Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars

by Morris Graham

  When we arrived, I noticed six cars parked there and a lot of children in the yard. It appeared that my stories were attracting more relatives and friends, and now we had quite a gathering. I was warmly greeted by Ben’s mother and noticed an additional table was set up in the living room. We ate promptly at nineteen hundred and again I had a cup of hot tea by my plate. The adults treated me warmly and spoke with me at length during supper. There were a total of twelve adults and twenty-six kids there that night. Extra kids’ tables were placed outside, and the laughter from outside reminded me of a grade-school lunchroom.

  After supper and some more hot tea, the table in the living room was broken down and put away. The mothers got all their children to sit down outside as there were now too many people to tell the stories indoors. The table that was in the living room was set up outside, and a small fire was placed in a barrel. The men added some dead mesquite and some scrap lumber to the fire, and a perfect mood was cast for storytelling. I wasn’t ready yet and retreated to my truck and retrieved the painting. I returned and called Ben’s mother and sisters over and unwrapped the painting. “This is in honor of CMDR Benjamin Begay, please accept it.”

  The two sisters looked at the painting with pleasure and Victoria said, “We have something for you.” She opened a leather bag and handed me a silver pendant and chain. On the pendant was an engraving of the Klingon Emperor Kahless, my namesake. “Thank you,” I said, as I slipped it around my neck. Ben’s mother took the painting inside and placed it on the living room wall. When she returned, I spoke. “I must go see my brother tomorrow, so tonight will be the last night of my visit. I could tell there was a great deal of disappointment. “I promise I’ll come to see you all every time I’m on leave. You all are like family to me now.”

  Ben’s mother spoke, “It is a tradition of my people when one of our own has been taken away from us, to adopt one in his place. Ben was your brother, so you are now my son and our clansman. Who is your family?”

  I understood what she meant. I was not going to avoid them or lie to them, so I answered their question with honesty the way they would have said it. “I’m Eugene Bordelon, born into the Douzat Clan, born for the Bordelon Clan, my maternal grandfather’s mother was from the Rabalais Clan, and my paternal grandmother’s was from the DuPont clan.”

  I hope I hadn’t screwed it all up, quickly trying to convert my lineage into matrilineal terms. They didn't seem to notice if I made a mistake. It was important to declare my mother’s people’s entire lineage to assure that we didn’t have incest in our line, not that they could tell by the names. The adults all acknowledged my lineage with respect, even though my family names weren’t as colorful sounding as Bitter Water People or Towering House Clan. And that was how I got adopted into the family of Benjamin (COL SEAL) Begay.

  I started the storytelling for the last time on this visit. “In a land far away in a war that cannot be spoken of with man’s lips, there was a brave warrior named Benjamin Begay… I want to tell you the secret tonight of Ben Begay’s courage. Ben Begay had great courage because he viewed death as being with his Lord. With this, he could live with honor and have the courage for each and every day. If you have Jesus as your lord, you can have the same courage.” I sensed that many were thinking about this, and would do so for some time to come. Finally I spoke to them the stories they all came for. I told story after story until all the children were fast asleep. Some of the teenagers and all of the adults stayed with my storytelling until zero two hundred the next morning, and finally, I could talk no more. The ladies had kept hot tea flowing half the night and I probably wouldn’t sleep when I returned to the lodge. I finally bid goodbye to all my newfound family and called Blaze to heel. Ben’s mother and his sisters admonished me to bring Blaze back the next time I was on leave.

  Blaze climbed into the truck, and I drove back to the lodge. I packed my navy uniforms and dress shoes away and changed into a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. The TV showed an after-midnight pattern complete with its irritating noise. An all-night FM radio station would have to do. I found a station playing popular music and listened to it until daylight.

  Blaze and I greeted the sunrise, ate breakfast, and went on one more excursion down our favorite trail before leaving town. It was a beautiful May morning in northern New Mexico. I mused that if I ever retired that I could do it here. I touched the medallion around my neck and decided that this was the most memorable trip home ever. I’d been somewhat apprehensive about coming here, not knowing if my visit would cause them more pain and sorrow. In truth, the family needed closure and wanted whatever good history they could get. Benjamin Begay was a family hero; one whom members would try to emulate and they needed the stories for inspiration. I decided I would put to pen all the stories I could remember, and send copies of them back to his family.

  We reveled in our morning walk. I mentally tried to record every living plant and wildlife sighting to the smallest detail, knowing that all too soon it would be just a memory, with just red rocks and sand to call my home. Finally hunger got to me and we went back to the lodge. I cooked the last of our steaks and beans, and we had a good meal. Suddenly too tired to pack, I fell into bed and slept soundly until twenty-one hundred.

  I awoke feeling ready to turn the next page of our adventure. Since the only thing I had left in the room was tea, I decided that it was time to eat out. Calling Blaze to heel, we went to the truck and drove to Sonic Drive-In where I ordered two Sonic burgers, one plain with extra meat for Blaze, one with the works for me, and two orders of tater tots. Rested well enough to drive all night, I planned ahead. On the long stretch of road ahead across the desert, there were few if any all-night restaurants to get something “to go,” and probably no drive-in’s open, so I picked up some snacks and drinks at a late-night grocery store to eat along the way.

  We returned back to the lodge, packed, paid my bill and checked out. Blaze seemed to sense that a new adventure was starting as we left Taos. I took HWY 68S until we got to HWY 84, and we arrived in Santa Fe, NM about twenty-three thirty. We hit I40 about zero hundred fifteen and drove south on I25 to Albuquerque. From there, we traveled east and drove through to Amarillo, Texas, where we stopped and filled up with gas and got a cup of coffee. Driving straight through, we rolled into Oklahoma City around seven fifteen. I could tell I’d gotten my schedule out of whack, and I didn’t feel like driving all the way to New Orleans, LA.

  We found a small, but nice hotel that let me keep Blaze, registered and unpacked. The hotel had room service, so I ordered a couple of ham and cheese omelets with biscuits and gravy for me and Blaze. I decided not to travel again until the next morning and try to adjust my body clock by not turning in until at least until twenty hundred.

  After eating, I took Blaze to a park, pulled out the Frisbee, and we had a blast. We went back to the hotel where I wrote for a while in my journal and watched TV until the time for supper. After some more room service and a shower, I left instructions for a wakeup call at zero six hundred.

  I slept deeply and awoke to the sound of a phone announcing my wake-up call. The last leg of the trip was 505 miles, and I took I35 South to Dallas, then I45 South to Houston. This was not the most direct route to New Orleans, but I was avoiding going through Alexandria. My hometown was Rapides Station, just north of Alexandria. ASDC officers were considered dead in their original identity and were ordered not to go back to their hometown on leave, to avoid running into people who might ask questions. I didn’t want to chance breaking down or running into someone who knew me, so I never went through there.

  On my first leave, my brother Roger and I met secretly in New Orleans after I called him from a pay phone. Every time I go on leave now, I send him a letter with my ETA, and he meets me in New Orleans or Baton Rouge, LA. I arrived in New Orleans at nineteen hundred and pulled into the truck stop where we always met.

  Roger understood that I worked for the government, but couldn’t discuss it. He seemed to und
erstand and always accommodated my unusual rules for contact. It was a funny relationship when we met. He could talk about his life all he wanted, but I just spoke of our life together before and answered general questions about my welfare. Roger and the boys would not be here for three days.

  I was to meet Soke Marx for supper at Mandina’s restaurant on Canal Street. I parked my rented truck in front of the restaurant on the street. Pulling up to the restaurant, I parked my rented truck in front, on the street. Soke Marx’s car pulled up and he parked behind me. Telling Blaze to stay, I cracked the window and locked the car. She had already been fed, and would probably curl up and take a nap until I got out. After Soke Karl W. Marx locked his car, I gave him a bow, which he returned, and then he hugged me. Soke Marx was an outgoing individual, given to expressions of affection and deeply committed to Christ. We went inside and were seated by the boss’ daughter and manager, Cindy Mandina. We both ordered a couple of beers while we looked over the menu. The waitress delivered the beers and left and left, giving us time to decide what to order. I presented my teacher with the gift I had brought him, a copy of The Art of War.

  “Thank you. I appreciate it.” He looked into my eyes. “There is something different about you this time. You have more authority in your bearing, and also sadness.”

  “You remember the friend I sent to you for advanced training sessions?”

  “Yes, the Navajo known only as “Seal.” ”

  “He was killed in action.”

  “You always spoke of him with such respect. I take it he was your commander as well as your friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “So that is the reason for both your sadness and your promotion?”

  “Yes.”

  “I knew him well enough to know that he is in heaven now. You are viewing this from a temporal perspective. You must learn to see this from an eternal perspective.”

  “I know you are right. It will just take time.”

  Soke Marx looked as though something pained him. He sighed and leaned forward, his eyes as remorseful as one who had accidentally killed a friend. “I have a confession to make. I have mistakenly led you and my students down the wrong spiritual path. Now I must undo the damage, even if it is one student at a time.”

  “Soke?”

  “The so called spiritual disciplines of trancendental meditation and mind-control are wrong. For years I have been “kicking against the goads” and trying to do this my own way. From now on I will be doing this God’s way. I apologize for leading you astray.”

  “Apology accepted. I will, of course, follow you as you are following Christ.”

  “Excellent! I want you to throw any of the old keichu-ryu patches away. I have a new one for you. This one has the sign of the dove on it, representative of the new God over Keichu-Ryu.”

  He handed me two patches, one for my karate gi and one for my boxing trunks. The waitress interrupted us and asked us if we were ready to order. Mandina’s restaurant offered both Italian and Cajun food. Soke Marx ordered a seafood platter, and I ordered veal parmesan and spaghetti with an Italian salad. The food, as usual was exquisite, and we ate and drank our fill and departed for the evening after planning an early morning start on my training session. Blaze and I found a hotel that would allow me to keep her.

  Zero six hundred came early. I arose, took a quick shower, fed Blaze and grabbed some breakfast in the diner next to the hotel I was staying in. I had to leave Blaze in the truck while I grabbed breakfast. Soke Marx did not mind my bringing her to the training session. Our training session was in a small dojo which belong to a friend of Soke Marx. I had requested training solutions to fighting in a deep sea diver’s suit and using my bat’letH. A diving suit was as close to a space suit as I could manage without saying too much. I had sent ahead the design and measurements for my Klingon sword, and Soke Marx had two hardwood replicas made for practice. The boots were heavy, so kicks were basically out. My instructor made the most of close-quarters fighting in bulky equipment, focusing on using my hands and sword. It was no doubt the first time he had been asked to develop and teach a fighting technique for someone so weighed down and immobile. He probably doubted its validity as a combat application but said nothing. Three days were over more quickly than I would have liked, and my karate master bid us farewell.

  At about seventeen hundred, Roger and his two sons, Mark and Andrew, rolled up in his Chevy truck, towing a trailer with my Harley and the newly installed sidecar. The sight of it gave promise of new adventures waiting for Blaze and me. His wife Barbara was visiting her sick mother and couldn’t come. I surveyed my brother. Farming hadn’t hurt him a bit. We both had brown hair and eyes, but he was a couple of inches shorter than me. He was fit but starting to get a slight pot belly, probably because his wife was one of the best cooks in Louisiana. Yes, my father left the farm to the right brother. We all got out and hugged each other and I let Blaze out to meet them.

  They all loved her and I explained that we couldn’t eat here with Blaze, so we went to Sonic Drive-In. Jalapeno poppers were on sale and four Cajun men couldn’t resist. We had a great time together and Blaze found some new friends. My family checked into the dog-friendly hotel where I was staying. Roger’s twin sons had just graduated from high school. Andrew was going to LSUA in the fall and Mark was joining the Marines in July. The two boys were as different as night and day. Andrew the artist was the sensitive one, whose green eyes from his mother mirrored a soul that was thoughtful and introspective. Mark with his dark eyes and rugged good looks was a man’s man, athletic, strong and aggressive, willing to take chances and driven to win.

  We arose early and took the drive-through to get breakfast at McDonald’s as we had to accommodate Blaze.

  FISHING IN THE GULF OF MEXICO

  We finished breakfast and headed down to the dock to meet the captain and his two mates at zero seven hundred. We boarded with our fishing tackle and our ice chests full of food and drink. I stood at the bow of the spar deck with my hand on the gunnel, gazing toward the sunrise. The weather was fair and the sun hung low in the cloudless azure-blue sky like a Spanish doubloon, painting a ribbon of gold upon the calm, sapphire-blue sea and dividing it before me. The bow of the ship cut an ever-expanding wedge of wake lines and the cutwater below produced a clean hiss in the morning air.

  Captain Thibodeaux charged me a little extra to take Blaze aboard because he thought she might be a little trouble. Our destination was the southern Chandeleur Islands in the Gulf of Mexico, where we planned to fish the islands for redfish and specs. I’d packed my waders and fly rod, as I was planning to fly fish the saltwater flats. Blaze was excited and fascinated by the sights and smells of the sea. I smiled at the sight of her with both paws on the gunnel, looking out at the sea while we were moving along. With her mouth open and tongue hanging out, she was as close to being in doggy heaven as was possible on Earth. Dolphins followed our boat, probably hoping for scrap fish parts that were sometimes thrown overboard when the mates cleaned fish for their clients and Blaze barked excitedly. Breathing deeply and tasting the tang of the salt air, I wondered if I should buy a boat and retire out here someday.

  The captain got us as close as possible to one of the southern Chandeleur Islands and set anchor. We loaded a skiff with our gear and my dog and headed inland. Smelling and investigating everything, Blaze wandered around the island while I fished the day away. We fished the sloughs on the southernmost island’s backside flats all day and got an impressive catch of specs and some bull reds. The captain met us at sundown, and we showed him our catch.

  Captain Thibodeaux told us of a place where we could catch some blackfin tuna for sure and maybe a yellowfin if we were lucky. The plan was to fish next to a natural gas platform at night. They kept lights on at night, and it attracted baitfish. And where there was baitfish, there was going to be tuna. The captain offered to supply us with heavy rigs that we needed. Since we’d fish tomorrow night away, we had tomorrow day off. We could
enjoy the night and sleep in late. The mates filleted our fish and bagged and iced them for us. When I got back to the hotel, I put them all on a saltwater soak. I’d cook them when we awoke in the afternoon in the kitchenette at the hotel.

  Later tonight we were going to eat all the Cajun food we could, listen to some genuine Cajun music, drink a few beers and spend some time together as a family. I fed Blaze some fish before we shoved off and left her with the desk clerk, but had to pay him for his trouble. We chose a New Orleans style Cajun restaurant with a live band. Returning to the hotel about zero two hundred, we played poker until sunup. We laughed, carried on and had a great time. My nephew Mark asked me if he could serve with me, but changed his mind when I told him that I only set eyes upon women once every two years due to my special assignment. As much as I would like to have him with me, I was pleased to hear that. My father’s family line was all here, and I didn’t want him killed on Mars.

  We ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Afterward I walked Blaze, fed her a fish and turned in for some shut-eye. I slept soundly until eleven ten and awoke to the sound of my nephew Andrew knocking on the door.

  “Wake up, Uncle Gene, let’s cook lunch.” I let him in, and showered and trimmed my beard. When I came back, my brother and his two boys were planning to cook dinner. We had some oil in a large pot on the stove to cook fish and French fries, and it was already heating up. The refrigerator had some salad makings I’d purchased on the way here. My brother and Mark were already there when I got out of the shower and everyone was ready to eat. In Louisiana, fish are almost always cooked in cornmeal, but I convinced them to let me try tempura batter. The boys scrubbed the potatoes and cut the eyes out but didn’t peel them. I preferred peel on and thick cut. The potatoes were drained of water and cut into wedges. Once the large oil pot was hot, we dropped in the battered fillets and potato wedges. The smell of the fish bubbling in the hot oil was making me hungry. After draining and cooling the rest of the fish and fries, we prayed and ate the best meal I’d had in a long time. This was not much different that my dinners made from fish we raise in our greenhouse fish tank on Mars, but this was better. This was with family, and it tasted better than ever.