“Now,” Jake said, holding out the flag. “This triangle resembles a cocked hat, representing every solder, sailor, marine, and airman who has ever served. And finally, you can see that there are now only four stars visible. Those four stars stand for ‘In God we trust.’”
“I’ll put the flag in his hands,” Deon offered, and taking the flag from Jake, he leaned down over the open grave and placed the flag so that Clay was holding it over his heart, with his hands over it. It was almost as if the sergeant major was actually holding on to the flag.
“I’m going to have a little service for him, if you don’t mind,” Jake said.
“Who would mind?” Deon asked. “I think it is entirely appropriate.”
“So do I,” Karin said.
Jake lowered his head, and the others did as well. “Dear Lord,” Jake began. “We commit into your keeping Sergeant Major Clayton Bertis Matthews the Third. Clay served his country and his fellow man with honor and valor. He took up arms to defend all that good men find dear: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. He lived his life according to those ideals, and, moreover, he imparted that dedication and his wisdom to others. He was my mentor, my friend, and my strength. We leave him here now, secure in the knowledge that you hold him in the palm of your hand. Amen.”
“Amen,” the others repeated.
As they left, the others, one at a time, passed by Clay’s grave. Willie and Marcus both signed themselves with the cross.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
By the time they returned to the front of the hangar the fire had burned out and all that was left was the smoldering wreckage of the truck and helicopter. No longer red, the truck had rusted out in the flames. The tires had been burned off and the aluminum wheels were no more than molten slag. Inside the truck a charred body was draped over what was left of the steering wheel. The two gunners had been thrown forward over the cab of the truck and their charred remains lay in the blackened residue of what had been the helicopter.
“How much fuel was on board?” Jake asked.
“Unfortunately, we had it topped off,” John said.
“That leaves us just under four hundred gallons. If we can put another one together, we won’t be able to top off the tank, but we’ll have enough fuel to get to where we are going.”
“
“I’ve been thinking,” Jake said.
“Well, Major, that’s why the Army pays you the big bucks,” Deon said, and the others, including Jake, laughed.
“John, while you are looking at the other helicopters, I suggest that the rest of us build some hasty fortifications of some sort. That way if this happens again, we’ll be ready for them.”
“Good idea,” Marcus said.
“I’m glad you think it’s a good idea,” Jake said. “Because now that I have suggested that, I have no idea what we can use for the fortification.”
“There are ten fifty-five-gallon drums over in the hangar next door,” John said. “They are empty, but if we put dirt in them . . .”
“Yes,” Jake said interrupting him. “We did that in Iraq, built up around our Quonset huts. It worked well.”
“You’ll have to cut the tops off to get the dirt in,” John said. “I’ve got a hacksaw and some blades here.”
“Won’t you need that if you find something out on the line?” Jake asked.
“If it isn’t something I can take off using a wrench or a screwdriver, then it’s not likely to be anything we can use. Take the hacksaw.”
“All right. Let’s get started,” Jake said.
“A suggestion, sir?” Marcus offered.
“Any suggestion is welcomed.”
“As soon as we get the top off one of the barrels, I suggest that one of us saw, while the rest of us fill the empty with sand.”
“Good idea.”
An hour later they had only two barrels filled with sand. Jake raised up from digging and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead.
“You know, when I said that we did this in Iraq—I forgot. There was no ‘we’ to it. We hired local contractors for the job.”
“Yeah, I was wondering where you got that ‘we,’” Deon said.
By nightfall, they had the ten barrels in a V shape in front of the personnel door. Back inside, they wondered aloud whether or not John would find anything they could use.
It was almost an hour later before John returned, and when he came into the hangar, the expression on his face told everything.
“We’re stopped cold,” John said. “There is nothing left that is salvageable.”
“Do you mean to say that out of a hundred or more helicopters, that you can’t put together one that is flyable?” Jake asked.
“I’m not saying that,” John said. “But what I am saying is that there is so little salvageable remaining on each of the aircraft that it would take days, maybe weeks, to put one together. The biggest problem is with the airframes. Those that haven’t been destroyed by all the scavengers are too badly damaged by the storm. I wish I had better news for you, but I don’t.”
“What do we do now?” Karin asked.
“What about the museum?” Deon asked.
“The museum? What about the museum? What are you talking about?” John asked.
“During the Vietnam War my dad was a door gunner on a Huey. There is a Huey on display at the museum just like the one he was on. I’ve seen it a dozen times—it looks like it’s ready to fly.”
“I wonder if the engine and transmission are in it.” John said.
“They are,” Jake said with a wide smile. “I remember reading an article in the
“How long has it been there?” John asked.
“I don’t know, twenty years, maybe a little longer.”
“And it was flyable when it arrived?”
“Yes, in the article I read, they had a big ceremony about it. The pilot who flew it in was one of the last Vietnam veterans still on active duty. Do you think you could make it flyable?”
“We could come a hell of a lot closer with it than I can with anything that’s out here,” John said. “All of the parts should still be there, but after all this time there will be dried-out bushings, filters, gaskets, and so forth. We’ll have to rehydrate them, if we can.”
“Question is, how do we get it here?” Marcus asked.
“We’ll get it here in Clay’s Jeep,” Jake said.
“What? You can’t get a helicopter in that Jeep.”
“We could if we took the body off. Then we could set the helicopter on the Jeep’s frame. The tail cone will stick out, but it’s on skids, not wheels, so we can tie it down securely without worrying about it falling off.”
“Yeah!” Deon said. “Damn right.”
“Thing is, I hate doing that to Clay’s car,” Marcus said.
“Believe me, Marcus, I knew Clay better than anyone here. And if Clay were still alive, he would be the first one to say do it,” Jake said.
“Yeah,” John said. “I think he would too. All right, let’s get this buggy stripped down.”
It was a tired bunch who ate their supper that night, but before they turned in, they drew little slips of paper upon which times were recorded, the times determining who and when they would pull guard duty.
