Poetic Justice

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Poetic Justice - book excerpt

Prologue

Bob Channing stared out the side window of the Cessna floatplane at the incredible vista before him. Lakes and rivers surrounded by lush green forests stretched as far as the eye could see. The pale blue sky was cloudless and seemed to continue forever. The Alaskan wilderness in late spring was a truly beautiful place. He leaned back in his seat and sighed contentedly as he reached for Elizabeth’s hand. She gave him a wide smile and his heart skipped a beat. To him she was still as beautiful as the day they were married, almost forty-four years ago.

He remembered the first time they met. It was the spring of 1971, her father Greg Channing had invited him to lunch at his imposing mansion on the outskirts of Edmonton. Those were heady times, they had just received the results of a geological survey that confirmed they were going to be incredibly wealthy men. Greg was backing Robert who had recently graduated from M.I.T. with a Masters degree in Geology. The discovery of Wabiskaw oilsand fields in a remote part of Northern Alberta had been confirmed. They were meeting to discuss how to proceed with the formation of their company, when in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Elizabeth was twenty-one years old and a senior at Edmonton University. It was pretty much love at first sight for both of them, and they were married a year later. In a reversal of tradition, Robert had taken her last name, mainly due to the fact that he had headed to Canada to escape the draft. This had devastated his family who had a long tradition of military service. In fact his brother Phillip was serving in Vietnam at the time.

It had broken his heart that his family had disavowed his very existence. He had tried to explain that he had no fear of fighting and dying for his country. He refused however, to fight a war on the other side of the world that politicians could not rationally explain America’s participation in. Tens of thousands of America’s teenage boys were been slaughtered for no apparent reason and he could not in good conscience participate in such madness.

He was shaken from his reverie by a shuddering as the light aircraft hit some clear air turbulence.

Tim, the pilot, glanced back and told them not worry and that they would be at the cabin in about fifty minutes.

‘Cabin’ was a bit of an understatement; it was a huge five thousand square foot log structure built ten years ago on the shores of one of Alaska’s many pristine lakes. It had its own private jetty and boathouse and was lavishly furnished in the French Provencal style that Elizabeth so adored. They were on their way to their annual fishing trip and the staff had been warned to get the property ready for their arrival.

One of the perks of being an oil billionaire was the ability to travel in style and comfort. They had travelled from Edmonton to Juneau in their private executive jet, then onwards in the brand new Cessna 206 which Rob had purchased a few months ago.

Tim Wilson was sixty-two years old and had been his personal pilot for almost twenty-five years now, ever since he purchased his own private Lear Jet. Up till then he had used the companies jets and pilots, but having his own planes afforded him the freedom to travel whenever and wherever he chose.

Elizabeth Channings mother, Kim, had died in a tragic car accident when Elizabeth was only fourteen years old. Being an only child, her father doted on her and spoilt her terribly. Her father had passed away twelve years earlier at the age seventy-three, after battling throat cancer probably brought on by his penchant for Cuban cigars.

Full ownership of their highly successful oil company had passed to Robert, who had been pursued relentlessly by the major oil companies to sell the thriving business to them. Now, at age seventy, Robert was seriously considering doing just that. He and Elizabeth had no children although they had tried right after they were married. By the time in-vitro fertilization and adoption became en vogue, they were to old to seriously consider either option.

He wanted to retire and spend as much time as possible with his beloved wife, perhaps buy a nice beach house somewhere in the Bahamas, maybe even Hawaii. They had vacationed often in both places and he loved the warm weather and white beaches. At his age cold weather was not your friend and the aches and pains were getting worse every year.

Suddenly, Tim let out a gasp and grabbed at his chest. He fell forward against the control column which plunged the little aircraft into a near vertical dive. Elizabeth screamed as Robert quickly released his seat belt and grabbed for the stricken pilot. His mind was racing, it appeared as if Tim had just suffered a major heart attack. He knew enough about flying to realize he had to pull Tim back off the control column. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to budge the large man. He looked up in horror as he saw the ground rushing up toward them at incredible speed. He heard the terrible screams of his beloved Elizabeth as the small plane smashed into the ground. Then, NOTHING………….

Chapter 1

I opened my eyes slowly, only to find that all I could see was a strange, white mist. There was a gentle shuddering accompanied by an oddly comforting noise that almost sounded like a train rumbling on its tracks. My vision gradually started to clear, and I glanced around the small-enclosed space.

It was then that I realised I was laying on a narrow stretcher in the stark hold of a U.S. army helicopter.

As the effects of the morphine slowly began to dissipate, my memory began to return to me. We were on a mission in a remote area of northern Afghanistan to rescue two journalists captured by the Taliban. For the last week they had been paraded around on footage sent to Al Jazeera, showing them wearing black hoods with hands tied behind their backs. As usual their captors were wearing balaclavas and brandishing wicked looking scimitars, while their hapless victims knelt on the dirt floor in front of them. Of course they were also demanding the release of several high-ranking Taliban prisoners held by America and her allies. When were they going to learn, America does not negotiate with terrorists.

My team and I had just finished a routine mission near Kabul when we got the word that their exact location had been identified, and we were the Army Ranger team assigned to infiltrate the enemy camp and extract them.

Everything had gone according to plan; all the enemy combatants had been neutralized without alerting the people sleeping in the nearby village. It was during our exfiltration that suddenly everything had gone wrong.

A flare had suddenly exploded above us, lighting up the surrounding landscape with an eerie glow. The sound of machine gun fire followed by green streaks of tracer rounds filled the night air. I was bringing up the rear of our little procession and miraculously did not get hit by the opening salvo. I hit the ground immediately and rolled to my left behind a large boulder. I fired a couple of quick bursts with my M-16 and watched the red tracer rounds hit a large rocky outcrop where the gunfire seemed to originate from. Using my throat microphone I communicated with the extraction team that we were taking fire and needed air support immediately. Just as I heard the unmistakable sound of rotors from the approaching helicopter gun-ships, there was a large flash from the rocky outcrop followed by an explosion from behind me. I felt the heat wash over me and a burning sensation in my left leg, and then everything went black as I lost consciousness.

As I struggled to sit up in the narrow cot, a familiar voice told me to lay back and relax. Sergeant Mike Andrews was our section medic and had been down on the ground with us.

“Sergeant, what the hell happened?’ I asked him.

“Huge screw up Major.” He replied. “They seemed to know we were coming and set up an ambush on our route out of the valley.”

I was struggling to come to grips with what he had just said, when he continued.

“Seems like they fired an RPG-7 at one of the approaching choppers, but aimed a bit low and hit the top of the shelf behind us. Hell of an explosion but luckily not too much damage, mostly light shrapnel wounds.”

I glanced down at my bandaged left leg and he nodded.

”Yup, they got you too.”

He reached down and grabbed a helmet with a large dent in the side.

“You’re one lucky guy, Major, a large piece of shrapnel hit your helmet. It knocked you out and gave you one hell of a concussion, nothing too serious though.”

He went on to explain how the Apache gunship had quickly taken care of the ambush party. The injured had been loaded onto two Black-hawk helicopters, and we were now only about thirty minutes out from our home base and proper medical treatment.

“So no serious injuries on our side then?” I asked, the hope showing through in my voice.

He glanced away and I saw a shadow cross his eyes as he did so. I felt a tightness in my chest as I demanded, “Tell me sergeant!”

“Sorry Major, but Sergeant Buckman didn’t make it.”

He knew, as did everyone in our unit, how close Sergeant Fred Buckman and myself were. We were like brothers, having done our initial Ranger training together at Fort Benning, Georgia. We had pushed each other to make it through what can only be described as hell on earth. Because I had a degree, I went on to officer training while he did a non-commissioned officers course.

We had lost track of each other for a while, but both of us had eventually ended up in 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger regiment. I had immediately requested that he be assigned to my squad, and we’d been together ever since.

The kicker was, we both had only about three weeks left in the military and were looking forward to civilian life. We had both been offered consulting jobs at a large multinational security company, at roughly three times what we were earning now.

I could hardly breathe as I realised none of that mattered anymore, my best friend was gone forever. Worst of all, I was the one that got to tell his beautiful wife Tanya, that Matt and Alicia would never see their Daddy again.

I grabbed Andrew’s arm. “Sergeant, tell me exactly what happened.” I gasped.

He hesitated for a second, “Near as I can tell, after the RPG exploded we looked back and saw you fall. Sergeant Buckman told us to stay under cover and ran back to help you. It was around that time that the first Apache opened up on the outcrop and all hell let loose. Once the dust cleared I saw Sergeant Buckman lying in the ravine off to the right of the path. There was no more enemy fire so I ran over to help him.” He hesitated again, before continuing, “He was on his stomach so I turned him over. Looked like he’d taken an AK round to the throat, just above his body armour. There was nothing I could do for him, he was already gone.”

I felt the tiny cabin swirling around me as I realised that my best friend had died trying to save me. Here I was, still alive and he was gone forever.

Chapter 2

Immediately upon our arrival at the airbase, they tried to get me into surgery. “I’m not going anywhere until I let Tanya know what happened.” I insisted.

I would rather have her hear the news from me than some unknown army chaplain. They carried me into the ops-room where I steeled myself and picked up the sat-phone. It was almost midnight back in Georgia, and the phone rang for a while before she answered in a sleepy voice, “Tanya, hello.”

I hesitated for a second before saying, “Hi Tanya, it’s Brad, I’m calling from Afghanistan.”

Silence, then I heard her voice catch, “How bad is it Brad?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Fred’s gone.”

No hysterics, no screaming or crying. She was an incredibly strong woman; one of the reasons Fred had loved her so much.

She choked back a sob as she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t give you any details right now, all I can tell you is it was quick, he didn’t suffer at all.” Small comfort, I knew. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“And you, are you ok?”

“Just a minor leg wound and a concussion, I’ll be fine.”

“You know what I mean.” She knew better than anyone how close the two of us were. So like her to be concerned about me while she must be going through hell herself.

“Right now it still feels like a bad nightmare, it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

“I know what you mean Brad. Listen, I’m going to phone my parents now and ask them to come over. I’m going to need their help in the morning when I tell the kids.”

“I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back. Stay strong.”

“Bye Brad, see you soon.”

I disconnected the call and several emotions washed over me as I did. I felt absolutely exhausted as they carried me off to the base hospital.

* * *

Five days later I landed at Lawson Army Airfield at Fort Benning. They had removed two pieces of shrapnel from my right thigh, one of which was close to the femoral artery. Seemed like my luck was still holding. According to the doctors I probably would have bled out if the artery had been severed. Although the leg was tightly bandaged and quite stiff, I was able to walk with the aid of crutches. The headaches from the concussion were also a thing of the past.

My father, Brigadier-General Phillip Peterson (retired), had been on hand to meet me when I arrived at Andrews Air force base the previous day. Before his retirement he was assigned to the Pentagon and lived in a brownstone in Georgetown. I had spent the night with my parents with my mother fussing over me as if I were mortally wounded.

After having endured a thorough de-briefing in Afghanistan, I had to repeat all the details of what had happened to my father. Although he was no longer in the military, he had retained his top-secret security classification, so I was not breaking any laws in doing so.

He had met Fred on many occasions and was distraught to hear of his death at the hands of the Taliban. After checking in with my commanding officer and hearing that I’d been granted a weeks leave, a private drove me over to the Single officers Quarters where I was currently staying.

I took a long, steaming hot shower and after dressing, walked down to where my car was parked. After removing the cover, I inspected the gleaming red, 1969 Ford Mustang convertible.

She truly was a classic and one of the few indulgences I had allowed myself. After reconnecting the battery I drove off base to a nearby suburb where many of the personnel with families lived.

As I pulled into the driveway I felt so much sorrow it was almost overwhelming. This was Fred and Tanya’s home. I had spent so many weekends here barbequing and relaxing next to the pool out back, that it felt like my second home.

With no small amount of trepidation, I rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, I had called ahead and Tanya was expecting me.

She gave me a brave smile then hugged me tightly for a few seconds. I could see she was trying hard to keep it together. We went through to the living room and sat next to each other on the couch.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked.

Although it was only two in the afternoon I had a yearning for a stiff drink.

“I’ll have a whiskey if you have any?” Both Fred and I had shared a passion for a good single-malt Scottish whiskey.

“ I think there’s still some Glennfiddich left from the last time you were over.” She replied.

She poured a generous amount in two glasses and added a touch of water, no ice.

She handed me a glass “Just the way you like it.”

“So how are holding up?” I asked.

“Just taking it one day at a time.”

“And the kids?”

“Alicia’s still too young to truly understand, but Matt’s really taking it hard. You know how he idolized his dad.”

Alicia had just turned three and Matt was six.

“ If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks Brad, I seem to have it all under control. The kids are over at my parents while I finalize the funeral arrangements.” Fred was to be buried in two days time at a nearby cemetery with full Military Honors.

“Oh, if you could arrange the pallbearers, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem, I’ll take care of it.” Besides myself, I would choose five of his closest friends from our unit.

We chatted for another half an hour before I said goodbye. As she hugged me again at the door, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened, there was nothing you could have done to help him.”

Little did she know I totally blamed myself for his death. Not only had he died trying to help me, but we both should have been out of the army two years ago.

We had nearly finished our ten years in the army when my Commanding Officer, Colonel Waters had approached me. At the time I was a Captain. He had asked me to sign on for two more years and guaranteed me that I would make Major if I did. I agreed, and persuaded Fred to do the same. As far as I was concerned I had asked him to sign his own death-warrant by doing so.