by Bobby Akart
“Here I am, Momma,” responded Riley as he hauled two armfuls of duffle bags and gear through the front door. “I ain’t got any broken bones either. Hey! What’s cookin’?”
“Preacher killed a wild hog that was tryin’ to poke our pigs,” responded Lucy. “We butchered it so we can have pork sliders with peanut slaw and redskin potato salad.”
“Oh yeah, there’s no place like home,” said Riley with a laugh. He approached his mom and leaned in to get his welcome-home kiss.
“All right, you look like you’re in one piece,” started Lucy. “Where’s Coop hidin’?”
“I think he was gonna wait on Daddy, who was walkin’ over from the barn,” replied Palmer.
Lucy wandered toward the front door and shielded her eyes from the bright sun as it set beyond the ranch. She saw the silhouette of Major and Cooper standing against the sunset, with her husband, the taller of the two, holding his outstretched hand on Cooper’s shoulder. She resisted the urge to holler at them to come in for supper. They appeared to be discussing something serious she would quiz Major about later.
She returned to the family room and threw another log on the fire. The house was filled with warmth and family once again, except for Duncan and Dallas, of course.
Chapter 11
November 2
The Armstrong Ranch
Borden County, Texas
The next morning, Major finished with the feedin’ and returned to the ranch house to gather up Cooper. He’d promised his son a little extra sleep this morning after their long trip home. It didn’t take Major, who had become an expert at reading people during his tenure as a Texas Ranger, but a few seconds to discern that something serious had happened to Cooper during his ride. Cooper didn’t even attempt to lie about the battle with One Night Stand and the kick to the back of the head. He did, however, beg his father not to tell his momma. He didn’t want her to worry, especially since the concussion was relatively minor.
Father and son reached a compromise. Major said he’d stick to the story concocted by the kids on the way home, that Cooper had slipped off a wooden railing and struck his head on a fence post. In return, Cooper agreed to go into Lubbock with Major in a couple of days to see a neurologist and meet with the governor after the campaign rally.
The other condition was Cooper was to ride the ranch with Major this morning, as there were several things to discuss. Cooper readily agreed to all the conditions because, as Major had calculated on his own, he’d need to ride again to qualify for the Pro Rodeo World Finals in Las Vegas next month. Major, however, was firm in his admonishment to his son. Without medical clearance, you don’t ride. No exceptions.
Cooper saddled up and joined his father near the round pen, a large enclosure used for horse training. Armstrong Ranch was going to increase its horse population in the next couple of weeks with two dozen new quarter horses from Governor Burnett’s ranch.
“Mornin’, Daddy,” started Cooper. “Two dozen new horses comin’? Are we gonna put together our own posse?”
Major laughed and patted his horse’s neck. “Son, I’d love to see it. You know, the newly minted Texas Rangers wouldn’t know how to mount a horse, much less ride one. Now, don’t get me wrong, they can do things with computers and I can barely turn the dang things on.”
Major pulled the reins on his horse and urged him into a trot as Cooper rushed to catch up. When he pulled alongside his father, he asked, “Where we headed?”
“Just checkin’ on things. Preacher and a lot of the boys headed over to Abilene Auction early this morning. I’m gonna pick up the slack while they’re gone. I thought we’d head up to the river first and check on Miss Lucy’s barnyard critters.”
Barnyard critters was Major’s term for Lucy’s homestead animals. When they’d acquired the additional land along the Colorado River years ago, Pops thought the concept of raising chickens and pigs might be a passing fad for Lucy. Instead, it became an operation in and of itself within the ranch that provided a constant source of food for the Armstrongs.
“Two dozen horses are a lot, Daddy. We’re gonna need more stalls. Heck, even a new barn.”
“That’s right, son. Construction starts tomorrow as soon as Preacher returns. I’m gonna need you and Riley to pitch in too.”
Cooper sat a little taller in the saddle and slowly turned his head away from the bruise on his neck. He was constantly testing the injury to see if it had somehow miraculously healed itself since the last test. At least the headaches were gone, thanks to the industrial-strength, eight-hundred-milligram ibuprofen prescribed by the doctor in Valley City.
“Riley loves construction,” said Cooper. “Daddy, I’ll help all I can, you know.”
“I understand, son. Just put on a good show when your mother is around. I’m not a hundred percent sure she’s buying your story.”
“Couldn’t you sell it?” asked Cooper.
“I tried after we turned the lights out last night,” Major replied. “If she could’ve looked into my eyes, it wouldn’t have worked. Still not sure it did. Let’s get you looked at in Lubbock and take it from there.”
Major picked up the pace. The Armstrong Ranch was over nine thousand acres, the equivalent of fifteen square miles. On most days, a complete circuit around the ranch would involve a ride in Major’s Ford Super Duty F-450. Lately, he’d opted for horseback, as a melancholy nostalgia was overtaking him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Major hoped this conversation with Cooper would help him identify why this feeling of gloom had come over him.
“Coop, it took Pops years to groom me for running this operation. While we’re nowhere near the top ten biggest ranches in Texas, it’s a sizable operation nonetheless.”
“Daddy, do you ever regret not trying to take it to the next level, you know, like Grandpa’s brother did at King Ranch?”
Major slowed down their trot as the wind picked up, just like it always did when the sun rose in the morning. As they got closer to the river, they crossed through a shady dry creek bed that eventually found its way to the water’s edge.
“We were never destined to be big commercial ranchers like them boys down near Corpus. They’re nearly a million acres now, but their operation is more glitzy self-promotion than it is ranching. For the King Ranch, the cattle business became less profitable over time to the point that the original descendants of the Kings ended up being fired. That’s not what we’re about.”
“Daddy, I never pry into your finances because you’ve never shown that we were in any kind of trouble. But—”
Major cut him off. “No, son. Don’t get me wrong. Financially, we’re set. Here’s what we’ve got going for us that’s different from the other ranches across the state—we don’t owe money to anybody. Pops made sure of that.”
“That’s good,” added Cooper.
“I was down in Big Spring the other day, talkin’ to the mayor, who has a sizable ranch of his own, as you know. A couple of out-of-towners robbed the Prosperity Bank last week. You know what he said to me?”
“What?”
“The mayor said most people didn’t care that it happened. As he put it, Prosperity Bank had been robbin’ all of the local ranchers for years, and they had it comin’.”
Cooper laughed. “The mayor said that?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Major with a chuckle. “Here’s my point. The Armstrong Ranch, while a big operation in the eyes of many, is still just a family-owned operation that benefits only the family. Miss Lucy doesn’t grow crops to sell in a farmers’ market somewhere or at Albertson’s. We’re not raising beef cattle to line the pockets of the Koch Brothers like so many others around us. Everything we produce here—whether cattle, chicken eggs, or vegetables—is for the benefit of this family and our ranch hand’s families.”
Cooper rode alongside his father in silence for a moment as they reached the edge of the Colorado River. It began to widen at this point as the river slowly emptied into the lake.
&nb
sp; “I understand, Daddy. I think the whole family is proud of what you and Pops have accomplished.”
“Good, because, Coop, I’m gonna need your commitment to run things around here someday.”
“Of course, I’m always here to help, but it’s not like you got a foot in the grave. Heck, look at Pops. He didn’t pass until he was eighty-five. His horseback ridin’ days were over, but he certainly ran things pretty well until you retired.”
“I know that, son, but life deals some nasty cards sometimes, and as you know, your older brother ain’t cut out for ranchin’. Riley is a good kid, but his maturity is many years behind yours. I don’t know when that boy is gonna be done sowin’ his oats. And your sister …”
Major’s voice trailed off as he contemplated his next words. They rode on for a moment in silence, Cooper choosing to listen to his father pour out his inner thoughts rather than interrupt.
Major continued. “Coop, your sister is, you know, different. I mean, do you know what I mean?”
Cooper couldn’t contain himself and began laughing. “Daddy, are you asking me if Palmer’s gay?”
“Well, I mean,” Major began to stammer, completely uncomfortable with the conversation. “She’s never really shown an interest in boys other than wrestlin’ with them. Half the young men she’s dated, she’s ended up whoopin’ for some reason.”
“Daddy, maybe that’s because they did something they shouldn’t have done, like not keeping their hands to themselves.”
“Coop, your sister is pretty, but that young gal is as wild as the West Texas wind. I don’t see any man marryin’ her. She’s too awnry.”
Cooper began laughing hysterically. He subconsciously massaged his neck as he spoke. “Daddy, because you did me this favor, I’m not gonna tell Palmer what you said. I’m pretty sure she’s not gay, although we haven’t really talked about it. And I know you and Momma well enough to know y’all wouldn’t care if she was. She’s dated a few guys, but she hasn’t found the right one yet. Besides, if you think she’s rough on potential boyfriends, how do you think Riley and I are when they come sniffin’ around. She’s lucky a boy even talks to her!”
Major began to chuckle, somewhat out of relief, but mainly because he had relaxed while talking with Cooper.
“Okay, Palmer can do what she pleases,” said Major. “Things are different than the days Miss Lucy and I dated. Now they call it hookups, or somethin’ like that.”
“Daddy, that’s it, or I’m goin’ back to the house. Palmer ain’t hookin’ up with guys. As far as I know, she never has, which is a miracle nowadays.”
Major reached into his saddlebag and pulled out his binoculars. He studied the river where it narrowed and then handed them to Cooper.
“Look over there, Coop,” said Major, pointing toward a wooded stretch of the river. “See the beavers. Is that amazing?”
Cooper took the glasses and studied the activity. “They’ve got a great start on a dam. As big as it is, we may have to blow it up before it diverts the dang Colorado River.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell Preacher tomorrow. But this is the type of thing I’m talkin’ about. I rely heavily on Preacher and the hands to watch over things, but only family will take pride to check on every aspect of the ranch. That beaver dam has been under construction for a week or more. Somebody should’ve caught it.”
“Daddy, are you sayin’ all this ’cause you want me to quit the rodeo? I’ve just about qualified for the PBR World Finals. I’ve been working towards it all my life.”
“No, son, not at all. If you agree to take over when I can’t continue for some reason, I’d like to start teaching you now. It’s too much to learn on the fly. Do you understand?”
Cooper handed the binoculars back to his father. “Daddy, I’m okay with it and hoped you’d ask me at some point, but I didn’t want to step on Duncan’s toes. He is the oldest.”
“Duncan’s a military man, not a rancher. He’ll be happy for you, but I know there’s one thing he’d like from you more than anything else. Forgiveness.”
“Daddy, do we need to go there today?” asked Cooper, who shifted uncomfortably in his saddle.
This was going to be a difficult subject for Major, but he was gonna ask for Cooper’s help while the two were having this father-son talk.
“Coop, I’m asking for Duncan, your momma, and for me. Please don’t hold your brother responsible for Dallas’s death. He never encouraged Dallas to join the Army.”
Cooper shook his head and looked down to the ground. “Daddy, he didn’t discourage it either. Maybe if Duncan had been a little more forceful, Dallas would never have joined the Army and got himself killed in Afghanistan. And for what? Why were we over there, beyond our own borders, fighting someone else’s battles? It was stupid.”
“Coop, it wasn’t your brother’s fault. If you should blame anybody, blame me. I could’ve put my foot down. But like most military parents, you feared for the life of your child, but you never thought it would happen.”
Cooper wiped a few tears from his face. He and Dallas had been close growing up, far more than he and Duncan. He looked up to Dallas as a role model, and when news came of his death, Cooper took it hard and immediately looked to assign blame. Duncan was a logical target for Cooper’s anger because he’d broken the family mold and joined the Navy to become a SEAL.
“Daddy, I understand. Honestly, this has been weighing on my mind ’cause I see the sadness in Momma’s eyes when I avoid the ranch on those rare occasions Duncan comes home.”
Cooper stretched his hand out, offering it to his father to shake. Major grasped his boy’s hand and shook it heartily.
“Do you mean it, son? It would make your momma happier than anything on earth other than a grandbaby.”
Cooper laughed through the tears. “Daddy, well, I can’t do anything about giving y’all a grandbaby just yet, but I can make peace with my brother when he comes home. I promise.”
“Thank you, son. God bless you. Now let’s go see about Miss Lucy’s barnyard critters.”
Chapter 12
November 3
USS Jack H. Lucas
Near Chabahar, Iran
The Gulf of Oman
Duncan and his partner, Min Jun Park, stood on the starboard side of the USS Lucas and stared toward the coast of Iran, which was only a few miles to their north. The men had just received a communique from Langley advising them to insert themselves into a VBSS Team to be used by Captain Abbey within the hour. VBSS was an acronym used by agencies engaged in maritime boarding actions and tactics. Visit, board, search, and seizure was one of the primary functions of the U.S. Navy as it searched the Persian Gulf.
Duncan and Park had been recruited into the Special Operations Group, an element of the Special Activities Division of the National Clandestine Service. Part of SAD/SOG, they were involved in high-threat covert operations that could not be associated with the United States government. Members of the paramilitary arm of SOG did not carry any objects or clothing that would associate them with the military. If they were compromised during a mission, the government would most likely deny any knowledge of their activities.
Following the Benghazi debacle, dozens of two-man teams were created to act as rapid-response forces capable of entering a hostile situation. Their jobs could be rescue related, or it could be to take advantage of a weakness in an enemy nation’s defenses, allowing a tactical advantage in a covert political action.
Duncan and Park had engaged in a variety of missions from assassinations to munitions work. Park, who spoke fluent Persian and Korean, was an invaluable asset to Duncan. On most operations, Duncan took the lead because of his training, but Park was the member of the team who could talk them out of trouble in foreign countries.
“Do you find it odd that a VBSS action has been ordered for an inbound ship into Iran?” asked Park, Duncan’s right arm for two years.
Duncan shrugged and then responded, “According to the intel, the ship is b
ound for Chabahar, a port city on the extreme southeastern tip of Iran. It’s a free-trade zone, so I imagine it gets a lot of activity.”
Park added, “I don’t think the ship has entered their view yet. That’s why I wanted to come out here and watch for it.”
Suddenly, the low rumble of an approaching ship could be heard. The larger tankers and merchant ships had their own distinctive sound—lazy, methodical, and heavy. The merchant ship, which Langley had identified as a cargo vessel called FooChow, was over five hundred feet long. It was trudging along several hundred yards to their east at about ten knots.
“C’mon,” said Duncan as the ship came into view. “Let’s get up to the bridge so we can volunteer for duty.”
“What if Abbey says no?” asked Park.
“Then I’ll have to tell him he doesn’t have a choice.”
They hustled up the stairwells and arrived at the bridge just as Captain Abbey was assessing the situation with his crew.
“By their lack of reaction or course adjustment,” started the helmsman, “they haven’t noticed us at all. Personally, I think any captain worth his salt would notice a hundred-ton destroyer off his port beam and give us plenty of space.”
“I agree,” said Abbey. He turned to acknowledge Duncan and Park, who stood respectfully to the side. “OOD, position the Lucas on the FooChow’s port beam. I don’t want to approach her from the aft. The possibility of her captain making an abrupt turn into Iranian waters might draw the attention of a couple of Iranian missile boats. Let’s not provoke an international incident or a missile attack. Whadya think?”
“Can’t argue with those orders, sir,” the OOD replied, reflecting the casual attitude Abbey enjoyed on his bridge.
The OOD gave the commands, and the Lucas eased closer to a parallel position with the FooChow, which was maintaining a steady twelve-knot speed.
Abbey turned to update Duncan and Park on the situation. “When we first picked up the FooChow on radar, she was well north of established shipping lanes and hugged the territorial waters of Iran approaching Chabahar. We’ve seen this before, and according to our tactical memos from command, that’s a tactic favored by smugglers who are trying to skirt Iran territorial waters but also use them as protection in case we attempt to board them. They can dart into Iranian waters if they think they’ll be intercepted.”
