So, You Want to Live Past Next Tuesday

by Billy Bob Richardson

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 A Few Years Ago

  Chapter 2 Fort Wilderness Pool

  Chapter 3 Fort Wilderness Resort Trail’s End Restaurant

  Chapter 4 Southeastern Colorado, current main family ranch/farm.

  Chapter 5 Southwestern Colorado, current main family ranch/farm.

  Chapter 6 Current main family ranch/farm, outside Madd’s house. 3pm.

  Chapter 7 Meeting room off the Community Center. 9:31pm. LLC Business (Riders in the Storm) meeting.

  Chapter 8 Front porch outside Madd’s house. 5:44am.

  Chapter 9 Family community center. A little after 7pm.

  Chapter 10 Southwest Colorado, the current family farm.

  Chapter 11 Kandahar, Afghanistan

  So, you want to live past next Tuesday?

  Surviving the EOTWAWKI

  Tuesday In The PAW Series: Book One

  By

  Billy Bob Richardson

  KINDLE EDITION

  Copyright 2015

  Billy Bob Richardson

  Kindle Edition

  License

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real persons, events or places are purely coincidental; any references to actual places, people or brands are fictitious. All rights reserved.

  Acknowledgments

  I want to thank Glenn of Sarco Press www.sarcopress.com glenn@sarcopress.com

  Thanks also to Rachel at https://www.fiverr.com/readwritesell

  Both of these fine people were a great help!

  So, you want to live past next Tuesday?

  Chapter 1

  A Few Years Ago

  Have you ever considered exactly what coincidence is? Is coincidence just a set of circumstances that string together to give a person an unusual experience? Do you even believe in coincidence? There’s a great TV show called NCIS where the lead character often states that he doesn’t believe in coincidences. Now that might be a perfect working hypothesis for an investigator, but from personal experience, I can say for sure that there are, indeed, significant coincidences. At least that’s what I would call them.

  I was traveling out west once, and when passing through Las Vegas on my way home I stopped in to try my luck at a casino. I wasn’t staying in the hotel connected to the casino, it was just a casino I had heard of and picked at random. I played a little blackjack and needed to hit the head, so I wandered into the hotel part looking for the restrooms. It kind of shook me up when I heard my name being paged over the PA and being told to pick up the white courtesy phone. My exact name. As far as I knew no one even knew I was in Vegas, let alone in that hotel/casino. Yep, I was curious to say the least. I picked up the phone to hear a female voice I didn’t recognize telling me a family member was dying and I needed to rush home ASAP. The problem was, I didn’t know her or the relative she was talking about. When I was finally able to get her to slow down, it turned out I was the wrong person. So, I was passing through a hotel lobby where a person with my exact name was staying. I would have been in that lobby at the most a couple minutes, so what is that if not coincidence? I was at that one certain spot at that one certain time to hear my name called. What would you call that if not coincidence?

  Here is another one. I took the all-expense paid tour of the great sandboxes of the world. You know, the fun filled Iraq/Afghanistan, all the bullets and IEDs you can dodge tour. I would have to say Uncle Sugar sure knows how to throw a party. He can keep you dancing till you drop at the all-night incoming, cover your head dance party. I spent enough time on his tour to have chronic bellybutton sand, that’s for sure. Never mind, on to the next example.

  My unit was sent on a mission to provide backup and help in extracting an asset from a very hot zone. We proceeded to the pick-up point without being sighted, and dug in to wait. Just as dawn was about to break we could hear a firefight moving in our direction. Our RTO verified the incoming package was our pick-up and when they closed with us we provided support fire while trying to disengage from the package’s pursuers. Our instructions were not to stand and fight but to withdraw as quickly as possible. Easier said than done most of the time. It’s a little like trying to run away from a pit bull while he is clamped onto your ankle.

  We were set up along a ridge line with two SAW armed soldiers and two M320 Grenade launchers set up to flank the incoming pursuers of our package. It was that grey light that you see between night and day. Too dark to see well and too light for night vision equipment to be useful. What we mostly saw were tracer rounds and muzzle flashes. After the package and his three paid helpers moved through our position we started leapfrogging backward. The SAW gunners were pouring in bursts and the M320 gunners were dropping 40mm grenades into them, trying to keep them off of us. Night engagements can really make your asshole pucker, but at least you have night vision to help see the enemy.

  With this grey light you can hear rounds coming in but many times you can’t actually locate where the enemy is firing from. Even muzzle flashes aren’t as much help as they would be if it were night. Whoever they were, they were determined to get to our package. They must have been getting reinforced because we were taking more and more fire. It sounded like being in a swarm of angry bees; well, 7.62×39 caliber killer bees.

  They were constantly moving and we had a hard time locating them. It’s kind of unnerving to have rounds coming in from a totally unknown position from invisible enemies moving around trying to get behind you. Makes your armpits sweat! At least in the daytime you have a chance of finding their positions.

  Since we were trying to disengage, we had to pull back from the ridge line onto the slope. We were on the side of a hill so there was no place for choppers to land for extraction, and no time. The Taliban was pressing hard. They wanted our package in the worst possible way and were willing to trade lives to get to him. We had action front with heavy fire coming in. We made it to the bottom of the slope, close to some ruined houses, with the enemy trying to flank us to our left. Two of our men went down almost at the same time. They were maneuvering for a better angle of fire at the enemy, who were flanking us. Their plan was to get to cover behind a low stone wall. One man wasn’t moving and the other was trying to crawl to the wall. Burst fire hit them multiple times; their carrier plates took most of the damage, keeping them from being riddled with AK rounds.

  With fire coming into the kill zone Po, our medic, raced out into the open; grabbing the unconscious man by his plate carrier one-handed, he pulled him back toward the wall. As he passed the second man at a slow trot he reached down and grabbed the second man by the plate carrier as well. Pulling for all he was worth he almost had both men to the wall and protective cover. We were really pouring in the suppressing fire but we just couldn’t keep all the enemy fighters down, and they managed to hit Po.

  Out of the corner of my eye I could see him take a hit to his upper shoulders and one close to his head that caused the blood to fly. With a supreme effort, never hesitating, he lunged forward, dragging both guys behind the wall. Pulling dressings from his bag, he stabilized both men. Luckily one only had the breath knocked out of him from being hit three times in quick succession on his plate carrier, and a through and through to his thigh. The ot
her man had taken two hits; neither were life threatening.

  It takes a different breed of man to rush into the kill zone armed with nothing but an extra-large set of balls and a swinging cock.

  We were calling for air support but it was a busy night and we were on our own for a while. Finally an Army AH-64 Apache gunships was able to break off and give us a hand. Second squad provided a blocking force, holding the enemy off our asses. We finally managed to pull back from the firefight, hauling our wounded with us. Our orders were to pick up the package and beat feet to the base.

  Later we found out the wound across Po’s shoulder was from left to right, only skipping along the top of his shoulder, and a round had nipped off most of his right earlobe. I never knew an ear could bleed so profusely.

  You would have to be in a foreign country under fire to understand how dedicated Military Medics can be. They will dodge into a firefight and grab you, saving your stupid ass at the risk of their own lives. That is dedication in my book. Po called for stretchers and we loaded up our wounded guys and headed to a flatter spot for extraction.

  The main guy we were there to pick up never said thanks or even talked to us any more than was absolutely necessary. But hey, we didn’t join up for the thanks or to have our hands shaken, so I guess we got about what we expected.

  On returning to base we got a good look at the guy. We did try to have light chit chat with him in the chow hall, but he never would say anything about what he had been doing, or more than acknowledge our presence.

  Over the next couple of months we did endless patrols and a number of missions with specific goals. We were moving into and out of areas all around our FOB (forward operating base) as a matter of course. From time to time the same guy and his three man crew would move into an area with us, then disappear into the shadows; zip, he was gone. A few other times we would provide an exit force to pick him and his crew up on our way out of a zone. As far as we knew this guy was a ghost, or more likely one of those alphabet agencies’ point man. Since we had no real name for him we just started referring to him as Al, short for the alphabet guy.

  Get ready, because here comes the second coincidence.

  We were on leave and my unit was back in the land of hot showers and real steaks. From a cow, not ones from a glue factory horse that the Army likes to serve. Four of us from first squad and the sergeant from second squad decided to hit the beaches in Florida for some R&R and to take in the local flavor. We were going to meet family in central Florida in two days so we arrived early to go to the beach and scope things out. These weren’t just some of the ‘guys’ from my unit, but more on that later.

  After checking into a hotel we asked the clerk where a good seafood place was and we were directed to a local restaurant right next to the beach. The place had a bar connected and while we waited for a table it was suggested we wait in the bar. There on the patio bar was Al, the mystery man from the sand box. He looked up, saw us, and started laughing. We couldn’t help it, we started laughing as well. My buddies had zeroed in on the good looking girl behind the bar but we couldn’t resist just walking up to Al’s table.

  Ivan said, “Hey Al, how they hanging?”

  With us pulling back chairs and sitting down at his table, anyone watching would have been sure we had known each other for ages.

  With a frown he said, “Al?”

  “That’s just what we call you since you appear not to have a name,” I told him. “I just have to ask though, how did that work out for your mother?”

  “My mother?” asked Al.

  “Well ya, I mean our mothers would stand at the back door and call us by name for dinner, but since you have no first or last name what did she holler out to get you to dinner?”

  This cracked him up; it took a minute for him to catch his breath.

  Looking around Al checked the room carefully, then used his arms to pull us in closer to the table; leaning over, he got us into a close huddle. In a low, conspiratorial whisper and with a wink he said, “My name actually IS Al.”

  Ivan almost shouted at him and said, “That’s it? We hauled your ass around the mountains and desert, came close to having our asses shot off by incoming rounds. Now you sit here and tell us your name is Al?”

  That got another laugh out of him.

  At this point he seemed to make up his mind about something. With a serious look on his face, he said, “Let me introduce myself, I am Bob Hawkins, and I am a rep for Global Resource Investments. We at Global Resources investigate and develop all types of resources in third world settings. My personal area of expertise is finding and guiding indigenous peoples to a more global, international mind set. Preparing them for a more forward thinking attitude and to a changing and hopefully democratic world.”

  With a thoughtful look Tinker said, “Is that similar to what one of our uncles told us about the mission in Viet Nam concerning indigenous personnel?”

  You could see the wheels turning in Al’s head when he said, “Viet Nam? Guess I am missing something here, what does the Middle East have to do with Viet Nam?”

  Tinker went on to explain. “Our uncle’s sergeant often said, they better give us their hearts and minds or we are going to burn their damn hooch’s down.”

  “Oh no, not at all. We prefer to change the attitudes of the group by reasoning with those in power to shape a different mindset in their peoples as a whole. To make them more accepting of a democratic atmosphere.”

  Al said all that with a straight face in a smooth boardroom tone of voice. Guy could have been addressing a local ladies’ group the way he laid it on. On several occasions we had seen him and his crew with M24 sniper rifles. What kind of ‘guiding’ does one do from half a mile with 7.62X51mm NATO rounds? Guided tours of hell?

  Real jumped in with, “Guess we had you mixed up with some type of government asshole. One that does wet work for one of those government alphabet agencies.”

  Real said it with an almost straight face and did pretty well keeping the sarcasm out of his voice.

  “You know, the ones that were never there and have no knowledge of any action of any type and no memory of anything, ever. And they absolutely have no knowledge of any uncooperative tribal leaders being sanctioned,” Ivan added.

  With the blandest face imaginable, Al said, “Wet work?”

  Real told him, “I forgot, you don’t know anything about how governments dispose of difficult situations. Wet work is a euphemism for an assassin, so we have been told.”

  Our new buddy Al just said, “No I wouldn’t know anything about that type of activity, Real.”

  About that time they came to get us for dinner and we invited Al to join us. Surprisingly, he accepted. Guess with the ground rules all set on what and who he was, he felt comfortable with us. No, he didn’t really expect us to swallow that cover story he was giving us, but it gave all of us a point of reference for what I suppose would be called plausible deniability. Yes, he did tell us his name was Bob. We ignored that and just kept calling him Al, which never seemed to bother him. We didn’t find out who exactly he worked for or his real name, but from the wink, wink, nod, nod it was pretty clear he did do “wet work”.

  There may be no such thing as a coincidence or luck, but what would you call those two examples? Makes a believer out of me.

  In movies, books and real life people will say that an event they experienced was a turning point in their lives. I can look back on my life and see a number of those, and that dinner turned out to be quite the turning point. I’ll try to get the events and conversation of our dinner down just exactly as they happened.

  There were a lot of lives and events starting back when my ancestors came to America that led up to who and what my family became. Things that fashioned my cousins and myself. This dinner started the Juggernaut of life slowly rolling. True, construction of the family Juggernaut began many years before but this night saw the Juggernauts’ journey begin in earnest. According to Merriam-Webster a Juggerna
ut is something (such as a force, campaign, or movement) that is extremely large, powerful and cannot be stopped. As events progressed in the world and became more and more out of control the world created its own Juggernaut as well. No one seemed to be able to stop or derail it. Soon, the two would meet head on. It remained to be seen if the family would survive that head on collision.

  For me and mine the big picture of world events was of great concern. We understood how screwed up the world had become, and it worried us. We knew we couldn’t change or save the world. By force of necessity we had to narrow our efforts to what we could affect. Our biggest concerns and imperatives had become family, and close friends. We couldn’t do much for the rest of the world, but we sure as heck could try and save and protect the folks that mattered to us. We were country folks and were raised with a do or die attitude by men who had their own views of life and how it should be lived.

  We were products of hard men who lived hard lives in one way or another, and we would die trying to provide for our own. I guess you could say that our family had been building its own personal Juggernaut since before I was born. This chance meeting and the dinner that followed started that Juggernaut rolling. Eventually it would build up an irresistible momentum of its own.

  After getting settled and ordering, Al kicked off the conversation with a bit of information he believed we didn’t know.

  “I might owe you guys an apology of sorts,” Al said.

  When all we did was give him our attention, he continued.

  “The last few times I needed some help, I asked for the two squads you guys were in to back me up. I needed the best and while all the troops there were top notch, you guys outshone all the rest. Plus you saved my ass that first time and made sure that I got back alive to base. You were a proven commodity, and I would have to find out if another set of guys would be as dedicated as you were. So, no comment?” asked Al.