Driver, T. C. (47 page)

“Patel took his chopper southwest” Litton said. “To a submarine I would guess,” said duck.
 
I wrapped up Ducks arm with part of James Kessler’s clothes. Joe said about two words, crossed himself and James went overboard. Next Joe put his hand to Big Jim Calkins neck smacked him around a few times and then Jim, like James went overboard. Duck was sleeping and Joe grabbed him.

“Help me with this one, Cornelius I can’t pick him up! Moore then smacked Joe in the face giving him a bloody nose, not thinking throwing him overboard was all that funny. Joe went back to the front seat without saying a word, and knowing he was in the wrong. During that night we argued about compass readings, what little stars we could see and listened to Thomas Briton moan and cry from his gunshot wounds. By early daylight it was a relief and pleasure for Joe to throw the dead body of “crybaby” Briton overboard.

“Are there anymore of you gonna die anyway crybabies on this damn boat?” announced Joe! “I need some sleep!”

The King of the South had the same obvious plan for the motor boats as we did and his crew had been in the process of loading up supplies and fuel into them when the missiles hit! We had some extra five gallon plastic and one gallon metal containers of gas, only one gallon of water. These motor boats were old mini-PT boats with 454 gas motors that were fast and fun, but did not have much range like diesel motors would. Our motor was sputtering and poorly running because of age and gunshot damage.

After heading west all night we could see the other boat behind us about two hundred yards back. The other boat must have heard us get ours started and then followed us all night. We wondered if it was friend or foe. We kept an eye on the boat behind. It seemed to be one lone man doing the driving. By full light the boat behind was racing towards us, and obviously on fire and smoking badly. We had not the power to out run it and I soon recognized the lone driver. It was Tommy Mute. He pulled up beside us and handed over a five gallon container of gas, and then jumped into our boat holding a half-full box of red wine and a quart of oil. Within thirty seconds Tommy was passed out drunk in between the seats of our boat. He had been driving all night with nothing to drink but red wine. Joe and Duck started sighting the sun and arguing about our course. Gary Litton with his broken leg suffered in silence. At least he didn’t whine like Briton. We wrapped up his leg as best we could. Tommy Mute came to in about two hours. His gas had long since been dumped into the near empty tank. His half case of wine and quart of motor oil could have been just what we needed to survive, praise God! When Tommy Mute woke up that morning he told us that the King himself had thrown him in the boat while Jediah cranked it down. The two of them had pushed the ole big Green chopper off the pad and into the ocean with their bare hands.
 
“The King had let us escape, he told his men to hold their fire as we ran up the deck. They had you in their sights, Cornelius, and did not shoot!” Too bad they shot half of us before the word got out,” said Joe. That sounds like some of the clowns that work for me.” Our group gave a toast to Unk, James Kessler, Rodney Dole, Big slim Jim, and crybaby Thomas Briton.
 
Only God
  
knows the truth of who and why of life and death.

 
“Land ho!” shouted Joe Coe. I stood up to “see” (ha-ha), and fell backward hitting the motor compartment very much hurting my back and smashing my old friend Gary Litton. The boat had hit a wave just right to push me backward. We were in surf praise God. I just stayed down and opened the last bottle of red wine. Gary and I lying down passed the bottle between us as the others were standing shouting for joy. We two needed more medication anyway. A hard thud into the sand told the whole story, the others all jumped out getting their feet wet. I stepped onto the hood and dropped onto dry sand, the last third of the wine bottle still in my hand. Duck, jealous of my consumption rate grabbed the bottle and started chugging. The others shouted “go, go, go, go,” in idiot college kid drinking fashion until the bottle was empty. When the cheering stopped Duck took the bottle and smashed it against the hull of the old fiberglass boat. This did not break the bottle but put a dent and hole in the fiberglass instead. After three “Moore” attempts Duck could not break the bottle so he tossed it into the back of our boat where it shattered into little pieces. Duck burped very loud and raised his hands in victory and we all fell into the dry soft sand in laughter and celebration. The motor sputtered, there was silence as we all listened, and then broke out laughing again. The boats motor had just cut off, she had given her all and “Moore” to get us safely to shore. Praise God!
   

Our group picked ourselves up and started walking north up the beach. We could see trees and a building in the distance so we kept in that direction. No other buildings were in sight. There was a little white church in the trees with a white hard packed unpaved parking lot. Before we
 
got there cars started pulling up, two then two more then one. It was Sunday morning and people were arriving at Church. We cut straight in to get off the soft beach sand. The hard ground was a comfort to our stride. Tommy Mute was ahead of all of us, Gary Litton and I pulled up the rear, while Duck and Joe walked together in the middle. By the time all of our ragged group got to the church there were now nine cars, that’s everybody Pastor Woods then stated. The old Pastor welcomed us warmly. Our five was a ragged looking beat up bunch. We stayed in the bathrooms and tried to suck his water fountain dry for some time before joining the service. The people in the church spoke a heavy slang speech that was very hard to understand at first but they sang songs kind of normal. It was hard to figure. The Pastor was a very old frail man who spoke in a soft but clear English voice (no slang twang like the others). We all sat together except Tommy Mute. He paced back and forth in the back of the church and did his daily exercises, and shouted praise God. I thought he might be holiness like me, but I didn’t know about exercising in church. Sometimes you just don’t know what you don’t know.
  

I think the old pastor was glad to see a bunch of sinners like us stop by. The piano was very old but the young lady piano player was not. She was about ten I would guess. We sang many old hymns three of which kind of sounded the same I’m sure. It was a joy to sing and praise the Lord. The little old man never did preach
,
we just kept on singing. The four of us sitting together sounded like a Southern Gospel Quartet. We sounded good. I was very impressed! I didn’t know my shipmates could sing that well, praise God what a good time we had singing. The whole congregation said they admired our singing. Just when I thought the old preacher was going to speak a tall man with a cowboy hat on came bursting through the oak church doors and started apologizing for being late. His group set up electronic equipment computers, lights, even a flat screen TV. They must be high-tech/ /red necks (ha-ha). There wasn’t much on TV just still pictures, words and stuff but I wanted to look at the singers anyway. These singers did a great job, but the cowboy would always play tapes of other people singing the same song when his singers started singing to drown his own singers out. I thought this was very silly and impolite of him but I didn’t say anything about it. The Cowboy didn’t have a name people just called him Cow Man. I sat next to his wife and didn’t know what to call her. You just can’t call a nice Christian Lady “Cow Woman,” not with a straight face. When Cow Man told the congregation that they had been held up by a traffic jam and that a big aircraft carrier had almost hit the bridge, Joe started sobbing uncontrollably! His baby was still alive! Joe bowed his head and shouted.

“Thank you Lord, thank you Lord,” over and over again. Tommy Mute kept doing his exercises in the back of the church until he got so tired that he passed out cold in the middle of the floor. A big guy named Jack looked at Tommy and said he was alright. Jack’s wife was the lead singer of the Cowboys. She was very pretty and wore a bigger cowboy hat than Cowman did. A long haired man ran camera and another man came with them named Norris who everybody liked for some reason. Cowman left one of his boots on the table in the back so I took off one of mine also and put it beside his. He must have appreciated this very much, because he tipped me $15 dollars for doing so. Being a world traveler, I’m very sensitive to other peoples’ ways and customs. You never know, they might even be Episcopalians or some weird, queer faith like that. I had a sister in-law once who made you take off both boots at her front door! Our little ragged group hung our heads and begged for forgiveness, except for Tommy Mute, he was still out cold in the floor. This Cowman fellow spoke with authority about spiritual authority. I was worried about my friend Tommy, so as the sermon started and took a quick glance back.
  
Cowman didn’t seem to even notice Tommy. He was not concerned at all. The man was impressive but cold as ice.
              
Romans 13 (1-8)

                                                                                                 
(1) Let every soul be subject unto the higher powers, for there is no power but of God; the power that be pre ordained of God!

(2) Who so ever there fore resisteth the power resisteth the ordinance of God: and they that resist shall receive to themselves damnation!

(3) For rulers are not a terror to good works, but to the evil, wilt thou not be afraid of the power? Do that which is good, and thou shalt have praise of the same!

(4) For he is the minister of God, to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain, for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil

(5) Where fore ye must needs be subject, not only for wrath, but also for conscience sake
 

(6) For this cause pay ye tribute also; for they are God’s ministers, attending continually upon this very thing

(7) Render therefore to all their dues; tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honor to whom honor.

           
Hebrew one (1-3)

Who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person and up holding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the majesty on high;

           
Isaiah 14
  
(12-19)

(12) How art thou fallen from heaven, oh Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which did’st weaken the nations

(13) For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the star’s of God; I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north!

(14) I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most high!

                                
Mathew
  
26 (62, 63, 64)

(62)
 
And the high priest arose, and said unto him, answerest thou nothing? What is it which these witness against thee! But

(63)
 
Jesus held his peace and the high priest answered and said unto him, I adjure three by the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be Christ, the son of God.

(64) Jesus saith unto him, thou hast said; never the less I say unto you, here after shall ye see the son of man sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of heaven!

“Wow! What a great service,” I said as I shook Cowboys hand and thanked the old pastor once again. We didn’t see any cows, but it didn’t seem to matter. They all looked good in their fancy cowboy hats. Our whole group hitched a ride in the Cowboy van. Big Jack drove and his pretty singer wife named Angie rode shotgun. Angie had big eyes and a creamy spellbinding voice that almost drove Duck crazy. He bought fifty of her CDs. Angie said most of the time she just gave them away to spread the gospel. The Cowboy group also had a big pick up truck pulling a horse
  
trailer. Our group all fit into the vehicles with no problem. We took a small ferry to the mainland and I was pretty sure that the old ferry driver waited for us to arrive which was nice since they only ran twice a day. Then I saw it!
  
“Welcome to Virginia” the sign that always gives me goose bumps and that once (long ago) stood for something grand. Yes, the sign said I was home. We were on the Eastern Shore. Cowman had planned to pick up a pony in his horse trailer for Angie’s mother to ride when they got back home. She was too short to mount up on a regular size horse but the deal fell through at the last minute. Something about new state regulations at nursing homes about cats, rabbits, birds, horses and Mexicans. Angie was upset about not getting the pony for her mom, but she didn’t need any more Mexicans.