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David had been working, at Oregon Elite Fire-fighters Headquarters for three-months stints. He was on ‘standby’-status for several-weeks. He tended to the affairs of a ‘stand-down’ status. He was a government task-force attaché begun by appointment 8-years earlier. The men who’d go into the forest mountain-fires were expected to report in 7-hours. Sam Thetis and Gene McThenis along with Al Summers had been tentatively scheduled to prepared-work and press-on. They, were the lead-crew. He was the commander while the others were coordinates. David usually, stayed in his officer on the outskirts Monroe City, Oregon. Papers, commissions and reports were being fired into state area and national-offices. The internees were expected to give their last sign-off... His table was covered with consignment paper, a clock send box and an imaged figuring of a Phoenix...He went ever so often to check specific equipment, order new-parts, or see if someone had reported-in. Definitively, he was excellent in his work. And by 2 p.m. He’d signaled the okay to close the office-by the security. Unlike other security facilities no-one went beyond the check-point.
In his desk, was an.45 mm handgun, he’d bought several weeks ago in Portland at a military gun-show. He-wondered what use it would be but he kept it anyway, to be safe... He didn’t know why, but hedidn’t feel safe. And he often thought of what ‘was’ his-duty. He’d felt-it would subjugated-in, importance-eventually. He-worked hard and studiously. Alone, in his work. Being slightly, on-edge. The summer was long and hot. He studied his work. Staying-cogent in his-objectivity. Everything was in-order. The window were shut-due to a.c. A picture window sat behind him. He’d often looked out it. But now he thought of the war, how summer’s in Vietnam were hot and sultry. He often thought back about them. Occasionally thinking of his men-now and then. How the world was now a simple surmising... He was gratified in his life till-now. But he awoke tired several nights ago. He could remember the smell of Napam, and yelling. Where he awoke, he felt relieved. He threw himself into work. Every once in awhile he could still hear screams and see flames. He didn’t think much of it. He felt he was protected by a deity of fire. He was alive yet the dreams of the dying came and went. He was concerned about his men. Were they prepared? He registered chutes for the practice jump-season done over the summer.
The men he’d chosen planned their survival-routine. David had graded, ranked and given specification, and surveyed all aspects of the drop-in. They were prepping for the occurrence. Flight-plans, drop-zones, fire-fighting maneuvers anything that meant a successful-flight... They were superior-ordinates. Compared to military, flight school, and fire-patrol. All-encompassed. He’d thought-on prevention, as keynote; yet the same-thing which secured his mind, was the ‘Phoenix’... To overcome by the will-of-flame. But he tried to remember his duty to-fight. This is where a confusion, occurred. The acceptance, over duty-to-fight. This is where a confusion, occurred. The acceptance over duty, survival. He-looked into the drawer were the gun was and thought of his men... The fire would purge and those not honorable would be extinguished... If the higher power would erupt and he would leave, to honor it. That’s where the war and supplication-’fire’, came in. David had successive-things to do; he went-back to his-’worth’, keeping in-mind what he’d incongruently, agreed to... David had thought himself not superstitions. He purported to his unconscious; an in-advertently, agreeing to deed his co-workers to death...
David Calvin Garr was lettered, as a homicide, U.S.F.S. agent-in ‘92... He become a stationed U.S.G.-5 along the eastern coast. He hailed from Nevada were he skied and relaxed in his Condo making $72,000 a year. He earned his E-5 status and Lt. Commander soon after a 13-year duty, there before this was serving in Okinawa, Solomon Islands and Guam. He and his brother toured together, with Chris attending schools on military grounds once in ‘82, their parents had died. Yet David had survived the war and his devoting to a secretive-cult of worship... He had understood he’d survived the war on this-belief. He hesitantly held to this credulousness, unadorned. It all fitted in to his perspective, inner-conscience. And would one-day, overtake common-sense. The men-would show-up begin-to regiment and start the hard-work-of carrying the duty of valiant, and crucial-work... The team conformed and enlisted on the parameters-of their duty. Yet David in charge of all-aspects of official, ramifications and purposes let the understood, resigning-of withheld consent held-to an ominous-touch... The will-of one man to be subconsciously, controlled by a fear-of-falling and disaster caught-in the ‘failure’-of ’‘fortune’. In-deliberate but expecting though it was systematic, it was a desire-to survive an unreasonable-one.
He readied for duty; yet the high tantamount of possible-failure had him pack a weapon, for which a shadow-of deceit and death. His 5-men knew nothing of this affair, yet as a Commander he knew some strange senses of disaster had played a role. When three-months later in crusade, competence and effort there were the dire contempt of failure-vindication that had to be fed in his life. He would end up above it all in some surreal-justice that he would be responsible. As the days passed ‘the curse’ had to be met. But this lay ahead then, and no release would change this diabolical heeding... David had built a ‘fortress’ around himself, over the years. Almost in second-thought, his brother whom was sent-off to college had known David’s life alone and the symbols of a man of driven calculation. He’d earned a lot about how to be ’steadfast and strong’. His life lived efficiently, un-selfishly, and emphatically. Although his brother, somehow definitive it had been; yet he felt soldiering was a part of this. A venerable palisade of prodigious. Yet he was comparatively, competent. He decided every man should have a certain-identity. Being ‘Gung Ho’ was soldier’s epitaph. Sophisticated though he was he leaned heavily to serious warrior-dimension. He’d never guessed a sense of nefarious benefit, entered long ago.
Perhaps because David had never exposed a sense of regret, on enamored grounds. ...So held-to by David’s ire... David super-imposed forcefulness with fear. Yet the demands of devotion had irreverently called for a degree of sentiment tossed-out by men after the war. Perhaps the harsh symbolized, a depth of selfless depravity he himself could not-face. Being a superior-required a superior-sense of demanding and daunting, supernatent and superlative, owing to honor-cause and commitment no other-sense could overcome. Perhaps David in a sense of possession, of his-rank, devotion and honor that he could not surrender. Yet long ago, he gave himself in-doing; he sacrifice precious-life... The reinforced-by stints and strength, thought to overcome any obstacle. In reality the sub-conscience of those things most important and in-time lead to the greatest ‘dishonor’ and defiance. And men doing there duty conceding, death-to venerable men. It had been a ranking and rationalized-reality one-of self-design; transfixed in-compelling. The warrant of war the presupposition of duty and the errant of incursion-reality. David fell into delusion. Successive entities poise and repose his life and now the reverence of fear would lead to 5-men dying. Their demise an act of utter dislodging.
Bo Jon had deduced, that his-life was caught in a vortex of will and reliance. That somewhere along the line he went desperately wrong. That somewhere in soldiering, understanding and trust; became instance and anti-nature... Bo thought about-’where’, that occurred. In what particular-dimensions. It was soldiering, disillusion. Perhaps some fateful, act-of-pressure, perception and pre-laying. Some how ‘difficulty’, dimension or devising-corporeal-ism for, which his role had been compromised... He’d come to Georgia to search for the whereabouts of Dutch Delman which he’d figured he couldn’t find. After months where the tell-tale designs of further escape. The Georgia oil-rigs heard of him yet that had been a half-year ago. He’d taken the money and ran. The crime units were all over his former appearances so he went East or North. Yet North was to central, everywhere from Seattle to Topeka, Kansas, the country had assailed of a ’‘heir’s of a crime. Which every state T.V.s-point
-of-view and expansive-report had been communicated. Yet closer was the back-country of the Southeast. Many a criminal had fell-off the earth in the nominal. The South was isolated simple and sustaining. Yet there was much to the South Antebellum country went on for thousands of miles.
Yet David probably, knew little of the South. Perhaps that and desperation was what made him go there. A sort of self-propagating fascination. And the dispiritedness of few-choices. The immediate south was Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky and Alabama. He had to zero-in on the one which gave the best-prognosis. He was a clever man yet urgent. What he was thinking was with a superior intellect, Bo Jon thought of Mississippi. The least occupied, most isolated and easily the less likely. Along with its low-economy perhaps he was being ’‘thrifty’. This would be clever. He drove from the road of interstate into Mississippi Delta onto a lonely road that came to a small-village all alone. Ogden Shade had about eight-houses and it was a black-community. He’d hit ’‘pay-dirt’ they’d known him. He lived with them for six-months then left. He was cordial, polite and helpful. He was sort of naïve they thought. He’d lived in a small-house and decided he wanted to move-on. He was always going-off into the woods for days at a time then he gathered his belongings and went-off never to return. The older-women remembered how helpful, he was driving them to Tupelo. He asked off-handedly, did he do anything ’‘special’ while there? He went to library and bought books... Bo Jon had a lead. He decided to do some footwork.
If Dutch left any evidence he and the Feds could use it and on the other and if he went-off into the Mississippi woods he could be any-where in a 275-mile trajectory... Luckily, he did leave a foot-print. He was a registered ’‘patron’. He keyed in the Feds who were running ’‘dry’ on leads. They did an investigative-search of records and Dutch had been quite ingenious. He’d change his records on his truck, and made his address to the Mississippi residence. He had accesscodes but he’d given information on his-future whereabouts. Bo Jon, and the three-agents recognized this ’‘eye through’. He knew what he was doing. Now, they had 275-miles to research typical worker the F.B.I. nominal-work for Bo Jon...
Sequoia Trail-A Bo Jon Littlehorse P.I. Novel. Second Edition Page 32