Holman and his Chief of Staff, Captain Leo Upmann, stood near the hatch leading into the main part of the forecastle, watching the helicopter carrying General Thomaston and the others lift off the flight deck. The helicopter was taking him back to Kingsville, where other evacuees had returned earlier in the day. The helicopter turned left, and then circled the USS Boxer before steadying up on an easterly course away from Joint Task Force Liberia. The noise on the flight deck returned to its normal level of loud clanging, running feet, and the straining engines of flight deck equipment.
Holman led the way as they reentered the forecastle. “Hope he knows what he’s doing,” he said.
“I suspect he does. Or like most general officers, thinks he does.”
Holman gripped the railings of the ladder leading up. “Is there a hidden comment in there somewhere, Leo?” He both pulled and stepped his way up the ladder to the next deck.
“Moi? I would never say such a thing about you, sir.”
Holman waited a second or two for Upmann at the top of the ladder before he continued down the passageway, heading forward. “Here he is, a retired three-star general who could go live anywhere in America and on his retirement pay probably be in the top income bracket, and instead, what is he doing? He’s out here in Africa, leading a bunch of expatriates in trying to establish their own little America.”
“Who knows why, Admiral. When I left last night after dinner, did he give any indication as to what his intentions are? I mean, with the exception of the ten or eleven families who elected to return to America with us, the rest are returning with him.”
Holman shook his head. “No. He just believes that African-Americans, unlike their white countrymen, and even like native Africans, have a right to a heritage. A right to know where they came from.”
“His DNA library has received a lot of attention in America,” Upmann offered. “And before this insurrection, Liberia was well on its way to being the showcase country for Africa. I was a little surprised when he said they would be returning.”
“I wasn’t.”
“I don’t understand. You come out here to this inhospitable part of the globe and nearly lose your life for a speck of ground. Well, me for one, I would have packed up long ago and headed back home to the land of McDonald’s, Burger King, and Chuck E. Cheese. There’s no government now.”
“There will be. Thomaston intends to go to Monrovia and establish his own interim government until new elections can be held. You saw what the State Department said during the video teleconference yesterday. They’ll recognize him as long as he keeps his promise. I can’t imagine an American military officer not keeping his promise.”
“That should keep America happy as long as Thomaston doesn’t have something to hide and decides to keep power for himself. That would be something, wouldn’t it. A retired American general who takes over a country and becomes its dictator.” Upmann chuckled at his small joke.
Holman stepped up as they passed through a watertight hatch in the center of the passageway. Upmann followed, having to duck his head to keep from bumping it on the overhead, and taking an exaggerated step up so as not to trip on the metal knee-knocker at the bottom of the hatchway.
“Leo, everyone has a hidden agenda. Come to think of it, he did say some things that might provide insight as to where this small piece of America will go from here.”
Leo reached forward and opened the door to the flag wardroom. “What was that, Admiral?”
“He said that he believed Liberia was where Texas was when it won its independence from Mexico. He even referred to the Battle of Kingsville as their own Alamo. Talked about the relationship between Liberia and the United States, going all the way back to when Liberia was originally established. Even pointed out that the only difference in the Liberia flag and the American flag was forty-nine stars. Oh, yes, he has plans, and while he didn’t share them, I think I know what he intends.”
Upmann pulled the door shut behind them and headed toward the coffee urn. “What does he intend?” He pulled out a couple of cups from the pantry.
“I think that in a few years, our Congress will have more on its agenda than just approving dual citizenship for those of African descent. I think they may be faced with the prospect of another independent country like Texas applying to be a state.”
A knock on the door drew their attention. It opened and Captain Jeremiah Hudson, commanding officer of the USS Boxer, entered.
“Jerry, come on in and have a cup of coffee with us,” Holman said, motioning the commanding officer into the flag wardroom.
He shook his head. “Admiral, Admiral Colbert is on the radio and wishes to talk with you.”
“You mean the French Admiral who would never answer any of my calls?”
Hudson bit his lower lip and nodded a couple of times. “Same one, Admiral. Seems the French fleet has been recalled to the Mediterranean.”
Holman turned to Upmann. “Leo, you want to take this one for me? Express my regrets but tell him I’m unavailable.”
Upmann’s eyebrows arched. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, sir.” Three steps later he was out the door.
“These are for you, Admiral,” Jeremiah Hudson said, handing a couple of sealed envelopes to Holman.
Holman looked at one, then the other. “How about that? PERSONAL FOR messages from Commander, European Command and from our very own Chairman, Joint Chiefs of Staff.” He tossed the unopened envelopes on the table. “I am sure you’ve read them, Jerry. Let me see if I can guess what is in them.” Holman put the back of his right hand against his forehead and shut his eyes. “Ah, it’s coming to me.” He lifted one of the envelopes. “This one feels as if it’s from European Command.” He tossed it into the air a couple of times. “It is a ‘well done’ from General Shane, telling me what a great job we did and how impressed the world is with our success.” He tossed the envelope back on the table and picked the other one up. “Ah, this one is easy. It references General Shane’s message and tells me how great and wonderful we are. How much we are loved in Washington for a successful operation against the terrorist hordes and saving American lives.”
He opened his eyes and tossed the envelope on the table. It landed on top of the other one. He picked up his cup of coffee and took a sip. “So, how close was I?”
Hudson grinned. “It’s almost as if you wrote the messages yourself, Admiral.”
Holman nodded. “If we hadn’t been successful, there would have been only one message. It would have come from the Department of Navy and started off something like: ‘Effective immediately, you are hereby ordered to turn over command, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.’ There are multitudes of good things about being a professional military officer, regardless of which service you are in. There is also the other end of the sword where, regardless of why or how well you’re trained to do something, when you fail—you fail. Failure is not an American trait taken well.”
“Yes, sir, but it’s not as if they provided any guidance to you,” Hudson offered.
Holman took another sip. “Oh, they provided ample guidance, Jerry. They said, ‘Go evacuate the Americans and don’t fight the French.’” He pushed the coffee cup away. “We did our mission and we did it effectively. Now, Jerry, I think I will go up to my favorite bridge wing and have a cigar. Call me when we reach Little Creek. I’m sure my staff at Commander, Amphibious Group Two has missed me and are already waiting on the docks with iced beer and nibblies.”
Jerry laughed and followed the admiral through the stateroom door. “I am sure they are, sir.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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David E. Meadows, Joint Task Force #1: Liberia
Joint Task Force #1: Liberia Page 35
