“You know damn well that if we break up you’re doomed. You’ll be in a new city where you only know a few people. And when I tell them we broke up they won’t have anything to do with you.
“You’ll have no transportation, no place to stay, no dope to help you get through your day. Then what are you gonna do? Find a new man? No way. Nobody will even look at you, the way you’ve let yourself go. You’ll be all alone and lonely, going through withdrawals with nobody to help you. You’ll probably freeze to death on the streets of Big Spring, and your family will never know what happened to you.”
She went silent.
She had tears in her eyes but wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing them. She stared out the passenger side window and tried to remember what it was she ever saw in him.
Her efforts to change him had largely failed. And while she knew in her heart he was wrong… that she was still a pretty girl slightly tarnished, and that she could still replace him with someone better in short order, the words still stung.
She let herself buy into what he was trying to do. She thought less of herself because of his words, though she was a thousand times the person he was and they both knew it.
She focused on the snow outside while wondering why in the world she didn’t listen to her friend who warned her about him.
-6-
After twenty minutes of silence she thought it safe to try again.
This time she’d try a different tact. Maybe one which wouldn’t inflame him and bring out the meanness in him again.
Not likely, for that side of Johnny was always bubbling just beneath the surface and threatening to rear its ugly head.
But maybe by coming from another direction she could talk him out of his dastardly plan.
“Johnny, how come we need to shoot them? If it’s because they have a better vehicle than we’ve got, who really cares? I mean, I’ve always loved your truck. It’s a really nice truck and I know you’ve always been proud of it. Why do you want to get rid of it for a big ol’ Hummer?”
Johnny, for once, tried to temper his anger and speak logically. It wasn’t that he’d all of a sudden become a reasonable person, but rather that he was getting a headache and was tired of arguing.
“Look, honey, if the cartel sends people after us, they won’t have a clue where to find us. If they talk to enough people in Lubbock, though, somebody will tell them we have relatives in Big Spring.
“They’ll check to see, and they’ll find out the road to Big Spring has been cleared. And when they get tired of looking in Lubbock they’ll come to Big Spring and look for us there.
“There aren’t a lot of vehicles running. Most of their batteries went dead a long time ago, during the first freeze.
“If the cartel comes to Big Spring, they’ll know we have a black pickup truck from talking to people in Lubbock. Now how long do you think it’ll take them to spot our truck when there’s only two or three hundred working vehicles in the whole city?
“They won’t be looking for a Hummer.
“Plus, in that Hummer we can go damn near anywhere. It’ll give us more options when we find a place to live. We won’t have to live on a residential street that the city has plowed. We can take over a farm house, or a place out in the middle of nowhere. It’ll make it harder for the cartel to find us in a place where we can go because we have a Hummer, but they can’t go in a regular vehicle.”
Perhaps it was his calmer tone of voice.
Or maybe it was because he finally took the time and trouble to explain to her his logic instead of just yelling at her.
Or maybe she too was just tired of arguing.
Perhaps she was getting a headache from the constant back and forth as well.
Maybe it was all those things.
Whatever it was, she gave up.
There was only one person in the cab of this pickup who had any semblance of morality.
And she buckled.
“Just, whatever you do to them, Johnny, make it quick. They seem like nice people, and they shouldn’t suffer.”
“Honey, I promise I’ll make it as quick as possible.”
He sounded so sincere it gave her pause.
She thought perhaps there was a small measure of decency in his soul after all.
But that wasn’t it at all.
He’d kill Frank quickly, sure.
But it wouldn’t be to have mercy on the man.
He’d shoot Frank in the back because he was afraid of the man. Afraid that if Frank didn’t die instantly with a bullet to the back, through the heart, he might be able to turn the tables on him.
And of course, once Frank went down Johnny would have to rush the Hummer, and take out Josie and Eddie quickly as well.
He couldn’t give them time to crawl into the cargo bay to retrieve another weapon.
Because that would make it a fair fight.
Johnny Connolly hated fair fights, for he was a coward.
It was much safer to ambush somebody and to bring them down quickly.
A dead man was no longer a threat.
His plan was simple.
He already had his rifle propped up against the console between them.
It was locked and loaded, the safety off.
The next time Frank brought the Humvee to a stop and stepped outside to urinate, Johnny would quietly open his door and step out.
Frank always stepped to the front of the Hummer to do his business, so his back was to everyone.
Two quick bullets to his back. One kill shot, one insurance shot. Then a run to the Hummer to take out the other two.
The whole thing would be over in a minute, maybe less.
He was getting nervous, but antsy at the same time.
Equal parts excitement and dread.
He wasn’t relishing the thought of gunning down three people in cold blood, for as much of a lowlife he was, he’d never stooped this low before. He’d never crossed the murder line.
But on the other hand, word would get around in the drug and criminal communities.
News that he was a triple murderer, though it could never be proven, would make its way around Big Spring.
It would enhance his street cred.
He’d be seen as a high roller. A major player.
In street lingo he’d be called “hard.”
Nobody would mess with him.
He knew that Frank drank a lot of water. Years before a doctor had told him drinking plenty of water was one of the secrets to a long life.
Johnny knew that because Frank told him that when they’d stopped both vehicles to chat the day before.
Johnny knew one other thing about old men.
That they have to pee often. Especially when they drink a lot of water.
It wouldn’t be long now. At any time Frank would pull over. And he’d step out of the Hummer for the very last time.
“Oh, crap!”
The words were Tina’s.
Johnny had been so laser-focused on the murders he was planning he didn’t see the white SUV that had crept up behind them.
The SUV from the Lubbock County Sheriff’s Office.
The one with the blue lights flashing, demanding that Johnny stop.
-7-
In the aftermath of his release, Colonel Morris Medley had a rather uneventful couple of days.
He was invited for a sit-down with General Mannix, so the two could clear the air and make peace. At the last minute, though, he sent the general word asking for a rain check at a later date.
“The wound is still too raw,” he explained. “I would like to meet and talk things out, but I would prefer the meeting to be civil rather than accusatory. I’ll need time to get there from where I’m at now.”
It wasn’t that Medley carried a grudge. Everyone who knew him knew that.
But he’d lost a good friend in Tim Wilcox. And when he met the general for the first time following Tim’s death he’d have to choose his words carefully. He certainly d
idn’t want to say something which would disgrace his uniform or his rank, and it would be awhile before he could trust himself to do so.
Colonel Winston Andrews, the new base commander, came to see him.
“I’ve spoken with General Gray, the new commander at Air Education and Training Command. I told him I want to stand down and let you take command of the base.”
“Winston, tell me you’re joking.”
“Why would I be joking? You outrank me. When Tim Wilcox died you were the next in line. You’d be sitting at the commander’s desk right now if the bunker thing hadn’t happened. It’s the right thing to do and General Gray supports it.
“Moreover, Gray talked to Mannix about it. Technically he didn’t have to. The major command is the approving authority. But Gray wanted to make sure Mannix wouldn’t block it, given the history between you.”
“History? What history? He threw me in the can and then changed his mind. That’s not history. It’s a bad decision and a good correction.”
“Well, in any event, it’s your position if you want it. It’s yours by right and I’m willing to step down and be your deputy.”
“Who’s the deputy now?”
“John Rodriguez.”
“He’s a good man.”
“Yes he is.”
“And how does he feel about this? I mean, he’d be the one out of a job. It would be a slap in the face for him to be the deputy base commander one day, and then go back to being a squadron commander on the same base the very next day.”
“He says he’s okay with it. He feels the same way I do. And for the record, General Gray offered him the vice position at Joint Base Randolph. Smaller base, but more prestige because it’s a headquarters base.”
“What did John say?”
“He passed. He said this is his home, his family is here, and this is where he wants to retire. The day after the thaw comes, he says.”
“Yeah, that’s something I’ve been hearing a lot lately. If everybody retires on the same day, who’s gonna be around to lock the gate?”
“Might as well leave it open. I hear people are cutting the fence and crawling under it anyway.”
Later that day Andrews called Medley on his radio and asked him to meet at the main gate. He didn’t say why, and it didn’t matter. Until Medley decided whether to take the job offered him, Andrews was still the base commander.
And when the commander calls one goes to meet him.
When he pulled up to the gate Andrews looked frustrated and more than a little bit flustered. His hands were on his hips as he peered out into a sea of abandoned cars, parked bumper to bumper and blocking access to his base.
He was flanked by several of his subordinate commanders.
The commander of the security forces squadron was there, and the commander of the transportation squadron as well. Several other lieutenant colonels, majors and captains followed the colonel’s lead, gazing at the abandoned cars and trying to figure out what to do about them.
There was even an acting commander from the base finance office, Chief Master Sergeant Thomas Jeffers.
Everyone just called him “Chief.”
-8-
Every military base has a handful of “old heads” who are respected both for their abilities and their wealth of experience.
They are the battle-scarred experts in darned near anything and everything which has to be done. And if for some reason they’re tasked to do something they have no expertise in, they’ll come through anyway. Because that’s just how they are.
The command chain looks at them with admiration. The lower ranks look at them with respect.
They are, to use an old expression, men among men.
Chief Master Sergeant Thomas Jeffers was one of those men.
Although holding the highest rank of a non-commissioned officer and being a fine man, Jeffers could never be a true commander.
Despite his being smarter and more experienced than nearly everyone else present, he was prohibited from being placed in a permanent commanding officer role because he lacked a commission.
Oh, he could have had one when he signed on with the Air Force years before, had he gone to college first and gotten a bachelor’s degree.
But he was tired of school back then and chose another path, enlisting instead.
Over the years since then he’d gone back to school and earned not one, but two bachelor’s degrees. And a doctorate’s degree in finance systems to boot.
In the military’s eyes every one of the commissioned officers present was superior to Chief Jeffers.
But in reality, he not only had more experience, he was smarter than most of them, and more highly educated to boot.
He was the acting commander of the finance office because the only commissioned officer they had left, 1Lt Tony Wilburn, committed suicide a few days before. An awful shame.
Chief Jeffers stepped up and took the role as acting commander because there was no one else to do it. And because he’d been basically running the show anyway.
As is often the case, a young officer assigned to run a section or a squadron was in way over his head. Lt. Wilburn went to his NCOs for advice and counsel. They provided the experience and know-how. He took the credit.
It’s an old story in America’s military.
But he was fooling no one.
Everyone knew he wasn’t up to the task, no matter how hard he tried to convince everyone he was.
It was evident to everyone, both up and down his chain of command.
A more stable man would have dealt with it in a different manner. He’d have continued to work with his NCOs, for they are the backbone and life’s blood of any military unit.
But instead of belittling his NCOs and making light of their contributions; instead of letting them do all the work and giving himself the credit, he’d have fostered a team approach.
When he saw that his superiors weren’t buying what he was selling, he took the coward’s way out and ate a bullet.
Literally.
Chief Jeffers did what good chiefs always do. He stepped in and took over the role and got the mission done.
And while he could never be a true commander because he wasn’t a commissioned officer, he would run the unit more efficiently than the lieutenant ever had. And he’d continue to do so until another officer was available to assume the role.
But here, a finance officer was of little value.
Even though Colonel Andrews put out a call for all unit commanders to meet him at the main gate, his presence as a finance expert wasn’t really needed.
Chief Jeffers’ expertise was in numbers, not abandoned cars. His world was a world of travel vouchers, of balance sheets, of audits and reports and paychecks. As talented as he was in his field, and as educated as he was, his input would have little value here and would likely be discarded outright.
But there was another way he could help.
The chief was deployed to Afghanistan way back in 2014.
In a wartime situation men are often called to perform duties they’ve had absolutely no training in, simply because something has to be done and because there’s no one else available.
While he was in country word came down that a dozen insurgents had overrun a munitions depot outside of Kandahar.
The Army quickly took it back, but not before the insurgents were able to load three trucks with grenade launchers, mortars and mortar rounds.
Those three trucks completely disappeared in the chaos of the moment and could now be anywhere.
At Camp Momentum, where Chief Jeffers was deployed, everyone knew that mortars could come raining down on them at any time.
They had to build bunkers and reinforce critical facilities, and they had to do it quickly.
Chief Jeffers had an idea.
He tasked his people with a project.
“You guys, get shovels. Go out into the sand and dig holes. Eight feet by six feet. Four feet deep.
“Use
the sand from the holes to fill sandbags. Lots of them. Toss them out of the holes and to the side.
“I’ll be back shortly.”
With that he was out the door and running.
His men didn’t have a clue where he was going.
But they knew their chief.
Wherever he went, he’d waste no time. For Jeffers knew the value of time, especially in a crisis situation.
Moreover, though they didn’t yet know why they were digging holes to certain specifications and filling sandbags, the chief knew.
And that was good enough for them.
-9-
Camp Momentum had what they lovingly called a “flight line.”
It wasn’t a flight line in the traditional sense, with taxiways and runways and parking revetments.
No, far from it.
It was a runway made from air-transportable pieces of concrete which snapped together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. The Air Force had used it or similar kits for decades to build temporary runways out in the middle of nowhere.
It was nothing fancy, but then again in times of war fancy is a luxury which cannot be afforded.
And fancy wasn’t required for a runway that saw the weekly arrival of a single C-17 or C-130 cargo plane which came to resupply the base and then left again.
Chief Jeffers could see the runway from the tent which served as his office.
He’d seen a huge piece of equipment parked next to the runway.
He’d also seen two stacks of 463L aircraft pallets standing next to it.
The piece of equipment was made by Caterpillar, a company best known for its bright yellow bulldozers and earth moving equipment.
But this machine wasn’t bright yellow and it wasn’t meant to move earth. It was desert brown in color and a forklift, made to move anything heavy.
Up to ten thousand pounds worth of heavy.
Jeffers ran to the machine and found it was much bigger than it looked from a distance.
This monster had tires which were taller than he was. It was a machine which was as foreboding as it was powerful.
But he couldn’t turn back now. Lives were at stake.
Eden Bound Page 3
