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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 15, 2023 11:18:50 GMT -6
Chapter 9
The first thing Seán did after getting out of the plane was inspect the hangar. They had only the east end wall to finish with the sheathing. Other men were putting in the insulation batts. They would finish up the next day. Seán went and got the Gator and loaded his purchases in the back. After putting the ammunition away, he added the amounts into his spreadsheet. His goal was to have 2000 rounds for every gun he had. He was well on the way there. Gong online, he went to the AmmoSeek site and checked for any good deals. He was looking specifically for 5.56 NATO, but they were wanting thirty-five cents a round. He needed to set up his reloader, buy more powder and primers, and get to reloading. He should have picked up primers and powder at that gun shop in Winston-Salem. They had everything. He would need more cases also. He might just take another plane ride back down and pick up everything he needed. He’d inventory everything and make a list.
Seán had been reading up about off-grid power systems so he would be somewhat knowledgeable when they came to install the system. He like most people, had never realized just how important the power grid was to the country. Sure, they had power losses from time to time that disrupted everyday activities, but they had their ways to overcome the temporary inconveniences. But how about if the power outage lasted for months? The economy would tank, and many people may starve. If there isn't power, fuel for delivery trucks doesn’t get pumped. Sewerage and water treatment plants stop operating, Millions of Americans’ lives and health depended on electricity. A malware virus or dozens of transformers being damaged at the same time would fold up the grids in the country like a cheap suitcase. He remembered what happened down in Texas during the ice storms a winter or two before. With the green nutjobs running around and half the terrorists on the planet try to find some way to destroy “The Great Satan,” It was only a matter of time. He would make sure he and the Frasers wouldn’t do without power. He was on his way to getting stocked up with food. It was going to cost some money and maybe that was the reason he had found the mason jars. He didn’t want to cash it all in. He wanted to have enough saved back in case the economy crashed. The dollar bill wasn’t worth that much now.
Other things he wrote down that he needed to start on were ammunition, going ahead and adding hydro generation capability, gathering emergency medical supplies, and he’d like to find another Rokon.
Curious, Seán went to the Rokon website and found a dealer only 73 miles from him up in Virginia. And Southwest Virginia Rokon was another twenty minutes farther away. He’d like to get another bike before Fala came back up so they could go trail riding. Well, first on his list was getting the reloading supplies. He called DASolar to find out when they would be there to install the systems They would be out the first of next week, so he had plenty of time to head to Winston-Salem and do some shopping. The plane could handle up to 700 pounds of cargo with no problems.
He could leave in the morning and be reloading by 1700.
Seán went to the bedroom he had set up as a reloading room and checked his equipment. He wanted to do 5.56 first tomorrow and changed the dies on the Dillon XL750. He wasn’t planning on reloading any shotgun shells anytime soon, so he didn’t mess with the MEC 9000E. He was going to purchase the components, but he had a good amount of shotgun shells already. He checked the plates on the shelf above the bench that had all of his die setups already mounted on the plates. He had setups for 243 Winchester, 6.5mm Creedmoor, .270 Winchester, .300 Blackout, .30-30 Winchester, 5.56mm, 7.62 x 39mm, 7.62 x 54mm, .338 Lapua, .45/70 Govt, 38 Spc / .357 Mag, .45 ACP, 9mm, and .45 Colt. Seán took down his setup for the 5.56 and mounted it in the machine and changed out the primer tube. He‘d adjust the powder measure tomorrow. He had 200 brass cases for the 5.56 he tossed into the tumbler and noted he needed more polishing medium.
Seán was up early and made breakfast before heading to Winston-Salem. Filling his water bottle, he drove the Gator up to the hangar and opened the door. He added five gallons of fuel to the 27-gallon tank to top it off and did his walk around. He started the engine, got it warmed up, then taxied away from the hangar to the top of the strip. Opening the throttle and releasing the brakes, the 180-horsepower engine got the plane off the ground quickly. Climbing to 2000 feet, Seán contacted Smith Reynolds tower and followed their instructions. The 110-kilometer trip only took thirty minutes.
There was very little traffic at Smith Reynolds, so he was on the ground quickly. After getting the plane tied down, Seán called a taxi and went first to Blue Collar Reloading, where he bought a lot of Starline brass, primers, powder, bullets, shotgun wads and slug sabots, and a couple of canisters of tumbler medium. He bought enough primers, he was almost embarrassed to take them to the counter, but they rang him up without a word. He got most of his shotgun reloading supplies at Gander Outdoors. He doubled up on everything at shops in Walkertown and Wallburg, and picked up ten-pounds of double-aught buckshot along with more sabot slugs in 12 and 20 gauge. Seán had the driver take him back to the airport and he loaded his purchases into the plane. Picking up the tail, he figured he could handle another three hundred pounds. Looking at his watch, he decided to fly down to Concord. There was a Bass Pro shop near the regional airport next to I-85. It was only about 50 miles away.
Seán decided he should have gone straight to Bass Pro to begin with. He loaded up on Hodgdon rifle and pistol powder, more Starline unprimed brass, including 45/70, large and small rifle and pistol primers, Hornady, Sierra, Nosler, X-treme rifle and pistol bullets, and 200 rounds of Berry’s 45-70 350 grain bullets. By the time his mouth quit salivating, Seán needed to leave the area if he didn’t want to land after dark, and he didn’t have his NVGs with him.
After loading the plane, he picked up the tail of the plane to check the balance and it felt okay. He powered the plane and called up the Bend on the NAVCOM. It showed 87 miles as the crow flies. He had plenty of fuel, so he got clearance and took off. The weather was nice and clear with amazingly, no headwinds. Seán landed with little effort, towed the plane, tail first, into the hangar and loaded everything in the Gator. Locking up the hangar, he went to the house. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so he unloaded everything into the loading room and fried up some potatoes, onions, and smoked sausage, and sipped on a glass of iced tea as he cooked.
Seán had an eerie feeling time was running out. After his meager supper, instead of going reloading, he put on his head flashlight, got out his shovel and a hand trowel and drove the Gator back up to the cave. He retrieved the rest of the mason jars of coins and carried them back down to the house. Melting the wax out of the jars took some time but by 11:00 PM he had it done. Two of the jars had a mix of old coins. He separated those out, and put one jar’s worth of eagles and jar of half eagles into coin display cases. Going online, Seán found a few coin shops in Asheville and then checked the flight schedule out of Asheville Regional. The first plane arrived from Charlotte around 0830 in the morning and the last scheduled flight from Atlanta around 1500. That would give him plenty of time to arrive before the scheduled flights, and leave and get back to the Bend before dark. He reserved a car at Enterprise at the airport, a temporary tie-down at the FSO, and a reservation at the Fairfield Inn. He would fly down Thursday, give the dealer time to grade the coins, and come back sometime during the weekend or Monday. It would take some time to grade those coins and would give him time to go see Fala.
The dealer Seán selected was good. He kept a poker face as Seán opened the case and laid the coins on the table. But Seán watched his eyes and there was a glimmer of excitement.
“It will take me some time to go through these. Do you want them appraised or are you interested in selling them?” The dealer asked.
“I want to sell them.” Seán replied.
“How would you like to be paid?”
I would like one third in cash and the rest transferred to a bank account.” Seán replied.
“Very well,” the dealer said. “Well, I have some work to do.”
The dealer signed a receipt for the coins and Seán left, pulling out his phone as he left the building.
Are you free for a late lunch?” Seán asked Fala.
“Are you in town?!” Fala asked.
“Not yet, but I think I can be there by half past one,” Seán replied.
“Well, I might as well keep working until you get here. Pick me up at the shop,” Fala said.
“I’ll see you in a while,” Seán replied.
They had lunch then went to the Cherokee museum to walk the meal off. At one of the novelty shops, Fala bought Seán a “Prepared Not Scared” T-shirt with a picture of a flying bullet on it. They ended up at a little park along the Oconaluftee River and Seán told her of his preparedness purchases. "There is a nurse that lives next to us that I could ask to make a list of must have items. She works up at the Indian Hospital.” Fala said.
“Do that. I’d like to find a friendly doctor who could provide prescriptions of antibiotics. They could get to be in short supply quickly, although I’ve read a few references to animal medicines that would work.” Seán said. “I need to do more research on that.”
They ate an early dinner with her mother, that evening, before Seán headed back to Asheville.
With nothing else to do, Seán spent the next day traveling to gun stores, REI, and Sportsman’s Warehouse. The gun shops were pitiful as to their offerings. Asheville was infested with left-wing transplants or white hippy artists with dreadlocks. The city was turning into an anti-gun haven. The gun stores could only carry what residents outside of the city were willing to purchase. Seán did make some purchases at REI of things that might be of use, or to be bartered, after a crisis event happened. Sportsman’s Warehouse was a bit better and had become the go-to place for shooters and hunters in the area. Seán picked up several packs of Aluminum Foil Dutch Oven Liners and the last six boxes of 45/70 bullets for reloading they had on sale. They were probably on sale because they couldn’t sell them anyway. That was a heavy caliber for that area. You can take down a black bear with a .30-30. He also found a pair of Danner mountain hiking boots on sale. He rounded out his purchases with a couple of pairs of outdoor pants, two different assortments of flies, and a fishing vest. He was storing his purchases in the rental car when the coin dealer called him, asking him to come in the next morning. Seán agreed and headed to the hotel.
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Post by gipsy on Oct 15, 2023 11:43:36 GMT -6
Thanks for the update.
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Post by feralferret on Oct 15, 2023 15:40:37 GMT -6
Is Tim still in business? Years back he used to be on Jack Spirko's expert council for on The Survival Podacast. I recall he'd ran into some business issues of some sort or other and faded off of there. I'd tried checking out his webpage for some gear and at the time he wasn't taking orders. If he's back up and running that's good news. I am assuming you will have Sean going through Clyde on his way to visit Fala down in Cherokee on occasion. If so, he needs to stop at Old Grouch's Military Surplus in Clyde. It is a real honest to God old fashioned surplus store. Tim Glance who owns the store is a retired Army CW3 and knows his surplus gear. He also has a large following in the prepper community. ogsurplus-com.3dcartstores.com/The link goes to an active website that shows both a physical store and online sales. One was eBay and the other was Etsy. He had active items on eBay.
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Post by feralferret on Oct 15, 2023 15:49:34 GMT -6
Another fine chapter. Thank you.
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Post by jpr9954 on Oct 15, 2023 20:30:49 GMT -6
Is Tim still in business? Years back he used to be on Jack Spirko's expert council for on The Survival Podacast. I recall he'd ran into some business issues of some sort or other and faded off of there. I'd tried checking out his webpage for some gear and at the time he wasn't taking orders. If he's back up and running that's good news. I am assuming you will have Sean going through Clyde on his way to visit Fala down in Cherokee on occasion. If so, he needs to stop at Old Grouch's Military Surplus in Clyde. It is a real honest to God old fashioned surplus store. Tim Glance who owns the store is a retired Army CW3 and knows his surplus gear. He also has a large following in the prepper community. ogsurplus-com.3dcartstores.com/He is absolutely still in business. I was in there about a month ago. He is using eBay more than his website because he is reaching a wider audience esp. for his special or one off collector items. Send me a DM and I'll send you his shop's phone number.
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Post by texican on Oct 15, 2023 22:15:19 GMT -6
N,
Writing about current events.
Thanks for the story.
Texican....
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Post by jpr9954 on Oct 16, 2023 12:16:43 GMT -6
I am liking this one more and more. It is probably because I can identify with the locations. My daughter teaches at Wallburg Elementary, I went to high school in Winston-Salem, I now live in a suburb of Asheville, and I used to live in Waynesville which is adjacent to Clyde.
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Post by ydderf on Oct 16, 2023 13:46:35 GMT -6
Thanks for the chapter
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Post by cashless1 on Oct 16, 2023 16:05:33 GMT -6
keep going we want more!
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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 17, 2023 22:26:32 GMT -6
Chapter 10
The dealer was quite impressed with Seán’s “Collection.” He went through the coins and explained why he graded the best and the worst of several coins. In the end, he offered Seán an impressive offer for the lot but wanted to negotiate the payment option. He explained that there were shows in Chicago and New York within the next month and he wanted to delay the complete payment until after the shows were over. He would give Seán 10% more if they could come to a deal. He was certain he could sell most of the coins at the shows, especially those dated in the mid-19th century. It would keep him from completely liquidating his account. Seán was willing to work with him and accepted an initial $100,000 in cash and the dealer signed a note for the remainder, witnessed by a shop owner next door. The dealer even provided a satchel to carry the money in.
Seán went back to the hotel, slid the satchel into his duffle, and did a quick search of the room to make sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind. Loading his bag in the rental, he headed out to the airport and after locking this bag in the plane, went to turn the car in. They gave him a ride back and Seán immediately did his pre-flight checks and started the engine. He quickly got clearance to taxi and after waiting for a commercial flight to land, was given clearance to take off. He ran the engine up and though not trying to do a short takeoff, was still in the air within 100 feet. The plane seemed as if it wanted to fly. He got to altitude and lined up on Mount Mitchell, occasionally dropping down into the valleys and having some fun. He let his mind wander a little, thinking of the things he wanted to do from his list. He began seeing a lot of military aircraft heading northwest so he kept down in the valleys. He recognized C-130’s and C-117s, probably out of Seymour Johnson, and they looked like they were going full throttle. Seán decided to refuel at Ashe County airport and save the fuel he had at home. Ashe County had no tower, so Seán got into the pattern and looked around for other aircraft. He landed long but stopped short, just before the taxiway. Quickly pulling into the tie-down area, he taxied over to the pumps, he shut down and got out his credit card.
He ended up needing only 12 gallons of 100LL to fill the tanks and only had to fly less than ten miles. As he was placing the hose back, a guy walked out of the hangar toward him.
“Hell of a mess they got out west, ain’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Seán said. “What’s going on?”
"They had a big tsunami out in Washington state. They say maybe thousands were killed. They activated the Air Guard and are taking supplies out there.” “That’s why I’ve been seeing all the military aircraft.” Seán replied.
“Yep. They’re keeping the air routes open for disaster relief.”
Seán started the plane up and tuned the AM radio to the West Jefferson station and taxied out to the runway. He didn’t even go to the threshold, just pulled onto the runway, and took off quickly. The news station was wall to wall reporting of the mess in Washington.
Normally, volcanic eruptions are given little notice by the rest of the world, they are interesting, but of little interest to the rest of the world unless you live right next to it. This is particularly the case for seamount eruptions. These occur underwater and rarely gain the attention of the media who are busy digging up dirt on conservative politicians instead of telling you what is really going on. The Axial Seamount, located on the Juan de Fuca Ridge, approximately 480 km west of Cannon Beach, Oregon, and standing 1,100 meters high; is one of the most studied submarine volcanoes in the world, was apparently not studied or monitored enough. Although predicting earthquakes is in its infancy, predicting volcanic eruptions is in its nascency. There was no indication of a possible eruption when the seamount erupted, just an ear-ringing boom and the sight of volcanic material shooting up at hypersonic speed, forming a plume that stretched 40 miles into the sky. A scientist was quoted, “This lack of monitoring is not neglect, but simply that there are many such potentially active submarine volcanoes, and even a single seismometer is expensive to install and to maintain.” There you have it, the government, instead of spending money to protect the people of our nation, had spent our taxpayer dollars on bribes to governments hostile to us, political junkets, and shoring themselves up in their seats of power.
The native Pacific Islanders that lived and worked in the area around Cannon Beach and the Tolovana Beach State Recreation Site immediately recognized the receding waters as an indicator of a tsunami and immediately tried to get to higher ground, but most did not make it. The first wave broke, quickly overtaking everyone racing away from the beaches and toppling power transmission towers like matchwood. Combined with the ensuing waves, the tsunami wiped clean the recreation area from John Yeon State Park down to below Arch Cape, with thousands perishing. The tsunami sent surges miles up the Colombia River and smaller streams, destroying property along the banks and wrecking watercraft. A few hours later, a sulfuric odor wafted over the desolated landscape and reshaped coastline. Mount Hood and Mount. St. Helens were showing increased volcanic activity and earthquakes at Mt. Shasta increased. Virtually every coastal nation in the Pacific basin was impacted to some extent.
Seán listened to the reports over the radio and thought, “Whoa! Didn’t see that coming!”
The initial effects would not be the worst of it. When the underwater volcano erupted, it sent untold amounts of water vapor into the stratosphere. Volcanic ash itself will reflect sunlight and cause cooling of the earth. However, water vapor will capture the heat of the sun and cause a rising of temperatures. The green doomsayers had been right; the earth was going to get hotter, but it wasn’t because of an overabundance of Cooper Minis on the road. Cooler temperatures of the upper atmosphere soon cooled the water vapor, developing monsoon-like rains initially mixed with volcanic ash, causing devastating flash floods to interior parts of the states of Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, and Wyoming. The geysers spewed a little more and earthquakes were felt at Yellowstone, but the activity soon calmed back down.
As soon as Seán landed, he put the plane away and headed to the house. Turning his computer on, Seán scrolled through his bookmarks and calculated, using his food spreadsheet, how much wheat he would need for two years for five people. He ordered hard and soft wheat, basmati rice, brown rice, black eyed peas, pinto beans, navy beans, two cases of Red Feather butter, two cases of Bega canned cheese and six one-year food units. He called the company in Nebraska so he could get an exact price. They included shipping in the price and if he ordered over the internet, there would be a shipping delay. He wrote down on his grocery list to get twenty-four gallons of cooking oil to go with the food units. He went to the Nitro-Pak website and ordered four of their Platinum 12 Month Food units to complete his purchases for now. Weather patterns were going to change, and he didn’t know if they would get a garden in and what kind of growing season they would have.
He quickly got up and turned the TV on to Fox News. Of course, reporters were on the ground and in the air showing the devastation of the eruption and tsunami. Not a good day to be on the beach. Rescuers were bagging bodies in the background as the reporter droned on. It would possibly take months to determine how many lives had been lost.
Seán pulled up his food inventory spreadsheet and began adding things to his grocery shopping list. Everything had an indefinite storage life, so he was going to get plenty. Vinegar, Baking Soda, Hard Candy, Corn Syrup, Maple Syrup, Popcorn, and Vanilla Extract. Going to another website, Seán ordered three ten-pound wheels of waxed cheeses, and freeze-dried and dehydrated fruits and vegetables in #10 cans from another site, all paid for out of his “Kiss My Ass” account. Last but not least, he bought three buckets of freeze-dried coffee packs from Patriot supply. He had coffee grounds, but it didn’t keep that long even though he only bought it in metal cans. As it was, he was only keeping a 2-years supply of ground coffee on hand. The RQ-170 “Wraith” overflew the area of destruction and captured the area on film and transmitted it to the Whitehouse Situation room before heading west to film the area of the Axial Seamount. A computer screen was set up for the Zoom call to Arnold Blakesly, FEMA Director on site at a staging base set up at Portland–Hillsboro Airport.
“How in the hell did this happen with no warning!” The Vice President asked.
“Cutting the USGS budget last year probably didn’t help any,” An aide mumbled.
The FEMA Director sat down at the computer and began the call to Washington when a big tremor almost bounced the computer off the field table.
“Mt. Hood is acting up again!” Someone shouted.
South of Anderson, Alaska, at the Clear Space Force Station, and the 11th Air Force and the 176th Air Defense Squadron located at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson, Anchorage, were on heightened alert. With what was going on in the lower 48, It would be an opportune time for America’s adversaries to launch missiles.
Seán decided he was going to allocate one hour a day to reloading ammo. It doesn’t seem like much time, but he could load twelve boxes of shotgun shells or several hundred rounds of rifle and pistol ammo an hour with the progressive loading machines. He could afford to be flexible on the times when he reloaded.
Several weekend warriors in the area belonging to the 176th Combat Sustainment Support Battalion in Johnson City were activated and were heading to the northwest for recovery efforts. Shipments of Seán’s orders were being delivered almost daily. He was surprised the food orders were coming in. He figured that FEMA would have confiscated as much as they could, but then again, perhaps they weren’t trying very hard.
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Post by feralferret on Oct 18, 2023 4:28:23 GMT -6
Ncsfsgm, that was a rather abrupt turn of events. I feel a bit of whiplash.
Thanks for the new chapter.
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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 18, 2023 7:25:28 GMT -6
Chapter 11
Seán talked to Fala that evening and she said she had some time to come up if he wanted.
“As far as I’m concerned, you can come up anytime you want.” Seán said. “I don’t know what Maggie and Grady’s plans are though. You might want to talk to Maggie.”
“Couldn’t I stay in your guest room?” Fala asked.
“Sure, but I respect Maggie and will have to talk to her to make sure it doesn’t bother her.” Seán said.
“Well, I’m coming up anyway, no matter.” Fala said.
They talked an hour more as Seán related to Fala what he had been doing.
“What are you preparing for?” Fala asked.
“I’ve got a bad feeling something is going to happen.” Seán said. “There is a Matrix of evil in Washington that wants to solidify its power, but it is coming unglued. Those in power will want to throw the blame at someone or something to cover the reason their crystal palace is falling down around their ears. The rest of the people outside their cabal will just be collateral damage. It could be an economic crisis, a natural disaster, or whatever, but they will use it to take complete control. Much like the way the Nazis did in Germany. Someone or group will be targeted as a false flag. Now we’ve got the mess up in the northwest and it’s a ‘wait and see’ how they will handle it.”
“Well, don’t get into any trouble. I wouldn’t want to lose you now.” Fala said.
“Don’t worry. I’m staying low key,” Seán replied.
They finally said good night and Seán went to his gun vault and pulled out the Black Aces Mini 12 Gauge Shotgun. He emptied out the rounds and wiped the gun down. Reloading the gun, chambered a round then added one more shell to the tube. Going to the Reloading Room, he loaded 300 rounds of 5.56 then went to bed.
The next morning, on his way to the hardware store in West Jefferson, Seán stopped at Maggie’s to talk to her about Fala staying at his place.
Maggie whooped and grinned. “I've been hoping for you two to get together. She’s already in love with you. I can hear it in the way she talks about you."
“It is lonely when she’s not around.” Seán admitted. “I guess you already know we’ve slept together.”
Maggie smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Finding and being intimate with a mate is the single sweetest part of being a human.”
Seán told Maggie he was heading to West Jefferson and asked if there was anything she needed. She asked him to pick up a box of raisins for her. Seán said he would and left. As he drove to town, Seán decided to take a ride up to Southwest Virginia Rokon in Pembroke, Virginia and see what models they had on hand.
Seán picked up his things at the hardware store then stopped by Walmart and picked up six one-pound boxes of raisins. He would give Maggie one box and vacuum pack the rest to have on hand. Maggie made excellent cinnamon bread.
SWV Rokon had a few Rokons on display, but the only color Seán was interested in was the black Trail-Breaker. He took his time and picked out accessories to be installed there and the salesman said they would have the bike ready in a couple of hours, so Seán went down the street to Bluegrass BBQ and had lunch, then stopped by the local IGA and bought two fresh smoked sugar cured Virginia hams.
Seán returned to the Bend with a black Trail-Breaker bike with LED Headlight, Universal Accessory Rail for the front, Quick Change Extended Rear Cargo Rack, Brush Busters, Receiver Tow Bar, receiver insert and trailer ball, Tach/Hour meter, Single Track trailer, tire chains, two trail kits, four spare chains, and Seán had the AutoGrab Front Suspension Upgrade Kit added. And of course, he picked out a helmet for Fala. The bike was set up almost identical to his, just prettier.
Seán had never been sick with the flu until he went into the Army and had to take flu shots. He was raised to take a weekly dose of elderberry syrup on every Saturday morning at Breakfast. He couldn’t really remember being sick as a boy except one time from eating green apples. After his first bout of flu in the military, Seán began taking a daily dose of Sambucol Elderberry capsules. His medic, Barry Buchannon, covered for him, but he never took another flu shot and never got the flu again. Actually, it got the Doc looking at natural remedies because of the obscure areas they went to. In gathering his medical supplies, he stocked up on elderberry syrup and capsules and continued taking his weekly dose. Seán was concerned that the disease carrying illegal immigrates pouring over the border would become vectors of diseases there was no quick cure for. He needed to talk to Fala on this and see what the Native Americans used as homeopathic treatments.
On the spur of the moment, Seán decided to fly to Winston-Salem and pick up a load of oil to change the oil in the tractor. While he was going, he’d pick up oils for the rest of the vehicles and filters too, even the old Ford COE. He was going to keep enough oil and filters on hand for at least two more oil changes. He learned later Foster Fuels would deliver engine oils in 55-gallon drums, which he would take advantage of. He was on the ground in Winston-Salem Tuesday when Fala arrived. She had gone up to his house, put her bag in the bedroom, checked the pinto beans Seán had cooking in the slow cooker, added water, and went back down to talk to Maggie until Seán returned home.
When Seán landed at the farm he taxied straight into the hangar and shut down. Loading his cargo into the gator, he went straight to the garage and stacked the cases and boxes on the workbench, then headed down to Maggie’s. He had seen Fala’s vehicle parked there before he touched down.
A smiling Maggie opened the door at Seán’s knock and Fala greeted Seán with a hug.
“I didn’t expect you until Thursday or maybe Saturday,” Seán told Fala.
“Well, we have all the costumes done and if any repairs are needed, my two assistants can handle them.” Fala said.
“Good!” Seán said. “Are you up for a trip to Winston-Salem tomorrow?”
“Are you flying or driving?” Fala asked.
“Oh, I’m driving. I’m going to Sam’s Club and COSTCO.” Seán replied.
“Okay, I’ll go with you,” Fala replied.
Fala started to get up and Maggie told them both to stay for supper. Seán said he needed to run up the hill and check on something and he would be back. Fala began helping Maggie as Seán left. He hadn’t a clue what made him think of it at the time, except the trackchair had been in the back of his mind for a while and never thought to check on it. He had unloaded the chair into the shed when he first arrived, and it hadn’t been on a charger since he left Maryland. The Action Trackchair had been an impulse buy before he realized he would be quite mobile with his prosthetics. It was built for outdoor use, had rubber tracks, and could run for several hours on a full charge. He even bought a couple of accessories for it, a fishing rod holder, and a gun cradle.
The battery voltage meter showed it still had a 50% charge. Amazing, since it hadn’t been charged for several weeks. He pulled the solar charging panels out of the rack and set them up outside, then connected the cable to the charging unit. There wasn’t a lot of daylight left but it would get charged the next day. Perhaps he could find someone who could use the trackchair and just donate it. He would like to see it go to another Vet.
The venison roast was delicious, and the collards had that smokey taste of the ham hocks they were cooked in. After supper, Grady and Seán retired to the porch and Seán noticed Grady had a mini potbelly stove set up.
“Where in the world did you get that?” Seán asked.
“Perry Baucom found it in one of his sheds. His daddy used to work on the railroad over in Johnson City and those little potbellies were used to heat the caboose and passenger cars up until the ‘50s when they went to diesel engines.”
“Interesting,” Seán said. “Grady, I’ve got a wheelchair made for someone to use outside. I don’t need it and I was thinking of donating it to someone who could use it, preferably a Vet.”
“I don’t know of anyone off-hand, but you should talk to Boyce Peters. He’s big in the VFW down in Jefferson. If anyone would know, it would be him.”
“I’ll check him out. Does he and his wife still run that antique store?" Seán asked.
“Yeah, but you’ll probably find him across the road at the general store drinking coffee with the old-timers,” Grady said, smiling.
“I’ll check him out tomorrow.” Seán replied.
Fala followed him back to the house and he carried her bag in.
“I didn’t know you had a wheelchair,” Fala said.
“Yeah, it was a spur of the moment thing. I wanted to still get around but found I could do pretty good on my peg leg and didn’t need it. I figured I’d donate it to someone less fortunate than I.” Seán replied.
“I wish you’d quit referring to it as your ‘peg leg’,” Fala said.
“Yes ma’am. I’ll quit.”
“But it’s nice that you’re willing to donate the chair to someone who could use it.,” Fala said.
For some reason Seán began talking. When he started talking it was like a dam bursting. He told Fala what he had seen and done when he was in the military, the failure of the leadership and its politicalization, and what he saw this country becoming.
“Fala, I had weeks to think while lying in the hospital. I had volunteered to serve my country and was feeling pretty down. In a period of self-pity, I decided to buy the trackchair to keep from being limited to what I could do outdoors. I was lucky in that I found I wasn’t going to be as immobilized as I thought, and I want to pass my good fortune on. I left behind a foot during my service, given a bunch of rows of ribbons, the wings of a paratrooper and those of several allied countries, a medical pension, combat scars, and my memories. But I’m doing all right. If I don’t get a chance to do another decent thing in my life, maybe I can brighten someone’s life and pull them out of the dumps.”
“I’m sure it will brighten their day,” Fala said.
“I think I’ll delay our trip to Winston-Salem a bit and go find Boyce Peters. If he knows of someone for the chair, I could extend our trip and take the chair to a dealer in Staunton, Va and have the chair completely checked out. I don’t want to give it to someone and have it die on them. I can haul it up in the trailer and then we can go to Winston-Salem. That means we will have to stay overnight.”
“Staying in a motel with you doesn’t scare me,” Fala said.
“Okay then, that’s what we’ll do,” Seán said.
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Post by feralferret on Oct 18, 2023 15:39:56 GMT -6
Thanks, ncsfsgm.
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Post by gipsy on Oct 18, 2023 16:56:57 GMT -6
Thanks for the update.
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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 20, 2023 9:41:26 GMT -6
Chapter 12
Barry Buchannon closed the door on the Pangea and pressed the remote, lowering the roof back down. He was finally ready. Checking the trailer hitch and the electric brake cable harness, he went around and climbed into the cab and began the journey of almost 2200 miles. Next stop, Nashua, MT. He pressed the radio button and selected the Fox Business Channel and listened to the gurus discussing the current economy. Nothing much good was said. Barry had some money market funds his father had helped him start when he had a paper route. Barry’s father believed in generational wealth and lent Barry $100,000 to get started. Barry was to pay his father back, with no interest when he had cleared $200,000. Barry paid him back before he turned 23-years-of-age and let it ride, except for advice from his father. Barry had never wanted for anything but usually he didn’t want much. What he usually wanted money couldn’t buy, like a faithful girlfriend. He had wanted the Pangea when he saw it at the wrecking yard at the docks and paid cash for it, had it shipped to Missouri and had it repaired, and bought a new off-road cargo trailer and had it repainted with a matching paint scheme. He had done that in his last six months in service, so it was ready when he put his last signature on Army documents. Barry had had a plan. With his SF Medical training and the courses, he had already taken online, he would be a Physician’s Assistant in less than a year, going full time to UNC Medical School. After that, he could write his own ticket. Barry had finished and got his degree and took a contract for one year at the Blackfeet reservation near Browning, Montana. When the contract was up, Barry had a choice of renewing the contract with the reservation or taking a contract with an oil company on the north slope. It would be cold on the north slope. Maybe as cold as Montana in the Winter, and Barry was a wuss when it came to weather that cold. He was heading south now to warmer climes.
I was floating in a deep black void. Warmth and darkness surrounded me. I could hear voices that seemed to be coming from far away, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. Where was I? Was I dead? What happened to me? I struggled to remember, to pull myself out of the void. I tried to holler "here I am", but I had no voice. Then, absolute blackness enveloped me and took me away.
Light coming from somewhere, too bright! Turn it off! My warm protective darkness drifted away like a dissipating fog bank, replaced by noise and pain. Come back. Don't go.
"Sergeant Blake, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"
A hand tapping on my arm, a voice, soft and gentle. "Go away, let me sleep" I try to say, but nothing comes out. The sounds of beeping a constant in the room.
"Wake up Sergeant Blake. Open your eyes for me." More tapping, light and soothing, almost like a caress. I struggle to make my eyelids obey and slowly they open, and my eyes begin to focus, and blurred images begin to morph into shapes, a kind female face peering down at me, a warm hand resting on my arm.
"Welcome back Sergeant, you’re coming out of the anesthesia from the operation." I hear a gentle voice say. “My name is Lieutenant Shafer.”
"Where am I?" My voice is a raspy whisper, my throat feels like I've swallowed volcanic dust.
"You're in Landstuhl Military Hospital in Germany Sergeant, you've been wounded."
"My men? What about the men I was with?"
"I understand that two were wounded with you and one, Master Sergeant Owens, died from his injuries."
“What about the doc?”
If you are referring to your team medic, he saved your life. He did a professional job of tying off the bleeders in your leg and kept you in Ringers until you could be Medevac’d.
Seán sat up quickly in the bed and ran his hand across his sweaty forehead.
“What’s wrong?” Fala asked. “Are you all right?"
“Yeah, just bad memories turned into bad dreams.” Seán said. Getting up he went to the kitchen and got a tall glass of cold water. Glancing at the clock, Seán set up the percolator and added wood to the firebox. It was no use in trying to get back to sleep.
After breakfast that morning, Seán and Fala headed down to Jefferson to find Boyce Peters. As he had been told, Boyce was in a rocking chair on the porch of the store drinking coffee and laughing with two men. The two other men got up and left when Seán approached Boyce.
“My Glory! I haven’t seen you in a coons age! How are you doing? I heard told you had gotten shot up.”
Seán reached down and pulled up his left pants leg and Boyce gasped.
“Oh Lordy! I’m so sorry Seán!” Boyce said, his face was a picture of sorrow.
“I’m getting around all right. That’s sorta what I wanted to talk to you about.” Seán said. “When I was in the hospital, I ordered a wheelchair but barely used it because I’m more mobile with my peg leg and don’t need it. I was wondering if you knew anyone I could donate it to that needs one.”
Boyce rubbed his chin. “Well, as near as I can remember anyone that needs a chair already has one.”
“This isn’t your normal chair.” Seán said. “This chair has tracks like a crawler. It was designed to be used outside. I even have mounts for it to hold a fishing rod or a gun. Of course, it’s electric and can go a long way before recharging.”
Boyce’s eyes lit up. “Well, that’s unusual, but now that I think of it, our local Guard unit has a truck driver that rolled his truck and ended up paralyzed from the waist down. He would probably like something like that.
“Well, I’d like to donate the chair through the VFW.” Seán said. “He’s going to need a way to transport it when he gets it and some way to get in and out of the chair.”
“Emmet Hasty can probably figure something out.” Boyce said. “His sister couldn’t walk either. Where is this chair?”
“It’s at my house but I’m going to take it to a dealer and have it gone over, make sure it’s like new.” Seán said. “I’ll bring it to the VFW when I get it back.”
“Sounds fine. Stay in touch and I’ll get things rolling on this end. You’re doing a mighty fine thing.”
Seán and Fala went back to the Bend, loaded the trackchair in the trailer and headed to Staunton, Virginia, on their way to Winston-Salem.
The manager at Mountaineer TrackChair was more than happy to help. When Seán explained what he wanted done and why, the manager took special interest. He told Seán he would call him when they had thoroughly gone over the chair.
They stopped for lunch in Roanoke, where they had to turn off to pick up highway 220 down to Winston-Salem. It was mid-afternoon when they reached Sam’s Club, so they did their first round of shopping there, then got a room at the Comfort Inn. Before dinner, they went to Academy Sports and poured through the fishing gear. Fala picked out a light spinning rod and reel and small crankbaits, while Seán collected several crawfish soft baits (The smallmouth bass loved them in the springtime), hooks, some cork bobbers, and fishing line.
They had dinner at Firebirds Wood Fired Grill, dining on Roasted Garlic Sirloins before going back to the hotel.
After a light breakfast of croissants, cheeses, and fruit, they went to COSTCO and loaded up on the Kirtland coffee because it was packed in metal cans. Fala found a can of mocha mix and Seán added it to the cart. Other things they loaded up on were toilet paper, paper towels, cooking oil in 5-gallon jugs, peanut butter, and some meats. Seán talked to one of the workers and he brought Seán six of the waxed meat boxes the meat was shipped in (he would take his meats and cheeses and lay blocks of dry ice in each box to get them the hour and a half home.) They added laundry detergent and cleaning supplies, Seán selecting three times as much than he normally would buy. Once the trailer was full, they were shopped out and ready to get back to the Bend.
Not bothering to stop for lunch, Seán drove straight home, unloaded, and stored everything while Fala made dinner.
Seán went in and opened up the rifle display case and took out the Remington Nylon 66 .22 LR rifle.
The Nylon 66 had no serial number as it was manufactured in September 1959 – five years before the requirement of serialization, and one year after the Nylon 66 was introduced! The polymer stock was in excellent condition with no cracks and only minor scuffing from usage. The bluing was in very good condition with only minor surface staining and oxidation around the muzzle. He had taken several rabbits, a couple of coons, and a doe deer once. There are those that say you can’t take a deer with a .22 rimfire, but he was so close that deer couldn’t be anything but dead. He had used a .22 hollow point that he had tapped a Phillips screwdriver down into the hollow area. When the bullet hit, it fragmented like crazy. Hit the deer right in the eye. Seán took out a small bottle of Break Free, put a drop into the receiver and stroked the bolt back a few times, then put it away, taking out the next gun which was the Winchester 94.
The Winchester Model 94 was chambered for 22 short, long, and long rifle cartridges. It was his favorite .22 rifle prior to his introduction to Henrys. Seán had taken a lot of small game with the rifle. It had a straight-grip walnut stock with a 20.5-inch barrel and there is very little wear showing on the rifle because they had taken good care of it. Applying oil in a couple of places, Seán worked the lever a few times and put it away. The next gun he didn’t even take out. It was the Black Aces Tactical Pro Series S Mini 12 Gauge Shotgun he normally kept in the camper.
Seán heard back from the company that was going to re-side the barn and put up the two-story storage building. Their target date was the third week of March, they had the kits in that Seán wanted. What he had made from the sale of the barnwood had completely paid for the new construction.
Seán showed Fala the remaining jars of coins and she was intrigued about who had handled the gold in the past. It was a historical thing to her. She examined each coin as she used distilled mineral spirits to do the final cleaning as Seán melted the wax out of the jars and separated the coins. Fala wanted to see where Seán had found the coins, so they took a break and went up to the cave after they finished the last of the coins and placed them into plastic cases.
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Post by cashless1 on Oct 20, 2023 9:55:59 GMT -6
waiting for more please
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Post by gipsy on Oct 20, 2023 10:06:27 GMT -6
No rest for the good. Thanks for the update.
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Post by feralferret on Oct 20, 2023 21:24:37 GMT -6
Ncsfsgm, thanks!
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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 22, 2023 7:27:29 GMT -6
Chapter 13
Seán unlocked the door and lit a couple of gas lanterns. Fala’s eyes were wide open as she was led through the cave system and aging rooms.
“Where did you find the jars?” Fala asked.
“In the distilling room, this way,” Seán replied.
Seán led her to the square hole in the limestone floor and she stood back and looked. Her eyes swept over the room, then picked up the grain scoop and went over to another area and began running the scoop across the floor, moving the accumulated limestone dust until the heard a “CLUNK”. Grinning, Fala kneeled down and began moving the fine particles around, and brushed them until she uncovered a pewter jar lid that had a new scratch on it where the shovel lip had scraped. Seán kneeled beside her and used a nail to loosen and scrape the hardened dust away from the jars. They must have been there a lot longer than the other jars had been for the dust to have turned into plaster. Fala grinned, “There’s eight of them!”
Seán had to use a narrow, long screwdriver and a hammer to chip the plaster from around the blue Mason jars. They had to be careful with the one that Fala had hit with the shovel. It had cracked the glass around under the lid.
When they began lifting the jars out, Seán noticed they weren’t quart jars, but a narrower half-gallon jar like he hadn’t seen before. They were probably worth a bit just themselves. They carefully placed the jars in five-gallon buckets and set them in the back of the Gator. Fala was wanting to get them cleaned, NOW!
They carried the buckets into the house. Fala added more wood to the stove and Seán prepared the pans for melting the beeswax out of the jars.
While the jars were heating, UPS delivered a case of black antiviral medical respiratory face masks. Seán pulled a 12-pack out of the case, placed a 12-pack in the pantry, and stored the rest in the basement. He’d give Fala a dozen to take back with her.
Barry’s stomach was growling as he drove through Fargo and when he saw the sign for Doolittles Woodfire Grill he switched lanes and took the off ramp. As he reached the top of the ramp, he spotted the restaurant to his left front, but would have to go straight across to get to the entrance to gain access to the parking lot. North Dakota had to be the most boring state to drive across ever. Barry got out, stretching as he did a walk-around inspection of his rig and walked to the restaurant. Taking off his jacket, he ordered a draft beer and the Hanger Steak with Chimichurri. A man walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“I recognized your shirt. Are you from around here?”
“No, just passing through. My name is Barry Buchannon.” Barry said, standing.
“Mine is Joe Malick. Former 11B, well now I guess an 18B with the 11th.”
“Good to meet you Joe. I was, and kinda still am a Delta. I got out, got my P.A. ticket, and have been working up on the Blackfeet Reservation in Montana for the last year.
“Pretty area.” Joe said.
“Yeah, but it gets colder than a well digger’s ass in Fairbanks in the winter.” Barry grinned. “My contract was up so I decided to move to a warmer area and look for work.”
“I hear ya. Where are you headed?” Joe asked.
“Well, initially I’m headed for Fayetteville. I thought I’d check in at the Team House and check on the whereabouts of some old teammates.”
“Good a place as any. National keeps a database of addresses of members.” Joe replied.
The waitress brought Barry his steak and Joe excused himself and wished Barry a safe trip. Barry looked down at his Pineland University Alumni T-shirt and decided he would dig out more of his old SF T-shirts and wear them on the way south and troll for more SFA members.
Barry topped the meal off with a glass of iced tea and a piece of carrot cake, during which he called ahead and made reservations for an RV site at the Twin Springs Resort Campground in Menomonie, Wisconsin.
Leaving the restaurant, Barry did another walk-around, checking everything. He had enough fuel to reach St. Cloud, but decided to top off the tanks, anyway. Pulling into a nearby truckstop, he filled the diesel tanks and emptied the toilet cassette. Loading a Bee Gee’s CD, Barry got back on 94 and made his way southeast.
Seán got a call from the Trackchair dealer, telling him the chair was ready. Fala and Seán made plans to leave the next morning to pick it up. They got up early, made and ate breakfast, and headed to Staunton.
The chair looked brand new. “We polished her up, put in a brand-new battery, updated a couple of the controls, and gave you a new charging unit for it.” The manager said. “The chair hadn’t been used that much so there was little to do. Seeing as what you are going to do with it, I’m not charging you anything for the work. In fact, I want to offer the new recipient any three options he wants at no charge. We’ll even come down and install them.”
Fala teared up a little and said that he was a good man.
Workers loaded the chair into the cargo trailer, Seán headed for the Jefferson VFW, and called Boyce.
Barry pulled into his RV space, got out and walked around, walking out the stiffness from driving. He pressed the remote, raising the roof on the Pangea, went inside and drained his bladder. He took a beer out of the fridge and took a full swallow from it and turned on the TV to watch the news. It looked like the politicians were edging toward getting into another war, and wondered if anyone within the 100 square miles of Washington, D.C. had any common sense or historical knowledge at all.
The US saw itself as a moral nation with obligations to the rest of the world, which was fine in theory, but sometimes didn't work out. Somalia might be a perfect example. The US just kept plowing ahead, trying to save the world from itself, and trying to export our brand of Democracy. Not everyone wanted that Democracy unfortunately, and when the US put strings on things, like food, our government just further embittered the rest of the world. The Ugly American might have been a book and a movie, but it told a lot about the country's failings; or, perhaps, the failing of the attitudes of the country’s leaders. People just didn’t think the same way or have the same beliefs. Barry had seen so much corruption in Third World countries, mainly because the guy on the street thought that was the only way to get ahead, they had watched their leaders and learned from them. You could even see it in America. Corruption bred corruption. Barry wondered if and when it would ever end.
The worst brought out even more bad things. Feminist Theory, Contemporary Feminism and Diverse Perspectives, gender dysphoria, human trafficking, he could go on and on. Maybe he should find himself a little corner of the world and stay away from the mess they were making of everything. There were still people around that were not craving for power and riches, and he could live amongst them.
Boyce met them at the VFW and was amazed when Seán drove the Trackchair down the ramp. Seán put the chair through its paces, demonstrating to Boyce the chair’s capabilities.
“This is damn perfect!” Boyce exclaimed. “Let me call Emmet and get him over here so he can start working on ideas to transport it and get Jimmy in and out of the chair.”
“Who is the chair going to?” Seán asked.
“Jimmy Caulder. He had been an 88M, a truck driver, with the Guard’s 1450th Transportation Company here in Jefferson,” Boyce replied. “He was also an avid outdoorsman before getting bummed up.”
Seán was happy to hear that. Maybe the chair would give the guy some freedom he thought he would never have again.
“I’d like to be here when you present him the chair, but I don’t want to be a part of the ceremony or whatever you are planning. Just keep me anonymous.” Seán reminded Boyce.
“Yeah, sure, no problem,” Boyce said.
Before they headed back home, Seán drove down to West Jefferson to Ashe County Cheese to pick up some of their favorite cheeses, and then to the Old Store at Grassy Creek to get some goat cheese. When they got back home, Seán began chopping garlic for the beans and to mix with goat cheese to eat with crackers while Fala chopped up an onion to sauté. They were going to make a pot of pinto beans. Seán prepared a Dutch oven with beans, water and two smoked ham hocks. Fala browned the onions, then tossed in the garlic for a couple of minutes, then eight bouillon cubes, one per cup of water to cover the beans. Placing the pot on a hot spot on top of the wood cook stove, Seán went to do some ammo loading.
The Dillon was still set up for 9mm, so Seán emptied 300 cases into the hopper, checked and filled the powder measure, and began reloading with full metal jacket bullets first. He wanted to get Fala to shooting so needed plenty of practice ammo. Fala called her mother and talked with her a while, mostly about the problems of her sister Catori and her unwanted attention from Roger Grimes.
Fala checked the beans, and they were on a good boil. She gave them a stir then walked down the hill to visit her Aunt Maggie.
“Ayah! My beautiful bird!” Maggie cried as Fala walked into the house.
“You have come at a good time. I made you and Seán a blackberry cobbler today.”
“I love your cobbler and I know Seán will too,” Fala said.
“It’s been a while since he has eaten my cobbler. I need to teach you how to make it so you can have another way to please him.” Maggie said, grinning.
“Aunt Maggie!” Fala said, blushing.
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Post by gipsy on Oct 22, 2023 11:21:09 GMT -6
Fine update. Thanks
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Post by rep1270 on Oct 22, 2023 12:51:32 GMT -6
Thank you for the story. Ralph
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Post by feralferret on Oct 22, 2023 22:08:23 GMT -6
Thanks, ncsfsgm!
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Post by ncsfsgm on Oct 23, 2023 18:00:37 GMT -6
Chapter 14
It was a rainy, exhausting drive between Charleston and McArthur, West Virginia. Barry finally had enough and pulled over into a Love’s truck stop to get a meal and a few hours sleep. He had less than 350 miles to Fayetteville and could finish it easily the next day.
Boyce had been talking to Bud Casey, manager of Mountaineer TrackChair in Staunton, Virginia and invited him down for the presentation of the chair. Bud planned to take down one of each of the accessories not already on the chair and let Jimmy pick out what he wanted, and they would install them right there.
Seán hooked the plow to the tractor and plowed the garden up while Fala rode behind him in the Gator, tossing the bigger rocks he had plowed up into the back to be added to the wall that ran along the back of the garden. It was a little early in the year to be plowing but Seán wanted to add some manure to the plot and let it sit for the spring plowing. The spring rains would leach the nutrients into the soil. The construction crew had finished siding the barn and part of the crew was beginning to set the poles for his new tractor shelter. They needed to finish that so he could move the equipment and tear down the old shelter. That was where they would put up the new workshop.
After eating one of those heart-destroying trucker’s breakfasts, Barry cruised on down I-77. Traffic was lite and interesting. He was coming down a grade when he came up behind an old car with a mattress and box springs tied to the top of the car, bucking like a colt. Barry moved over into the next lane just in time to miss the sailing mattress and springs as they flew off the car when the cord they had tied it on with broke. He watched in his rearview mirror as the car pulled over and two men jumped out to drag the springs and mattress off the highway before traffic ran over them.
When he got to Hillsville, Virginia, Barry pulled into a truck stop and went to a little store next to it that had selections of locally produced wines, mead, and cider for sale. He looked over the ciders and found what he was looking for and bought a case. When he had been in training at Ft. Bragg, he had taken a 3-day weekend and come up to Hillsville, looking for an advertised meadery. He found the guy, but it wasn’t the mead he wanted. They guy put essence of flowers and other crap in his craft selections and completely killed Barry’s desire for mead. The best mead he had ever tasted was Zalgiris, 150 proof, and definitely not made around here. While heading for a local winery, he ran across the cidery and stopped in. They had a nice patio and cider tasting going on with a couple from Chapel Hill playing soft folk music. He’d almost fallen asleep in the warm fall sun as he tasted the ciders and finally came to one he really liked. They had a subscription plan and he got it, receiving three bottles of cider every two months. He finally had to cancel it when he got deployed. A glass of cold, hard cider hit the spot when beer just wouldn’t do. Securing the cider in the Pangea, Barry filled his tanks and headed for Charlotte.
Before he reached Charlotte, he got on the 485 beltway to miss the congestion and took highway 27 to Albemarle and on to Troy and Biscoe. Next stop, Fayetteville, and Fort Bragg….oops, now it was called Ft. Liberty. History haters and destroyers had pressed for the name change, not wanting to glorify a Confederate General. Trying to destroy history made them feel better.
Seán and Fala finished adding the rocks to the wall and went back to the house as the workers put away their tools for the day. A pot of vegetable beef soup had been simmering all day and Seán sliced bread to make grill cheese sandwiches.
Boyce called Sean and told him they were presenting the Trackchair to Jimmy on Saturday at the VFW. They were having a cookout and would present the chair after everyone had eaten, so to come hungry.
The roof was on the tractor shed, so the next morning the men had started putting siding on three sides, leaving the leeward side of the shed open. The shed was twice as big as the old one, so Seán began moving the equipment in and tried not to get in the way of the workers. He walked down the middle of the building and looked at how they had framed the rafters, checking to make sure they had put on the hurricane straps. Not that they were plagued often with hurricanes, but they occasionally they got high winds. The roof was screwed on and with the straps, he shouldn’t lose the roof anytime soon.
That night, while Seán was viewing YouTube videos, one of those annoying advertisements came up about a power generator you could run in your house if you lost power. Curious, Seán went to the website address and realized it was a waste of time. He already had the same setup, but on a much larger scale…for the whole farm, but their survival food caught his eye, and he checked it out. The one-year supply was comparable to what he had already had in storage, but was $2000 cheaper, and 400 calories light. He ordered it anyway because he could easily wring out a 2000 calorie meal with everything he had on hand. The only thing he had tried and didn’t like was that nasty black bean burger mix. That can went into the compost pile. Maybe he could use the rest to make a bean dip or use it for thickening in other dishes.
On Saturday, Seán and Fala arrived at the VFW around 10:00. Seán wanted to meet a few people and make sure Boyce didn’t bring his name up. When he finally caught up with Boyce, Seán reminded Boyce not to mention his name.
“Well, you know things like that eventually get out, but I could say the chair was donated by VFW Post 7946, IF you were a member. Know what I’m sayin’?”
Seán grinned. “Yeah, I get it. Where do I sign up?”
Boyce led Seán into an office and had him fill out a form. Seán paid him for a life membership and Boyce handed Seán a VFW c*** cap with the VFW logo and Post 7946 embroidered on it. He also handed him a red life member pin.
“Welcome aboard, Seán.” said Boyce, smiling.
“Yeah, thanks.” Seán replied.
Jimmy was seated in a wheelchair out by the grills with a beer in his hand, laughing and talking to a few men. Boyce led Seán around, introducing him to other members of the Post. Seán was surprised to see Bud Casey of Mountaineer TrackChair there and Boyce explained his presence.
“Well, that is nice of him,” Seán said.
Boyce grunted. “He’s here for the publicity while you are giving away an $18,000 chair and won’t take credit for it.”
“I don’t want the publicity,” Seán retorted.
Bud came over to talk to them.
“We’ve got everything laid out in the hall with the chair,” Bud said.
"Okay, thanks. We’ll probably get to the presentation around 1430,” Boyce said.
“Okay, we’ll be ready,” Bud replied.
The Ladies Auxiliary set the serving tables in buffet style with sides and condiments. People began lining up for burgers and dogs. Seán and Fala each made a plate and went over under the shade of the balsam trees to eat, Seán going back to get them a Pepsi and a Mountain Dew to drink.
When it looked like everyone had finished eating, Boyce gave a signal and members of the Post began heading for the wheelchair ramp, one member pushing Jimmy’s chair. Members of the Post formed an Honor Guard as Jimmy was pushed up the ramp and into the hall. The Trackchair was hidden behind two portable screens, along with the accessories Bud brought so they weren’t at once apparent. Bud went up in front of the assembly and began his speech.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, another member of our community has sacrificed his well-being for our country. Jimmy Caulder did his service and we wanted to do something for him.”
Two members pulled the screens apart and there sat something many would think came out of a science fiction movie.
“Jimmie, this Action Trackchair, will help you get back into doing some things you used to do, and we wish you well.”
Jimmy was wheeled over to the Trackchair and helped into it. Jimmy sat there and his eyes watered as he shook a bit. Someone handed him a bottle of water and Jimmy took a sip, trying to regain his ability to speak.
“I don’t know what to say right now but ‘Thank You all', every one of you.”
Boyce stepped up to the chair and said, “Jimmy, this is Bud, and he can tell you everything you need to know about the chair. Bud, he’s all yours.”
Seán took Fala’s hand and led her to the back door and left.
“Don’t you want to…”
“They don’t need me there. Let’s go take a ride and get some ice cream.”
They got their frozen yogurt, went down to West Jefferson Park, and watched the kids play softball. Now they were thirsty again, so they got bottles of water and headed home.
Barry pulled into the lane off of Doc Bennet Road and drove slowly down to the National Headquarters of the Special Forces Association. Barry went in, introduced himself and gave the man his life membership number for his bona fides. The man tapped on the keyboard and looked up at Barry. “What can I do for you?”
“I’ve been out of the net for a while and am trying to track down some old team members.”
“Well, I can give you the last phone number we have on them but not their addresses. You know how it is with this privacy shit.”
“I can imagine.” Barry said.
Barry gave him several names to look up and they guy typed out a list of phone numbers.
“Is that all?” The man asked.
“That’s about it," Barry said. "Wait. Do you know of any RV parks around the area I might get a space for a couple of days?”
“Just park your rig over by the pavilion. A life membership has to have some benefits. How are you set for power and water?”
“Self-contained. I might want to fill my freshwater tank before I leave,” Barry said.
“Have at it. You are welcome to it.”
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Post by feralferret on Oct 23, 2023 19:00:08 GMT -6
Thank you, ncsfsgm.
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Post by gipsy on Oct 23, 2023 19:15:28 GMT -6
Fine update. Thanks
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