Chapter 1

Let's see... how do I start this? I guess I will start from the beginning.

I am an orphan. The first thing I remember is the orphanage, and my many "brothers and sisters" all races colors and creeds. I was a big blonde kid who had gotten too old to get adopted easily. All of us from the orphanage went to public school in the small town where the home was.

I grew up without many close friends or close attachments. I finished high school and joined the Navy. I served two hitches during the Viet Nam War where I served as the ship's armorer. My ship was assigned for eighteen months to the Viet Nam conflict. I learned everything there is to know about the small arms and small crew served arms that were assigned to our ship. I also learned to load ball ammunition and specialty ammunition.

After I finished my second hitch, I transferred to the Naval Reserve. I went to Gunsmith's school and opened my own business.

Since I didn't have any family ties, I found where I thought my business would be accepted and would flourish, I hoped.

That is how I wound up outside of Savannah, Georgia at Estill, South Carolina. I went to Naval Reserve at Jacksonville, Florida.

I like to think that the officers and men on my ship had the best small arms that were available in the U. S. Navy. The Captain had a reworked 1911 A1 that shot much better than he did. The XO had a Model 10.38 that had a super double action trigger, and all the crew weapons were as fine as I could make them.

As part of my business I went to gun shows around the area to try and drum up a little specialty business. I got several M-1 and M-14 reworks for the NRA military rifle matches. I also got the occasional AR-15 for a tune up for their matches.

The biggest part of my business was fixing up older shotguns that were used for hunting deer in this area of the state. There was always a big rush in July for the opening day in August, and a big rush at Christmas time. Then there was the usual cleanup at the end of hunting season in January.

I had decided to begin a line of specialty hunting ammunition, using premium bullets and first line components. I began with five calibers, .243 Winchester, .270 Winchester, 30-30 Winchester, .308 Winchester and .30-06 Springfield.

I used Hornady bullets for the standard ammunition and would load Nosler Partitions on special order.

The ammunition enterprise was well accepted and I usually took several cases of each caliber with me to the gun shows.

I applied for and was granted a Class II firearms license to repair and manufacture automatic weapons and suppressors.

I modified UZI submachine guns with a built in suppressor and to fire at a slower rate of 500 founds per minute. It took special lower velocity ammunition for the suppressor to function best; it worked with any ammunition, but was louder with high velocity ammo.

I manufactured the specialized ammunition with resized .357 caliber hollow point bullets. I modified the feeding on the gun so this unusual profile of bullet functioned well.

My business was doing well, and I met and fell in love with a beautiful girl of Puerto Rican descent. Nita was very sweet and loving. She worked as hard in our business as I did. She went to the gun shows with me and took care of me much better than I had been. My health was very good and I continued my physical training as I had throughout my career in the Navy.

I still remember the happiest day of my life. It was the day that Nita told me that she was having my baby.

Our life was very good. Nita grew large and had our baby daughter one October morning at 8:00. We named her after Nita's mother, Gloria.

She and I worked hard for our little family. After Gloria was eighteen months old, Nita asked to go see her family in Puerto Rico. I agreed, and said that I had three gun shows during that month and would miss them, but I had to make a living.

Nita and I made love every night for the week before she left for the visit. I put them on the plane at Savannah, and they told me they would call me when they got in.

Everything went fine and I made a bunch of sales during the first gun show at Macon, Georgia. I was really pleased and made some additional stock to take to the next show in Raleigh, North Carolina.

I made a good sale to the police department in Folkston, Georgia. They were rearming their cars with carbines instead of shotguns, so they bought four of my modified Uzi's, and ten cases of low velocity ammunition. I was to deliver them when I went to Naval Reserve the next time. The chief also left me his and his son's hunting rifles to do a glass bedding job and trigger rework.

I went down to pick up Nita and Gloria at Savannah. I was waiting at the airport when I saw the list of flights show that the plane from San Juan, Puerto Rico, was overdue.

I went to check with the airline desk and they asked me to go to a private lounge. I was there with several other people. A woman from the airline came in and told us that the plane was off the radar and lost to radio communication.

I was stunned. I knew what that meant. My wife and baby had been in a plane crash, most likely into the ocean. I sat there and cried.

A few hours later, the airline verified that the plane had indeed crashed into the ocean south of the Island of Cuba. The crash site had been found. The plane was in pieces and no survivors had been seen.

This was not really news to me. I had already cried out, and with that information, I left my name and telephone number, and drove in a daze back home.

The next week, I received a call from the airline. My wife and daughter had been found, still buckled into their seat in the airplane.

I asked them to send the bodies to her mother's home in San Juan.

I called Gloria and told her that I would be down for the funeral in a couple of days. I received a letter with two flight insurance policies and a letter from Nita saying that she had a bad feeling about this flight. She also said that she loved me, and wanted me to take care of myself if she and Gloria were taken.

I was freaked out.

I called the airline and made reservations for San Juan. I packed lightly and made plans to close my shop and go to the funeral.

I called the insurance carrier and made the claims on the policies. They were aware of the accident and said I would receive a check for $250,000 for each policy. I should receive it within the next three weeks.

I drove to Savannah and caught the plane to San Juan.

I spent time crying with Gloria and Nita's sisters and brother. We buried my family in the memorial cemetery in San Juan. I stayed another day and then went home.

I got home alright. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I worked. I finished up the order for the police chief in Folkston, and packed up my cube van for the gun show in Tallahassee, Florida. I was going to be able to kill three birds with one stone. Naval Reserve, one weekend, a big gun show the following week and a delivery to Folkston, all in the same trip.

I still found myself crying for no reason every couple of days.

I had my van loaded with my normal gun show stock, as well as the four guns and 5000 rounds of ammunition for Folkston PD and the chief's two hunting rifles. I always carried a loader with a few thousand bullets, some powder and primers, in case I ran out of something during the show duration.

I went to Jacksonville and made my Naval Reserve weekend. I left Monday to drive to Tallahassee for the show at the civic center.

I was making a leisurely trip, since I had two days to get to Tallahassee and set up. I ran into a little bad weather as I neared Tallahassee. As I crossed the Suwannee River I saw a solid wall of fog. I slowed down to about 25 miles an hour, and crossed the bridge by watching the painted line on the road out the driver's side window.

As I left the bridge the painted line disappeared, and I was going too fast on a rough dirt track. I thought I had left the road so I slowed to a stop. I turned off my lights so any following cars would not think I was on the road and run over me.

I got out of the truck, and listened. There were no traffic noises and after I walked in a circle about 30 yards in diameter, I knew some weird shit was going on.

I couldn't find the pavement, or the river or the bridge.

I figured I was losing my mind, or I had fallen asleep while I was driving. I got out one of my show guns and loaded a magazine and put it on the seat beside me.

I started the van and drove on at about 5 miles per hour. After a few minutes I drove out of the fog. The view I had told me immediately that I wasn't in Florida anymore. I could see mountains in the distance, and a wooded grassland area that the dirt road I was on led me through.

I drove on for a while, and finally saw a small cottage up a lane from the "main road". There were a couple of small fenced fields, and an open pasture with some cattle grazing.

I got my 3" Model 10 out from under the seat and put it in my belt under my shirt tail. I got out of the van and walked up to the house.

I knocked on the door, and a girl answered. If you have ever seen Star Trek, this girl looked like a Vulcan, but smaller. She was 5' tall and weighed about 90 pounds by my guess. Her hair was bright orange, like carrots.