Justification For Killing (55 page)

The Captain started
to ascend the steps to
Pegasus
. Taking his first step onto
the bottom rung of the loading platform, someone tugged on his arm.
Turning, he was staring into the crying eyes of his wife Baba. “You
old rascal, you’re getting too old for this sort of thing, but I
know you have to go after Forrest and Olive Marie. I’m just going
to tell you two things... find those kids and get yourself back
home!! I love you!!”

“
That’s
three, but I love you too... don’t worry we’re all going to come
back – safe and sound. I’m going to walk up these steps, and before
you know it,
Pegasus
will return. The guys will depart and in a couple of minutes,
we will all return. Please don’t cry, we’ll be back before your
tears dry.” Stepping up on the steps he turned one last time, bent
over and kissed her, “I love you,” and ascended the steps and shut
the hatch.

Little did Baba realize
the Captain was putting on a confident face? He was worried, really
worried. The odds of him coming back or finding Forrest and Olive
Marie was about fifty-fifty – Las Vegas would not like those odds,
neither did Captain Scarburg.

The time was 2:57 p.m.,
Friday, December 7, 2012.

Chapter
Forty-Five

HOME SWEET HOME

The last thing
Captain Scarburg remembered was the immense flash of blue light.
Seemingly a microsecond after seeing the burst of radiant energy
Captain Scarburg opened his eyes. He could see the smoke and fog
had disappeared. Was he still in the laboratory? Did the time-shift
work? If so, the trip, this time was not as rough as his previous
one. Was the journey smoother? Or was he just getting used to time
travel? One thing remained the same and something else was
different. Obviously the difference centered on his consciousness –
he had not blacked out only dazed, but the same was the alien’s
gift of the accompanying music – the bagpipe and drum rendition was
still as beautiful as he remembered on his previous ‘jump’.
Regardless, he wondered if he were in his cow pasture? The craft
was sitting level.
That’s good,
he thought.
At least I’m
not hung up on that miserable stump this time,
but a thought flashed through his head
, I might not even be in Texas.

Extracting his
pocket watch, with a solid gold cover, from his pocket he popped
the ornately carved cover open and checked the time - it was 3:03
back in Washington. He remembered his previous flight and the
crystal on his watch - something in the realms of time-travel
cracked the face crystal of his Rolex. He had surmised a metal
cover, especially one made of gold, on a watch’s face might prevent
this phenomenon from occurring. He was right, but the color
blindness had returned. Some unseen force reacted with his eyes.
Whatever the nature of this, yet to be explained peculiarity,
prevented him from seeing color. Filing this away in his mind for
future study he unbuckled his seat belt. He had only been stunned
for a brief period of time, but he had to get out of
Pegasus.
Mike had set
the master computer to retrieve
Pegasus
five minutes after landing,
and only a couple of minutes remained.

Pushing the
‘
OPEN
’ button on
the hatch, he heard the unmistakable hiss of escaping air as the
hatch door swung open.
What!
He thought,
snow! It
wasn’t snowing when I was here last.
He
had forgotten for a moment Forrest and Olive Marie had arrived
earlier, and their mere presence changed the Parallel Universe, the
Captain had landed in the same Universal dimension only one day
later. On his previous trip he had been in a different Universe,
now it was 12:34, Thursday, November 21, 1963 in a totally
different world, and in this Parallel Universe it was snowing like
the blazes in his Texas cow pasture.

Well at least this
time he had brought some warm clothes and an excellent, heavy coat.
Slipping on the coat, he crawled out the hatch, down the ladder
onto the snow-covered ground.
Now if this
is not the pits,
he thought.
I had been planning on walking to Clem and
Penelope’s house, but I can’t cover much ground in this deep snow,
surely not four or five miles.
Another
thought,
the old Ford truck in the barn!
Clem said the owner would not care if I borrowed it. He lives in
Dallas and only seldom comes up to his ranch. That’s it; I’ll walk
up to the barn and use the truck to drive to the
Ponderosa.

The wind and driving
snow was out of the north, and knowing the Captain’s luck the barn
was located five or six hundred yards directly north of his landing
site. Having no other option, he walked around the silver
Pegasus
as it was
beginning to dematerialize into a swirling, tornado like, shape of
Texas snow, emitting a loud whistling wind sound. Even above that
sound the bagpipe’s ‘
Amazing
Grace
’ were still beautiful. In a second
or two,
Pegasus
and the music had vanished. As the snow began to settle he
started walking toward the old barn.
A
hat,
he thought.
Why didn’t I think of bringing a hat?
Head bowed low to keep the snow and wind from stinging and
biting his face he barely could see through his squinted eyes, but
he trudged on through the snow and the blowing wind toward the old
barn. Approaching he could see the barn door was standing wide
open.

Grasping the latch he slid
the door shut, but allowed just enough room to slide his six foot
two inch frame inside. The hallway of the barn was empty and
semi-dark. With the exception of a pile of snow and various pieces
of horse or mule harness hanging from the planks on a couple of the
empty stables, the hallway of the barn was almost entirely empty. A
pitchfork was protruding from a bale of hay and dozens and dozens
of baling twine cut from numerous bales of hay lay drooped over a
plank two by four cross member supported one end of the closest
stall. A huge pile of loose hay covered almost half of one side of
the barn, but something was terribly wrong! He saw no truck;
however, he did see one item of interest - a hat hanging on a nail.
It was a straw hat, but a hat never-the-less. Other than the few
miscellaneous farming implements strewn about the hallway, the barn
appeared as he first thought – empty.

There was one
solace, the barn walls, however weather beaten and worn at least
they blocked the bitter, cold, biting north wind. On entering the
barn the change in temperature from the outside to the inside made
him feel like the barn was actually warmer - it wasn’t. It was just
as cold inside, minus the wind and snow.
By-ned
, he thought,
now I’m in a pickle. I can’t get to Clem and
Penelope’s house in this storm; however if I stay here and try to
wait out this blizzard Forrest and Olive Marie are just getting
farther and farther away, and closer and closer to getting into
danger.

At this point, Captain
Scarburg was on the verge of hysteria, he had to have an idea, but
given his options one wasn’t apparent. He walked back and forth in
the hallway, wringing his hands, anguish written all over his face.
What was he to do? On this trip, he had come more prepared, in his
pocket he had a small flashlight, a pocketknife along with his
trusty ole Zippo cigarette lighter embossed with the crossed arrows
and bayonet emblem of his old Special Forces outfit. The one he had
carried since ‘Nam. Oh, least he not forget the two .45 caliber
1911 automatic pistols. What about making a small fire? That might
prop up his spirits a bit, and the wind and snow might subside
enough to try for Clem and Penelope’s place on foot.

He walked around the barn
looking for loose pieces of wood. There was plenty of hay, but hay
burned too fast to make a decent fire, he needed wood. Closely
following the edges of the walls and stables he ventured deeper and
deeper into the dark recesses of the barns interior. Pulling the
flashlight from his pocket, he shined its beam of light into the
darkness.

Rounding the giant pile of
hay, he was astounded!!

He could not believe his
eyes, in front of him sat a... a... Jeep. Now he remembered
something from his first trip - Clem had said there was a Jeep in
this barn. How could he be so absent minded? Here it sat, a U.S.
military 4x4 Jeep with ‘U.S. Army’ still painted in white letters
on the hood. In the center of the hood was a large, white,
five-pointed star. It was a magnificent sight. By its age, the
Captain figured the Army had sold the Jeep as excess inventory at
the end of the Korean War back in the early ‘50s. The rancher
probably purchased the Jeep from some Army surplus auction back
then.

One undeniable fact was
paramount, Captain Scarburg knew all about Jeeps. He had ridden in
them; slept under them; hauled wounded in them; shot from them;
shot at them when the enemy were stealing them; repaired them and
certainly he knew how to drive them.

His first thought
–
Jeeps have no keys
– that was good. Next he wondered when was the last time this
thing had been cranked. If it had been a long time, getting it
started now might be difficult. Captain Scarburg recognized this
particular model Jeep as a M38A1. It was four wheel drive, equipped
with a four-cylinder, gasoline powered motor. One of the best Jeeps
made, but it had a peculiarity - it had a twenty-four volt
electrical system, wired to use not one but two twelve-volt
batteries. These two batteries were located in a cavity just
outside the passengers windshield secured with a metal cover
fastened with two rubber straps similar to today’s bungee cords.
Now the drawback – since it required twenty-four volts to crank
this sucker, both batteries had to have enough charge in them to
fire this old warhorse up. If one battery were insufficiently
charged neither battery would work. Two batteries just doubled his
chances this thing would not crank. Walking around to the
passenger’s side, Grandpa unhooked the straps holding the cover
over the two batteries. Looking down he was amazed, the batteries
looked brand-new. Checking the battery tags he discovered they had
only been installed in September 1963. That was just two months
ago!! Surely, the batteries would still have enough charge to crank
this OD (Olive Drab) green, sweetheart of American
ingenuity.

Around to the driver’s
side the Captain slowly walked. Giving the Jeep a last look he slid
in under the steering wheel, reached up on the dashboard and
flipped the switch to start and maneuvered his right foot until he
found the floor-mounted starter pedal. Keeping his fingers crossed
he pushed the foot starter, and the motor began to turn. Over once
then again, it sputtered, Grandpa reached and pulled the choke out
about half way and pushed on the starter pedal again. She turned
again, and again, then finally the engine coughed a time or two
then sputtered and began to run. It was running a little rough, so
he adjusted the choke, but he figured it would smooth out as soon
as the motor warmed up.

Reaching down to the floor
shift, he shifted the transmission into neutral. At the same time,
he adjusted the idle knob just a bit keeping the motor running at a
faster idle speed. A check of the fuel gauge indicated the gas tank
was empty; however, he knew from experience these old mechanical
gauges seldom worked correctly. He dismounted from the Jeep and
unscrewed the gas filler pipe located right beside the drivers
seat. Pulling a long hay straw from the pile of hay he stuck it
into the filler pipe. He withdrew the straw and checked if there
was any indication of gas on the hay stem. The liquid on the straw
indicated the tank was nearly full. Now he was in
business.

He remained there for a
couple of minutes, letting the Jeep’s motor warm up. It was time to
go he decided. Turning the Jeep’s wheels hard to the right he
released the clutch and the trusty old Army Jeep moved slowly into
the hallway of the barn. Down the center of the barn he crept until
he reached the pile of snow at the large sliding door. Shifting
into neutral he got out, opened the barn door and moved the Jeep
outside. As the Captain was beginning to close the barn door, a
though occurred to him – back inside he ran – he had to relieve the
hat from its resting place on the nail. Now he was
ready.

No, he wasn’t quite
ready. Leaving the Jeep again, the Captain surveyed the surrounding
area. He appeared to be searching for something. What?
Yes,
he said to
himself,
there it is.
Walking across the mounting depth of wind driven snow he
headed to the object of his search – a tree. Not just any old tree,
but this particular tree, the one with the squirrel hole. Nestled
safe and sound inside the hole he was going to place one of the
Colt, Model 1911 U.S. Army .45 caliber automatic pistols. Reaching
inside, he put a plastic bag containing the gun and a magazine of
seven rounds of bullets for this man size instrument of death. He
racked the slide back to load one bullet into the chamber of the
second pistol. As he dropped the Colt into the pocket of his coat,
the Captain patted the weapon with his hand and with a glazed look
of stern determination said, as if someone were listening, “Now,
lets go find Forrest and Olive Marie.”