The Farmhouse

PxHere

Morgan was looking down the road, they were a ways out into the boondocks as he remembered his father calling it, when he saw something ahead which he didn't like.

"Hey Ephraim, we might have a problem."

Johansen looked up from the book he was reading, "Shit, just keep going."

At the turn off to the safe house was a military vehicle, two soldiers were standing near it. While they weren't exactly blocking the road, they were obviously watching it. For what Morgan didn't know.

"Are you going to slow down?" Johansen asked Morgan.

"Why should I? We're just a couple of good old boys headed down to the lake."

"To do what? Country boys don't just 'go down to the lake.' Are we fishing, what if those troops stop us, what's our story?"

"Oh buddy, you should read up on the places we operate in, rather than ... What is that you're reading now?"

"Caesar's Commentary of the Gallic Wars. Good stuff."

Morgan shook his head, "Caesar mention anything about a little beer garden next to the marina on the lake. Ain't you thirsty, boy?"

Johansen had to laugh at Morgan breaking into his Southern accent. "I suppose. Damn it, the soldier boys want us to pull over."

Hurley Thompson and Wilson Hackett were members of the National Guard. They had been on duty when the call came in that some Federal agency needed backup at a raid in their county. So they'd signed out weapons, ammo, and a Humvee.

Their sergeant told them, "Head out to the Macready place on Sackville Road. Look for one of those obvious black government sedans parked by the road."

Thompson, a corporal, said, "Seems pretty odd, Sarge. Don't these Feds have any people of their own they can call for backup?"

Staff Sergeant Herb Myers shook his head, "Hurley, I just work here. It's Saturday, we've got the duty, and the State Adjutant himself gave us a mission. You wanna call him back and ask him yourself?"

"I get it, Herb, I get it. Come on Wilson, let's go babysit some Feds."

They had been briefed by the senior agent on scene to watch out for anything suspicious. Thompson saw a couple of fellows in a older Ford, the driver was wearing a ballcap, the older man on the passenger side had his nose buried in a book.

"I'm gonna wave those fellows down, Hurley."

"What the f**k for, Wilson?"

"Just ask 'em if they've seen anything out of place. I'm bored outta my mind."

Thompson shook his head, "Suit yourself."

Morgan groaned when one of the soldiers stepped out, his hand in the air. His rifle was still slung but that didn't give Morgan a warm fuzzy. They didn't need any eyes on them out here. Johansen rolled his window down and put his book in the seat pocket, where his hand found the grip to his Browning Hi-Power.

The soldier leaned in, Johansen could see that the name tape on his uniform read 'WILSON.'

"Afternoon, fellas. How's it going?" the soldier spoke, he was smiling.

"Fair to middlin'. What are you boys doing way the hell out here, lost?" Johansen was smiling as well, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Nothing much, some Feds are checking out the old Macready place. It's been abandoned for years but some local boy said he saw people inside. Seems there was a terrorist attack up in the capital last night, Feds are running around all over the county."

"Damn. Terrorists you say?" Johansen asked in a scoffing tone.

"Yeah, don't know what flavor, Hurley here thinks it's Middle Eastern types. But hell, those boys would stand out like a sore thumb in these parts."

Johansen began to speak, but Morgan cut him off. "So you boys need our help or something? We're going down to Addie's Beer Garden, we worked all morning and we're kinda thirsty."

Thompson decided that Hackett had had enough fun. "You fellas seen anything out the ordinary around here?"

"Other than a couple of Guardsmen standing by the road? Nah, we ain't seen nothing." Morgan laid it on a little too thick for Johansen's tastes.

"Okay, keep your eyes open, call the sheriff's office if you see anything odd. Other than us, I mean."

That made Thompson chuckle. "You boys aren't from around here, are you?"

Johansen got a better grip on his pistol. Morgan spoke again.

"Nah. We that obvious? Our folks are a bit west of here. Up in the hills."

"Yeah, I thought so, okay boys, have a good one."

The Ford pulled out and continued down the road.

"Okay, Wilson, we don't stop any more unless they're really suspicious. That was just a couple of working fellas headed out for a beer by the lake."

"Can't be too sure, Hurley."

"I s'pose."

DuPont was a little annoyed, he'd come all the way out here with the day shift team and a couple of Guardsmen for very little reward.

But the tip had been correct, the house had seen people in it recently. Trash in the kitchen and spoiled food on the counter. Whoever had been here hadn't been planning on staying long term. Which was suspicious as hell.

He got on his cell phone. "Yeah, Alpha Gold Two-Fiver, DuPont. I need a forensics team at the Macready place."

He listened, "Yup, that's the one. We've got signs of recent occupancy. I want it dusted for prints, see if any match up with the M-60 the terrorists left behind."

He listened some more. "Yes, damn it. Send them by helo, my agency's picking up the tab on this one."

DuPont then turned to the team leader, "Anything else, anything?"

The man held up a single round, "7.62 NATO, found it under the counter in the kitchen."

DuPont looked at it, the team leader was wearing gloves, so he wasn't worried about his prints on the brass. "Bag it as evidence. Forensics should be here in an hour or so. Gentlemen, I think we might have our first lead."

Aftermath

PxHere

DuPont entered the office building and presented his identification to the security guard, "Has the Director arrived yet?"

"No Sir, he's on his way. Sorry about your guys."

DuPont nodded, "Thanks, Marv. Tough blow losing five guys."

"Five? I heard four, Murdock's in a coma, but the docs say he's gonna live."

"No shit?" DuPont shook his head.

"That's what I just heard."

"Finally, a bit of good news. When the Director arrives, let him know I'll be waiting in his office."

"Will do, Sir."

Morgan and Johansen turned the corner, Johansen muttered under his breath, "Shit."

About a hundred meters down the street was a checkpoint, men, and probably one or two women, were in position around it. With the tactical gear everyone was wearing, including darkened face shields and body armor, it was hard to tell gender from a distance. Some of the shorter ones had to be women, Morgan figured.

Morgan wished he'd left the rifle behind, but broken down it fit nicely into a small backpack, which he was wearing. And he really liked this rifle, he'd spent a lot of time customizing it to his own specs. That wouldn't be a problem if it was during the day and no one looked inside it. Checkpoints always searched people passing through, unless you had a badge. Good thing he and Johansen both had those, real ones, which they pulled out of their jackets as they approached the checkpoint.

"Hold it right there gentlemen," a voice spoke from the shadows.

At the same time three people stepped in front of the two men in civilian clothes, one had a military-style automatic weapon, another had a riot gun, the third man, holding a flashlight was armed but his pistol was holstered. That man spoke.

"IDs boys, and keep your hands where I can see them. Those badges you're sporting aren't gonna be enough tonight."

Morgan and Johansen pulled their credentials out and handed them over.

"Staties, huh? What are you up to this late at night and in this neighborhood?"

"The first part of that is classified, the second part, well, you do see a lot of crime in neighborhoods like this." Johansen swept his arm around, the neighborhood was mostly run down warehouses and abandoned small manufacturing businesses.

Nodding at Morgan, the man asked, "What's in the bag?"

"Tools."

"Let's have a look shall ..."

"What's the problem here, McGregor? Badges and identification not good enough for you?"

Morgan recognized the voice as the one which he'd heard coming from the shadows, he guessed the guy was the commander of this post.

"Just being thorough, Sir."

The man in charge, his face shield was up, looked at Morgan and Johansen, "Carry on, gentlemen. We're kinda hyped up, major shooting a few blocks over, couple of hours ago. We lost guys."

Johansen, his face revealing nothing, said, "Sorry to hear that."

Looking at Morgan, Johansen asked, "Think it's related to our thing?"

Morgan nodded, "Might be, boss. Something to look into at any rate."

The guy in charge looked at the two men carefully, a thought had struck him, "You guys on foot? Seems odd."

Johansen answered, "Yup, our vehicle is down this street another block, parked in an alley, you might have seen it. A white van, pretty nondescript-looking."

The man shrugged, "Didn't notice it, lot of beat up vehicles in this neighborhood. You best get going, might want to avoid this neighborhood for the next few days, Gonna be a heavy police presence."

Johansen nodded, "I'll bet. Thanks." Turning to the other people standing around he said, "Y'all stay frosty. Good luck catching your perps."

The Director walked into his office and stopped short, there was a man sitting behind his desk. "Are you DuPont?"

"I am, sorry about this, you have a nice view." DuPont got up from the chair and moved around the desk, hand outstretched.

The Director took DuPont's hand and shook it, "Rough night, eh Captain?"

"Very."

"Any thoughts on who did this? Terrorists?"

"It's political, but it's internal, not foreign."

"Really? Any evidence to support this theory, Captain?"

"No Sir, it's a hunch at this point. But we usually get a lot of chatter on certain channels when the crazies are plotting something, those channels have been quiet as of late."

"Hmmm." The Director sat in his chair and turned to look out over the city. The view from his office was nice, very nice.

He turned back around, "Need anything from us?"

"Surveillance, we need a lot of eyes in the sky and on the streets. You guys have the means to tap into the city's CCTV network, right?" DuPont explained.

"Not without a warrant."

DuPont gestured at the telephone on the Director's desk, "May I?"

After getting a nod, DuPont picked up the phone and punched in a number, when it was picked up he spoke a short series of letters and numbers, then hung up.

"You'll have your warrant by daybreak, Sir."

Morgan drove the van downtown, to the business district, where they'd parked a second vehicle. Entering a parking garage, the van made it's way up to the fifth level, where it turned in. Morgan parked in the first available space.

The two men dismounted and headed for the stairs, where they went down to the second level and retrieved their regular vehicle. Putting the backpack in the trunk, Morgan got into the driver's seat and looked over at Johansen.

"Where are we going?"

Johansen thought for a moment, then said, "Safe house in sector five should be good. The others won't be joining us for a few days and we need to figure out our next move."

Climbing into the vehicle, the two men left the garage and headed out of the city. Fifty miles later they stopped at a diner, both men were hungry.

The Ambush

PxHere

Murdock knew that he was hurt, hurt bad. As they'd advanced down the alleyway, a flurry of gunshots had rung out. He'd felt a blow, low on his torso, just where his armor had ridden up as he ran forward at a crouch. It reminded him of the time his brother had whacked him with a 2 x 4.

He looked out at the alley, three members of his team were sprawled out there. One of them, he thought it was Jonesy, had been moving but a single shot had rung out and now he wasn't moving any more.

Holding his weapon with his left hand, he reached down, the pain was getting worse. He felt his lower abdomen, it was wet. He pulled his hand away, in the dim light from a nearby streetlamp, he could see blood, a lot of it.

"WILSON!"

The effort of shouting made him dizzy.

"Damn, I'm losing a lot of blood," he muttered to himself.

"JEFFERSON! ANYBODY?"

"Sarge, it's Jefferson, I'm with Wilson. I think he's dead."

The low voice came from across the alley. If Murdock squinted real hard, he thought he could make out the shape of a man in the shadow of the building across from him.

"Sarge, they winged me, it hurts a little but I think I'm okay. Are you okay?"

Murdock grimaced, Jefferson sounded worried. He managed to gasp out ...

"Gimme a minute, I need to patch myself up."

As Murdock fumbled for his first aid kit, he needed to stop the bleeding, probably needed a unit or two of whole blood by now too, he heard footsteps, a flurry of gunshots followed.

"Sarge, I'm here."

Murdock shook his head, "Are you f**king nuts, Jefferson?"

"Nah Sarge, I'm scared shitless. Jesus, we need to patch you up, real quick." Jefferson had just noticed the puddle underneath his sergeant, it wasn't water.

"Come on, Jack, we need to boogie."

Jack Morgan felt the hand on his shoulder, his eye was still glued to his scope, he'd just missed the big man who had scrambled from one side of the alley to the other. He'd been watching the other side, he knew that he'd wounded another guy who'd managed to get to cover. One of the dead men in the alley he'd had to shoot a second time, bastard was still moving.

"Did you talk to those idiots on the M-60?" he asked Ephraim Johansen, the guy he was with.

"Yeah, told 'em not to waste so much f**king ammo next time. Assholes sprayed the entire alley, more bullets in the walls and pavement than in the guys they were shooting at. Now come on, you know those guys down there have backup coming in, right?"

"Right, let's get outta here."

"What happened?" The captain was pretty blunt, the look on his face said all that Jefferson needed to know. The man was furious and embarrassed at the same time.

"It was a set-up, call came in, we geared up and responded. We parked the van down at the end of the alley. Suspects were supposed to be an alley over, to the south in an old warehouse. These bastards were expecting us. It was an ambush, Cap'n."

"Yeah, no shit."

Captain Harry DuPont turned and watched as the ambulance pulled out. He also noticed that they drove off with no lights, no siren, which meant that Murdock was probably dead.

"Jefferson, you go with Wolters, he'll send someone to collect the van. Right now I need you back at the office, get your statement while it's still fresh in your mind. Go."

"Is Murdock gonna be okay?" Jefferson was on the edge of going into shock, DuPont knew the signs.

"Probably not, he lost a lot of blood."

"Damn."

"Yeah, Jefferson, damn. Now get out of here."

DuPont watched as Wolters led Jefferson away. What a shitty night this had turned out to be.

What Happens ...

Le Caillou
Napoléon's Last Headquarters
(Source)

I remember the first time I visited that small farmhouse depicted above, it was either 1992 or 1993 (it's been long enough that I don't remember the first time I visited the Waterloo battlefield). In the backyard stands a small stone building, more of a shed really, which is filled with bone shards, recovered from the battlefield which lies about a mile and a half north of the farm.

I remember I felt, something. Looking upon those old bones and thinking that some 178 years before, these shards were once part of young men, from multiple countries, arrayed for battle on the morning of the 18th of June, 1815. At the end of the day their shattered bodies lay in the torn up fields south of Brussels. Hastily buried, later many of them were dug up for use as fertilizer or for refining sugar from sugar beets (read this).

Thousands of dead men (and allegedly at least one woman, stories exist of a dead French dragoon on the field discovered to be a woman) and horses all lying dead (or wounded, only to die later of their wounds) after a single day of combat.

Rather sobering.

Imagine then, how I felt upon entering the building to see an entire skeleton, stretched out in a glass case, purportedly of a French hussar, whose body was recovered some time after the battle. (You can see that here, due to copyright concerns I won't reproduce the photo.)

I was rather bothered by the experience. It seemed disrespectful at the very least. I suppose it's better than being dug up and used for fertilizer. What does happen to the bodies after a big battle? We Are the Mighty has a good article here.

This video also provides some insight as to what happens to the bodies after the battle is over.

Not sure what has me going down this somewhat morbid path today. We humans think a lot about what happens when we die, at least what happens to our spirit, that intangible "thing" which defines us as a person. I don't often think about what happens to our physical remains, today I did.

Getting old is an interesting thing. I've decided not to dwell too much upon it, just let it happen, see where the ride takes me.

It's been good so far ...

Testing, Testing, 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... Testing, Testing

The RCA Indian-head test pattern (PD)

This is a test ...

So over the past week we, that is JB and I, presented you with a couple of old Lex posts. The story of Lazlo to be precise, in two parts.

I went out to the Wayback Machine and found both of the posts in their original format, still in the original packaging, as it were. So I presented them in that fashion. (Said packaging being admired, if not outright loved, by a number of you Chanters.)

Oddly enough, our own boron pronounced the "new format" to be a wondrous thing, easy on the eyes and all that. He could read it while sitting back in his chair and not have to press his nose to the glass, as it were.

Um, what?

To mine own aging eyes the only difference I could discern was that the letters were blue (well, technically Navy Blue, according to my grasp of the html, wherein "color: #000099;" - RGB: 0,0, 153 if you will, and I do - is listed as blue navy blue, of course it is and well done Lex, ya did that intentionally, dintcha?).

So as an experiment, I used the font color of blue, Navy blue for today's post. Same font type as I always use (it's sort of Georgia, I like it, think it's peachy, yes, a bad pun, but I do like the font, better than Times New Roman, which if pressed I would list as my second favorite, but it's really a "font-family" which is: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, serif, all combined, it looks a little different from Georgia, though not much), just the color has changed.

So boron, what say you? (If the rest of you have opinions as to font color, have at it.)

Or perhaps it was the comment style which eased the strain on your eyes? (Now I haven't figured that html out yet, not that I can't, I just haven't really looked at it yet. Now, no help from the audience please, I'll get to it shortly.)

Here's how the comments at Neptunus Lex looked back in 2005:

1. MCPO Airdale Says:
   December 15th, 2005 at 3:52 pm

   Lazlo was creamed chipped beef on toast! Serves him right for hangin with an enlisted honey!

   BTW: Nobody could bribe the QM on duty to tell the story???

Not sure I could reproduce that throughout the blog. Though apparently I can by changing the background color and setting the alignment to "justify." Obviously the font is also different in the comments ...

After playing with the font "family," I guess I can reproduce this Lex comment style throughout a post. Not sure if I should though. With great power comes great responsibility, or something ...

Not sure if it's worth the effort. But we'll see. (By the way, this is the normal font format and color. This is the one that I, your beloved humble scribe, prefer. And will probably stick with, because it's easy. And I am, as always, lazy.)

I breathlessly await your comments.

Comme Ci, Comme ça * (again)

So... There I was, headed into town, Monday, April 15th, a date that will live in infamy.  For, I am the Family Messenger enroute to the Postal Service Office to send the Family share of the National Debt to the Cesspool on the Potomac.

If you don't understand that nomenclature, well, we can't be friends.

Source (10:45 AM 16 Apr 2024)

I noted that the PO parking lot was a little fuller than usual, although it was noonish, so I assumed they were folks picking up mail for businesses or because it was lunchtime and they had time to do so.  

Silly me, No, virtually everyone there had an envelope of various sizes all addressed to the same Austin address.  Seems like Mrs. J and I weren't the only one's wanting to hang on to their money as long as legally possible.

Yes, short of Christmas Eve, April 15th is probably the busiest Post Office day of the year.  So...One clerk on duty.  By the time I got to the front of the line it extended out the door.  US Gummint at it's finest.

But, because I dislike driving through town, (18 wheelers, pedestrians, and out of town drivers makes a mix that borders on disaster.  Hence, I tend to avoid it when possible) I had, several years ago, discovered a back road that while two lanes, avoids most of the primary traffic ball ups.  It goes through some ranch land and follows a creek with trees, and little traffic! 

What's not to like?

This day, after the spike in BP at the post office, tranquility was high on the "wish for" list.  The Big Guy came through.

That, my Friends, is a Texas Longhorn and, No, I'm not referring to a college football team.

You may notice a few things about these pictures.  One (and the most important one) there is a fence in the picture between them and I.  Two, there are indications in a couple of the pictures, that the pictures were taken from inside the car.  Three, and you'll have to trust me on this, while my foot was on the brake pedal, the car was still running and in gear, just in case.

Magnificent animals, and smart.  They gave me a quick once over glance, determined the threat level was low both in likelihood of some poor action idea as well as low likelihood of my ability to cause harm.  So, they just returned to grazing.  

I'm pretty sure after I left and went around the corner, the herd pulled the vodka martini's and Guinness from camouflaged refrigerators and consumption was resumed.  But, I was happy, and they seemed to enjoy the attention.

Which brings us to the never ending project story.

Dangerously close.  If I knew how to measure, it would be done.  But, NOOOOooo.... I cut the left hand setting bolt about a 1/2" too short.  Ah well, another trip to Lowes.  In addition, LJW approved adding a slide to the project, so, the trip is not a waste.

 THE big event over this past week was the arrival of Little J with his successful escape from Sodom on the Potomac.  He and LJW decided to stay the night in Moscow on the Colorado for some reason or another.  I'm SURE it was to avoid rush hour traffic and had nothing whatsoever to do with not seeing each other for a very long time.

In any case, Mrs J and I had care of Miss B.  It was quite fun and the following morning was pretty interesting in itself.

Who IS this Hairy Guy?

Yep...Initial contact did not go real well,  But, someone came up with an ingenious plan..Give her her mom's phone and have Little J call it.

Because she'd been video chatting with him quite frequently, she recognized the face on the phone.

I wish I'd have been faster on the camera, when she looked up from the phone and saw the same guy on the phone in the same room as her.  A flood of recognition and understanding who was in the room with her.  Dada!

Yeah, a heart warming  moment!

But as you are reading this, he's en route to Honk Honk to finish up there.  He'll be back in the Great State early in June to pick up Wife and Daughter and move to Jolly Old England.  Thank You, Lord!

All is well...

Finally, this was discovered by LJW and sent to me, regarding my post from last Monday and the attitude of some immigrants from out of state and the reaction to that from current residents.  

I don't care who you are...That's funny right there!

* A little of this, a little of that.  Or a Song.  I'd used its title as the title of one of my previous posts, hence again.  This Tune is pretty catchy, among other things.  Might even add a little energy to Sarge's battery.  Hope you feel better soon.

In the Garden ...

OAFS Photo

The Missus Herself did decree, Friday evening, that the time for the annual cleaning of the pond at Chez Sarge was upon us. Though the forecast called for rain on Saturday, I was to hold myself in readiness to assist her, should the foul weather abate. Which it did, taking me rather by surprise. I had placed my money on "rain all day," the weather decided, "eff that, the fat bastard needs to get off his ass and get outside."

So I did. Discovering in the process, that once again, I'm not as young as I used to be.

After all, I'm within hailing distance of the 71st anniversary of my birth, in two and a half weeks I shall commence my 72nd orbit around the sun. For me, physical labor is a thing to be avoided, assiduously. I tire of discovering muscle groups I forgot I had.

A nice walk, at a leisurely pace, is what works for me ...

Doesn't work for The Missus Herself. Though she too doth age, and very well I might add, she has the willpower of some ancient hero. We don't stop until she stops, and she doesn't stop until the task at hand (which often includes many and sundry other tasks) is done. She is implacable and unstoppable.

The girls (LUSH and The Nuke) discovered that being in college, some sixty miles away, was not far enough to escape the demand of garden work. I do believe they both got such good grades in college by avoiding the family manse during gardening season.

I cannot avoid it as I live here. As I don't wish to be planted in said garden, I stand to and do what I'm told. Though I grumble, a lot, even though The Missus Herself does not appreciate said grumbling. I must have a nascent death wish.

Sigh ...

Anyhoo, the pond is clean, the waterfall flows yet again (it's shut down in the winter for fear the pump might freeze), and the fish seem happy. Those that survived the winter that is, far as I can tell, we lost one this year. I don't know why one or two die every year but the majority go dormant and wait for spring. They don't eat during that long period.

Hope everyone enjoyed the trip down memory lane the past two days, I know I did. Lex lives on as long as we remember him. I enjoy revisiting the old times.

One note, boron mentioned "liking the new format," uh, sorry, it was a straight copy of two old Lex posts from the Wayback Machine. It's an old format used by Lex, not sure what you liked about it boron, and I'm not sure I can (or want to) use that format going forward (first I'd have to figure out exactly what it is, also what you like about it).

So gomen nasai, no new formats for now.

In other news, it's been a week of old equipment crapping out. First the 20-something microwave decided that it had had enough. Then, the pump we use for various chores (primarily pumping out the pond each spring), also decided to retire from active duty after some 24-odd years. Also, the pump and filtration system we use on the pond is starting to get, shall we say cantankerous?

Water coming out in places it shouldn't, somehow an O-ring went missing last year when I replaced the infrared bulb (kills nasty stuff in the water) so water came blowing out the top of the machine. The Missus Herself, somehow having found the missing O-ring, in the garden mind you, asked if that might be the cause.

Why yes, yes it was. (How the hell it worked from July to November last year without gushing water remains a mystery to me.)

A number of other minor leaks were dealt with, and now it seems, for now, that this unit might last another year. I hope so, the things are bloody expensive!

Oh, one last thing, d'ya know how sometimes that last step at the bottom of the stairs can go missing? (For you young'uns maybe not, but for us old farts it does, with increasing frequency.) Anyhoo ...

Heading into the basement from the "garden work" I decided to shed my rather filthy attire there. So I headed through the bulkhead and down into the basement.

On the way, that last step vanished. I found myself falling, in what seemed like slow motion. I had one thought, "Oh dear, what now?" It seems that as I age I view my own demise with something approaching not caring, I mean I find it interesting, like last year's being on a plane which seemed determine to plunge to earth shortly after reaching altitude, a guy in the back was screaming about making fudge, or something.

I simply looked out the window, wondering what the pilot was up to, and viewed the approaching earth with something like reluctant fascination. "So this is how it ends?"

Anyhoo, my years in Korea studying a martial art did teach me something, how to fall.

Though my right elbow is sore, not the point mind you but the fleshy bit near the top of the forearm, I am in fine fettle.

But after an afternoon in the garden, everything else aches.

Tomorrow should be such fun ...

Cheers!