Driver, T. C. (18 page)

Ali's boyfriend John spoke up. “Yes sir. The old Commandant of the Cadets house is the only building between, Cornelius”

“Thanks, John. That's what I thought. Self-defense is a right and a duty mandated by God to free men. As responsible citizens of a free republic, we are never to hand these rights over to any authority one hundred percent as would slaves, convicts or any other charge. Their guards have complete control and responsibility for providing for and protecting those in their care. This is not true of free men! Yes, government agencies and police can aid you, but never give any local government or school authority ownership of yourself or total responsibility for your own safety and protection. That would be an act of insanity; even blatant stupidity. No group of citizens can pay taxes high enough or hire enough police or guards to keep you safe in this world. Not even in a state prison or local jail is a man safe. How could it be done in public? Who would want to live that way, anyway? Nobody but a silly ten year old girl who depends totally on Daddy would even think that this could work.”

Kishia at my table laughed and said smugly “So you would have the wild west on campus with everyone packing heat, Cornelius? That's crazy!”

“No, Kishia!” I responded. “I do realize that many of you on campus are too immature to be trusted with even a pocket knife, much less a firearm! Open up this Holy Bible to Luke 22:35-38. Note that these words are in red. Jesus, our Lord is speaking to us about personal defense and weapons. Listen, Kishia! All of you calm down. Some or most of the younger students may be too young to drive or to vote and may not qualify for a gun permit, but what about the older professors? The ROTC staff or senior students who will be active duty military in just a few short months? Some of these people must be capable of performing the basic citizenship responsibilities of a free republic. Not everybody needs to 'pack heat'. Only ten percent or less has ever applied for a VA gun carry permit. But ten percent is enough and is much better than zero.
 
A zero weapons policy is against the teaching of Jesus. It is against the ways of God. As we read this entire scripture, remember that Jesus is talking about going away, to the cross. He will soon be leaving his disciples and Jesus plainly says NOT to be 'saps' or 'suckers' like the VPI students. Some weapons in the group will be enough, but not zero! Do NOT depend on police, a king or angels 100%. Take responsibility! The disciples obviously carried weapons when he was with them. Go ahead and read the scripture aloud.

(35)
          
When I sent you without purse and scrip and shoes, lacked ye anything?
Nothing, Lord, the disciples said.

(36)
          
But now, he that hath a purse, let him take it, and likewise his scrip; and he that hath no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one!

(37)
          
For I say unto you, that this that is written must yet be accomplished in me, and he was reckoned among the transgressors; for the things concerning me have an end!

(38)
          
Lord, behold-here are two swords! And he said unto them, it is enough!

“
Notice that two in twelve meets the minimum requirement of Jesus. In Virginia, less than ten percent have carry permits. At VPI, the number of people on campus who would have carry permits, if allowed by the school, would be enough to stop mass shootings on campus. Any nut job shooter would be shot himself as time went on. This, of course does not work in the zero tolerance of guns, crazy, insane world at VPI. This girly-man, God-hating, humanist, sick-o academic world is why the shooter chose this disarmed spot in the first place. Country stores in Virginia during deer season are not very often robbed by gunmen, even though most of the customers are carrying guns. Not so in crime ridden D.C. with strict gun laws. Respect and defend your rights as free men. Very soon, roadside pat-downs, searches and inspections will take away all of your liberties. Any man who will not stand up to defend his own Constitutional rights is a disgrace to his Father and Mother and an affront to the teaching of almighty God.”

My young friends left my table that night having heard the truth for maybe the first time in their brain-washed lives. They just laughed and said “Good night, Old Corny”. They had been taught from birth that guns are 'bad'. Police will always protect you and that God is dead. Yes, taught the ways of ungodly, foolish men.

The next morning, I walked out onto the high deck railing outside my quarters and looked out over the majestic South Seas. I stood almost one hundred feet above the waves. It always feels good to be underway, and at sea. The night was still very much dark, but the morning sunrise had just started up in all its magnificent power and glory. Professor Lou Goodliar joined me, coming out of his quarters from down the deck. We both loved the sea. Lou was a joy to argue with. He was 'know-it-all' stubborn! You know the type. Lou was a regular at my big, round, corner table. He was today preaching about the Southern Cross and a coming eclipse. I wish I'd paid closer attention, for sleep was upon me. I had been strumming my guitar last night just like a teenager, so I turned into bed. We were both glad to see island number two in the 'rearview mirror', so to speak. I started thinking about life after this voyage, this tour of duty. Maybe when back in Virginia, my lovely ex-wife Patty and I could 'try again'. God willing! How often in this life one doesn't know even the basics of life. Why then ask and seek for the vast spiritual answers of God? Look for God's ways, look to his heavens and this vast South Sea.
 
Lord I am a fool!

Island number three was much bigger and work started off easily just like Easter Island. All of our locked up 'guardians' were turned loose on this island to run wild. Of course, this group got no work done. Their very purpose in life was to slow down production and feel superior about doing so, or to just 'get in the way'.

Just to set the record straight, that one boy who died, Peter Vault, the one who fell to his death, was none of my doing. Yes, Duck and I did laugh at the idiot boy, and we did get in some trouble and I was wrong. Death is never funny, but I will tell that story later.

The rest of Island Number Two's work crew including yours truly, were all given a much deserved break during the first few weeks on island number three. This was good, for we all felt put upon for doing number two all by ourselves. On Island Three, all of the habitat boxes came to shore quickly and right into position on trailer wheels. Work was moving fast; life was easy. We workers were all in good moods. Everybody knew that a layover in Hawaii was coming up next on this cruise. After the third week at island number three, we were sixty percent done building the camp. That morning I came ashore and walked toward Joe Coe, Duck, Friday and Unk. All of them were glancing at a set of plans and pointing up to the mountain before them. Officer Booth was serving cold beer to everyone. Our little group of workers was growing fast and not just for the cold beer. Lou Goodliar and a skinny man named Sergeant Pepper were calling out on a bullhorn. Everybody was pointing up to the rock cliffs above. By the look on duck's face, I knew that the easy part of island number three was in the past. Joe then got a call from the girls in Australia and walked away from the crowd for privacy. Joe's experts then started telling us all about the plan. Three large radio towers were to be installed on top of the mountain, two of which had to be a certain distance, or wave length, apart. All three were designed as free standing structures, but guide wires would be added because of the extremely harsh environment. Each tower would need a power station, plus two wind turbines and eight solar panels. All this had to be put up on top of the mountain and installed. Most of the pieces were too heavy for our two small choppers to lift. This mountain looked just like Stone Mountain in Georgia, except it was three times as high. The smooth dome was almost two thousand feet above the beach. People laughed and said the black rock looked just like Friday's bald head. This thin Sergeant Pepper dude who was a radio expert, used Friday's big head and a tiny toy car to explain how dangerous driving tractors and drilling equipment on the curved surface of the mountain would be. I laughed so hard, I could not stand up. This was a big job. One for Navy Sea-Bees, not for us clowns. I wondered if there were any Sea-bees left or if the famous Osoma cuts had ended them completely. Osoma showed the world that we were serious about peace.
 
He said that the world did not have to live in fear of America anymore. Osoma disbanded all elite Navy Seal Teams and apologized for their actions. That same day, he prosecuted two 'Seal Team Six' members for beating a gay bomber in Yemen. In one year, U.S. Defense spending was cut sixty percent. Ships like the Great Ark were sold for scrap.

From the ship then landed a chopper, which were only used in emergency situations. They were too 'fuelish' for Captain Coe. Edison Oliver stayed at the controls. The Dean of our ship's college ran over to Joe. (Randy walks with a limp so the trip took a while) Coe then waved over Unk and me.

“We've got a problem” Joe shouted through his cupped hands. “Go with Leach. Figure it out. Handle it. I don't care how. Unk, you are in charge. Use of ship phones by your group is strictly forbidden. You report only to me Unk. Go, move fast!”

Unk and I were briefed by Dean Randy Leacher, a man of low stature and even lower character. He was nick-named 'the Snake' by his students. We then waved over Marshall Moore, Duck and Steve Miller (Suicide). The Dean's tongue made snake-like movements as he spoke. He was freaky, and evil.

“Gentlemen, when we left island number two, four young freshmen students, or boys, stayed behind as a stupid statement that only mischievous youngsters can think of. The four boys had all been workers on the island. They are all 19 and 20 years old and members of the same caving club back home. Evidently, the boys found something to explore on the island and could not resist. Please bring them back alive. Good luck!”

I wondered why the boys had been chosen for our work party in the first place. They seemed too immature to have been on our crew. Truly, I believe Joe Coe would have counted the boys as missing in action and forgotten
 
all about them, but Tommy's Dad was 'somebody', whatever that means, so the boys could not simply go unaccounted for. We were out of range for chopper flights and out of range for sea planes. Unk devised a seaplane on the water refueling plan that could make the trip, using himself, Duck, Steve and myself. We would also take with us 'Doc', a nurse practitioner, who looked just like Andy Griffith on Mayberry, just in case the boys needed medical attention. We would fly to the halfway point, land on the ocean (weather permitting) and refuel. Then head back to the island. Then we would meet the planes again on the way back and refuel again to get back to the ship. We would use our drop tanks, because pouring fuel would be made much less work and give us a chance if we ended up slightly off-course. All eight planes were soon in the air after taxiing out the big back door in the stern of the ship. We all joked about how much Old Joe would bill Tommy's dad for rescuing his namesake. This was on top of the sixty thousand it cost a student to 'work' a year on the Ark.

We all landed and refueled at sea as planned. A beautiful day for it! We 'heroes' were all in a jovial mood. All glad to be out of that radio tower mess on island number three. Thank God for Joe's experts. They could have that job! Our little group seemed to have done most of the work on island two and now we were going back. We joked like fools on the old-fashioned radios and imitated truckers on a CB in a convoy. Duck brought up the student who died on island three, trying to get me laughing. Doc had been up with Duck until the refueling point, when Unk had moved him to my plane during refueling. Now I saw why; Duck was drunk! Doc now brought out the medicine bottle in my plane. I did have a slight cough. We talked and joked about that tragic day when young student Peter Vault died, trying our best to give proper respect to the dead while we sipped, skimmed and toasted our way across the blue-green ocean.

Back when we first arrived on island number three, there was one lone, tall pine tree growing on the rocky clearing that would soon become our habitat camp. The tree was tall and thin with branches only at the very top. Within minutes, a young Guardian leader, one Peter Vault, was in the top of the tree camping out. Vault was determined to save his tree from destruction by living in it. No one had
  
as yet thought about cutting it down anyway. Peter showcased his heroism live from the top of his tree. He was a favorite on Facebook and Youtube.

Much of the island was covered with trees, but this pine tree had not had enough soil to grow old in our habitat's thin rocky soil. Peter spent the first night in his tree. The next morning at lunch his supporters were using ropes to bring up supplies to Peter. During our lunch break Peter had the attention of our entire group as his supporters
  
slowly attempted to reach him with supplies time after time with out much success, this was a very funny site to watch!