Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (47 page)

They all loved her and I explained that we couldn’t eat here with Blaze, so we went to Sonic Drive-In. Jalapeno poppers were on sale and four Cajun men couldn’t resist. We had a great time together and Blaze found some new friends. My family checked into the dog-friendly hotel where I was staying. Roger’s twin sons had just graduated from high school. Andrew was going to LSUA in the fall and Mark was joining the Marines in July. The two boys were as different as night and day. Andrew the artist was the sensitive one, whose green eyes from his mother mirrored a soul that was thoughtful and introspective. Mark with his dark eyes and rugged good looks was a man’s man, athletic, strong and aggressive, willing to take chances and driven to win.

We arose early and took the drive-through to get breakfast at McDonald’s as we had to accommodate Blaze.

FISHING IN THE GULF OF MEXICO

We finished breakfast and headed down to the dock to meet the captain and his two mates at zero seven hundred. We boarded with our fishing tackle and our ice chests full of food and drink. I stood at the bow of the spar deck with my hand on the gunnel, gazing toward the sunrise. The weather was fair and the sun hung low in the cloudless azure-blue sky like a Spanish doubloon, painting a ribbon of gold upon the calm, sapphire-blue sea and dividing it before me. The bow of the ship cut an ever-expanding wedge of wake lines and the cutwater below produced a clean hiss in the morning air.

Captain Thibodeaux charged me a little extra to take Blaze aboard because he thought she might be a little trouble. Our destination was the southern Chandeleur Islands in the Gulf of Mexico, where we planned to fish the islands for redfish and specs. I’d packed my waders and fly rod, as I was planning to fly fish the saltwater flats. Blaze was excited and fascinated by the sights and smells of the sea. I smiled at the sight of her with both paws on the gunnel, looking out at the sea while we were moving along. With her mouth open and tongue hanging out, she was as close to being in doggy heaven as was possible on Earth. Dolphins followed our boat, probably hoping for scrap fish parts that were sometimes thrown overboard when the mates cleaned fish for their clients and Blaze barked excitedly. Breathing deeply and tasting the tang of the salt air, I wondered if I should buy a boat and retire out here someday.

The captain got us as close as possible to one of the southern Chandeleur Islands and set anchor. We loaded a skiff with our gear and my dog and headed inland. Smelling and investigating everything, Blaze wandered around the island while I fished the day away. We fished the sloughs on the southernmost island’s backside flats all day and got an impressive catch of specs and some bull reds. The captain met us at sundown, and we showed him our catch.

Captain Thibodeaux told us of a place where we could catch some blackfin tuna for sure and maybe a yellowfin if we were lucky. The plan was to fish next to a natural gas platform at night. They kept lights on at night, and it attracted baitfish. And where there was baitfish, there was going to be tuna. The captain offered to supply us with heavy rigs that we needed. Since we’d fish tomorrow night away, we had tomorrow day off. We could enjoy the night and sleep in late. The mates filleted our fish and bagged and iced them for us. When I got back to the hotel, I put them all on a saltwater soak. I’d cook them when we awoke in the afternoon in the kitchenette at the hotel.

Later tonight we were going to eat all the Cajun food we could, listen to some genuine Cajun music, drink a few beers and spend some time together as a family. I fed Blaze some fish before we shoved off and left her with the desk clerk, but had to pay him for his trouble. We chose a New Orleans style Cajun restaurant with a live band. Returning to the hotel about zero two hundred, we played poker until sunup. We laughed, carried on and had a great time. My nephew Mark asked me if he could serve with me, but changed his mind when I told him that I only set eyes upon women once every two years due to my special assignment. As much as I would like to have him with me, I was pleased to hear that. My father’s family line was all here, and I didn’t want him killed on Mars.

We ate breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Afterward I walked Blaze, fed her a fish and turned in for some shut-eye. I slept soundly until eleven ten and awoke to the sound of my nephew Andrew knocking on the door.

“Wake up, Uncle Gene, let’s cook lunch.” I let him in, and showered and trimmed my beard. When I came back, my brother and his two boys were planning to cook dinner. We had some oil in a large pot on the stove to cook fish and French fries, and it was already heating up. The refrigerator had some salad makings I’d purchased on the way here. My brother and Mark were already there when I got out of the shower and everyone was ready to eat. In Louisiana, fish are almost always cooked in cornmeal, but I convinced them to let me try tempura batter. The boys scrubbed the potatoes and cut the eyes out but didn’t peel them. I preferred peel on and thick cut. The potatoes were drained of water and cut into wedges. Once the large oil pot was hot, we dropped in the battered fillets and potato wedges. The smell of the fish bubbling in the hot oil was making me hungry. After draining and cooling the rest of the fish and fries, we prayed and ate the best meal I’d had in a long time. This was not much different that my dinners made from fish we raise in our greenhouse fish tank on Mars, but this was better. This was with family, and it tasted better than ever.

We arrived at the dock promptly at fourteen hundred with enough food and drink to last us for the night. It took about four hours to reach the first offshore platform where we’d start. It was almost dark when we arrived. We had just a little daylight left to get prepared when the mate dropped anchor. In less than an hour, the sun would set, and the offshore platforms lights would come on and attract the baitfish. The rigs supplied by the captain were suitable for game fishing. I trusted his judgment as he was a professional and I was the tourist.

The idea was to catch the flying fish with a net when the rig lights came on and store the ones we weren’t using right away in a live well while we fished for yellowfin tuna on the surface. Dark descended, and when we’d netted all the flying fish we thought we could use in one night, we settled down to fish. We hooked the baits in the lip and cast them between fifty to one hundred yards out, bump trolling the bait. Yellowfin tuna were predators and gave a very sporting fight, but we were all successful. When the action died down, we switched to fishing deep for blackfin tuna. Using heavy jigs, which simulated squid, we dropped them about one hundred feet deep and used a fast return. The evening was a success, taking even more fish than the first trip. I decided we’d use Captain Thibodeaux’s services the next time I’m back on Earth.

All in all, we caught three yellowfins, two blackfins and a young mako shark. This would be a night to remember forever. This was almost enough to tempt me to come home for good, but not quite. The sun was rising over the gulf when we left for land, causing the surf-blue water to shine gold as the sunlight danced on its wake. Andrew knew how I felt about pictures, so he sketched charcoal drawings of us to capture the memories of the evening. He was a talented artist and had been awarded an art scholarship. He hoped to turn his love of art into a lifetime profession. My brother Roger was hoping at least one of the boys would take over the farm one day, but was going to give them their space until they decided on which path in life was their own.

The captain’s mates were very experienced with processing fish. It was all cleaned, filleted and packed in barrels with dry ice. Some tuna and shark fillets I’d be taking back to Mars. Much of it was going home with Roger and a portion of mine would go to Major Ripsnort in exchange for ignoring my weight limit back. Blaze had a ball, and I hoped it wouldn’t be hard to get her back into the transport freighter home.

We returned to the hotel and got a good night’s sleep in preparation to go to St. Louis to watch a Cardinals game.

In the morning, I packed my stuff and hitched the trailer with my Harley to my rented truck. I’d drive the rental pickup to St. Louis and turn it in there after the game, and go back to the Academy on my Harley. I had my portion of fish and shark steaks shipped to the Academy on dry ice.

At first light, we headed to St. Louis, MO., but it wouldn’t be straight as the crow flies. I had no intention of meeting up with someone with whom I grew up with going through Alexandria. We’d take the long way around, through Mississippi, then to Little Rock, and on to St Louis. This would also keep me from the temptation of trying to visit my parents’ graves. As much as I wanted to visit their graves, it also held a sort of Tom Sawyer twist to it. I’m supposed to be buried right next to them. I didn’t want someone who knew me deciding I was alive and making for a possible security leak. People seem to be full of conspiracy theories since JFK’s assassination and I didn’t want to fuel someone’s fertile imagination. Okay, so it was a secret conspiracy of sorts, but one that they didn’t need to know about. We fought hard for them, but knowledge of the war was on a
need to know
basis. The ASDC covered fine for me in most every encounter, but I had orders to stay away from my hometown.

When I retire, and my work is done on Mars, I’m sure some elaborate cover story could be made, to resurrect me so that I could go home and pay my respects to my parents.

It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day in St. Louis: fluffy, cottony-white cumulus clouds were scattered across the robins-egg blue sky. The national anthem choked me with emotion and finally the umpire called “play ball.”

The television camera catching me on film was a security no-no, but I wasn‘t concerned. My beard was full, and I was wearing a ball cap. When I’m daydreaming back on Mars, and the pressure is on, this is what I’m dreaming of. The stands were full of excited fans, there to support their hometown team. Roger and his boys grabbed an authentic baseball stadium lunch of beer, hotdogs and peanuts. On the way to our seats, I purchased two St. Louis Cardinals jerseys and two caps from the merchandise booth. I always wanted to be able to have a clean jersey when I watched the Cards on satellite TV back at home. The game was exceptionally exciting. The Cards won 6-3, driving in the winning runs with a home run in the bottom of the ninth inning.

After bidding a reluctant goodbye to Roger and the boys, I turned in my rental truck and took my Harley back to Utah. We made plans to hunt Elk in the fall on my next visit with COL SEAL’s brothers-in-law. I had initially been concerned about having Blaze ride in the sidecar of my Harley, but she loved it. I put a pair of goggles on her and she didn’t seem to mind at all. My dog was a sight with her tongue hanging out, and wearing goggles. I couldn’t help but smile. With my probably pregnant dog in the sidecar, we hit the road. After three days of leisure driving across beautiful country, we arrived back at the ASDC Academy. I purposely shaved my beard to make sure that I was easily identified by security at the academy. I’d be stowing my bike here, and on my next trip I could pick it up directly from here when I arrived.

TEACHING AT THE ACADEMY

After clearing several security checkpoints and verifying with fingerprints and retinal scan that I was who I was supposed to be, Blaze and I were escorted to my quarters. While I was unpacking, the door buzzer announced a new cadet, checking to see if I were settled in okay.

“Cadet Wilcox reporting for duty, sir.”

“At ease, Cadet. My quarters appear to be in order. I’ll need my itinerary.”

“Yes sir, I already have that.” He unfolded a paper with my teaching schedule for the week and handed it to me. “Sir, BG Edwards wants to see you in his office right away.”

BG Wilson Edwards’ secretary announced me, and I walked in to find the general studying the teaching itinerary for the next week. He was once as strong as a lion, but he had paid the toll on the turnpike of time. Seventy years old now, his hair was snow white and thinning, with deepening lines in his face and liver spots on the back of his bony hands, and his pale blue eyes were not as bright as they use to be. There were pictures on the wall of children, grandchildren, and a couple of great-grandchildren. Time had wrought wounds as deep as any that my men had suffered on the battlefield with the Soviets. It was not hard to believe the rumors of his retirement.