Chapter 27

Monday Feb 22

At 0300 Monday morning, I was again strapped into the seat of the weapons specialist aboard the Talon. Max had returned last night with two sealed letters. The first was from the President.

The sooner, the better.

President Talbot

The second letter was from General Conklin.

Once the crew of the Talon saw my orders, they were eager to help. We spent ten hours a day targeting Russian satellites and didn’t finish until late Thursday afternoon. After the final check above the original U.S. to make sure none of the Russian satellites had been replaced, we stopped at Fort Bragg and I spoke with Commander Ferguson.

“Finish skeet shooting?” he teased.

“Yeah, and I have a question about Colombia. While we were skeet shooting over Colombia, I felt several sources of danger. When we checked, five were caches of weapons. The other nine appeared to be drug cartel compounds. Does the military want the weapons? If not, I can have our security guys take them. Also, do you want the drug cartel people captured? If so, do you want to use Vasily’s concoction on them, or should I take them gator hunting to get them to talk?”

“Go ahead and take the weapons caches. They’re probably a hodgepodge of different weapons. Let me get back to you on the capture and interrogation technique,” he replied thoughtfully.

Friday Feb. 26

I had talked to Max Cooper once I got home yesterday and gave him the coordinates of the weapons caches. I agreed to be ready in the morning to deploy with the troops he sent to pick the weapons up. It was a good thing that we went as each cache was booby-trapped. Once he disarmed each cache, it was quickly and efficiently loaded into the crates below the sleds and tenders and flown home. There, the weapons were checked and cleaned before being catalogued. Then they were split between our various locations. Any that weren’t needed immediately would be stored in a huge, secure armory.

I heard back from Conklin before we finished. The military couldn’t actually arrest the drug cartel members since Colombia was officially part of the US. The law enforcement infrastructure there hadn’t yet been built up enough to deal with the issue. Besides, nobody knew how many of the current law enforcement officials were still on the payroll of the drug cartels.

Instead, five hundred of our RCC troops were sworn in as temporary agents of the DEA, ATF, and FBI. I was sworn in over the radio. Working with ten real agents from each agency, we started in Colombia and Venezuela, rounding up any cartel members, including my stopping in every police station and checking on each police officer, many of whom ended up under arrest. They were all transported back to “the States,” which was what people called the fifty original states. There, they were interrogated and tried.

While I was in Colombia, I tried to find vectors for any of the remaining rebels who might still be dangerous. I had to check the two vectors three times before reporting to General Conklin. The vectors intersected at two different locations--inside Russia!

While the military gnawed on that problem, our group finished checking Central America and Mexico, finding only four new groups trying to restart their old drug businesses.

When we went through Nicaragua I was surprised to learn that the council reviewing judicial corruption was already busy. They’d tried to talk to me, but I’d always been busy. Dorothy Shaw and Don had spoken with them and explained what I wanted. Don had put them in touch with the three rebel leaders and given them the stack of complaints the rebels had given to me.

Tuesday March 1

I finally made it home this afternoon, less than a week before we were due in New Orleans. I was mentally exhausted after the breakneck pace my life had taken on since just before accepting my heritage.

Wednesday March 2

With Helga, Idania, and my brothers doing a good job of keeping up with the hunting, I took some time off--sort of. Being able to spend nights with my wives helped to improve my mood. I did stop by Tensas Parish again to see how things were progressing. This time, I spent more time visiting with people.

Everywhere I looked I saw fields ready to plant. A small town had appeared in the midst of everything. Several types of tractors were plowing even more of what had been a broad expanse of overgrown landscape when I first saw it. Huge swaths of land had been mowed, both to clear the land to plow and to make hay bales for planting sweet potatoes and potatoes. Grav sleds were zipping from place to place, the riders having a purpose in their life now. Several of the grav sled riders were dressed in the RCC fatigue uniforms and carried rifles.

As I wandered farther west on my grav sled, I was surprised to see that they’d already built the necessary enclosures for pigs and cows and had huge, enclosed runs for chickens. They were all already in use. I wondered where the cattle and chickens had come from. I zipped down towards them and immediately recognized my wives and Rubio. They were excited to see me.

“I’m stunned,” I told them. “I can’t believe that you’ve accomplished so much in such a short time.”

“We got the chickens from the Lucky J Meridian. The cattle were all captured by your brothers or purchased from ranches that needed to sell off some of their stock. Your brothers and other hunters caught all the juvenile sows, using tranquilizer darts instead of shooting them. We’re keeping some of the feral sows in a separate pen and take the shoats away once they’re weaned so they don’t become as mean as the feral sows. Once we have enough brood sows, we’ll butcher the feral sows,” Rubio explained.

Once everyone was home that evening, we started packing so we could leave tomorrow for New Orleans. The family planned to leave right after an early breakfast. Fortunately, the horses and the carriage would already be there when we arrived. Several men with experience handling horses had driven them to New Orleans today, along with the carriage. I’d seen the carriage while I was in Central America. Aside from the gaudy purple, green, and gold colors of Mardi Gras that it had been painted, the carriage was a work of art, worthy of royalty.

I had thanked both men and their numerous helpers for doing such a good job and gave them a large, well-deserved tip.

Don would fly to New Orleans on his “dragon” grav sled, along with forty of the RCC security guards, also on grav sleds. They’d accompany us along the parade route, although they’d be above us and cloaked. Don had his dragon sled reworked so that it used methane for the dragon fire. That would allow him to “breathe fire” along the route without worrying about setting anything beneath him ablaze.

Thursday March 3

We began our descent outside of New Orleans well outside of town and just before sunrise, although there was plenty of light for us to see. Following streets, we found the hotel that had been reserved for us and unloaded our luggage. Half of the hotel’s staff must have rushed outside to help us. Once people and luggage were unloaded, some of our security team took our grav sleds to a spot where they couldn’t be observed and cloaked them before parking them above the hotel. My sled was the last one. Even though this was to be a fun week, my sled was loaded and ready for action, as was the second grav sled I had tethered to it.

Inside the hotel was a madhouse as the staff got us signed in and then escorted us to our suites. The Krewe had gone all out on our accommodations. The girls were all looking out the windows with the Louisiana natives pointing out landmarks to the rest, explaining what each was.

The ladies insisted that we visit the French Quarter today, an area that had fortunately been spared from any significant damage during the Welfare Wars. Once everyone had a chance to freshen up, we joined my parents for the tour. The hotel wanted to get horse drawn carriages for us, but there were too many in our group. Fortunately, we were only a couple blocks away.

I even wore a floppy hat, hoping for a bit of anonymity, but such was not to be. All morning, people recognized me. My arm was about to fall off from shaking so many hands. My wives, however, were beaming.

The restaurant where we ate lunch wouldn’t hear of letting us pay, even though we took almost every table. Instead, Don and I left more than enough to pay for both the meal and a large tip.

We were walking back to the hotel when someone behind us shouted, “Hey, Lima Juliet!”

Turning around, I saw 2nd Lieutenant Cortez followed by Gold Squad. “What are you guys doing here?” I asked as I headed for them. Cortez looked at me oddly.

“You don’t know that we’re all marching Saturday?” he asked.

“Haven’t heard a thing about it, but I’ve been out of the country for a couple weeks tying up loose ends,” I replied.

“The people in charge of Mardi Gras suggested that all the Elite Forces troops march Saturday. It’s a combination of celebrating Mardi Gras and a victory parade. The President thought it was a great idea, so here we are,” he explained.

“Great! I’ll be there to cheer for you.”

“Like hell you will. You’ll be right there with us. Cooper insists that you call cadence for part of the march,” he laughed.

“You guys did all the dirty work. All I did was sit on my grav sled and watch,” I protested.

“Yeah, after you worked out the attack strategy and pinpointed all their snipers. Then you kept us up to date with info about where everyone was. Besides, who was it that took on the final Chinese battalions? Face it, buddy, you were right there in the thick of it with us. Knowing that you had our six made us a lot more confident.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “I was just trying to keep a low profile.”

That comment just made everyone in Gold Squad laugh.

“Your low profile went out the window at the first award ceremony. After the second, nearly everyone in the States and in China knows who you are. Fewer people would probably recognize the President.”

“Great,” I groused.

“We’re supposed to assemble in the median of Napoleon Avenue north of South Claiborne Avenue at 0800 Saturday. You’ll be at the front of the procession with Cooper and Blue Squad.”

“That’s going to be one hell of a long procession of people,” I commented.

“It’ll get even longer. The news has been announcing that any vets can march with us, right behind the last group, with or without their uniform. We’ll even have signs telling any vets watching that they can join us. We have a couple thousand older style grav sleds the disabled vets can use to join us. The route is about seven kilometers. It’s the same route the krewes will use Tuesday.”

“Where’s everybody staying?” I asked.

“They’ve got us all over, anyplace where we can pitch a bunch of tents. A lot of us are staying at the old stadium, but others are bivouacked on sports fields all over the city. The high school kids can’t have P.E.,” he chuckled.

After shaking hands with everyone, we continued back to our hotel.

Friday March 4

My wives and I spent the day visiting some of the Elite Forces troops--at least, when we weren’t involved in practice for the parade on Tuesday. With the limited number of people making up the seven krewes that planned to parade, they had decided to have a single parade starting at ten o’clock Tuesday morning.

After the parade, there would be a brief get together and then the participants would have time to go home and rest before the balls that evening.

Saturday March 5

At breakfast, Don made sure that I intended to march with the elite forces today. Even he intended to march, although at the rear with other vets. Unlike me, he’d known about it and brought his old uniform. He knew that I had four uniforms in the gear on my grav sled tender, along with everything else I might need in case I had to rush off somewhere.

While our families found spots along the route, Don and I checked in at 0700. Someone was quickly fitting me with a throat microphone so everyone could hear me when I called cadence. The troops were lined up six abreast with two members from each of the elite forces in each row. The front row included Cooper, Cortez, and Lt. Timms from the Green Berets. They would trade off calling cadence from the front left. I was assigned to call cadence every fourth time, alternating Crazy Girl and The Battle of New Orleans.

What they didn’t tell me beforehand was that there were speakers along the route so more people could hear the cadence counts. If we were within a kilometer of a speaker, the people near that speaker would hear us. Each of the troops had an ear bud so they could hear. There were too many troops for those troops even halfway back to hear us otherwise.

At 1000 hours, Cooper barked “Atten-hut,” causing the posture of every veteran to shift as they came to attention. The military honor guard carrying the cased colors formed up near the front of the parade and went through the ceremony to uncase the colors. They were then ordered to arms and marched to the front of the parade where the command to present arms was given. The flags of the services were lowered to 45-degrees. Every single vet saluted the colors while the crowd put their hands over their hearts.

The Star-Spangled Banner began playing over the loudspeakers and in our ear buds. I know that I had tears in my eyes when it finished playing.

With a few brief commands, the honor guard stepped forward and the parade began.

I didn’t see it before we started, but heard later that there were far more vets than active duty Elite Forces marching today. As soon as we were ready to march, Cooper nodded to me. Since we were in New Orleans, I started off with The Battle of New Orleans. I was surprised when a couple of musicians played along, and more surprised by the loud cheer from the spectators who quickly joined the troops when it was their turn to reply to what I just sang. Cooper nodded again when I finished, so I went into Crazy Girl.

Cooper took over when I finished, followed by Cortez and Timms each taking a turn at calling cadence. Then, it was my turn again and I did the same thing again, except I used my original version of Crazy Girl, the one meant for the Marine Raiders.

For my third turn, I used a new version of Crazy Girl, one I’d adjusted for the Green Berets.

Before it was my turn again, we’d finished the route, ending up passing the reviewing stand which was occupied by the President and at least fifty top-ranking officers, some from each of the five services. Cooper, Cortez, and Timms continued the cadence while the vets finished the parade and passed the reviewing stand. Then it was my turn again. It had been one thing to sing The Battle of New Orleans while we were marching by nameless faces along the route. Singing it in front of the President was quite another.

Still, I ignored the President as best I could, a task made easier by the continued exuberance of the crowd who joined in with the troops and vets as they sang when it was their turn. Thank God that the last of the vets finally finished before it was my turn again. I’d started looking around for my wives and noticed television cameras recording us.

It took three hours after the parade finished before I could escape the crowd. I think every one of the Elite troops and most of the more than ten thousand vets wanted to shake my hand or give me a high five. I was exhausted afterwards. Fortunately, my wives had located me because I wouldn’t have had any idea of where to start looking for them. After eating a late lunch, I took a nap until dinner.

Monday March 7

After spending yesterday doing very little besides going to church, my wives took me shopping and sightseeing today, although I spent half the day shaking hands and having pictures taken with people who recognized me. Peter Carver and Raymond Vasquez ate dinner with us and made sure we knew where to assemble in the morning. The parade was scheduled to start at ten o’clock and we needed to be there no later than eight.

Tuesday March 8

We were up early today. Dressed in our buckskins, we ate breakfast and arrived at the staging point at 0700. Don was flying above us and directed me to the makeshift corral where our horses were.

They’d already been bathed and brushed by Mr. Crawford and several local helpers. All we had to do was catch and saddle them. Several of our security guys arrived with our bridles and saddles on their sled tenders, as well as the rifles and scabbards. They also had a bag of apples that we gave the horses to reward them for being so good, despite the crowd and all the noise. We led them to where the parade was scheduled to begin and learned that we would be in the very front, right behind a group of young ladies carrying a banner that read “A Celebration of Three Lucky Jims.”

Our carriage would be right behind us, carrying my Chinese Concubines and all nine kids. Even the older kids had gotten buckskins to wear. Mr. Crawford assured me that the four horses pulling the carriage were the best he had.

The three floats for the Mistick Krewe of Comus would be right behind the carriage, followed by the other Krewes in the order that they had agreed to sponsor a group for Mardi Gras.

With so little time to prepare, the three floats were simply flat farm wagons pulled by tractors. The first float was decorated with huge murals depicting scenes from the life of the first Lucky Jim. The second float had scenes from the life of Lucky Jim II, and the third had scenes from the last few months of my life, starting with the Chinese mini-subs. Each float had about a dozen people riding on it.

Don came by about 0930. “You should see the parade route. There must be more than two hundred thousand people along the route. Right now, the city’s scrambling to erect barriers to extend the route. They’ve got others going to each group to warn them that it’s being extended and they’re announcing it on the radio.”

At 0945 we watered the horses one final time. Right before saddling up, Sally wove the leather thong attached to an eagle feather in my hair. As soon as I was on my horse, news cameras rolled and photographers began taking pictures. I suddenly felt a huge surge of pride knowing that I was representing the first Lucky Jim, and had to fight back tears.

At 0958, the police at the front of the parade led off on their grav sleds, all of them with their lights flashing, to make sure the route was clear. Once they were half a klick in front of us, one of them turned on his siren. At that point, the girls carrying the Lucky Jim banner moved out. We followed about twenty meters behind them and the crowd came to life, roaring their approval. Once again, I felt the tears building up and had to fight them back. The carriage followed my wives on horseback with Zien driving it. Even though she knew how to ride a horse, she was the only one who knew how to drive the carriage, having lived on a farm all her life.

The crowd roared even louder when Don uncloaked about a hundred meters above us. After a roar to get people’s attention, he made a shallow dive, spewing flames, and pulled back up again, repeating the maneuver all along the route.

The three floats behind us began throwing candy bars and strands of glass beads that they’d purchased in Cuba with some of the money I had donated. That caused the crowd to roar their approval even more. I daresay that the majority of the kids under ten had never had a candy bar.

Before I knew it, we had reached the end of the extended parade route. Mr. Crawford and his helpers were awaiting us to help with the horses for which I was grateful. The kids required most of us to calm them down because they were so excited.

The Ball started at 2100 hours. Everyone invited was asked to dress casually. The krewes realized that not everyone was able to afford formal clothes and didn’t want to embarrass those who couldn’t afford it.

Leaving the little ones in our suite with the wives of some of our security contingent, we made our way to the Ball. When we arrived, we could see that many of the decorations had been stored since the last Mardi Gras celebration several decades ago. We mingled for an hour before people started dancing. The research I’d done about the last Mardi Gras Balls showed that the dancing had been rather limited. Most people who had attended them had done so for the socializing and business or political networking.