Chapter 1

“Mr. Patterson, the Doctors will be ready for you in a moment. You should sit down for few minutes and rest before you faint,” the nurse smiled at his haggard appearance.

“Thank you but I’m too nervous to sit!” I rubbed my chilly palms together, trying to warm them up.

I continued to pace back and forth on the third floor Maternity Ward, of Belleville General Hospital. My shoes squeaked on the ceramic floor each time I turned around.

“Okay, maybe I will sit,” I muttered, taking the closest chair. I combed my fingers nervously through my lengthening dark brown hair, crossed my arms and sighed deeply.

“Ricky, Ricky, Ricky! How the hell did you get yourself into this mess?” I questioned, to a vacant room. “If I had divorced Donna like I thought of doing, I wouldn’t be in this unbelievable situation!”

I shook my head, grinning at what life’s course has handed me. “It sure has been an incredible past three years!” I thought. “Maybe I will close my eyes for a few minutes.” I did and soon fell into a deep and dreamy sleep, recalling what had brought me to this juncture in my life.

I graduated from high school, not knowing what career choice I wanted to make. I certainly didn’t want to stay working at our local K-Mart all my life. “Don’t expect to be sitting around the house all day long and eating us out of house and home,” I remember my dad preaching.

He suggested I become an auto mechanic like him. “There are always openings for civilian vehicle mechanics at the Base,” he told me. I said there is nothing wrong with repairing cars and trucks. I just didn’t see myself doing that for my adult working life.

“Your cousin Bill is in the Canadian Armed Forces and seems to have a good career. Why don’t you look into joining the Military?” Dad suggested.

I hadn’t thought of being in the Military. “I was a lover, not a fighter,” I joked to him. Living in Trenton, there was always the influence of the Military air base everywhere, Canadian Forces Base Trenton Ontario. So more to appease my dad, I went to the local recruiting office, and the next thing I know, I’m being sworn into the Forces on my eighteenth birthday. I knew next to nothing about the Military, though enough to stay away from any of the hard Army trades.

My aptitude testing indicated I was more suited for the Logistics Supply Technician trade over being an Infantryman, Radar Technician or a Cook. I guess my part-time job at K-Mart did give me some knowledge of supply and demand in business after all.

I received a phone call from my cousin Bill congratulating me on enlisting in the CAF. We talked about the Forces in general, and I’d soon learn there was a big difference between our professions. He was an Officer, a Captain at the time and a pilot of a CF-5 fighter-bomber. One piece of advice he offered me that I never forgot was, “There are four trades in the Military whose people you never want to piss off, those who feed you, those who clothed you, those who pay you and those who take care of your health.”

I completed my recruit and Supply Technician trade training and was posted to my first Base, Canadian Forces Base Petawawa, Ontario. The fact that I wore a blue uniform made no difference being employed at an Army field unit as I also noticed a few wearing dark Navy.

It was hot and humid in the summer, and you froze your ass off in the winter. I had it pretty easy, though, for my first two years. I worked at the main Base Supply Section, mostly every day, Monday to Friday. Except for Military commitments such as training exercises and other duties a Private gets stuck with, I sometimes felt like a civilian in uniform.

That suddenly changed when I was assigned to the Supply Unit of The Royal Canadian Dragoons, RCD, an armoured regiment. The RCDs were virtually self-supporting, consisting of other Supply Techs, Medics, Cooks, Vehicle Techs and Administrative staff.

I enjoyed my work because I was involved with the ordering and issuing of such a wide variety of supplies in support of the RCDs. I sometimes felt like Radar from the TV show, M.A.S.H. Go for this, go for that. Do this or do that!

My superiors in the RCDs and Base Supply must have thought I was doing my job well above the standard because I received one of the rare rewards of an accelerated promotion, a year early, from Private to Corporal. That may not seem like a big deal, however, my pay went up about 1,300 dollars a month!

I had barely christened my Corporal stripes with beer when my Sergeant said I was doing such a good job, I was being rewarded with a six month paid vacation. “Just think, you won’t have to suffer through another hot and humid summer here in Petawawa,” he smiled.

Some vacation that turned out to be! I traded the environment for one that was dryer and a hell of a lot hotter in the Middle East! I was to be employed with the United Nations Emergency Force 2 from April to October, and I’d spend my twenty-third birthday in Ismailia, Egypt.

When our rotation contingent arrived at Cairo airport, we were met by the crew we were replacing. They were all smiles and well tanned. They referred to us as, ‘Pinkies,’ because of our pale skin compared to theirs. A guy I knew, Gibson, from Base Transport, was a negro and joked. “I’m darker than you’ll ever be!”

We were issued tropical pattern clothing, light tan coloured shirts and pants, along with our distinctive light blue beret. Our suede and rubber-soled shoes were costumed made to our foot size right before our eyes.

Living in Ismailia was a total change of life that I’d never regret experiencing. I saw gleaming white or silver stretch limousines drive passed a small boy riding on a two-wheeled cart pulled by a donkey. The cart carried the few vegetables he’d try to sell for his family’s meagre existence.

We were told never to interact with the locals for various reasons, mainly because of the different lifestyles. I noticed that justice in Ismailia was swift and harsh. Fingers or a hand were cut off if you were caught stealing. They were strict with their religious beliefs, especially not consuming pork. If the person was of the Christian faith, he had a cross tattooed on the underside of his wrist to signify her could eat pork.

On most trips to Port Said, on the Mediterranean Sea, we’d bribe the customs guards with Penthouse magazines to let us bring more than we were allowed back to our home base. On one occasion, a truck driver had run the customs inspection station, and the Police caught up to him and shot him dead as he drove.

One morning I was conducting Supply business in Ismailia when I heard an accident on the next street. I ran to the corner and noticed a car had broadsided a man on his motorcycle. The driver got out of his car, picked up the broken pieces of his car and left the man lying and screaming in agony. Instinct told me to go and help him, but I had to turn and walk away.

Another time several of us were on a long weekend pass to the city of Alexandria also on the Mediterranean Sea. I heard the screeching of tires and looked out my hotel window. A pedestrian was struck, and the car left the scene. Someone went to the body and realizing he was dead, covered him with newspaper. The poor soul laid there for over an hour, cars avoiding him until an ambulance appeared, and he was driven away.

I looked forward to my weekends off the most. I happen to be the only one with a Military driver’s licence in the section, so we used the Admin vehicle to sightsee. I probably saw the Great Pyramids and the Sphinx at least twenty-five times!

One unique experience I remember was golfing close to the Pyramids. Talk about sand traps! I also encountered bartering for souvenirs. The locals thought it was an insult if you paid full price and didn’t try to ‘dicker’ them down to a lower price. That was part of the buying experience, the interaction between the buyer and seller, haggling out the price was certainly different. Gold was relatively inexpensive and the most popular jewellery purchased was puzzle rings.

The reality of being away so far from Canada hit hard when a co-worker opened a letter from his wife. Inside there was a short note and the keys to their home. She had left him. I was thankful I was still single. Many a wedding ring was put away for the six months, and I hoped if I married, I’d never have to do another overseas tour.

My tour survived, the group I came with were now at the Cairo Airport waiting for our flight to Germany then home. Now we’re the ones well-tanned, except for Gibson, and we called our replacements, ‘Pinkies.’

When my feet touched Canadian soil again, I knelt and kissed the ground, just like the Pope does. I was so thankful for the life I had in Canada.

I had frozen my ass off in minus forty degree winters and suffered through 110-degree workdays. I would never complain about the weather again until the temperature went below or above those numbers.

The next big change happened to me the following summer. I was posted from CFB Petawawa to CFB Esquimalt, on Canada’s west coast. I had traded desert sands for desert waters. I was now a crew member on the supply ship, HMCS Provider.

HMCS Provider was basically, for lack of a better term, a gas station on water. Its primary function was to replenish other vessels while at sea with engine fuel but also with other items such as food, clothing, etc. The scariest manoeuvre was refuelling ship to ship while on the go.

At least now I wasn’t freezing my ass off in the winters that were spent on joint naval exercises with the U.S Navy and other NATO countries in the warmer Pacific waters. I’d be sitting with the guys in the Mess hall, and one would say he wished they had this or item another thing be it a kind of food or a piece of clothing or equipment. I’d ask them why and I’d use their reasoning when I approached my superior about placing an order.

His favourite response was. “Order a dozen or so and we’ll see how they do.” All I was trying to do was make the time away from homeport more tolerable for my shipmates from the newest member to the Commanding Officer. My efforts were rewarded with rather substantially high annual assessment reports.

Four years later I was promoted to Master Corporal and posted to Canadian Forces Base Trenton, Ontario. I had come full circle in my career because Trenton is where I was born and raised before joining the Military. Now in ten years of service, I had served in all three elements of the Forces, Land, Navy and Air.

Desert sands of Petawawa and Egypt, endless desert waters of the Pacific Ocean, were now replaced with the 10,000-foot long black asphalt runway of a very active Military Airport.

In my first two years at Trenton, I discovered my ability to effectively supervise personnel. With annual posting out of other workers, I was soon the senior Master Corporal in my Unit.

Each September, Military personnel are offered the opportunity to improve their education by taking night classes at either Loyalist College or Quinte University. My Captain suggested I take anything involving Business Administration or Supply Chain Management citing, that at my rate of progression, I’d be promoted to Sergeant in a few more years.

Quinte University offered what I needed in both courses, so I drove to the admission office. The large room was abuzz with others also applying for night courses. I sat quietly, waiting for my turn and casually scanning the office personnel noticed this particularly beautiful looking brunette.

I gave up my place in line, twice, so that it would be her to process my application, though I wasn’t the only one interested in her. Through general conversation with her co-workers, I heard her name mentioned as Donna. I watched her interact with others, and my heart pumped a little faster when it was finally my turn.

“Hi Donna, it sure is busy in here,” I offered, looking into her brown eyes.

“It usually is during the first few weeks of September. Do I know you? You seem to know my name,” she said, wrinkling her brow.

“No, we’ve never met. I overheard your name spoken several times. I’m Richard Patterson. I go by Rick,” I smiled, offering my hand.

“Hi, I’m Donna Saunders.” She glanced at her other co-workers before hesitantly offering her hand in return. My short hair was a dead giveaway that I was in the Military.

Donna smiled shyly at me, taking fleeting glances as she helped me to complete my application. My glances revealed a woman of medium build, soft, flawless-looking face with perfectly manicured eyebrows, a cute nose and full lips and a decent sized chest on her. She seemed to be about half a foot below my six-foot height.

When she curled her long brunette hair behind her right ear, her earrings sparkled from the overhead fluorescent lights. I took notice of her left hand bare of any wedding ring.

“You forgot to fill in the next of kin portion on your application, so we’ll need your wife’s information.”

“I’m not married, never have been,” I smiled at her.

“Sorry, I just assumed you were.”

“How about you, are you married?” I wanted to know. My cheeks warmed, I usually wasn’t so bold meeting a woman for the first time.

“No, I’m not married, never have been,” she mirrored my response and blushed at my interest.

“The Business Administration and Supply Chain Management courses are given Tuesday and Thursday nights,” she informed me. I wanted to keep our conversation going, so I told her I worked at Base Supply and my rank. I think she wanted to keep talking too, though, others were waiting to register for night courses.

Then a tall black-haired, slender figured beauty, asked her if she was going on her break. Donna and I said, at least it seemed to me, a reluctant goodbye.