Homeland Security

by William L Casselman

  “When I’m conducting training, I conduct it as if we are involving in the real thing. The only factor I allow to remain is weapons and knife safety. You’ll soon be learning what I mean about knife safety, for with the month I expect each and every one of you to have on your uniform a seven to eight-inch sheath knife. As you can see, I wear a Marine K-Bar knife taped to my combat suspenders. I wear it upside down for an easy grab, plus I feel the Marine K-Bar is the finest general-purpose combat knife in the world. But, I know that Buck makes a fine sheath knife also, but you must purchase one without the silvery handle. The French also make a fine combat knife, as well as the Israeli, India and several others. The blade needs to be thick enough so it will not snap in half. Now, I’m not all that crazy about the Smith and Wesson Bowie knife, but I’ve known soldiers who preferred them, and I will allow it if you can remove the silvery pieces, or darken them somehow.

  Now as to other knives, I will insist each of you will carry a hidden boot knife in each boot, and you will learn how to throw them for a distance of less than 12-feet. You will also be learning knife fighting techniques. A couple years ago, such boot knives and what I was taught saved my life. Other soldiers I worked with in the sandbox have had similar stories to tell. You will learn how to throw the knife and fight with it. So, you will find knives that can be safely worn and hidden in your boots, and that will be throwable. A dozen companies make such knives, and you can find them at various stores in town. In one month from today, inspections will be conducted to see if you have said knives in your possession. If not, long distance running will be in your future. Please believe me, the Chinese and Russians who have designs on our lovely state all train with knives….from fighting techniques to throwing them. The Chinese officers still carry a short sword, and it is not for just looks. As for all of you who served in the sandbox, I am sure you’ll recall all of the bad guys who carried swords and knives.” Clay thought over what he had just seen and then remembering one last thing concerning the knives, he added. “Listen, I know these additional items I am requiring, between the knives and the pads, cost money, and maybe you cannot afford it. Come see me between now and 30-days from now. I also want to add, remember to remove your boot knives once training days have ended. You might get pulled over by a local police officer or State Trooper, and if this leads to a pat-down search and your boot knives are found…you could be arrested for carrying a concealable weapon. So please, remember to remove them once we’re done and I also hope to remember to advise you of this when we are done. Now any questions?” He was surprised when there was none.

  To finish off the night, Clay ordered an 8-mile hike back out to the highway, which was immediately greeted by a lot of boos; that is until the Colonel slung his rifle and began walking away from them and heading north up the road. That stopped all the complaints. The companies were formed up by platoons, and the two majors led the way in a two column loose formation. Major’s Peterson and Johnson were right behind the Colonel, and Clay was a couple steps behind them. Along the way, Clay filtered back through the formation to talk with the troops. He wanted to get their ideas about what they would like to see for their training days, and he obtained several good suggestions, which he promptly wrote down in his small notebook. By the time they reached the highway, the tractor-trailer vehicle fleet had pulled up behind them, now loaded down with the APC’s. The 15-ton Kenworth had an empty flatbed, and once it got turned around out on the highway, it began shuttling the weary couch potatoes back to their cars and trucks. The tractor had to make two trips to get everyone back to the parking lot, and then it loaded the remaining 2-APC 113 track vehicles for the journey back to Fairbanks.

  Clay was curious, but he hadn’t asked, as to where the APCs were stored. He was pretty sure the trucks belonged to a commercial trucking line, and the owner was either friends with the Colonel, or they were hired out by a local dealership. For a moment, he also wondered if there might be some connection between the truck-line with the Alaskan Independence Party. He knew one of the trucking firms in town was owned by some hard-core right-wing Christians, but he was simply letting his mind wander at this point. Toss it out and let’s see what sticks to the flypaper, Grandfather always used to say.

  Clay rode back to the parking lot in the cab of the Kenworth so he could chat with the driver and learn how the big beast was operated. He had driven the smaller tractors, but never one of this size, and he was surprised by how similar it was in its operation. Double-clutching was the same for both and the same with the usage of air brakes. He liked big trucks and at one point in his young life thought about becoming a trucker, but his Grandpa had talked him out of it. The driver was an older guy name Matt Davis, who had been driving trucks for over 50-yrs and all of it in Alaska. He’d driven the Haul Road to Prudhoe Bay so many times he no longer bothered to keep count. Matt knew every turn and was smart enough to know that he could never take any Alaskan road for granted. “First time you relax on that road or any other road up here, Sonny, it’ll kill you dead, sure enough!”

  Once he and Emy had cleaned and put their weapons into their various weapon carriers, they loaded them into the van, finished off two bottles of water and then finally climbed aboard. It had been a long day for both of them, and next time she was going to bring knee and elbow pads along. She was mad at Clay for not having warned her about the exercise involving the disembarking of a moving APC and rolling across the hard dirt ground. But he told her that would’ve been unfair to the others.

  “Are you dating the others, Mr. Captain…Sir?”

  “No, but when I’m a Captain…, I’m a Captain. I have to go by the rules, even if it upsets you.”

  “Does that work on our dates too, Captain…dear?” Emy asked, batting her eyes at him.

  “I’m not a Captain on our dates. I’m just a love-struck Indian boy from Minto in search of warmth and compassion and the love of a good understanding woman…who can cook like her mother.”

  “Right! Only thing you love, Mr. Captain, sir, is my dad’s Camaro and I’ll have you know I can cook, though not as good as Mom. But, she got a lot of years on me in learning.”

  “Well, that’s true… to a certain degree on the cooking part and maybe the car too, but I can’t kiss and hug a Camaro, or at least get any satisfaction from it.”

  “You keep this up, and you can’t kiss and hug this girl either. You’re beginning to sound like a General Motor’s Hallmark card.”

  “Do you want to stop by McDonalds?” Clay asked. His stomach was rumbling, and he felt like a Big Mac, maybe a couple of them.

  “No, I do not want to stop at McDonalds. Here I am dating a retired Army Captain who works as a manager for the largest car dealership in Fairbanks, and he wants to take me out to McDonalds. You’re a cheap-oh, Captain Jefferson! So, no, I’m going to drop you off, and you will pick me up in two hours and take me out for a nice formal dinner. You select the location, but there will be no pizza, no fast food or any place that gives out toys with their meals, neither will it be a place that offers donuts or ice cream for dessert and no oriental buffets. I want a nice place where you will be showing me off, and I will even wear one of my best dresses for you. So, plan on wearing your sports coat and a tie, or I will slam the front door in your face. Fail to show up at the appointed time, and I will have a contract out on your life by morning, and I do know a lot of men who carry guns and who dearly love me. You understand me… Captain, Sir…dear?”

  Almost exactly two hours later, when the doorbell rang, Emy opened the front door and was stunned to find a black limo waiting outside on the street. It was too long for the driveway. Clay stood off to one side of the doorway in his best finery, with a tie on, freshly showered and a white orchid corsage in his hands. Emy’s mom was in tears, and Dad struggled to keep from blubbering. This was the night she never had in high school, and it was with the man she was beginning to love, and as an added plus, they approved of him. What could be better? The corsage was carefull
y pinned onto her blue satin dress by Mom and unable to speak, Emy was escorted out to the vehicle by a young man who even remembered to shave, again. The fancy dressed Chauffer also wore black tuxedo and was there to open the door for them. Once they vanished inside, the parents at the front door were now shaking their heads, as they had suddenly wished someone had bothered to run and gotten the camera.

  Because of who Emy was, she had not be asked to a Senior Ball or any of the other fancy school dances. Though she had attended a few of them with groups of other unattached young ladies, who would usually find a dance with one of the unattached boys. Later, at least they could say they had danced and in some of the cases, had had some fun. For Emy, she thought high school was a total drag and hadn’t realized she was thought to be one of the most beautiful girls in their class. But, her mind was devoted to other things, and she didn’t experience ‘life’ until she joined the U.S. Army and went to war. When she came home, her social life revolved around things she could do on her own. Her physical scars and her mental ones kept her from the dating scene until she looked into Clay’s eyes. Then a whole new world opened up to her. Except, Clay turned out being a Christian, a man with ideals and set standards, a man she had trouble understanding.

  “How’d you do this in two hours?” Emy had never been in a limo before and was busy opening all the cabinets and playing with the various buttons. The driver didn’t care, it always happened, and if he went along with the youthful behavior, the tip was always better.

  “Charge card,” Clay said. “We have a dinner reservation at Pikes, it is their limo service, and I have something special planned for right afterward.”

  “What?” She had a hopeful vixen-like gleam to her eyes and a smile on her face.

  “No, not that,” Clay said. “Your old man would have a shotgun wedding waiting for me when I got you home. No something else… something very special for a very special lady who’s raced into my life like a Japanese bullet train.”

  Dinner was a fantastic affair, and Emy had no idea a formal dinner with only one couple could last so long. Afterward, the limo transported them to the airport where a charter flight awaited them. Clay had scheduled a one hour flight over the Fairbanks area and southern region of the Tanana Valley. It was a beautiful cool night, the skies were clear, and Emy couldn’t remember ever having such a romantic night in all her life. It was approaching 3 a.m. when the pumpkin-limo pulled up to the front of Emy’s house. She was asleep. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she was covered by a fur throw provided by the limo.

  “I’ll be right out, just give me a moment.”

  “Not a problem, Sir.” The Chauffer came around and opened the door wide so Clay could carry her to the door, but then she awakened, and he slowly lowered her to her feet. “Once again, my knight has returned his princess to her castle.”

  “I’ve got to get a couple of hours of sleep before Football Sunday. If I fall asleep on your couch, you’re Dad will skin me alive.”

  “He’d understand. You gave him the prom night I never had, and it was all a surprise. I think I love you, Clay Jefferson, Captain… Sir,” Emy whispered.

  “I will see you soon, my princess.” Clay kissed her lightly on her lips and turned to dash back to his limo. At what it was costing per hour, every minute mattered. This was an expensive date, but one he was so long overdue for. He had never mentioned it, but he had never gone to a high school senior prom either. Most of the dances he attended in college and in the service were mixers, with a bunch of buddies all coming together. To the best of his knowledge, this was his first real formal date, and it had come off just right.

  On NFL Sunday, every single team Dad swore was going to win was completely slaughtered. By the time the Sunday Night game was over, he could only shake his head, kick his footstool across the room and finish the bottom of his 10th can of beer before he stumbled off to bed. As for Clay and Emy, they sat on the couch and held hands. They could have cared less, which of the teams had won or were even playing. They had both fallen sound asleep.

  After Dad came into the bedroom, grumbling about the game, Mom put away her books, climbed out of bed, and put on her robe. She then went out into the living room, straightened everything up and turned the TV off. She then woke the kids up and led her daughter off to her bedroom. When she returned to the living room, she was surprised to find Clay off the couch and in the kitchen. He was getting ready to do dishes, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “You get on home and get some sleep, Clay. Workday tomorrow and knowing your boss, you’re going to be hitting the ground running.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Clay said. “Our shop will be backed up before noon, and if I get home tomorrow night before 10 p.m., I am doing pretty good.”

  “You like working for Silas, Clay?”

  “Yes, I do… he took a real chance on me, and I’ll always be grateful. I see what he does for the veterans in Fairbanks and around the state. I’ve never heard a bad word spoken about him, and I fear for the person who tried.”

  “Well, you get along and drive slow. There’s a lot of nuts out there after Sunday Night Football.”

  “You don’t have to remind me, ma’am…”

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry, Clay, I forgot about your parents.”

  “It’s not a problem, Mrs. Sanders. But it’s a poison, and it destroys a lot of people…from both sides. I always pray how someday we’ll get it beat, make it right, but we will probably have to wait until our Good Lord returns for that to happen.”

  Mom walked up, put her arms around clay’s shoulders, and hugged him. “You’re an answer to my prayers, Clay. For my Emy to become romantically involved with a Christian man. I can’t tell you how happy I am to have you in our family…even as a friend.”

  “Don’t try to kid a kidder, Ma’am. I saw the Bride’s magazine underneath the coffee table, and I know where your mind’s been drifting off too lately. But please, ma’am don’t rush her… or me, we’ve got a lot of healing to do before making a serious commitment like marriage.”

  “Clay what happened to her over there, she won’t talk to us about it, and I have trouble understanding. I’ve checked out movies, read books, but I can’t make a connection.”

  “There isn’t a movie or a book that can help, except the Bible. But she won’t accept that right now. She saw too much pain and suffering… too much fighting over religion and the innocents who suffered for it. She saw a government, the politicians, not the people, she supported, fail to come through with fighting the war as a war. Much as we did in Korea and Vietnam. We haven’t fought a real war as a war since World War II. The politicians keep us from winning, and that can be real tough on a patriot’s heart… especially one who has lost a friend or loved one, or become wounded and paid a dear price. A healing must occur from the inside, and this is still going on for me too, and I am not healthy enough to go into a forever-type relationship until I am healed. It’s not fair to my future spouse or myself…I’ve seen too many problems with married couples from the guys coming home. Mrs. Sanders, you’re a Christian and were you aware that even in our Christian churches, divorce has reached the 50% mark. We are now equal with the secular world in destroying our marriages.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “That’s why we both need time, and I pray I can help, with your prayers, to bring your daughter into the King’s Kingdom. I desire a Christian marriage when it happens, I do not wish to be unequally yoked.”

  She looked toward the bedroom, closed her eyes, and lowered her head. Then she opened them, patted Clay on the arm and hurried him off. “Get some sleep, Clay. We will see you when you have time.”

  “Oh, I’ll make time.”

  “I think you will too.”

  Clay nodded his head, offered up a smile, and turned toward the road. He hadn’t called for a cab, he thought he’d walked down to the neighborhood 7-11 and call from there. He needed the fresh air to think about a few things; his job, his mission, his Christian walk, and h
is blooming love life. At times like this, I can almost wish I was back in the sandbox and just shooting at people.

  8 - THINGS ARE BECOMING ALL TOO REAL

  WICKERSHAM CHEVROLET CAR DEALERSHIP, SOUTH CUSHMAN, FAIRBANKS

  EXECUTIVE OFFICE OF SILAS WICKERSHAM

  11:17 A.M. 22 OCTOBER

  The office’s thick winter brown curtains were currently closed, which had dimmed the illumination in the room as Silas had only his desk lamp turned on. The two overhead lights and the table lamp in the corner were all turned off, so Silas, Allen Peterson, and Norm Johnson could review numerous still photos of Eielson Air Force Base’s flight line on Silas’s large flat screen wall monitor. With his feet propped up on the top drawer of his massive desk, Silas used his hand control to adjust the TV monitor and computer set-up. He moved the photos forward after the three men had discussed each one. The office door was locked, and even dead bolted. A black metal box on the desk was a new-fangled toy Silas had bought, which was advertised as a sonic radio wave scrambler and when activated, was supposed to distort their conversations in an area the size of this office and even somewhat larger. They were using this in the event someone was using a directional microphone to spy on their meetings. A vibration scrambler was also in place on the two office windows, similar to the ones used by governmental offices in Washington DC and in American Consulates around the world. Silas had obtained the sonic radio wave scrambler through an underground source in Canada at a nasty price and tests had shown it to be effective. Both Allen Peterson and Norm Johnson had purchased two each, ever hopeful of someday being reimbursed for their FFAM costs. They had set them up in their offices and their homes, for when they had meetings there.