by T A Walters
“80 or so pounds.”
Derrick smiled rubbing his belly, “The girl of my dreams.”
“Sounds like you made enough to go around.”
Kat just smiled, grabbed Joes by the hand and said, “Let’s skip.”
Joe shook her hand loose. “No way Kat!”
It was Derricks cue to take Kat’s hand saying, “I’d love to skip with you.”
Kat looked over her shoulder at Joe and stuck out her tongue.
Derrick and Kat were already seated with a big plate of spaghetti, and General Pennock was dishing up servings for everyone that brought a plate to the head of the table. He heaped a haystack of pasta on Joe’s plate and told Joe to help himself to the tomato sauce, before calling out, “Two meatball limit!”
Joe froze and pointed at Derrick’s plate of spaghetti, “He has four meatballs.”
JP smiled at Joe, “Tomorrow begins basic training and anyone who wants more than two meatballs will have to do 25 additional push-ups tomorrow per meatball.”
Upon hearing that, Derrick swept the two extra meatballs onto Kat’s plate next to him. Kat looked down the table to JP who had pulled out a pencil and pocket notepad and began taking names. She thought she saw him wink at Scuba Bill and she said, “That’s okay, Scuba Bill will protect me.”
Scuba Bill choked. “I think I’ll have to see if my memory holds up.”
Derrick patted Kat’s arm, “Don’t worry darling, I’ll do your extra push-ups.”
Kat grinned, “Derrick you’re so sweet!”
“Oh good grief,” moaned Joe. “I’m gonna get sick.”
Derrick’s Father, John aka Idiot Boy or Truck Dog came around the table and stopped between his son and Kat, “Wow son, who’s the babe?”
“Kat, I want you to meet my Dad. He kids around a lot.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Kat offering her hand expecting a handshake, but got kissed on the hand instead. Kat blushed.
“You have to forgive my dad. He got drafted and came back home with a steel plate in his head.”
“Oh no, I am so sorry.”
“Just kidding.”
John Kehoe laughed and told Kat, “Like father like son!”
Poking his finger into the palm of his other hand, Derrick strained a hoarse whisper to Joe across the table, “Here comes Belinda Gaines. You know the one I was telling you about?”
Joe looked over to see a young lady in military fatigues, blouse untucked, unbuttoned with a drab olive-green tee-shirt showing. She was not what Joe had envisioned, except for the fact Belinda was carrying a football, and she was as trim and fit as anyone he’d seen, she was a walking ‘centerfold,’ with deep blue hypnotic eyes that spied right through him.
Belinda stopped just short of passing Joe. Thick black hair gently tossed around by an afternoon breeze, “What are you looking at asshole?”
Unfortunately, Belinda was everything Derrick described earlier, and it may have been a good thing as Joe knew he could have quickly gotten trapped in her snare.
“Get up and run for it,” said Belinda to Joe as she slapped the football with one hand.
It wasn’t Joe’s best football position as a pass receiver, but he knew he could catch anything she could throw. As for himself, he played first-string quarterback in high school. “Try not to break a fingernail,” he said jumping out from his seat at the picnic table.
Joe broke into a hard run and just before he looked over his shoulder at Belinda, she fired a hard spiral into his back between his shoulder blades. It was a spiteful shot at Joe meant to be mean or funny, or both. He hadn’t even made ten yards when she pulled that one off, and he heard her laughing. A chorus of moaning and groaning from everyone seated at the picnic pavilion, with a number of people laughing at him, and despite having had the wind knocked out of him briefly, he picked up the football throwing it with such force Belinda had to hold up her forearms to block the ball from smashing into her face.
“Get back here!” Belinda exclaimed angrily as she watched Joe walking back to the pavilion to finish his spaghetti.
“Go away and let me eat.”
In a full run behind him, Belinda jumped on his back. As if a panther, she finally dragged Joe to the ground clutching him tight in a headlock and wrapping her legs around his waist. “You listen to me when I order you … you drop-shot bastard!”
Kat saw Scuba Bill slowly shake his head and mutter, “I thought Nurse Parker was tough.”
Kat switched her attention toward the next table down where Jessica Parker and Mitchel were sitting; smiling sweetly at one another while she buttered a dinner roll for him.
It was by no means less than all Joe had in him to turn the tables on Belinda. The dust was swirling around them as Joe struggled to keep Belinda from crawling toward a rock to clobber him with, but instead grabbed the football and used it to hammer Joe’s head.
Derrick and his dad went into sports football commentary mode, “She’s got the ball, and it looks like a first and ten!”
“I don’t know Derrick if she fumbles it’s game over.”
Belinda dropped the ball next to them while she switched strategies and began pulling Joe’s tee-shirt over his head. Joe was blinded as she boxed his ears in. Swiftly rolling on the ground, Joe whipped off his tee-shirt to clear his vision.
“Hold it, John,” said Derrick. “There’s a flag on the play. It looks like … oh no ---”
Joe knocked her flat on her back pinning Belinda to the ground, and then took her football and shoved it under her tee-shirt. Belinda clutched the football under her shirt and kicked Joe off of her. “Yes it is, Derrick,” said his dad John. Joe was walking back to the table when John called the game. “Unbelievable! For the first time I’ve seen it, Derrick, Belinda was knock-down and knock-up in one play!”
Joe heard everything and moaned as he sat down, “I didn’t mean it to look that way. She just needs to be taken down a notch or two.”
Joe half expected Belinda to come charging at him again, but instead, she ran home, red-faced and shamed, tears streaming down her face.
Derrick laughed. “You better sleep with one eye open.”
Later, Joe was confronted by Belinda’s father who wanted to shake Joe’s hand. “Just wanted to thank you for putting my brat in her place. I don’t condone hitting women, mind you, but my Belinda’s different, she provoked a good whoop’n and thank you for handling that without punching the crap out of her.”
“Let’s just hope I’m alive by this time tomorrow,” said Joe, a bit of sarcasm shown in a good-faith gesture while shaking Mr. Gaines hand.
“She does climb trees though,” warned Gaines in a jovial manner.
“How’s that sir?”
“Just stay clear from the overhead branches of trees.”
“Oh, gotcha.” The thought of being bonked on the head by a large rock was unsettling and worse the thought Belinda would not hesitate to get the ‘drop’ on him by surprise. One thing was certain, and that was Derrick was right about Belinda’s temper.
~~~~
The next morning, Scuba Bill was pulling up his boots at 0430 hours. His mind felt a bit foggy at first. The orders JP had discussed over dinner were understood by everyone, and all knew what was expected of them. He had thirty minutes to grab a hardboiled egg some crackers and his coffee before turning out with the troops. Scuba Bill went outside the bunkhouse and stood on the porch with his cup of coffee. Near the underground storage facilities, he could see what look like smudge pots giving forth an orange-yellow light. The flames remained low and lingered close to the ground while the shadowy figure of a man poked at the containers with a stick. Scuba Bills shook off a yawn just in time to see JP roll up in an old military Jeep.
“You ready to go to work?”
Scuba Bill nodded. He was confused at what JP had in store for him. He looked at his watch and asked JP if he’d like some coffee.
“Already had a cup,” said JP. “But I believe I’
ll have another.”
Now, with the both of them sipping coffee, JP pointed out in the direction where wooden poles by the dozens had been lined up in several rows and sunk in the ground yesterday. “Just on the other side of those clotheslines Ray and the boys set up is where the new shower shack is going to be.
Gotta have it finished by noon so we gotta get cracking on it. Gave the plans to your mechanic Mitchel and he was eager to help.”
“Help? Mitchel?”
JP snarled and waved his hand, “Ah don’t worry about him, and it’s an automatic anyway.”
Scuba Bill chuckled. “What’s an automatic?”
“The loader … it doesn’t have a clutch.”
Just then Scuba Bill caught the sight of a large rubber-tire front-end loader go bouncing past them with Mitchel at the wheel and Jess hanging on to him and waving. JP pointed to the front-end loader, “They’ll be digging out a leech bed and trenching and grading out a drain field for the showers, while you and I run cold water plumbing from that pump station nearby. You and I will run wires for the shower head solenoid valves, and the waterproof Alan Bradley punch switches with timers set at 2-minute intervals each so that five to six men groups can shower. That should take care of the men and 3-minute intervals for the ladies each in the shower facilities on the other side. Ray and the boys will be setting down and nailing together some prefabbed walls built back in the carpenter shack yesterday. We got our work cut out for us today.
Tomorrow, Mitchel and Jess will be digging and setting in a pair of 2K gallon septic tanks and additional drain fields to supplement the two we already have. Those two portable latrines over there will be placed on fire later after Major Edson gets finished cleaning them”
Daybreak hadn’t come about; however, it was becoming easier to see in the pale morning light. “You assigned Major Edson latrine duty?”
In the distance where Scuba Bill first saw the fires of an assortment of smudge pots, he could see Major Edson pouring and using a long wooden stick to stir in some diesel fuel in half dozen containers made from 55-gallon drums that had been cut down to a few feet and containing sewage.
JP raised his eyebrows, “He had a choice to drill the troops or latrine duty … nobody's hanging around like a teenager in bed half the day, so the pansy took latrine duty.”
Spewing coffee and gasping for air, Scuba Bill turned away and broke into a fit of laughter.
Looking at his watch, JP grinned, and then shifted his finger pointing to a small white shop, “Gordon Piper should be finishing the last head while we speak.”
“How’s that?”
“He likens himself a barber around here, and he’s pretty good I’d say, and fast too. The way I figure it, he and his son, Pete, should be finishing up buzzing the last head while we speak.”
It looked as if JP was correct. Scuba Bill could see around 4 dozen troop and recruits lining up outside a small shop near the new shower site. “He and his son are pretty fast,” said Scuba Bill.
JP stood there grinning for a moment, “Yep, they don’t call him Flash Gordon for nothing,” he then dashed out his coffee and set his coffee mug on the porch railing, “You ready?”
Truck Dog sped past them in a truck set up with a drilling rig mounted on it. “Dammit, I told him to finish up the solar farm job. He’s an electrician, and he’ll do anything to get out of wiring up electrical equipment.”
JP pointed to a large hill nearby. “You see that hill over there?”
“Yeah.”
“Truck Dog got an idea to flatten that hill, so he took a load of dynamite over there and blasted half of one side of it flat. Just so happened it rendered one of our deepest water wells useless, and shut it down.”
Scuba Bill noticed that the well JP had pointed to was more than a few hundred yards away from the hill. “How could that be when the well is so far away?”
“Set out an underground shock that apparently collapsed the well casing, which is why you don’t play with dynamite so close to wells, people, and school playgrounds.”
“So I guess that Truck Dog feels bad about that and is going to make good on his mistakes.”
JP moaned and then added, “Yes, but he should know it takes more than just one guy to drill sixteen hundred feet or more, plus he’ll hit around twenty feet of hardpan before he gets down that far.”
Scuba Bill nearly fell out when he felt the sudden jerk of the Jeep as JP angrily spun the wheel and followed in behind Truck Dog. JP sped around Truck Dog while motioning him to stop. Truck Dog walked from his truck to the side of the Jeep. JP began scolding him, “Did we forget about the Solar Farm job this morning?”
“No, just thought I’d start this job, you know, drilling a new well. What, with more personnel on base we’re near capacity on water usage. And it is my fault too you know.”
“Idiot Boy! You don’t start drilling a well alone, then leave it to finish another day.”
Truck Dog grinned, “But dad, it is my fault for, you know, blowing up the well and my responsibility to---”
“We’ll tackle that job tomorrow. You get your ass back to the Solar Farm and wire up the transfer switch, relays, and breaker box.”
“Yes dad,” said Truck Dog turning back to the well-drilling truck.
Rubbing his eyebrows JP moaned, “That boy is giving me a headache already this morning.”
Scuba Bill made a mental note to remind him not to blow up something near a well unless it was totally necessary.
JP was jamming the gear shift on the old Jeep when Scuba Bill glanced his way, ‘Truck Dog your son?”
“Hell no. He wouldn’t be alive today because I’d of smothered him with his wet diaper!”
Chapter 17
~430 Miles N.E near Downtown Amarillo Texas~
Rick Husband International Airport
The underbelly of Airforce One was streaked with hydraulic fluid as the landing gear shuddered down into position. Vibrations from the hydraulic pump cavitation made for the trembling of every joint and rivet in the airframe of the jetliner as it made its approach for an emergency landing.
Abdul Medina seemed cognizant as he studied the face of Walid hovering over him. The expression became mixed with shock, horror and, disbelief. Abdul knew all about the thoughts that ran through his newly assumed Prime Minister’s face. He had seen most of his own guts dump from his body after the 60 caliber shells ripped him nearly in half and sent him sprawling face down on the cabin floor. Still aware that only the upper half of his body moved when Walid flipped him onto his back; sent Walid screaming to his knees reciting prayer verses over him. It wasn’t enough for the cause that was important to Abdul, and he clutched Walid’s arm begging to him with a facial gesture to speak one last time.
Walid moved close and turned an ear to Adul’s mouth, listening carefully to his last wishes as he told him what he had to do. It was a wish that Walid would not reveal his death to anyone, not even his subordinates. No one will know that Abdul succumbed this way. It was to be understood that their cause would be carried forward in the strength not the death of their leader. Walid felt his back stiffen at the thought of what now he must do, but as Abdul’s eyes blankly stared off, he took a seat near his beloved deposed leader and waited patiently for the jet to complete its landing. Walid went forward to the cockpit and congratulated the pilot, co-pilot, and navigation engineer with each one receiving, a single 9 mm shot to the head. While the remaining staff lined up sobbing over their dead compatriots on board, Walid liberated a fully loaded Uzi from a nearby weapons closet and mowed them all down as he moved along the plane top to bottom. Tossing the fully-automatic machine pistol aside, having the job completed his orders fulfilled; there was one last detail, and that was to destroy Airforce One and all those inside. The airport was abandoned long ago, he knew so with an RPG from the ordinance closet, he strolled to the landing ramp door and deployed the emergency landing shoot, walked a safe distance away, turned and fired the rocket-propelled gren
ade into the open doorway of Airforce One.
Running the details of Abdul’s wishes left Walid stranded now. He looked west to downtown Amarillo, just ten miles off in the distant haze. There were too much death and misery there he knew, and that is whoever is left to be alive and breathing. He needed to make it to an ISIS basecamp another ten miles on the other side of Amarillo. No one there would have any idea of the trip he and Abdul had taken to meet with the Chinese cut-throats. Everything from this point was going to plan, except a way to make it to the ISIS base camp and then on to Barksdale Airbase in Shreveport Louisiana. However, there in the distance near the passenger terminal were two white vans parked side by side.
Walid was delighted to find the keys in the vans, but getting either of the vans to start was a problem. Neither of the two vans started. Perhaps they had been sitting there too long, and the batteries were too low to turn over the motors, Walid didn’t know, but when he looked around the baggage transport dock, he spied a dusty old vehicle that had no roof. It had a crude square shape and no instrument dashboard, just a single fuel gauge, a silver button and a lever that was pulled away from the panel next to the gauge. He looked around the panel, but could not find the keys, or even a key switch to insert a key if he did have one. Behind the seat was what looked like a compartment with a handle to raise the lid? Walid began to think that maybe the key and key switch was inside, so he tugged open the top and took a look inside. It was the motor and battery compartment with an alpine green colored engine in there that had the name ‘Detroit Diesel’ embossed in the metal valve cover – and still, no key and no place in the compartment to start the motor. He closed the lid with a defeated sigh, climbing in to rest behind the wheel and staring at Airforce One ablaze. His mind wandered to the little silver button and lever on the crude metal dash panel before him. Walid pressed the silver button. His shoulders jumped as the motor began to spin, startled at first, he became elated with the thought there was hope after all. He pressed the button, holding it down until it became clear to him the engine was not going to start. He looked at the fuel gauge, and it was evident to he had plenty of fuel; he knew there must be something else. The only other control on the panel was the lever, and he reached over and pushed it all the way in, and then pushed the button. A flock of pigeons flew out from the rafters overhead when the engine roared to life. Next to the handbrake was a gearshift with a black knob on the end. Walid dropped the handbrake to the off position and tried to swing the gearshift out of neutral while looking down for the clutch pedal, but there was only a brake pedal. He move his hand away from the shifter knob and in a diagram nearly worn away, he saw just an arrow facing forward with the other end of the arrow facing backward.
