Getting Somewhere

Getting Somewhere

By Eric Hodges

Copyright 2016 Eric Hodges

Smashwords Edition

ISBN 9781310691584

License Notes

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Table of Contents

PROLOG

CHAPTER 1 - LEAVING

CHAPTER 2 - NEW LIFE

CHAPTER 3 - THE NEW TOWN

CHAPTER 4 - SHOP DELIVERY

CHAPTER 5 - FIREWORKS

CHAPTER 6 - DINNER AT HOME

CHAPTER 7 - LIFE ON THE FARM

CHAPTER 8 - THE HALF TRUTH

CHAPTER 9 - UNDERCOVER

CHAPTER 10 - THE SET UP

CHAPTER 11 - FARM LIFE

CHAPTER 12 - THE SCORECARD

CHAPTER 13 - BLACK GOLD

CHAPTER 14 - ENEMY CAMP

CHAPTER 15 - THE CAVALRY

CHAPTER 16 - SHOTS FIRED

CHAPTER 17 - THE CALM

CHAPTER 18 - COVERING

CHAPTER 19 - QUIET

CHAPTER 20 - STORM

CHAPTER 21 - SPIES

CHAPTER 22 - THE CALM

CHAPTER 23 - RUMBLES

CHAPTER 24 - COMFORTS

CHAPTER 25 - FINAL TALLY

About Eric Hodges

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PROLOG

Wheeler stared out the open cargo door of the Chinook heavy transport helicopter, letting the hot air blast try to cool him on this insufferable night over the flatlands of the Kunar Province. The helicopter was buffeting, as the air density changed low to the ground. Wheeler was holding onto the door frame, getting his shoulder pounded, but it could not be helped. They were going in low and fast, to minimize exposure to Taliban fire, on their way to pick up a SEAL team that had been shot up outside of Asadabad in Afghanistan. The hulking Chinook was making the pickup, because the Hummer the team used to get in to position, had to be retrieved. Wheeler’s helicopter was the only way to do it quickly. The Hummer had the most sophisticated, prototype automatic cannon mounted to it, that headquarters did not want to lose.

Wheeler had a dark premonition about this mission that he tried to dismiss as the normal, healthy anxiety of going into combat, but it wasn’t working. He struggled with the feelings during the flight, but it was time now to put that aside and concentrate on the mission. Get the Seal team out, and get everybody back to base intact. His role was protection, and he steeled himself to the job.

Wheeler was the defacto door gunner on this mission, because they wanted to travel as light as possible. His normal duty station was that of the loadmaster, responsible for loading and unloading cargo, and they did not want the added weight of a full crew. So here was Wheeler, Jules Wheeler by birth, with the surname he never used, alone in the back of the Chinook tow truck, on a mission with the strongest sense of dread he could remember. He was sensitive to things that were about to happen, or could happen, and this cat-like sixth sense had served him well out in the field. He had used it frequently to avoid lethal dangers, especially here, in a war zone. But this time, he was helpless to alter the course of the mission, and he was just stubborn enough force the helicopter in and out by a sheer act of will, if he had to. He was preparing himself to push back any Taliban resistance that got in the way.

He bolstered his resolve, gripped his machine gun, and dared the desert or anybody out there to try to stand in his way. He knew he was not invincible, but he was not about to hesitate if the time came.

Wheeler, you still back there? It was Kevin on the intercom, the usual co-pilot up in the front.

Hey Capt, I'm still here. Wheeler called both Kevin and Scott captain, even though they were both Lieutenants.

Look sharp back there, we're about five minutes out, and there are lights up ahead. We're going to pull up short, and put this thing down.

Copy, was all Wheeler said as he scanned the dark desert carefully.

The engine whine and blade whump, changed pitch slightly, as the nose of the helicopter rose to bleed off some speed. Wheeler could see the sparse dim lights inside a scattering of buildings, that looked to be residences. They were widely spaced in a random order, and Scott was turning the helicopter to slide in sideways, a safe distance away, between two of the structures.

Wheeler? It was Kevin again.

Here! Wheeler replied over the noise.

Lower the ramp to flat! Kevin ordered. Flat meant the normally raised rear loading ramp needed to be lowered to be a horizontal extension of the cargo bay, partway deployed. It would be up out of the way for landing but only a short drop to the ground for speedy loading. Wheeler left the gunner position, and moved to the ramp controls in the back.

He saw the streak of light of the shoulder fired rocket scream up at a shallow angle, out of his peripheral vision, and fly through the open cargo door he had just left. Its rocket motor flashed inside the cargo space, exploding into the opposite side wall of the helicopter, carrying it's warhead outside the craft. It was the luckiest shot of the entire war, in that the pilots still had control of the aircraft, as it lurched sideways at an odd angle. The big helicopter rocked back to normal vertical, and Scott lowered it the dozen feet to the ground, landing with a thump.

Wheeler did lose his balance, but was up and moving quickly. He grabbed the fire extinguisher and sprayed the smoldering hole in the craft. No fuel lines were hit, there were no sparks, but he did have a palpable urge to get back to the door gun. Luckily the machine gun at the side door was not hit, so he dropped the extinguisher, and reached for the machine gun to aim at the insurgents that he knew were coming. He assumed the pose, purposely aiming at one of the houses, and waited for his night vision to return. He heard the charge before he saw anything, so he aimed and had to wait only a moment.

The muzzle flash signaled he could wait no longer, and he fired at the source, to be rewarded with a muffled grunt. The muzzle flash squashed his night vision again but he didn’t need it, he knew where to fire and released a few more rounds. More steps, fire, grunt. Steps, fire, grunt. Then it was silent and his night vision finally did return. The insurgents had come out from behind the building toward the front of the helicopter, but the Hummer, and presumably the SEALS, were at the rearmost building. It was quiet but Wheeler still felt danger. It wasn’t over.

He was distracted by the heavy footfalls from the inside the helicopter made by Kevin and Scott, making their way down the ladder in their flight boots.

Are you guys all right? Wheeler asked.

Oh yeah, but we took one hell of a bump, Kevin replied. What happened back here?

Wheeler just pointed at the smoke still coming off the ragged edge of the hole in the skin of the ship, and wondered aloud We took a rocket blast. Will this thing still fly?

It felt fine, really. Except for the hard slew, it landed okay. We’ve got to take off fast, so let’s collect us some SEALS and get out of here.

Aye aye Capt. Wheeler said. Stay here, as he bounded off the deck to the ground. He saw the SEALS moving around the Hummer to his right but he was attracted to the front house on the left. He moved carefully toward it confident he could sneak up on whatever was there, all the while his inner sense was screaming Danger, Danger. He blocked out the movements of the SEALS, ignored the bodies scattered in his path, and allowed a laser focus to take over his entire being. He became a feral predator. The few moments it took to get to the building had allowed him time enough to get into full zombie mode, attentive to only the danger, acutely aware of every sound or movement.

Wheeler knew where the remaining hostiles were, and where they were going, so he needed to go around the building on the opposite side, to come up behind them. He had his holstered pistol, and drew his assault knife, preferring the stealth capability. He quietly approached the side wall of the building that faced the SEALS and slid quietly along toward the back. He stuck his head out to see along the back wall of the building just in time to see a dark shape disappear at the far end and move to the front. He quickly made his way to the far corner following the shape, and looked around the next corner to see a smaller person hugging the wall, midway to the front. He was relieved there was only one but he did not relax.

Gripping his knife firmly, Wheeler moved slowly and carefully along the wall to intercept the person. In one smooth movement, he gripped the face of the person from behind, violently jerked the head back, but something within him yelled 'stop!’ freezing his knife in mid stroke. The person he was holding squirmed a bit but was no match for Wheeler's size and strength. Wheeler held the person immobile, easily. Inside, he was a swirling mass of electrified confusion and thorough inaction. His quick reflexes and warrior instincts had vacated, leaving him holding his quarry with a raised knife and no idea what he should be doing.

Wheeler calmed himself for a moment to let the adrenaline subside, now aware of the SEALS moving around across the compound in the quiet of the night. He sheathed his knife, and pulled his mini light out of his flight suit to take a look at the fighter he had immobilized against the wall.

His light shone into the face of a young girl that was no more than 13 years old, still holding an ancient rifle that was too corroded to actually fire. Wheeler was thunderstruck, he had just tried to kill a kid that was not really a threat. His inner danger warnings had betrayed him. There was a firestorm going off in his head His blood pressure was pounding in his ears. His vision narrowed to points, and all he could do was lean back against the wall and pant uncontrollably. He grabbed the old rifle automatically and pushed her away. She ran off into the dark.

Hey buddy, are you okay? The voice came at him as if from a great distance. Hey fella, his arm shook have you been hit? Out of his fog, Wheeler saw the helmeted face of a combat soldier slowly come into focus. Snap out of it, we gotta get out of here. The soldier helped him off the wall, and they walked back to the helicopter to get on with the business of loading the Seals and equipment for departure. Wheeler went through the motions of being a load master as if he were on autopilot: strapping down the Hummer, deploying the troop seats, and making ready to depart, but the warrior within him was dead. He would have to solve his crisis outside of the Navy. He was done.

CHAPTER 1

LEAVING

Wheeler drove through the pristine vacation villas on Park Boulevard, adjacent to the up-scale shopping district heading to Naval Air Station Coronado Island. The proud warriors of the Seahawk Support Wing would be short one mechanic after today. Today will be the last time the brakes of his old VW bus would squeal pulling up to a stop at the guard gate, the last time his identification badge would be used, and the last time he would go to work in fatigues. No more would he be reminded of that night in Asadabad, that continues to keep him up at night. He may never be fully free of the nightmares, but at least, after today, the reminders would be gone.

He made short work of the checkout process, filling in most of the blanks on the retirement and separation forms, that wanted to know about his future plans, with ‘Unknown.’ He did list his next address as Emil’s Small Engine Repair in the town of Temecula, a few hours north of San Diego. Wheeler’s very short term plan was to bunk in the loft of his friend Emil’s shop, while he figured out what to do with the rest of his life. He had already emptied the apartment into the back of the VW, so when the base cleared him, he could just drive.

Nagging thoughts of his navy career, his future life, and everything in between, fought for attention in his head while he drove. Wheeler had spent years being a soldier that provided him with a generous helping of useless skills except for the mechanical ones. He liked to repair machines, from the helicopters he patched to the VW that he had rebuilt to the small stuff that Emil repaired to make his living, Wheeler liked all of it.

As he thought of all the machines he had repaired and adjusted, the turmoil in his head subsided. Wheeler needed the solitude of mechanical things right now, to clear his head, and hopefully release some of his internal pressures. Suddenly he felt optimistic, rumbling along in the slow lane on his way to the simplicity of repairs. The slight break in his mental turmoil allowed him to notice he was running low on coffee and needed a cup, even though he was barely out of San Diego. The next off ramp advertised ‘Meg’s Diner’ so he took it to meet Meg.

Wheeler took a seat at the nearly full counter next to a woman that was about his age, 38, and not retired. Smudges of something gray decorated her plaid work shirt and worn jeans, her early onset wrinkles were tanned, and her calloused hands were not decorated with painted nails. Wheeler noticed that the distinctive muscle tone on her tanned forearms matched the rest of the ensemble as he sat down and ignored the menu. She was definitely a woman that worked with her hands.

Mind if I sit here? he asked.

Sure, help yourself, she said, over the bustle of the pre-lunch crowd.

Looks like you've brought a bit of your pottery to lunch with you, he said, nodding at a smear on her arm.

She chewed through a bite of sandwich, and said I bring it with me everywhere so I don't forget where to go after lunch.

Wheeler ordered coffee to go, and replied after the waitress had gone, I use Post-It notes. Then I don't have to wash. They both chuckled, then he remembered his manners, Call me Wheeler.

She chewed the end of her sandwich, and said Call me Peg, and no, my twin sister does not own this place. She smiled at her own joke.

I was not going to resort to such juvenile humor, Wheeler said with mock indigence. He could only hold back the laugh for a heartbeat, then they both chuckled together. Wheeler felt the normalcy of civilian life returning after its long hiatus, and it felt good. He could become normal again.

Peg interrupted his musing "I don't