Craig and I rode in his 1960 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible. He’d driven in and picked me up outside my apartment, as he lived at the bachelor officer’s quarters on the base. We didn’t drive from there in silence, but we drove without talking. The Bonneville’s convertible top no longer functioned so the wind noise was all we had for company, and since Jackman drove at some ungodly speed on the freeway (the speedometer was also nonfunctional) that meant we couldn’t talk at all once he raced through the three manual gears to get to higher rpm as quickly as possible, which was pretty quick in the giant, but fast and nimble, convertible. For some reason, Craig spent hundreds of dollars to put three two-barrel carburetors on the big V8 engine. We headed back to the base, passing the exit at Las Pulgas and blasting right on down the coast to the main entrance to Camp Pendleton. The spray, generated by big surf waves encountering the shore beneath the cliff that paralleled the nearby highway, made seeing through the windshield problematic, not that the problem seemed to bother Craig. I wondered if the Bonneville’s windshield wipers even worked, or maybe Craig’s coke bottle thick eyeglasses were more helpful to his seeing than my own vision was for me.
Craig pulled the car into a big parking lot. I realized we were in front of the base theater.
“What are we going to see?” I asked, disappointment and frustration leaking through in my tone.
“You’ll see,” Craig replied
Once inside the complex, I saw immediately what was playing. It wasn’t a normal theater in that only a couple of films were ever shown in any week, and there was only one large screen.
“You haven’t seen it or you’d have told me,” Craig said, paying seventy-five cents each for our tickets. “It’s that remarkable, especially for someone like you.
I saw the title again as we headed toward some big closed double doors. The movie was ‘2001: A Space Odyssey.’
When the lengthy feature film was ended, I realized that Craig Jackman had a better understanding of my mental state than I did. The movie lifted me from my depression and gave me some sort of ridiculous hope for mankind, a hope that had been draining out of me, capped by my brother’s death. I realized that something in what Stanley Kubrick was trying to say, along with Arthur C. Clark, the writer, was that the deaths of those about me, whether in combat or after, like my brother, were not mine to take personally. Those deaths belonged to the dead. They were not burdens for me to carry, no matter how involved I believed I might have been in affecting them. The drive home was slower, as Craig had all kinds of questions and comments to make about the movie and had to keep the road and engine noise down.
Life was about the future, living through the present but constantly preparing and guiding oneself into the future. That Craig seemed to understand that so well from the complexity of the entertaining film surprised me, and my own positive reaction to it, as well. Craig never mentioned his own time in the Nam and I didn’t share mine with him. We didn’t need to. We were both born in the valley and we had both died there.
I attended the first class of the RPS school the following Monday. I’d reported to the First Civil Affairs Group with Craig the Friday before, as ordered, but there’d been nobody to report in to. An unlikely placed, and near retirement from his appearances, Sergeant Major took our paperwork and strangely wished us well. He took us to two adjoining cubicles, buried in the back and only findable by somebody with a map or long practice at working through mazes. He left a single thick envelope on each of our desks. Mine only said “Palau” in red print on the outside. Palau was a place in the Micronesian Island complex somewhere out in the Pacific I knew, but that was it. Craig’s package had “Trebago” printed on it, which neither of us had ever heard of. I flipped the cover of the thick folder open. My project, it was stated, was to come up with a supply depot plan for the island of Babelthuap. I puzzled over how to pronounce the name until I saw a former lieutenant’s work on the problem. It was Babel-thu-ap. Strange place but the world was filled with strange places.
RPS school wasn’t difficult, as it was mostly didactic memory work, stuff I found boring but I was good at. There were three levels of classification in the military, and also extending into other governmental organizations. Confidential, Secret, and Top Secret. There were informal classifications above Top Secret, like “Q” and “Eyes Only” but RPS custodians (those of us who passed the course) like us would never see those designated documents unless assigned to be a physical guardian of them. The week passed slowly. I graduated with a ‘pass,’ the only acceptable score on the final, and only, test. The other nine students passed the test, as well. The warrant officer instructor informed us that we all had Secret classification, although there was no way to prove that in print, as having any certification was Secret. Nobody thought most of the classification system and its applications were funny, except me. The second ‘prong’ of viewing or acting upon classified information was called ‘need to know,’ and getting that was generally more difficult and even funnier (to me) than the original classification designation.
The warrant officer instructor made me stay after everyone else was gone, and I presumed it was because of some of my more humorous comments, but that wasn’t the case.
“You’ve been certified with Top Secret classification,” he said without emotion or follow-up.
“That’s it, you can go,” he then said, closing a folder and putting it down on his desk.
I realized he wasn’t going to answer any of the questions that were forming in the back of my mind. What was strange to me didn’t matter to him, and that had been evident all through the course.
On the following Monday, I returned to my cubicle at the Civil Affairs offices. The offices weren’t that far from my old battery, which meant that my only nemesis on the base, Major Stewart, was close by. Stewart drove a black Chevy SS, which was easy to spot and avoid. Craig let me know that the major nearly lived his days away at the Officer’s Club, drinking and talking to other officers who did the same thing. The O Club was as easy for me to avoid as the black Chevy and the battery grounds. A note on my desk from the Sergeant Major indicated that I was to report to the colonel, our new C.O. when I came in. At the bottom of the note, in very small print, the Sergeant Major had written with a light pencil; “be alert for this one.”
I sighed at the reading, but thought little of the veiled warning, as I made my way to the commanding officer’s office. Only Major Stewart, and possibly the lieutenant who’d wanted to fly my wife down to Dallas with him, might have any problems with me that I could think of. I knocked on the door, and then entered, as was the custom, not waiting for any comment that might come from the other side of the door.
I stepped gently through the door’s opening, closed it carefully behind me, before looking up and across the desk at my new commanding officer.
I froze in place, too stunned to move. Lightning Bolt sat behind the desk, a grim and evil smile set across his facial features. I was shocked, shocked that I’d somehow forgotten all about him. Reality came crashing back, recalling that he’d been transferred to Pendleton before I’d gotten my own orders.
“This is going to be entertaining,” he hissed across the desk at me. “My little adjudication officer, the one who helped me serve out my last days with the Corps on this God-Forsaken base, instead of the idyllic island just off the gorgeous coast of San Francisco. God has been kind in sending him back to me before I retire.”
There seemed no escape from this rotten commanding officer, this poor excuse for a Marine, I realized. How could I possibly survive or endure the cruel and painful vengeance he was no doubt planning for me?
I stood at attention and stared at the make-believe colonel I was once again being forced to deal with. There was nothing to be done that I could think of right then. After saluting, he waved me out with one hand, I turned and left through the same door I’d entered, depressed and angry and a bit afraid. In the A Shau I could have called a ‘battery of six’ and taken care of him, and the situation, but I wasn’t in the valley and I had no artillery backup I could call. In fact, I had no backup of any kind. Once in the hall, I went in search of my arcanely placed ‘office’ cubicle.
I walked around the desk, its World War One vintage gray rubber surface marked and stained, and sat down. A single brown envelope sat top-dead-center on the surface of the desk. The letter was stamped diagonally across its front surface in big red letters, just like at the RPS school: “Secret.” I looked around but there was no presence of an RPS custodian. Why was a secret document laying unaccompanied on my desk? Confidential, maybe, but not secret or above. I presumed it was something from the RPS school.
The letter inside the envelope wasn’t from the school, it was from Headquarters Marine Corps in Washington D.C. The orders stated that I was to proceed to a place called the Cotton Estate, which I recognized from the article I’d read in the local paper not long ago. The estate was located in southernmost San Clemente, right on the edge of the Marine base of Camp Pendleton. I was to report there and identify myself at the gate. The orders included no additional instructions, other than a confidentiality clause, and it wasn’t signed by anyone. I wasn’t to tell anyone about the transfer or about what my orders were. It did mention that my commanding officer had also received orders and I was not to reveal anything in my orders to him.
I might have been able to get a peek at the orders which had been delivered to my Lightning Bolt under separate cover, referred to in my orders but not revealing anything of their content. My orders were unsigned, yet it was very unlikely that the Commanding Officer of any Regimental Support Team in the United States Marine Corps would accept any document that was not impeccably inscribed and signed by a qualified officer.
Craig walked into my cubicle. I put the letter back into the “Secret” stamped envelope.
“Still playing with your RPS adventure, I see,” he laughed, before going on, “the C.O. wants to see you and it’s getting around that you are no stranger to him or any kind of a friend. What’s going on?”
“I wish I knew,” I replied, folding the lightly stuffed envelope, and sticking the small but thick mass into my right front trouser pocket. “Tag along and skulk outside Lightening Bolt’s door. Probably be quite interesting.”
There could only be one reason for the Lightning Bolt to call me in. Whatever was in his envelope was probably not going down well at all.
I knew I was leaving the unit. Whatever was driving me to head to the Cotton Estate, to do whatever the President or one of his people might demand, was much bigger than a near nonsensical Civil Affairs Group supply planning outfit working to plan for stuff that was never likely to happen in places nobody had ever heard of. The top-secret clearance issue at the RPS custodial school was explained. Whatever I was about to become a part of or do required that high classification, and one that was certified without the usual lengthy background investigation the FBI normally conducted. Whoever was driving this situation had placed a finger down from on high and pushed directly and solidly on my name. That part of the mystery I could not solve without more data. I had not known Fennessey for long enough for him to pull off something like what was happening to me, not to mention the fact that he was only a colonel and the orders in my pocket were from someone much higher in rank than a mere Marine colonel. The orders had been planned for some time and with some thought. No doubt, the orders for me to attend RPS school so close to my expected exit date of the Corps were also involved.
Lightening Bolt’s door was open and loud conversation was bleeding out into the hall I stood in.
“Temporary additional duty my ass,” Lightening yelled, his voice modulated to something a little less than a scream.
I stepped through the door. Captain Merrill, the group’s executive officer stood next to the seated C.O. while the Sergeant Major sat in a chair set against the nearby side wall of the office. I’d just met the Sergeant Major and didn’t really know him, but he seemed like a decent man, unlike either Lightning Bolt or Merrill. I thought I detected just the merest wisp of a smile cross his features when I nodded over in his direction.
“Reporting as ordered, sir,” I said, coming to a position of attention in front of Lightning Bolt’s desk.
“I want your orders,” Lightning Bolt bellowed, “I’m your commanding officer and that’s a direct legal order.”
“I have them right here, sir,” I patted my pocket. “You have your own orders that don’t allow for you to review or even see mine, sir,” I went on, my tone soft and smooth.
“You don’t know what’s in my orders, and why was the envelope delivered to you stamped with a secret designation?”
I turned to look at Captain Merrill and the Sergeant Major. “You might as well call the commanding general who signed his order, and then the Provost Marshal because I just came back from RPS school and what I learned there was all about this kind of thing. The colonel should know better, but apparently doesn’t, so he’s very likely to be placed in the brig before this day is out if he continues this line of irrationality.” I turned back and smiled at Lightning Bolt.
“You little bastard,” the Colonel hissed across the desk at me, his face having turned a beet red and saliva dripping slightly from the left side of his mouth.
“I’ll just get my things and follow the orders I was given,” I said, wondering if I shouldn’t have recommended that they call the hospital as the colonel wasn’t looking so good.
“How do we even know if any of these mystery orders are real?” Lightning Bolt screamed at the top of his voice, slamming his hand down on the envelope he’d received
“Call the general who signed yours and ask his Chief of Staff,” I replied, “I think they’re probably expecting such an action by you.”
I turned, looked over at the Sergeant Major, and winked as I exited the office. I only heard silence behind me. At the first corner, on my way back to my office to get my cover and some other office junk, I ran smack into Jackman.
“Holy shit,” Jackman breathed, accompanying me as I hurried to my cubicle. I wanted to give the colonel no time to really do anything before I was out of the building and on my way to getting off the base.
“You gotta fill me in,” Craig murmured, “I mean all you can.”
I felt a pang of deep regret. My brother was dead. My Marines back in the valley were mostly dead and now I was losing my new friend, whom I could not take with me to wherever I was going.
As if reading my mind, Jackman changed the subject. “I found an apartment half a block from where you’re living in San Clemente,” he said.
There was nobody to say goodbye to when I left the building. I’d instructed Craig not to come to see me off or any of that. He would need to work to avoid any nastiness that might flow down to him if the colonel figured out we were really close friends. I removed my cover and tossed it into the Volks.
I smiled to myself as I wound my new Volkswagen deftly through the many curves of the road that ran through Camp Horno, on my way back to the Las Pulgas gate. I smiled at the image of Lightning Bolt’s last look, so twisted and intense that it had been as if a lighted cigar had been inserted into his mouth, with the burning tip first. I laughed, with both front door windows cranked down, and the small tinny FM radio speaker belting out “In the Year 2525, if man is still alive, if woman can survive….”
The Christianitos Overpass exit, from northbound Interstate Five, loomed ahead. I began to slow from my Volks’ top speed. I’d wanted to call my wife, back at our apartment, but there had been no place to call from. There was also the stipulation, in my single sheet of orders, which said “immediately.” I would obey the immediacy order but never the part of the order to tell no one. My wife would be told everything, and Craig would get a good bit, as well, if that’s what he wanted.
I guided the car across the San Luis Rey overpass, and toward the ribbon of blue ocean visible near the horizon, to the west. The overpass ran into Presidio. That street ran half the length of San Clemente, paralleling the beach atop, alternately, one-hundred-foot bluffs and dunes rolling just above many alternating and flat sandy beach coves. I turned south at the “T” made by the dead-ending of the road over the interstate. I crumpled my one page of orders between the buttons of my Class “A” green coat, straightened the tie clip on my cream-colored Marine tie, then headed for the end of the road. Expensive homes lined the area, between the cliff down to the ocean and the road I was on. I passed first a small grade school, then the Coast Guard station. The road abruptly ended, just beyond the station. I turned around and crept back the way I’d come. Recessed back, just before I got to the Coast Guard Station, was a large white wall with a big arch in it. I’d missed it on my rapid pass the first time. A small asphalt road started and ran from just under the arch.
I drove to the arch, which had been converted into a gate. The gate had a guard, who only stepped out after I stopped in front of a rickety-looking wooden saw-horse. The guard turned out to be a single Marine Lance Corporal in field utilities. He stopped and stood at Parade Rest, waiting as I eased the Volks up until he was right next to the driver-side window. The Marine snapped a sharp salute. I didn’t know if he was saluting the blue officer base-sticker on the windshield, or if he had seen the yellow bars on my shoulders. I didn’t salute back. My cover was on the passenger seat. Marines don’t salute indoors or uncovered (unless armed, and therefore wearing a cover), unlike personnel of the other military branches.
“How can I help you, sir,” the young enlisted Marine asked, bending slightly toward me.
Once he finished that short sentence, his right hand rose up and extended to near the window of my car, as if he was waiting for some contribution. I looked at the hand. I knew immediately that security was tighter than the saw horse gave the impression of. The hand was waiting for documents of identification and some sort of clearance for why I was there. I said nothing, working my wallet out of my back pocket. I took out my military identification card, then pulled out the single sheet of orders from inside my blouse. He took the I.D. card, but just waved at the piece of paper.
“Be right back, sir,” the Lance Corporal said, turned to enter the small guardhouse nearby.
I waited, looking over at the nearby Coast Guard Station, wondering if I was somehow going to be connected to that place until I processed out of the Corps. The wait grew so long that I finally turned the ignition off, and pulled my left arm out of the hot morning sun.
The Lance Corporal came back. “Proceed down the road, and through the gate there. Park next to the wall. Someone will meet you at the door located there, sir.” I took my I.D. card back from his extended hand.
“What is the Cotton Estate, anyway?” I asked him, and then, “do they grow cotton here?” The Corporal just looked at me, not smiling at my weak attempt at a joke.
As my Volks idled in neutral, the guard saluted again, his expression remaining deadpan, before moving to the front of the car to pull back the saw-horse. I shrugged. I’d been having a comforting daydream about sailing a Coast Guard skiff among a bevy of Southern California beach beauties, but it didn’t appear that that was going to be my assigned function. I drove through, as instructed.
The new black tarmac weaved back and forth several times before the vegetation cleared, and I was able to see a second wall, with a second arch. I presumed the Marine’s description of a second gate was, in reality, was at the second arch. I stopped near a barred wooden door, set deep into the solid stone wall. I parked as instructed and got out of the Volks to examine it. It was one of those thick old wooden things with black steel straps. There was no visible handle or port. I looked around, feeling foolish, then tapped on the door. I would have said “open sesame” at the same time, but my humor probably would have gotten the same reception it received at the front gate. I was intrigued, but more relieved than anything else. To be escaping the strangling grasp of Lightning Bolt was such a Godsend I was having a hard time believing it, and Craig would be my neighbor in San Clemente. Some of life was starting to have some positive meaning.
The big door sucked silently and inwardly open. A tall suited stranger filled the space left by the door. The man wore a small radio microphone in his right ear and large aviator sunglasses. The glasses were of too dark a material to allow me to see the man’s eyes. I had only seen Secret Service Agents on television, but I knew instantly that I was standing in front of one of them.
“Identification?” the man said, his hand extending out, in exactly the same way the Lance Corporal’s had. I noted that he didn’t refer to me as ‘sir.’ “Wait here,” he said, taking my I.D. card from my hand, just as the Marine had.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, very quietly. Until that moment I hadn’t realized that, whatever I had somehow stepped into, was not to be taken lightly. The Secret Service was a serious outfit. Also, the Marine guard out front was not there for play. Real live Marine guards were only used for National Security assignments. The rest of the security was contracted out. The man returned, but his hands were empty.
“This way,” he said, gesturing with the slight flip of his left shoulder while closing the door with his right hand. The door clicked instead of slamming. I realized that the door only looked like an old Spanish entryway. I wondered what it was really made of. I followed the man.
“What about my I.D. card?” I said to the man’s back but he didn’t answer.
We walked through several more doorways, the doors open. Finally, we stepped through an interior arch into a great room with all windows along one wall. An empty beach, ocean, and sky filled all of them.
The agent stopped, turned, then leaned closer and whispered, “you’ll get your old I.D., and the new one, when you leave…I think.” He then departed the way we’d come.
“He thinks?” I whispered to myself. I looked out across the Spanish tile floor of the room. It was well appointed, with expensive furniture. The floor was partially covered by large Persian rugs, the kind I had only seen in stores and movies.
The room’s windows ran side by side along the far wall, giving a complete curved panorama of the breaking waves, which were moving ceaselessly in toward the long beach of flat beautiful sand. There was only one other man in the room. He was standing, facing the ocean, right up close to the windows. He wore an unusual cream-colored suit nearly matching the color of my regulation tie. A distinctive feature caught my immediate attention. The man’s blond hair was cut strangely. His haircut was like a Marine cut, except it was flat on top. It was an old flat-top cut I had only seen in photos and on television, not in real life. I looked around, but there was no one else there. I walked to stand next to the blond, flat-topped man. He was taller than me by several inches. I looked up at his chiseled profile. His face was clean-shaven, the muscles of his jaw tight, individually distinguishable, while his nose was long and straight. His face was slightly too long, I decided, and he looked a little too much like the Marine Corps posters of the perfect Marine. Almost every real Marine hated those posters. I didn’t know what to say, so I turned and looked out at the waves too. We stood like that for several minutes.
“Your orders were generated through me,” he said, his eyes remaining glued to the ocean just outside the windows. I held myself rigid, next to the man. I felt that he’d tell me when to say something. I listened, staring at the sea but watching him out of the side of my left eye. When the man talked it was almost impossible to discern any lip movement, I noted.
“You’ll be working for me,” the man said, his lips again not moving. I felt an impulse to giggle. Maybe the man was a ventriloquist sent to entertain the President, I thought. But I didn’t smile.
“Who are you, sir?” I finally asked.
“I’m H.R. Haldeman, advisor and Chief of Staff to the President of the United States,” he replied, the words rolling out one after another as if a tape was being played at a slower speed than it was recorded, with all emotion sucked out of it. “They call me H.R., behind my back….so don’t.”
I nodded, wanting to ask “don’t what?” but I didn’t. H.R. Haldeman flicked his head to the rear. Somehow, I knew from the gesture, that our strange, one-sided interview was over. I turned, heading for the arch I had come in under.
“We start at 0900 in the morning around here, and get rid of that gaudy uniform,” he said to my departing back. I nodded with a slight grimace, although I knew he could no longer see me. I vowed to check and see what military experience Haldeman had, knowing in my heart of hearts that he’d never been a Marine.
The Secret Service agent appeared, magically, under and around the edge of the arch at the same time I got there. He handed me my I.D. back. “You get the new one in the morning. Don’t be late. He doesn’t like to start late.”
I nodded, putting my I.D. card away. “Start what?” I inquired, very quietly, so H.R. Haldeman wouldn’t hear me from inside the room.
The agent said nothing. I finally decided to ask a question that man had to answer:
“Do I report back to Camp Pendleton at all?”
“You work for H.R. now. You report only to him, and only him, and to here, only here. Welcome to his world,” the agent finished.
I headed down the hall toward where my Volkswagen was hopefully still parked, the agent walking a little behind me, while I wondered whether I’d simply gone from a known and awful frying pan into an unknown, and potentially even hotter, fire.
Gary Lockwood, who played astronaut Frank Poole in 2001: A Space Odyssey, previously stared in the TV series: The Lieutenant which ran from 1963 – 1964. He played a Marine lieutenant stationed at Camp Pendelton.
Yes, I watched that series. Damn shame that they didn’t have better Marine advisors.
semper fi,
Jim
Lightening Bolt got grounded !!!! I love it 🙂
Another cliff hanger chapter ever since book 1 chapter 1, but good grief what have you gotten yourself into now Jim !!
SEMPER Fi
I would remain afraid of that particular Colonel and I was right to be. He wasn’t done with me just yet.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks James! Now I’m gong to be late to pick up Thanksgiving groceries. I shouldn’t have started reading this chapter but then I couldn’t stop. I just love how you got the best of the Colonel!! Since I’m a DUSTOFF medic, tell him not to call me cause I really hate treating the enemy!! Hahahaha
Thanks for the compliment so well written Cary,
Much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
Haldeman, he’s was a nut case.
Amazing and confusing number of talents and downsides to that guy.
He didn’t like me but respected me in equal amounts. A mystery man
for certain.
Semper fi,
Jim
I don’t touch e-mail or “computer” above I-pad level, did read 43 words on chapter 1 of TCL and am shooting blanks; patience as a virtue will penetrate by osmosis upcoming segments; the comments of others are interesting, a large void filled since 30 Days-
Thanks Larry for coming on here to say what you just said. Much appreciate the straight from the shoulder
opinion, as well as compliment of you being here!
Semper fi, and Happy Thanksgiving,
Jim
James, LT, Junior You Sir had me breathing and palpating as much as Your accounting of The A Shau. Man !!!!!! I used to tell people that they wouldn’t believe half the stuff from my service, but Your story is incredible. I had a Brother-in-law (deceased) that gathered me up on my return and took me to see Apocalypses Now. Insisted on sitting up front. Did not do me any favors. I’m Honored to be a subscriber to Your writings. They have in a way helped me. I also held high clearance and underwent FBI noses. Long story. God Bless You and the Work of Your Hands. Have a Peaceful and Blessed Thanksgiving. No Turkey Loaf C-Rat
Thanks George, not only for the compliments but in putting some of your own story up on here for all to read too.
Really appreciate the thought and consideration.
Happy Thanksgiving,
Semper fi,
Jim
James, reading your description of lighting bolt and many others that had the same outlook. Going back to Thirty Days the General and Colonel you encountered on your first night in country. Did you come across them state side? Good read once again. Thanks William
The General was the division commander on Pentleton when I got home. He
didn’t remember me, which is understandable and although we worked out
at the same weight club and occasionally saw each other at the O Club
I never spoke to him about any of what happened.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW just WOW
Thanks so much christopher for that that great compliment…shot but impactful….
Semper fi,
Jim
Damn! What a life! And well told. 🇺🇸
Thanks Mike. Yes, I somehow had a talent for being dropped right into the
middle of battlefields, even after I got home. Life is about to get interesting
in Book II, first chapter to hit later today, as down the line here we are
marching straight into the Watergate nightmare.
Semper fi,
Jim
James, Your escape from Lightning Bolt was smoother than I expected. Craig may regret the deal he made to leave the battery. Also interesting is the insight you gained from the movie ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’.
“Need to know” meant the people who could benefit from the intel in real time did not have sufficient clearance to be given it.
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
so the wind noise was all we had for the company,
“the” before “company” seems extra
so the wind noise was all we had for company,
“You’ve been certified with Top Secret classification,” he said without emotion or follow-up.
“Yes,” I replied, not sure I had anything else to say about being selected out of the group for the ‘honor,’ or what it might mean.
OK …But in previous chapter the Colonel told you “That’s the registered publications school,” he said, “so you can move from secret to top-secret clearance,”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, my head spinning. Top secret was a rare classification unless there was some need for the designation.
So you already knew you were going to receive a TS clearance.
The surprise for me was: “and one that was certified without the usual lengthy background investigation the FBI normally conducted.”
the major nearly lived his days way at the Officer’s Club
Maybe “away” instead of “way”
the major nearly lived his days away at the Officer’s Club
Reality came crashing back to
Maye “too” instead of “to”
Reality came crashing back too
My little adjudication officer, the one who helped me serve out my last days
Present tense seems better
Maybe substitute “helping” for “who helped”
My little adjudication officer, the one helping me serve out my last days
the desk, it’s World War One vintage gray rubber surface
Maybe World War Two. (My guess is it had rounded corners.)
“its” not “it’s”
the desk, its World War Two vintage gray rubber surface
commanding officer had also received orders and I was not reveal anything in my orders to him.
maybe add “to” before “reveal”
commanding officer had also received orders and I was not to reveal anything in my orders to him.
I just don’t understand the following sentence:
I might have been able to get a peek at the orders which had been delivered to my Lightning Bolt under separate cover, referred to in my orders but not revealing anything of their content.
“peek” and “reveal” are contradictory.
Maybe something like, “My orders gave me an insight into the orders which had been delivered to my Lightning Bolt under separate cover while still not revealing anything of their content.”
would accept any document that were not impeccably inscribed and signed by a qualified officer.
Change “were” to “was” “any” is singular
would accept any document that was not impeccably inscribed and signed by a qualified officer.
Whomever was driving this situation
Better “Whoever” as its a subject – not an object.
Whoever was driving this situation
I had not known Fennessey for long enough
The “for” before “long” is sort of extra
I had not known Fennessey long enough
I turned to look at the Captain Merrill and the Sergeant Major.
“the” before “Captain” seems extra
I turned to look at Captain Merrill and the Sergeant Major.
commanding general who signed his order
Maybe “orders” instead of “order”
commanding general who signed his orders
The colonel should know better,
I believe in this case “colonel” should be capitalized since it refers to a specific individual.
The Colonel should know better,
visible near the horizon, to my West.
I’m thinking in this case “West” should be lower case as it’s a direction rather than a location.
visible near the horizon, to my west.
I drove to the arch, which had been converted a few meters into a gate.
I don’t understand the “a few meters”. Maybe just delete that?
I drove to the arch, which had been converted into a gate.
Proceed down the road, and through the gate there.
I’m unsure whether or not you went “through” or “to” the second arch/gate.
It seems as if you stopped there rather than proceeding through it.
Marine’s description of a second gate was, in reality, was at the second arch.
Maybe skip “was at”
Marine’s description of a second gate was, in reality, the second arch.
“Do I report back to the Camp Pendleton at all?”
“the” before “Camp” seems extra
“Do I report back to Camp Pendleton at all?”
The adventure continues with Book Two of The Cowardly Lion.
Blessings & Be Well
Wow, what a wonderful job you do DanC. I don’t have too many supporters like you, that really put their backs into it and get the job done. You, Jim Flynn, Jim Homan and a few more.
Thanks fo much for doing the hard job of editing and doing such a wonder of a job of it.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great story, LT. Loving every word of it.
Thanks a lot Arn and have a great Thanksgiving.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim, Did you mean Brig instead of Stockade, while talking to Lightening Bolt about the orders? I remember Nixon’s Western White House well. I worked in San Clemente during the middle seventies. H.R. Haldeman was one of the USC “Whizz Kids” that Nixon hired. He finally got what he deserved, 18 months in prison! He was in the Navy Reserves in WW II. Can’t wait for the next installment! Semper Fi!
Thanks for the editorial help Jim, segments are getting a bit more regular now.
Semper fi, and Happy Thanksgiving.
JIm
Jim, up until this chapter, you were on a pretty good roll, now you’ve had a runin with the asshole Col and were almost immediately removed from his reach. HR Halderman, WOW, maybe woe is you!
Yes, Haldeman was sort of another model of Lightning Bolt, without the nickname.
He was commonly referred to as ‘Flat top” or ‘VMaggot’ where the ‘V’ meant vertical.
Times they are changing, as the song went.
Semper fi,
Jim
Count me among the hooked, as I have been since the beginning of 30 Days. Once again, thank you.
thanks for very much for the compliment Tim, much appreciated.
Semper fi and thanks for ‘staying the course,’ so to speak, or write.
Jim
A charmed life Lt. Walking into this new job as you did. I loved the description of your last contact with the old boss also. It makes me wish I had been there to see him explode.
A great story and a fantastic life.
w3ski
Charmed, does not quiet describe it…but I’ll accept that. Many of the mysteries of why things happened the way they did
will be cleared up as the adventure of the Cowardly Lion series continues.
Semper fi,
Jim
Unbelievable but believable. Politics and the military! What have you gotten into James? Or do you have a double O number in the next chapter!?
Well, Charles, you will have to read along on that one. It was a wild time, and that was for certain,
as I ended up heading right into the most nightmarish ending of any presidential period in the nation’s history.
From the depths of the A Shau to the beaches of the Western White House. Something else. You might be able to
understand why I had to write the Cowardly Lion after Thirty Days.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow. Waiting impatiently for the next installment. Just great.
thanks for the compliment and making a comment here…
Semper fi,
Jim
I recently read an article about the quality of an author. The gist of it was that the words seen by the eyes instantly become a movie in the mind. You have done and continue to create excellent movies . Thank you for showing me the era that I spent much of my life during .
Chrly
Now Charles, my head is swelling. Much enjoy the reading and re-reading of that compliment.
Neat stuff. Thanks so very much.
Semper fi,
Jim
Obviously you have guardian angels! Well deserved sir and about time!
Those angels have been ever there, although not always bringing a comforting landing to some of these
wild and crazy adventures. thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
ha … I recall that name H.R. Haldeman
Yes, he was the most powerful person in executive government, other than the president, when
i was serving under him.
AS the chief of police stated, he was a real first class prick.
Semper fi,
Jim
HUMMM If my memory is correct maybe not the best company JR. ?
Too true, Harold. Thanks for the astute comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
A good read! Thanks. I was hoping you’d have given Lighting Bolt a stroke with you refusing to show him your new orders.
Never saw that total prick again, although there were a lot of officers back in the rear with the gear who were like him.
Semper fi,
Jim
HHMMmmm~~ at that point I might have said “Oh shit~~ I quit”
I was close to being evicted from our apartment, and I had my wife and Julie to consider. There was no way
I was going to quit. My greatest mission was to keep from killing anyone who was a threat to them, and that was very hard,
but necessary as they would have lost me if I’d given in to the tools, procedures and operations I’d learned in the Nam. There sas no ‘quit’ in me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Great chapter. Look forward to the next book.
And so, begins another part of the journey of your odyssey. Your proofreaders will likely make some changes to help the clarity and flow. Fascinating as usual, James. Your nemesis, Lighting Bolt, has satisfaction snatched out of his grasp by much higher powers. Schadenfreude!
Wow, seems like they added some corkscrews to your roller coaster ride. Fantastic read LT, thank you!!
As always sir, Powerful…. peace…
Thanks ever so much James.
Semper fi,
Jim
L don’t know how you can continue your story from here without going to jail. I had secret clearance back in the 60’s and still don’t know what I can talk about, so I just don’t. Thank you for another chapter.
Really not too concerned. ~~smile
Been through the mill.
Semper fi, Jim
As usual with every chapter you write, you leave the reader wanting more. I think that is the hallmark of a great writer. I too, am looking forward to more of the story!
Thanks so much Bob, much appreciate the loyalty and the commpliment.
Semper fi,
JIm
WOW! What a concluding chapter – and making us all yearn for the following book.
You wrote one thing that helps me immensely: “the deaths of those about me, whether in combat or after, like my brother, were not mine to take personally. Those deaths belonged to the dead. They were not burdens for me to carry, no matter how involved I believed I might have been in affecting them.”
You have made me recognize a burden I have been carrying for 55 years. Wish I had known this truism 55 years ago.
Craig, I am so happy that you wrote me about this. Knowing that helps me a lot, as sometimes this writing seems like I am writing it out into the night.
Thanks for that and the compliments, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
I wasn’t expecting that! Regular Army, ’71-’74. Army Security Agency, and I spent all my time in tri-service installations, through my final year at NSA. The Marines I worked with were all part of Naval Security Group. I went through the full FBI background check.
The next book will be interesting! Keep up the good work!
Was there something wrong with my post?
NOt a thing! I just went back and read it. I don’t know how it got to be unanswered and sitting alone in a file.
My apologies. Your comments are most appreciated and welcome here at any time.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks, Lt! You had me worried for a moment!
Now that your history has moved into the intel area, I’m even more fascinated!
Clay
The first chapter of the second book will be up today, and yes, life very definitely moved into the intelligence area. Watergate is still two
years out, and I was there for that too, but the origins for the Watergate affair began earlier, with Nixon’s association with some bad
characters. If the strict times of that era were like those of the Trump era today, however, the Watergate scandal wouldn’t have been a scandal, in fact it wouldn’t even have been noticed.
Semper fi,
Jim
Thanks Clay, as I write through the second chapter of the second book in the series.
thanks for some of your own background too….
Semper fi,
JIm
Holy crap!
Many twists and turns as the plot thickens. Pleased ole ‘Lightning Bolt’ got apoplexy. Hope H. R. turns out to have some personality.
San Clemente. The Western White House. Truly awesome.
Fantastic! What a couple great twists. Will be waiting for books two and three. The 30 Days series was addictive because of the shared experiences, I looked forward to the Cowardly Lyon because my departure from my unit (10/68) was like yours sudden – through Japan and then back home to a young wife, and new daughter. My return to home was much much easier – naval hospital staff were compassionate and caring. While waiting for separation was also assigned to Camp Pendleton (Edson Range). But never encountered the publics misplaced anger for having served. But sure from here on out the difference in our paths will grow greater and greater.
Think I’m going to have to watch 2001 again.
Semper fi!
Thanks Bob, Jackman was a treasure trove of a wounded veteran and great to have him as a wingman
when I got to Pendleton. Thanks for the compliments and your great opinions, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
>Fantastic Chapter!
I found it interesting the mention of a 1960 Pontiac Bonneville Convertible. I had one prior to moving to San Clemente in 1969.
Wow! Now you are a mystery writer! Your exquisite details about what is around you are remarkably realistic and a clear mental picture of the surroundings… Will be looking forward to reading more… Just like your other works…
Interesting change of things it sounds. I look forward to more.
Maybe some day you will believe what you said about “2001 Space Odessy”!
Also, all of us who came back from combat as confused individuals seemed to me have died and ended up in mystical purgatory…..trying to to go forward with past responsibilities within a different matrix!
Well done!
Homan, like always, can’t you just say something direct and outright? I feel like I’m playing
in some role of a guy (Nicolson) in a nuthouse sitting next to the Indian, who happens to be you.
Semper fi,
My friend,
Jim
Awesome
lighting bolt
shit head
You are the class act I came to know so much better at the Marine Ball this year.
What a wonderful guy you are and I cannot thank you enough for taking to me and talking to
me through the evening. Yes, Lightning Bolt was awful, but there were a lot of awful officers
swerving back then. You were definitely not one of them. Thank you for befriending me.
Semper fi,
Jim
Holy Crap LT, to quote Gomer Pyle, “surprise, surprise, surprise”! Fantastic Chapter!
Yes, Joe, it was those kinds of times. Every hour of every day held the craziest of surprises.
Semper fi,
Jim
Hey Jim, another good read as always. I did notice a small error… In the paragraph that starts with, “I stood at attention”. You commented that you saluted. You were indoors and therefore uncovered…
Thanks again. Glad to see you are back at it..
Semper Fidelis
Thanks for the help, and I took that out, Tim. Much appreciate the assistance and picking up the errors. Hard fo rme to re-read and see sometimes.
Semper fi,
Jim
OK , so now I am really hooked and will have a major difficulty in waiting for the next part of your life adventure Lt.. The suspence is going to be hard to maintain control with this one !
I should finish the first chapter of Book II this night and get it up in a hurry so the guys, like you, will not assume that the continuation will not be something extended at all.
thanks for the support and fact that you are ‘hooked’. Big compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim