We arrived at the dock promptly at fourteen hundred with enough food and drink to last us for the night. It took about four hours to reach the first offshore platform where we’d start. It was almost dark when we arrived. We had just a little daylight left to get prepared when the mate dropped anchor. In less than an hour, the sun would set, and the offshore platforms lights would come on and attract the baitfish. The rigs supplied by the captain were suitable for game fishing. I trusted his judgment as he was a professional and I was the tourist.
The idea was to catch the flying fish with a net when the rig lights came on and store the ones we weren’t using right away in a live well while we fished for yellowfin tuna on the surface. Dark descended, and when we’d netted all the flying fish we thought we could use in one night, we settled down to fish. We hooked the baits in the lip and cast them between fifty to one hundred yards out, bump trolling the bait. Yellowfin tuna were predators and gave a very sporting fight, but we were all successful. When the action died down, we switched to fishing deep for blackfin tuna. Using heavy jigs, which simulated squid, we dropped them about one hundred feet deep and used a fast return. The evening was a success, taking even more fish than the first trip. I decided we’d use Captain Thibodeaux’s services the next time I’m back on Earth.
All in all, we caught three yellowfins, two blackfins and a young mako shark. This would be a night to remember forever. This was almost enough to tempt me to come home for good, but not quite. The sun was rising over the gulf when we left for land, causing the surf-blue water to shine gold as the sunlight danced on its wake. Andrew knew how I felt about pictures, so he sketched charcoal drawings of us to capture the memories of the evening. He was a talented artist and had been awarded an art scholarship. He hoped to turn his love of art into a lifetime profession. My brother Roger was hoping at least one of the boys would take over the farm one day, but was going to give them their space until they decided on which path in life was their own.
The captain’s mates were very experienced with processing fish. It was all cleaned, filleted and packed in barrels with dry ice. Some tuna and shark fillets I’d be taking back to Mars. Much of it was going home with Roger and a portion of mine would go to Major Ripsnort in exchange for ignoring my weight limit back. Blaze had a ball, and I hoped it wouldn’t be hard to get her back into the transport freighter home.
We returned to the hotel and got a good night’s sleep in preparation to go to St. Louis to watch a Cardinals game.
In the morning, I packed my stuff and hitched the trailer with my Harley to my rented truck. I’d drive the rental pickup to St. Louis and turn it in there after the game, and go back to the Academy on my Harley. I had my portion of fish and shark steaks shipped to the Academy on dry ice.
At first light, we headed to St. Louis, MO., but it wouldn’t be straight as the crow flies. I had no intention of meeting up with someone with whom I grew up with going through Alexandria. We’d take the long way around, through Mississippi, then to Little Rock, and on to St Louis. This would also keep me from the temptation of trying to visit my parents’ graves. As much as I wanted to visit their graves, it also held a sort of Tom Sawyer twist to it. I’m supposed to be buried right next to them. I didn’t want someone who knew me deciding I was alive and making for a possible security leak. People seem to be full of conspiracy theories since JFK’s assassination and I didn’t want to fuel someone’s fertile imagination. Okay, so it was a secret conspiracy of sorts, but one that they didn’t need to know about. We fought hard for them, but knowledge of the war was on a need to know basis. The ASDC covered fine for me in most every encounter, but I had orders to stay away from my hometown.
When I retire, and my work is done on Mars, I’m sure some elaborate cover story could be made, to resurrect me so that I could go home and pay my respects to my parents.
It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day in St. Louis: fluffy, cottony-white cumulus clouds were scattered across the robins-egg blue sky. The national anthem choked me with emotion and finally the umpire called “play ball.”
The television camera catching me on film was a security no-no, but I wasn‘t concerned. My beard was full, and I was wearing a ball cap. When I’m daydreaming back on Mars, and the pressure is on, this is what I’m dreaming of. The stands were full of excited fans, there to support their hometown team. Roger and his boys grabbed an authentic baseball stadium lunch of beer, hotdogs and peanuts. On the way to our seats, I purchased two St. Louis Cardinals jerseys and two caps from the merchandise booth. I always wanted to be able to have a clean jersey when I watched the Cards on satellite TV back at home. The game was exceptionally exciting. The Cards won 6-3, driving in the winning runs with a home run in the bottom of the ninth inning.
After bidding a reluctant goodbye to Roger and the boys, I turned in my rental truck and took my Harley back to Utah. We made plans to hunt Elk in the fall on my next visit with COL SEAL’s brothers-in-law. I had initially been concerned about having Blaze ride in the sidecar of my Harley, but she loved it. I put a pair of goggles on her and she didn’t seem to mind at all. My dog was a sight with her tongue hanging out, and wearing goggles. I couldn’t help but smile. With my probably pregnant dog in the sidecar, we hit the road. After three days of leisure driving across beautiful country, we arrived back at the ASDC Academy. I purposely shaved my beard to make sure that I was easily identified by security at the academy. I’d be stowing my bike here, and on my next trip I could pick it up directly from here when I arrived.
TEACHING AT THE ACADEMY
After clearing several security checkpoints and verifying with fingerprints and retinal scan that I was who I was supposed to be, Blaze and I were escorted to my quarters. While I was unpacking, the door buzzer announced a new cadet, checking to see if I were settled in okay.
“Cadet Wilcox reporting for duty, sir.”
“At ease, Cadet. My quarters appear to be in order. I’ll need my itinerary.”
“Yes sir, I already have that.” He unfolded a paper with my teaching schedule for the week and handed it to me. “Sir, BG Edwards wants to see you in his office right away.”
BG Wilson Edwards’ secretary announced me, and I walked in to find the general studying the teaching itinerary for the next week. He was once as strong as a lion, but he had paid the toll on the turnpike of time. Seventy years old now, his hair was snow white and thinning, with deepening lines in his face and liver spots on the back of his bony hands, and his pale blue eyes were not as bright as they use to be. There were pictures on the wall of children, grandchildren, and a couple of great-grandchildren. Time had wrought wounds as deep as any that my men had suffered on the battlefield with the Soviets. It was not hard to believe the rumors of his retirement.
“Come in, COL Kahless,” he said, and motioned for me to sit. “I trust your leave has been restful and enjoyable?”
“Absolutely, sir. I’ve gotten to go deep-sea fishing, watch a Cardinals game and ride my Harley. What more could a man ask for?” He chuckled with amusement at my comment, and then measured me to see if it was truly enough.
“Still living the life of a eunuch, I see.”
“Yes, sir. I’m leaving to go to Mars in one week. I just received my field command eleven months before I left. After thirteen years of military service, I don’t expect to get married and retire. As I see it, that would be a conflict of interest. After all, a man who’s home only one month every two years has nothing to offer. Besides, I have a dog.”
He laughed good-naturedly. “And Blaze is a very special dog.” He paused for a moment; a shadow of concern crossed his timeworn face like a cloud covering the sun. “I am glad that your survived your legal difficulties. I have high hopes that you will succeed me as commandant here someday. You know that I am not getting any younger. I think I will be taking my leave here in the next few years.” He exhaled as if he had been holding his breath since I had been arrested, relieved as I was that it was behind me.
The general smiled and nodded his head. “Now then, how is the war going?”
I spent more than an hour briefing him of our position and struggle on Mars. I spent more than an hour briefing him of our position and struggle on Mars. BG Edwards had been the first security chief of Nuclear Command Center 4, which repaired the first alien disc. He became the commandant here when the academy first started up. This was his mission and his life’s service to America, and he would do it until he retired.
I took leave of the general just as lunch was being served at the mess hall. I was scheduled to give a lecture on teamwork at thirteen hundred in the main auditorium, and all cadets were to attend. Instructors and visiting field officers were seated in one section of the mess hall; cadets were seated in another. I was able to sit next to COL Red Fangs, the commander of our post on Luna. He too, was on his last week here, though he was taking a different transport freighter home. We ate and made light talk and finally the conversation came around to Marines versus Navy.
“Now that I’m commander of our post on Mars, I think I will break the earlier tradition of Navy only.” If I’d meant to shock him, I couldn’t have done better with a stun gun.
“So what changed your mind about that?” he asked, seeming very interested.
“Well, we had some jarheads come through on the way to Ganymede, and they were stranded with us for a few sols because of a meteor shower, so I put them to work. I was impressed with their can do attitude. I’m going to seek to add marines to my command, especially, but not limited to, security.”
He looked at me with a sense of amusement, but he was clearly impressed with the compliment. He changed the subject. “I hear that your dog is rumored to be pregnant.” I couldn’t believe that I finally had some leverage over this jarhead.
“That’s the suspicion,” I said. It was obvious that my dog had become quite a celebrity among the personnel in the solar system’s various outposts, and he was quite interested in my dog’s condition.
“What kind of dog is the father?”
I had a hook in his jaw, and all I had to do now was reel him in. After all these years, he was actually asking a squid for something. “The father is a gray wolf. He didn’t hang around to show me his papers.”
He looked as though he was pained to be in debt to a sailor. “I sure would like to have a male from that litter.” This was rich! I wouldn’t have missed this for the entire world. This would make a real nice story at officers’ mess back home.
“What’ve you got to trade?”
He studied me for a moment and then he grinned. “I have a Marine Corps bomber pilot, top-notch, the best in the unit.”
I couldn’t believe it. He was going to transfer a marine pilot from his crew to my post—trading him for a dog, no less. Something wasn’t quite right, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. “What’s his name?” I asked more to get to the bottom of this than anything else.
“CPT Luv2bomb.”
I mulled it over for a moment. I’d heard of him, a very good bomber pilot, a Chinese-American. This might be good. I might someday need a pilot who could speak Chinese and maybe this one did. My curiosity was killing me, but I wanted to check out his service record before committing to anything.
“If I don't hurry, I’m going to be late for class. That would set a poor example for my students. Why don’t we meet later and discuss it at the o-club at beer-thirty and hoist a couple of cold ones?”
“That sounds like a plan.”
I hurried to class. It wouldn’t provide a good example for an instructor to be late. The classroom was filled with pilots from various branches of the service, most of them with prior flight experience, some with combat experience. The ranking cadet called a crisp “Atten-shun,” and after they all saluted, I addressed them.
“At ease, please be seated, gentlemen.” I collected my thoughts quickly and prepared for the class. I’d requested that each cadet bring a Bible. “Please turn in your Bibles to Ecclesiastes 4:12.” I read aloud from the New American Standard Bible, “ ‘And if one can overpower him who is alone, two can resist him. A cord of three strands isn’t quickly torn apart.’ ”
I motioned to turn off the lights, and then the film clip started. The satellite film clip of a battle about ten years old was being displayed. Two American pilots were dogfighting with two Soviets. As the fight went on, both American ships took heavy damage, and both pilots lost their ships. The finish of the clip was a break to the memorial room of the American post on Mars. The close-up showed two plaques, CPT Thor and 2LT Chill of Death. Then the next footage started to run, showing two American tanks fighting with four Soviet tanks. The two fought hard and smart, took damage, but vanquished all four of the enemy tanks. I then signaled to turn the light back on. “Can anyone tell me the difference in the fighting styles of the two pairs of pilots?” Several hands shot up, and I picked a young cadet with a knowing look in his eyes.
“Sir, the first two fought as if they were fighting their own personal battle; the second two fought as though they were brothers.”
“Well said, cadet. He’s exactly right. The first two pilots had a quest for individual glory and the second became like brothers, willing to die to protect the other. In fact,” I pointed to the back of the room, “let me introduce LTC Robertson, formerly known as MAJ Chainsaw, who was the senior pilot of the second pair, as well as one of your instructors.” I motioned my old friend to come to the podium.
LTC Robertson took the podium and at my direction stood to speak. His speech was more polished today since he’d spent his last few years in public speaking at the academy, but his southern accent was still as strong as the day I first met him.
“One thing every senior pilot on Mars has to do is to take on a new pilot as his wingman and try to teach him enough to keep them both alive. I was assigned a young pilot fresh from Vietnam as my wingman. During orientation, I had him slip on his flight suit and put his sidearms on over his suit. I surprised him by drawing the pistol out of his holster and plugging a mannequin three times. I thought he would fill his astronaut diaper. The look on his face was priceless,” he chuckled.
“My new wingman followed me everywhere except to the head. He seemed to make it his life’s mission to know me, so he stuck to me like glue. He became my little brother, and we fought side-by-side as one, with one purpose. I never had such teamwork and unity of purpose with any other pilot. 2LT Cowboy was figuratively integrated with me and we were one on the battlefield, and he’s still alive today.” He waved his hand toward me, “I give you 2LT Cowboy.”
“I was given an order by my first commander on Mars to keep that man alive. As you can see I faithfully completed that mission. It is essential that if you’re to survive and win that you learn teamwork. You can learn knowledge and develop skills, but you must learn teamwork first. If you learn teamwork, we will teach you the rest, or you’ll learn it with experience. I want you to try an exercise. Pair off with another cadet and share what your motivation is for serving in the ASDC. Also decide if you can put the other cadet’s safety and welfare before your own. If you can’t, no one will blame you if you decide to leave the ASDC now. Anyone who desires to leave the ASDC, come see me after class.”
About forty cadets paired off and examined their motives. I had only two cadets who decided to leave. Boot camp did a good job of weeding out most of the ones who couldn’t work as a team. I was surprised that two men were leaving, but was relieved that they were leaving before they failed their teammates. I was grateful for their honesty. I just hope there weren’t others that should have left. Afterward I addressed the cadets for about forty-five minutes on the value of faithfulness and honor.
Classes were finally over for the day. Tomorrow I’d be teaching on Soviet warfare tactics. The academy had a very good officers’ mess. I decided that I would have supper there, instead of trying to eat in my quarters, but first I wante
d to access the PC in my quarters and pull the service record on CPT Luv2bomb. Here it was. He was twenty-nine, had an excellent service record and his re-enlistment was coming up in a month. He had a request in his file that re-enlisting was conditional on his being assigned to Mars. This was funnier than the idea of trading a pilot for a dog. He was trying to trade me something he didn’t have, but then again, so was I.
1LT Powder Burns was homesick and said he wouldn’t re-enlist unless he could be within sixteen hours of Earth. He preferred leave times every year. I smiled. Two can play this game, and I’ll see that he takes a sailor in the process. I checked my e-mail, and LTC Killer Instinct said everything was okay, and not to worry. Like any administrator, I took the news as a mixed blessing. My post was still there, but they could do all right without me. Well, that was part of my duty, to make sure that I had good men to hold down the fort (literally) when I was not there.
Logging off of my PC, I strolled over onto the officers’ mess. Good, I thought. COL Red Fangs was not here and I preferred talking about this over a couple of beers. Today’s special was Mexican food. My students might not appreciate that in the morning when I have to look over their shoulders in the flight simulator. I knew it was unkind, but I decided that they needed to get accustomed to hardship and ordered a double-order of beans and chilies. I got to chat with a couple of the other visiting instructors.
Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars Page 33