AMERICA ONE

by T I WADE

  Achieving what he had set out to do, Jonesy agreed, entered the United States Air Force at eighteen, and easily achieved active-pilot status pretty rapidly, helped by the extra hours of actual flying he had achieved before his eighteenth birthday. In his home-made flight logbook he already had logged over 80 hours of being in control of several different very large jet aircraft, including their most modern, a C-5A Galaxy for three hours over the Atlantic!

  A decade later in 1989, he became one of the youngest Air Force test pilots and his father, now retired, was extremely proud of his son. He also became an official test pilot at the lowest rank a pilot had ever been promoted into the elite group.

  Twice in his career he verbally fought with superior officers and spent time in a cell, with orders to think about showing respect to senior officers.

  One talent the Air Force couldn’t overlook was his flying ability. He was not only a natural at flying any type of aircraft, he somehow bonded with the aircraft around him and when he flew, the plane and pilot became one, so much so, that he often could foretell a problem to the mechanics and technicians before the actual problem reared its ugly head. Several colleagues stated under oath at the couple of court-martials for swearing at his superiors, that they believed he had saved several very expensive aircraft and crew by warning the mechanics and technician about a problem long before they ever found it. Most often, Jonesy was right.

  Jonesy lived in a different world when he flew, bonding with the aircraft and the flight crew; but on the ground, he rarely listened to orders, or often was still in flying mode when he walked past the odd general or president, often forgetting to salute.

  In 2005, he reached the pinnacle of his flight career as he had managed to stay out of trouble for several years; he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel and second-in-command of all Air Force test flights, often accepting only the most dangerous flight work.

  Unfortunately in 2007, a new commander of his unit arrived, a man who had rarely flown any aircraft and who was promoted to the position through political maneuvering, and who did not like any insubordinate ass of a test pilot.

  Fourteen months later, in 2009, Jonesy was released from confinement for attacking his commander, General Joseph Bishop, in his office for some argument about fuel discrepancies, was found guilty of assaulting a superior officer, demoted, spent a year in Air Force prison, demoted again to captain, and then dishonorably discharged.

  ****

  At about the same time, Ryan Richmond received payment for the sale of most of his stock in his internet investments, and Victor Isaac Noble was in Baghdad.

  Victor Isaac Noble dreamed weird dreams which felt like they went on and on for a very long time. Again, and again his mind was brought back to reality by the continuous beeping of monitors. He was starting to get used to them, and his drugged brain realized that if he could hear these monitors that meant that he was still alive.

  After one long dream of seeing men who no longer lived, the beeping returned. This time there was only one monitor beeping, not the usual three. The light outside his closed eyes did not seem so bright, and he carefully opened them. Everything looked blurry around him; dark colors seemed to move here and there. One was a cream color and as his eyes became accustomed to the light and he was able to focus on the moving shape, a nurse in a white uniform appeared staring at him.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, Lieutenant Noble,” the vision stated to him as he watched her red lips move. “It has been a week now and the captain stated that it was time to let you come around. She will be in, in a minute to check up on you.”

  “Everybody is a she around here?” he managed to move his dry mouth and mumble.

  “It seems so,” she replied. “Far too many for my single-woman liking, Lieutenant.” A second white coat approached out of the corner of his eye and had a shiny silver thing around her neck.

  “I see you are back with us Lieutenant Noble, welcome back,” stated the second white coat and his eyes managed to focus on her face.

  “I assume you are the doctor?” he asked weakly.

  “Yes, and the bearer of good and bad news, Lieutenant. Which do you want first?”

  “I’m sure there is more bad news than good news, so tell me the good news first.”

  “Actually I believe it’s the other way around. Your spine was whipped around pretty badly, but luckily you didn’t suffer anything more than a few well exercised and maybe bruised vertebra. Your brain was also pretty beaten up with the odd chip out of your skull, but again nothing I couldn’t fix. You have the full use of both of your arms, though one was broken in two places. Colonel Guy, our senior surgeon, did a good job on plating your left humerus and left radius together; you should have the full use of your arm after a few months of therapy and the plates are removed in about six months’ time. I recommend you don’t go through too many metal detectors at the airports for a while, once you get back stateside.” She paused to think about the next item.

  “I assume you have got to the bad news, Captain?” he asked, his eyes now fully focused on the doctor’s rank on her epaulettes.

  “Unfortunately, yes, Lieutenant. The colonel couldn’t save your legs. He did his best and had you in surgery for over six hours. Your lower legs were very badly hit by the brunt of the explosion, and the shrapnel in the vehicle was your worst enemy. Lieutenant, both your legs have been amputated just above the knee. The steel seat you were sitting on, I believe helped save your upper legs. The prisoner who was sitting between you and the blast was a total mess. His whole body looked like your lower legs, and his sitting in the right place saved your life. Your vehicle was hit by more than 100 pounds of explosive and you were the only one to survive the blast. I’m sure the loss of your legs will be a mammoth shock, but that you are alive is a miracle in itself. Never forget that, Lieutenant Noble!”

  She paused to allow what she had just told him to sink in. She had done this pretty often, and every man she had told reacted in a different way. The lieutenant’s reaction was the most common.

  “Can I still have children, Captain?”

  “Yes, and a healthy sex life, Lieutenant. And I have noticed that Nurse Seymour here seems interested in the latter item. Nurse?” The doctor turned towards the reddening face of the younger, pretty nurse and smiled. Nothing missed the doctor’s scrutiny on her rounds!

  “What about new legs?” the still weak man in the bed replied.

  “Once you get back stateside in a day or two, I’m sure they will fix you up with a modern pair of legs, Lieutenant. These days they can work wonders in the prosthesis department. I’m sure they will have you chasing nurses pretty soon. Nurse Seymour, the man needs to get a little more shuteye. Tomorrow we can start work to get him stateside.” And with that she smiled and left.

  A week later, VIN Noble, now in a U.S. military hospital in North Carolina, was visited by the major in charge of the hospital’s prostheses department.

  “The surgeon did a good job with your legs. I will be able to fit both your legs with off-the-shelf prosthetic limbs and we should have you up and walking in a month or two,” he explained. “I’ve been told that you will be discharged from the Marine Corps once you can walk again. Of course, you will be receiving your third Purple Heart and full discharge package for your eleven years of service. You can return here for therapy as long as needed, and as soon as we can, we will transfer you to civilian therapy if it is needed.” With that he was gone.

  VIN was a pretty tough soldier, but he had actually never thought that he would end up limbless. A few bullet holes here and there, yes, but no legs! Once he realized that he had lost his legs, he automatically assumed that he would have an opportunity to at least get a desk job back at base. He had never thought about having to leave the Corps. He was too young!

  With his new legs fitted onto his stumps, the therapy crew got him walking again, but it took a couple of months longer than expected.

  Six month
s later VIN received his next two medals, one for the last attack in Balad Ruz, the final battle of his military career, his second Silver Star, and his third Purple Heart.

  He also received his discharge papers and was informed of what was due to him for eleven years of service and his two lost legs. Not enough to live on for the rest of his life, not very much at all. He had done his best to stay, begging them to find a desk job for him, but with so many amputees already filling the jobs, there wasn’t one for him, and he suddenly found himself in a foreign world, the world of civilian life.

  Victor Isaac Noble had no family. He was the only child of young parents who had been killed in a car crash when he was a senior in high school, just south of Fayetteville, North Carolina. He wasn’t a southerner either, but had grown up in Santa Fe, New Mexico as a kid. His father had been an insurance salesman, his mother a paralegal and the family had moved to just south of Fort Bragg as his father had been posted by his company to this growing piece of real estate. VIN’s father had worked well selling life and health insurance to ex-military personnel and families, and Fort Bragg was tipped to be one of the fastest growing bases in the next decade.

  VIN Noble was returning home from school one day, a month before his last year at high school was to end, and a good-looking blonde girl, a police officer, waited at the bus stop for him to get off the yellow school bus.

  She explained the horrific car crash on I-95 which involved seven cars and a tractor-trailer, and killed six people. His parents were returning from a business meeting on the South Carolina border. She broke the news to him the best way she could.

  The officer allowed him to take in the news, sitting next to her in the patrol car, and waited for the usual reactions. “This kid took it better than most,” she thought to herself. “Are you eighteen, Victor?” she asked.

  “Will be in five days,” he answered in a far-away voice.

  “Then I think I can leave you at your house, but I’ll get someone to check up on you for a few days, until you are eighteen,” she replied. “At eighteen, you are not really of any concern to social services. Will you be OK? I can stay and make you a glass of iced-tea, or a juice or something.”

  “That will be nice,” he replied, the shock of his parents’ death not upon him yet.

  She radioed in and got permission to stay with him for a couple of hours. It took him an hour before the sobs came out, and she let him be.

  He remembered that time well. It was the last time he ever cried. He cried for an hour while the police officer made him a drink and sat with him keeping him company. He was a little embarrassed for crying as she was quite good looking, and not more than half a dozen years older than he was.

  After a while his crying stopped and he sat there, not knowing what to do.

  That feeling was the same he now felt leaving the Marine Corps. A feeling of “What the hell do I do now?”

  “What the hell do I do now?” he asked her once he had composed himself a little.

  “Well Victor, you will be eighteen in a few days. That means you are free to do what you want. You are nearly finished with high school. You should finish, get your High School Diploma, and then get a job. I don’t know what will happen to this house. Is it rented?”

  “No, my parents pay a mortgage on it,” he replied.

  “Do they have a will that you know of?” was her next question.

  “My dad was in insurance. I think he, and my mom made one up. They often talked about things like that. I know they have a leather case where they kept important papers.”

  “Good,” replied the officer. “My boyfriend is an attorney with the town. I’ll ask him to stop by tomorrow and get permission from you to go through them on your behalf. I’ll ask him to do it as a favor to me, and he won’t bill you anything. I’m sure within a few hours he can tell you what to do. Also I will also get someone to come around every day about five to check up on you, until you are eighteen. OK?” He nodded and she left, promising to visit him on his birthday.

  VIN was used to being home alone. He spent an hour or so sitting on his parents’ neatly made bed. The room was quiet, still with the perfumed scent of his mother in the air. He realized that they would never use it again, left the room, and closed the door.

  He didn’t attend school the next day, but sat in his mother’s favorite rocking chair on the front porch and waited for company. An older policeman arrived at five, parked on the curb outside the house, walked up and asked if he was OK. Upon asking if VIN had eaten anything that day, the policeman left and returned with two warm slices of fresh pizza, telling VIN that he had better eat.

  They sat on the steps of the porch and watched as a second car drove up the driveway this time. The officer knew the lone man who got out of the car. It was the first officer’s boyfriend, the attorney.

  The officer left and the two men introduced themselves, and VIN searched for and found the leather case his father used for important papers.

  “Not very good,” stated the attorney, Joe, an hour later. “You say your father was an insurance salesman?” VIN nodded. “Well, he didn’t think much of what he sold. All I can find is a funeral policy for him, your mother and strangely enough, one for you. He has a ten year-old policy which looks like it could be worth several thousand dollars. I’m sure he didn’t have anything with the company he worked for; most insurance companies don’t employ fully contracted staff. Your mother has a policy she took out several years ago on herself with a payout amount of $15,000. Your parents owe a bundle on this house and there doesn’t seem to be much equity to collect from it.”

  “Will somebody come and take the house, Joe?” VIN asked.

  “Eventually, in a few months, after the mortgage isn’t paid,” Joe replied.

  “What do you think I should do?” VIN asked.

  “Join the military once school is finished,” was the short and honest reply. “It looks like you will have your parents cremated, it states that in their short will, and you get everything. Everything looks like about $30,000 and anything that is paid off in the house. I think you could get something from the crash, my girlfriend believes that your parents weren’t at fault, and whoever was, will have to pay out. But, that could take time in court. Maybe a few months, maybe even a year or two, but I’m sure you will get something. Victor, you seem like a man who needs a home, and soon, and the military is a fantastic home. I know; I spent nine years at Fort Bragg and got a law degree out of it. I’m an orphan and understand your situation. But Victor, that is only my suggestion. You don’t have to do anything I say.”

  “What about the marines?” VIN asked.

  “Just down the road at Camp Lejeune. I’ve always respected the Marine Corps and think it’s a great institution. I would have joined the marines if I had thought it out long enough, but the army was closest, and I did want to study law. Fort Bragg was ideal for me.”

  With Joe promising to look after the paperwork, VIN went back to school and finished the last part of his final year.

  On his eighteen birthday a couple of days later, Joe and his girlfriend returned with a small birthday cake for him.

  Once he was eighteen, Joe got him to sign the papers to activate, and ten days after his birthday, two checks arrived, both in his name, from the life insurance companies. One was for $20,000 and the second for $7,480. He opened a bank account and deposited the funds and his next job was to sell the household furniture.

  Joe found a realtor who managed to sell the house before it went into foreclosure and he received a third check for a measly $1,919.29, once the late mortgage fees, interest and realtor fees had been deducted.

  VIN felt very depressed for his parents’ sake. They had worked hard since he could remember, and with the checks he received from the closing of both his parents’ bank accounts, and what the furniture was sold for, his parents had worked their butts off for less than $32,000; a lifetime’s work!

  Victor Isaac Noble joined the marines within th
ree months of his eighteenth birthday and two weeks after he sold the family home. All he kept were a few valuables and his parents’ closest mementoes in a safe deposit box at the bank. He asked the bank to invest his money, warned them that Joe had power of attorney over his account, stated that more checks could be arriving in his name, and didn’t visit the bank again until he left the military eleven years later.

  Jonesy had been out of the Air Force for a year. He had managed to keep up his flying through. A small inheritance from an uncle who died while he was in military detention had paid a deposit for an old, but airworthy crop sprayer, and he managed to eke out a living spraying farms along the border of the Carolinas.

  He lived in Fayetteville, and on one Friday night decided to grab dinner at a local small family diner before finding a bar for a few drinks.

  It being a buffet diner, he tiredly stood in line, helping himself to the food after a long day in the cockpit. The food here was good and tasty, and was a favorite with many locals and military personnel alike. He had just paid when he heard his name shouted out from one of the tables. Not being a particularly well-liked person, Jonesy was quite surprised that anybody anywhere would actually call out his name. It was Joe, his attorney, who had left city employment and now had his own legal business. He counted on Joe sorting out the odd legal issue here and there. Joe was sitting with a young man whose close-cropped haircut looked very military.

  “Jonesy, meet VIN, short for Victor Isaac Noble.” Joe stood up and welcomed the older man to the table. “VIN here has just been discharged from the military this week. VIN, Jonesy here was discharged from the Air Force a year or so ago and is a mean SOB, but once you get to know him, you’ll find his bark is much worse than his bite.

  The two men sized each other up, nodded, and Jonesy sat down. The table was quiet while the food was consumed.

  “What’s happening to renewing my spray permits for next year?” Jonesy asked the attorney.