by C. L. Jones
Finally, the plane intercom phone rang and the truck driver picked it up. He listened for a few seconds and then said, “Yes sir,” and hung the phone up. The driver turned to the group and said, “Hey guys, wake up, buckle up and get ready to land. You’re at your new home.”
It was an uneasy time for most of the men. Some were just waking up and others had been awake from the stress and pressure of the unknown. For some the uneasiness was a mixture of both. Unlike the super spy people in the movies, in this profession even mercenaries still have nerves. After the driver made the announcement it was only a matter of minutes before the phone rang again. The driver answered and again all he said was, “Yes sir.” Turning to the cabin he said, “Hey guys, we’re landing and its white knuckle time.” Everyone nervously laughed but within a minute or two they found out that the driver wasn’t kidding.
The vibrations began and they could feel the plane rolling left and right, up and down, and shaking all over the place. Pops turned to a tall blonde haired man across the aisle and said, “You talk about easy touchdowns, well this isn’t one of them.” When the wheels hit the runway the plane bounced off the tarmac four or five times before smoothing out. Now that they were on solid ground, Pops began to relax. He could see many of the men taking a big breath and starting to relax as best they could under the circumstances. This trip seemed to be full of surprises so it stood to reason that they had to have one more. Boom, the plane came to a stop as if the brakes had locked up and everyone’s heads and bodies lunged forward.
Just as the passengers were regaining their composure the phone rang, and the driver picked it up and with the same sharp dialog he said, “Yes sir.” As he slammed the phone back in the box he turned to them and said in what everyone knew was supposed to be a joke, “Hi honey, we’re home.”
At first no one moved, but then one by one the passengers started undoing their safety belts and standing up. Some were stretching and yawning and others acted like robots. No matter the conditions or circumstances, they all were trained to operate like good little soldier boys. One by one they walked to the area where they had stacked their new duffel bags and found the one they had marked as theirs. They collected their bags and waited to deplane like they had done so many times while on active duty. The cargo door opened. Pops was ready to exit the plane, standing at the top of the ramp waiting for the line to move. As he stood there he looked around as he’d been trained and as he’d done for years. He scanned the area and made mental notes, comparing the landscape to areas that he was familiar with. By the looks of the mountains and the tall pines he was sure that it was somewhere in the greater northwest. Since the greater northwest covered a big area, just looking at trees and mountains didn’t give him much indication where in the greater northwest he might be. There was a landing strip with a surrounding grassy field. Bordering the grassy field were tall pines and mountain-like hills that extended beyond the runway area. Pops thought he must be at the beginning of a mountain range because the ridges in the distance couldn’t be much more then foot hills from their height.
The line started to move and so did the energy in the group. The well-behaved, quiet sleepyheads from the plane were waking up and beginning to act like young boots. Pops’ intuition was that these were not a bunch of snot-nose halfwits so he visibly shook his head when he saw two of them playing grab ass and lightly punching each other in the arm like old high school friends who hadn’t seen each other in a while. Instinctively Pops knew that those who were thinking that this was going to be like a bunch of old friends reuniting at summer camp were most likely in for a very rude awakening.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs he noticed another beat-up, ugly ass truck driving toward their group. It looked just like the one they had ridden at the beginning of this trip. One of the men turned to the one who had driven the first truck and said “When that truck stops, if you’re behind the wheel, I’m turning around and going back home!” The driver looked at him with a blank look and the rest of the group all started to laugh.
The old dark green truck pulled up and stopped. Everyone stood around looking at the truck and then at each other. The truck windows had mirror-like tinting so no one on the outside could see in the driver’s compartment. Pops had seen this before where anyone on the outside could only see a reflection but the people in the driver’s compartment could see out without a problem. After a few more minutes of standing around someone said, “Well, hell, I’m tired and getting a little pissed so if this is some kind of knucklehead test then my answer is to load up and see what happens next.”
The men walked to the back of the truck and paused, looking at each other for a few seconds while thinking about the guy’s comment about the knucklehead test. Pops thought silently to himself, if it was some kind of test, it could be a damned if you do and damned if you don’t test. And furthermore, if this was some kind of retraining camp and they were going to be treated like boots then Pops was the one who would be pissed.
Everyone stepped back one or two paces to either side of the rear tailgate. A man on each side reached up and unhooked the chain that held the gate in place and then they lowered it slowly down. As the men lowered the tailgate they slowly raised the edge of the canvas flap that extended over the back of the truck. When it was obvious to the others that they didn’t see anything inside, they flipped the flap back. Pops could hear some of the men quietly laugh apprehensively. Although there was nothing in the back of the truck the group was acting like Sasquatch was going to pop out at them.
Probably most of the men had done this many times before. One by one the men checked the empty bed of the truck and then climbed in and took their seats on the old wooden flip down benches.
It started as a tickle in the back of Pops’ mind. Firstly, he noticed that the men were falling into a regular order in everything they did, first on the truck, then on the plane, then standing around after they had gotten off the plane and now on this truck. This was all done subtly enough that it wasn’t readily obvious that anything had changed. Pops considered saying something but decided to watch and wait a little longer. Secondly, he wondered if the lack of orders and the suspicions about the back of this truck really were part of a test. If so, what if they let their guards down when nothing had happened? He decided the first thought he would keep to himself and the second one he would talk to the group about. So Pops said to the men, “Listen up everyone. We have to think of everything as a test now and until we know better we need to keep it in the forefront of our thoughts. Let me repeat again, we need to think that anything or everything could be a test and if that ain’t bad enough then consider this, one of us may be planted in our group to watch and somehow report on us and what we are doing or planning.”
While Pops was spouting off, he knew that if anything he was saying was true then he could be making himself a target. It took only seconds for this thinking to sink in to the group and as it did Pops noticed the men began to pull back. Now he saw them checking each other out which was something they hadn’t done at the start of the trip or even thought about.
For a second Pops started to have some regrets about his remarks, but then he that thought maybe keeping everyone in a standoffish mode wasn’t a bad idea. Pops needed time to find out what was going on and if he or anyone of them were a target. Until then this over-the-top, built in paranoia would be healthy. Yes, a little paranoia wasn’t a bad thing and maybe his remarks had planted a seed that he could somehow use down the road. Better at this point to let the seed lay and germinate in the fertile overactive minds of the men. Furthermore, if this was just another training camp, he hadn’t done any harm since paranoia was part of any combat soldier’s or field agent’s training and life. The thing about paranoia could be summed up in a saying Pops believed held true, “There may be no boogeyman but after one becomes a field agent there is a boogeyman behind every tree.”
Pops checked his watch as the truck left the landing area. As he’d been trai
ned, his plan was to time the legs of the land trips, making a note of the time it took to get to a particular point. He wanted to start by checking permanent natural landmarks in each direction near the landing strip.
Bumping and jarring was the key word of the day. They rode for almost two hours through the rugged terrain on mostly what Pops knew were unpaved roads because of the ongoing cloud of dust that the men in the back of the truck had to endure. Trying to see out from under the canvas was impossible because the flaps had been tied securely so that anyone inside couldn’t see anything other than dark shadowy figures of the men around him. Pops wondered how long this would go on as he noted that the men in the back of this fuming, stinky old gas truck were getting weary. Also after bouncing around for two hours it was time for a latrine brake. Without any warning from the driver the truck came to an abrupt stop that sent the men tossing about, sliding and bumping into each other. Pops was a little upset since any good military driver knocks on the back of the cab or on the cab’s rear window to alert the men riding in the back. With a signal the men in the back could have braced themselves for the stop.
There was a little grumbling from the men about the abrupt stop. Pops heard someone moving alongside the truck and then the sound of the stiff canvas straps on the flaps being untied. The flap went up and the road dust that collected on the canvas roof tumbled down over the men making it even more difficult to see. Pops heard the familiar sound of the tailgate dropping down and slamming against the metal frame of the truck. He kept his squinting eyes open as much as he could, holding his hand above his eyes as a screen from the choking cloud of musty dust. Pops moved towards the back of the truck along with the rest of the men.
A voice like an old drill sergeant was yelling out a bunch of orders. With his eyes starting to adjust, Pops could see people in camouflaged field uniforms standing in a military rigid manner behind the truck. The sergeant ordered, “Everyone out, lets hit the ground like you want to be here. We got little time so let’s go to the mess hall where the mess sergeant has cooked a great meal. If you know him he doesn’t like being kept waiting.”
As they jumped off the bed of the truck and got in line the word was being passed back, “Everyone stay on your toes this may be a test.” The paranoia seed had germinated and was growing, proof that a few simple well-chosen words placed at the right time were working and starting to take effect.
Pops walked along the overgrown dirt path, noting that the place was set up in a military compound style with a line of small buildings and several more rooftops behind them. The mess hall was set off to the side. The compound was designed to be camouflaged as much as possible, set back into the trees for natural concealment using the forest to help break up any manmade structure outlines. He couldn’t help but think how this would make a great resort using the main compound building for the resort office and the other buildings as rentals.
Pops stepped up on the covered porch of the mess hall and from the higher elevation he could see the rest of the buildings. There were about twenty buildings of a good size in a circle. Each building was well hidden under the camouflage of forest growth which made them nearly invisible from orbiting satellite cameras or any other overhead sky traffic. The housing and supporting facilities were in a typical neatly organized military formation. A well-trimmed small parade ground was in the center. At one end of the field were two flags flying behind a platform. One was the American flag and the other was a POW flag. Pops took note that the roof of the platform was made to look like woodland foliage to fool any pilot flying overhead. Every structure was camouflaged in the same manner including the latrine. The entire site would be hard to see from above until you were right on top of it.
At the door of the mess hall one of the uniformed compound personal tapped Pops on the shoulder and motioned for him to come on in and grab some grub. He knew this was probably meant to keep him from gawking around too much and to move the line along. He walked through the door into the mess hall and was somewhat surprised. The décor inside was like a small restaurant with tablecloths, centerpieces and real dinner plates, not mess hall divided trays. As Pops reached the serving line he could hear the people ahead of him picking and choosing and some were placing orders for the way they wanted their steak and potatoes cooked. Behind the counter were military-looking cooks working and being very polite to the line of new arrivals as the group was served one by one.
Pops carried on in the line watching and listening to everything around him. There was old rock music playing in the background and a big tub of iced tea, milk or soft drinks was waiting at the end of the line. Not surprisingly, Pops noticed now that everyone had dropped their guard. The idea of everyone staying on their toes hadn’t lasted any longer than their bellies. When Pops got to the place in the line where he was to order his steak, he looked at the server, “Burn it. I want it well done. No blood,” he said with a smiling nod of his head to the cook.
The cook looked backed at him and giving almost the same smile and nod, replied, “Yes sir, yes sir! And I’ll remember that and I’ll take care of it for you, sir.”
Pops continued slowly down the serving area and while choosing his other food items he took methodical notice of everyone behind the counter and in the immediate cooking area. He didn’t know just what to make of the compound setup so at this point it was best to take in as much as he could. At the end of the line he bent down to get a drink and out of the corner of his eye he could see the head cook watching him. Pops dug down into the ice and grabbed two cartons of ice-cold milk and turned, looking for a table. In the corner of the dining hall there was an empty table with windows on two sides. The table was a perfect opportunity to further examine the compound area while being unobserved by those in the mess hall. He could sit with his back to everyone in the dining area and they wouldn’t have any idea when he was looking out and when he wasn’t. This was a chance to observe without being obvious. Working his way through the tables he could hear bits of the conversations. Pops scanned the group who had ridden with him on the truck before getting on the plane and observed the interaction between them and the other people they’d met on the plane. As he took his seat at the corner table, he took one more scan of the mess hall, the people and the overall layout. Pops could see the reflection of the faces in the windows so he casually continued to watch the people and their faces. The greeters that had met them at the truck were scattered throughout the mess hall. They were acting impressed by the group who’d arrived with Pops and were treating them somewhat like celebrities. So far everyone seemed to be eating it up.
Pops was eating his salad when the server who had waited on him set the nicely burnt steak down on the table and picked up the tray that Pops had used to carry his flatware and milk. He continued to eat by himself, enjoying every bite while casually looking out the windows. Sitting there observing his surroundings his sixth sense told him that he was being watched. Sure enough the window reflections showed a guy sitting at a table nearby with three others who was not paying any attention to the conversation of those at the table. The guy was a big, muscled-up, baldheaded guy who looked about forty something. He was eating with his head slightly tilted to the side while watching Pops. Pops took more time than usual to eat waiting to see what was going to happen next. Just as he was about to take the last bite of food one of the greeters left his seat and walked to the front of the mess hall. The greeter quickly slipped back into a military attitude and unexpectedly yelled out in a booming voice, “Listen up ya’ll. As you finish, come on up here and check this list that I will post to get your hooch assignments. Ya’ll will be in two man buildings and everything is in the hooch that ya’ll will need including your bags and weapons from the plane. Ya’ll need to get a good night’s sleep and we’ll have an indoctrination session tomorrow after morning chow. See ya’ll later now.”
Pops finished eating and went up to check the list. It took him awhile to see how they listed him. He knew that all the others
either knew better or had been told not to use their real names at any time. Pops also knew not to tell anyone anything about himself. He found his code name, Pops, on the list. He noted the building number next to his name and started out of the mess hall, down to the first row of buildings they had passed on the way in. He found his hooch and saw that someone had already placed his and his hooch mate’s duffels on the floor next to their beds. His bed was on the right side of the room which pleased Pops because he liked to sleep on his right side with the wall to his back. In this case he would be able to see the door while lying in bed which would let him rest a little easier. Sitting down on the side of the bed he looked around, committing every little thing to memory. When he felt like he knew where the entrances, exits, windows and light switches were he laid down as if he was going to sleep. With a little effort, he thought possibly he could see anyone coming in the hooch’s front door even on the darkest night.
He was still doing a little hooch recon when a tall athletic looking man in his early thirties walked in. The slender man nodded his head at Pops and then went to his side of the room. Without saying a word he kicked off his shoes, dropped his trousers and got into bed. Pops was trying to act as if he had not noticed. The man then turned his back to Pops and went to sleep.
Unlike most military rooms each bed had a light attached to the headboard. As was his habit from all the missions he’d been on over the years while sleeping in the middle of nowhere and waiting on a target, he placed his weapon on the bed between himself and the wall. His mission training had instilled some things in him that would never be forgotten. He’d come to not only depend on these things but also feel comfortable with them. He turned out the light like he’d been doing for years.
All night long he listened to the sounds around him. For a while he heard some of the other men making noise while getting ready for bed. After about an hour the compound was dark and quiet. He laid there listening to the sounds that he’d heard around the world. The sounds of night, the sounds of the deadly quiet, the time when every combat soldier knows that the night ghost comes calling. No matter how justified the cause and how much you believe in the mission you know that there will always be the visitors in the night. These visitors had awakened him in a cold warrior’s fright many times. Near, far, front or back your enemy always makes an indelible impression on that dark little space in some out-of-the-way corner of your mind. It’s like your brain stores things in little drawers. Whenever the ghost decides to open one of those drawers a dark well-hidden thing jumps out and for a few terrifying moments in your sleep, it scares the living hell out of you. The ghost hiding behind the dark thing in the drawer has its little laugh until you finally wake up and stuff that memory back into the drawer and close it. Until the next time.
