Wrong place, wrong time… Part 1 The first thing he could sense was sound. Odd thing was it was a familiar sound. The long burst of a mini-gun. It was unmistakable. He had heard it too many times. He was stiff, sore and his eyes were swollen. His arms were pulled up over his head and his feet barely touched the floor. Where was he at? Then the light bulb clicked on. He was still in the sandbox. Still being tortured. The mini-gun, this was his salvation. YEAH, my guys are close and I am outta here. Tears rolled down his face as darkness consumed him again. Upon waking again he had two senses working. Sound, it was very quiet and the air was very still. Sight, he could see shapes and light but not clearly. The tears had done their job of helping his eyes to open. He was still in the same position as before. Hanging and in a great deal of pain. His mouth felt nasty and whenever he tried to speak it just came out as a croak. He slung his head around several times to try and clear his eyes and loosen his neck. It worked a bit and his eyes cleared. He looked up at his hands and saw that they were bound by a huge white rope. As he turned his head to try and observe the knot better. His body kind of followed. As he continued to look at the knot he noticed his feet were more firmly on the floor than before. He smiled, and as he turned more in the same direction he stopped. His knees were now bent slightly forward and he knew that he would not yet be able to support his own weight. He started to move his legs to get some life back into them. He did this for a long time until he was standing there, own his own. He turned a couple of more times and the knots on his hands loosened up. He wiggled his wrist and soon his hands were free. There was a chair setting at a desk nearby and he went over and sat down. As he looked around he came to the stark realization that he was not in the sandbox as that had been a while ago. He knew this place; it was not far from where he grew up on the southeast side of Atlanta. It was a drug warehouse. He assumed he had been hallucinating his time in capture based on the sound of the mini-gun. Since he had come around the second time he had not heard the gun nor was this place anywhere near either the sandbox or anywhere downrange. He now remembered he had been here for his MAG to obtain drugs that would be needed since the collapse. Why was he alone? Who had beaten him as well as when in the crap did they sneak up on him and put him in such a compromising position. He was wearing only his boxers. He was covered with filth, sweat, blood and who knows what else. He got up and started walking around. He found his clothes and shoes in a pile on the floor not far away. His game cart was there and so were his weapons. His favorite Saiga AK and a field jacket he had stuffed with items for the trip. He picked up all of his stuff and continued to walk around. He found the bathrooms and went in to clean up. As he looked in the mirror he knew it looked worse than it was. Swollen face and eyes and bruises beyond belief on his chest and arms. He turned on the cold water and splashed himself many times until he shook so bad he almost fell down. He rolled off a double handful of paper towel and started the long slow process of drying his torn, tender and well bruised skin. His face was the worst, but at least he could see fairly well now and since drinking some water felt that he could speak if needed. He got dressed and went back into the large open area he had just left and started gathering up the drugs he came for. He thought it odd that nothing seemed missing. Why would someone beat him and not take anything? He had no watch and had no idea how long he had been here and knew he had missed his rendezvous and would have been left for dead. He also knew that this is how it was. The worst part was going to be making the trip back to the MAG on foot. Many miles to walk through very tough country. He shrink wrapped the items to the game cart. He liked this idea so much he stuck another one of the wrap handles under what he was doing and would take it back as well. He dropped the cart at the bathroom door and went inside and drank more water and splashed his face again. Back outside he picked up the cart and rolled it to the exit door he would use to leave. Too bad there were no windows in here. He would like to have a look around before he opened the door. He pulled the safety down on the AK and slid the bolt carrier back enough to see the round that was chambered. Squared his jaw and put his hand on the door knob. As he tried to push the door open he heard another familiar sound. The sound of a lot of brass, gun brass being pushed. There was a lot of it. When he finally got the door open he looked down to see thousands of 7.62 shells on the ground around the door. The mini had been real. He looked out over the parking lot and saw several bodies on the ground in shreds. He took two steps and recognized the first man. He was the one who had done most of the beating inside. From the way of what was left of his clothes told him they were common thugs or drug dealers. None the less. They were dead. He smiled and took two more steps. The bright light hit him first at his feet then went quickly to his face. Just as he started to lift his rifle he though he heard a voice in the air. From the building the chopper was sitting on the mini-gun barrel started to spin a fraction of a second before the first round was fired. The door gunner on the black chopper destroyed the stuff on the cart and obliterated the man behind it. The gunner ceased fire and looked over at the pilot; “How much longer before the replacements arrive?” He lit up a cigarette took a long drag and wondered what the rest of the night would bring. Part 2 The gunner looked up when he heard the pilot from the front. “06:00”. He shook his head and jumped down out of the helo. He walked to the edge of the building and grabbed the handrail to the roof access ladder. Spun and started down. The pilot just shook his head and smiled. The gunner walked across the parking lot not even bothering to look at his work. Straight up to the cart he had shot up not long ago. He pulled the Bear & Sons Bowie from his belt sheath and started cutting first the shrink wrap and then the box corner that had only slightly missed any damage from the mini. He reached in the box and pulled out two bottles. Hydrocodone - 10-350, he smiled. He stuck one in his pocket and opened the other. He took four, threw them in his mouth and chewed. Opened his canteen and swallowed long and deep. He had just settled in when the helo started up. He looked forward and heard “We are outta here.” He leaned back with a smirk on his face. Back to base and 48 off. They just had to make this quick patrol inbound and they were free. The pilot grabbed the Cyclic and the big Sikorsky lifted off the roof of the building to make room for the inbound helo. He then banked northwest from their position and headed out. There was a thin ribbon of pumpkin orange on the horizon just below the mass of a cobalt blue sky as they left the industrial park. They were headed over to I-75 north then across to I-285 west and then on to Dobbins AFB. From there it would be down time. Just as they came up on the Henry Ford Avenue Bridge they spotted a major fire fight going on. The pilot banked east around the back of the Coke plant and came out on the far end. What they saw was a band of people on either side of the expressway shooting at each other from behind cars. Oddly enough there was one more detail the gunner and pilot noticed. There was a small boy holding a black puppy in the middle of the two warring factions caught under barrage of gunfire. They went straight up from their position. The pilot came down slowly and as he got closer he begun to spin in a slow 360 degree spin. The barrel of the mini started to turn. In a matter of a few seconds both sides of the road were quiet. The skids of the helo touched down on the roadbed ten feet away from the boy. The gunner jumped down and grabbed up the boy and the pup. Which he promptly got bit for, no matter? The pup had grabbed a piece of gear and never touched skin. The gunner still showed a toothy smile proud of the pup’s reaction. He sat the boy and puppy down beside his bag and strapped both in the best he could. As they were lifting off he pulled a Payday candy bar and a bottle of water from his bag and gave them to the boy. Before they were headed north again both the boy and the pup had eaten half a candy bar and both were trying to get a little water. The Sikorsky gained height and speed as the moved towards North Atlanta. Just as they came up over a small rise at Spaghetti Junction a huge fireball was lofting above the highest bridge in the tangle of concrete and steel. The pilot banked hard southwest and came around up and behind the junction. There were at least thirty vehicles either being used as cover, burning or just plain destroyed and one massive fight was in progress. The tanker burning below had no doubt been the cause of the fireball as well as this battle. The pilot and the gunner talked over options. The pilot would drop closer to the ground just to the side and behind a bridge abutment and fire his remaining missiles. After that the gunner would take over and clean up what was left. As the helo dropped down, the gunner snapped a set of earphones on the boy and made the whisper sound with his finger. He had waited for this moment. There he stood. Fifty feet away from one of those killer helicopters. They had killed many family members and many friends. He stepped side ways around the concrete column and took aim. The four missiles struck their mark. Just as the pilot turned to line the gunner up… He saw the man. "RPG." He screamed but made no sound. The gunner finally saw what the pilot was looking at. He looked over his shoulder. “We gonna be good to go in a minute baby boy.” The pilot palmed the cyclic. He pulled the trigger on the RPG and watched as the projectile did its work. He was no expert but at this distance. He watched as the Sikorsky burst into flames as it shuttered forward. It nosed down and struck the roadbed in a violent cacophony of smoke, fire, twisted torn and bloody steel and carbon fiber as it hit the road in front of him. The rest of the people at the battle had either stopped firing or fled in fear and exhaustion. His friends gathered around with slaps on the back and handshakes all around. He laughed at his success and moment of hero worship. He looked around and wondered what the rest of the day would bring. Part 3 He walked back to the open tailgate of his truck and sat down. His legs were like putty, his chest felt heavy and he was sweating like a pig. Even on this crisp November morning. The small group left turned to look at their new found hero just in time to see his chest explode into a mist of red filled with chunks of what was left of him. The 600+ grain 50 caliber round had done its job. The rest of the group tried to make cover but it was too late. They were cut down and everything around them was torn to pieces. On the other side of the burning Sikorsky lay the gunner, the little boy and the pup. The gunners shoulder was dislocated but other than that the small group was fine. The gunner had managed to grab them all and jump from the helo just before the RPG had done its work. He held them down until his buddies cleared the area. Two camo dressed soldiers jumped down out of the gun ship and helped the small group inside the waiting helo. The gunner spoke into the head set on the helmet he was given briefly and turned to the boy. “What’s your name son?” The little boy looked up at him and proffered up a tag that hung around his neck with the name “Timothy” printed on it. He smiled, held the boy and the pup and waited to touch down at Dobbins. One of his buddies in the helo had helped the gunner pop his shoulder back in place. It was gonna be sore and he felt OK but was sent to a medic anyway. He kept the boy and puppy with him the whole time. When he went to debrief the boy and puppy were left outside the office under the watchful eye of the desk Sargent. They got some more food into him and the puppy and were just going outside to walk the puppy when the gunner walked out. “We will take it from here Sargent.” The gunner the boy and the puppy all walked along a strip of grass while the puppy played and ran around. Not much was said. The gunner finally looked at the boy. “Timothy, you want to stay with me while we try and find your family?” The little boy shook his head yes. The gunner Greg Watson looked after the little boy for many months with no luck in finding his family. The two became a pair. Greg was finally released from his active duty status when most of the trouble was over. America had changed forever. Most of the soldiers went home to their own families and just tried to survive. Greg had been prepared for this and had taken good care of Timothy and the puppy but knew that things would change for everyone in the long run. His girlfriend had taken to the little boy and the puppy with no issues. She loved them as much as Greg. They all stayed together on Greg’s farm in the country outside of Atlanta. They had a good life as the boy grew. The puppy Pearl, had a large litter and Timothy had his hands full. With the new pups as well as his daily chores. He grew into a fine young man. One evening as he walked out onto the porch where Greg was sitting. He quietly watched as his father looked out into the twilight of the evening off to the west. There was a thin line of pumpkin orange covered by a cobalt blue sky this evening. It was gonna be chilly. He looked out into the yard as Greg nodded in the rocking chair and wondered what the rest of his life would bring. Part 4 the Final Chapter Greg Watson sat in his chair on the porch. He held a leather bound book in his hands. It felt warm and smooth to the touch from wear. The title on the cover simply said Watson & Company. It was nice outside this morning. As he sat a cool breeze rolled across the porch from the north east. It felt good. Beth his wife had just brought him another cup of coffee. His last of the morning as he was only allowed two. The book he held contained many memories both good and bad but they were the sum total of his life. The total of his families’ life. Moreover it was the secrets it contained that he often thought about. He waited on Tim this morning. He knew Tim was close. Pearl his large black lab was beside him with her head lying just across the top of his feet. He had forgotten which Pearl this was, the 3rd or the 4th. He was unsure. Since he was a boy Tim had always had a Pearl. Tim had been elected as the local Constable of a 30 square mile area surrounding Crook’s Corner in what used to be Rockdale County. This morning Tim was coming by to take Greg to the monthly meeting. It was almost always boring and did not accomplish much but Tim had insisted on it. It kept him in touch with his folks as well as keeping him abreast of what was going on. He took a sip from the coffee mug and sat it down on the weathered white oak boards of the porch. He looked out across the yard and thought he heard the gate closing, Tim was here. Pearl stood up made several circles and laid down on top of his feet. She cried a bit as she wagged her tail and waited on Tim to arrive As Tim road up the lane he looked around and saw it was time to work the garden again. As he approached the house he noticed the old man nodding in his chair. He tied the horse up to the rail at the steps and quietly walked up. Pearl stood up and walked around Tim's legs and sat back down beside Greg. Tim grabbed the rifle sling off his shoulder and sat the rifle down in the rack next to Greg’s chair. He placed his hand on Greg’s shoulder as the large book slid to the porch and landed with a soft thumping sound. “Beth” Tim yelled. As she walked out Tim was laying Greg down on the porch and checking his pulse. He looked up at Beth and shook his head. She dropped to her knees as tears streamed down her face. “Don’t die on me now you hard headed old man” as her balled up fist thumped on his chest. Tim stood in the kitchen with his arms around Beth. Pearl stood between his legs and it was everything he could do to stand erect. Everyone was in pain. He finally got Beth to lie down and Pearl was beside her on the bed and obviously not going anywhere. He walked out of the house to the barn where Greg was resting in a coffin he had built for this occasion. He laughed at this thought. His dad was always thinking well ahead. Of almost everything and everyone. Tim was proud to be a lot like his dad. It was a hard thing. To laugh and cry at the same time. He stepped up on the side board of the wagon and sat on the hard flat board seat. He grabbed the reins and shook them a time or two and the pair of stout horses moved out of the barn into the turn around and then down the lane behind the house to the south side of the property. There were two large cherry trees there that Greg had always wanted to be buried under. Tim intended to keep this promise. As the horses Jenny and Jeff came to the end of the lane he called out “Gee Jenny” and the horses made a perfect semi-circle to the right. He pulled up the reins and they came to a stop in front of the huge cherry trees. He grabbed the shovel from the back of the wagon as he laid the reins down across the front. He walked up and scratched the pair under the chin and grabbed Jeff’s harness. He walked the pair over to the long grass so they could rest and eat while they waited. It would be a long wait as the soil was hard and the temperature rose. He knew he would be there a while. He sat in the kitchen of the house, it was late afternoon. He had put the wagon away and groomed and stabled the horses. He and Beth were trying to eat and were not having much success. Pearl had not touched her food either. “Beth, I will be back tomorrow. We will have the service then.” She just sat and stared. “I know Kate and the boys will want to be here. I will stop down at Crook’s and let everyone know.” As he got up to leave he hugged her as she wiped away the tears from his cheek. He looked at Pearl and knew she would not make the ride home tonight. As he got to the door he turned and looked at Beth. He wanted to say something but no words would come out. He nodded his head and as he came back to eye level with her, the corner of her small mouth turned up just a little. He walked down the steps and got on his horse and as he turned away from the house he tried to prepare himself for the long ride home. They sat in the kitchen, the front room and spilled out onto the porch. No one sat in Greg’s chair as Pearl stood guard. Food filled every available space in the house. Little was eaten that afternoon. Tim stood on the porch as the last people left. His family had left with a neighbor as Tim would help Beth get the house back together. He sat in a chair at the kitchen table with Greg’s steaming coffee mug in hand. Pearl had curled up around his feet and had gone to sleep. “Mom, what was that book you took from the porch yesterday?” She looked at him and smiled. “It is your legacy. It is a written account of everything your father did. There are also other volumes in his office that contain the family history too. Take a minute before you leave tonight and go out to the office and take a look. I know Greg did not like people in his office, but I am sure that now he would not mind.” She turned and walked into the bedroom and came back out with a set of keys. She laid them in Tim’s hand and took his hands in hers and brought them to her face. “You are now the next Watson to keep this area moving forward. There is a lot to be learned from those books. I left his book on the desk. The others are in the shelves behind.” With that she turned and walked into the bedroom and pushed the door to close it. Pearl got up and made her way through the crack left between the door and the frame. Tim Smiled and knew that Pearl would not make the trip home again tonight. He stood and walked out of the house and down the steps. It was a short walk over to Greg’s office beside the barn. It was a beautiful building made from logs. It was about 24’ X 24” with a large window in each wall and a fair sized screened- in porch on the front. Greg had spent many an hour here. The logs glowed a wheat brown or soft golden color in the last light of the day. There was a lamp glowing on the desk. He looked back at the house and for the first time realized that his mom was as well prepared as his father ever was. He smiled and unlocked the heavy door. He walked across the floor of the office and sat down in the chair behind the desk. He turned his head and looked at the book shelves and saw at least twenty other large leather bound books there. He turned and looked at the volume on the desk. Tim picked up the heavy book and brought it to his nose. He was unsure if the smell of his father was the familiar smell that struck his nose. Or was it just the smell of the supple leather. Watson & Company was stitched across the front of the book in gold thread. He sat back in the comfortable chair. He opened the large book and began to read. “To my son, may you take these books and do as well with them as I have. Love Dad.” He smiled as his eyes got wet. He opened it to the first page sat back in the chair and began to read… The end of Wrong place, wrong time.
