Chapter 16: Pockets of Knowing

The Umatilla Ordnance Depot was going to be a problem some day. It had been storing military ordnance, mostly ammunition, since it was built in 1941. That meant everything from .30 caliber bullets to bombs. Big bombs.

Unexploded ordnance was going to be a big enough problem on its own, but the real problem here was that since just a few years ago, the depot had begun storing chemical weapons, including nerve gas.

It would be a threat to everyone left behind. Plans had to be made to deal with what remained. Plans that, by necessity cannot be direct, because we are a shadow group operating in secret and led by a high school student. Plans that depended on someone surviving to implement them.

More handshaking and smiles.

"A pleasure to meet you Colonel Baird," I said, holding out my hand.

"My pleasure entirely, son," the base commander said. "We're tickled pink to have the MVP from the state champions visit us. But why on earth is someone like you even interested in someplace like an army ordnance depot?"

"My dad's a civil engineer," nodding at Dad as I began my well rehearsed answer. "Together we've toured the dams from one end of the Columbia to the other, and there's a certain fascination there, you know, for the way things are done? Since I'm thinking of an engineering degree myself, these kinds of places, with their special needs are very interesting."

"Well its mostly just a lot of steel and concrete, but its important work," the Colonel bragged. "Especially now that we're storing chemical weapons."

"Really, I'm more interested in the people than the concrete. That's the piece of it I won't get exposed to in college. The people who live and work in the things we build. I confess, just the idea of chemical weapons make me a little nervous."

"Well, we'll take a look at those places, and meet the people who work with the stuff, but to be honest, I'm no more comfortable with them than you are. I'm more of the 'bullets and blankets' kind of guy. These chemical weapons are a whole different story. At least we don't have to worry about the nuclear stuff here."

It was strange, after having lived through the days following 9/11 and the paranoia that followed, to see so little concern over information that would have gotten the Colonel a quick court martial in the last few years of my first life. Terrorists, and the idea of them, was much different in 1964 than it was towards the end of my first life.

I got the full tour, glad handing the officers and enlisted men alike in each and every place. I indeed saw everything from bullets to blankets safely stored here. Some of which could be of use when the time came, but most of which was very deadly and very dangerous.

"Well, that's it!" Colonel Baird announced after climbing up out of a deeply buried bunker. "You've seen everything but the mess hall. Speaking of which, how about we visit there next and see what's for lunch?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Dad said. "I know I heard Sam's stomach grumbling several times down in that bunker."

We laughed over that, but it was true. My metabolism was still on high, despite having no intention of playing football in the coming year.

I met and shook hands with every cook, dishwasher and potato peeler in the mess hall as well. The meal was very U.S. Army. Hot, plentiful, and ... yes, it was hot and plentiful.

We talked football while we ate, and I again got to see how a game could capture the imaginations of grown men. We discussed both championship games. This year's and the year before. People here remembered details of that excruciating loss to the Lake Oswego Lakers better than I did. As people talked of the many miracles of that season, I reminded them that the biggest miracle of all was that we were even there.

"We graduated 98 percent of our offensive and defensive lines the year before that. We went into that season with only two returning starters on the line, and half the line that year were sophomores. They were the real heroes of that season. Certainly not me."

That generated a lot of complements over my modesty and team loyalty, but I firmly believed it. We lost in the state championship that year, by a 49 yard field goal. The last few seconds of the game ticked off the clock while the ball was in the air.

There was less drama to talk about in this year's championship. We had dominated our conference, the tournament and the championship game. The final score was 61 to 17, and I caught three touchdowns and threw two more. That title, and the MVP award I received had been the keys to getting me into places like this. Places I would have never had a chance to see normally, particularly in such detail.

"Colonel, what percentage of the base's personnel would you say I've met today?" I asked towards the end of the lunch.

"Gee, close to all of it, I'd guess, except for the night shift guards and a few people who are on leave," I could see the curiosity in his eyes, over my question.

"Just like we were talking about the linemen on the Bulldog team being unnoticed, I often wonder how many people involved in any operation go unnoticed and unrecognized. I like to try to recognize everyone who has a part, because of it. So people know they're appreciated too."

And I really believed that. It was a belief I'd picked up from Dad, and I had taken to myself. If you had a part, you deserved to have pride in it, and to receive recognition for it.

For the last few months, we had been seeking out the smaller military bases in Oregon and Washington close enough to the river to be practical. Places like Camp Bonneville and The Yakima Firing Center. A few places like the UOD. What was going to happen to the chemical weapons stored there, or to the nuclear weapons material in the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, and places like them that I knew from my first life had become major ecological concerns? That was a very, very good question.

It was early August, and I had another birthday coming up soon, my eighteenth. Only one more after this before the world changed forever. Things had been going at a breakneck speed, far too fast and far too distracting in some ways. Graduating from High School had been just a task to get through. I had graduated third in my class, behind Greta and Bennie, so at least I didn't have to make a speech.

The sports awards I could have done without. We had racked up a lot of them in the last three years, two regional titles in baseball, and the state championship in football. Wade, Luther and I had been heavily recruited, especially by west coast schools, but with the knowledge we all shared of what was coming soon, we had hoped to stay close to home. Our dilemma would have been large, if it weren't for the athletic director up in Pullman. He offered all three of us full scholarships and an offer to play both football and baseball.

Several of the sports writers of the day were stunned at our decisions, especially mine. Thank God we were not yet in the days when the media's 'right to know' trumped everything, as it had been towards the end of my first life. Here and now, my simple announcement that the decision had been made based on my education interests and a desire to remain close to home were enough.