by Peter Darley
With cries of jubilation all around him, he walked over to Heather. “Hey, babe. You ready?”
Heather stood, took his hand, and approached the president.
Four presidential aides accompanied them to an awaiting limousine.
Fifty
Guardians of the Torch
Following a brief, thirty-minute flight in Air Force One, B.J., Heather, the president, and a cadre of presidential escorts, drove through the open gates of Fort Bragg.
B.J. gazed out the window of the limousine and saw a long line of soldiers in ceremonial dress saluting them. He studied the spectacle of the army base, knowing this place used to be where his father and David once worked. He tried to convince himself his mother’s outrageous reincarnation belief was nonsense.
But now he was here, he couldn’t be sure of that. There was something about Fort Bragg that seemed familiar. Or was it just his imagination? Could it have been images of it he’d seen somewhere?
They drove around the complex, and as they passed the courthouse, B.J. felt a shiver go through him.
“What’s wrong?” Heather said.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed by it all.”
“You’ll be fine,” the president said. “What you’re about to see is your legacy.”
“My legacy?”
“And your father’s.”
“Wow. Now I’m really intrigued.”
“So, what’s happening with you and Heather? Any wedding plans?”
Heather laughed.
“What’s so funny?” B.J. said.
“I guess I just can’t imagine you ever getting married.”
“Well, my mom has a very unique opinion about it. She always said people should marry one another with their hearts. She said it’s nobody else’s goddamn business.”
Heather and the president laughed.
“Your mother must have a very rebellious spirit,” the president said.
“Yeah, she must’ve got it from my dad.” He thought about the question again. “All right, I’ll compromise. I can’t see how getting married would change Heather’s and my circumstances one iota. But if Heather wants to do it, I’m game.”
Heather huddled next to him. “Ah, sweetheart. Let me think about it.”
He winked at her. “Take all the time you need.”
They stopped outside the sergeant’s mess. The doors of the limousine in front opened. Four officials climbed out, walked over to the presidential limousine, and opened the doors for them.
“Thanks,” B.J. said.
Heather and the president followed. Soldiers all around held themselves static in salute.
A tall, gray-haired man in his fifties approached them wearing a ceremonial uniform, displaying the bars of a general. “Madam President, Ambassador Drake, we are honored by your visit to Fort Bragg.” He glanced at Heather, clearly unsure who she was. Nevertheless, he extended her the utmost courtesy. “Ma’am.”
“General,” Heather said.
“We appreciate your kind hospitality, General Workman,” the president said.
“This is a momentous event in the history of the Eighty-Second Airborne Division, Madam President.”
“Please remember, General, all of our efforts must be focused on avoiding their deployment.”
“I can assure you, Madam President, that is our absolute priority. The division has never known such relaxation. They’re not eager to lose that.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.”
The general approached B.J., his hand extended. “Ambassador Drake, we are immensely proud to have you here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“As you know, your father began his career with us.”
B.J. cringed slightly. “Not terribly popular, was he?”
General Workman laughed uncomfortably. “Time is a great healer. There’s nobody here who remembers him, but he left a lasting impression. He’s sometimes referred to as a hell raiser.”
“With the sting of a scorpion.”
The general cleared his throat, clearly awkward. “Let me escort you all to the courtyard. They really are rather magnificent.”
As they followed the general, B.J. turned to the president. “All right, Jen,” he whispered. “You said it was a surprise, but would you at least give me a heads-up.”
She kept her head forward with an intense expression. “This isn’t going to last, B.J.”
“What isn’t?”
“This time of peace and goodwill. This is the honeymoon period, and divorce will be on the horizon.”
“How can you be so sure of that?”
“It won’t be today. It won’t be tomorrow. But I know human nature. Someone, somewhere, sometime, will seize this as an opportunity. Greed, the fact that we don’t share the same opinions, envy . . . anything can trigger a conflict. We must have a defense in place.”
“That really saddens me, Jen.”
“It saddens me too. But we have to face the fact that the word human equates to the word asshole.”
He was surprised by her use of that word, but encouraged at the same time. It seemed to make her more relatable than ever.
They turned a corner and stepped onto a courtyard. B.J. froze in his tracks. It was unbelievable.
A platoon of approximately seventy soldiers saluted them—each one wearing variations of the INT-Nine. Some wore armor identical to the model he had worn: black with silver trimmings and blue visor lenses. Others wore exactly the same design but with red or green lenses. Several wore a version with a red shell in place of the silver. The color scheme of one at the front seemed to be a representation of traditional army camouflage embedded into the usual silver of the helmet. B.J. assumed these different colors indicated rank.
He became particularly fascinated by the adapted, anatomical shape of at least a quarter of them. It was obvious that some of them were female. “What is this?”
“This,” the president said, “is the Interceptor Squadron.”
The realization finally dawned on him. “Of course. I knew this was in development, but I didn’t expect it to happen so fast.”
“For now, nobody is to mention anything. This is a top secret project. Any mention of it must not leave these walls.”
“You really think it’s going to come to this?”
“Someday. Your father was the first Interceptor. You were the second.” She gestured to the squadron. “This is your legacy, B.J., and I wanted you to see it. You’ve passed the torch, and these are its guardians. There is no cause for alarm. Your job is to encourage the continuation of world peace. Just know, before you go to sleep at night, our children will be safe under the hidden watch of the squadron.”
At the mention of the word ‘children’, the memory of Katie in Des Moines and little baby Chloe, who’d fallen into a fissure in Dallas, came back to him. In an instant, he understood.
He stood before the squadron and returned their salute.
“So, what do you have planned for the next few weeks?” the president said.
“Oh, Heather and I are taking some time off. We’re going on vacation.”
“Anywhere nice?”
“The Caribbean,” he said. “There’s just one place I want her to see first.”
Epilogue
B.J. and Heather rode a snowmobile up the snow slope, wearing snow faring attire and woollen hats. Their case of essentials was strapped to the back.
The cabin came into view. “This is it,” he said. “This is my dad’s home.”
“It’s beautiful.”
They pulled up outside the front porch and climbed off. “Come on,” B.J. said excitedly. “Let me show you around.”
He led her around the cabin to the clearing at the back.
Heather noticed the gravestone immediately. “Is that where your father is buried?”
“Yeah. I know none of us want to think about death, but I’ve got to tell you, if I had a choice of places to be buried
, this would be it.”
She gazed at the surroundings with a look of wonder. “I can understand that. It’s like something out of a fairy tale. Can we really come here whenever we like?”
“Yep. It’s mine by default, lock, stock, and timber.” He made his way toward the gravestone and knelt before it. “Even during the couple of nights I spent here, I never came out to his grave. I can’t explain why that is.”
Heather knelt beside him and placed her arm around his shoulders.
“Well, Dad,” he said. “We really did it. We saved the world.” He raised his hand and placed it on the headstone.
A feeling like a bolt of electricity shot through him. Visions appeared before his eyes, drowning out the aspen trees beyond.
He saw his father in the original Interceptor outfit gliding his mother from the roof of a burning skyscraper. She looks so young.
Then they were in a van facing a police blockade. The van exploded. The Turbo Swan emerged from the flames. He saw his mom caressing his father’s face in the cabin and the two of them feeding Snooky the bear cub outside. They look so happy.
He saw his father and mother running out of a TV studio into the streets. His father was then in a speeding SUV with David, racing along a roadside canyon. The scene changed to his father running with his mother alongside a train as the FBI pursued them.
He saw his father in The Interceptor outfit swinging down into a parking bay with David and a unit of troops by his side. They were taking on a group of Chinese mobsters. The scenes were so fragmented, it was confusing.
His father went down in the Turbo Swan and it exploded on impact.
Then he saw his father’s eyes opening and felt a terrible rage inside him. A killing rage. He watched, transfixed, as his father slaughtered a team of guys at the ranch with a sword.
His mother was holding out her hands pleadingly as his father held her mother—B.J.’s grandmother—steady, with the samurai sword running through her body.
Then his father was inside Langley headquarters with battles unfolding all around him. He was killing anyone who got in his way, indiscriminately. It was ghastly.
But then he saw his father writhing on the floor of the cabin in agony.
He looked up and saw his father standing on the edge of a mountain. His mother was reaching out to him, pleading.
And then his father leaned back, throwing himself off the precipice. B.J. leaned forward and looked into his father’s eyes as he fell. Why is he smiling?
Something happened. Bizarrely, the INT-Nine formed across his father’s body. The helmet appeared across his head last. The rocket boots flared. He flew up to the highest mountain and landed on the surface.
B.J. recoiled, not wanting to look, but he couldn’t resist. His father reached up, gripped the helmet, and removed it. No, please.
B.J.’s own face was underneath.
His hand slipped from the gravestone and he sank to the ground, sobbing.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Heather said.
“Didn’t you . . . see it?”
“See what?”
“I remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
He was barely aware of her question and was too shaken to answer.
However, it seemed she’d figured it out. “You’ve been through hell. This is a form of PTSD. You think you saw your father’s life, right?”
He nodded.
“You didn’t. You didn’t see anything you didn’t already know, did you? It was visions of everything you’ve been told.”
He composed himself and dried his eyes. “I know you’re right.”
“Damn, you need this vacation.”
He managed a smile and stood. “Yeah.”
As they made their way toward the cabin, they were distracted by a rustling in the trees. B.J. turned around to see a lone bear cub coming toward them. No, it can’t be. “Snooky?”
The bear approached him with a quicker pace. He knelt down and reached out his hands. “Hey there, little guy.”
The bear cub stood on its hind legs, rested its paws on his shoulders, and licked his face. “You can’t be Snooky, but I bet you’re one of his.”
Heather leaned over and touched the cub’s forehead. “He’s beautiful. Who’s Snooky?”
“My dad’s bear. My mom told me all about him.” He looked into the bear’s eyes, and it looked back at him with an inexplicably affectionate stare. “I bet you’re hungry. Let’s see what we’ve got in the cabin.” He stood and tapped his thigh for the bear to follow him.
Heather gazed lovingly into B.J.’s eyes. He glanced back and saw the little cub was following.
He knew he had to accept the voice of his father and the visions were consequences of the trauma he’d been through, and his mother’s delusions. He needed time to process it.
But as he came closer to the cabin’s porch, he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, some way—he’d found his way home.
Afterword
The Hold On! series has been a roller coaster experience for me as a writer. On August 17th, 2015, I released Run!—Hold On! Season 3—and left the writing world behind. It had been a five-year harrowing nightmare, and I couldn’t see the purpose in pursuing it any further. I’d completed the story, and that was the end of it.
And then, one week later, an ally appeared.
In June 2015, purely for my own amusement, I uploaded the Hold On! Soundtrack video to Youtube, which featured snippets of the songs that had driven the Hold On! story:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AsPF7E6zgAM
On August 25th, 2015, my now-partner in this project contacted me on Facebook. Pierpaolo “Zorro11” Monti, the mastermind behind a number of critically-acclaimed rock album projects—had found me. He discovered his song, ‘Highway of Love’ by Shining Line, in my soundtrack video, and proposed writing and producing the official theme song to my ‘next book’. I was floored! This time, I had the rock world behind me. Thus, Hold On!—Tomorrow began.
This had never happened before. There have been hundreds of songs written retrospectively ‘about’ classic novels. But this would be the first time in history that a song had been produced ‘for’ a novel.
Pierpaolo then told me he’d managed to poach Nick Workman, the lead singer of international rock band, VEGA, to sing duet on the track. With that, I signed up as executive producer on the project.
Nick and I met up and shared stories. My story led to him writing what became the lead single from VEGA’s fourth album, Who We Are; a track called “White Flag”:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ofv3rTWb12s
The official theme to Hold On!—Tomorrow is “Gotta Get Away” by Charming Grace, (feat. Nick Workman.) “Gotta Get Away” is a classic-style arena rock anthem, and appears on the compilation album, We Still Rock from Tanzan Music. An official video for the song is currently in development. For the time being, here is the temporary version:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KARjfFd2778
This opportunity also gave me the chance to resurrect a long-lost plotline. The story of Woody Schuster and Firedrake had originally been a sub-plot in Hold On! – Season 1. In 2013, Writer’s Coffee Shop, Australia (Fifty Shades of Grey) demanded that I remove and replace Firedrake with a more ‘thriller-based’ storyline, which, reluctantly, I did. (Brandon and Belinda running through the streets of L.A. evading the police, a merciless assassin, and a collision with a street gang.) I am immensely proud of the revised storyline, and it has contributed to countless five-star reviews. But a very human element was lost as a result. Writer’s Coffee Shop subsequently went silent. I never did get their opinion on the ‘L.A. chase’ plotline.
In all honestly, Firedrake wasn’t quite right the first time around. In the original draft of Hold On!, it dragged on far too long. I am much more satisfied with how it unfolds in the new book.
Hold On!—Tomorrow is Hold On! completed. There is no stone left unturned. This is the fulfilment of
my dream, enabled by the coolest of all teams – the Gods of Rock.
Thank you for sharing my journey.
Peter Darley
About the Author
Peter Darley (P.D. to his friends) is a British novelist, whose professional history is in showbusiness. He is a graduate of the Birmingham School of Speech and Dramatic Art, and he studied television drama at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (RADA.) His television credits include guest-starring roles is UK productions such as BBC’s Crime Ltd, Stanley’s Dragon for ITV, The Bill, and Sky One’s Dream Team, and numerous TV commercials. He also worked as a model, presenter, and voice-over artiste for ten years, and has acted as an agent for several variety acts.
After graduating from law school in 2007, he decided the legal profession was not for him, and ventured into writing.
His lifelong admiration of heroes, and love of roller-coaster-style thrills have been a huge influence on his writings.
He is professional close-up magician, a keen athlete, and lives in rural England.
Web: www.peterdarley.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PDAuthor
Twitter: @Pete_Darley