St. Jude Church
322 Broadsword Av
Ironridge Valley
North Dakota, CONUS
(SECURE AREA)
12 March, 2013
1830 Hours
Roberts stood out in the rain, unmindful of his Dress Blue uniform, staring at the church.
Has it really been so long? he wondered, staring at the heavy gray clouds that seemed so far away to Roberts but so close to others.
He could still remember, still woke up at night covered in sweat and twisted in soaked sheets, when the clouds spread out beneath his gaze, a flat mirror beneath a glaring sun, his boots planted on rock and soil of a mountain that hated with the living with an eternal fury.
Snow still laced the grass, the curbs, and the shadowed places around the church and he shook his head.
Never one winter and I still have an instinctive aversion to snow, he thought wryly.
A man bumped him slightly, in an Air Force dress uniform. The man turned to snarl at Roberts, saw his face, then glanced at Roberts's ribbon rack. The man paled, his eyes growing wide.
"Excuse me, sir," was all he said.
"Carry on, Colonel," Roberts said, keeping his voice distant and his face blank.
A small body, but a large presence, full of fiery passion, moved up next to him. The woman took her hand off the cane she was leaning on, wrapping her right hand in Roberts's left.
His only hand.
Five children, one an adult in his own right but still obviously the pair's oldest child, moved up on their father's right. The teenage girl, barely 14, stuck close to her father's right side, ready to push anyway who might bump into her father's side away with a snarl and a curse.
"Doesn't seem right without him," The woman said.
"No. It does not, Bobbi," Roberts answered. "But at least that account was put paid."
Both adults watched a car pull up and a tiny woman in a suit, sporting a pixie cut got out, moving to the back door. The door opened and the pair watched a woman with gray hair, with stars on her shoulders, get out of the vehicle. She paused for a moment, and another woman got out, this one with a single star more than the other on each shoulder.
"The Stillwater and McCullen matrons," Bobbi Lewis mused.
"He's here in spirit, then," Roberts said, his voice sad.
"Who, Momma?" The youngest child, a sunny but somber girl who hadn't quite replaced her front teeth, asked, frowning.
"Someone mommy and daddy knew a long time ago," Bobbi said. She leaned slightly on the cane to ease up the tingling and burning in her legs.
"How long?" The girl asked.
"When daddy still had his arm," Roberts said, shaking his head.
"There he is," Bobbi said, lifting up her cane and pointing. "The Old Man."
The vehicle was old, an initial, almost prototype run of the High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle, Humvee to most. Roberts could see it still had the old Gen-One armor, the heavy duty grill was still slightly off center, and the winch belonged on a 5-ton cargo truck.
It was painted black, with the ChemCorps logo on the doors.
Three men got out. One tall and lean, a blade honed to an edge, the second shorter and squat with long arms that ended in killing hands, the third a short woman in somber civilian clothing with a cascade of blood red hair falling down her back.
YOU ARE READING
Third Person - Complete
Historical FictionPFC James Roberts just wanted to serve his country, like his father and grandfather. He left his middle class life to join the military with the hope of making his family proud. Graduating top of his class in Basic Training, attending Advanced Indiv...
