Chapter 1: I Should have Known Better

The call came on day one of my two months of terminal leave. I was leaving the army after six years as a captain and a year to go before I could be bumped to major. After I decided to ‘retire’, I put in to use my sixty days of accrued leave to ease out of the military. Including the terminal leave, I would have ten years in all. Two of those years I’d spent in field-grade slots and had had enough!

Virgil Danville Caen is the name. Whatever made them name me that I’ll never know. I was an Army brat of an Army brat, but neither parent had family on either side of that war. You’d a thought it would make no nevermind, but growing up in a border state – it did. I’ve had more black eyes than I care to remember. Anyway, they both died before my teens, so I never got to ask.

They left lots of money, so with the help of a military boarding school, I pretty much raised myself and went on to the Citadel where I double majored in mechanical engineering and biology. Add my school time to my active duty time; I’d had about twenty years in the military. Like I said, enough.

My exit timing wasn’t particularly good. Just a few weeks before my anticipated exit, talking heads and newspapers began reporting on ‘Coronavirus’ and ‘COVID-19’. First thing that morning, my civilian job offer was rescinded due to the melting economy, and just before lunchtime, the phone rang.

I was sitting on my patio clad in jeans, sweatshirt, and Nike flip-flops. I was trying to reach the day’s first major decision; did I want a Tuborg Gold or something lighter with my sandwich? Maybe a Dos Equis? Tough decision, but my fridge was well stocked with a variety of beers so I was covered either way.

Caller ID showed a California area code, and I almost didn’t answer. The robocaller, Anne from Credit Card Services, was trying again, and I didn’t need that crap. Then I decided that someone to yell at might release some pressure, and I swiped the green icon. I was very glad that I did.

“Captain Caen, my name is Samuel Rosen. I’m an attorney practicing in San Diego, and I have a message from Sarah Cavanaugh. Does that make sense? Do I have the right Virgil Caen?”

After a pause to get my surprise under control, I replied, “Probably. I dated a Sarah Cavanaugh about fourteen or fifteen years ago. Her folks moved to California.”

“Sounds right to me,” the attorney responded. “Let me read Ms Cavanaugh’s letter.”

Virgil, please look after our daughter. When Dad found out I was pregnant, I was locked up and ‘home schooled’ with no way to let you know. By now, I’m dead, and you’re the only sure way I can get Chastity away from that abusive fanatic. She knows you are her father. She’s a good and loving daughter to me but very naive. Help her grow strong.

When they hospitalized me due to this virus, I was finally able to write a will and this letter. Dad couldn’t get to me through the quarantine, so the will is signed and witnessed proper. He is physically and mentally abusive, and I’m afraid my half sister can’t do much to protect Chastity.

Please come get Chastity out of this Hell. It will be a fight. Definitely legal, maybe physical. Please.

Virgil, you know you were my first, and by the Grace of God and a lot of fighting, you are my only. Please.

Sarah

I had him read it twice, mostly so I could have time to recover my emotions. Sarah and I discovered sex together at fifteen, right before her father was transferred to San Diego. He was some sort of logistics guru, but everyone called him a dog robber behind his back. Obsolete term, but Dad once told me it was more polite than ass licker.

As Army brats often do, Sarah disappeared. I never heard from her again.

After a pause, Rosen explained, “I caught the same virus and was quarantined in the hospital with your friend. As of yet, California doesn’t have many victims, but Sarah and I were hit early. She picked it up when her coward of a father forced her out of the house to buy groceries and booze. Those of us on the Coronavirus quarantine ward got to know each other pretty well, and it was obvious that Sarah had been abused. Early on, before she deteriorated and was moved to intensive care, Sarah signed over custody of your daughter to me while I searched for you. If I failed to locate you, I would be her guardian until Chastity reaches eighteen.”

“There were actually two letters. The other was if she survived,” he explained. “It asked for you to come get both her and your daughter. I was going to help her get emancipated, but that doesn’t matter now. I’ll give you both when you get here – if you come.”

He sighed, “Virgil, if I may call you that, your daughter needs you and needs you fast. Her grandfather is one of the worst assholes I’ve ever encountered. I can fend him off for a while, maybe forever, but he has powerful associates who are hard to deal with. With a DNA test and Sarah’s will, it would be almost impossible for a family court judge to give custody to anyone but you. Can you, will you come?”

“Technically, I’m on terminal leave and might could catch a space-available military hop. You are in San Diego, right?” With an affirmative, I continued, “If not, I’ll see if I can get a civilian flight out of Nashville. I hear flights are leaving less than full. Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll call when I know the details...”

My daughter. The idea scared the crap outta me. I wondered what she’d look like.

I was no stranger to space-A hops, so I called to see if there were any milk runs out of Ft. Campbell. Nada, but some reservists out of Dobbins AFB in Georgia were picking up and ferrying emergency relief supplies from Nashville to San Diego. There were seats if I busted my ass to get there. I threw my newly cleaned ‘interview’ outfits and some extra changes into my ready bag duffle, put on a clean set of ACUs – that’s Army Combat Uniform if you don’t know – and headed for the Nashville airport.

On the way, I called my neighbor and asked her to keep an eye on my apartment – again. Maybe it was a stroke of luck that my new civilian job was cancelled before I gave notice on the apartment. If I returned with a teenaged girl, I’d need a place to stay.