Quad Delta

Chapter 1

Mid-Spring Dreamscape

A spring storm lashed the Kansas landscape with the thundering violence that most residents eventually come to consider typical of the region and time of year. However, inside retired Lieutenant Colonel Enos Hobson's unique dome house, one could barely hear the noise of the thunder and lightning.

Enos' dreams routinely created violence every bit as emotionally destructive as the physical violence of any spring storm the state of Kansas could dish out. He dreamed in gross Technicolor, surround-sound screams and groans, enhanced with the sickening stench of 100,000 plus dead bodies. Many times the dreams were the same-haunting his nights, requiring him to take prescription medication to make it through the nightmares and come out with at least some semblance of rest.

Several armored personnel carriers rumble into an Iraqi position. They stop in front of a ragtag group of Iraqi soldiers who are standing with their hands raised in surrender. Enos climbs out of his command tracked vehicle. He doesn't sense any danger from the pitiful rags of humanity until he sees a body without a head lying on the ground. Enos gags at the sight and the obvious smell.

Rotting corpses stumble zombie-like, coming from all directions wailing: Water, waaaater, Effendi! Water for the love of Allah the Compassionate!

No, I don't have any spare water! It will be along shortly. Can you understand what I'm saying?

The crowd bumbles around Enos, clawing at his clothes.

Sergeant, get one of our Arabic speaking interpreters up here.

Enos gently shoves aside the walking corpses and calls to his Operations Officer, "Major Pike, get a body count!

The major answers in an indistinct voice, Ninety percent of their unit, Sir.

Good God, the stench is everywhere. Report this back to Division G-2 and G-3, Major.

The corpses form a ring-around-the-rosy chain and begin a macabre dance around Enos and his troops. Three Iraqis drag Enos over to a coffin and begin dealing cards onto its top. Enos sits down and waits for his card and reacts when it turns up as Death. The corpses grin up at him.

It's your turn, Effendi!

No...NO...NOT ME!!!

Enos awoke, soaked with sweat and stomach roiling. His memories were like a crushing anvil on his soul as he struggled out of his troubled sleep. Although thunder and lightning boomed and crackled outside and the fast moving spring storm sluiced down rain, he felt snug in his bed. The R-50 insulating walls of his dome home deadened the storm's ferocity to a quiet rumble. The memories of the smells and the sounds of crying and pleading faded more slowly, causing him to stagger his way into the bathroom. He needed time to gather his emotions-a time for him to suppress the ghosts of his past. He splashed cold water on his face and shouted out to help clear away the last dregs of his dream. Wiping down with a towel, he thought, Well, I'm up. It's 05:30 AM. Might as well make the most of the morning. Caffeine, my body craves caffeine! I've got to counter the effects of last night's sleeping pill.

Enos sipped his black coffee, savoring its bitterness. Glancing over at his desk, he noted a copy of his medical file peeping out of a stack of papers. Bored and waiting for the brew's stimulation to kick in, he pulled out the file and perused its pages.

The patient is diagnosed with posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Disorder did not result from what had happened to subject or anything he did. Although there were many conditions from which the disorder could arise, his condition intensified and erupted because of debriefing testimony the Army and Congressional oversight staffers required him to make about the aftermath of the massive air and artillery attacks made or supervised by the United States. These were dropped on large units of enemy soldiers with nowhere to shelter. Having to relive his experiences detail by minute detail was more than the patient could safely accommodate at an emotional level.

I'm glad I have a therapy session scheduled with my VA shrink. I really need the help!

***

Meanwhile, within two miles of Enos' mini-crisis, the dawn sun's rays lit up the old Victorian home's windows for only a little while, until the trees blocked most of the sunlight. That brief span of direct sun woke Helen from her slumber. The disheveled elderly lady was begrimed in her own filth, her hair matted with dirt and feces. The once stylish dress she wore reflected her recent mental deterioration, showing rips, tears, and stains all over it. By day she wandered throughout her house incessantly. By night she collapsed on any convenient sofa or bed, sucking her thumb in the darkness until sleep came to ease her headaches.

Child-like thoughts of her human needs passed through her brain like swallows darting after insects stirred up by a lawnmower on a spring day. Sitting up on the sofa where she had slept the night away, she thought, Got to pee, uhh...there that's much better. Oh-oh! My dress is wet...warm...feels good. Thirsty...throat so dry. Must find water. Hmmm, no water in kitchen sink. No water in bathroom...The well?...No, can't draw water from the well. Mom said too dangerous for little girls! Kitchen? Yes, sink...oh, no water comes! Oh, I know! Pantry...canned prunes...yes, I find them. Here is opener. Juice good, prunes good.

Skippy, here boy! Oh, there you are. Sit up...sit up I say! Want some prunes? Oh well, I eat all.

Head hurt so bad!!! Owwwww! Door bell ring too loud-hurt my head more! Mustn't answer the door. They told me don't go outside...don't let anyone in!! Hide, hide the cow's outside. Mustn't let them see me. Who's afraid of an old cow?

Skippy, you stay in here. Skippy? Why you just lay there. Baaaad doggy. Come see mamma! Why you so stiff and cold? Get up! Why you get blood on my cast iron frying pan? Your head look all funny now...flat on one side. Skippy, you have little white worms crawling on you. Tee hee, they crawl up nose too.

Still hungry!! Ahh, canned food...A - L - P - O, must be good food-pictures of happy looking dogs on can. Mmmmm, good...ow! Cut finger on can. Boo hoo hoo! Mmmm...blood taste good-salty. Thirsty...must go backend NOW!! Uhnnn uhn! Ooops, go poopoo in my pants. Mommy will be mad at me. Tee hee hee! Feel better but so tired, oh so tired all the time. Lonely too...where's Ricky? Who's Ricky?

I lay down now. Where's Skippy? Come here boy? Take nap with mamma!

The old woman picked up the dead dog's body, wrapped a blanket around it like a baby, and cuddled it close as she sat in a rocking chair. Nite, nite, don't let the little white worms bite!

Chapter 2

Leavenworth, Kansas

The spring sun tinged the eastern skyline across the Missouri river with pinks and yellows. Enos pushed against the curving wall of the light-blue domed structure. Its shape and color reminded him of the elf homes his daughter, Samantha, used to watch on Saturday morning cartoons-hence the name Smurf House stuck.

He looked out over his personal little empire. The smurf house was a legacy of Enos' good fortune in the commodities market. His extensive knowledge of world affairs provided him a bit of an inside edge at just the right time to take advantage of a major movement in the coffee bean market. After grudgingly setting aside Uncle Sam's misbegotten gains and a lesser amount for the bandits in Topeka's State House, Enos still had enough from his windfall left over to buy three acres of land on the west edge of town just outside the city limits and to erect his energy efficient dome home.

Finishing the stretching of his calves and Achilles tendons, Enos was prepared for his morning workout. Pushing away to a standing position, he called out, Sheba, come on girl.

The tan, eighty-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback hound with the distinctive punk rocker hair-spiked look along her back came gallumping up with her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth in a clown-like grin. The year-old puppy was still growing and hadn't overcome her awkward stage. A few months later she would be as graceful as a ballet dancer. For now, she still lapsed into typical puppy clumsiness, which gave Enos the pleasure of occasional chuckles to counter the otherwise negative effects of his recurring nightly haunts.

Sheba waited patiently for him to fasten the retractable lead to her collar. She heeled by his side through the gate, and they began to warm up at a medium pace. Sheba, always patient with Enos, could have darted off at 40 mph-a speed that would have allowed her to run down lions in her native South Africa. Instead, she trotted alongside him in a ladylike fashion. They made an interesting pair as they both flowed across the ground.

Enos rarely ran or jogged anymore because of osteo-arthritis in his knees. To put the least amount of stress on his leg joints, he alternated his workouts with race walking, bicycling, and aquacizing in Leavenworth's community indoor pool. Today was for race walking with its odd hip swiveling pace.

As master and dog swivel-hipped up the hill, two middle-aged divorced ladies in an elegant town car approached from behind. Since Enos didn't notice the car, the driver slowed down before passing to get a better look. Turning to her friend in the passenger seat, she commented, Hmmm, Alice, look at him swing that cute butt.

Its more than cute, it's lovely, and look at that dog he's walking. It looks like a Yellow Lab with an attitude.

He has a nice face too—you know, not a pretty, movie-star look, but there're enough lines to make it interesting.

The ladies passed on by, the driver noting his graying curly brown hair and mustache in the rear view mirror.

Totally unaware of the lascivious scrutiny by the ladies, Enos forced himself up the hill. The 20th Street bypass crossed West Spruce Street, cut up this steep hill through woods and pastures, and defined the western edge of town. The man and dog saw several deer and smaller woodland animals as they traveled. This was the only time Sheba gave Enos a hassle. She couldn't help it; her hunting instincts automatically kicked in. At times like these, he liked to imagine what she was thinking. When he called her back from chasing a squirrel, he visualized her saying, Yeah, boss, I understand! You're the Alpha Pack Leader, and I'll obey you. Then they stopped to discuss the need to conserve the little bit of natural life left over from suburban sprawl—Enos always won these arguments.

Sheba and Enos reached their two-mile turnaround point and headed back toward the house. By this time, sweat was pouring off Enos. Finally, Sheba and Enos waddled tiredly up the last steep incline to the front gate of his property.

As he paused to let them through, he unhooked Sheba's lead. Without a look back or a second thought, the dog immediately took off inside the fenced yard to run a few laps at full speed around her private racetrack. Why do I always feel as if she's laughing at me at this point? Enos wondered. I feel like I've been rode hard and put up wet, while she proves she was only humoring me and now is ready for a real workout.

Strolling from the gate and around his garden to the garage door allowed him time to catch his breath. He then ran through his Hapkido cool-down stretching exercises and called it quits.

Sheba eventually ran out of steam and ambled over to her water trough, panting all the way. Enos checked to be sure she had food in her feeder. It was time to hit the shower.

***

Two men were sitting at their breakfast table, sharing the Kansas City Star newspaper. The short, somewhat pudgy man was reading the financial section of the paper, tracking the market's performance for his investments. The much larger gentleman avidly perused the sports section, devouring the special articles on the upcoming Kansas City Chiefs' football game with the St. Louis Rams. As the shorter man stood with his empty coffee cup, the large man looked up in dismay, Please sit down, Doctor Sledge, I'll get it for you.

Sledge sat back down with a slight smile on his face as his office manager and significant other, Desmond, scurried to the coffee pot. Desmond, how long have we been together?

Four years this month, sir.

And in that time, how many times have I told you that you don't have to call me sir when we're alone? Hundreds?

Desmond blushed, I'm sorry, sir, but I respect you too much. I can't help myself. Why, if I'd told my mother that I was living with a doctor, a...a neurologist, she would have been so proud. Besides, you've taken care of me and kept me out of trouble, just like she did when she was alive. Sir, I don't know what I would do without you. You're so smart and all; I...I love you so much!

Dr. Sledge thought to himself, Dumb as an ox, but he can be useful and pleasing in so many ways.

Desmond, seeing his boss deep in thought, asked, Sir, is something wrong? Is something bothering you?

Wha?...Oh, no I was just thinking about Helen Burgess. You know, it's been almost four months now. We haven't heard a thing from her. With any luck at all, she will have passed into the dementia stage and may even be dead from secondary problems. The boys tell me she hasn't stepped a foot outside her door and she hasn't answered the doorbell when they've rung it, just as we warned her not to. It won't be long when her money and her knowledge of its transfer will be completely safe with us. Once she dies or passes beyond the ability to communicate, we'll be home free.

You know sir, I'm sorry you had to infect her. She seems like such a nice lady and...

Sledge cut him off, She is a bitch and a general's widow. The organization desperately needs her funds and the Grand Master came up with the perfect plan. Its only weakness is if she manages to pass on her knowledge of what we've done to her to someone who cares. If she keeps quiet for just a little longer, no one will ever be the wiser.

I understand, sir. It's just too bad we had to hurt an old lady, that's all.

Sledge smiled up at his partner, Desmond, you are such a softy!

Desmond's cheeks dimpled with pleasure, That's not what you said last night.

Sledge smiled more broadly, Yes, you do have your positive aspects, don't you, love—you do have your uses.

The ringing of the phone on the wall interrupted their playful bantering. Desmond picked up, Dr. Sledge's residence, Desmond speaking. He came to attention at the barking of the caller's voice, He's right here, sir, then he quickly handed the phone's receiver to Sledge.

What's the status of Helen Burgess? Are you keeping on top of the situation? We've got too much at risk to blow it now. Are you falling down on the job?

Yes sir, no sir...We haven't heard from her yet, and she has remained in her house. It shouldn't be long until it will be safe to use her funds. Give it another two weeks.

Are you sure the funds are safe?

Yes sir, I know we need the money for expansion. At least the telemarketing scam is giving us day-to-day operating funds.

You keep me informed, you mealy mouthed faggot!

"Yes sir...I'll let you know as soon as her condition degenerates to a safe level.

Keep on top of this, Sledge.

Yes sir...good-bye, sir."

What did the Grand Master want, Doctor?

He's anxious to spend Mrs. Burgess's funds. With his direct interest, I should monitor her decline personally. Schedule a home visit to her house for me for sometime early next week.

Yes, Doctor.

***

As they drove to the office, Dr. Sledge glanced over at Desmond, admiring the curly blond hair on his muscular forearms. You know, Desmond, if Burgess's funds allow us to expand our recruiting effort of highly placed political personages in Kansas City, I could find myself as the director of a whole hospital. How would you like to be my administrative assistant in an environment like that?

Desmond drove quietly, taking his time to answer Sledge's question. I'd like that just fine, as long as you let me have my own assistant—someone who knows what they are doing in the administration of a large hospital.

A well thought-out answer, Desmond, one with merit. We'll make you a politician yet.

Desmond beamed, Most importantly, I'll still be with you, sir.

Chapter 3

A Call for Help

The phone began ringing just as he finished drying off from his shower. He sat down on a couch and answered, Enos Hobson speaking.

Enos, Rich Burgess here.

A pleased smile lit Enos' face, Hey there, Major General. How are you? Do you need a batboy to shine that second new star for you?

Cut the military rank crap, you philanderer. How the hell are you?"

I'm doin' great except for the dreams. I still get'em too often, and I lose way too much sleep. You know how it is; it's like I'm stuck behind the power curve for the rest of my life. Remember how little sleep I got in OCS because you expected perfection and never gave us enough time to do everything? Neither of us expected that you were conditioning me to function without adequate rest later in life.

Man, I'm sorry to hear that, Enos. Maybe what you need is to get laid. Are you gettin' enough?

"Oh, I have a steady girl and it's none of your business what we do or how often we do it, you voyeur. Besides, I keep as busy as I want to be—between my playing the commodities market and doing a little freelance writing. I'm not rich, but I'm holdin'