“Any time,” said Ruben as he and Beau moved back within the safety of the gates. “If you need anything else just ask for Smith and Jones.” As they returned to the Jeep, they failed to see four-redneck cowboys approach the four Hispanics carrying the Spanish language sign. One of the cowboys wore a shirt with a picture of an atomic bomb exploding and the words, SAVE AMERICA, NUKE WASHINGTON D.C. One cowboy had a picture of a gun on his shirt. The gun was smoking and it looked like there were bullet holes printed on the shirt, along with the words TERM LIMITATION. Gradually, two of the cowboys unfurled a sign of their own, while their two friends pulled down the one that read: Make Spanish the national language. The cowboys’ sign read, “If you don’t speak English, GO BACK TO MEXICO!” The two groups started to scuffle but the alert MPs hurriedly separated them.
Ruben and Beau saw none of this as they walked toward the Jeep. They heard more noise but failed to notice as they laughed uncontrollably, their sides aching before they reached their vehicle.
“God, I haven’t laughed so hard since you and I got in trouble in Saudi,” Beau said, straining to stop laughing. “Smith and Jones.” Again Beau burst out in laughter.
“See, just like old times.” Ruben started the Jeep and they were on their way again. “I have so much fun playing with those protestors. The politicians cater to their every whim. Any decision seems to be based on how many votes it would cost them; instead of the good it might or might not do for the people or the country.”
“You’re right, but you’ll never make a rattlesnake safe by cutting off its rattler, so don’t ever expect politicians to change,” Beau said, still chuckling over the exchange with the protestors. “I had almost forgotten how good it feels to laugh.” After he regained his composure, he continued the questions. “Who else is in the group?”
Ruben proceeded to tell him about Major Fred Deberg who was called Cozmo, since he seemed to be in another world always chasing women; Lieutenant Barry Pickett from Canada; a real Choctaw Indian, Lieutenant Dean Blackman; and Major Jonathan Kippurn Mullholland from Australia.
“Jonathan Kippurn Mullholland? What a name.”
“Yeah, well, we just call him Kipp. He’s a real riot to be around. Then there’s a guy from England, Colonel Mike Marix. He’s been dating the girl you’re gonna meet tonight.”
“Hey, I don’t want to step on any feet.”
“No way. Their relationship is up and down. She’s sweet, he’s a jerk, and now they’re on a downer. Besides, he’s one of those dedicated ‘For the Crown’ guys. He’ll even tell you how good he is. It’s just bullshit; he’s an egotistical asshole. It’s enough to make ya puke.”
Beau let out a slow whistle at his friend’s comments.
A sheepish grin came over Ruben’s face. “Marix says he’s some kind of royalty, I think a duke or lord or something. Well, I was pissed and the guys were bored, and Marix has this reddish hair, so I blurted out Yeah, just call him The Red Baron. Let me tell you, he was plenty mad but the guys just cracked up.” Ruben chuckled. “The name’s stuck like glue. In fact, it’s become his call sign. He hates it. So if he makes you mad, just call him the Red Baron.”
“You were always good at getting somebody stuck with a name.”
“Yep, that’s why they call you Mongoose,” Ruben Said. “Hell, you drove that old black ‘63 Corvette since high school. When you taught me how to fly and we used to drag race in Robstown with your Corvette, I called you the Cobra killer. Mongoose just seemed like a natural when we entered the service.”
“Wonder whatever happened to that old Vette? Auctioned off with everything else, I guess?” Beau said with a sigh, almost pleading for an answer.
The answer was something Ruben knew. “When you joined the Israeli Air Force, the government swarmed your place. I’m sorry, Beau, but they auctioned off everything. Back taxes or something. Ted got some of your personal things, like your pictures.”
“Good, that helps.” For a moment he thought about the group and remembered Ruben hadn’t told him about all of the men. “Isn’t there another pilot?”
“Oh, I almost forgot the guy from Philadelphia, Larry James. He seems okay but there’s something about him. I don’t know why but I just don’t trust him,” said Ruben, shrugging his shoulders.
Ruben turned into a curbed asphalt parking area surrounded with palm trees and azaleas. He brought the Jeep to an abrupt halt in front of a Quonset hut, where some of the men were quartered. Beau was genuinely surprised at Ruben’s reaction to the two men, Marix and James, since Ruben liked everyone. Beau hoped he would not have problems with them. He knew it would be rough for him, especially if they knew who he was — and they would already know.
A kid, a Canadian, an Indian, a Yankee, an Englishman, a womanizer, an Aussie, his three friends — BJ, Sully and Ruben — and himself, the renegade. A most interesting group, Beau mused. At the front of the Jeep, Ruben snapped to attention and saluted Beau. “Welcome home, sir.”
“Cut the shit,” said Beau rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Take me to Ted.”
Ruben snap-turned on his heels, gave Beau a wide grin, and the two headed for the Officers’ Quarters to find Admiral Ted Garrett, the man responsible for both the charges against Beau being dropped and for his reinstatement. Beau would have preferred not to be reinstated, opting instead for civilian life. The situation was sticky politically and it was the only way to succor his return.
Before they reached the office, Ruben turned to Beau and asked, “Do you really believe all that stuff about an invasion?”
As they continued toward their destination, Beau drew in a deep breath and said, “I’m afraid so.”
“They couldn’t do that,” said Ruben.
Beau responded with a snicker. “Think about what we saw when we came in the gate. I see those protestors and I realize man is the same everywhere in the world: South Africa, Bosnia, Russia, Mexico, Somalia, Israel, and here.” Beau shook his head. “In fact, just remember Bosnia. As soon as we pulled out, they started killing each other again and all for God or Allah. And now we fight among ourselves as fiercely as with our enemies. There are wonderful people on both sides of every conflict. It only takes a few hateful people to stir up others and ruin it for all of us.”
Ruben quipped, “You mean like Democrats and Republicans.”
“Yeah, like them.” Beau managed a smile but his mind was still set on serious thoughts. “While I was in Israel, I met some great Israelis, but I also met some extremely nice Palestinians. There are many that truly want peace, but for the most part I have a hard time deciding which side is right. Although both sides talk of peace, both are determined to eliminate the other — not live with each other in peace! As long as both sides exist, there will be war; as long as men are alive, there will be conflict and war. And worse than that.
“Not until recently did I see the answer. It wasn’t until years and years after Rabin’s own people killed him that I knew the Israeli people were not chosen, as they believe. Now the Israelis fight and kill each other the way they used to fight the Arabs. Although I love the Israelis, I no longer see any difference between them and the Arabs. Both sides are wrong. When I was a kid my father cut a cartoon out of the newspaper. Remember Pogo?”
“Yeah, that possum and his buddy the alligator.”
“I remember the possum, Pogo, talking to the alligator, Albert. They were looking for intruders when actually it was them all along. When they came to a river they looked down and saw a reflection of themselves. That was when Pogo said, We has seen the enemy and they is us.” Beau hesitated then continued, “Ruben, we are our own worst enemy.”