose everything else. Their land, their homes, their way of life, even their souls. Somehow, we have to hold on to our will to fight, otherwise the evils of that changing world will destroy us and all we believe in.”

  He studied her expectantly, hoping she would somehow understand what he was trying to say. For a long moment, Abby just looked back at him.

  “Micah,” she finally said, “I think you have known that for a long while now. It’s just you never took the time to put to words what you already knew in your heart. Not only that, but you also managed to pass that same will along to both our sons.”

  “Who are very likely to find themselves right in the middle of what’s to come,” he interjected.

  An impassioned blaze lit in Abby’s eyes, yet it softened itself in scale as she responded. “They would not have it any other way, nor would I. They are Templars, and are chiseled from the same rock as their father and those who came before him. As their mother I will keep their safety in the hands of the Lord and be proud of them for the men they have become, and for what they stand for.”

  Micah nodded, feeling something down deep for the woman seated beside him that mere words were never fully capable of describing. It was a fiercely strong and glorious feeling, of the same sort of fierceness which spawned that generational will to fight. But this was even stronger and more resilient, for it was the power to love.

  Now it was his turn to kiss her on the forehead, and hold her just as tightly.

  Around them, the dusk of evening was falling rapidly. A slight breeze picked up from the north, carrying the dry leaves of winter along with the growing chill. They huddled together ever closer, his left hand and arm wrapped around her and protectively holding her left shoulder.

  “Guess we had better get back to the house, Hon. It’s beginning to get colder.”

  “Just a minute more, Micah,” Abby replied wistfully. “Just give me one minute more, before we have to go back and face down that changing world.”

  THE END

  AUTHOR’S NOTES:

  As mentioned in context for historical background, this story takes place in
1990 on the eve of the First Gulf War. The basic scenario was something that came to my mind during those weeks, a decade before the morning of September 11, 2001.

  By my retirement from the Texas Highway Patrol in 2008, a very rough first draft had been laid out. Later an old friend of mine and someone whom I have a good deal of respect for, Major Stan Waters, THP, was asking what I had been up to as a civilian. I explained the concept for the book and plot surrounding it, and sent Stan a short excerpt.

  Stan responded almost immediately, first complimenting my effort and then asking a very pertinent question; “Ben, how much of this is actually doable?”

  I stated it would have been completely doable, given proper training and timing during the era in which the novel takes place. However, after 9/11that window for opportunity was drastically reduced due to the ensuing War Against Terror.

  Stan was still not quite convinced and questioned if I might be giving the bad guys some good ideas.

  I replied: “Stan, if they haven’t already thought of this, then they’re not near as smart as I already know them to be. They only need the right opening to make it happen.”

  Though the American public remains blissfully ignorant on such matters, it is well known in various intelligence circles that Saddam Hussein was working on chemical weapons in the beginning of the 1970s. Furthermore, he was to repeatedly use those weapons against both the Iranians in the 1980s, as well as the Kurds in the early 1990s, who in actuality were his citizens.

  In the same time frame the Assad regime in Syria was also producing chemical agents such as Sarin, Yperite and the hyper-deadly VX substance highlighted in this novel. Theirs was a far more successful program than Hussein’s. Not that long ago, reliable sources listed Syrian stockpiles as being the third most prolific in the world, by measurement in tons.