TIME ASSASSIN

TIME ASSASSIN

I could hardly hold back the tears as they lowered Tony’s coffin into the ground. I knew it was only a matter of time until I suffered a similar fate, even technology couldn’t avoid that. Some how I didn’t think it would end this way for us. There was no color guard, no neatly folded flag, or 21 gun salute, and no words of praise from a grateful nation.

In fact, aside from the preacher and the 2 guys on the grave detail, the only people in attendance were me and Tony’s only daughter. It was kind of a shame, because even though we had worked together for many years, I realized that I hardly knew her and that Tony wasn’t much closer to her then me. Absent, were the typical gathering of friends and family, but that was no surprise, none of us on the team had many of either.

After the brief ceremony it began to rain lightly as I turned and began walking back to my car. I had only taken a few steps when Crystal touched my shoulder and extended her arms. We hugged briefly and then I wiped a few tears from her face. She looked me right in the eyes and asked me very sincerely to tell her about her Dad’s life and his work. My first instinct was to tell her that we were just old friends, but her eyes were like a window to her soul and I felt she deserved an honest answer. I knew I didn’t have much time, but I felt it was the right thing to do. We all had lived with the knowledge that we swore to keep secret, but it had been a long time and we were the last ones, so I decided to tell her what I could.

We drove over to a small diner a few minutes away, and grabbed a booth in the back. After ordering a few coffees, I began to tell her about how we met and the journey we had shared. At this point in my life I think I needed to share my story as much as she needed to hear it.

Back in the early 60’s officials at the Pentagon had hired on a brilliant scientist named Benjamin Opperman. At the time Benjamin was at the forefront of experimentation on Time Travel. He approached the issue from a different viewpoint and perspective than the other leading minds of the time. Benjamin believed that time travel was an inaccurate phase. Going back in time did not mean being mysteriously propelled to another place, it merely meant that an individual would remain exactly where he was as the layers of time were pealed back, much like an onion.

I’m certainly not a scientist but from what I could understand, time is more closely represented as a wave or ripple effect. Much like a pebble thrown into a pond, the waves of time ripple, or radiate outward from the source of the impact. I guess another way of looking at it would be like a radio signal that is broadcast from a tower. The radio waves expand out in ever widening circles until they reach our radio or receptor. As we pick up the signal our radio converts the sounds waves back to recognizable language or music. The part most people find it hard to understand is that the sound or radio waves do not stop resonating out, just because we hear them. A sufficiently powerful wave will continue out for ever and can be converted into a recognizable format again and again with the proper equipment.

In any case, the government and military were very interested in this concept and formed a small group of elite agents to travel back in time with the mission of solving a crime, gathering information, or attempting to alter a past event. The usual protocol was by terminating the person or persons responsible. There were only 12 of us in the program, each of us were sought out due to our high security clearance and military background. We went thru a full year of training as well as psychological testing. The program directors went out of their way to choose men with little ties to family and friends, in a word: loaners. They wanted men that would not be easily missed, because of the inherent danger of the missions.

This entire project was far from an exact since and we were made fully aware that we might never return from our travels or have to live out the remainder of our lives in the time and place that we were sent to. In fact we had to sign a detailed mission letter that included a non-discloser and hold harmless clause. I explained that her dad and I were the only two agents that ever returned, the other were lost or killed in action.

Tony was sent back in time to try to alter the course of events that lead up to the assignation of President John F. Kennedy. It was widely suspected that a second gunman was present that November day, on the grassy knoll, very close to where the motorcade passed by. Your dad, was there that day, in fact his image was capture in several frames of the Zapruder film. He was the man in the shadows behind the fence, that afterward could not be found. He verified for us that there was no second shooter in the Kennedy assassination.

It was then that Crystal asked me about my own mission, and I found that I was unable to lie to her. I’ve had many missions but in this case I was sent back in time, to be here on this day, to be with you, because in fact, your father was the last of the agents in the now defunct program. With that said, I stood up and gave her another hug and then disappeared back into the vapor.

Please feel free to contact me: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

ENEMY OF THE STATE

ENEMY OF THE STATE

I’m laying here face down on the tile, in a pool of my own blood. I’m breathing very heavily through my mouth, because my nose is certainly broken and I’m slipping in and out of consciousness. My wrists are contorted uncomfortably behind me, and aching from a case of overzealous application of handcuffs. Out of the corner of my eye I can see two guys from the N.P.F. or National Police Force, hi-fiving each other. They are dressed completely in their black uniforms and jump boots, with the NPF gold badge and logo emblazoned on their jackets.

To tell you the truth, I’ve always been a law abiding citizen, and I never figured I’d have a few guys like this kicking my own door down. I’m really not sure why it’s come to this but I guess, I should start back at the beginning

At some point back in the early years of 2000 or 2001, half the people of the United States seemed to increasingly distance themselves politically from the other half. Soon it seemed as if the two sides had little that they could agree on. These differences made themselves all the more apparent each time a national election was decided. Power swung wildly from the left to the right and back after each election.

The parties that eventually came to power tried to overcompensate and alienate the voters that did not want them in power. Eventually dissenters became thought of as dissidents and political trouble makers, and became the subject of increasing government attention. The most vocal and high profile of these dissenters became the targets of endless investigations and harassment by law enforcement and government agencies.

Another dynamic in place at that point in time was heightened concern over national security. We were engaged in several wars overseas with terrorist organizations and they had vowed to bring the war back to American soil. Our people were rightfully frightened and they demanded a new, and even higher level of national security and they were willing to forgo a few civil liberties to achieve it.

New and previously reserved powers were given to enforcement agencies such as the FBI, NSC, Border patrol and the BATF, however these agencies tended to operate independently and with little cohesion. Agents for these organizations all reported to different bosses, had separate budgets, and were careful not to intrude on each others “turf” or domain.

The climate was ripe and the people were trusting, and a few new agencies were born in the shadows, one of which being the N.P.F.

This department was set up in the early months of a very popular presidency. It was originally designed and promoted as a country wide adjunct to the local police agencies, but soon took on the look and firepower of a para-military organization, with broad ranging search, arrest, and pursuit powers.

The N.P.F. was originally conceived as sort of a loaner SWAT team to aide and assist local police departments. The teams were comprised of the best candidates from the military and law enforcement agencies. It was clear from the beginning that these guys were to be the “best of the best”, an elite band of brothers. The problem was they reported directly to the director of the National Police Force who was in turn was selected by, funded by, and reported directly to the president of the United States. This in effect made them the Presidents personal security force, to be used and directed as he alone had seen fit. Even their budget and funding was not subject to review or oversight by congress or the Justice department, making them a very independent entity unto themselves.

In normal times I’m not sure a department like the N.P.F. could ever be formed. The strange thing is that no one actually votes for a thing like this, it just sort of happens. However at the time, every one was very concerned with National Security and most of us were willing to trade off a few civil liberties to feel more secure. Because of their direct chain of command to the commander and chief, the organization grew quickly and was very well funded.

In the beginning the NPF troopers were highly respected and even sought after by local law enforcement agencies, however, as they began to flex their muscle in local jurisdictions, that love affair was quickly ended. It seemed that these national guys had an agenda all their own, and weren’t about to let any lowly street cops or FBI agents stand in their way.

After a few high profile arrests that went bad, and increased media attention, people began questioning the tactics and motives of these “men in black”. However critics were quickly silenced or seemed to disappear. Major media organizations also seemed to quickly abandon their coverage of the NPF and their activities, as watchdogs from the FCC (also strongly influenced by presidential appointments) censored and made their life’s more difficult.

As an independent writer and reporter I felt increasingly compelled to investigate and report on what I perceived as the injustices and excesses that I uncovered by these special police. I guess I have ambitions of following in my fathers footsteps. He was a controversial and award winning journalist in his day. So, I crisscrossed the country at my own expense, gathering data and investigating their tactics and actions. I’d then file my stories anomalously or under fictitious names to keep from drawing undue attention to myself and to the media outlets that bought my work.

Well I guess it didn’t take long for an organization with the power and connections that the NPF has to determine the source of what they considered to be, these embarrassing and disruptive articles and reports. Initially I did not feel threatened by them and felt that I was doing a public service and that my work was clearly protected by my 1st amendment rights. In addition to that, my work only appeared in small community newspapers and oddball radio shows. The big media was afraid to run any of my work due to the possible reprisals by the government.

Evidently my work and writings were being read and closely scrutinized by the powers to be and they felt threatened by the information I was disseminating. Evidently my recent article entitled “Ruthless tactics and accompany illegal search and seizure” pushed the wrong buttons in Washington and made me an undeclared “enemy of the state”.

Even though many of my friends and colleagues cautioned me to temper my exposés, I felt compelled to continue and make the truth know. After all, this is America and I should have no fear of free speech. That’s why I am laying here in a state of disbelief.

As the NPF officers pushed me unwillingly out to the street and into their vehicle, I reminded them quite vocally that I have my rights and that I enjoy protection under the constitution and Bill of Rights. No court in the land would find me guilty of simply exposing the truth. There is Freedom of Speech.

As the officers were locking the cage door behind me one of them took off his dark sunglasses and winked at me “Oh..Don’t be silly…we are not arresting you for your writing or speaking out. You’re getting busted for several felonies….listening to “Conservative Talk Radio” and smoking a cigarette within the city limits.”

Please feel free to contact me at pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

LATE ONE NIGHT

LATE ONE NIGHT

The sound of my footsteps echoed thru the near empty garage. There is something about a cold dark night that makes these high rise parking garages seem even more menacing. I normally park on the 4th floor right by the elevators but some knucklehead had decided to take my assigned spot. Wouldn’t you know I’d end up on the far side of the parking lot on floor 5, on the one night I’ve got to carry a box full of paperwork home to work on.

As I exited the elevator on level 5, I could see the taillights of another late worker heading down the exit ramp along with the shrieking of tires you seem to only hear in parking garages. It must have rained earlier because I found myself dodging oil soaked puddles on the way to my car. I normally would have finished work several hours ago but I was up against a deadline on the Thompson case. We’ve got court on Monday, and since this is a high profile case, I’ve got to be ready. I’m gonn’a nail that sucker.

Shit, I should have called security this morning when that inconsiderate bastard took my parking spot. Now, I’m having to hump all this paperwork halfway across the city just to get to my damn car. I work 15 years to become the top dog in the prosecutor’s office and now I’m parking on the back 9, or in this case the back 5.

To make matter worse there are contractors working on the sprinkler pipes up here, and there is water, dirt, and flashing barricades all over the place. Half the ceiling lights are down, and the place has that Eire yellow florescent glow, accompanied by the faint hum of the remaining lights, vibrating in the wet night air. There are work tools and equipment all over the place. Believe me, after this week, I’ll be glad to be off for a few days. T.G.I.F.

Finally, I approach my car. I hit the remote unlock button on my key chain and my Beamer’s lights go on. I just bough this thing last week and intentionally parked far from the other cars. Wouldn’t you know it, there are only a few cars left on the floor and some son of a bitch is parked right up against my car. A whole empty parking lot, and I’ve got a shitty red van parked right next to me on my drivers side. I set the box down briefly while I open the trunk and throw in my coat, but I decide to bring my homework up front. I quickly pat my pocket to make sure I have my keys before closing the trunk and head for the driver’s door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some movement it the van next to me, and an instant latter the side door slides open and two goons jump out. I reach for the panic button on my keys and set off the car alarm, but these guys don’t even blink. The next thing I know, I take a wicked shot in the ribs, and find myself gasping for air. One guys got me by the hair and the other had both arms wrapped around my waist, as they are trying to pull me into the van. I put both arms out and catch myself just before they can get me through the door, but then I feel a blunt strike across the back of my head. My hand quickly moves to the spot of the trauma and I feel hot sticky blood, just as I feel myself losing consciousness.

I don’t know how long I was out, but when I woke up, I found my hands and feet tightly bound with a pair of those nylon ties. I had lost one shoe in the battle and my hair was all matted together from laying in a pool of my own blood. I tried to yell out but they had a piece of duct tape securely over my mouth, I was panicking because I could hardly breath. For a brief instant, I thought about home and my kids and how I wished I had left work earlier when my wife called and told me she had dinner waiting. It seems like I have missed too many dinners, ball games, and school events over the years, and my wife was showing the strain.

I laid there on the floor of the van and tried to get my bearings and remain calm. I noticed that even though I was blind folded, I could barely see thru a small gap they had left just above my right eyebrow. By moving my head around I could make out the images of the two thugs sitting up front in the van, talking and laughing, as we passed under some well lit road signs. From my vantage point on the floor, I also noticed that I could get a quick glance out the front windshield and was able to pick up on a few road signs as we went under them as well. I knew we were on the interstate headed north

I can tell you, I was a little disappointed in myself. Despite my training I allowed these guys to push me into this van. I have to admit that I was not prepared for the suddenness and viciousness of their attack. I broke the two first rules of self defense. I should have been more aware when I noticed the van parked that close to me, and I should never have allowed them to wrestle me into the door. I knew one thing for sure, I had no intention of finding out what’s next on their agenda.

I was still fading in and out of consciousness but was able to overhear the two guys talking up front. I could tell these guys were professionals, because they were cold as ice, and acting like it was just another day at the office. I quickly came to the realization that when we arrived at the destination they were taking me to, it wasn’t going to be pretty. If I was going to make it out of this little joy ride alive it was going to have to be on my terms, not theirs.

Even though I had lost a good deal of blood, I had the presence of mind to try and escape. Fortunately I always carry a small Benchmade folder in my pocket and with a little effort I was able to retrieve it and snap open the blade with one hand using the thumb stud. Just about then, goon #2 looked back to see what I was up to and I pretended to be still knocked out. I still had not cut all the way thru the plastic ties around my wrist, when he decided to come on back and pay me a visit while checking on my restraints.

I figured this might be my only shot at getting away, so when he reached for my wrists, I let him have it both barrels. My wrists were already locked together so I figured a double hammer fist would be in order, and served one up right to his temple. I swear that blow would have knocked out 98% of the world’s population, yet it only seemed to daze old Godzilla. If you don’t at first succeed, try again. So, In the ensuing struggle, I grabbed two good handfuls of his hair and gave him a little fresh air, via the van’s side window. Where are my manners? Damn, I knew I forgot something, like opening the window first. Well, since he was already half way on his way out, I grabbed the door handle and showed him the door. Now, that’s gonn’a leave some road rash. I was pretty sure that the thud I heard right after that was his body being caught by the rear wheel.

At this point goon #1 is craning his head back to see what has happened to his criminal in law brother, and the van is swaying from one side of the road to the other. I thought for a second about using the knife to cut the rest of the way thru the plastic ties, but as the saying goes…there is no time like the present, and opportunity was knocking.

I had the answer, with one quick leap, or should I say hop, I placed myself right behind the driver’s captain chair. It was one of those high back, swivel deals with the arms that fold down. Just as I reach for the guy’s hair, I get a big fat elbow, right in the kisser, for my efforts. Ok, no more mister nice guy, I’m getting tossed around like a rag doll and I need to latch on to something.

I still have my knife in my hand in an ice pick style grip, with the plastic ties still holding tight. The van sways hard right than left, just as I throw both arms over this guys nogg’in and dig the entire 4” blade deep into his shoulder, right under his right ear. The last thing I hear is a deafening scream, probably magnified by the fact that my face was about an inch and a half from his pie hole. The guy lurches hard to the right and with it goes the steering wheel, and then the whole van.

Around two, 360’s latter the van comes to a rest on its side and I’m still lashed to the now very dead driver. The windows are all smashed out and there is glass everywhere. My research papers were scattered all over the van and for 100’ down the road. The dark van is now illuminated with the familiar flashing red lights of the local sheriff’s car. I could hear someone approaching as they crunched the broken glass. It was a sight for sore eyes when the deputy climbed into the van, with gun drawn. He recognized me immediately from the last time he testified in court, and cut me loose from my ex-traveling buddy. I told him about the events leading up to the accident and my suspicion that these guys were hired to keep me out of the courtroom.

As the paramedics were bandaging my head and arm, the deputy confirmed that these guys were hired guns, and part of the Thompson organization. Just as he was closing the door of the ambulance the deputy stuck his head in and said. “Councilor, I believe justice has been done. Consider this case closed.”

P.I.B.

PRIVATE EYE- PART 1

PRIVATE EYE-PART 1

FRIDAY 11:16 pm, I’m still hard at work in my office. I’m still wearing yesterday’s suit, drinking this mornings stale black coffee, in between shots of whiskey, and going thru a box of personal effects with blood shot eyes. My office is a mess, with books and papers scattered around like so many leaves on an autumn day. The small well worn couch across from my desk with the pillow on it, has become home on more nights than not. The faded pictures on the wall spoke of a happier time for me. One shows me smiling in my dress blue uniform, and getting an award from the department. Another shows me with my wife on the day I made detective, and still another with the mayor, after solving one of the biggest cases in the history of the city.

For a broke down, out of luck P.I. like me, this was the kind of case I should have stayed away from. I should have told her no when she walked in here yesterday morning with this box of shit and a sob story a mile wide. The minute she told me she couldn’t even cover my expenses I should have thrown her out like yesterdays newspaper. After all I don’t see the word charity on my door. P.I. Private investigator, Private Eye, that’s my business, not family counseling, or the lost and found. I need to learn how to say “no”. It’s not like I’m living high, I barely mak’in it, and I’ve been dodging the landlord and the building super for weeks on the rent payment.

Back in the day, I was a damn good cop, and even a better detective, maybe one of the best, but after 15 years the long hours, gambling, and my drinking got the best of me and soon I lost both my job and my wife. In retrospect, I guess I should have stayed away from the booze, bribes, and the ponies. Anyway, I’ve been working on my own for a couple of years now, tak’in any case and handout from my old buddies on the force that I can get. I’ve been waiting for that one big, high dollar, high profile case, that seems to have eluded me up to now. Instead I’m getting the low profile, cheating husband, missing uncle and lost kitten cases.

Anyway, this morning I was sitting there staring at my phone when a 20 something, dame walks in carrying this box and crying like a new born baby. She’s obviously a young Italian girl, made up in a long red dress and her hair done up, just the way I like it, tucked under a smart looking hat . Even though she was no knock out, I gott’a admit she wasn’t half bad looking either, and I’m a sucker for a women in distress.

She lays out this story about her how dad went missing about a month ago, and he wasn’t the kind of guy not to keep in touch with her on a daily basis. Of course she went to the police, but all they did was fill out a report and very little else. She got the distinct feeling that they were not going to investigate the case.

Here it is, a month later and she had just about given up hope, until she saw my little sign above the book store from the sidewalk.... “Rocco Vinchenzie/Private Eye, and here.. she was. I told her to leave me the stuff she gathered together from his apartment, and I’d take a look at it. There was little more than a few pictures, some receipts, a couple of handwritten notes, a little black book with some names and numbers, and some personal belongings. She thanked me and gave me a handful of crumpled up singles she had in her purse and promised me more if I agreed to help. I instructed her to get back to me in a couple of days and bring whatever money she could scrape together. I really had no intention of spending any time on the case, but didn’t have the guts to tell her so at the time, while she was so obviously upset. Besides, it wasn’t like I had a full case load anyway.

Anyway, this morning I wake up early, because a man can only sleep so long, huddled up on a 3’ long couch, especially with his landlords banging on the door and looking for the rent money. So, here it is 8am, and I’m already walking the streets. No wonder they call us old cops, “flatfoots”. I can’t afford gas for the old Buick, so shoe leather is my only transportation right now. I grab an apple off the display in front of the local market and slip it into my jacket pocket. To ease my conscience, I tell myself I’ll pay the old man back when I score my next big case.

It’s only a few short blocks back down to the old precinct where I worked. So, it’s the first place I went for a little intel. After hanging around until after the shift change, I pulled aside a few of my old buddies to see what was up. It seems the brass had put the brakes on any further investigation into this case after the first day or two. The beat cops were told the guy was a two bit gangster, and it was not worth the department’s energy to pursue his whereabouts. From my experience that usually meant it was mob related. I felt better I had that little bit of information but it also just cost me a pack of smokes.

I had looked thru all the junk that teary eyes had dropped off yesterday and found a balled up note with the scribbled words 9/9 diamonds . In my mind one of the nines probably meant 9 PM, but what about the other. I ran thru every possible scenario in my mind and figured maybe it was an address or bus route number. How the hell was I supposed to figure out what 9 stood for in a city the size of New York.

I was getting pretty frustrated by now after a few hours of walking and not a lot to show for it. It felt good to have a few dollars in my pocket for a change and I decided to stop at my favorite diner to get a bite to eat. This place didn’t look like much but the locals knew the food here was as close to home made as you can get. Just as I was finishing my meal I overheard a delivery man taking to the owner of the restaurant. He mentioned that he had one more load to pick up at the docks and then he was done for the day. Then it hit me, maybe the 9 at 9 was dock 9 down on the waterfront.

PRIVATE EYE-PART 2

PRIVATE EYE- PART 2

I had just enough cash left on me to catch a cab down to the docks. This was a rough place, with rough men, and not the place where you wanted to be after dark. I took a gamble and I bluffed my way in past the gate, telling the guard I was here on police business and let him get a quick glance at my Smith and Wesson .38 snubbie I had stashed in my belt. After showing around the picture I was carrying of Mr. X and talking to a few of the longshoreman, I determined that pier 9 was where a lot of the produce for the cities restaurant came in by boat. Pier 9 also had a bad reputation as a place where illegal and stolen goods passed thru. A few of the workers recognized my player as a goon, and part time truck driver that delivered to a swank restaurant on the outskirts of town called “Diamond Jims”. Diamond Jim’s was owned by Diamond Jim Garvano. I had been to his place a few times in the past, as part of an investigation, and had the good fortune to get a look at him, while his hired muscle was escorting me out of the place.

The next morning I get another visit from my mystery women. This time she is dolled up in a gorgeous black dress with matching purse. The minute she walks in the door she starts quizzing me about what I found out. I tell her about learned out at the pier and that I planned on paying a visit to Diamond Jim’s, and she immediately tries to change the subject. She tells me that she heard her father helped out at Diamonds for a day or two, but had long since moved on. I also mention that I tracked one of the phone numbers in his book to a small motel in New Jersey called the Parkway Inn, and that I planned on heading out there this evening to ask a few questions but needed a little more cash to get the Buick back on the road. She quickly gave me another 20 bucks, insisting that it was all she had, but if I found her dad, there would be a big bonus and maybe some other considerations in store for me. She also said that she would meet me back at my office around 4:30 and drive me over there.

Sure enough she showed up right on time in a brand new Chevy, that she said belonged to her friend, and we headed over to Jersey to check out the lead. The whole trip over there we chit chatted ,and I tried to make small talk, but every time I asked for more details about her dad she would shut up like a clam. We pulled into the motel after dark and parked toward the back of the lot. I walk up to the front desk and hand the clerk a five dollar pile while showing him the mug shot of the guy I’m looking for. He immediately recognizes the picture and tells me that I can find Mr. Smith in room #9. Ha..Mr. Smith..that’s a good one.

At this point, I head back to the car feeling pretty damn good about myself. I lean into the window to tell my client the good news and invite her to walk with me over to room #9 for the big family re-union. It was just about then that I feel cold steel at my right temple. “So, we meet again. Good job kid, now get in the car, big shot”. It was dark out there but even in the dim light from the motel sign I could make out the hard features and graspy voice of none other than Diamond Jim Garvano.

I get in the car just as I hear a series of gun shots going off from room #9. Jim still has his pistol pointed right at my head and I know that I’m next. What an idiot I’d been. I let some Dame, shedding a few fake crocodile tears set me up. Some kind of private eye I turned out to be. I wasn’t even smart enough to put 2 and 2 together. Here is a young women who out of all the choices in town tracks me down, and asks me to help find her missing dad. She tells me she has no money, but shows up in outfits that had to cost a few hundred bucks apiece. And then she pulls up in a new car, what the hell was I thinking.

It turns out that this stooge was doing some jobs for Diamond Jim and got a little greedy. It got back to Jim that the guy was skimming off the top and Jim put a hit out on him. So, our boy goes on the lamb, and hides out in this dump in Jersey. Jim gets one of his girls to look me up, knowing I wouldn’t go to the cops, and plays me like a fish. I do all the bloodhound and leg work, and now this poor bastard is dead, and I’m next.

Jim’s henchmen come back to the car and order me out and make me sit on the pavement facing away from the car. I’m sweating bullets and about to throw up at the thought of catching some lead, and all of a sudden I feel a thump on the back of my head. This is it, I thought.

The car starts to pull away and I see Jim leaning out the window, chewing on his cigar. “Ya, did good Rocco, I’m cutting ya loose, because I may need you again, but ya better keep your mouth shut because my girl knows where you live”. With that the car quickly accelerates and I hear the sound of laughter fading into the distance. I turn around rubbing my head, and in the dim light of the motel sign, in that shit hole in New Jersey I find a stack of 100’s neatly wrapped and laying on the ground. I felt ashamed and humiliated and I knew I had a long night ahead of me, but at that moment I felt like the luckiest bastard in the world

P.I.B.

SPECIAL OPS

SPECIAL OPS

2:37 AM…I could barely make out the time thru my bloodshot eyes. I was ushered back into consciousness by the unmistakable sound of an incoming helo approaching ever closer. I stumbled to the window where even on this previously quiet and starless night, I could clearly see the profile of a Navy Sea dragon helicopter.

The downwash from the blades quickly caused a miniature dust storm in the middle of my not so perfect lawn, as my lawn furniture was blown against the house like so many leaves tossed about in a storm.

Seconds later 2 figures clad in green nomex flight suits quickly made their way to my door. Not this again I thought as I stood before them in my boxers. “Commander, we have a mission and we have been ordered to have you return with us to the carrier immediately... They are waiting for us 127 miles south west.” I asked what this was all about, and was told it was on a need to know basis.

After a few expletives, I could see that I was wasting my breath as I explained to them that I was done with this sort of thing, and they could surely find a younger man’s yard to land in. I’d been on one too many missions and spent too much time away from my home and family. Their posture and facial expression made it abundantly clear that they were not going to take no for an answer.

I quickly threw on a pair of Bdu’s and a well worn pair of tan boots that I kept on standby in the closet for just such an occasion. Not knowing how long this deployment would be, I threw a few personal items and a couple of essential “tools of the trade” in my sea bag. Quickly searching around the room on the way out, I grabbed my white uniform, an old family photo, and my favorite knife with its seriously sharp blade, that’s been with me on every mission since basic.

Within a minute the three of us were on board, and as I was still fastening my helmet, we were cutting our way thru the darkness and already on our way out to meet the carrier group. Since I had a rough night I took this opportunity to catch a few more winks on the trip out. I quickly fell back asleep to the drone of the powerful engine and the rhythmic beat of the blades. For the second time in one night my sleep came to an abrupt end as a strong voice crackled from my com –gear as the pilot announced that we would be landing.

As much as told myself I hated this, I have to admit that my adrenaline was flowing. Landing at night on an aircraft carrier at sea is always a challenging task, even for experienced pilots. We closed quickly despite the fact that the ship was moving at over 30 knots away from us in the pre-dawn darkness. I looked out as we hovered just a few feet above the deck, matching our forward motion with the speed of the ship, and with a sudden bounce we were on board, what was to become, my home away from home.

The deck of the carrier was bustling with noise and activity as I exited the MH-53, and was escorted toward the island. A small army of deck hands and plane handlers scurried about the deck identified by their different color shirts. I was met by Master Chief Thomas who offered a snappy salute as he closed the bulkhead door behind us. Thomas was about my age, but looked like he was chiseled out of a piece of solid granite. Master Chiefs in the navy have a reputation of being tough and not always respectful to other officers. I had worked with Thomas in the past, I appreciate what he does, and he appreciates what I do, but he is all business and a true warrior. Not to mention, he’s the kind of guy you’d want on your side in a bar fight.(and I’ve got some stories to tell you about that)

“Welcome aboard sir, follow me. The place is crawling with brass and the Admiral’s got a bug up his ass. He is waiting for you in his ready room, for your mission briefing”.

As I walked into the room, the admiral was busy at work behind his desk. I stood there at attention, and offered my best attempt at a salute. “Commander PIB reporting for duty as ordered sir”, then I stood their in silence for what seemed like an eternity as he finished perusing the document he was reading, and signed his name at the end in a flourish.

“Welcome aboard commander, I’ll be brief. You were activated because very few men in today’s navy have your skills and training. I have all the top brass arriving at my flagship in a few days. I’m expecting the secretary of the Navy, CNSP (commander Naval Surface Forces, U.S. Pacific Fleet, Hell, even the president may fly in, so this is big. I took the liberty of assembling your team and they arrived yesterday from Mcdill. You’ve trained with most of these guys before in Italy, Germany, France, and even Japan, they are the best of the best.

I want you to get in, take care of business, and then I’ll send you and your boys home.” And then he barely looked up and gave me a weak salute that looked more like a brush away.. “dismissed”

“Oh, by the way, the master chief will escort you to your duty station right away, so that you can get started, I’ll see you at dinner at 1700 hours.”

Thomas must have been listening at the door, because the moment the admiral finished talking the door opened. I saluted, made a smart turn on my heals and headed out of the office, with the Master chief already in full stride heading down the corridor.

“ I hope you brought your white uniform, because I’ve been ordered to take you directly to the Galley. By the way, the admiral asked if you could put some bricloe and meatballs in the sauce, tonight’s Italian night.”

I am, what I am…….
P.I.B….