A wind storm blew through about the time we were going back to the river landing in his bass boat on the Kiamichi River east of Antlers.
I remember because the boat engine died and wouldn't restart and he had one good paddle and one broken paddle and I went to the front of the boat to take the good paddle from him and I paddled furiously to keep even with the boat landing as the windstorm blasted us. We made it in to the boat landing.
I am certain that was November 1986 because I traveled there by myself. When I traveled there in 1988 I drove there in Thedia's car with my new girlfriend and Bettie. We didn't go fishing. I feel certain that was November 1986 because I recall a green camouflage jacket I wearing.
So I think, Sure, that makes sense. He would say to me because he is wise to what I was saying. But why me? I wasn't so wise.
He was a great guy. Always one of my most favorite people.
http://www.e-reading.org.ua/bookreader.php/79701/Clancy_-_Red_Storm_Rising.txt
Clancy Tom, Red Storm Rising [ RACKETEER INFLUENCED AND CORRUPT ORGANIZATIONS US Title 18 ]
Tom Clancy
Red Storm Rising
5 – Sailors and Spooks
Red Storm Rising
THE CHESAPEAKE BAY, MARYLAND
His eyes squinted painfully at the horizon. The sun was only half a diameter above the green-brown line of Maryland's Eastern Shore, a reminder, if he needed one, that he'd worked late the day before, gone to bed later still, then arisen at four-thirty so that he could get in a day's fishing. A slowly receding sinus like headache also let him know about the six-pack of beer he'd consumed in front of the TV.
But it was his first fishing day of the year, and the casting rod felt good in his hand as he gave it a gentle swing toward a ripple on the calm surface of the Chesapeake Bay. A blue or a rockfish? Whatever it was, it didn't nibble at his Bucktail lure. But there was no hurry.
"Coffee, Bob?"
"Thanks, Pop." Robert Toland set his rod in its holder and leaned back into the midships swivel chair of his Boston Whaler Outrage. His father-in-law, Edward Keegan, held out the plastic cup-cap from a large thermos jug. Bob knew the coffee would be good. Ned Keegan was a former naval officer who appreciated a good cup, preferably flavored with brandy or Irish whiskey-something to open the eyes and put a fire in the belly.
"Cold or not, damn if it ain't nice to get out here." Keegan sipped at his cup, resting one foot on the bait box. It wasn't just the fishing, both men agreed, getting out on the water was one sure cure for civilization.
"Be nice if the rock really are coming back, too," Toland observed.
"What the hell-no phones."
"What about your beeper?"
"I must have left it with my other pants." Keegan chuckled. "DIA will have to manage without me today."
"Think they can?"
"Well, the Navy did." Keegan was an academy graduate who had put in his thirty and retired to become a double-dipper. In uniform, he'd been an intelligence specialist, and now he had essentially the same job, which added civil service salary to his pension.
Toland had been a lieutenant (j.g.) serving aboard a destroyer based at Pearl Harbor when he'd first noticed Martha Keegan, a junior at the University of Hawaii, majoring in psychology and minoring in surfing. They'd been happily married for fifteen years now.
"Red Storm Rising"
"So." Keegan stood and lifted his rod. "How are things at the Fort?"
Bob Toland was a middle-level analyst at the National Security Agency. He'd left the Navy after six years when the adventure of uniformed service had palled, but he remained an active reservist. His work at NSA dovetailed nicely with his naval reserve service. A communications expert with a degree in electronics, his current job was monitoring Soviet signals gathered by the NSA's numerous listening posts and ferret satellites. Along the way he'd also gotten a masters in the Russian language.
"Heard something real interesting last week, but I couldn't convince my boss it meant anything."
"Who's your section chief?"
"Captain Albert Redman, U.S. Navy." Toland watched a bay-built fishing boat motoring a few miles away, her captain laying out his crab pots. "He's an asshole."
Keegan laughed. "You want to be careful saying stuff like that out loud, Bob, especially seeing how you go on active duty next week. Bert worked with me, oh, must have been fifteen years ago. I had to slap him down a few times. He does tend to be slightly opinionated."
"Opinionated?" Toland snorted. "That bastard's so friggin' narrow-minded his scratch pads are only an inch wide! First there was this new arms control thing, then I came up with something really unusual last Wednesday and he circular-filed it. Hell, I don't know why he even bothers looking at new data-he made his mind up five years ago."
"I don't suppose you could tell me what it was?"
"I shouldn't." Bob wavered for a moment. Hell, if he couldn't talk with his kids' own grandfather ..."One of our ferret birds was over a Soviet military district headquarters last week and intercepted a microwaved telephone conversation. It was a report to Moscow about four colonels in the Carpathian Military District who were being shot for gundecking readiness reports. The story on their court-martial and execution was being set up for publication, probably in a Red Star this week." He had entirely forgotten about the oil-field fire.
"Oh?" Keegan's eyebrows went up. "And what did Bert say?"
"He said, 'It's Goddamned about time they cleaned their act up.' And that was that."
"And what do you say?"
"Pop, I'm not in Trends and Intentions-those idiot fortune-tellers, but I know that even the Russians don't kill people for jollies. When Ivan kills people publicly, he does it to make a point. These were not manpower officers taking bribes to fake deferments. They weren't popped for stealing diesel fuel or building dachas with pilfered lumber. I checked our records, and it turned out we have files on two of them. They were both experienced line officers, both with combat experience in Afghanistan, both Party members in good standing. One was a graduate of Frunze Academy, and he even had a few articles published in Military Thought, for God's sake! But all four were court-martialed for falsifying their regimental readiness reports-and shot three days later. That story will hit the streets in Krasnaya Zvezda over the next few days as a two-or three-part story under 'The Observer's' by-line-and that makes it a political exercise with a capital P."
The Observer was the cover name for any number of high-ranking officers who contributed to Red Star, the daily newspaper of the Soviet armed services. Anything on the front page and under that by-line was taken quite seriously, both in the Soviet military services and by those whose job it was to watch them, because this by-line was used explicitly to make policy statements approved by both the military high command and the Politburo in Moscow.
"A multipart story?" Keegan asked.
"Yeah, that's one of the interesting things about it. The repetition means they really want this lesson to sink in. Everything about this is out of pattern, Pop. Something funny is happening. They do shoot officers and EM's-but not full colonels who've written for the journal of the general staff, and not for faking a few lines in a readiness statement." He let out a long breath, happy to have gotten this off his chest. The workboat was proceeding south, her wake rippling out toward them in parallel lines on the mirrored surface. The image made Toland wish for his camera.
"Makes sense," Keegan mumbled.
"Huh?"
"What you just said. That does sound out of pattern."
"Yep. I stayed in late last night, running down a hunch. In the past five years, the Red Army has published the names of exactly fourteen executed officers, none higher than a full colonel, and even then only on manpower officer in Soviet Georgia. The guy was taking payoffs for deferments. The others broke down into one case of spying, for us or somebody, three derelictions of duty while under the influence of alcohol, and nine conventional corruption cases, selling everything from gasoline to a whole mainframe computer nalyevo, 'on the left,' the shadow market. Now all of a sudden they waste four regimental commanders, all in the same military district."
"You could take that to Redman," Keegan suggested.
"Red Storm Rising"
"Waste of time."
"Those other cases-I seem to remember the three guys who-"
"Yeah, that was part of the temperance campaign. Too many guys turn up drunk on duty, and they pick three volunteers, pour encourager les autres." Bob shook his head. "Jeez, Voltaire would have loved these guys."
"You talk with people who're into civilian intelligence?"
"No, my crowd is all military telecommunications."
"At lunch last-Monday, I think, I was talking with a guy from Langley. Ex-Army, we go way back. Anyway, he was joking that there's a new shortage over there."
"Another one?" Bob was amused. Shortages were nothing new in Russia. One month toothpaste, or toilet paper, or windshield wipers-he had heard of many such things over lunch at the NSA commissary.
"Yeah, car and truck batteries."
"Really?"
"Yeah, for the last month you can't get a battery for your car or truck over there. A lot of cars are not moving, and batteries are being stolen left and right, so people are disconnecting their batteries at night and taking them home, would you believe?"
"But Togliattishtadt-" Toland said, and stopped. He referred to the massive auto factory-city in European Russia, the construction of which was a "Hero Project" for which thousands of workers had been mobilized. Among the most modem auto complexes in the world, it had been built mainly with Italian technology. "They have a hell of a battery manufacturing facility there. Hasn't blown up, has it?"
"Working three shifts. What do you think of that?"
- posted by H.V.O.M - Kerry Wayne Burgess 05:23 AM Pacific Time USA Saturday 18 August 2012
