Mr. Scrivner

Friday, March 29, 2019

Just a note to those who may be checking to see if this Blog is still live.
It is.
It hasn't been directly accessible for a while.
More stories, tales and comments to come, since I found my way back.

Peace.

Saturday, August 6, 2016

Dead Parrot

Warning: some less knowledgeable will assume I am using bad language. I am not.

In days of old when nights were cold, oh, wrong story.

In the old days, most people walked to get about. There were other forms of transportation, but they were used by the wealthy and royalty. In some instances, they were exclusive to royalty. One of those modes was the ass. Some folks would prefer I use the word burro or donkey.

A really wealthy person or royalty would have a stable of said animals. If they traveled long distances, they would have a retinue. The animals would be rotated like we rotate the tires (tyres) on our vehicles to extend tread life. They would be a able to actually travel farther and more quickly by allowing the animals to rest unburdened.

If an animal were to die in 'the traces', as it were, a servant would be dispatched to get a replacement, one which had the most rest, much like a manager signalling for a relief pitcher, was brought forward. The retinue would continue, leaving the dead animal beside the 'road' to be dispatched by scavengers. The natural order of things, PETA.

The next time one hears a human being telling another human being to 'get off their dead ass...', remember, either person is likely ignorant of the origin of the phrase. Person One is simply pointing out a servant is not going to appear with another imaginary ass, donkey, burro. to carry Person Two away.

As for the 'Dead Parrot', may I direct you to the 'Egress'. Keep a sharp eye out for a 'Python' named 'Monty'.

Friday, August 5, 2016

Saturday, May 28, 2016

What We Claim to Know

Hosea wrote it well, "My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge; because you have rejected knowledge, ..."
This passage in the book of Hosea 4:6, should not be taken out of context. I will let the reader look at the entire chapter on their own. I suggest the Blue Letter Bible online.

What prompted this was an opinion piece in the Jerusalem Post. It was a response to another opinion piece in the same online version of the Post. A Dr. Laitman had titled the first piece, "Fascism is looming over the U.S...". A David Turner wrote a response. I read Turner's response. I have not read Laitman's piece, yet. So my critique is aimed at Turner.
Mr. Turner makes some quotes from the B'rit Hadashah. For those unfamiliar with this, it is the transliteration of Hebrew for New Testament. My question would be of Mr. Turner's understanding of the 'forbidden' portions of the Tanakh, their relationship to the B'rit Hadashah and the translation he quoted.
He makes a point about Martin Luther and anti-Semitism. Luther wasn't always anti-Semitic. He became so after failing to convert any Hebrews, or Jews, if one prefers, after the Reformation got started.
I don't like being lumped together with all the persons who claim to be Christian and are anti-Semitic. Broad brush strokes have a tendency to cover nuance, or obliterate.
The main problem is claiming to know and not really knowing.
For example, many of the mistakes made by Christians are, for the most part, made out of ignorance. Some of those mistakes have been compounded by people rejecting knowledge. Add those who, for whatever reason, are prejudiced and act on those prejudices, inflame matters. Add those who, for whatever reason, have an agenda to destroy the object of their prejudices throw accelerant on the flames.
The Shoah, or Holocaust, killed millions of people. The Hebrews represented the majority of deaths. They were singled out for the most horrendous of violations. Other ethnic and religious groups were put to death as well.
I am not here to equate the current persecution and murder of Christians to the Shoah.
What am going to state is regarding Dr. Laitman's title.
Fascism is not looming over the U.S. It is at work right now! Christians are one of the groups on the fascist hit list, unless we can be 're-educated'. Some of us will be offered 're-education'. Some won't.
Some of us will go into captivity. Some of us will die by the sword.
There are others who will face the same decision because of their religious views, their political views, and some who thought they held to the 'correct views' but are considered expendable.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Back Porch Papers

Volume 1, Number 1

I pulled one of a pair of deck chairs, an anniversary gift from our daughter and son-in-law, out to the rear deck to enjoy the sun while reading the Sunday paper. I read the comics first, then the weekly tabloid insert, and finally settled down to actually reading the paper.
I had an idea rambling around in my brain since my morning run for coffee and the paper. I was trying to distill it into a 300 word submission to said editorial section of said paper. I had a good draft in my head. I set it aside to enjoy the sun and avoid firing up the computer.
Instead, I read the articles in the A section stopping to editorialize. Finishing I paused to watch a red tailed hawk circling to gain altitude. Instead of soaring about looking for its next meal, it began a long decent glide path from the area near a ridge, running south and east of the deck, to the west, northwest toward a creek. I could barely hear the call of its mate. It disappeared behind the housetops and treeline, from a approximately 100 foot drop in elevation from the 1020 feet of the deck to the 900 feet of the creek no more than a quarter of a mile from me.
I decided to borrow the time to start this first of hopefully a few more posts of an editorial nature. The seed was planted by, interestingly enough, an editorial first printed in the Los Angeles Times and distributed by the Times nation wide. It was couched in progressive language, siting 'legal precedents' when in fact it was simply pushing an agenda toward the elimination of private property.
How to respond?
I have the paper copy. It is going to be time consuming to prepare a rebuttal. How to not let the moment escape researching a logical and reasoned response as the nation runs toward its destruction?
Maybe a 300 word comparison in summary form.

People have been appropriating and misappropriating language to bend others to their will for millennia. Some for noble causes. Others for ignoble causes. Private property rights are a case in point. Let us use a comparison that utilizes a 'hated' word which causes some, mistakenly, great 'anguish'.
The alternative to 'private property rights' is the 'plantation'. The plantation is an old, outmoded method used in agrarian societies. It is actually inefficient. In its attempt to retain some semblance of efficiency it must stoop to crushing brutality, inhumane treatment of the principle resource, humans. It supposedly provides economic success, while destroying the very fabric of society.
Moderns, so enamored of socialism, fail to realize, Karl Marx was waiting for a 'miracle' to occur in the 'sweat, or rather, sweet by and by' give me some pie. Socialism is the plantation writ large. A good propagandist knows how to 'turn a phrase'. An educated and knowledgeable populace is difficult to seduce.

Saturday, January 23, 2016

A Not So Safe House

The woman was furtively pacing back and forth on the sidewalk.

Had she not made a false start toward the house,and likely, the front door, she wouldn't have tripped the proximity alarm. I would have been alerted later by the male creeping up toward the back deck and door eventually.

What in the world were they planning? They didn't look like operatives. Home invasion? Probably. This was an unlikely neighborhood, but desperation makes people do unlikely things. The house on the left was 'occupied'. Had a couple of vehicles parked out front appearing to be on their last legs. The house on the right was boarded up, or so it seemed. Many a homeless person had wasted their energy trying to get in. Feeling sorry for them, I would call a deputy who would transport them to a homeless shelter in the city.

I caught sight of a third person on the perimeter out front.

How was this going to play out? I felt a bit sorry for them. I had an older car out front, but appeared to be in good shape. The handicapped plate was not a ruse. I could still perform my primary job. My next evaluation was over eight months away.

The woman headed toward the front door. She was emoting terror, wailing as she approached. She wasn't doing a half bad job. She was loud enough, I guess, to alert the man in back. She started to pound on the front door.

My voice startled her.

“My dear what is the problem?”

She couldn't see a speaker, so she just yelled in the direction of the door, “He's trying to kill me!”

“Who?”

“My boyfriend!”

“Oh, my. We can't let that happen. Just give me a moment. I'm not as fast as I used to be.” Which was true. I suppose she was to gain entry and then slip to the back. Upon finding the door, she would likely let that accomplice in.

I tried to calm her, assuring her I was on my way. In the meantime, I swiftly moved to the back door.

“Please, stop, sir,” I asked in a low but firm voice.”

He was a bit beefy. Not much taller than I. I startled him. I had hoped he would turn and run. I guess the open door behind me was too tempting. He tried to tackle me. He might have been a football player in high school or maybe college.

He didn't really hear the first shot. He just saw splinters kicked up in the deck in front of him. He made the additional mistake of raising his shoulders, then with single mindedness continued to run at me. The next two shots hit him squarely in the chest. The fourth hit him in the head. It was not my intent, but he stumbled at the last second.

The two out front were not alerted as the suppressor did its job. I'm sure they were wondering what was taking me so long.

I quickly dialed for a clean up crew. Then, I alerted my associates next door to pick up the second man out front as soon as the woman was let inside my abode.

I made it to the front door just as the woman was showing visible signs of indecision. She should have gone with her gut.

“I'm sorry, my dear, I'm just not as fast, as I said. Where is your boyfriend?”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she was effusive and trying to make her way in.

“Your boyfriend?”

“Oh,” I startled her again. “He must have heard your voice on your speaker system. He's still out there. He seems to be waiting.” She was having trouble shifting gears between stage panic and participating in a reasoned conversation.

I wasn't going to make it easy on her. “Do you think he might wish to come in and join you? You know, maybe some coffee. A moment to clear each others heads. It might save you future grief.”

“I've seen him do this before. I thought he would treat me different.”

“Would you like to come in? I can call the sheriff's department.”

“Yes, I would, but no, don't call the police, at least not yet. If he has a chance to cool off, he might just leave.”

“You don't think he might follow you home?”

“Not likely. He's more of a “find a bar and drown his sorrows' guy. I found that out Friday. Could I get a drink of water?”

“That might be a problem at this juncture.”

She blinked her eyes trying to sort out what I was saying. Her gut was telling her 'the play' had gone south, but her brain was holding out it was still salvageable.”

“You might want to sit down.” I shifted my stance so the hand gun with suppressor was visible at my side.

She gasped and sat down. Tears welled up in her eyes. She covered her face and started moaning.

I went to the refrigerator. Pulled out a bottle of water. I then opened a cupboard and pulled down two glasses.

When I returned she was half out of the easy chair she had dropped in, ready to bolt.

I just shook my head slightly. She looked for the hand gun, but saw the water and glasses. She relaxed slightly.

I handed her a glass, juggled the other one and opened the bottle. I then poured some in my glass. I took it in one gulp and let her watch me. I filled her glass and handed her the bottle.

After a few tentative sips, she asked, “Where's Jake?”

“Which one is he?”

“He's the one I was supposed to let in by a back door.”

“He's resting, waiting for some associates of mine. They'll escort him to a nice place and leave him alone.”

“I was afraid you killed him. What about me and Billy?”

“Your boyfriend?”

“He's not really. He said he needed a woman to help him and Jake get some money owed them. I could have really used the fifty bucks he promised.”

“Why didn't you take off? You gave yourself two chances.”

“What? You were watching me?”

“Not the whole time. You made a false start which alerted me. Jake would have tripped up anyway. You just beat him to it and gave me time to watch, figure out what might happen.

“You didn't answer my question.”

“True. Billy is with the gentlemen next door.”

“Is one of them's named Hector? Talks with an accent?”

“You saw Hector?”

“No, but that old pickup looks like one he drives.”

“That's what tipped your gut, then?”

“I guess so. He flirts a lot, but I've never heard a woman say she's actually went out with him.”

“Maybe, he's happily married.”

'Him, married?”

“Yes.”

She mulled this over. “What happens to us? We all go together?”

“No. Each of you is going to take a trip. Each will go to a different destination.”

“Will we see each other again? I'd really rather not.”

“I suppose you could run into each other at some point in the future, but it's unlikely.”

“The folks picking us up going to kill us and dump us?”

“You're more likely to win the lottery than have one of my associates harm you.”

“What did we do?”

“Made some very poor choices.”

Sunday, April 5, 2015

Replacements (Part 1)

George Brewer

“This is crazy. There isn't an insurgent or enemy combatant within 300 klicks of this place,” Slim sub-vocalized.

“Let's keep the chatter to a minimum,” responded the Lieutenant.

“But Sir, this...”

“Can it Slim.”

The subdivision had been cleared two years before. A year later the government had given up maintaining the area for the residents return. That was what irked Slim and no telling how many in the platoon who knew the area. Physically the houses were intact except for a few where trees had fallen on them. Yards had been overgrown as would be expected. Some shrubs and saplings had encroached on the edges

The explosion surprised everybody, except the LT.

“Coms, Dexy. We're taking fire. Copy?”

There was no reply.

“Sparks, Dexy Was Coms with the LT?”

“Don't know. Sound off, first squad.,” barked Sparks a little louder because of the adrenalin.

Before Tanker could reply, a second explosion sounded.

“Sparks, Dexy. Come in.” No reply.

Dexy switched her IFF off. Almost simultaneously, Slim and over half of the two squads followed suit without being told. The rest started getting picked off one by one as Dexy tried to warn them.

“Squads, One and Two, IFF off, now!” putting as much emphasis as possible in her words without shouting. “Assembly point Alpha, now!” She was now in charge. The platoon sergeant, Yates, had been transferred unexpectedly. Sparks had been pulling double duty.

Before she could snake her way back to higher cover, small arms fire erupted from the direction of Assembly point Alpha. “Scatter!” erupted from her as she crawled as fast as she could. Dexy was about to stand, when an explosion took out the corner of the house and shrub she had been using for cover. She changed direction and headed for a tree line to her right. Somebody knew where she had been. Who was out here?

Slim made a dash for a detached garage when an explosion took out a sizable oak he had been using. He had seen the first explosion and had been searching for a possible launch site, when the second round or whatever it was hit. By then he grabbed his night vision goggles and had them in place before heading east to the nearest stand of trees without a house. He confronted a large open space and stopped to check out a possible route, when he saw a flash from the ridge to the Southeast. Within seconds another explosion occurred. It was then he spotted someone he thought was Dexy running like crazy for the same stand of trees, a block South of him. Some one should have caught up with him by now from the West, he thought. He saw a low, decorative brick wall across the street behind him. He would have to back track a little but it was doable.

Dexy stopped at the last house on the street she had been following. She was going to have to sprint across it to make the tree line. She backed up to gauge how long it would take her to reach full speed before clearing the safety of the house. She took a couple of deep breaths and started her sprint. She hadn't gone more than two meters when a round hit the curb she had just cleared. The next gouged the asphalt behind a heel. The third was low and hit the ground between her legs. A fourth round hit a tree on her right just as she hit the ground. She crawled as quickly as possible to her left veering away from the small arms fire coming in her direction. She paused to get her goggles on and started sweeping the area before moving again.

Slim heard the rifle shots after he cleared the brick wall. He paused and counted the timing. Whoever it was was close enough to see a target, but far enough away to be off in leading that target. Why single shot? He came to the last house with a road between him and the trees. The same road Dexy had likely tried to cross. He wouldn't bother to look for a body. The time it would take could mean the difference between a hit or a miss. Slim gave himself a mental slap to the face as he turned to back up. To the North the road curved to his left then straightened. A small building on the other side would give him better cover to the trees. Unless somebody was advancing in a vehicle he couldn't hear, the angle was narrower for a shooter from the South. He quickly jogged to another house further North, turned in the direction of the little building, and sprinted across the road. Two shots chewed up the asphalt behind him. Now the shooter had two soldiers to hunt for hopefully.

Dexy came to the base of the ridge and stopped. She took a drink of water. Looking toward the 400 meter summit to her right. It was the likely location of whoever was firing on them. She then did a slow 180 and listened for any further fire from Assembly Point Alpha. She froze, then slowly lowered herself to the ground. Someone was approaching from the North. She did her best to flatten herself. She tried to slow her breathing.

“Dexy,” a voice whispered. “Dexy. It's Slim.”

“The Yankees suck,” she responded.

“Boston fields wimps,” Slim answered. It was their personal sign/countersign. Not officially approved.

Dexy rose as Slim approached. He still had his goggles on. He took them off as he knelt down next to Dexy.

“Good to see you.”

“Good to see you, too, Slim.”

“So what was that we just experienced?”

“You got me. You're the one who said there wasn't an insurgent within 300 klicks of here.”

“I don't think this was insurgents,” said Slim.

“How's that?”

“You're the squad leader, probably the acting platoon sergeant, stroke, platoon leader.”

“Yeah, but you have the counter insurgency experience. We better start moving back toward the gap and home.”

Both rose. Dexy took point. It was going to take awhile. They were going to be heading Northeast traversing the ridge. Slim would be trying to keep an eye on their “six” while climbing the grade and keep from bumping into trees or losing his footing and rolling down the slope.

Slim just happened to be looking forward when Dexy raised her hand. They both slowly dropped and moved to the nearest cover. Somebody was moving slowly to Dexy's ten o'clock. They were trying to move quietly, but not quite succeeding.

“Halt. Who goes there?” Dexy whispered.

“Momma told me not to come,” was the reply.

“It's 'Never been to Spain', Chewy,” Dexy said, as she shook her head.

“Well, I'm not the one whose great-grandma was a hippy,” Chewy whispered back.

“Need a break?” asked Dexy.

“No, not really.”

Dexy and Slim rose. Dexy took point, with Chewy in the middle and Slim taking up rear guard. They hadn't gone more than a half-dozen steps when Slim made an attempt at an owl call. Both Dexy and Chewy stopped and turned around to see Slim pointing beyond the spot they had met up. There was movement. Slim and Chewy turned to Dexy. She pointed to her right ear. Then she pointed to Slim, made a fist and then lowered her open hand. Next she pointed to Chewy then swept her arm down and to the right.

While Dexy had been signaling to Chewy, Slim had found some exposed rock to hide behind and made himself as comfortable as possible. Chewy had moved down slope about six meters from his original position. Dexy had the farthest to go. They were staggered down and away in a sort of echelon right from the approaching unknown. Each of them caught a glimpse of a person slowly advancing, then stopping to look down, then out, then scanning the area immediately in front. It would change direction slightly and advance, then stop. It would repeat this two more times.

Slim guessed it was male, about 190 cm. Roughly the same height as Chewy. Couldn't guess build but close to Chewy. For some reason he was able to see it's trigger finger move to the trigger. He was able to get out, “Hot!”, as the unknown raised its weapon and fired. It was probing. It seemed to know they were there. It didn't seem to care about cover. It moved to its left and started pounding Dexy's position. Slim opened up and thought he had hit the unknown. It moved farther to it's left but still moving forward toward Dexy, keeping her pinned down.

“Chewy!” Dexy shouted.

For some reason Chewy wasn't firing. Slim jumped up after the unknown passed his position down slope. Slim tried to keep from running into the other two's field of fire. He seemed to be the only one able to get a clear sight line. He caught Chewy out of the corner of his right eye moving toward Dexy. Slim thought, screw this, and started converging on the unknown's back. He hit it three times and it did not slow down. Finally, he swept the unknowns legs. Chewy was able to hit it as it fell from his new position. They all converged on the unknown. Standing around it, trying to catch their collective breaths, each focused on different parts of this soldier.

“I hit him at least three times, maybe five, in the body, and it didn't seem to phase him. He's got to have some kind of new body armor,”said Slim.

“I'm sorry guys. He seemed to know where I was. He was using the trees against me,” said Chewy.

“I thought I was dead,” sighed Dexy. “It was like he knew I was the squad leader, and was going for the command element.”

The unknown soldier was dressed exactly as they were, but was carrying less for the field.

“Look at his weapon. I've never seen anything like it,” said Dexy.

“Me neither,” replied Slim.

Chewy said, “It looks like a prototype.”

All three jumped back as the unknown started to stir.

Chewy fired into its chest.

Stunned, the three cautiously closed back around the unknown.

“Something is terribly wrong here,” said Dexy.

“If's there's more like him around, we are in real trouble,” exclaimed Slim.

“Let's roll him. See if there is something to identify him,” commanded Dexy.

Slim and Chewy muscled the body around trying to find something, anything, that would give them a clue.

“All he has is some spare magazines. No tapes,” explained Chewy. “He has some kind of display. Like a GPS. Hey, move back, Dexy. Let me see... Whoa!”

“Keep it down,” hissed Dexy.

“I was able to see you on the screen, like low-light or infrared.”

“We need to get out of here,” said Slim.

“Hey, here's a comm unit,” said Chewy.

“Grab it. Let's go,” replied Dexy.

As Chewy cleared the body, the unknown started groaning. This time Dexy pulled her knife and slashed its throat. She jumped back quickly to avoid getting hit by arterial blood pulsing from the right carotid. Slim had seen what she was going to do and had cleared the left side.

“Let's get out of here.”

They resumed their march up the slope. For some unknown reason that was the only unknown they encountered. They stopped a few meters from the crest. They rested, ate an energy bar .and then proceeded to scout the western side of the ridge looking for an area open enough to look down on the subdivision to see if there was any movement or sign of life without giving away their position. It was fruitless. They then checked to see if there was any sign of life to the South where they believed the fire came from. They could see dim flashes of red. Somebody didn't want to destroy their night vision. They crossed over the ridge and saw more flashes. They advanced toward the flashes. There was a glow lower down. Somebody had a tent with the sides up. A shadow would move from left to right or vice versa. Not really a shadow, just a body blocking the light shining down from somewhere near the peak of the tent.

Based on the number of red lights, they backed off and found a spot to rest before trying to make it back to their post.

“Chewy, see if you can fire up that comm unit,” asked Dexy.

Chewy grabbed what he thought was the wire for the unknown's headset and found bare wires instead of a connector. He rolled up the cable and handed it to Slim. Slim looked around for a place to cover or bury the wiring. Meanwhile Chewy pulled the connector from his comm. He then removed his mikes from his throat, and then plugged the connector into the unknown's unit.

He immediately heard a low voice calling,”Zero-three-five. This is command. Come in. I repeat, zero-three-five, come in.” There was a pause. “Zero-three-two. This is command. Come in.”

“Command, this is zero-three-two, over.”
“Zero-three-two, command. What is your status?”

“Command, zero-three-two. Confirmed kill, leader, second platoon, bravo company. Unable to find comm. Proceeded to first squad location. Confirmed kill, squad leader and two others. Linked up with zero-three-one. Confirmed kill, five at assembly point. Two others missing. Over.”

“Zero-three-two, command. Direct one, three and seven to grid hotel. Proceed sweep to assembly. Direct four, six and nine to grid kilo. Sweep. Over.

“Command, zero-three-two. Copy.”

“Command out.”

Chewy turned the unit off and unplugged.

“Okay, what's up?” asked Dexy.

“They were trying to raise a call sign, zero-three-five. He didn't respond. Maybe our guy. They talked to a call sign zero-three-two, gave a bunch of orders. They got the LT. Couldn't find comms. Killed two in place, and five at the assembly point,” related Chewy.

“Three missing from first squad,” said Dexy. “I wonder why no questions about second squad. She paused. “Guess zero-three-five was supposed to provide that information.”

Chewy added, “They've got six assembling on the State highway and sweeping North to find the missing.”

Slim chimed in, “That means at least six still alive. Hopefully, more. What kind of report are we going to give?”

“Let's worry about getting back to post first,” answered Dexy. “Keep monitoring their command channel, Chewy. If you switch around to find the tactical channels the clicks may tip them off they're being monitored.”

They kept to the East side of the ridge for about thirty minutes, then crossed over to peek at the assembly point. The APCs were parked as they had left them. LT hadn't bothered to a post a guard. In spite of the comment to Slim, he was the most vocal about some desk jockey messing with them on the ride over. There was a guard now. Probably some “zero-three something”. They moved on toward a gap in the ridge with a county road passing through. It had been their way into the subdivision.

They hadn't gone far when Chewy grabbed the mikes in each hand. He hissed at Dexy.

“What?” She stopped.

Chewy got as close as he could to her left ear, and whispered, “They found comms, or what was left of him. Took a direct hit.”

Another ten minutes and they slowed down. Time to check the gap. A vehicle was parked not far from the East side of the gap. Dexy made a “cut” sign to Chewy. He complied. They conferred on the best route to avoid detection.

“What do ya think?” she asked.

Slim responded,”There's a sink down there between the roads on the East side of the ridge. It fills with rain water in the winter, then evaporates. Not a real pleasant trip on foot, even in August.”

“How'd you know that?” asked Chewy.

“I didn't live in New York my entire life. Went to high school about forty klicks from here.”

“Was the post here then?” queried Dexy.

“They just started building it before I graduated.”

“Well, which way then? I don't want to be rustling a map right now,” said Dexy.

Slim replied, “Best work our way down the West side. Remember, the road has a sweeping “S” curve before the back entrance to the subdivision.”

“Provided they don't have a guard posted,” interjected Chewy.

“Let's find a quiet way down,” said Dexy.

They retraced their path for about twenty meters, then started down at an angle. They then proceeded to switchback every thirty or forty meters until they reached level ground or what passed for level. They then approached the road. Slim crawled to the ditch on the right-of-way. Thankfully, it was dry. He inched up near the shoulder looking right then left. There was a rise in the road which hid the vehicle guarding the other side of the gap. He didn't remember that on the ride over. He backed away. He gave Dexy a thumbs up.

They moved to what they estimated was the middle of the “S”. Looking back to the Southwest, Dexy couldn't see the assembly area. She motioned for them to cross. They didn't sprint, but they didn't march. Made Slim think of the adjutant marching to make her/his report on the formation to the commander. When they were safely on the other side, Chewy signaled to Dexy.

“They found zero-three-five. If you hadn't slit his throat, he would have survived. He bled out before he could recover. They said his wounds were all ready starting to heal, when you cut him.”

Dexy and Slim just stared at Chewy with their mouths open. Dexy was the first to recover.

“That's insane,” she gasped.

“There are five of us unaccounted for. They are heading for the assembly point to take the APCs back to post.”

“Anybody still looking for us?” asked Slim.

“Don't know. The two-guy could be on our trail. Based on the orders, everybody else is to head out. But their command didn't exactly tell the two-guy to do the same.”

“Then we proceed as if we're being tracked,” said Dexy. “Stay with it until the unit starts to break up, and then switch channels to see if somebody's on tactical.”

They got away from the road and started back toward the continuation of the ridge. They found a level spot close to the base of the ridge with cover and concealment.

“Dexy,” said Chewy, “I'm getting just command transmissions now.”

“What are they saying?”

“Talking to a guy, call sign zero-two-two. Squads walked into an ambush. All killed. Bodies accounted for. Five were naked. Direct perimeter defense to fire on sight if approached. Special unit chanced on the fire fight. Cleared area for mortuary team. Send at 0600.” He paused. “Talking to the zero-three bunch. Prepare to return to post at daylight. Do not engage unless fired upon.”

“I guess they think we're not worth any more effort,” tendered Slim.

“Gotta figure out a way to contact the company commander,” said Dexy. “He's the only one to vouch for us.”

They rested before trekking up the ridge.

They all heard the crack of a limb at the same time. Then they heard a baritone voice singing as low as Hoss could, though Dexy knew the melody wasn't quite right.

“Sweet home Alabama. Where the skies are so blue.”
“Sweet Home Alabama. Lord, I'm coming home to you,” responded Dexy.

Took about twenty seconds for Hoss to make the clearing. “Tinker is behind me. He doesn't trust your use of old time music, Dexy.”

Dexy spoke a little louder, “Tinker, halt who goes there?”

“Me, Tinker. And no, I don't remember what you gave me for a sign.”

“Right now it doesn't matter, cause we knew there were two more out here.”

“How's that?” asked Hoss.

Dexy related the events as they had happened with Slim and Chewy chiming in. When she got to the part about the fire fight with the unknown, Hoss, interrupted.

“You say you hit the guy and he didn't go down until you hit him in the legs?”

“That's right.”

“Man, I would have thought the hit from SAW in the chest would have blown it apart.”

Chewy interjected, “Even after that the guy grabbed my leg.”

Dexy interrupted, “The guy didn't grab your leg!”

“Who's telling this part?”

“Don't listen to him, Hoss,” replied Dexy. “The guy groaned and I slit his throat.”

“And a good thing, too,” added Chewy. “We heard the guy who found him say he was healing from previous hits.”

“Man, this is like science fiction,” Tinker spoke for the second time.

Dexy finished their part of the narrative.

Hoss waited looked at the others and started in. “I was covering for Tinker. He was making like a bear.”

Tinker hung his head.

“First time getting caught with your pants down saving your life,” cracked Slim.

“Don't I know it,” answered Tinker weakly.

“Anyway, that first round got our attention. Then Sparks going off line, we knew we were in trouble. I hit the IFF button.” Hoss paused and looked at Tinker. He just nodded his head. “We just hauled it toward the APCs. Since we had the farthest to go, probably saved us. We heard the shots from that direction and headed West toward the creek on that side of the subdivision.” Hoss paused again.

Tinker picked up the narrative, “We found a place to cross over without leaving tracks and started North. At some point I looked back toward the ridge, since that seemed to be where things were coming from. Stopped Hoss and asked him if he saw red lights on the top.”

Hoss just nodded his head.

Tinker continued, “We probably wouldn't have seen them in the subdivision, and then we were too busy to notice. On the other side of the creek our sight angle was better.”

Dexy spoke, “That was probably the command post.”

“Yeah, when you mentioned a tent on the back side. Anyway, there's a rise with exposed rock near the road on that side. We rounded it and made for the rocks. We rested then started poking around for a place to look over the subdivision.”

Hoss continued while Tinker took a swig of water. “Had a really good view. The scrub that was growing around the rocks allowed us to sit back and avoid a possible reflection off the lens of our binoculars. I don't know how long it was, but saw a guy coming from the South stop about half way in. He stayed there and then two others walked over from the East. They were all about the same height. Seemed to be the same build. Kind of a cross between Chewy and me.”

“Yeah, just realized it about our contact, when you said it,” said Chewy.

“They weren't together more than a couple of minutes then split up. The guy on our side continued his sweep of his area. Kept looking at his wrist like you said, then scanning his field. We watched him head for the APCs. There was a bit of a break and we could see others occasionally. We shifted position North and still had good cover. Seemed they were just waiting for orders. Milling around we couldn't get a head count. Estimated squad strength.”

Tinker took over, “As you can guess we spent a lot of time on the back side of the rise, considering the amount of time you spent climbing and all.”

Dexy snorted.

“We finally decided to get across the county road and listen for the APCs to leave, if that's what they decided to do. Didn't make sense to just leave them out here. Our timing couldn't have been better. There's a second rise the road cuts through. We had just settled down to check out the road and the area around the APC's, when three bodies hustled across it.”

“You saw us?” exclaimed Dexy.

“Thankfully it was us and not them. We figured we had stumbled on the only place to see that part of the road considering all the trees.”

“That's amazing!” whispered Slim.

“Anyway, based on the difference in heights, we figured it was you, Dexy, and Chewy. Slim, you run funny, so it wasn't hard to figure it out.”

“I don't run funny,” replied Slim.

“Yes, you do,” said Dexy and Chewy almost simultaneously.

Slim harrumphed.

Everybody else laughed.

Hoss spoke, “We crossed the road and kept to the back side of the second ridge until we found the creek again. After we forded, we found a game trail. That crossed a hiking trail. Which allowed us to make good time to get to this part of the ridge. We guessed you'd stop near the base to rest and decide what to do next.”

“And if we weren't here?” asked Dexy.

“We would take a break, head over the ridge, then head for the post,” replied Hoss.

“Good thing we stopped,” said Chewy.

“Don't you know it,” sighed Hoss. “When we got close to the ridge, I started singing and here we are.”

As if to punctuate those last remarks, the APCs were firing up readying to move out.

“Would be nice to ride home,” said Tinker.

“Would be nice to get to the post alive,” said Slim.

“How we going to make it if they think we're bad guys wearing friendly uniforms?” asked Hoss.

“We need to contact the Captain,” replied Dexy.

“Man, am I an idiot,” said Hoss. “I've got the expansion pack.” Hoss rummaged in his pack and handed it to Dexy.

“Why weren't you close to Sparks?” asked Dexy.

“Who knows. He sent me and Tinker out to the right flank and had the Guppy move in,” said Hoss.

“Maybe he thought you three could “wheel” around for a pincer or back if Bravo One needed to fall back,” speculated Dexy.

They could hear the APCs engines rev up and start shifting for the trip back to the post. They just sat there quietly until the last echo from the gap.

“Let's give it some time before we head up to the top for maximum range of my radio, and hope the Captain has the company comms up for the morning check.”

“This is some crazy stuff,” said Tinker.

“We didn't get a decent briefing. We got a cursory view of the terrain immediately in and around the subdivision. It was a setup from start to finish,” Dexy said in exasperation.

“But what for?” queried Slim. “A group of insurgents has infiltrated this close to a major post, this far from the front lines?”

“You say they were equipped like us but their weapons were different?” asked Hoss.

“Yeah, like prototypes, and then those scanner whatchamacallits,” said Chewy. “The one Dexy put down moved in such a way I couldn't get a clear line of fire. The guy seemed to know where each of us was.”

“You know we could have been wiped out here. We've been sitting in a group with no guard,” said Dexy.

“You're the squad leader, Dexy,” answered Hoss.

Nobody bothered to move.

Dexy finally got to her feet. “Hoss, you're behind me. Chewy, in the middle. Tinker you're next.”

She started up the ridge at an angle for a traverse. They spaced themselves and swivalled their heads around properly, as if the previous lapse hadn't happened. They came upon the hiking trail Hoss had Tinker had used on the flat. Dexy turned back toward Hoss and just shook her head. Hoss just shrugged. She pressed on.

They crossed over the top and looked for a relative clear area for line-of-sight although it was not absolutely necessary for the comm unit, even with the expansion pack connected. Everybody maintained spacing. Only Dexy and Hoss huddled.

“Red River, this is Bravo Two. Red River, this is Bravo Two, how copy”

No reply.

Dexy repeated, ”Red River, this is Bravo Two. How copy?”

After a lengthy pause, “Bravo Two, this is Red River. Copy five by five. Authenticate.”

“Red River, this is Bravo Two. One-niner-echo-foxtrot. I repeat, one-niner-echo-foxtrot.”

Instead of silence, a mike was keyed open. “They must of got that off Dexy. Play along so we can figure out where they are,” said a voice in the background.

“Okay, but we got one-two-charlie-whisky-zulu,” said the voice of Red River.

“What kind of authentication is that?” asked the voice in the background.

“Sorry, old unit. My mistake,” replied the voice of Red River.

“Bravo Two, this is Red River. Say again authentication.”

There was no response. Dexy had shut down.

“What's up?” asked Hoss.

“You got full backup for comm?”

“Never leave home without it. What's up?” repeated Hoss.

“We're going old school.”

“What?”

“Pull out the long-wire antenna,” ordered Dexy.

“Yes, ma'am. But my code is rusty,” responded Hoss.

“Mine isn't,” said Dexy. “Let's find some suitable trees and run it.”

Tinker and Slim helped them run the antenna wire, while Chewy kept guard. With the antenna strung, Hoss pulled a modified key out of his pack and handed it to Dexy. She connected it to the expansion pack. They were all set.

“What you waiting for?” asked Tinker.

“Top of the hour,” replied Dexy. “Something is wrong at the post. Sergeant Rice gave me the code for a Morse transmission. Hardly anybody uses it anymore. We either start at the top of the hour or bottom of the hour.”

“Oh,” was Tinker's response.

Before the top of the hour, Dexy fired up her radio. She kept her left wrist turned enough to see her watch while gripping one side of a block the code key was attached to. Hoss had both hands steadying the block as well. Everybody else could tell it was time by the shift in Dexy's wrist and her right thumb and index finger moving back and forth. It didn't last long. Then tones started coming from Dexy's radio. These didn't last very long either.

Hoss spoke first, “Not good.”

“What?” asked Tinker.

“Everybody's confined to post,” said Dexy. “Rice will contact us in thirty-five minutes.”

“What about the top of the hour, bottom of the hour thing?” asked Tinker.

“That's for initial contact or when a specified time for transmissions hasn't been established,” replied Dexy.

“What are we going to do about food?” asked Chewy.

“Don't know unless we kill something,” replied Dexy. “At least we have water close by.”

“Wild life should be around here since the subdivision has been empty for so long,” said Slim.

Tinker spoke up, “Hey, wasn't there supposed to be a mortuary team come out? We should have heard the vehicles.”

“You're right,” said Dexy. “Slim keep your radio on. If you hear three clicks a second apart that means somebody's coming. Chewy, Tinker go with him to the assembly point. Grab energy bars and canteens first to bring back. Check to see if anybody had the bright idea to bring water purification tabs. Then, start grabbing weapons and ammo. Hide them in case we need them. Come back by way of the creek for water. If necessary, and the lock down lasts a while, we can check the rest later.”

“What about burying them ourselves?” asked Chewy.

“As much as I hate the thought, it's probably best we leave the bodies. No telling how long it would take us to bury seventeen bodies without trenching tools. This was supposed to be a down and dirty mission. No field gear to speak of. No food. No ammo other than what we came with. Everything was based on a small number of hostiles. Why were two squads sent out instead of all four?”

“We're the only company with two platoons of four squads each,” interjected Slim. “We better get moving.”

Slim, Chewy and Tinker headed for the ridge top.

Dexy called out, “Check for radio batteries that haven't gone dead.”

Slim raised his right arm in acknowledgement.

“What do you think?” asked Hoss.

“I hope somebody figures this out quick so we can get back to the post.”

Slim and company made it quicker down the slope as they had spent some time checking the road, the continuation of the ridge on the other side of the county road, and then the subdivision. They crossed the road West of the small rise that had blocked the view from the East side of the gap and the curve farther West. They then entered a line of trees and shrubs that separated the county road from the access road that ran from South entrance of subdivision North then curved West toward the creek. About midway along the northern section of the access road, they crossed over to a small grove of trees where the APCs had been parked.

They got a better picture of the place as they had arrived just after sundown the day before. They spread out even further and began moving South. Chewy hadn't even entered the grove itself when he noticed some rubble. Looked like a possible fire pit or barbecue. He side stepped it and headed in. Slim and Tinker skirted the edges. Tinker found the first body. He didn't recognize it. He thought for a moment then set out at a run to find Slim.

He didn't see Chewy as he raced past him. Tinker found Slim kneeling down beside a body. Slim had looked up a the sound of Tinker's boots.

“We got company?” Slim asked.

“No.” answered Tinker. “I thought we should swap since I don't know everybody in second squad.”

“Tink, I'm sure if things were different the families would appreciate your concern, but we don't have much time. Hoss has been with the company the longest, knows just about everybody. Dexy probably knows the entire roster by full name, rank and serial number, not just nicknames.”

“Oh. Okay. Is that Guppy?”

“Yeah. Could of been squad leader a long time ago. Sparks was going for OCS...” Slim realized he was wasting time. “Back to scavenging, quick, Tink”

“Copy.” With that Tinker hustled back. As he passed, Chewy, he said, “Messed up. Gotta hurry.”

Chewy watched Tinker for about five seconds and wondered what the guy had done. He then saw a body to his right and headed toward it.

(To be continued...)

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Plasticity, part 2

We are at a lower limit when we reach Planck time and the Planck length. What if there is Planck dynamics of space? It is my contention the disconnect between the physics of the large and the physics of the small is of our conception of space. There is no difference in space itself. There is a difference in masses. The result then is a difference in the interactions of the differing masses with space. We then need to figure out space.

There is a common misconception if the velocity of light. Everybody throws around the equation, E = mc²

mistakenly thinking that "c" is a fixed quantity universally. When in fact "c" is a mathematical representation of a number: 3, 2^½, or π. The speed of light in space is one value. The speed of light in a single mode fiber optic cable is slower. To a layman or an engineer the difference is negligible. Now this idea is consistent because of a concept called "local unity". It's what allows Newtonian or classical physics to not be upended by Einstein's theories. How much of the volume of space represents our "local unity" is unknown. Based on our current assumptions and observations it's not local, but universal. But there are problems. We've got a missing mass problem. We've got the associated expansion problem. Things just don't add up. What's a poor bloke to do? The speed of light is not 299,792,458 m/s everywhere.

The folks running the Large Hadron Collider have been trying to track down the Higgs Boson among other particle esoterica. Supposedly, they succeeded, but there are those who are having second thoughts now. Regardless, what if we use Max Planck's last name one more time? What if Planck's constant is in fact a clue to the dynamic interaction of mass and space? In the beginning was "quark soup". Space was the "stock". The really elementary particles coalesced. Simmer and stir occasionally. With plasticity, expansion is not a problem.

To be continued...

Sunday, November 9, 2014

Plasticity

Imagine space as silly putty, but foamy. It's density is so low it stands at the edge of reason. The smallest particle deforms this foam. We may not be able to detect the particle directly, but the deformity represents the "field" of the particle. Sound familiar? The interaction of the particle with space is it's field. This hearkens back to the "aether". Our problem is wrapping our heads around such a low density. The "density" of our brains is part of the problem.

This plasticity exhibits fluidity. Again the problem is density. Classically we think of water or air. What of a non newtonian fluid? Instead of a spoon used in a children's experiment, what about particles of ever increasing mass and density interacting with the space? What is viscosity?

To be continued...

Thanks to Josh Peck and his book Quantum Creation for getting me to think about this stuff, again.

This journey started back in the early '80s with Nigel Calder's Einstein's Universe and a boat load of subsequent books and articles too numerous to mention.

Saturday, September 20, 2014

A Deaf Ear

George Brewer

“How was the party?” asked Telma.

“Quite good, except Clarinda always seats me next to potentially interesting persons, then places me to their left.”

“She's forgetful,” responded Telma.

“No, she's devious,” he retorted.

“Now Jorge, she invites you to her dinner parties.”

“You're just being kind, You always see the good, or least potential good in others.”

His remark was met by silence.

“She must have found a good caterer for a change. The food was quite delicious. I was torn between enjoying the meal and the discussion.”

“Anyone we know?” inquired Telma.

“Not anyone that I recall. The fellow to my right was a fellow by the name of Pegg.”

“Did you say pig, Darling?”

“No, Pegg, as in dowel. Two gees.”

“Oh.”

“One could tell he was from England by his accent. I couldn't quite catch everything he said in his normal voice, but when he affected a 'regular bloke' tone, I caught almost everything.”

“You should consider having something done about that, Dear.”

“It's not vanity, you well know.”

“Yes, Dear. Do you recall his given name?”

“Now that you ask, I'm having difficulty recalling.”
“Not to worry, it will come back to you.”

“Having a snack?” asked Jorge.

“I suppose I might.” Telma entered the kitchen.

“Here have an eye,” offered Jorge.

“No, Sweetheart, I'd rather have a finger. Something light. Who was the main course?”

“A chap named Romero. He'd aged well.”

“I'll have to join you more often, Darling.”

After a pause, Jorge spoke tentatively, “I believe his name was Simon.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

A Night in the Park

George Brewer

They called her “the woman”, never addressing her by name unless she were in their presence.

“She is falling apart.”

“I agree.”

“She is no longer of any significant use.”

“You may discharge her at any time after the Smith contract is completed.”

“It is done.”

The interview had not gone as planned, at least from the networks perspective. Gary Smith had answered the questions honestly. The difference was the network had scripted an ambush. The Holy Spirit led Gary through the verbal minefield. The show's producer and director would have loved to have killed the interview siting technical difficulties. They didn't have anything queued up to replace it and it was late night. No audience, or so they thought. They had been assured by the “reporter/interviewer” and her staff that this was going to be a “slam-dunk”.

Let the Feds grovel at Smith's feet for the next “word from on high”. Smith had to have inside information. The Feds were concocting crises to maintain the closest thing to martial law and Smith was their dupe. The terrorists threats were a figment of Beltway imaginations and military delusions. The Islamists were a handy foe since the Soviets folded. So what if Smith had been the oldest doctoral student of mathematics, winner of both the Abel and Wolf prizes. They weren't like a Nobel. This Bible prophecy mumbo-jumbo just made it seem more pathetic. At least it had not been a call-in like WNN. What a fiasco! They thought the host was going to have a coronary right there on live television.

Nobody was watching the stage manager as she slipped to a quiet spot and made a phone call. Cell phones had a habit of messing with other electronic equipment even if just sitting idle, let alone ringing, at really bad times.

“Elvis has left the building,” she whispered.

They ambushed him as he exited the ground floor entrance to the studio complex. They grabbed Smith's arms and guided him to a waiting limousine, as if it were an everyday occurrence for the trio. Inside on the rear facing seat sat a woman dressed for an evening out. His guards would not have stood out either because of their well fitting suits. Only their size would have hinted at their true vocation. The limo pulled away from the curb and entered very light traffic.

“Please, Mr. Smith, sit down and relax. No harm will come to you, unless you attempt to escape before we reach our destination,” stated the woman as if she were discussing the weather. With that she picked up a small automatic hidden by her purse laying on the seat to her left.

“You have been most troublesome to a friend of mine. He would like to have a discussion with you to see if he might persuade you to see things from his perspective. It will be most enlightening, and no doubt you will have a change of heart.”

“I doubt that. My change of heart took place long ago.”

“I take you to be a reasonable man, not influenced by emotion as many of your followers are.”

“I consider myself reasonable, however, I don't have any followers,” responded Smith.

“I would disagree. You seem to have an army of fanatics willing to do your bidding.”

“I would also disagree. Yes, there are those who parrot by words without understanding. I have attempted to dissuade mimics, but one can only do so much without hindering the primary message.”

The woman joined the rest of the occupants in silence.

The driver seemed to be in no hurry as he turned left here or right there. He never exceeded the speed limit nor rushed through a caution light. It seemed the purpose of the drive was to burn precious gas, not a drive with an ultimate destination.

It seemed as if an hour or more had passed when the guard on Smith's right gave a little shudder, and cleared his throat as if to speak. The Holy Spirit was moving on Smith.

“Your friend, Mahmoud, is not in this country, Ms. Hopkins.”

The intake of breath by the women was followed by a whispered expletive and a narrow eyed stare. She laid the automatic down and removed her jacket. Picking up the automatic, she seemed to grip it with more intensity than would seem to be required. The muscles of her exposed arms seemed to relax.

“I don't know what you are talking about,” Hopkins spat.

“Please, don't insult me or the one who provided the information to me. I realize you are an unbeliever, but...”

“An atheist.”

“I was wondering about your pubic stance on gun control.”

“Only in the hands of the ignorant masses, if they would just kill each other.”

“I'm sincerely sorry for your loss.”

“It's your kind who killed my brother, religious fanatics doing God's will.”

“I take it Mahmoud and his crowd are somehow different doing Allah's will.”

She did not take the bait. Obviously, one of the occupants was Mahmoud's representative.

“Ms. Hopkins, only one of you is going to get out of this alive,” spoke Smith with a touch of sadness in his voice.

The woman seemed ready to throw herself at Smith with a vengeance. She settled back in the seat relaxing her arms once again.

“I would suggest one of two options: release me now, turn yourself in to the authorities and live to see another day, or follow through with your plan, fail, and die anyway. Sooner than you imagine.”

Hopkins tensed again, only to relax again, reluctantly. Things were not going as planned.

Smith spoke again, “I don't wish to antagonize you. I'm simply relaying a message given to me. I am, at this point, talking to Mahmoud via his messenger.”

“I can see this is a waste of our friend's time. But, you have some time before the appointment, so babble away. We'll see if anything of significance is worth passing along.”

Smith proceeded as if he didn't notice Hopkin's slip of the tongue. “I am a prophet. I realize to Mahmoud this is blasphemy. The odd thing is he has twelve prophets under his nose.”

With this the guard to his left stirred slightly as if controlling a startle reflex, and then continuing as shifting his weight. Hopkins simply glared at Smith.

“Yes, Mahmoud has twelve prophets under his nose. Not within his inner circle. Those are all faithful lieutenants, but any attempt to flush them out will only cast doubt on those faithful to Mahmoud. And he shouldn't bother. There are many more in his country to take their place. Each is a representative of the twelve sons of Ishmael.”

Hopkins laughed nervously. “You are insane.”

The guard to Smith's left shifted again.

“Mahmoud's plans have failed repeatedly because God is not on his side. However, one plan may succeed in the future. It depends on his willingness to sacrifice someone he dearly loves.”

“NO!” blurted out Hopkins. Before she could say any more, the guard to the left caught her eye. She closed her mouth. They were definitely losing control.

“If he chooses to sacrifice his beloved, he'll meet with success, however, short lived. Mahmoud must understand his days are numbered. He will stand in judgment one day, as we all will. The choice rests with him.”

The limousine pulled onto a boulevard through one of the city's many parks. Midway through the park, the limousine suddenly slowed. The driver then pulled to the curb. The guard on Smith's left glanced at the driver, but said nothing.

Hopkins screamed at the driver, “What's wrong?”

Another voice, male, from the right front, repeated, “What's wrong?”

The driver simply put the limo in park and started clutching his chest.

The male voice from the front, “Your heart? Is it your heart? My God, he's having a heart attack!”

Expletives spewed from Hopkins' mouth. “Where's the backup?” she screamed?

The guard on Smith's left spoke, “It is following as I said before. If they have been detained, I need only call.” Little did Hopkins know the second limousine had been a ruse. It was now sitting in it's garage, more minutely detailed than ever before, ready for it's next hire the following morning. Backup was a black sedan that had been tailing the limo, and now parked waiting for instructions. It only had room for two more passengers.

Smith could only wonder why they they did nothing for the driver. He said a mental prayer on the driver's behalf. A small glint of reflected light caught his eye. The nearby street lamp reflected off a pistol in the hand's of the front passenger.

Were they going to kill the driver and dump his body, thought Smith? The instant the thought was complete, a small arms explosion went off in the front seat. Hopkins and the guard to the right immediately clawed at their ears. The doors of the limousine popped ajar for no apparent reason. The man on his left seemed tense, but remained motionless. He and Smith seemed to be in a bubble, while the other two screamed and writhed, but didn't attempt to get out.

The guard spoke, “The sonic devices did not work.”

Smith replied, “You mean Hopkins was going to pull the trigger in this confined space?”

“It can only mean Allah has spared your life. Why?”

“Your name is Said. You work for Mahmoud. You are the one to deliver the message God gave me to pass on to your master.”

Said started, but remained seated.

Smith continued, “The cell phone to be used to trigger the explosives is dead.”

Said reached inside his left coat pocket and brought out a cell phone. He knew without opening it, it was dead. He opened the flip phone any way pressing the power button. It was indeed dead.

“Don't leave it here. It is a witness. The lithium-ion paste has been turned into sand and clay. Everything I said to you before is true. It is time to leave.”

Said pushed the door fully open and waved the backup car forward. Smith followed Said out the door. He then pushed it out of his way and moved forward toward the driver. He knelt down in the street beside the driver, held up by the seat belt and shoulder strap. Smith asked the driver his name.

“Ibrahim,” whispered the driver.

Smith spoke softly and quickly, half in English, half in Arabic, a language he did not know, about Jesus, Isa.

The black sedan stopped behind the limo. Said opened the rear passenger door and stepped in. The occupants were surprised and agitated. The driver spoke first, “What is wrong with Ibrahim?”

The second occupant asked before Said could respond, “Isn't that the infidel?”

“Silence!” barked Said. “Ibrahim is dying. It is not God's will for the infidel to die today.”

“But what of the woman, the others?”

“They are as good as dead. The one called Toms shot himself. If I had not seen it myself, I would not have believed it. The prostitute exposed her arms. I saw the ligaments of her left forearm tense. She tried three time to pull the trigger.”

“But the explosives?”

“The trigger device is dead.”

“But we can still...?”

“Silence!” Said barked even louder. In a subdued voice, “Leave.”

As the sedan pulled away Ibrahim said with his dying breath, “Isa is Lord.”

Smith rose from where he had been kneeling, stepped back from the limo, and watched the retreating taillights of the other car. He followed it's progress until it braked, turned and was swallowed up by the city.

Smith looked around the park. They were in the heart of it. In better times it would have been alive with people, even at this late hour, strolling or riding in the trademark carriages. But, not tonight or for the foreseeable future. He stretched and started walking in the direction the sedan had taken. There was an all-night diner across the street from the north entrance of the park that had been permitted to stay open in spite of the curfew. If one had the appropriate pass to be out, one could get a good meal. Smith started singing and praising the Lord.

The failure of the cellphone to detonate the explosives in the limousine, also failed to trigger an alarm. Four men had been waiting to delay any emergency response to the explosion. Their master needed as much evidence burned or destroyed as possible. This had been a rather hurried action, atypical of the methodical planning and execution of past forays. Their responsibility now was to clean up any loose ends.

The tradesman van advertised emergency plumbing services. It was the genuine article loaned to a “cousin”, as the owner was “sick”. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, although the authorities would have frowned on the “cousin's” activities. The van and its occupants pulled up behind the limo. Two men in the back jumped out the side door and called out as if asking if anyone needed help.

“Anyone there?” the first man called out.

“Need help?” the second shouted.

The first man approached from the left; the second from the right. Had it been daylight, an observer would have noticed the similarity of these two approaching the limo like two police officer's performing a traffic stop. The first touched the left rear fender. The men looked at each other and nodded. The first pulled out a flashlight and started sweeping the interior. The second stepped forward producing a semi-automatic pistol with a silencer attached. He tracked his partner to avoid shooting him. The sweeping flashlight found the guard in the right rear seat slumped over, seemingly asleep. The first man motioned for his partner to stand ready, pointing to the location of the guard in the rear. He then stepped forward to the still open driver's door. He froze at the sound of weak whimpering. He glanced at the man in back. There was no movement. He motioned his partner forward and stepped back. The rear door was slightly open. He should have noticed it. He slowly opened it and saw the woman curled up in an impossibly tight ball, shivering on the floor board. This could not be the woman he was told about. He quietly closed the door as it was and quickly moved to the driver.

He was startled by the hint of a smile, a look of peace, on Ibrahim's face. He checked for a pulse. There was none. He gave a shudder. Ibrahim was a hardened soldier working under Said, therefore under Mahmoud. He turned the flashlight toward the passenger side. Toms was sprawled with his head at an odd angle. The beam played over Toms head. The man had smelled blood, but not thought anything of it. Now he could see the telltale signs of blood and brain matter on the headliner.

He waved his partner off and signaled for someone in the van as if directing traffic. A third man jumped out of the van and quickly headed toward the the limo. The first man reached in and popped the trunk lid. The third man produced a meter from a bag he carried and proceeded to check out the contents of the trunk more like a mechanic than an electrician. He pulled a cellphone out and waved it at the first man. He placed it back in the trunk. He busied himself as if cleaning up, then closed the trunk. As he turned around, the first man signaled the second, and all three headed back to the van. Once in the van they discussed the best exit strategy as their original delaying tactic was no longer required. The driver made a U-turn and headed back the way they came.

The first man dropped out of the discussion of what had happened. He knew more of the details, but did not need to share them with the others. The woman had been a last minute addition to actually perform the execution of the infidel, Smith, then conveniently die herself. Toms was not supposed to be there at all. The man in the back, likely an additional guard, was simply collateral damage. Ibrahim was supposed to be with Said. Instead, it was likely Said had taken the infidel.

No one had noticed Smith in the distance walking away from the limousine.

In the meantime, Smith had made good time in reaching the diner. Once inside, he asked to use a phone and made a call for a ride. As he waited over coffee and a piece of apple pie, an explosion worthy of the best Hollywood could produce in sight and sound occurred. A patron standing near the door was so startled, he fell backwards. It was if he had been knocked over by the pressure wave which nudged the door open and rattled the windows.

The cook had rushed out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was. Everyone else was sitting or standing in stunned silence. He rushed to the patron on the floor asking if he was all right. The patron assured the cook he was physically fine just bowled over. The cook helped the man up.

“Has anyone called 9-1-1?” the cook asked.

A customer sitting at the end of the counter near the door roused out of her trance, produced a cell phone from her purse and began dialing. The cook turned and asked if everybody else was okay? There was a smattering of responses and nods. The quiet that prevailed minutes before was now replaced by chatter. Smith sat and stared at the fire of the burning limousine and a few trees close to it. If the Lord had not intervened he would likely have been in the limo, all ready dead from a bullet or burned alive.

“To be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord,” he thought.

As the cook started back to the kitchen, a look of recognition came over his face. He stopped beside Smith.

“You're Gary Smith,”

“Yes, I am.”

“You have been on my mind since your interview earlier tonight.”

“You were watching?”

“Yeah, anytime I can enjoy the tables turned on those media jerks.”

“You think they're all jerks?”

“No, not really. Misguided, misinformed. Lord knows. It's hard to be charitable to some of them.”

“Do you know Christ as your personal savior?” asked Smith.

“Yes, I do, brother. I'm new to this Christian walk, although my momma would be proud to know I'm a believer now.

“I'm sure she knows.”

“I think so, too.” added the cook.

“You said you were watching the interview tonight.”

“Never miss a chance to see or listen to whatever God has placed on your heart.”

“Why's that? I'm just a human being.” stated Smith.

“I know. But, some times I hear this quiet voice speak to me. Like my momma did when I was sick or before I went to sleep when I was a kid.

“That's the Holy Spirit,” replied Smith.

“That's what I was thinking.”

“Bearing witness.”

“It's not just that. When you talk and quote scripture, I look it up. When you say something that can't be found in the Bible, you say so. You say you're just one of many prophets, but you don't call those who call you a liar, a liar back.”

“What's your name brother?”

“Chuck Jones.”

Smith stood up and shook hands. “May God bless and keep you safe.”

“I'm praying for you, Brother Gary.”

“I'll be praying for you too, Brother Chuck.”

They both turned toward the front as a man in a dark gray overcoat stepped through the door.

“Here's my ride.” With that Smith nodded to Jones and walked to the door. Smith turned before closing the door. Jones smiled and raised his hand in goodbye. Smith nodded again.

Smith and the new man stood outside the diner for a moment looking at the flashing lights of fire and emergency vehicles in the distance.

“Ready for a debrief?”

“What about the local cops, Tony?” asked Smith.

“Although, you're a material witness and the likely target, we'll pass the information on when necessary. We'll get a call when they realize this is terrorists, not a local mob hit.”

Special Agent Antony Cordoba, FBI, stepped to the passenger door of his sedan and opened it for Smith. The car didn't look like government issue or GSA procured.

Once both were inside, Tony asked, “Want to pray first?”

“Why's that?” smile Gary.

“I've learned God has His hand on you, and I want to get in the habit of having His hand on me, too.”

“You expecting trouble?”

“Like what happened here? Maybe. It's more like having the assurance I'll walk away, if it's God's will. Having His peace when it's my time.”

“Well said, Tony.”

Each prayed before Tony started the car and drove off in the dawning of a new day.

The young woman at the end of the counter had not seen “Elvis” enter the diner. It had taken awhile to settle her nerves after making the cell call in the studio to be able to eat. She had been about to leave when the explosion happened. It had unsettled her. Had she been a part of that, she wondered? Then, seeing “Elvis” leave with the other man really shocked her. Would someone be looking for her? Toms, the police or worse? She waited for the sedan Smith had gotten into to leave. She hurriedly paid for her meal, and tried her best to leave on legs that might give out at any moment.

“The contract was not completed.”
“What?” The rage was almost palpable through the phone. Said remained silent, until Mahmoud had regained his composure.

“It was necessary to discharge a number of the contract employees because of the failure. I will provide a full report when I return.”

“It is critical that we conclude the Smith contract.”

“Yes, I agree, but it would be wise to wait for my report before entering negotiations again.”

“What?” the anger flared again.

Said gritted his teeth and waited for Mahmoud to calm down. In a low voice, “As the on-scene representative of this company, I strongly suggest my council be heard in person.”

Mahmoud did not hear this side of Said often, but it gave him pause. Said was his faithful adviser; the older and wiser brother he never had. “I await your return.”