Brothers of Different Mothers

by C. L. Jones

  For days Pops mulled over his situation trying to think of ways to get out from under the organization. Finally he drove to a pay phone but this time it was different. He didn’t try to hide his whereabouts, he didn’t use a homeless person to hold the phone and be the target if they decided to take him down, he just made the call. After about ten minutes his call was returned and he was still mad as hell. With words seething from Pops’ lips he wasted no time in barking out, “When the hell is enough, enough? Can’t you guys just let go? I’m done. Leave me alone, I just want a normal life.”

  The reply was simple, “Sorry Pops, but you’re the best of the best. It’s your own damn fault.”

  Then Pops said, “I’m not going to do this for the rest of my life.”

  “Yah-Yah-Yah, whatever.” replied the Pit Man. Then he reminded Pops, “You asked for a favor, now it’s repayment time.” Without missing a beat, the Pit Man gave the same bullshit message and at the end said, “This will be your last mission. You’ll be done with us and we will be done with you. But since you’re the one quitting, don’t expect anything from us. If you get into trouble you’re on your own. If you need money, forget it. There will be no pension and no bennies. We will never acknowledge that we heard of you and as far as we’re concerned, you’ll be a dead man. You never happened. Remember without us your life will be shit.”

  Pops convinced himself to do this “final” mission. A few weeks later as he’d been told, he reported to a rundown warehouse about five miles south of town. Someone would be there because for good or bad, the organization would have a person waiting. Pops knew he would have to stay on his toes so he could quickly recognize if anyone was sent to take him down. Furthermore, he knew morally that he’d never have a problem turning the tables and taking down anyone sent after him since after all, an enemy is an enemy. Knowing how most agents are trained, he figured they would approach him straight on and try to fool him by making it look like business as normal. So he made himself a mental note to make sure this was one of the few times in his career that he would require a real contact person and not just a phone.

  Right on time, a military looking truck with a canvas cover over the troop-carrying area drove up. He watched it from when it first came into sight and headed right towards him. It was like playing a game of chicken. When the truck was only a few feet away it swerved to one side just clear of Pops and came to a stop. Pops could see clearly through the windshield and was staring at the driver who sported a clean, fresh military high and tight flat top haircut. The driver was trying to look cool with one arm hanging out of the window and a smart ass, know it all expression. As he pointed his thumb back towards the rear of the truck, Mr. Smartass said, “All aboard,” as if he were playing train engineer.

  Pops quickly thought there was no reason he should obey Mr. Smartass and just do what he said. It occurred to him that he had no idea who or what was in the back of the old military vehicle. Not wanting to turn his back on either the driver or the rear of the truck where he feared there could be an agent waiting for him, he drew his weapon and slowly side-walked around to the back of the truck. He had several different things running through his mind as he pulled the flap open. He flinched when he saw that the truck’s cargo was a group of several men sitting on the built-in benches on both sides of the truck. All were looking down at the bed of the truck. No one said a word to him, no one looked up and it didn’t appear that anyone reacted at all. Pops holstered his pistol, slowly climbed into the back of the truck and took a seat at the end by the tailgate as the canvas cover was closed down and secured by someone. The other men sat there in the dark on either side of the truck like they knew this was going to be their last ride.

  Pops remembered the last time he saw his wife Mary, his daughter Jenny and his son Mitchell, and wondered if it might be the last time he would see them. He mused to himself that it’s odd the things you think of in moments like that. “Boy, I’d like to see my family one more time, or sure would like to see the ocean again, or man, a pizza and beer would sure be good right now.” The truck roughly shifted gears, jolting him back to his situation. He wondered where he was going, why there were all these guys in this truck, and what the hell was he doing in some old beat-up hand-me down military truck.

  Pops also wondered why his destination hadn’t been revealed to him before leaving. The only thing he could think to do was just wait it out and do his best to be ready for whatever came his way. Either from nerves or out of habit he kept looking at his watch. After about three hours the truck stopped and he heard people moving around outside. The crunch of footsteps on the gravel indicated someone was moving towards the rear of the truck. Then before his eyes could adjust, the canvas flap went up, the tailgate went down and a voice said, “Everybody out. Come on, come on, let’s go.”

  As he slowly emerged from the covered bed of the truck he looked around, and immediately noticed that there wasn’t anything in sight. No buildings, no paved roads, no lights, nothing at all. The truck driver continued yelling as if the men disembarking were basic trainees, “Okay everybody, let’s go, let’s go.”

  Everyone had gotten out, stretched and had milled around for a while, when the same man who had yelled orders earlier pointed across the wide opening and like some old drill sergeant yelled, “Okay let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” They started walking across a big grassy field and must have walked close to a mile when out of nowhere an airplane runway came into view. The driver, the man yelling orders pointed to the ground and barked out, “Everybody down, take a seat.”

  Pops turned his head from side to side, taking in the surroundings. Somewhere out in the dark he could hear the sounds of an airplane engine getting closer and closer. As if by magic, runway lights went on starting nearest the group of waiting men and running a few hundred yards down the field. This had all the markings of a well-practiced routine where the lights were lit at the last moment to minimize the time they could be seen from the sky or from the nearby area. It didn’t take a genius to figure that the moment the plane landed the lights would go out.

  Pops’ eyes followed the lights down the runway. It was like watching illuminated dominos falling. Just as his eyes reached the other end of the runway, a big old ugly ass, noisy plane appeared, lumbering out of the heavens. As it came into sight, Pops could see the wings wobbling back and forth. He watched for a few seconds thinking to himself, “Oh yea, this is a real great sign.”

  The wheels touched down and the plane bounced several times on the runway before finally coming to a stop. The engines were shut down and the peaceful night sky momentarily returned until it was interrupted by a big belch of blackish smoke from one of the engines. Pops couldn’t help but think that maybe this is what happens to agents who want out. It would look like an unexplained plane crash in the mountains with a bunch of travelers or maybe a large group of sportsmen on their way to some obscure mountain lake.

  The men waited and watched. For what seemed like the longest time nothing else happened around the airstrip after the plane landed. Pops glanced at the other men from the truck who were sitting looking at each other. It was clear that each of them was as dumbfounded as he was. Finally after about a half hour the plane’s cargo door swung open, but no one came out and not a sound came from inside. The quietness was hard to miss. Pops glanced at the truck driver who was unwrapping a sandwich that was sealed in foil. The truck driver calmly began eating while he waited. The seated men made a point of glaring at him without blinking. After all this was the only person around who knew what was going on so he became the focus of their frustration. The driver was unaffected by the men’s stares. He finished and then made a big deal about dusting off the front of his shirt. After primping he looked at the seated line of men and said, “Okay, all aboard. Go ahead get on.”

  The line of seated men got up and walked towards the plane in single file. They boarded the plane one quiet man after another. As Pops walked up the stairs he thought back to t
he day when he left for his first combat tour. There was Mary standing there at the airport and he remembered being conflicted by his feelings. On one hand he’d wanted to jump off the plane and run back to her. On the other hand he felt this overriding anticipation of going into combat, being a real soldier, leading men, and charging the hill. He wanted nothing more than to be a soldier.

  Back to reality. He reached the top stair and was about to enter the airplane when he heard something in the field behind him. Pops turned back to see another old green military truck arriving filled with a second group of men just like the group he was in. He noted that there was hardly any luggage. At most a few men had some small bags that looked more like fitness center workout bags.

  Upon entering the plane everyone in Pops’ group of men took a seat. As Pops was sliding into his seat he wondered why the plane was only half full and what had happened to the men from the second truck who were nowhere in sight. Trying not to be obvious some of the men were jockeying to get window seats. They probably all thought that after claiming their seats they would try to open the window covers. One by one the look on their faces told the whole story. Open the windows? On this plane the window shades had all been sealed or manufactured to look like window covers that were never to be opened. This was indeed a special old junker. Pops noticed the other passengers were all watching, observing or maybe just sizing each other up.

  The truck driver made his way to the front of the seating area and stood looking down one side of the plane then the other. Being an old military man, Pops knew just what the truck driver was doing. He was counting heads, making sure that every man was there and seated. After starting down the left side of the plane and coming back up the right side he nodded his head as if to give his approval to the count. Pops watched as the man stood there like some old platoon sergeant. He started to talk in a morning formation voice, “OK gentlemen, the head is in the back. There is plenty of food for you to eat and more than enough soft drinks and bottled water in the galley.” Then raising up his hand, he pointed his index finger towards a barber chair in the rear of the plane and said, “Everyone will get a good high and tight cut.” As he was making his announcements, a younger man who looked to be in his mid to late twenties came up behind the driver and stood there at parade rest. After the truck driver finished his part he turned to the young man and just nodded his head as if he were telling him to go ahead.

  The young man snapped to a semi position of attention then took two steps forward and stood there still at parade rest. It wasn’t any surprise to Pops when this young man started speaking in a very gung-ho, kick ass voice, “Gentleman after I give you your hair cut you will shave and you will remove all facial hair. There will be no facial hair of any kind from this point on.” Then in a cocky big me attitude he told the passengers, “After shaving you will report to me and receive your BDU’s (battlefield dress uniform) and you will put them on and maintain them in a military manner.” Feeling his oats, he stopped speaking and looked around. When he felt that he’d made the right impression, he continued, “There are black rubberized duffel bags with additional clothing and a shaving kit. Everything you’ll need is in the bag.” Again he paused, looking like a man who didn’t want to say the next part of his script. He finally announced, “Gentlemen after you get your duffel, move to the back where you will be issued a weapon. It will be the standard weapon used in the field today on active duty. With your weapon you will receive two clips. Do not load your weapon on board this plane.” Like any good military man, he asked the question that every soldier has heard a million times, “Gentlemen are there any questions?” Keeping his good little soldier boy attitude going he stepped back and resumed his position of parade rest.

  Pops and the others exchanged the knowing look and smile of an older soldier acknowledging a younger soldier’s inexperience. They had all been there and done that. It was an age old known fact that as long as there is any kind of military anywhere in the world there will be the young gung-ho guys like the young man who had just assumed parade rest.

  Over the years Pops had kept himself in good shape and could still look the part of an active duty soldier. So the idea of wearing another high and tight haircut just wasn’t anything to get all worked up about since he’d had short hair most of his life. Yes, except for a few times when it served his cover on a mission with the organization he’d remained a soldier in mind and spirit.

  Pops jumped into the chair and trying to joke, said to the barber standing behind the chair, “This better be a flawless hair cut. I don’t want to look like Jed Clampett.” Then still trying to joke, and using the mocking style and tone of the good little soldier boy, Pops said, “Do you understand me?”

  In less than five minutes the cutting cloth came off and the barber said, “Okay that’s it.” Pops stood up and leaning slightly forward he ran both hands over his head to satisfy his desire to feel the cut and also shake out as much of the short hairs as possible. Pops straightened up and walked directly to the head. He stepped into the small room and bent down to look in the disfigured metal mirror, leaning in as close as he could to get a good look at the cut. Like before he ran his hands over it and to his surprise it was a good cut. He shook some more of the loose clippings out by rubbing his hands vigorously over his head and then returned to the main body of the plane. The barber looked at him wanting some kind of approval. Pops played it off like it was no big deal thinking that every hot air balloon needs to have a little of that hot air released once in a while.

  He walked back to the so-called galley and picked up some food and a cold drink, then went back to his seat. He’d decided to go with the flow since it couldn’t be any worse than he’d been through before in his life. As he was just about to sit down to eat the food the truck driver yelled at him like he was some numb-nut trainee, “Hey bud, come over here and get your damn uniforms. I don’t want this to take all day.”

  The way this man conducted himself had been working its way inch by inch under Pops’ skin and now talking to him like this in the presence of the others was a clear challenge. No question about it, the truck driver had decided to make an example out of Pops, plain and simple. Pops got up from his seat and calmly put his food on the paper it had been wrapped in. He set his can of soda carefully on the seat and rested it against the seat back. As Pops turned and stood up he stretched his back and neck and then walked to where the truck driver was standing. With each step he took he made sure his eyes were locked on the truck driver’s eyes. Pops stopped about two feet from the man whose face had gone from a bully’s face to one that was starting to lose its color. Once Pops was within striking range he started moving his head, tilting it to the left until there was a small cracking sound in his neck and then he repeating the motion to the right. As the driver watched, Pops started rolling his shoulders in a forward motion like he was loosening up. Then he smiled and slowly approached the driver a little closer. He moved like a snail, closer and closer until he was inches from the driver’s face. With a cold blooded stare right into the man’s eyes and in a very low, very soft and slightly evil voice Pops said, “If you talk to me like that again I’ll put your lights out. Do you understand me?”

  No answer. Pops said “Well do you?”

  The driver gave a very nervous smile and as he started to speak, his voice cracked a little. Pops looked into the driver’s eyes and knew and could feel this man’s fear. The eyes are the barometer of a man’s fear. Men can try to look all bad-ass but the eyes can clue you in to what they are really feeling.

  Pops waited to hear the driver’s reply and as he thought, the guy just didn’t know when to keep his mouth closed. The driver started by saying, “Hey old man, why don’t you just…”

  That was the perfect time, with his mouth open, looking around with a cocky fake smile at the others. Pops hit him with a blow to the nose with an open palm. The driver went down and in less than a second his face was covered with blood.

  Pops lo
oked down at the big mouth. As he was observing the lump at his feet, one of the others said, “Did you kill him? Is he still alive?”

  Pops said, “Oh yeah, he’s alive.” He went back to his seat, picked up his sandwich, started to take a bite, stopped, looked around and said, “I guess we might as well eat, looks as if we’ll have to wait for our uniforms.” Everyone made some kind of halfway silent lighthearted acknowledgement and went about their business.

  The group was almost finished with their food when the driver began moving. Pops had been keeping an eye on him and was sure he’d been playing possum while trying to come up with something to do or say so the group of men wouldn’t think he was weak. As the driver sat up he put both hands on either side of his head and looked around to see the reaction of the people in the cabin. Pops got up walked over to him and looked down with no expression. They both just looked at each other for a while, and then Pops held out his left hand helping the driver up. As the driver got to his feet, Pops pulled him in close and said, “Watch your mouth from now on.” Then Pops turned to the others while putting his arm around the driver’s shoulder and said, “Well, he can take a punch.” Most of the group grunted or smiled and went back to whatever they had been doing. These men lived and survived in a strange world and in that world it was an action that only men like this understood. Pops had just made a new friend. Pops knew that later on down the road he could need a friend and this guy might or might not be the one.

  Pops had never been able to sleep very well on an airplane so he paced back and forth, and ate and drank all night. After takeoff there had been the rush to get haircuts and uniforms and the conflict between Pops and the driver but then boredom had set in. It was now five hours later and he thought that the plane couldn’t be in the air too much longer. Pops knew that the plane had changed direction several times to keep the passengers off track if they had been trying to figure out where they were going. There were no electronic devices, GPS’s or maps of any kind on board.