~~~
‘Hey, Dave. Throw us the ball.’, said the sailor playing soccer with other Navy-men. David was walking the perimeter in the camp. The year was ’‘69 and he walked by himself. His superiors knew he was a loner, and a good-fighter. ...They-figured, he was deliberating. He really had few-issues yet a good soldier was given time to be alone. It was his second-tour on the shores of Nam Ken. The base had been taken away from the ‘insurgents’ and now sailors, were enjoying time-off. He was quietly meditating. He was thinking of the war, his next-mission or earning time-off. He was thinking of how un-tendered his life had become... The warm-sun and sandy beach, had least concern. About how the situation of despair and distancing, was in virtual-compendium... The sun was shining over Nam Ken and Point of Arkansas, David opened the tanks for the oil-trucks coming for late morning-loads. David remembered how he thought of those-days, in uneven-judgment and today-in labyrinthine-judgment of how, one lead-to the other... ‘Lt. Garr, how are you doing?’ said the Rear-Admiral in-charge of landside-detail... The Admiral realize that isolation was a typical occurrence for new officers especially, a competent-one. ” ‘How’s your team?’
The Rear-Admiral knew if he could carry-out his-duties was expected-to answer his superiors’ concerns. It was a the rig-supervisors which he realize truly, wanted him to do the job... David was being more reflective about things and in so doing understood and rationalized his growing, fleeting-edge. An edge he had, was also a tantamount of self-availing. Suitable, satisfaction and subjugation; an experience and a complicit, ‘notational’-of influence... He didn’t know when the terms of working influx, would fulfill its finality. He had adhered to everything he-did. In a sense he was as much competent, as than with the only-’out’; being in ever reaching, demise. Yet few things proved worthy than carrying-out your duty, in-risk or routine. He’d began to prepare to move East. East to North Carolina by-way of Georgia. He wanted-to use Georgia’s Southern-forests then to the coast... He was going to put in his notice, when the shift print-out had a picture of him as an elite-officer came over transponder. He took it and shredded it. He put in his notice and left that day. He decided to have a last-lunch, and in the obvious-case; where the guys hanged-out may not be figured-out if he-had any headway... He was contentiously, ‘right’. Some of the men he knew had heard of the flyer.
‘Yeah, some guy name: ’Car’ or ‘Gerr‘, haven’t seen him.’ ‘But some of the other-men said he-looked familiar...’ ...’He didn’t bother to eat, he packed his-supplies and loaded his truck and left-over the country-interstate.’ It was late summer about the time of the forests, fire on the range. His role in such things no longer existed. Yet he missed-it, super-imposed. Yet now the law, had taken its place. He drove all-morning down the country back-roads enjoying the calm and lazy-lull...
End.
Fourteen
“Seas and shoreline-struggling’.
“Standing-ground” and demising, the ‘inevitable’...
Sequoia Trail-A Bo Jon Littlehorse P.I. Novel. Second Edition Page 25
