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December 1, 2010

I would tell you I love you

Filed under: Original Writing — Tyler @ 8:49 pm
I would tell you I love you

I would tell you I love you

I would tell you I love you,

But to do that would take words,

How can words tear apart a galaxy?

And pull planets and the Orion belt closer…

Because like a hole in space, I am drawn to thee,

Not yearning for release or to be set free,

But to exist without bliss or desire for empathy.

Because to know bliss would mean to feel something different from now.

And now is all I have.

Because now is all I am,

And ever will be.

For I have never truly been,

Except for this moment.

And maybe this one.

For if time can betray my trust,

Then I have no need for it.

And I will destroy time.

For you.

Because I will never lie to thee,

And undertake an impossible quest.

For there is no greater fool’s errand,

Than for me to describe the force you wield,

Because if one touch can create lifetimes,

Then only a madman would not stop and bask in the sheer silent joy,

The kind of turbulence that makes angels second-guess their wings.

So maybe I will tell you I love you,

Because to stay silent could cause the cosmos to shudder,

And look back upon itself.

And not see itself,

But something new.

Something that could never have existed before.

And I fear that if the cosmos could know what I now know,

Then not even would emptiness be safe,

Not even would truth feel comfortable,

Not even would vulnerability know connection.

So yes!

I will tell you I love you,

Not for your sake,

And definitely not for mine,

But for Andromeda, and Ursa Major,

And Cerberus, and Cassiopeia,

Because without them,

Even the most adept travelers may lose their way,

And that I cannot do,

For my love was never meant to harm a single soul.

And alas,

It already has.

Because as I speak, my heart aches,

Not from wound or ailment,

But from the weight of a million moons,

Begging for a world like mine,

That holds an endless spirit like you.

-Tyler Stansfield Jaggers

-December 1st, 2010

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November 11, 2010

The Observer Chapter 2 Guantanamo

Filed under: Original Writing — Kenneth Jaggers @ 8:21 pm

Guantanamo

1145 Hours, October 14, 1947

Bob Weicha enjoyed being Officer-of-the Day.

It was a good change of pace, being treated like an admiral. Trouble was, it happened only on the days he wore the black armband bearing those two white letters, “OD.” At that moment, he was officially the highest ranking officer on the base and he liked the importance. Even his fellow officers at the McCalla Field Mess deferred to him, insisting that he go to the head of the serving line. He barely got comfortable when a pair of Marine Military Police came into the hall and looked in his direction.

The staff sergeant threaded his way through the room to the OD’s table, the crispness of his uniform and presence alerting everyone in the place to the fact that something serious had happened. He stood before Weicha, snapped to attention, saluted and said, “Commander, Sir! Begging your pardon, Sir! There’s been an off base accident with casualties. You’re needed at headquarters.”

Weicha knew he had to look calm and poised in front of the other officers. But he instinctively knew that it had to be the same kind of problem that he had been dealing with for the last few months; reckless Sailors and Marines. They were compulsive fools who were never content unless they found trouble; making him wonder how America ever won the War.

His mind raced about the possibilities, but he couldn’t ask any questions in front of the officers. Off base situations could be difficult, very difficult. Accidents involving civilian casualties were the most difficult. Just a few injured and a fresh outburst of anti-Americanism could sweep the island. If there were any dead, there was no telling what would happen.

Rising from the table, he began to think about the July incident. After a night of whoring in Santiago, five drunks from the cruiser Salem pissed on a statue of Jose Marti; the Cuban national hero. The idiots turned a bad situation into a catastrophe when one of them climbed on the statue’s head and defecated. If a sailor had hurt any Cubans, the situation could get nasty.

With a sinking feeling forming in the pit of his stomach he said to the Sergeant, “We better go to the scene. Do you have a radio?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I’ll call headquarters from there.”

While getting his hat from the rack, he began to think about the Navy’s supposed friends, the Santiago police would react. Once they were off-base, Swabbies and Jug-heads were completely out of control. With them not showing any respect for the locals, relationships with the locals were deteriorating. Even a jump in the usual bribes weren’t enough to hush up problems. After taking his seat, Weicha mulled over the recent problems, barely hearing the siren as the jeep raced towards a dock near the McCalla Field hospital.

Santiago officials were keenly aware of all the good things the Americans on Guantanamo Bay did, such as providing surplus trucks and jeeps so their patrolmen didn’t have to walk. Of late they had trouble keeping their men in line. It used to be that whenever Sailors or Marines got into some sort of fracas, the locals were more than willing to call the Military Police and let the Navy deal with their own. That understanding was ending. Because they dropped a big part of their pay in town, it used to be that the people living in Santiago tolerated American Sailors and Marines, letting them blow off steam in any way they wanted, that is, as long as they paid. Now the locals expected the men to behave, even the whores.

Sitting in silence as the jeep blared its way towards the harbor, Weicha had time to think about the Jose Marti statue incident. Even though the sailors caused the trouble in the middle of the night, locals heard their ruckus with the police and came out of their homes. When they found out what happened, they exploded. The crowd would have lynched the sailors. Fortunately enough Shore Patrol arrived to help the police haul the Sailors to the local jail. Word spread and by early morning reporters from Havana sat in courtroom; political agitators filling the room. Fearing for his safety, the judge couldn’t let them pay the normal fines.

The men had to stand trial and it was a nasty affair. Loving the opening for publicity, student activists from Havana turned the trial into an anti-American circus, their vitriol whipping emotions to a fever pitch. They made a commotion every time the defense made a point, by doing this telling the judge that any form of clemency was unacceptable. The judge was a practical person who lived in Santiago and understood what was expected of him.  Not wanting to be a pariah and to assure his safety, he sentenced the sailors to six months of hard labor.

After taking a few minutes to work his way out of the jeep and into a waiting launch for a dash across the bay, Weicha had time to again think about the trial’s outcome. Knowing the jailers were sure to mistreat the sailors and not wanting to see their men get hurt, the Navy authorized him to take money from the Sailor’s Relief Fund to bribe the judge and local officials as needed. This tried and true Cuban practice failed. The political pressure was so great, even reliable contacts wouldn’t accept money. To get the situation under control, they had to go all the way to the U. S. Embassy in Havana. After they paid a huge bribe to one of President Grau’s high level Justice Ministers, to get their men released, the Navy had to give written guarantees that the sailors would serve six months in the base brig.

The black smoke from the accident made Wiecha uneasy. This time a Marine driver hurt or possibly killed locals. If he couldn’t control this situation, the Navy’s relationship with the Cubans could turn foul. Whatever he did, he had to prevent this one from spinning out of control.

The accident site was filled with activity, forcing the driver to weave his way past the ambulances, MP jeeps and fire engines. Two trucks were spraying water on the burning truck while a third washed gasoline away from the wrecked car. A steaming hulk filled the road, stopping traffic in both directions. The noise had attracted a good sized group of cane workers who were agitated.

One of the Cubans attracted Weicha’s attention, a reporter from Boqueron, the town just outside the base’s main gate. He was talking heatedly with the cane workers. None of the Americans seemed to know any Spanish, so they just stood there, watching the reporter rave. Wiecha had to get involved!

As the medical teams worked on the injured, he walked up to the Cubans and began in Spanish, “Compadres, this is most unfortunate. We don’t know what happened, but we’ll work with your fine police. People are hurt, so we’ve got to get them help.”

When the workers quieted he had an opening, “Compadres, we’ve got a hospital near McCalla Field, but it’s on the other side of the bay, about a half-hour away. Another hospital is in Guantanamo City, but it’s over an hour away. If you want us to help, our ambulances will take these people to our hospital.”

He looked directly at the two police from the small post at Calmanera standing near the front of the crowd.

When no one objected he continued, “I’ll tell our medical teams to take them. If any of you saw the accident, please stay here. I’d like to talk to you.”

‘So far so good,’ he said to himself, relieved that no one objected. Aware of the urgency to get the people to the hospital, he rushed to the doctors asking, “How are they?”

After one of the doctors said the civilians were in bad shape and needed help fast, he walked to the stretchers. All three were white, but from the cut of their clothing, they didn’t look American. The woman had fair skin and long blond hair. Her husband had a slight amber complexion that sharply contrasted with streaked red hair, indicating mixed heritage, possibly Scot and Castilian. The boy had his father’s hair and his mother’s skin tones.

When he finished checking out the civilians, he walked over to two Military Police who sat on the rear of an ambulance as a doctor and a medic cleaned their wounds before wrapping them with white gauze.

He directed his question to the doctor, “How are they?”

“Superficial cuts. They’ll need stitches and a few days to heal, but they’ll be fine.”

“These are two brave men,” replied the medic doing the bandaging. “When we got here, gasoline was all over the place. Our men pulled the civilians out of the car.”

Pleased to get good news he asked, “Can they talk?”

“Yes, Sir.”

After thanking the doctor, he walked up to the two MP’s, “How are you?”

“A little sore, Sir,” replied the corporal wearing a nametag saying Rankin.

“Same here, Sir,” interjected Wolchek.

They were a little rattled, but had presence of mind, “Not bad for two guys who look like hell. You risked your life to get those people out of the wreck. Is that right?”

“Not really, Sir,” Wolchek responded. “We just got those people out. We didn’t do much.”

The conversation was unfolding the way he wanted, so he decided to ask the most important question, “Did you see the accident happen?”

“Yes, Sir!” Rankin answered. “We saw the whole thing! We were coming down the Mata Abajo Road when we saw the truck weaving. He forced us off the road. We turned around and chased after him. We saw him go into the passenger car’s lane. I think he was drunk.”

After Wolchek nodding in confirmation, Wiecha heard a fresh commotion coming from the reporter. Knowing he had to go back to the Cubans, he turned to the MP’s and said, “Don’t say a word about the accident to anyone! Understand!”

”Yes, Sir!”

“Talk to me and me alone about this! That’s an order!”

”Yes, Sir!” they snapped.

“Go to the hospital. Wait until I get there. You’ve done fine work here! Handle the rest of this situation right and there might be a medal in it.”

“Yes, Sir!” they again replied in unison.

Comfortable that the MP’s would follow his orders, but still concerned about potential complications resulting from the accident, he went back to the doctor; “The Marines look like they’ll recover. What about the civilians?”

He frowned and shook his head, “The man and woman have crushed chests and they’ve lost a lot of blood. We’re giving them plasma. It should help, but they’re in rough shape. Don’t know how long they’ll last. “

“How’s the boy?”

“Pretty rough! He’s got a chance if we can get him to the hospital.”

Wiecha took command, “Get them to the hospital.”

“We’ll get on our way, Sir.”

He next used one of the Military Police radios to call headquarters, getting a quick answer from the Duty Desk officer, Lieutenant Fellows.

“We’ve got a bad situation out her on Mata Abajo Road, not far from the Leeward Point Gate. One of our trucks rolled and burned. It’s blocking the road. Get a crane and a flat bed truck here right away. Send a platoon of Marines to police the area. There’s broken glass all over the ground, so make sure they have gloves, brooms and shovels. I want this road cleaned and all traces of the wreck removed.”

The Lieutenant responded, “I’ll have a crew there in an hour, Sir.”

“That’s not good enough!” Wiecha snapped. “We need this road open! Get those men out here in forty-five minutes”

After the sharp rebuked, Lieutenant Fellows immediately responded, “Sir, we’ll do it sooner. A platoon of men and heavy equipment is in ‘Ready Condition.’ They’ll be at your position in thirty minutes.”

“Get them moving!”

By Kenneth Jaggers

READ:  The Observer – Chapter 1

November 9, 2010

Terra Chapter 4 Proficiencies

Filed under: Original Writing — HectorP @ 10:25 pm
energy bal

Energy Ball

Balk continued explaining, “I am very sure that you have a lot of questions about your past, and about how it is possible that you posses Norsak genetics in you. All these questions will be answered in time. But now I need you to focus on the fact that you have battle proficiencies.”

Tom, one of the guys in the dome raised his hand, “I have a question.”

Balk said, “What is it?”

Tom said, “What are these proficiencies that you are talking about?”

Balk said, “Every race has his own, particular DNA structure.

With that structure come different possibilities. This means that we all have proficiencies to do things. Some have telepathy, others telekinesis, others can analyze more deeply and easily than others, etc.

I am trying to explain it, in terms that you will understand, so you will know how these abilities are, but the real meaning of each proficiency is more complex than that. Our proficiency, which you share, is the control of our cells. We can communicate with each cell that constitutes our physical representation in this existence, the same that you call body. This grants us many abilities, for example we can manifest energy from our bodies…”

Balk showed us his hand, he opened it, and suddenly a buzzing sounded out of his hand as a spark of energy appeared over it. The spark instantly transformed into a sphere of white glowing energy that floated lightly on the palm of his hand.

After that demonstration, the energy sphere got absorbed by his hand and disappeared.

Balk said, “Thanks to this internal communication, we can heal ourselves, move faster, become stronger, and as you saw; create energy forms out of our body. Our consciousness it is shared by all our cells, that’s why each part of ourselves it’s conscious, and can be communicated with.”

Another person asked another question, “But if we have that, why we never had any abilities like that before, and besides, I don’t know the others but I used to be a very sick boy when I was younger and even today I get sick very often. It’s hard for me to imagine that I can become stronger while I feel so weak.”

Surprisingly, we all agreed to that, I used to get sick very often; I remember when I was a kid to have suffered of asthma and similar sicknesses.

Balk said, “This is all because, there is war inside of your body.

You are not communicating with your inner cells, and several times, because of your ways, you damage your inner cells. You need to communicate with them, to organize them, and to always take care of each one of your cells. For a Norsak it is prohibited to hurt his own cells. You are hurting conscious beings. Even if they are very small, they are still conscious, a little part of the whole conscious that is you.”

I just thought about all the times, I got drunk feeling horrible the next day. Also how many people use drugs and feel terrible inside physically? Even tattoos and piercings represent a form of body destruction. Lots of things that we do that damage our bodies. In fact very few people take care of their food habits. No wonder why, our own cells are in war against each other we are not taking care of ourselves in a proper way.

Balk continued, “So, in a way your body is like a country, with all those cells working and interacting together. You are the leader of this country, but you do not communicate with your cells, so you cannot control them in advanced ways. Also when you consume something that is not good for you, your cells suffer and you become weaker.

At the end because of this lack of care of your cells war among them occurs from time to time. And also sicknesses attack them too. So, like a country in ruin, there is no progress just decadence.”

Balk looked concerned, “You have become pathetic, weak. You are a shame for the Norsak race. Nevertheless we made a vow long time ago, to take care and educate our people. And in a way you are our distance relatives, so I will help you to become better, and regain your honor. But learn well, you must stop the destruction of yourselves.”

After that balk explained that we would regenerate in time, the food we were receiving in this planet was better than the food we used to get on planet Earth. In planet Earth the food was so contaminated with artificial things and chemical substances that were not good for us. But our government and the companies of our former home didn’t care. They just cared about the money, and the riches. Not the improvement of the species.

Balk said, “Now this is all for today from my part. Another being, Tecra of the Eldac will come here to explain about your past, so you will understand more about your legacy, and your history. Please wait for Tecra in here.”

Balk looked at me, “Chris, please go to dome A1, there is someone waiting for you in there, you won’t be taught by Tecra, but by Maim, you will meet him at Dome A1.”

Balk looked at us, “So from now on each day in the morning you will come to this dome to listen to me, and after that you will listen to Tecra, except you Chris, after me you will go to A1. Now I must go.”

Balk disappeared in the same way that he came. I began to call this teleportation, because to me it really looked like that.

I went to Dome A1, it was a very short dome, it had two seats in the center and it had some kind of aroma that made me feel calm. Like incense but without the smoke.

As soon as I got inside a being that looked like a human teleported inside of the dome. He was short, like a child, he had purple eyes. In the thorax area of the being was something like a sphere of light that made him look transparent, but not completely. He didn’t have ears and he had some kind of mouth on the top of his head instead of hair.

The being said, “Sit down, I am Maim, I am a Corox, I come from Coranax, I am a Philosopher.”

I thought, “A Philosopher”? Even they have such things?

I sat down in front of him.

Maim said, “I am here to teach you about leadership, Something that you Terrans, don’t know anything about.”

As soon as he said that, I knew he didn’t like us.

Maim said, “To my race, your race it’s like a disease, you know nothing about the reality of the universe. Nevertheless I hope that you, as the most highly consciousness evolved representative of your race, can do something to change our perspective.”

I always knew that other races would think very poorly about us, since we make war against ourselves, we pollute the planet; we don’t care about our own people. This has to change.

Maim said, “My race has been always very fond of philosophy. We can understand and see things that other beings cannot. We have long and accurate memory, so we can remember feelings, thoughts and things that other beings do not consider important.

For all these reasons we are highly considered in the Confederacy, we speak of the truth over all. We predicate peace, we tell about the real concepts of power and leadership. With all this, many races have improved their ways of living. So please pay attention. I do not want to waste my time.

From now on, I need that you speak with the truth; I will be your teacher, so I will not stop giving you education if your answers are wrong. Nevertheless if you lie and you do not meditate about the things that I say we will not progress, I don’t want to hear about what you have been told, but what you really believe.”

He had a very slow passed voice, strong and calm. Also his voice sounded like two voices speaking at the same time.

Maim said, “You must understand, every interaction that we have modifies things, when some irresponsible race like yours, interacts with other races, the other races suffer because of your ways. You contaminate with your thoughts and with your actions. That’s why we consider you a disease. I want to think that you are not a disease, but you are only sick, very sick; but still you can be cured.”

I didn’t understand exactly how we could be so bad, and I didn’t like his words about our race, but I was trying to be polite. So I didn’t say anything.

Maim said, “Tell me, what it is a leader?”

Chris said, “Someone that has the power to command a group of people to achieve a common goal.”

Maim said, “Do you believe, that a leader requires power to be followed or to command things?”

Chris said, “Well, yeah.”

Maim said, “What is power?”

Chris said, “The capacity to do something.”

Maim said, “A leader does not require power to do something. In fact, the only power that exists is our own power, to do what we want to do.”

Chris said, “But how would people follow him?”

Maim said, “A leader is anyone that foresees or predict something that needs to be done, to improve or help his people. You never give power to anyone to command you. Because we need to be responsible for our own actions, so we cannot obey blindly, we must understand why we do things. People must focus their potential in becoming more and more aware. A leader is someone that is ahead of his group in awareness, so he teaches or explains what things need to be done. Nevertheless people need to fully understand what the leader is saying and how it will help them. So only then we will follow the leader, but only in that particular action, as each action requires meditation and analysis. Your race has suffered a lot because of their ignorance on this topic. You give power to people to command you. You obey blindly without questioning. And your leaders are fake. They do not always want what’s best for you, that’s why your leaders mystify their actions with the false explanation of ‘You will not understand.’ A leader does not need to hide or obscure his actions, but the contrary; the clearer it is the better. Your race is so wrong about this, that even believe in the use of force to make an action. You also call what a leader does a decision, which it is not, He cannot decide for you, only for himself. A leader does not decide, he proposes he gives ideas, he explains. Understand this, societies need no laws, nor ethical, nor nothing said on stone. We are individuals; we are free to do what we want, because we are only responsible for our own actions. We don’t need to put on a paper what we are going to do. Because nothing is eternal, and our decisions, our own decisions, need to be analyzed and meditated before execution.”

His energy center was changing of colors as he was speaking.

Chris said, “But what if I want something else, and not what the leader says?”

Maim said, “Then you won’t do what the leader says. That’s why you are free. You have no obligation of doing what the leader says. As I said the leader only shows you the option.”

Chris said, “Then the leader is nothing but a teacher or a master.”

Maim said, “To us, it is different, a master or a teacher is like a profession, I come here as a Teacher for you, so I will only teach you this, but I will not look always for the best of you. A leader, is always looking for the best for his people.”

Chris said, “Then it’s like a guide.”

Maim said, “Perhaps, but you must understand that this concept of leader is different to what your concepts are. Your ways are not the only ways on the universe neither your concepts. You must understand that many of these concepts have come to you from the society that was controlled by a minority that didn’t want the best for you.”

Chris said, “But I am trying to compare it to something I know to understand better. Because only then I will be able to agree about doing something.”

Maim said, “Well that’s wrong. I need you to see this as whole new concepts, and not compare them with what you already know. I need that you see this with your mind open, and full concentration, understand the concept as something new. You don’t need to start using our concepts right away because you need to fully analyze them before taking decisions. So you need to learn about our ways as something different and separated from yours.”

Chris said, “I understand, I will not judge each concept until I get to know the whole picture.”

Maim said, “That will be better. To us your race has been slaved long before the Catarax because of the way that leadership works in your society, you give power to people to command you. You must never do that. People must only be responsible for themselves. You cannot do something just because someone ordered you, you must fully understand first why.”

Chris said, “But people are very stupid or bad or stubborn and they won’t help sometimes… Even when we need their help, that’s why we need to enforce certain decisions sometimes.”

Maim said, “That is their decision to take, not yours. You must not enforce anything. You will call bad things to you, if you continue to deny each person’s right to decide.”

At that moment I could understand the point of Maim, but I thought it was wishful thinking, how our society was going to prosper, when everyone is doing whatever they want. We had to change a lot as a race, to be able to work in such ways.

Maim said, “Now that you understand our concept of leadership, I will tell you about the past of your race. And how Terrans came to be humans. Your race know the Catarax from long ago, and they knew you well.”

By HectorP

Read: Chapter – 5

Read – Chapter 3

October 31, 2010

The Observer Chapter 1

Filed under: Original Writing — Kenneth Jaggers @ 8:10 pm

0930 Hours, October 14, 1947

“Watch out!”

Wolchek’s driver also saw the swerving the Marine truck.

He reacted instinctively, quickly turning the wheel to get their jeep out of the truck’s path. He overcompensated, making the front end of the jeep wobble violently for a second before losing control and sending them flying into a cane field. The jagged leaves whooshed at them like slashing razors as they bounced violently over the furrows.

In shock, the two Military Police sat for a few seconds, realizing they were lucky to be alive. Sergeant Wolchek sat numbly, doing his best to regain his composure. But the longer he sat, the brighter his face grew. When he reached a brilliant shade of crimson he exploded, “That Son-of-a-bitch! That bastard! I’ll kill him! I didn’t live through Tarawa and Iwo to let some jerk kill me. Get us out of here!”

“Yes, Sarge!” Corporal Rankin exclaimed as he struggled getting their jeep into four wheel drive to get out of the field.

After they got back on the road, Wolchek took a few deep breaths to regain his composure before picking up the radio microphone, “Unit 10 to base! Unit to base! We’re in pursuit of an out-of-control Marine truck. It’s on the Mata Abajo Road.”

“What’s your status?” a voice crackled. “Do you need assistance?”

“No! We’ll handle him.”

“Roger.” the voice answered.

Wolchek wanted to get even with the driver. Enjoying the chase, he flicked on their red lights and siren. The blare traveled through the fields and caught the attention of Cuban workers. When the jeep reached to speed, the two MPs held themselves to their seats as the jeep bounced along the rough road.

The marine driver sped up after the accident. To catch up with him, the driver floored the accelerator for over ten minutes. In the straight sections of the highway they could see the truck weaving, but somehow staying on the road.

“Look at him!” Wolchek shouted. “That bastard’s drunk. Move it!”

“Sarge, I’m going as fast as I can!”

Wolchek muttered, “Get him! We’ve got to get him!”

Their flashing red lights caught the driver’s attention. He sped-up, but began to careen, especially in the turns. In many places tall cane obscured oncoming traffic, making Wolchek mutter, “That idiot’s going to kill someone.”

When the truck turned towards Leeward Point, they could see the airfield’s tower. The truck driver drifted into the oncoming lane, but half way through the turn, a passenger car appeared. The truck driver swerved.

Wolchek could see the terror of the people in the car as the large truck headed directly towards them. Desperately trying to avoid the collision, the car’s driver wildly turned his wheel.

The move didn’t work. His left front fender hit the truck’s rear panel, spinning his car. After a quarter turn, the asphalt shredded the tires. Its rims caught on the rough surface, making the car tumble, rolling over and over. It finally came to rest upright about thirty yards into a cane field.

The impact startled the Truck Driver. Forgetting that his vehicle had a high center of gravity; he too turned his wheel wildly, making his truck spin. In seconds it rolled, but the results were different. Its heavy chassis crushed the cab as if it were little more than an empty can. Cases of beer spewed cases wildly, bottles shattered, coating the road with foam and broken glass.

Rankin jammed the brakes, stopping right in the middle of the broken glass, the shards puncturing their tires. As they dismounted, gasoline poured from the truck’s crushed fuel tank, forming a pool of liquid around the crumpled mass of metal. Instinctively helping, both men started to rush forward. An electrical snap punctuated the sound of their approach. Immediately a whoosh and ball of fire enveloped the cab!

The explosion stunned the corporal, forcing Wolchek to drag him away. When sheltered behind the jeep he had enough presence of mind to use the microphone, “Mayday! Mayday! This is Wolchek! Mayday!”

The radio crackled, “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a collision! We’re four miles north of the Leeward Point Gate. One of our trucks and civilians! The truck’s on fire! We’ve got casualties.”

The voice calmly replied, “Help the survivors. The fire brigade and medics will get on their way. ETA’s fifteen minutes.”

“Grab the first aid kit!” Wolchek shouted. “Our guy’s dead! Let’s go for the civilians!”

In less than half a minute they worked their way through the crushed cane stalks, only to again be greeted by a sour gasoline smell. Though the car was old, somehow it held together so Rankin looked in a window, quickly calling out, “Three people are inside.”

Wolchek looked through the broken windshield, seeing a middle-aged Cuban couple in the front and a young man jumbled in the rear. He tried to open the right front door, but crushed metal jammed it. He ran around the car, trying all the other doors. All were the same.

Wolckek exclaimed to Ranking, “This gas’ll go. All it’ll take is a spark.”

“Sarge,” Rankin exclaimed, “I’ll get in through the windshield and hand you these civilians. You get them out of here.”

Ignoring the danger, the slender corporal crawled over the hood and into the car. Shards of glass streaked him with a fresh set of cuts. Attracted by the explosion and smoke, field workers rushed to the scene. Seeing the Marines helping, they came closer. After Wolchek stood on the hood and got a woman’s head and shoulder out of the windshield, two of the workers helped him pull the rest of her body out of the wreck.

Once they got her free, the workers carried her to a patch of grass and then came back to help with the others. The Marines and Cubans worked together to bring out a man and then a youth.

Oblivious to their wounds, the Marines extracted needles from first aid kits and gave each of the people a shot of morphine. Next they ripped apart packages and then applied bandages and compresses. By the time they staunched the flow of blood, the fire engines and ambulances arrived.

By Kenneth Jaggers

READ: Chapter 2

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