Patriot Son

by T A Walters

  The base erupted in the cheers of all who stood to watch. Kat wanted to join in the festivities but remained in the JLTV jotting down the key points of enemy communications that had transpired just before the B-52 crash. However, she was interrupted by Scuba Bill opening the door and asking her out to join the others in a ‘happy dance.’

  Kat sighed through a worried expression, “Sorry commander, but I have some bad news.”

  “Any good news besides the downing of that enemy bomber?”

  She gave Bill a weak smile, “I guess Santa ain’t coming to town. But I am sure, ISIS is. Got any gum?”

  Scuba Bill reached in his pocket and handed her a stick of gum. “The radio, huh?”

  “The flight crew got off some coordinates of our position. We better get ready.”

  “They’ll be coming in from the north,” said Bill thinking out loud. “I’ll get with JP. Maybe he’ll know where the nearest bomber airbase is.”

  “Barksdale Airbase, Louisiana.”

  Scuba Bill’s eyes widened. “You’re sure?”

  “Intercepted and translated their radio communications,” said Kat. “I recorded some of it for translating it into a transcript for you sir … and of course JP. If you don’t mind me asking, how’s your foot?”

  Kat had derailed Scuba Bill’s thoughts to the puncture wound in his foot he received when he stepped on a nail while building the new clinic. “Not bad Kat; considering the nail went all the way through the instep of my foot. Luckily I had a doctor disinfect the wound by running an alcohol cotton swab through the nail hole in my foot. At least the doctor and I are back on speaking terms.”

  “Oh, good, she’s speaking to you now,” said Kat, referring to Penny.

  “Yeah, she asked me how the pool hall was coming along, while she was bending a tetanus shot needle in my shoulder.”

  Kat smiled. “Well, at least the clinic is finished now. Tomorrow as a Christmas gift to her you will be taking her on a tour of her new clinic?”

  “Oh yeah,” Bill said smiling. “Hope she likes it. And you will be there too right?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Kat said chuckling.

  ~~~~

  For Walid Ghazarra, the world seemed to be crashing down on him. Only moments ago he received word his tactical bombing squad had been shot down over the Chihuahuan Desert. In his office he sat, his head lowered to rest on his desktop while he pounded his fist. He was running out of qualified airmen, plus time, and worst of all people with the skills to set up a nuclear bomb. His only hope was a man reduced to the intelligence of a 4-year-old. Of all the things he didn’t need or want was Chinese enemies and now a hidden military base of Americans. Things were getting more and more complicated, and he was filling with hatred and despair. His hatred for Min Li would have to be put aside for later. Perhaps that was good, for a while he set his sights on taking out the mystery base in the Chihuahuan Desert, he’d order a command dedicated to putting together another bombing mission, just like before; only this time there will be an escort of fighter jets. Also, the B-52 will be loaded with 6 AGM-129 ACM cruise missiles, each charged with a W80 variable yield nuclear warhead.

  Walid knew he had good intelligence working overtime on gathering and interpreting information based on the flight crew’s mayday radio communications, so in the darkness of his office, a dish of Maaluba and a fresh Arab salad on a small table beside his desk sat waiting on an appetite that did not come.

  Chapter 22

  ~~Chihuahuan Desert Viet Nam Memorial underground storage Base~

  ~Christmas Day~

  Light snow laid out across the desert like a tan and white patchwork quilt. Kat had gotten what she wished for, and that was a white Christmas. Penney was all tears and thrilled at the same time when she got what she had hoped for; an outdoor clinic building. Likewise, it seemed, all the children on base and of the convoy got more than they hoped for; wooden toys from Santa aka the carpenter shop crew. There were assortments of wooden games, pull toys, baby dolls, rocking horses, and of course a puppet for little Wanda and Jeffery. Truck Dog’s friend Doug was on hand to pass out the toys in his Santa suit. Both Joe and Kat remarked how realistic Doug looked like a Santa Claus. Derrick couldn’t suppress his impish good-natured self and strung a small sprig of a plant on the end of a stick and called it mistletoe, sneaking up on girls while holding it over their heads. He even took a dare from Joe to try that on Belinda Gaines which backfired on him, getting him a big kiss from her.

  “Doesn’t look like she harbors any hard feelings,” said Derrick to Joe, snickering.

  Joe waited for Belinda to smile and walk away. “You knew she was hopped-up on eggnog! Do that again Derrick, and I swear I’ll pants you in front of Kat.”

  “Been there done that.”

  Joe felt a nuance of pain that stabbed him in the gut. He hadn’t felt that pain since exploring the reality of getting separated from his fiancée Mary. It was only a feeling, but it shouldn’t have happened; and why it did, he cared not to think any further of it. Besides, Kat was not that kind of girl to throw herself at men like that.

  “Did you know Kat was double-jointed?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean Derrick?”

  Derrick threw back his head, a grin growing across his lips. “Oh duh, it means the best piece of a—

  It may not have surprised anyone, except Derrick who turned a backward somersault off the bench he was sitting on. Standing erect, Derrick brushed the traces of dirt and snow from him and stared at Joe with a confused look on his face. “I didn’t mean that Joe. She’s really a fine lady and deserves better.” Derrick turned and began to walk away when Joe called him back.

  “You’re a fine man Derrick, with good intentions. It’s just,” Joe drew a heavy sigh and paused a moment. “It’s just … well, I’m happy for you and Kat.”

  Derrick rubbed his jaw, “I take it, that where you come from the men show their happiness and approval by smoking the person’s jaw?”

  Joe wondered about that; with the revelation that Derrick was born and raised away from the outside world and perhaps was serious about what he just said. Knowing Derrick to be a prankster and a joker most of the time, Joe began to believe that maybe this was Derrick’s way of expressing his feelings in some offbeat sardonic way, and then again in the freezing cold, a runny nose deserves a sniff or two. “I love her, Joe … and if she’ll have me, I want her to be my wife.”

  There wasn’t much more to say. Joe knew that somewhere in that punch, Derrick discovered his feelings for Kat ran deep, and so it was, not the cold sniffles but the passion of each other’s friendship to know they’d remain the best of friends. In a handshake and a brief hug, Joe told the ‘big lug’ that he was happy for him and Kat.

  ~~~~

  Truck Dog, being the type of guy that he is, was out scrounging around the wreckage of the B-52H Stratofortress. Not being one to be disrespectful of the holiday cheer, he returned to base with a gift tucked under his arm and found Scuba Bill and JP celebrating with mugs of eggnog and cigars inside the new clinic building. Both men, sitting at a makeshift table made of plywood and sawhorses glanced up to Truck Dog as he tossed his Christmas gift on the table in front of the two men with a clank.

  “Merry Christmas,” said Truck Dog.

  Propped boots hit the floor from the edge of the makeshift table. They all stood staring down at the torn fragment of the B-52’s fuselage before them. Scuba Bill studied the insignia on it. Remarkably intact the fragment must have blown clear of the burning plane. A blue shield was painted on it with the numeral 8 in the middle with wings painted in yellow gold. It was the insignia of the Eighth Air Force.

  JP muttered in admiration for what he was inspecting, “Why this is the fighting insignia of the Mighty Eighth!”

  Scuba Bill nodded reverently adding, “Kat said she believed the bomber flew out of Barksdale Airbase.”

  “Exactly,” JP said nodding in a friendly gesture. “Your com
munications officer?”

  Scuba Bill smiled, “That’s her.”

  “My God, she’s a genius!”

  Truck Dog had to add his 2 cents, “She makes a mighty fine batch of spaghetti too!” JP looked over to Truck Dog with steely gray eyes as he apologetically added, “Sorry Dad.”

  JP turned his attention to Scuba Bill, “I know being Christmas and all, talk of war seems out of place here, but realize the danger at hand. The enemy has discovered us and will return real soon, and this time with high-level bombing support. What’s more, Barksdale has an impressive number of bombers. I will prepare a briefing based on the report Kat put together by tomorrow, and in the meantime, I wish to speak with Kat and find out more about what she knows.”

  “I’ll have her report here right away,” Scuba Bill said as he brushed passed Truck Dog for the door.

  JP reached over to shake Truck Dog’s hand and thank him for reconnoitering the bomber plane’s wreckage adding that he wished him to inform the officers of the briefing as well. “Ok, Dad. What time should I say the briefing is and where?”

  “Over at B pavilion, 10 hundred hours.”

  “Okay, am I invited?”

  “Idiot Boy! Get your ass moving, and yes, of course, you’re invited.”

  ~~~~

  Scuba Bill was returning to the clinic with Kat in tow. JP had resumed position at the makeshift table putting down the last of his eggnog when the both entered through the door. Moments later Truck Dog reentered the clinic, poking his head around the door frame, “You said I was invited to the meetings right?”

  JP just shook his head in resignation and waved Truck Dog to pull up a chair and join them. Kat looked around the room nervously pulling at her fingers when JP told her to relax adding, “I’ve gone over your report dealing in last night’s attack of the B-52 bomber. Your assessment of the crew aboard was of Arabic tongue and that they had relayed positional information of this base. So I guess my question is: How did you come to know they were flying out of Barksdale Airbase?”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “But it says right here in your report, Barksdale.”

  “Yes sir, I know what I wrote, but I didn’t know it was an airbase. I thought it might be a town or something.”

  JP backed up his remark, “Oh yes, I see. You wrote just Barksdale.”

  Laying his glasses on the table, JP rubbed the bridge of his nose and then looked over to Kat, “How’d you know?”

  “The radioman on the bomber said Barksdale among other things. You know the stuff I wrote in my report, sir.

  And if I might add sir; the coordinates relayed were only approximate by several miles in either direction.”

  Kat noticed JP’s hand shook slightly as he picked up the folder containing her report. “A B-52’s onboard deployment may decide many things, depending on what it’s dropping. If the enemy has put together a ‘hit and run’ campaign, then chances are we are in great peril of being utterly destroyed. In this case, the ones who strike first may be the last ones standing.”

  ~~~~

  ~Base Exchange, Barksdale Airbase~

  The gate guard did not salute the old white van that approached his gate. He did not recognize the sticker on the upper driver’s side windshield as a base pass and held up his rifle to signal the driver to lower his window.

  “We’re service veterans and members of the Antioch Baptist Church,” the driver told the guard. “Judging from the activity around here, we speck ya’all are rebuilding after the recession right?”

  The guard dodged his head around the doorpost of the open van window, trying to get a better look at the insides of the vehicle. “What is your business?” he asked suspicious of the driver.

  “Is the Commissary open?”

  “I shall not say again,” the disheveled looking guard stated gruffly. “What is your business here?”

  “I just said Commissary, didn’t I?”

  Bud Brown turned a glance to the driver from the passenger seat. “We should go.”

  “No, I told this man we are here to visit the Commissary.”

  When the driver looked back through the window to the guard, he glanced through his side mirror to see the guard walking to a military truck that had just pulled up behind them. Moments later, he returned telling the driver of the old van to pass through the gate, and the truck behind them would accompany them to the detainment center.

  “Detainment center?”

  “No joke,” said Bud Brown to the driver. “That’s what I heard him say.”

  The gate arm opened, and the old van proceeded through the gate. “Hold on boys,” said the driver as he spun the wheel hard to the left, “We’re heading out of here!”

  Before the guard had the time to dash back in to lower the exit gate the old van made it back out just as the gate lowered closing off the chase vehicle. This bought Bud Brown and his driver enough time to make it through the intersection to Westgate Drive. “We have to make it to the woods and into the bayou on foot. It’s the only way.”

  A half a mile down Westgate was the entry ramp to A.R. Teague Parkway. Seeing the woods in sight, the driver took a hard last second decision to merge at high speed, sliding the van and landing upside down in the parking lot of a furniture store. The last thing Bud Brown remembered passing in and out of consciousness was the rapid fire of automatic weapons.

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  Winston Sawyer was a mechanic; he was also a bow hunter, fisherman, and farmer. That was before the EMP over a year ago. Now he’s a full-time farmer, hunter, and fisherman.

  Married, Winston lives on a ten-acre plot of high ground in the Everglades near the small community of Hartley. He lives in his two-bedroom shack with his wife and two children and owns a shed and a smoker grill, a push plow and an old tractor that runs like a top. He grows all the crops he needs, and his wife cans the rest.

  Desperate men from the cities eventually travel to outlying towns looking to take anything they can.

  Winston doesn’t understand that.

  Winston is mostly Seminole Indian and can trap game and set up trotlines for catfish and small gator. As a bow hunter, he moves silently through the forest and bulrushes hunting deer and hog only seldom using any of the many firearms he owns. By today’s standards, he is a wealthy man.

  Until the day he came home from a three-day journey to find his wife and daughter missing. He sets out to bring them home, and with him, he takes his son, and Rustler, a three-year-old Rottweiler whose favorite bone is inside your leg.

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