Driver, T. C. (4 page)

At our flight briefing, Sarah was there. She was a qualified pilot, though not full-time on the ship's duty rotation. Joe did not let her sign-up on our flight board. He had to approve her each and every assignment. This briefing was the 'same old/same old', but they are important. Briefings always restricted our behavior; the rules of modern warfare: how low, how high, nobody cares if you die (ha-ha), where to drop fuel tanks or what type of fuel can be burned where; i.e. pollution. The environmentalists wanted to save Africa from people; nobody cared about people. For the needs of the many (the greater good), many must die (mostly Africans). This meeting was heart sickening. Sarah's long, red hair was dry now, so again she had 'no ears'. Twice during the briefing, she pulled back her hair and smiled a cute, dirty little smile my way, as if to say, “you ear gazer, you”. She was playing with my head and enjoying every minute.
Shut up, Cornelius
I said. Don't play the old fool.

Early the next morning, twenty-four bug-like Boeing predator drones landed on the ship. So did another thirty men and two old black hawk choppers.
 
These men were all American this time. All of the glass windows one level below the ship's bridge can be now found back-lit for the first time. Wow, another complete bridge just below Joe Coe! Drones would soon be taking off, like clockwork, four every three hours for the next four months. Plus, two 'eye-in-the-sky' drones; one always being on station above the ship. Drones burned the liquid hydrogen cold fuel. They did not burn up our precious aviation fuel on board. Drones would leave burdened down with fuel tanks, bombs and missiles hanging from their bellies' three hard points; always of course, coming back empty.

The top six student pilots, now only five with Harry Potter being dead, started deck landings and take-offs in B44s. We always kept a minimum of two manned patrols in the air during daylight hours. Our eight reserved B44s were now uncovered. They were duel fuel burners and could use hot or cold petrol.

The flight deck stayed busy. Our B44s only landed during daylight hours, but would take off long before dawn. Often we took flight right after midnight by using extra fuel tanks. Somewhere in Africa a war was waging. Nothing on this war was on the TV news. Nothing was ever reported. I thought about the term wars and rumors of wars; was that passage about filtered information or controlled news. The mood on ship was routine; even jolly.

The night spot on ship was called the
Gospel Cafe. It was a coffee house with Christian music. Former students of a soon to be closed up Christian college in Lynchburg, Virginia played the old time gospel music. It was always a joy to visit the Gospel Cafe. Their music sounded like 'old time rock and roll' to me.
 
Most students on ship saw life on TV as real and big government as the only answer. Everything they believed in was a lie. Yes, lies from ungodly college professors and TV producers; completely false and in reverse of obvious truth. Many students nicknamed me 'old school'.

Alcohol was served in only one place on ship; the big snack bar that my old friend Gary Litton ran. The snack- bar was one half again bigger than the Gospel Cafe and only one hundred feet away. A limit of two sixteen oz beers per day served in plastic cups was enforced by an ID badge scan. No one got by old Litton on the limit. Gary didn't like to sell alcohol, he was told to.

This war, conflict or 'mission' of our ship gave me many questions that all begged for answers. I did learn that we were not alone. That there were at least three others like us; old American aircraft carriers, remodeled and refitted to college or student service. One ship was always here on “Gumbo Station” off the east coast of Africa in a tag team fashion. We lent support to the “Dark Continent”. Our students took little notice, neither of the military missions given our ship, nor of the “who or why” of our battles. Students seemed as uncaring robots or serf subjects. All of them were totally unquestioning of authority. Their blindness troubled my heart and soul. It was an affront to God and nature. What had caused this numb; and docile, youth. I loved the evenings at the ship's Gospel Cafe and the students from Lynchburg because they were still American. They still valued liberty, freedom and the Bible. No news reports had stories of a war in Africa. No mention of 'us', the Great Ark or this new private navy. Nothing of whom or what we were or 'who' was in charge. I wondered to myself,
who was paying me?
I guessed European, maybe Indian and Russian with a few Israelis sprinkled in. no answers could be found, even after much snooping around on my part. 'Follow the money' is always good advice, but my many hours of working “B” time in purchasing had not landed any fresh information. After another routine three day work cycle of flying ship protection patrol. I just could not stop myself from telling stories of 'back in the day' at my big round corner table.

The Gospel Cafe was packed that night. I took a big drink of hot French roast coffee; my own Irish version. Then I started off by going back to my youth in the now closed up, former U.S. Navy. Long before the big 'Osoma cuts'. The U.S. Navy was off this same east coast of Africa. The 'news' reports broadcasted a cover story, or 'official lie' back then that we were feeding Africans in Somalia. What a joke that was! I had been part of that operation; where the movie 'Blackhawk down' came from. What we sailors truly did in Africa during that operation is built five large airfields in remote, dry, desert locations. Our operation had nothing to do with feeding anybody. The bases we built are referred to by military logistic types as forward staging areas. When our construction was completed, we quickly abandoned them to the blowing desert sand. My old Wart Hog plane was one of only two which took part. The other plane was a rare husband and wife team. We are all still good friends. These old planes are close air support machine gunners; not fancy. Funny how smells can come back to you even years later from scenes you wish, or thought you had forgotten. Close-up war is unpleasant. I do not recommend a front row seat. War is often just like seasickness on small boats. You might think of yourself as a tough man and immune to all the blood and guts around you, but then the smell hits you in the stomach. The stench and rot of death is what puts even the so called 'tough guys' over the edge. It will send them crying; falling quickly to their knees in prayer. Yes, it's always the damn smell that gets you.

I tried to chill out and called the waiter for a free round of drinks for my many guests; all fourteen to sixteen of them. All of these students were very polite; even respectful tonight, a rare blessing. The second set of music was about to start in minutes here at the Gospel Cafe. A singer named Brenda Dole was about to come on. She was very popular. She was married to a crewman named Rodney on the ship. I took another sip of my favorite strong French roast coffee.
 
My own special flavoring added at the table. I am after all, part Irish and also an ole Granddad (ha-ha). Then I started back to my story.

“My friends, that year the 'anti-military' party 'Clinton' had just been elected, so the first President Bush was a 'lame duck'. The coalition had ten large, private cargo ships in the Persian Gulf. These ships were loaded down with pre-fab cement airfields. One half of a full runway on each ship, now not needed for the war effort. We could have dumped the huge cement blocks into the ocean like the Russians did when they fled Cuba. Or we could deploy them somewhere close. Shipping them back to the States was out of the question. Quite reasonably enough, our military command sold Bush one on the fact that remote airstrips in Africa could be of
 
'use' to them in the future by just sending in troops to 'brush them off' like home plate. These prefab runways would last for years in the dry desert and this would cost little and serve us better than dumping that much cement.”

 
The T.V. News reports, way back in my youth, were completely controlled and one hundred percent phony. I knew this from personal, first had information and knowledge. Now I feared for the state of the world and my young shipmates. They believed what they saw on T.V. news was the truth. History, science facts, Biblical truths, all education in general had become nothing but lies and political propaganda.

Really nothing has changed much for the last two hundred years. We talked about the French troops in Vietnam and the British troops in Afghanistan during the 1890's. Western men since Roman times have been sent out into the world for a couple of years in their youth to fight, kill, bomb or protect the 'poor dumb bastards' of 'underdeveloped' countries for no apparent reason or gain. No reason to stop now, I guess. Why would each generation do basically the same thing year after year, each
 
one not knowing why they're doing it or who's in charge. But, here we go again. The fall of America seemed to slow war down very little, or none at all. No, it just made us Americans poor. I talked about the military logistical stupidity of sending large columns of troops into an 'ambush paradise' like Afghanistan. My Great-great Grandfather was shot at from behind the same stupid rock as me, now by his enemy's grandchildren. After a hundred and twenty years, what's the point? What good has it done? Why would so many different leaders of so many different western countries, over a time span of hundreds of years all send troops? To what gain? What purpose? Together they've spent enough money to buy Afghanistan ten times over.

These types of thoughts depressed my spirit and soul, so I spent more and more time at the ole time hymn sing at the Gospel Cafe. These next four, long months of bombing Africa settled into a constant busy burden, but also into a cold, relaxed rhythm. We on board the Great Ark had not much a care in or for the world. We lived as a world unto ourselves. But somewhere in Africa, a real war, with real huger, terror and death, yes, a real smelly, stinking war was raging.

Sarah Coe and I both enjoyed spending off duty hours at the ship's Gospel Cafe, often sitting together; meeting by chance; half expecting the other to be there. Our odd glances, smiles and flirtations at officer's mess could not be missed. Sarah, being a young thirty-something, and me an older, over-weight fifty-nine, I didn't consider us a likely fit as a couple. Though, truly I felt like a young man again around her. She coldly brushed aside all of her many suitors. That is, all but me. And yours truly was either too scared or too 'wise' to bite. During this early time of bombing Africa, Sarah, Haley and the four gals at Coe's dinner table left on a shopping trip to Cutter; also called Dubai. Sarah was 'on assignment', doing important business for Daddy, to hear her tell it. I was ashamed at myself for missing her so much, but truly my heart ached for her return. That night at the Gospel Cafe, my spirits were downcast. Sarah was gone. Music was ok, but slow. My young students started talking about President Osoma. They talked about giving Osoma time; a chance to fix things. A young lady named Kishia, who volunteered in Haiti for ten weeks prior to college on the Ark, was an honor student; very much respected by her peers. She seemed to know little, or nothing, at all.

“Kishia” I said, “the type of misery, despair and poverty that you tried your best to fight against in Haiti is caused by only one thing. Tyrants like your damn Osoma. These men try to replace God's biblical laws with humanist, socialist or kingly dictated doctrine. This is false teaching,
  
the ungodly Osoma even wrote a book describing himself as a communist. He often referred to himself as a Muslim. Osoma even talked about the fifty-seven states of America. Wake up Kishia! In his America you would not even be allowed in school. Why is it always the poor, dumb bastard in Haiti needing your help, who are starving to death and sick? Why not the Dominican Republic on the other side of the same, small, little island? It has to be Government, honey. That's the only difference between them. How about North and South Korea? One is starving, one not. Wake up! Look around! Osoma is nothing new. Osoma is a carbon copy of every other humanist, socialist, fascist elite before him. Castro, Stalin, Hitler, Osoma; they're all the same! Democratic, socialist elites have been the curse of the world throughout all human history. Each one is a branch off the same evil tree.”

A middle-aged professor named Tommy Mute gave me a chocolate covered toast treat like the ones Starbucks serves. He started guiding the conversation away from Osoma. My face was red and Tommy was concerned for my health. Of all things, the kids that night started talking about slavery. Young Kishia Gonzales spoke up. (Yes a different Kishia)

“My God, are you all named Kishia?' I said, thinking out loud.

“Cornelius, you are wrong”, shouted Kishia. “Slavery was forced on us blacks with whips and guns”

“Yes, Kishia” I answered. “Blacks
were
sold into America by force. But force alone could not and did not keep them working in the fields. No! Not after they got here to America. Just because you learned lies and half-truths at government school, or you watched movies made about it, that fact does not change the truth. Or even make the false story plausible or even possible. In fact, what you learned is simply not so; not true; a complete fabrication.”

“Let me remind you of today's lesson. Being a successful 'Lord' over others requires one to control people at the least cost. Force is a factor, a tactic, but not always the major or leading factor. Slave masters who rule by force go out of business quickly. I am speaking in a historical sense. Look at the 550 thousand modern slaves in Siberian Russia during and after World War Two. The Russian communist party slave camp system used dislocation (just like America) plus force, cruelty and starvation. Russia needed slave economic output very badly to prop up the failing central planning of communism. These Russian slave camps and communism simply went out of business. It just cost too much money to pay people to point guns; who then scare new slaves into working. Notice they did use relocation into a harsh climate to cut cost. This is necessary when attempting slavery by force. This relocation did help, but they still went out of business. What did the ancient Israelites say to Moses? The Israelites were slaves for about four hundred years, just like blacks in America. They said to Moses: ' Did you take us out here to die of thirst and starvation in this wilderness desert? We should have stayed in Egypt where we had plenty to eat.' notice also that the Egyptians failed to break the Jewish family unit; a big mistake, and costly. In Colonial America, European settlers were taming a vast wilderness of rich accessible land. American white settlers could not enslave the indigenous native Indians or use Old World European style serf methods on each other because of this close, rich, very good, productive land, the family unit and of course the Holy Bible teachings of stubborn, free men. Settlers just moved west and started their own farm or plantation. The Indians would just run off into the thick forest cover the minute the guy holding the musket turned his head. Brothers would help brothers. Indian family was never far off. The rich, gentile class planters were in a hard place to find 'workers' or 'suckers', so in desperation, they started importing blacks bought from Moslem slave traders in Africa. Soon black Africans in many states outnumbered the white settlers. Only one in ten whites could afford to own, or wanted to own, these expensive African slaves. Many settlers were servants themselves; they indentured themselves to a master to pay for the boat ride over. Also, some free blacks around New Orleans owned black slaves themselves on the sugar cane plantations. Have you ever fired an early pioneer musket? You would know. One could not hit the broad side of a barn; or another man standing fifty yards away. Your target could stand still and wave at you while giving you a free 'shot,' and then walk, not run, into the woods while you reloaded. The forest or jungle was always close by, and the fields were very long, often with one end at a river. A slave could disappear simply by not standing up straight in the crop he was working in. No, these few whites did not keep blacks ' on the plantation' with their primitive guns. What did keep blacks working in the fields of America was food plenty, relative peace, African tribal customs and yes, force. New slaves were sold from an area of Africa at war for years. Starvation, disease and suffering there was common place in Africa. Now in America, an agricultural, Roman based society, slaves lived in relative plenty, eating better than most had ever dreamed of. They preferred slavery and plenty, brought about by the white settlers free agricultural wave economy, over going back to a hunter/gather tribal lifestyle like the Indians had. They simply saw a better way of life and then began to Romanize their primitive tribal ways. This technique of worldly masters being, in secular humanist terminology, one full Toffler wave of civilization ahead of their slaves is how successful, modern slavery works. I'm sure you students have read this couple's books. Masters use the relative plenty of each next new wave. The poor dumb bastards in slavery never experience the life of a free man or an honest days pay. Just like modern slaves all over the world today. The agricultural culture of early America, or ancient Egypt, was able to first relocate, and then enslave, out of relative plenty, the poor herdsmen and hunters of Africa or the Israelites.
 
Now take Note! When naturally occurring geographic barriers helped lower the cost of slavery (fewer people pointing guns), the Colonial American settlers
did
enslave indigenous Indian populations instead of just killing them off. The natural barrier lowered the cost enough, so much that the local, poor, dumb bastards were now worth keeping alive. The Caribbean Island plantations used the ocean and the serf/slave camps of Mexico used the great southwest desert.”