Bishop's Song (12 page)

After clearing the building at the airfield, he drove the truck to the edge of the woods bordering the facility. He had thoughts of camouflaging the vehicle with branches and foliage, but decided it wasn’t worth the effort. He was running out of daylight and judged it a better use of his time to set up camp before darkness fell.

He wanted to be able to observe both the truck and the airfield beyond if at all possible, but those were not the only criteria. It took a bit of searching to find the right tree. Fifteen minutes of walking around in concentric circles led to the discovery of a stout oak with a suitable structure of branches. The appropriate placement and size of the limbs was critical. Long ago, he’d learned that picking the proper tree meant the difference between a good night’s rest and the constant fear of falling out of the nest.
I’m a hatchling
, he mused.
I can’t fly just yet.

He stood looking up at two limbs protruding at just over a ninety
-degree angle from the truck. Each was the size of his thigh, easily holding the weight of his body and kit. They were 12 feet above the forest floor, and there were no lower branches to climb.
Perfect
, he judged.
Not so high that I’ll kill myself if I fall, but not so low that someone will walk right into me during a good REM cycle.

He dropped his pack and scouted the area again, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Digging around in the heavy ruck, he finally withdrew a large, triple-pronged fish hook that most folks called a treble hook.  This specific one was rated at 600 pounds. Attached were several feet of paracord, rated to hold 550 pounds.

The parachute cord was too thin to climb, even when knotted. Smaller in diameter than a normal lead pencil, there just wasn’t enough girth to get a strong grip.

A youth spent hunting in the steep canyons of West Texas had resulted in Bishop
’s developing several different methods for ascending to high places. He’d used the traditional knotted rope, but that kit required a lot of space.

During
jump school at Fort Benning, he’d been introduced to paracord, the line attaching the canopy to the chute’s harness. It was amazingly strong for its size and was purposely designed to withstand shock.

He’d
knotted zip-ties into the cord, spaced at useful intervals in order to provide foot and handholds. That method worked quite well, but it was difficult to untie the plastic strips once the weight of a man had pulled the cord tight.

A friend at
HBR had introduced Bishop to a device called an “ascender,” used by professional climbers. A molded hunk of aluminum slightly smaller than a man’s fist, it would hold in place once the cord had been woven through. The ascenders provided excellent “steps” for his rope ladder.

Bishop estimated how many ascenders he would need and quickly configured his rig. Swinging the thin rope like a cowboy about
to lasso a calf, he tossed the line over the branch. The fishhook looped over and snagged the line on the second try. He then tied his pack onto the end of the line so he could pull it up after ascending to the perch.

Using the insoles of his boots and both gloved hands, Bishop pulled and pushed himself up the ultra-lightweight climbing rope
, using the well-spaced ascenders for foot and handholds. He wouldn’t trust it for great heights, but for single-story buildings and low tree limbs, it worked well.

In a few moments
, he was pulling himself over the branch, careful to avoid the sharp hook. Shortly after achieving a solid roost, he pulled up his pack.

Stringing the net between the two limbs required
patience and diligence. He wrapped the net completely around each branch, securing it with several stainless steel “S” hooks. Keeping his weight on solid wood, he tested the rigging with his pack.

As expected, the center of the net sagged under the ruck’s weight. Tightening each
side resulted in a taunt surface long enough for a man to lie comfortably and sleep.
If you’re having one of those dreams where you’re falling, you probably are
, he mused.

In reality, it would be almost impossible to roll off the net. Even with the strands of netting as tight as guitar strings, there was still some sag when he tested it with his full weight. The limb on each side of his body would act as a bedrail of sorts.

He finished a cold meal of beef jerky, pine nuts, and a muskmelon half he’d packed that morning. The tepid water from his Camelbak satisfied his thirst.

He decided to sleep without his vest and body armor, pulling off the uncomfortable units but keep
ing them close by. His rifle and night vision monocle stayed right at his side. He decided to keep his boots on, but loosened the laces for circulation.

Complete darkness filled the forest, the overhead canopy blocking any illumination by the stars or moon. T
he final birdcalls of dusk had faded by the time Bishop arranged his gear and body. An orchestra of insects serenaded his pre-sleep thoughts, raising their nocturnal choir with robust voices that actually helped calm his nerves. As long as the bugs were chirping, no one was around.

Tomorrow, around noon,
Hugh would bring in another man and additional supplies. One more trip after that would be required, and then they would begin the journey across the country and hopefully retrieve Grim’s wife and daughter.
It was a deed well worth the risk
, he reiterated for the hundredth time.

His final thoughts before sleep were of Terri and Hunter. He wondered if he’d be able to see any change in his son after being absent for a few days.
I love both of you
, he whispered, as he began to rest. 

After a healthy
dinner, Hunter let go with a robust burp that caused Terri to grin. “You’ll fit right in at Pete’s bar,” she whispered, pulling the infant close in a loving embrace.

Terri laid the child next to her on the bed, leaning over to study the drowsy face peeking through its wrapper of soft blankets. He was eating well
, and everyone seemed pleased with his overall development, but she couldn’t help but worry.
I suppose that’s the price of motherhood,
she reasoned
. I’ll probably be studying this little guy until he’s 40 years old, waiting and watching for something that needs fixing.

Hunter, despite not seeing well just yet, seemed enthralled by
his mother’s face. Remembering Betty’s advice, she turned off the light and hummed softly. “Adults are boring at night,” the older woman had suggested. “If there’s nothing exciting for Hunter to see, his internal clock can start matching yours. As much as you might want to, don’t play with him after hours.”

Lying in the dark next to her son, Terri’s thoughts
turned to Bishop. She’d received a report from the pilot a few hours ago, but didn’t completely trust that people were telling her everything. She expected filtered reports from Deke’s contractors. To those men, anything but a full-fledged war was boring.

Hugh’s
narrative outlining Bishop’s little adventure into rural Arkansas had seemed a little too sterilized… a wee bit trite.
They’re just trying to protect me
, she realized.
I wish there wasn’t a need, but in a way I’m glad they show the courtesy. There’s nothing I could do to help Bishop anyway.

Bishop is the most capable man I’ve ever seen
, she admitted.
He’ll be fine
.
What we’re doing is the right thing morally, both for Grim as an individual and the community as a whole. People are upbeat about the mission because it shows we take care of our own. Every citizen needs to know that we are all in this together, especially with trouble looming on the horizon.

Making sure Hunter was asleep, she placed a ring of pillows around the baby, just in case he developed the capability to roll over during his
nap. Unlikely, but the new mother wasn’t taking any chances. She quietly left the room, heading back to the seemingly endless mounds of paperwork that accompanied her job. Thank goodness Betty had driven up from Meraton to stay with her for a while.

Two kitchen tables had been set up, their surface almost completely covered with accumulated reports, inventory sheets, requests and updates. She was keeping a promise to her husband – a pledge not to go into her office at the courthouse. She simply had the work delivered
to her home.

“Can I get you something?” Betty asked, looking up from her book.

“No thank you, I’m just fine. Hunter is asleep after eating pretty well. I think he’s starting to gain weight.”

“That’s good, Terri. Just watch what you eat because you’re passing it through to him. Caffeine is
definitely out. The sooner he sleeps through the night, the better you will feel.”

Terri grimaced, “I hear
ya… what I wouldn’t give for a cup of coffee some mornings.”

“You’ll be weaning him before you know it.
Then you can go on a coffee splurge until you’re wired tight. Speaking of wired, you’re not going to work, are you?”

Looking over at the stacks, Terri shrugged. “I was thinking of reading a little bit before turning in.”

“Not too much, sweetie. You just gave birth a few weeks ago, and you’re still supporting two people, one of which is growing like a weed. You still need to take it easy and get lots of rest, hun.”

Terri glanced again at the piles of
her nemesis, finally waving them off. “You’re right. Besides, I’m not in the mood to read.”

Betty
set her book aside, patting the couch cushion. “Have a seat and take a load off. I’d love some good old fashioned conversation, if you’re of a mind for a chit chat.”

Terri accepted the offer, plopping down with a sigh.

“You seem to have so much on your mind lately. You’re worried about the potential of a war, aren’t you?” Betty began. “It’s all anyone seems to want to talk about these days.”

“I don’t know why I had this naïve image of our
people being able to rebuild without outside interference, but I did. It’s hard enough making things work internally, without constantly looking over our shoulders because of a looming, external threat. What makes it worse is the justification for a war isn’t crystal clear; it isn’t black and white.”

Nodding, Betty replied, “Is it ever?”

“I think it was with Pearl Harbor; that was pretty black and white. Going into Afghanistan after 9-11 seemed obvious enough. But right now, we’re not even clear about our sovereignty even if someone did attack us. What bothers me the most is that if
I’m
this confused, I have to assume the typical person walking the streets of Alpha is just as troubled. My job is to make things better for people, not worse.”

Betty nodded toward the bedroom where Hunter was sleeping. “You’ve added another responsibility as well
. You have to make the world as safe and secure as possible for that child.”

Grunting, Terri looked down. “I ask myself every day how much Hunter impact
s my decision making. You know he tipped the scale that changed my mind with this rescue business. I sent my husband off on some dangerous adventure, and the emotions I felt over the birth of my son influenced my thinking.”

“It’s like anything else, Terri,” the older woman
responded, “becoming a parent is a life altering event. It changes you so much. In some ways, you will be stronger, in others, perhaps more cautious. Each individual adapts to parenthood differently. I have a feeling you and Bishop will be stronger, more rounded people for the experience.”

An hour passed, the two woman unwinding with pleasant conversation and shared experiences. When Terri began to yawn, Betty said her goodnights, stretching and then making for the spare bedroom. 

Terri did the same, thankful Hunter appeared to be resting comfortably. Sleep came with Betty’s words still echoing in her mind.