Target Response (21 page)

“I didn’t vote for him, but millions of Americans did.”

“I know, that’s what frightens me.”

“You will share the wealth tonight, though, won’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

Karin laughed. “Pass the popcorn. Unless part of your self-reliance means I have to pop my own.”

Jake passed the popcorn bowl over to her. “Just listen to him,” he said. “Every time he opens his mouth, he sticks his foot in it.”

“Damn,” Jake said. “An executive order in the inaugural address? I don’t think that’s ever been done before.”

“You can’t say he isn’t up and running,” Karin replied.

“Whoa!” Jake said, leaning forward. “What did he just say?”

“He said he is bringing all the troops back home.”

“And do what with them? Where are they going to go?” Jake asked.

“I guess that means I won’t ever make it to Germany,” Karin said.

“It’s pure insanity,” Jake said. “If this is the first thing he does, where do we go from here?”

Karin picked up the remote and turned off the TV. “I’m getting concerned about you. I’m afraid you are going to get so mad watching this guy that you may well have an intracerebral hemorrhage.”

“A what?”

“A stroke. It is my medical recommendation that we forget about him and go out for dinner.”

“You’re right. Even if I don’t have a stroke, watching this commie bastard is going to make my head explode,” Jake said. “We’ll go out, but I choose.”

“What do you mean, you choose? I’m the one who suggested we go out.”

“That’s just it, you suggested it,” Jake replied. “That’s like being challenged to a duel; the one challenged gets to choose the weapons. In this case the one invited to go out gets to choose the restaurant.”

“I’ve never heard that. Is that some Amish rule?”

“Don’t be silly. I never ate in a restaurant in my life until I was an adult. It’s just the rule of common sense. You made the suggestion we go out, I get to choose where we go.”

“Don’t tell me,” Karin said. “You are going to choose Bubba’s All You Can Eat Catfish Heaven, aren’t you?”

“It is a great place, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, it’s just wonderful,” Karin said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m glad you like it too,” Jake said, purposely disregarding her sarcasm as he reached for his car keys.

“Jake, have you ever thought of maybe going to a quieter, more traditional restaurant where they have real silverware, elegant crystal, fine china, good wine, and maybe a strolling musician? You know, something romantic?”

“You know what’s romantic?” Jake asked.

“What?”

“Catfish fried golden brown, steaming hot hush puppies, a plate full of French fries liberally doused with hot sauce, a side of sliced onion, a dill pickle spear, and an ice-cold root beer.”

“How can you possibly say something like that is romantic?”

“Because it is beautiful,” Jake said. “And isn’t romance supposed to be beautiful?”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Not really. I’m just hungry,” Jake replied as held the door open for her.

She laughed. “All right, Bubba’s All You Can Eat Catfish Heaven it is, then.”

The restaurant was noisy and filled with customers, many of whom were soldiers from Fort Rucker. Half a dozen waiters scurried among the tables carrying trays upon which there were platters piled high with fried fish. Over in one corner a group of soldiers were doing their rendition of “All Out of Love,” the singing discordant and loud.

“You wanted music,” Jake said, nodding toward the table of singing soldiers. “You’ve got music.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. You think of everything,” Karin said.

“I try.”

“Any aftereffects from your incident yesterday?” Karin asked.

Jake took a swallow of root beer before he answered. “He tried to kill me, you know.”

“What? Who tried to kill you?”

“The flight student I had yesterday. Oh, he might pretend that those geese hit us, but I know better. He went out looking for them. Every student I have ever had has tried to kill me. Oh, yeah, they all say they are just making honest errors, but I know better. I sincerely believe it’s a conspiracy.”

“I’m sure it is. A left-wing conspiracy, no doubt,” Karin said. “Every flight student you have ever had has been a part of a left-wing conspiracy.”

“That’s true. But it isn’t just the flight students. I mean, think about this: Ever since I got my wings, people have been trying to kill me. Did you know that in Iraq and Afghanistan, they were actually shooting at my helicopter?”

Karin laughed. “As I recall you were flying an Apache while you were in Afghanistan, and doing quite a bit of shooting of your own. You didn’t get your Distinguished Flying Cross for making sightseeing trips.”

“Still, you would think they would have more respect for a disparate collection of oscillating parts that, somehow, manage to levitate.” Jake held up his right hand to call one of the harried waiters over, even as he was using his left to push another piece of fried catfish into his mouth.

“We’ll need another platter full,” he said when the waiter came over.

“We don’t need another whole platter unless you are going to eat them all yourself. I’m absolutely stuffed,” Karin said.

“No sweat, I’ll eat them.”

“Do you ever fill up?”

“Eventually,” Jake answered.

Monday, January 23

General Clifton von Cairns, the commandant of Fort Rucker, used one of the larger classrooms to have an officers’ call for all department, division, and section chiefs to talk about the troops that would be returning to the States. He admitted, during the meeting, that he had no idea what this would portend. The problem would be in finding billets for all of them.

“We don’t have space for them, not in our CONUS TO&E units, and not in our training commands. Department of Army has asked every post commander to inventory their facilities with an eye toward absorbing the influx.”

“General, will we be able to handle such an increase?” a colonel asked.

“Yes, of course. We had much larger numbers of troops in garrison during World War Two. Of course, we also had a lot more military posts then. The problem now is that so many posts have been closed down in the last several years.”

“How long has DA known about bringing all the troops back to CONUS?” another colonel asked. “What I mean is, why didn’t they give us prior warning?”

General von Cairns looked at the colonel with an expression that mirrored his frustration. “Colonel Haney, from what I was told by the Army Chief of Staff this morning, Department of Defense learned about this at the same time we did: when the president announced it during his inaugural address.”

Monday, February 27

Just over one month after Ohmshidi ordered all overseas military to return to CONUS, Fort Rucker was filled to capacity with returning soldiers, and in order to accommodate the influx, all training activities were suspended. It would have been difficult to continue training activities anyway, because in a cost-cutting measure Department of Army was now regulating the total number of hours that could be flown in any week. Once Fort Rucker got its allocation it would hold the hours in a pool and pilots who needed flight time for pay purposes would have to apply for that time. The problem was, there weren’t enough hours allocated to the fort to enable all the pilots to make their minimums, and as additional rated officers arrived, the situation grew even more critical. General von Cairns had been correct in anticipating difficulty in completing the flight program, and his recommendation to Jake to expedite the last cycle barely enabled the twelve students to complete their course.

At the post hospital, Karin was having her own problems. Reductions in Medicare and Tricare denied civilian health care to military retirees and their families, so they were remanded to military base hospitals. As a result, the caseload at the hospital was greatly increased. VA facilities all across the country were closed, and those who were eligible for VA benefits were instructed to go to active-duty military hospitals, which accepted them only on a space-available basis.

This increased patient load meant that Karin was working longer, harder hours each day and was often too tired to visit Jake. But tonight she came by, bringing hamburgers and French fries from a local drive-in.

“Do you have any idea how much two hamburgers and two orders of French fries cost?” she asked. Then, without waiting for a response, she answered her own question. “Thirteen dollars! Can you believe that?”

“Everything has gone up,” Jake said. “In order to have enough to meet all the new projects, the government has begun printing money hand over fist. Gregoire says that the presses are running nonstop. Obviously the more money you have in circulation, the less value it has, so things that have real value, like food, are seeing drastic increases in price. I bought two twelve-packs of root beer this afternoon on the way home from work. Thirty-two dollars.”

“You might want to think about giving up your root beer,” Karin said.

“I’ll give up my root beer when they pry the last can from my cold, dead fingers,” Jake teased.

“Jake,” Karin said, the smile on her face replaced by an expression of concern and even a hint of fear. “Where is all this going? What is going to happen to us?”

“I don’t know, Karin. God help us, I don’t know.”

“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”

“What did you want to hear?”

“I wanted to hear you say that everything will be all right.”

Jake was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Karin, for us—for you and me—everything will be all right. But there is no way the country is going to get through this without serious, serious consequences.”

“How can you say, then, that it will be all right for you and me?

“Because I will make it all right for you and me,” Jake said. “That is a promise.”

“Get the drinks. Let’s eat,” Karin said, wanting to change the subject.

“How about root beer?” Jake suggested as he started toward the refrigerator.

“Root beer? I don’t know, let me think about it. Ummm, yes, I think I would like a root beer.”

Jake brought the drinks into the living room and put the cold cans on coasters on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

“Did you fly today?” Karin asked as she handed a hamburger and fries to Jake.

“Nobody flew today,” Jake answered as he unwrapped his burger. “I haven’t flown in two weeks. We are limited to one thousand hours per month, and as of now there are only six hours remaining in this month’s flight-hour pool. You know how many rated aviators we have on this post?”

“A lot,” Karin replied.

“We had almost a thousand before the influx of troops from overseas, and that added at least two hundred more. That means there are twelve hundred pilots who are now in queue for six hours. That breaks down to eighteen seconds of flight time apiece.”

Karin laughed, spewing root beer as she did so. She wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“It’s not funny,” Jake said. “If aviators can’t keep up their minimums, aircraft are going to start falling out of the sky because the pilots aren’t going to be safe.”

“I know it’s not really funny, Jake,” Karin said. She laughed again. “But I’m just picturing someone getting into a helicopter for eighteen seconds.” She hopped up from the couch. “I’m flying,” she said. She plopped back down on the couch. “Oops, time’s up.”

“It’s not funny, damn it,” Jake said, but despite himself, he laughed as well.

“I’m going to turn on the TV,” Karin said. “Kentucky is in the finals and they’re playing Missouri tonight.”

“What do you care? You’re not running cross-country for Kentucky anymore,” Jake said. “And as far as I know, you are no longer a cheerleader.”

“You think I’m not?” Karin said. Getting up from the couch and standing flat-footed on the floor, she did a back flip, tucking in her legs at the top of the flip because she went so high that her feet would have hit the ceiling. Landing on her feet, she thrust her pelvis forward and held her arms over her head.

“Now, imagine me in my cheerleader outfit,” she said.

“You’re making me blush. Be nice now,” Jake said.

“Are you sure you want me to be nice?” Karin asked, seductively.

“Maybe not that nice,” Jake answered, pulling her to him for an openmouthed kiss.

Gulf Shores, Alabama, Wednesday, March 1

Bob Varney, Chief Warrant Officer 4, U.S. Army (Ret.), got a cookie and a cup of coffee from the welcome counter at the bank, then had a seat until he could speak to one of the bank officers.

“Bob?” Joel Dempster called, sticking his head out of his office.

Having finished both the cookie and the coffee, Bob dropped the paper cup into a trash can, then went into Joel’s office.

“I read
Slack Man: Death in Dallas.
It was great,” Joel said. “When is your next book coming out?”

“Within a month. It’s
Slack Man: Ambush in Amarillo.
I’ll be signing at the Page and Canvas in Fairhope when it comes out.”

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to get there, but I’ll for sure buy it.”

“Thanks.”

“I think Hollywood should make a movie out of one of your books.”

“From your lips to God’s ear,” Bob said.

“Now, what can I do for you?” Joel asked.

“I was just wondering. I went online to check my account; I didn’t see the deposit for my army retirement.”

“Yes, I thought that might be why you were here. If it’s any consolation to you, it isn’t just you, Bob. There was no deposit for anyone. We got a notice from DFAS that all transactions are being halted while they undergo reorganization.”

“Wow. Really? Everyone?”

“Everyone. You are lucky; with your writing you have another income. A good income, I might add. But as you know, there are a lot of military retirees here, and many, if not most of them, depend entirely upon their military retirement and Social Security.”

“I didn’t even check for Social Security.”

“Don’t bother, there was no deposit for it, either.”

“That’s not good,” Bob said.

“I’ll tell you something else that isn’t good. We have been ordered to submit a report to the federal government providing information on the amount of money every depositor has in all accounts.”

“Are you going to do that? Do they have the authority to make you do it?”

“As long as we participate in the FDIC program, we have no choice but to comply.”

“Maybe I should take out what I’ve got in there,” Bob said.

“You can’t.”

“What do you mean, I can’t?”

“You just deposited a royalty check earlier this week, didn’t you? A rather substantial check?”

“Yes, it was for signing four contracts, and delivery and acceptance of a completed book. A little over twenty-two thousand dollars.”

“At this point, any withdrawal, or check, in excess of ten thousand dollars must be approved by the federal government.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure you have noticed that the economy is a little shaky now, and is getting worse almost by the day. I think this is to prevent a run on the banks.”

“Is the money safe?”

“It is as safe as money is safe,” Joel said. “The problem is, how secure is the American dollar? I’ve been hearing things through the grapevine that make me wonder.”

“Now you are getting me scared,” Bob said. “First you say there is no retirement or Social Security payments; then you say I can’t get the money I do have out of the bank. Joel, what the hell is going on?” Bob asked.

“I wish I could tell you, Bob, I really do. I’ve talked to all the other bankers. We are very worried about this. Banks are only as good as the service they are able to provide to their depositors. When you start breaking that trust, then you are putting into jeopardy a bank’s ability to function. If I were you—and I’m cutting my own throat by telling you this—but if I were you, I would withdraw nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars and ninety-nine cents. As long as you don’t go to ten thousand dollars on any one transaction, you are safe.”

“Thanks, Joel, I guess that’s the route I’ll take.”

“Then come back tomorrow and do it again. Keep doing it until your account has just a few cents in it.”

“I appreciate you telling me that, Joel,” Bob said. “I’ll do that, too.”

“Just write the check here. I’ll cash it. There’s no sense in causing anyone to get curious. And, if you would, be careful about whom you tell this to.”

“I will,” Bob promised. “And again, thanks.”

Bob wrote the check and handed it to Joel. Joel left the office, then returned a few moments later with the cash in a bank envelope.

“Are you going to rent your house this summer?” Joel asked as he handed the cash to Bob.

“I don’t know if we are or not,” Bob replied. “By this time last year, we had eight weeks rented already. So far this year, not so much as a nibble.”

“I guess folks are a little frightened of what’s ahead,” Joel said.

“Yeah, it sure looks that way.”

Bob got up and stuck his hand out toward Joel. “I appreciate what you are doing for me, Joel.”

“You’re a good customer and an interesting guy,” Joel said. “And, I wouldn’t worry too much about things. I’m sure it’s all going to work out.”

“If not, we’ll just whistle past the graveyard, eh, Joel?”

Joel laughed out loud. “Sounds like a good plan,” he said.

Fort Rucker, Alabama, Thursday, March 2