"Norm"

[G_burnett]

....As Tarina faded into the distant dusk mist one could just hear the faint crash of one of her saplings falling on the portal modem before it closed.

It would take not centuries to cross the dimension of time and space for Austin to hear the so frustrated scream for it was so loud the constant of speed had no meaning with the force so strong behind the wave ... predictable as Austin waited in the loss of attention it would only take three to four days for the wave to reach his distant planet and by then his young 16 year old angel would have her wings back on her slight petite well measured form to beat her scream to him again to ahh and Ahhh in his ear sweet nothings till maybe her four saplings would have a dad to nurture there budding screeches as the resident hounds and assorted cats an such fertilized there roots ... in the makeshift forest she called home

"Ahh ... such is life Austin said in ponder" .. as a poem once more arose to thought ...

[austintorn@aol.com]

"Ahh ... such is life Austin," said in ponder, "that the Canadian forests bring balm in the west and a deep freeze in the east, the Yukon tundra perhaps defrosting a bit from the tropical winds sent forth," for he knew of the ice foretold by the karma of the bi-polar winds of the opposites.

Pondering further, he could only hope that the internet portal could be repaired to again soft screech its sweet messages. As he is retired, he knowest not all about and for what those wild saplings should need and takest from the old one most brokest by the economy.

[austintorn@aol.com]

I might have known it was you

She sped my step whilst ever one attempted to retard it, the four winds ever warning of the reports of the last resort of the tip of the iceberg that has now globally warmed away, for spring is sprung in spurts, and is of the joy that never left.

[austintorn@aol.com]

the saga continues…

“All is never as it seems,” the DIA General reminded the lieutenant. “Trust not even me but as you must.“

“Your guys came through for me, in a turnaround.”

“They could stay but for the minute, as they were bound by their orders, but would have waited all night for you if they could have. One must not be late.”

“Indeed, I was almost the late AustinTorn, but for a lukish wind that carried me on its wings.”

“But you would have been on time for your funeral.”

“Good one, but I am now reborn to punctuality.”

“That you are. What do you make of the so-called enemy that cuts down all the professional doctors and others of such caliber?”

“They are steeled and will never know until the end draws nigh.”

“The pity that man is yet an infant species.”

“We see many good and bad things directly, person to person, via the actual.”

“Such are the good civil laws and good human values taught.”

“The problem becomes when we ‘see’ from no direction but the imagined, via the unreal.”

“These ‘good’ things, merely pronounced, also define their ‘bad’ counterpart.”

“One then ‘forgets’ their source, leaping into adoption, becoming with them one; thus, the ideas must be protected.”

“Anger arises toward the contrary, as emotion stains the brain.”

“Then, evil is done in the name of ‘good’.”

“And all these ‘good’ things eventually come to a bloody end.”

“Yes, all good things…”

“…come to an end.”

“Say and do what you will, before it’s too late.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

(the DIA saga)

“Good words, soldier. Any hostile casualties?”

“An accurate count of 106 plus up to twenty indeterminate from the chopper upon its departure.”

“How do you feel about all that?”

“What was there in the bloody end was there in the beginning. I am fine about it.”

“Civilian causalities?”

“0”.

“Friendly causalities?”

“0.”

“Equipment?”

“I buried the very large gun into a hole dug beforehand.”

“Good, for then it will be available to us as an extra weapon if we return. It would have bee too heavy to lug back. Now, you patiently stood your ground for 3 days, then prevented the rampage that was about to ensue.”

“Yes. You knew?”

“I figured, from the numbers. Then what was left of them were drawn to you.”

“It was so.”

“Effective but not so good for one’s health, yet unavoidable. Your tardiness is excused.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“’Sir’ is not required, but I’ll take it as a compliment. As our unit does not exist, the use of ‘sir’ could become a bad habit that goes on in public.”

“Thank, you, s–.”

“Work on it, for even when you don’t say it, you do. The village will only be safe for a short while. I am sending in Section 2 to meet the coming challenge. Would you like to lead them from the shore to the environs of the village?”

“Will gladly do.”

“All of this never happened.”

“No, it didn’t, whatever it was.”

“True, for I heard nothing. How about dinner?”

“I hear that; I’m famished.”

“You used a portion of your ration space for ammo.”

“Do you know everything?”

“Yes, for that is my job.”

“Thanks for your being, Gen---.”

“And, you, too, but I cannot call you a ‘lieutenant’”.

“Since I don’t exist?”

“No, because you are now a Captain.”

“Thanks.”

“And with that comes…”

“…even more responsibility and satisfaction.”

“I’d give you an insignia but…”

“…It doesn’t exist.”

…

The new action with Section 2 was going fairly well as planned, their many opposing rampagers led not by reason but by the beast that was ever part and parcel of man.

It was over, for now, as a retreat had been called by the leader of Section 2 upon detection of a larger than expected approaching enemy, this retreat being somewhat hindered by some opposition stragglers whose spirits had been bolstered by the sight of this entire Klemmer Rouge division boldly crossing a long open field, which would be luck, or not, for either side.

The tail of the Section 2 retreat was further slowed by the carrying and stretchering of their wounded. The new Captain who didn’t really exist quickly dug up the buried gun and set up by the side of a large tree to cover the retreat of his comrades, figuring that they surely all now knew the way back.

This sounds like Hemmingway’s ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’, he thought, and further pondered, How did the General know to insist on giving me the ammo for this gun? Would the gun still function after its burial to then assist the burials of those remnants yet oncoming?

…

Section 2 was now into the sub, it casting off ballast, the Section 2 leader finally arriving and telling the General of for whom the bell may have tolled as he oversaw the stowage of his wounded.

“He did what!” the General asked rhetorically. “I called in an air strike on the division. And that was not exactly the full plan for the ammo.”

“He knows about the air strike; perhaps he is on the way. He has run this course before.”

“Ah, yes. How did I know of that non happening?”

The General paced the shore, knowing that but 60 seconds remained. He had a feeling that his new Captain would be on time.

…

“You’re 1 second early, my good man,” said the General as they both clambered into the top hatch as the submarine submerged its bulk.

“I didn’t want to shoot at the sub.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back and hang out and use up the rest of your time?”

“No, it’s rather unpleasant out there.”

“So, what happened at the end?”

“Nothing happened there or anywhere else around here.”

“Please; humor me.”

“From what I could see back through the woods with the eye in the back of my head, but mostly heard with my ears was that the air strike was dead on target.”

“Lucky for you.”

“I live on luck.”

“Probability has no memory, Major.”

“Major?”

“Yes, and that is as far as you go, if you wish, for anything beyond is rather mostly a desk job.”

“Agreed, but how is it that you are out here in the field?”

“As for me, my desk does not exist.”

“That’s the clean desk policy. So then of what use is a desk if nothing can be placed upon it?”

“None at all whatsoever in any way.”

“Good answer, in triplicate. Come to think of it, I haven’t noted any Colonels about.”

“We don’t have any Colonels. It’s the economy.”

“No desks.”

“Yes, and there have been cutbacks in middle management.”

“We need a quick response team.”

“Yes, indeed. So the big gun still worked well.”

“Yes, but it jammed toward the end of its ammo.”

“Jammed! Darn piece of junk. I will find a new supplier. So, staying there longer would have made you late?

“No, I would have made up the time.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“What’s next on our list?”

“Have you ever been to the Philippines?”

“Yes, as a tourist.”

“Good, for there is a Filipino General of the Army who has been consorting with the Muslim insurgency.”

“I am now becoming very concerned about his health.”

“Me, too, as some Generals cannot be trusted—to go on living.”

“May he lie in peace beneath the ground which he lied above.”

“C’est la vie.”

“Finis.”

[austintorn@aol.com]

Section 1 was already prestaged to provide support. An official not to be named in the Philippine Armed Forces had reviewed the information and had approved the DIA assassination mission.

The General and his new Major flew tourist class over Leyte Gulf towards Manila, getting to know one another some more.

“Um, General,” said the Major, “Since we never wear insignia, would it be to forward of me to inquire how many invisible stars you have on.”

“No sweat, for one must know the total situation. I have 7 stars.”

The Major pondered this amazing fact for a few seconds. “Well, if we consider that the President is the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces, then this seems to give him the equivalence of 6 stars. So, are you, somehow, higher than him, and wouldn’t you still have to report to the Pentagon and/or the President?”

“Glad you asked, Major. The Pentagon reports to me, in a sense, although they don’t know it, for I receive their Defense Intelligence directly. As for the President—while he gave me the initial authorization—he does not wish to be informed except in certain rare cases. Thus, in a way, I am indeed above the President.”

“So that there are no paper trails, e-mails, desks, phones…”

“…His phone line can be ultra-secured when it needs to be, but he does enjoy reading some of the events in the newspaper. And for us, there are no medals, commendations, or any kind of mention whatsoever.”

“It’s amazing that a part of the military has gone paperless.”

“We have some in the bathrooms.”

“Ha. Suppose, um, you happened to overdo some questionable assignments in some persistent fashion.”

“Assassins might eventually hunt me down.”

“Might?”

“If they could find me.”

“Um, General, I wouldn’t have to call you ‘General’ if I knew your name.”

“Well, we don’t use real names here—and I don’t even know your full name. This prevents any torturers who may get a hold of us from learning anything about that.”

“Do you have a stage name?”

“Yes, I was going to say that you could call me Magic Dragon. I will call you Questor. These are code names just between us.”

“The President must have a lot of trust in you.”

“If I have earned it, then he has it.”

“Do we ever take out heads of state?”

“No, the CIA would do that.”

“Do they have a 7-star General?”

“No, for they are somewhat more accountable.”

“And they focus more on espionage and politics?”

“Indeed, while we focus on military defense. There is some overlap, however.”

The plane was landing.

[austintorn@aol.com]

“I’ll see you on the other end, Dragon.”

“Hope so, Questor. You do know that there are sometimes hidden variables that can arise in these far and foreign missions?”

“Yes, for this is not so straightforward as crossing the border into Cambodia from Vietnam.”

“True, and while the Philippines are friendly allies with U.S., it’s not like they can all be in the know, excepting my contact there.”

The Major bid farewell and switched to another plane that would take him far to the south, then a ferry to Mindanao, a region of over 7000 islands.

After hiking for a few miles in the dark, the Major located a box continuing a sniper rifle, just where it was supposed to be, and loaded it.

Halfway up a hill, he had a decent view of the Philippine Army outpost. He settled in and waited for the glow of tropical dawn. His target was an early riser who never stayed up late partying.

At the hint of twilight dawn, the Major, or Questor as we may call him, spotted his target’s office, it having the man’s name on it, of all the stupid things to do. The man must have felt safe here. The Muslims had a kind of a temporary base about 10 miles south, putting our Questor very much between a rock and a hard place if anything went wrong.

It was time, for the target was coming out for his morning stroll, another silly move. The shots rang clear and true and the man was no more. As one might imagine, some troops came running out, heading for the fallen man, again something they should not be doing, in case they were targets, as well.

Questor didn’t move yet, as all eyes would be looking around now. Most looked in the wrong direction, for the echoes from the hills had confused their ears. He then disassembled the rifle and packed it, and headed off very slowly, with much stealth, toward the path-road blocked by many obstacles, over which he clambered easily. The mission was routine so far.

A few minutes later he was surprised to receive a call, since radio silence was supposed to be in effect.

“This is Magic Dragon. There is a problem; the Muslims are unexpectedly on the move and the Philippine Army has made a wild guess, hitting the nail on the head, and is heading for your road; there will soon be eyes everywhere, even above; your pickup plan has been aborted. Are you well on the path past the obstacles?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good, for they are not quite onto you exactly, yet, for you are just the receiver of this call. They can try to trace us, but not you; however, they will never find us. Here is the plan until further notice: run like the wind on past the pickup point! Call us in about 12 minutes or so, sooner if there is a problem.”

“That’s the extent of the plan: run?”

“Ready, get set, go!”

Questor was off and did about 2 miles in about 10 minutes, then slowed and stopped for a look about the ridge. To the north, a tank from the Army outpost was clearing the obstacles from the beginning of the path-road. To the south could be seen Muslim helicopters warming up. The insurgency might drop troops near one end of the road while Philippine Army jeeps approached from the other direction. He noted swamps a bit inland on both sides of the path. They would be infested with Dengue fever. It seemed that Lady Luck was nowhere to be found in this far land. Well, at least it was not storming or raining, but the vise was about to close and there was no way out.

Wherefore is the vaporous lady
Who rains good fortune upon me?

Her portal to the net must yet be broken.
Probability has regained its memory and spoken.

And yet a spirit in my feet
Still leads me -- who knows how? --
To her chamber window, sweet,
Or ‘tis closed or run out now.

The vaporous airs, they faint
On the dawn, the silent stream,
The perfumed odours fall
Like sweet thoughts in a dream.

The nightingales complaint,
It dies upon her breast,
As I must die on thine,
Oh, beloved as thou art.

Oh, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eye-lids pale;

My cheek is cold and white, alas,
My heart beats loud and fast.
Oh press it close to thine again
Where it will break at last.

(adapted from Shelley)

Was the Magic Dragon just going to leave him here, thought Questor, whether intentionally or because now he had to? What did he mean initially when he said to trust no one, not even him? Ah, he meant that trust had to be earned. But its not like some foreign aircraft could bomb the Philippines and create some international incident upon their tracking. Besides, the Filipino troops were fine, and the successor to the dead General was a good man and not corrupt at all.


So you must not be frightened if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall. . . .

[Tarina]

Well now, It seems my secret side of me has come about for the commoners to ponder, or so thought Tarina..... This god forsaken hot place has got to be the bowels of hell...
Tarina sat in her hotel room wondering....how did they find me? It would seem that they, were in a critical situation, what with every way they had forseen , gone, like the wind. But alas, she was safe, for Tarina had her ace of spades to call on...and call on it she did... It wasn't long until her friend on the "run" had his signal from Tarina. The ultra sleek flyer, on it's virgin mission whisked the two of them away.....

[austintorn@aol.com]

The ultra sleek flyer, on it's virgin mission whisked the two of them away.....

Amazingly, that description is just about what is going to happen, especially the flyer and the virgin part of something being tried for the first time by the DIA, as we will soon see… for it was already written.

[austintorn@aol.com]

Now rested enough to speak, Questor dialed up the Magic Dragon, unfortunately now broadcasting his precise location to his foes, but he had to, saying “It’s all turning to shit. I’m going to be surrounded soon. I know when all is lost. It’s OK. That's the breaks.”

Dragon answered, replying “They have you surrounded but in two dimensions.” He gave these instructions: “Get off the trail slightly; you have about 5 minutes to dig a hole; the mud is soft; then get in it and cover yourself completely when you hear the slightest hint of a screeching sound; we are sending two massive pulses a bit north and south of you; there will be some residual overlap; plug your ears hold your breath for as long as you can and then emerge. You will then note a small package descending, it chuting and floating down slowly at the last minute, for we have your GPS location now just as well as anyone does.”

Questor was already digging the fastest hole he’d ever dug. It was quite wet at the bottom. He looked to the sky and saw nothing. He soon heard a whining sound and quickly swept in the remaining dirt upon his head. The decibels were almost deafening and lasted for a while. He was probably turning blue as he crashed back up through the dirt and gasped for air. What the hell was that, he thought, and, this package, it had better be good, but he held little hope for it.

The package landed, looking like oxygen tanks, but it was a jet pack. The instructions said to take it straight up, pointing up the exhaust if the air got too cold, presumably so he could rise up through the warmth of it. He was off in a minute.

Upon reaching some decent height, he noted that many tress had been flattened from the pulses. It would probably be reported on the evening news as some kind of cyclone.

Yet, there was nothing up here in the sky that he could tell, and certainly no sky hook. Up and up and up he went, the air getting much cooler, so he pointed the exhaust upward. Did they want him to come back down in some place else crawling with problems?

He suddenly felt drawn, as if in a magnetic field. Yes, that had to be it; it was an attraction upon the tanks of his jet pack. He let it happen, having a feeling of being swept into nowhere.

Ah, there it was, a giant black bird. The plane had suddenly become visible. Was this some new kind of stealth aircraft that was even invisible to the eye? “What the heck; I never heard about this!”

He was pulled into a rear port, and then was steadied by the General himself.

“What a surprise, Magic, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because we’ve never tried it before.”

“How come?”

“There were no volunteers!”

“Ha, good one. I do believe in magic now and I do fully trust you now, Dragon General Magician.”

“Shit happens, Questor, or almost did. Nothing is for sure in this business. I like that you knew the situation was a failure.”

“What of the Philippine Army?”

“They’ll live; they just got the wind knocked out of them.”

“And the Muslims?”

“We accidently made the pulse too strong on their position.”

“Ha. I must be dreaming. All of this never happened.”

Austin gave Tarina an all embracing hug.

There was coffee and smokes on the plane, along with some snacks, made all the more sweet by the day’s exertions. We headed for Guam.

“General Jackson Magic Johnson, or what ever your name might be, you know that record 2 mile running part? It was not entirely that much fun.”

“Sorry, Questor, that you had to run for your life. Once in a great while we have to really scramble when snake eyes roll or the double zero slot collects the ball; however, there are always options and alternatives.”

“Some better than others.”

“Ever been to Iran?”

“No; let’s not go there.”