At the same time, though, he wasn’t shy about voicing his displeasure.
“Damn, it’s colder than a witch’s titties in a brass bra!” he’d whine.
Or, “It’s so darn cold out there the penguins flew south for the winter.”
Or a hundred other such complaints.
He seemed to come up with a new one at the end of every shift, and although he professed to having overheard all of them, he had his doubters.
Most of his coworkers believed he spent his shift in the cold pacing around the perimeter and thinking up new ways to describe how cold it was.
No one could blame him.
After all, pulling sentry duty in a blinding snow storm was as boring as boring could possibly be.
One had to find something to keep his mind occupied to keep from going crazy.
Might as well be that as anything else.
Point was, Lenny hated the cold so much he was never late for shift change.
“Where do you think he is,” Paul asked as he gazed out into the blowing snow.
“I don’t know,” Richard said. “This isn’t like him, though. Let’s give him another five minutes before we freak out. Maybe he forgot to wind his watch.”
It was hard to hide the concern on Richard’s face, though.
Although the gate house was toasty warm, he donned his heavy parka and gloves even as he spoke.
If Lenny didn’t come into view by five after the search was on.
-7-
The weather in Plainview, four hundred miles to the north, was frightful.
A raging blizzard had increased the snow pack to over four feet.
Most residents of the small Texas town were freaking out. They were wondering how in the world they’d get out to gather food. And where on earth they’d find it under such a thick blanket of snow.
And they were committing suicide in mass numbers.
Frank Woodard didn’t know that, though. He and his captors were in a monstrous building. Forty thousand square feet of building.
But they had not a single window to look out of.
Inside the Food World Distribution Center they weren’t quite as snug as the proverbial bugs in a rug.
But they were a heck of a lot more comfortable than most of the town’s other residents.
The Dykes family name wasn’t well liked or respected in Hale County. It seemed each new generation of Dykes was as bad as the one which came before it.
Dykes family members were more likely to go to prison than to college. One was even hanged in the town square back when public executions were the norm.
Given a chance to bring back such spectacles, townsfolk might revive the practice just to rid itself of more Dykes.
At least that was true of Plainview before Cupid 23 collided with earth.
Now what was left of the populace was too busy struggling to survive to worry about what happened to the Dykes or what they might be up to.
What they were up to was killing time in the distribution center.
It was perhaps the most ambitious and successful thing any of their lot had ever accomplished.
For it was a crown jewel. The only crown jewel in the city.
At least for those who wanted to survive for the long term.
It was a huge facility, packed to the gills with food, water and supplies.
They say the early bird gets the worm, and the Dykes just happened to be the first group to assault the facility when the first meteorite struck the earth years before.
They’d held it ever since.
One thing that worked to their advantage was the lack of windows.
No one on the outside could tell who occupied the building, or how many men they had.
All subsequent groups knew was that every time they tried to breach the building they were repelled by gunfire from within.
They didn’t know if the building was occupied by twenty men or two hundred.
And lack of such intelligence made it difficult for anyone to get ambitious enough to take over the building.
In any event, the four feet of snow outside meant the Dykes clan could relax. It was impossible for any group of marauders to mount an attack under such conditions.
As the Dykes saw it, the heat was off. They were safe from attack until the world began to warm again and the snow pack melted.
They stood down from their twenty-four hour watch.
Now, that should have made Frank Woodard exceedingly happy, for not having a guard on night shift would have made his efforts to escape his captors easier.
And it would have. Made him happy, that is, except that he was still too incapacitated to even think of an escape.
Frank lay upon his cot in Josie’s tent as she changed the dressing on his abdominal wound.
The light from a three-wicked candle flickered across her face. He studied it and decided she was beautiful.
He probably shouldn’t tell her so, but he couldn’t help himself.
Frank had always been a hopeless flirt.
“You’re really a hot chick, you know that?”
She smiled and cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Seriously? Nobody talks like that anymore.”
“They don’t?”
“No, sir. They don’t.”
“Sorry. I was just trying to be rad.”
“Nobody says rad anymore either.”
“They don’t?”
“No, Frank, they don’t. If you’re trying to be cool, stop it. You’re too old to be cool.”
“Then how do I talk to you without you thinking I’m square?”
Now she rolled her eyes and laughed.
“Frank, nothing you could possibly say would make me think you’re anything but square. But that’s okay. Square is cool.”
“It is?”
“Yes. As long as it’s coming from a wrinkled up old man.”
“Oh there you go again, trying to hurt my feelings.”
“I’m not trying to, Frank. I’m just trying to tell you to stop trying to be cool. It doesn’t work for you.
“Just be yourself. Talk the way you’re comfortable talking. If you want to impress me, don’t try to do the cool guy.
“Just do Frank. Frank is cool enough for me.”
“I’d rather you do Frank.”
She caught his eye.
It had a bit of a twinkle in it.
“Did you mean that the way I think you meant it?”
“Yes.”
She said nothing.
He wasn’t sure, but he worried he might have offended her.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’re a beautiful woman. And despite the rough exterior you’re so determined to convince me is the real you, I know better.”
“You do, huh?”
“I do. You saved my life and you’ve been a friend. You’ve gone out of your way to care for me and to protect me from Eddie.
“You didn’t have to do that. Any of it. But you did.
“And in doing so you showed me your true side. You try to hide it, but I see you for the sweetheart you really are.”
“Frank, don’t you dare fall in love with me.”
“I’m afraid… I’m afraid I already have.”
-8-
She wasn’t surprised.
She already knew.
“Well?” he asked.
“Well what?”
“Oh, for crying out loud. I just professed my love for you. Tell me how you feel about it.”
She hesitated. She was walking on eggshells now and didn’t want to say the wrong thing.
She had grown quite fond of Frank herself in recent days, and didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Frank… how many times in your life have you fallen in love?”
It was a question he hadn’t expected.
But at least she wasn’t yelling at him, or trying to tell him he was crazy for falling in love with a woman thirty years younger.
So he’d give the ques
tion its due.
He thought back.
Thought back to high school, when he fell head over heels with Shirley Murray.
That was his first.
The rest were easy to remember.
There weren’t that many of them.
“Four times,” he finally announced.
“How many times have you had your heart broken?”
“Three.”
“And the fourth was your wife?”
“Yes. Eva. She was the only one smart enough to realize what a catch I was.
“Why are you asking all these silly questions?”
“Because you’re a nice guy, Frank. And yes, even I can see you’re quite a catch. But I don’t want to be number four.”
“Number four?”
“I don’t want to be the fourth girl to break your heart.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that easy, Frank. If you fall for me I’ll have to tell you no. And then you’ll be hurt. I’ve had my heart broken too, you know. I know how it feels. I don’t want to put that hurt on you. Let’s just leave what is what is, okay?”
“What is, exactly?”
“Right now you’re my patient. And we’re becoming good friends. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”
Frank was nothing if not hard-headed and persistent.
“Why?”
“Why leave it as it is? Because I know about the psychology of nurses and their patients, that’s why.
“Men frequently fall in love with their nurses, Frank. It’s quite common. It’s one of the first things nurses learn in nursing school.
“They’re taught to watch for it and to guard against it.”
“But you weren’t a nurse. You were a paramedic.”
“They share many of their college courses. I had a lot of friends in college who went on to become nurses. All of them had to deal with male patients falling in love with them.”
“Why is that, exactly?”
“They’re not sure. I mean, the psychologists at school thought it was because men go into the hospital at their most vulnerable time. They feel helpless, and the nurses are the ones they see day to day. Even more than the doctors.
“They’re vulnerable and they see the nurses as their saviors. They see the nurses as having their lives in their hands, so to speak.
“They’re as helpless as a newborn baby in its mother’s arms. And they see the nurses as the ones who nurture them back to health, just as their mothers did long ago.”
“So… men who fall for their nurses are mama’s boys?”
“Not exactly. But they feel the same kind of love.”
“And that’s why you don’t want me to express my feelings for you? Because you think my feelings are misplaced?”
“Well… yes.”
“Honey, I’m a grown man.
“And yes, I’ve got some years on you.
“But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.
“Have you ever heard the old saying, “the older the violin, the sweeter the music?”
She rolled her eyes.
She asked, “Is that another version of, “the riper the grape the sweeter the wine?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
She smiled.
“I’ve got a question for you, my dear Frank.”
Frank couldn’t deny that his heart fluttered just a bit at her choice of words.
“Shoot.”
“If it’s true that the older the violin, the sweeter the music, how come only old men say that?”
He smiled.
“The same reason only bald men claim bald is beautiful.”
“If it’s true that the riper the berry, the sweeter it is, how come only old men say that?”
“Maybe because only seasoned men are mature enough to know it.”
“Well, in any event, it’s a bad idea for male patients, regardless of their age, to fall in love with their nurses. So please don’t tell me you’ve fallen for me, okay?”
“I’ve got my own theory about that.”
“You do, huh? Okay then, Frank. Tell me what your theory is.”
“I think you don’t want me to tell you I’m falling for you because you’re afraid you’ll have to admit you’re falling for me too.”
She looked at her feet, almost afraid to answer him.
It would have been easy to laugh off his claim.
Or to tell him he was crazy.
But Josie was nothing if not honest.
She paused for several seconds and said…
“Maybe.”
-9-
There were a lot of assorted emotions flying about down south, at the former Kelly Air Force Base near San Antonio.
But love wasn’t one of them.
Air Force General Lester Mannix sat in front of a rather expansive desk in his hardened bunker.
Despite the size of his desk his accommodations were rather sparse. He’d been in his bunker office for almost two months now and still hadn’t bothered to decorate.
The other joint chiefs decorated theirs.
And it wasn’t that he didn’t have the time.
Locked in a bunker twenty four hours a day as they were, there was ample time for such things.
No, the Air Force chief of staff didn’t decorate on purpose.
To decorate, to make the office an extension of himself, would be akin to making a home of the bunker.
And he never wanted to forget this was not his home.
Home was his ranch outside of Langley, Virginia.
That’s where he raised his kids, and was getting to know his grandkids.
And where he’d return to after the thaw came and liberated them from their self-imposed prison.
This wasn’t home. This was a cell. A necessary way station.
And he’d break out of here with his family as soon as it was possible to do so.
If he made this place home, if he got comfortable, he might be tempted to stay longer than he had to.
Mannix felt a lot of emotions these days.
Yes, he felt guilty for having a place to ride out the freeze fairly comfortably.
Most others were out there struggling.
And as every hour went by, he knew, more and more people were giving up and dying.
So there was the guilt.
He also felt bad for the poor souls who weren’t so lucky.
At the Academy he’d studied a doctrinal theory which said a general should rid himself of any empathy for his troops before he pinned on his first star.
It was named the “Patton Principle” after General George S. Patton, one of the heroes of the Second World War.
Patton firmly maintained it was a mark of honor to be hated by his men. For if he achieved that goal it must mean he was a… as he put it, “a heartless son of a bitch.”
The truth was Patton had a deep-rooted empathy for his men. It pained him to send them off to battle, especially when the odds were against them and he knew many of them wouldn’t be returning.
But to show that empathy, to cast the least bit of concern, would crush the unit’s confidence. And crushing the confidence of the Third Army would mean sending men into battle doubting themselves and their abilities to fight.
And that just wouldn’t do.
General Mannix had the same dilemma. He genuinely felt pity for the men and women of Joint Base San Antonio who were quite literally left out in the cold to fend for themselves.
But as the senior officer in the United States Air Force he had to keep his eyes on the end goal.
It was essential for the continuity of the United States, that he stay safe in his bunker.
For it would be his job to reconstitute the Air Force, in whatever shambles it was in after the freeze, and to get it operational again.
It was one of the elemental duties of the chiefs of staff for all the branches of the armed forces.
For if they perished, there was simply no one else with the corporate kn
owledge to make such reconstitution happen.
The general’s thoughts were interrupted by the two-way radio on his desk.
“This is Captain Edwards from Security Forces Group, here to see General Mannix.”
One of Mannix’s aides stuck his head in the doorway. The two had been together long enough to read each other’s minds.
The aide, without saying a word, was offering to answer the call if the general was busy.
But General Lester Mannix was a hands-on kind of guy. He waved off the young lieutenant and answered the radio himself.
The “magic number” he’d given verbally to Captain Edwards the last time they met was seventeen.
Even though the voice on the radio sounded very familiar and he believed it to belong to Edwards, the captain would only be allowed entry if he had the correct response to the general’s query.
There were two reasons for this.
First and foremost, an infiltrator could easily impersonate Captain Edwards’ voice.
Or, he could take advantage of the fact there were no cameras installed on the outside of the bunker and take the Captain hostage; then force him to provide safe passage into the bunker.
The “magic number” procedure was an easy way of thwarting both scenarios.
If it was a bad guy impersonating Captain Edwards, he wouldn’t know the correct code.
If a bad guy took Edwards hostage, Edwards would give him the wrong code, thereby denying himself and the bad guy entry.
The general picked up his radio and said, “Good morning, Captain Edwards. My number today is five. What’s yours?”
“My number is twelve, sir.”
Five plus twelve was indeed seventeen, and matched the magic number.
“Go ahead and let him in,” the general instructed his security staff.
-10-
Captain Edwards wasn’t alone. He brought with him a hollow-eyed skeleton of a woman.
Once they were shown to the general’s office the captain introduced her.
“Sir, this is Captain Kathy Krebbs. She’s assigned to the civil engineering squadron.”
“My God, Captain. Are you getting enough to eat?”
General Mannix wasn’t a man who minced words. Men who were afraid of speaking out didn’t rise to the rank of four-star general.
Rest in Peace Page 3