Chapter 4

Back in John's office, John had turned on the television and had a comfortable chair brought in for Paul to sit in. They sat watching the game for a while, eating Wilma's cookies. Paul became lost in his own thoughts. He wondered who he should get to train Lilly. He was pretty sure she would join up. She was an adrenaline junky just like Paul was. He decided he had better broach the subject with John so they could start making plans.

"John, I know I said Lilly had to make up her mind, but I am pretty sure she will want to join up. I just don't know who we can get to train her in the field."

"What about Max Newton?"

"Max does okay, with teaching the basics. He also does pretty good teaching the grunts. But, he doesn't specialize in one field. He could help but I don't want him to take responsibility for Lilly. There is something about him I just can't put my finger on that disturbs me."

"What about Sandy Johnson. She just finished her mission in Minnesota."

"John she nearly got you and me killed three times. She was and is too nervous for me and she has these panic attacks every time she goes out on a job. You are thinking too small. I know who needs to teach Lilly the ropes."

"I was wondering when you would get around to him. He is very good at what he does. He is a very scary man. I am never scared of anyone, but he is dangerous and reckless. Anyone who is not afraid of death and sometimes wishes for it will do things no one else will."

"I know. But since she is mine, he will protect her with his own life and I know he would never let her bully him." Paul winked at John, "What do you think?"

"I think you're right, but he is on a hiatus somewhere in the mountains. You know how he is about relaxing and getting away from people."

"Yeah I know, I once had to go get him off of vacation. He was drunk and had a couple of females in his hotel room. From what the girls told me, they had been drinking and fucking for three days. They said he had worn them out and they were leaving. So, I walked over to him and told him the colonel wanted to see him. He blusterd back: to hell with the colonel I am on vacation."

"What did you do?"

"I told him, 'Nick you are in United States Army Infantry and you are coming with me.' Can you believe, he turned and looked at me saying, 'I am on vacation, damn it, ' and then hits me so hard I go flying right through the hotel room door. The door shatters into a million pieces. When I finally woke up, he was passed out on the floor with the girls in his arms."

"Then what happened?"

"Not much, with him passed out I picked him up and took him back to the barracks. He was mad at me for months. For two months, he would ask me what kind of friend would take him away from a couple of gorgeous girls like that just to go drive some lame brain general around."

"Well I agree with him, why didn't you tell them you couldn't find him?"

"Duty I guess, that was all I knew for twenty years. Do you have his emergency number?"

"Yeah, it is in the top right hand drawer of my desk."

Paul went over to the desk, pulled open the drawer and took out John's rolodex. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.

In the middle of nowhere, on a mountaintop, covered with snow, a phone rang in a cabin. A physically large, wall of a man, picked up the phone and answered it.

"Hello," the man said. "Hey Paul, how is it going ... sure, I can do that. When do you want me there? Today? There ain't no way I can be there today. You're sending a what to pick me up? You know how I am about flying in a damn jet. Paul, I am on vacation. You do remember what happened the last time you came and got me on vacation. Yeah, I know I don't drink anymore but do you really think that will save you? Okay Paul, I will be there. Do me a favor and tell the helicopter pilot to land on the east side of the cabin. I'll get my gear ready. It will be twenty or thirty minutes before he gets here. Alright bubba, see you in a couple of hours."

Nick got off the phone wondering what was so important to Paul. Oh well, he thought to himself, if it wasn't important he would just knock Paul through another door. He headed to the bedroom and started packing his gear. While he was packing, he reminisced about his past. He was born the second son of seven. As a child, he was sick and suffered injuries a lot. Until he grew up, he thought his father singled him out more than the other children. Maybe it was because he was very clumsy and larger than the rest of his brothers and sisters, or it could have been because he was smartass. Or his father had too many responsibilities to take care of to give all of his attention to just one of his children all of the time.

His mind worked a little different from the other kids. He never really studied in school and still passed his classes. He worked as hard as he could for the most part when it came to things he liked doing. However, he was occasionally lazy. He liked sleeping in on Saturdays. In his father's house, that was not a good thing. He could write poetry, do mathematics, understand science and history, and had great business savvy. His mind however made him lonely. He felt there was no one he could talk to. He liked asking questions about how things worked. Why do trees grow? Who created them? Questions people wouldn't or couldn't answer. It alienated him from his peers and his family. They mostly thought of him as white trash, a goody two shoes, or fat and lazy. He wasn't fat and he was stronger than most full-grown men. At the age of thirteen, he could carry an anvil over a hundred yards without stopping. He would wrestle with his brothers and pick two of them off the floor at the same time. His brothers got smart and would choke him to make him let go of them. That didn't always work though. A little thing called groin contact normally got the better of them. He broke a friend's leg at school one day when he was in the second grade playing tag. A few years later when he was in the eighth grade he broke a friend's arm playing flag football. Even though he was street smart, the other students left him alone just because they were afraid he would hurt them accidentally.

One winter day when the snow was a couple of feet deep, he got sick of his family. His father was on his case again about being bigger than the rest of the kids. Being kept in that house all day except to go out and feed the cattle was driving him crazy. Daylight disappeared about five o'clock in the evening. About seven that evening, his dad told all of the kids to get out of the living room. While all the rest of the kids ran upstairs, Nick decided to take off. He slipped out the back door grabbing his coat. He grew up poor and there weren't a lot of coats that kept you warm. His parents had given him an old cloth coat. When it got really cold he would sometimes wear the coat to bed. Before he left the house, he put on a second pair of socks and went for a walk. As he got outside, the family dog came running up to him. Nick really loved Mutt he was the only animal he could say that about. When he was sad and had no one to talk to, Mutt would listen. When things would go bad Mutt would sit there licking the tears from his face and just be his friend. Mutt started to bark, but Nick told him to be quiet him. Nick walked toward the barn with Mutt following behind. His father owns a hundred acres of fields and forest. The property had five ponds and a creek that split his dad's property from the neighbors. The creek was the destination for him this night. That was where he did his contemplation. It was also where he found peace in his tortured and troubled soul. It was light enough out for a person to see almost every detail of the landscape. The cattle were near the barn, all huddled around the big black oak tree. He opened the gate to the field letting Mutt to go through before closing it. He walked down the path past the woods. The trees were swaying to the slight breeze that was blowing occasionally. The snow from the branches would fall swirling in mini tornadoes before falling to the ground. Mutt took off in front of him half-hopping and half-running. He chuckled to himself at the antics of the dog. As he neared the creek, a rabbit unseen till now, took off running. Of course, Mutt, being a good dog, took off after it. It was a spectacular chase. Mutt almost had him too, but that rascally rabbit out smarted him. The rabbit jumped through a hole in the stone fence and never came out the other side. He continued on to the creek with Mutt catching up to him a few seconds later. He got to the creek and found his favorite boulder. Brushing the snow off the rock, he sat down to contemplate. He relaxed and became at peace once again.

He remembered the good times. It was the bad that always haunted him. He remembered the atrocities he had seen in his short existence. Why did he take this path instead of the other one? As a young man he was always respectful and liked taking care of people. He would open the door for everyone: little old ladies, young kids, people in general. On the weekends he would go visiting the elderly who couldn't leave their houses. He would do minor repairs and heavy lifting for them. Other occasions he would just sit and listen to them. Thinking about those days brought a warm glow to his heart that quickly faded. Then the bad memories came flooding back. However, he was outraged. He just lost all of his direction in life when he was sixteen. The dark thoughts of the world entered. His anger would well up deep inside him, dirty thoughts about women. The idea of drinking himself into oblivion was always there. At sixteen, he knew what he had planned for himself in his life could never happen. He wanted to be a preacher, but knew he never could. The anger he felt could not be controlled. Becoming a minister required that you be in control of one's faculties. He had a very difficult time controlling his anger. His anger led him from one bad thing to another. He started fighting at school. He wouldn't take an insult from anyone. He made his own life a living hell.

Amidst the crying of his mother and the anger of his father he left home the same day he graduated high school. He left with his grandparents. He got a job with his uncle. It turned out to be a bad experience. Jis uncle would only pay him when he felt like it. He was trying to pay for a car he wrecked, a car that his uncle helped him get, a small apartment, and food for the table. For almost a year, he lived on bread, cheese, miracle whip and an occasional fried burrito he would get from the local gas station. He lost so much weight, he could count every rib and every bone in his body. Until now he never realized how much his family meant to him, so he went home. That lasted only a short time, because his anger got the better of him again. A few months after getting home, his father and him started fighting again. The army recruiter called him at home one day and again, he just packed up and left home. This time his father didn't argue, but his mom still cried.

The army had him tested and they offered him every job they had. He wanted to be a helicopter mechanic and asked the recruiter when the school was going to start. The recruiter told him eight months. He wasn't going stick around for that long. He asked the recruiter what school was taking people right then. The recruiter told him that there was only one in the next month and none of the others would start for several months, it was the U.S. Army infantry. He figured why not. They offered him a two-year enlistment and a college fund for four years. That was exactly what he wanted. A month later, he was on his way to basic training. He arrived in Georgia in April. He went through all of his exams and did just fine. Until he got to the Army's main prerequisite, ten push-ups. It wasn't that he couldn't do them, he just couldn't do them correctly. They designated him to the fitness-training unit. In military language, the fat unit or the fat farm depending on who was interpreting. At the F.T.U., he learned how to keep himself physically fit. He liked the running and it was his new creek when he needed peace. The more he became physically fit the less clumsy he was.

The last day in F.T.U., his senior drill paid him a compliment, "Nick you have the grace of an expert dancer. In here, use that to the best of your abilities and you will go far." The drill sergeant wasn't meaning a dancer in the sense of a mambo or a ballet dancer. He was referring to a fighter. Every fighter or trained killer has a rhythm that they fight to. When two skilled fighters match-up in combat, it reminds one of a super fast-choreographed dance. Civilians see this in a boxing match. When it comes to killers, the rhythm and dances are harsher and more definite.

That afternoon, he boarded a cattle truck and joined his unit for basic training. He went through basic training with some minor hiccups. He was always picked for hand-to-hand combat training dummy. He didn't know why; maybe it was because he was the large, quiet, white guy. Perhaps, it was because the first time they picked him he resisted. Drill sergeant Kilpatrick was a mean, low-down, dirty fighting Irishman. He had spent fifteen years in the army, a member of special forces, did two tours in Vietnam and got his butt kicked by a know-nothing private. The sergeant threw a wooden knife to Nick and told him to attack. Wary of the situation, Nick stepped toward the sergeant. The sergeant yelled for him to rush at him. He decided to go ahead and rush him. The sergeant grabbed Nick's wrist and got a big surprise. Rather than let the sergeant throw him, Nick stuck his hand on the sergeant's back. When the sergeant turned, he picked the startled sergeant off of the ground, all hundred and ninety pounds of him. He planted the sergeant in the ground like he was a worthless sack of potatoes. The sergeant got up off the ground and rushed Nick. Nick slipped inside and around the sergeant's arm catching him in a chokehold from behind. Nick kicked the sergeant behind the knees and took him into a kneeling position. Nick released the sergeant very quickly not wanting to escalate the situation.