Matt pulled a folded-up package from one of the overly large breast pockets of his vest. The special photographer’s vest he’d gone on and on about earlier because of the new store on Del Mar in San Clemente called the Banana Republic. The place catered to men in what was called safari attire, like the vest. Half of a Jeep was angled down in the front window of the place. I’d driven by the store but never gone in. My reference to Matt’s vest as a fishing vest hadn’t gone over well so the subject was dropped. He unfolded what became a highway map in front of him.
“Can’t we stop somewhere and have a bite and take a rest?” I asked, fatigued to the bone, the relief of no police pursuit causing me to tire even more.
“When we get there,” Matt replied, tracing a path on the map with his right forefinger.
“You know, you could at least take over the driving for the rest of the trip since we’re almost there.”
“Can’t do it,” he replied, “and we head up the freeway to Santa Fe, it’s finished for that stretch, and turn left on Highway fifty-eight until we reach Poor Jockey, or whatever that Indian name is. Highway 502 then takes us straight up the lip of the caldera on into Los Alamos.”
“Why can’t you drive, how is that Indian name spelled and don’t you find it strange that the highway’s number is the same as the drunk driving ordinance in California?”, I grumbled.
“They want you to deliver the object personally and make the transfer of possession mano el mano, the spelling is Pojoaque, and five oh two is the police code for drunk driving. not the ordinance.”
I drove onto the freeway and headed the deuce up toward Santa Fe while I thought. Matt was continuing to shock me with the expanse of his knowledge.
I’d been a cop but I’d never been much a street cop so I’d also never booked a drunk driver. I wasn’t sure about the exact section of the penal code but would check it when I had some reference material and time, although I doubted Matt was wrong. The fact that he didn’t seem to care whether he was right or wrong added to his credibility somehow. The name of the pueblo, town, or crossing was, unless one spoke the local dialect, sort of unpronounceable so Matt’s mangling of it made strange humorous sense too.
“Why does it matter who drives or who delivers the package? I asked.
“We share a lot of top secret information between us, those rarities like us who work the field. HUMINT they call us. Human agents, and we’re maybe one percent of the totality of all those who work with the Agency. But they don’t tell us everything. It’s probably about trust. They want to be assured that the object is exactly what it’s supposed to be and you have somehow earned their trust, beyond my level. This thing is beyond top secret, however. It’s so secret it can’t be classified without having some record or transmittable knowledge that it exists.”
“So, how do we tell what’s rumor and what’s real if nothing is recorded as the result of proper investigation and verification?” I asked, wanting to know more about how Matt was getting to know stuff that I could only guess at. Is it all going to be like this as I come aboard?”
“You’re already ‘aboard’ as you put it and much of it is going to be this way, sort of like those three Marines who died in San Clemente and the alien thing.”
I almost careened the deuce off onto the right side of the freeway access lane when I heard those words. The Marines were coming back again, when I thought that issue, unsettled as it was as a not satisfactorily resolved mystery, was gone on into the past forever. The artifact seemed ‘alien’ although I felt deep inside me that the thing was natural to a universe that was unnatural to human beings, at least so far in our development, and then there was the uncomfortable feeling coming back to me that the Marines had run into something more alien than an object in that fake containment chamber. Just how did Matt, how could Matt, know anything about the broken results of the Dwarf’s investigation?
“That’s all rumor,” I blurted out, not wanting to reveal anything more and not comfortable discussing the loss of those Marines and then the appearance of the artifact in. my life around the same time.
“Steed,” Matt said, as I guided the deuce into the right lane.
A huge mountain seemed to lay just ahead of us, with the freeway going up in a series of fairly wide but very steep curves. The lowland we were climbing out of, down to second gear and the deuce straining at that, was bordered on the right by a vast cliff face with a sharp edge along the entirety of its long unseeable length. Two slots were carved into the edge not far from where the truck worked to climb the steep hill through a deep cut near the slots.
“Wagon trains,” Matt said, since I’d said nothing back to his naming Steed, out of nowhere and having no contest to what we’d been discussing.
“Wagon trains, what?” I asked, in frustration, wondering if Matt had somehow gotten hold of a booze bottle he’d somehow kept from me.
“The two ruts along the top of the cliff there,” he replied, with a slight laugh, “those were made with wagon wheels being lowered on ropes down to the bottom as they made their way west. You’re looking at the actual Santa Fe trail itself.”
I was shocked. Of course, I knew about the famous, or sometimes infamous, Santa Fe trail but I could never have pictured or could picture in my mind, just how many wagons would have had to go over the edge of that cliff to leave hundred-year-old tracks so deeply and indelibly imprinted in such solid sedimentary rock.
“Push the pedal down past the stop to engage the supercharger,” Matt followed up as I drove ever slower while glancing at the historical record passing right before my eyes. “You’ve got two hundred and fifty horses and you’re going to need quite a few of them unless we end up in first gear at eight miles per hour, or so. This place is called the La Bahara Pass and we’ve got a couple of thousand feet to climb to get to the top.”
I followed Matt’s instructions, once more. The deuced surged immediately to its red line and hit ten miles per hour in first gear, then twenty in second, thirty in third. Very soon the truck was moving up the steep hill at over forty-five miles per hour. I wondered about the artifact, not for the first time. The object had been completely docile in exhibiting any effects at all from the jostling of its move.
The hill was still an agonizingly long pull to the top but once there everything changed. With Santa Fe in the visible distance, the deuce topped the part of the freeway that lipped over the ridge and then sprang toward the city as if a living thing. I braked but the truck made it up to eighty before I could slow it and get it under control. I had no idea what kind of braking power the vehicle would have for the remainder of the trip, however, as I’d had to stand on the pedal for several miles to slow it down. Once again, it was fortunate that the early hour of our travel didn’t have too many other vehicles going the same way. The planners of the interstate highway system had also enough sense to make that stretch of the road three lanes going up the hill instead of two like on the downhill side.
“What the hell was that?” Matt asked, coming out of a shocked silence. The acceleration of the deuce, when it came over the top of the rise, was way beyond even the supercharged engine’s capable of producing.
“Another characteristic of the load you want to know about but don’t really want to know about,” I responded, dryly, thinking to myself about how strange it was that only seconds before the artifact demonstrated one of its main powers or effects, I’d been thinking about how being well-secured int the back of the heavy truck had eliminated it’s more obnoxious characteristics.
“Jesus Christ, no wonder they want that thing, which also brings to mind just how someone like you came to have it.”
“Steed, you mentioned back before the La Bahara pass,” I said, not phrasing it as a question but curious as to why, out of nowhere, Matt thought to use his name, as if pointing out something I was missing.
“It never occurred to you, the coincidence of his passing?” Matt asked, his tone one of complete innocence as if he was raising the most innocuous of questions.
“It would appear so,” I replied, wanting to use the more western ‘I reckon so,” but thinking better of playing some cowboy role when the subject was about Rick Steed.
“He was under your guidance and training which led him to become one of your investigators in that Dwarf group.”
“Yes, that’s true,” replied, wondering where Matt was going with his comments.
“It never occurred to you that Steed was killed by a lone gunman who was apprehended three days later and then immediately declared to be so 5150 that he had to be immediately committed to a state hospital?”
“That’s true,” I answered, beginning to get an odd feeling running up and down my spine.
“The three Marines, Rick Steed, another Marine, you’re a Marine…and then there’s the Dwarfs. What was Steed working on finding out for you and, by the way, do you really think that guy who killed him is in that mental hospital at all?
I was so shaken by finally grasping what Matt was getting at that I drove right past the exit for Highway fifty-eight trying to come to grips with a line of thought that never occurred to me. Steed killed purposefully. By an assassin? By someone who likely walked into a mental hospital and possibly back out the same day or night.
“That’s it, that’s all you got?” I asked, embarrassed for having missed considering any of what this remotely oriented and located man was saying.
“Nope. How about the .38 he was killed with being a duty weapon belonging and gone missing from the possession of a San Clemente police officer? He was wearing a vest that would stop a .38, and more, but this supposedly crazy person managed to shoot him in one side and out the other, where there was no vest protection, just by luck or accident? The three Marines died by accident and you’ve come into possession of some chunk of an alien starship, or something by accident. Seems like you’re living through a series of accidents without any parallel I’ve ever heard of.”
“What do you want from me?” I asked, in exasperation. “What do they want from me?”
“You don’t look like a spy, you don’t talk like a spy and you sure as hell don’t act like a spy. You don’t look like a Marine; you don’t talk like a Marine and you don’t act like a Marine. Finally, you don’t look like a lethal killer, you don’t talk like one and it doesn’t seem you act like one anymore either. What’s not to like if you’re looking for talent in a field force that’s pretty sorely lacking in exactly that kind of mangled but oh-so-effective disguise? You’re a real-life human chameleon, the first one I’ve ever met or am likely to meet.
I exited the freeway at the next exit which was called, appropriately, the Old Santa Fe Trail.
“Where do we go from here,” I asked Matt, thinking more about my life than the geographics of travel toward Los Alamos.
The fact that Rick might have been purposely killed shocked me to my core and all I wanted to do was go back, not forward. Back to call the Dwarfs in and launch another investigation, but then I knew I couldn’t do that, not if Rick had been taken out over something he found. I wasn’t dealing with combat veterans and survivors after making it through the ‘new guy’ period of peril.
Matt instructed me to head the deuce straight on into the town square, which was located right along the twisting trail. We left the truck sitting on the street idling and went into the only restaurant called the Plaza Café.
“You’ll like this place,” Matt said, unconcerned that the huge six-by was half blocking the road that ran around the square.
We both ordered cheeseburgers and fries. The burgers came with green chili on them, unasked or charged for. Despite the heat, the burgers were wonderful. Matt and I didn’t talk further until the bill was paid and we were on our way toward Los Alamos once more. The information, if it was that, about Steed had shaken me so deeply that I didn’t even think further about calling my wife. Matt’s revelation I’d been excited to see the place where the atomic bomb was created, but that tourist kind of thinking had disappeared from my thoughts.
The hill up into the base, once crossing the bridge on Highway 502, was so steep and long that the deuce stayed at fifteen hundred rpm in second gear for the whole way up. Once there, and passing through the long closed front gate, Matt pulled out a piece of paper from his pants pocket.
“No map of the tech areas, but I’ve got the directions here.”
I eased the deuce along, through the town and around many curves that ran deeper along the finger of land called Los Alamos. Finally, we came to a gate tucked into the bracken rising up on both sides of the road. The gate was closed but a staff car sat parked across the entrance area.
“Our ride,” Matt said, refolding and replacing his hand-made map back into his pocket.
“We’re not going in?” I asked, in surprise, pulling up to the side of the staff car.
“Nope, they’ll take it from here. The car is our ride back into Albuquerque and the dealership for your new car. Just leave the deuce at idle in neutral.”
“I didn’t ask for a new car,” I murmured, wondering why Matt was being so formal. What was I going to do, leave the truck idling in first gear?”
“We have an expression, probably taken from years ago on the ranges out west, and then picked up by Hollywood. You ride for the brand.”
Nobody came out of the gate area. Matt and I got into the back seat of the car and it took off, the driver never saying a word, much less asking for identification.
“No security?” I asked as we left the tech area behind.
“More security than you’ve ever been under before but it’s all hidden away, invisible, like we are about to be.”
The trip back to Santa Fe and then down to Albuquerque was uneventful except for the fact that our ‘chauffeur’ drove at speeds that were roughly twenty miles per hour over the speed limit at every open opportunity.
“What if we get pulled over for speeding,” I asked Matt quietly, the car hurling down La Bahara at over a hundred miles per hour.
“The same thing that happened with the last encounter with the law,” Matt replied, with a soft laugh. “We’re not immune but we are fully inoculated.”
I didn’t understand but decided to leave it alone. I was the new guy and I had much more to learn than I would ever have believed, and I also knew I wasn’t going to be given much time to learn. Like combat, it was to be on the job training or some kind of bad ending.
Matt sensed my discomfort with the way things were going.
“Adventure is doing something dangerous that has a happy ending,” he said, this time sounding deadly serious.
“And if otherwise?” I asked.
“Well,” Matt said, after a few seconds of thought, “that’s called a tragedy.”
The dealership was in a part of Albuquerque that was made up basically of all car dealerships. Cars were displayed everywhere up and down that part of the industrial-developed section of Lomas Boulevard along with what seemed like hundreds of flying American flags. Somehow, it seemed, the purchasing of a car had become entwined with being patriotic through the years.
The rickety Los Alamos Bus Line car, which was merely an old Lincoln, was not much different, except for being older, than the Lincoln’s the Western White House compound used to warehouse and use for visitors. There had been, back in those now departed days, no printing of anything like the Los Alamos Bus Line logo tastelessly applied to the front doors of the car that delivered Matt and me to the Mercedes dealership.
“I’m not buying a Mercedes,” I said, getting out of the passenger door and shielding my eyes from the glare of a bright morning sun reflecting back from all the glass in the parked cars.
The Los Alamos Bus Line vehicle pulled away, leaving Matt and me standing alone outside the double glass doors leading into the dealership’s showroom.
“We’re not here to buy a car,” Matt replied, walking away from the entrant to stand next to a Mercedes painted a strange green color I recognized. The vehicle was painted British Racing Green as the team cars raced for by that area of the world. “We’re here to drive away in a car, which we’ll leave at the airport until you return, which will be very soon I presume.”
“So, this is like the house wherein the decisions have all been made, the money laid down and I’m left with the mortgage, loan, or whatever without ever having a say in anything. Am I going ot have to lie some more to m wife about this one too?”
“Get in, it’s not locked,” Matt said, getting into the passenger seat and belting himself in.
Almost unwillingly, I complied with Matt’s instruction, noting that the door closed like it was the door to a bank vault and the leather seat seemed to fold me into it like it’d been waiting for some time for my, and only my, arrival. The keys were in the ignition next to the steering wheel.
“What is this thing?” I asked, beginning to feel marginally attached to the vehicle without even starting or driving it.
“It’s a 240D, which stands for diesel. It’s slower than crap but has an extra twenty-gallon fuel tank so the range, at highway speeds, is nearly 1200 miles. The color was selected especially, as there are no British Racing Green car colors in any German automaker’s inventory. That color is supposedly the color you wanted one day to have if you could afford it.
“Why?” I asked, surprised in so many ways I didn’t know what to say further.
“Who knows?” Matt replied. “Maybe they want to thank you for gifting that package back to them after storing it as you were ordered. Maybe they want to prepare you for the fact that they want something from you that you likely won’t want to give them.”.”
“So, which is it,” I asked as I turned the key in the ignition.
“They don’t do thank you stuff very much,” Matt replied, “and you have to wait fifteen seconds for the glow plugs to light up in the cylinders. There, he pointed at a small red light that had come on next to where the key was inserted into the dash.
“The deuce has a diesel, how come no glow plugs in that?” I asked, surprised by what seemed like a strange oddity I’d never heard of.
“Germans, efficiency, power, hell I don’t know,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Let’s get to the airport. There’s a plane waiting for us, which probably will be your last free government ride. You’ll have to get used to going back to flying economy commercial.”
“More of their thanks?” I asked, but Matt didn’t reply. “Okay, how much is this thing?”
Matt opened the glove box and pulled out a small stack of paperwork, which he started reading through as I replayed the map in my mind of how to get to the airport. The car was responsive but not in the least bit fast, although the automatic four-speed probably had something to do with that.
“Ten thousand bucks, which is about forty percent off retail. Eight percent interest, which isn’t bad for a car loan these days.”
“Too much,” I said back, although the car was amazing, the quiet clattering of the diesel and all. I love it, from the color to the sound of the doors closing and even the fact that the thing required fifteen seconds of patient contemplation while it worked itself up to agreeing to start.
“You signed everything, including the registration,” Matt said, his tone one of amazement. “It’s got a purple heart license plate which is good for life, although I don’t know whether that means your life or the cars.”
“I never signed anything,” I said, the whole thing, like with the house, made me feel faintly uncomfortable.
“Notarized, even,” Matt went on, as if my denial meant nothing.
When we got to the airport Matt directed me back to the giant hanger that was located deep into the mess of small hangers and buildings well away from the normal passenger terminal. The whole huge building was on wheels.
“The wheels were all salvaged from Boeing B-36 bombers they took apart in Arizona. Pretty cool, isn’t it”
I didn’t reply. Nothing seemed cool that I was doing or the career that I’d signed up for that didn’t seem like it had an escape clause or the ability to resign.
Matt pointed at a small plane which surprised me. I’d been looking for another C-130, but it wasn’t to be. On approach, I realized it was a Lear jet.
“Just park the car anywhere and leave the key in,” Matt instructed. “The guys will take care of it while you’re gone.”
We both got out of the wonderful underpowered Mercedes and approached the Lear. Nobody greeted us but the cabin door was lowered with a small set of steps leading into the plane’s interior.
“You’re on your own,” Matt said, “I’ve got unfinished business here.” He held out his right hand and gave me a big smile.
“Thanks,” I said, weakly, taking his hand. I wasn’t sure I was ready to be off on my own after so much seemingly gifted advice and counsel.
“The plane’s fast, you’ll be at Orange County in less than two hours. Nobody waiting, just you on your own, the way they say you work the best. My last advice? Stay away from the Steed thing and move on. What you want to do is written all over you, but it’ll lead nowhere but to a place of grief for all concerned. The money going to the widow, thanks to you won’t be going there at all. Nothing is what it seems back there which is a damn good reason for you to get back here in a hurry and into your new existence. There’s a phone on the wall over there. Call your wife. She’s a bright woman and my guess is she’ll tell you the same thing.
Matt walked off as I stood watching, feeling like I was part of a Western movie where the hero, Gary Cooper, or John Wayne rode his horse off into the sunset. I’d never thought about the people those ‘heroes’ were left behind before.
I climbed the steps up into the small low cabin, even I had to bend over to walk through. The steps retreated and the door closed automatically. Nobody came out of the closed canvas that separated the pilots from the passengers. The engines started and the plane moved. I was in a different world from the one I was leaving behind. I wasn’t at all sure whether I was rising into something, however, or heading on down the rabbit hole into which Alice in Wonderland had fallen. The plane was airborne before I remembered that I had been going to call my wife. I sat in the well-padded seat with my belt on, the plane screaming up to altitude and hoping that I could somehow get the time to catch up to myself.
Again a fine read it makes you wonder what you got yourself into That is what is wrong with our government now everything is a secret you must have done a good job you are still here great writing, LT.
It is unfortunate and a bad call when the U.S. disassembled it’s RPS classified document section.
Nothing replaced it.
How things are kept secret at all or available to the people who need that data is beyond me now.
Just watching the classified nightmare of what was kept by the former presidents and how it was kept is astounding.
You cannot play poker with the world if your head, and your hand, is shown to everyone before the betting begins.
Semper fi, and thanks for the cogent accurate and timely comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
So now you travel back alone wondering what you actually got into, or are you really alone.
One of the very surprising facts about CIA connection and work is that you are almost never alone.
If you are not being monitored by the Agency then you are being followed and surveilled by the DEA, FBI, NSA etc.
who are trying to figure out what or who you are.
Suspicion is everywhere with secrecy being something prized for working outside the USA where mostly indigenous assets leave agents alone.
Diplomats in the foreign service hate CIA agents if they suspect identity in that area.
So, it’s not the lonely business it’s portrayed to be in the movies or on television.
Meanwhile, funding, electronics, communications, contact and more are all being conducted back and forth with Agency
propped up company personnel.
Thanks for the thought-provoking comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Now I am more eager than ever to see the next chapter. However, I really need to stop checking after I have finished reading my novel or watching a favorite YouTube series, Getting to bed at 1:30 AM then laying there for another 2 hours wondering about the death of Steed is going to make an old man of me. I now have to re-read this last chapter wondering just how I missed reading that Steeds widow was not going to receive any of the benefits from the policy that you sold him. Hmmm!
Life itself has so many twists and turns. Are we really responsible and in control of most of it as the justice system and others
hold us accountable for, or are we mostly just reacting to circumstances thrown at us at high velocity and not necessarily with any’understandable
logic? Interesting thoughts, particularly when following the life I’ve led…or been led along.
Semper fi, and thanks,
Jim
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
“Stay away from the Steed thing”? “The life insurance money isn’t going to the widow”? Were Rick Steed and his wife Russian spies or something like that? Just as I was starting to feel good about you and Matt, the new car and getting rid of the object, I feel myself starting to get angry about some of this. Why would Matt walk you through the possibility of a connection between the Dwarfs, Steed, his wife, his murderer, the three Marines etc. What good could that do for you? Was the cowboy Chief a plant, too? Who can you really and fully trust besides your immediate family and bozo? I don’t know how you were able to navigate your way through all of that. I am sure that I never could have. This is another outstanding chapter and thank you so much for sharing,
You can’t mistrust everyone or not take people into your confidence.
Like with my wife, if I’d have failed to include her in most everything, including the possession of top-secret information, then I’d have had not wife, not for very long anyway, yet she was and remains invaluable to me…and was also to the CIA without their knowing it.
Oh, much of it they knew and ignored, I’ll give them that.
Thanks for your concerns expressed here and, in a way, I apologize for the rather violent shocks of twists and turns in the story that just don’t seem to be logical or believable at all until later on when some truths fall right out of the sky.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great caring comment.
Jim
It’s a crazy ride you are on thank you for keeping the readers so involved
Thanks Joseph, much appreciate the short but meaningful compliment!!!
Semper fi
Jim
WOW! What else can one say.
Laconic. That compliment. One word but packed with meaning. Thanks for helping keep me going!
Semper fi,
Jim
*Seems like you’re living through a series of accidents without any parallel I’ve ever heard of.” (* missing forward ” mark)
Mark seems like you, to also be more than what’s on the surface and may well be a good mentor into your new world of reality disconnect !!
Glad the “object” is gone, but do the scars remain on your hand afterwards ??
Great read James, keep ’em coming 😉
Semper Fi
Then seven ‘grooves’ remain with me to this day, although no longer red in their shallow little canyon bottoms.
Never got the arthritis back I was developing from shipboard injuries though and that’s been a blessing. Matt was another gunny
kind of person. Rare and rare to be able to recognize what they are when they appear…and also with no way to predict who they
are or how or when they might turn up. Thanks for the depth of your comment and your continuing pursuit of following this convoluted
story.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, back to back great chapters with so much revealed and yet so much mystery still abounds. Shocking revelation about Steed but is it true or another silent test to see how you react. And Matt turning out to be a huge surprise and I suspect more surprises will be coming from him. Is he your CIA watchdog who’s really watching you. WOW
What an accurate rendition of what’s going on in every way JT. Thanks for that and I’m sure the other readers checking comments out
appreciates that kind attention to detail and also intelligent speculation. Much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
Better and better. Still the occasional editorial slip:
“they want something more from you than you likely won’t want to give them or do for them.”
Do you mean either: “…more from you than you likely want to give them…” Or, perhaps, “something from you that you likely won’t want to give them.”
Thanks Tim, I’m not it and much appreciate the editing of stuff I work over, review, and still miss.
Very sharp on your part and very thankful on my part.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Thanks for another episode. Things getting real squirrely.
Puzzling as to why Matt would bring up Steed and then say–more or less–that he was killed by the CIA. Matt seemed to have a lot details about Steed’s death. Why bring it up to you?
Was what Matt told you, true or not, a test to see how you would respond to the ‘friends’ of your new employer being responsible for killing one of your real friends?
Seems more than that.
You write that Matt says: “…The money going to the widow, thanks to you won’t be going there at all.” Have no clue about what THAT means…wish I did. His widow is not going to get any life insurance money? Also… “Nothing is what is seemed back there…” Is he implying that Steed was not the Steed you knew? I am thoroughly puzzled and confused. So, I will have to be patient and stay tuned.
THE WALTER DUKE. Neither Steed nor his wife Kathy were anything I thought them to be but I’ll leave that there as the monetary mystery
is revealed in the next chapter. Why people in the business or in play say the things they do? Because of the very human need for
association and for not traveling through life alone. Spying is a very lonely business and yet your very life is built on trusting others.
You can’t come to trust without knowing. You can’t know without testing. You can’t test without giving trust…and so the spinning ball
continues to roll. Thanks for the usual great and introspective comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Mesmerizing … dangit! When are you, or are you, returning to something recognizable? You are living in the Twilight Zone!
Rod Serling was a genius in putting that show together, although, unlike my life of the time, none of it was contiguous.
His shows, many of them, were not truly believable either…like some of the segments in my life. Who can really believe
the artifact, which wasn’t invented by me to add zest to an otherwise dull existence. How about the fake containment chamber
and what that might have contained at San Onofre…and there’s more coming. Thanks for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW, Jim! What an interesting and captivating chapter! Alice in Wonderland indeed.
So you are about to change your life drastically and permanently. Wondering how this will change you – and your wife and kids.
“real-life human chameleon” describes you pretty well – from your first step off the plane in Vietnam, through all the changes along the way. And I’m sure that here jn your “retirement” you continued to change. Improvise, adapt, overcome. Isn’t that what they teach at TBS?
I’ve had a lot of “adventures and tragedies” along the way, but very few, if any, would compare to yours.
Talk with you soon, good friend.
Adapt, Craig, that was the big one, as I recall. “What now lieutenant?” the ‘game’ none of us wanted to be called upon to play. The reaction course where they first beat the crap out of us and then required that we do some totally ridiculous project requiring team work…not telling us that who took over the small group was credited with being a real leader. The project itself was meaningless. “Getting others to do what what you want them to do because they want to do it.” Different times but the meaning of it all playing through out lives. Thanks for the great comment my friend.
Semper fi,
Jim
Chameleon, my call sign; has been read in to a very small and private compartment! But actually just discovered there by the knowledgeable players and promoted into being an asset rather than erased as an impediment! Now I understand why you see conspiracy everywhere! Real is far better than imagination! Great chapter…it is almost like the last 10 days when you develop into a real Company Commander, you boarded the Lear settle into being a player! Great stuff
That you are reading the segments to attentively, Colonel, still surprises me and your conclusions
area so very well written and meaningful. Almost like you aren’t a Marine at all!!!! Uuuuuraaaaah, brother.
Semper fi,
Jim
You have me checking my mailbox before breakfast! I suspect there are more Steed instances.
Your suspicions shall, indeed, Harry, be confirmed….Thanks for making your conclusion public.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW!
some of your best writing ever
a thrilling tale.
Is it live or is it memorex?
You are brilliant at disguising your self awareness Sandeep insights
Is Matt a substitute for your id or super ego?
Quite a “coincidence” he be came your guide to the CIA
a hitchhikers guide to the galaxy?
I read this four times then meditated and reflected
When the reality of your life’s experiences suddenly feels like fiction, it often indicates a significant shift in perspective or awareness. This could be due to various factors such as:
1. **Disorientation or Surrealism**: Experiencing something so unexpected or extraordinary that it feels unreal, as if it couldn’t possibly be happening to you.
2. **Detachment**: A psychological response where you feel disconnected from your experiences, as if observing them from the outside. This can occur during periods of intense stress, trauma, or significant change.
3. **Reflection and Realization**: Looking back at past events with a new understanding or seeing them in a different light, which can make them seem almost like a story rather than real life.
4. **Cognitive Dissonance**: When new information or events challenge your existing beliefs or understanding of the world, causing your mind to view your experiences as less real or more like a narrative to reconcile the differences.
This feeling can be unsettling but can also lead to deeper self-awareness and understanding.
Which is it?
Cognitive Dissonance has been a part of my very being since the earliest of days.
My realization that the world, in almost every part and degree, is not as overtly displayed or even
understood. We live atop of veritable sea of deliberate and accidental deception but great ‘sailors’
across this sea we have become…or not. Thanks for the usual very critical and very complimentary
comment.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
simply put CD is learning that life isnt either/ or; it is and/but
more insightful is
Cognitive dissonance is not inherently bad. It is a psychological state where a person experiences discomfort due to holding two or more contradictory beliefs, values, or attitudes simultaneously. Here are some aspects to consider:
1. **Positive Aspects**:
– **Motivation for Change**: Cognitive dissonance can drive people to change their beliefs or behaviors to reduce discomfort, leading to personal growth and improved decision-making.
– **Enhanced Self-Awareness**: It can prompt individuals to reflect on their beliefs and values, leading to greater self-understanding and clarity.
– **Critical Thinking**: Experiencing dissonance can encourage critical thinking and the reevaluation of assumptions, fostering intellectual growth.
2. **Negative Aspects**:
– **Stress and Anxiety**: The discomfort caused by cognitive dissonance can be distressing and may lead to stress or anxiety if not resolved.
– **Defensive Reactions**: In some cases, people might react defensively, rejecting new information or doubling down on their existing beliefs to avoid the discomfort of dissonance.
– **Avoidance**: Some individuals might avoid situations or information that cause dissonance, which can hinder learning and growth.
Overall, while cognitive dissonance can be uncomfortable, it is a normal and potentially beneficial part of the psychological process that encourages learning, adaptation, and self-improvement.
Thanks Richard, anybody that thinks you aren’t one smart SOB is out of his or her mind.
Thanks for putting all that together…as it is all spot on.
Semper fi,
Jim
Wow! LT. That was quite the whirlwind trip. The money not going to Steed’s widow, hmm!
Alan
Rick, the money, the widow, the CIA, the Dwarfs, San Onofre and the artifact…
all of it somehow differential and apart but all of it also somehow together.
More as we proceed.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment,
Jim
I was wondering about the 3 dead marines & the death of Rick. Matt plies you with enough info that possibly ties this all together & then tells you to get out of town & leave it all behind & start a new life. What was his motive? What about the dwarfs? Are they & others you interacted with in San Clementine lives in peril?
My life becomes forked in a way that I could not truly take in properly at the time.
Everything you conclude…I concluded, and everything you don’t understand, I didn’t understand at the time
either. But clarity is coming so hand in there as the tossed seas become giant swells instead of breaking
surf.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment.
Jim
What an introduction to your new job/life! Glad it was you and not me. Can’t wait to see what is next in your life!
Thanks David, much appreciate that complimentary comment, as you might imagine and hope to life up to your expectations.
Semper fi,
Jim
Marines and then the appearance of the artifact in. my life around the same time.
* extra period
Am I going ot have to lie some more to m wife about this one too?”
*to
*my
Thanks for the editing help Don, much needed and much appreciated.
Semper fi,
Jim
Rabbit hole indeed!! Be careful Alice!! That was a jamb packed chapter. My head is still spinning. Will you ever come across Matt again in the future, and saddened by the end of Steed. Just what have you got your self into now Ollie….. Keep up the awesome writing. Semper fi Sir
Thanks Bob, much appreciate that comment and Steed was a hard one, following all the others after the valley.
Semper fi,
Jim
Can this tangled web of a Gordian Knot get any bigger? I want to trust Matt but….. The Steed business REALY upsets me. Careful where you step James.
The funny thing so many years later was just how interconnected most things were although those connections
weren’t apparent while living in the midst of them nearly so clearly as they became later on.
Thanks for the comment and the support Charles.
Semper fi,
Jim
c
Charles, I presume the small letter ‘c’ means something? In physics ‘c’ is a symbol meaning the speed of light, as in the infamous formula E=mc2. Hmmmm.
Semper fi,
Jim
Unbelievable yet totally believable with you! I’m eating up every word and waiting for the next chapter. Thank you so much!
Credibility is tough for some of the rendering of what happened in those days,
although in looking closely now at the effect of some things then those effects are
damned evident. Quantum computing, Simultaneity radio, CERN results of the Higgs Boson,
and more go right back to a change in direction the world of physics took post atomic.
The artifact. I believe it’s taken years but it changed everything. As the perspective of
belief sank in then physics turned away from old stuff that really wasn’t valid even if the results
were made to work.
Semper fi, and thanks for the great comment.
Jim
Man! Another chapter that has left me amazed that anyone could live a life like that!
Sometimes the whole thing is hard for me to believe myself and I lived
it, am still living it. Thanks for the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
WOW and I thought the Valley was rough. LT you are going in a hundred directions and a thousand miles an hour ! So many unknowns, no guidance and alone again.Can’t wait to see where this leads us !
Thanks Don, much appreciate the compliment and your interest in knowing more and following the story with such close attention.
Semper fi,
Jim