Jack's Chase: Ghosts of the Past

By Shane Esmond

Jack OSullivan has returned from the Vietnam war,
struggling to settle back into normal life after the
shocking ordeals of being a non-combatant caught up in
the middle of a military operation gone horribly wrong.
Attempting to continue his profession as a journalist
back home, he is still haunted by the memories of war
as well as the instructions left to him by the mysterious
Platoon Sergeant, Ben Cale. His journey to uncover the
truth about Cale continues, pushing him deeper into a
world of secrecy and intrigue, bringing him face to face
with the ghosts of the past.
Th is is the second book in the Jacks Chase series,
continuing on from Ten Thousand Miles from
Home. It is also the second published book from
Shane Esmond, who hails from Emerald, Central
Queensland, Australia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465306005

Shane Esmond

Shane Esmond is locally born and bred in the town of Emerald in Central Queensland, Australia. He and his wonderful fianc Kay own and operate a small but busy transport company, when hes not indulging in his real passion which is writing. His creation, the Jacks Chase series, is now in its third and final book and he hopes to continue his storytelling with several other good ideas already in mind. His ultimate dream is to be able to write full time and share the tales of his imagination with the world.

Book preview

Jack’s Chase

Ghosts of the Past

Shane Esmond

Copyright © 2011 by Shane Esmond.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-800-618-969

www.xlibris.com.au

[e-mail]

501322

CONTENTS

Introduction

Chapter One: My true companions

Chapter Two: Back from the Dead

Chapter Three: Sally

Chapter Four: Musket

Chapter Five: The Cale farm

Chapter Six: Fort Jackson

Chapter Seven: A living casualty of war

Chapter Eight: Finding Phoenix

INTRODUCTION

Journalist Jack O’Sullivan’s foray to Vietnam in 1967 as a war correspondent has left him not only physically damaged after having half of his foot shot off, but also mentally scarred from the ordeals of a mission gone wrong and the struggle for survival in a harsh jungle environment, teeming with enemy soldiers intent on killing him and his comrades.

Despite his lucky escape, he finds that going back to an ordinary life back home in America is never going to turn out to be an easy task. Haunted by his memories of war and the frustrations of having lost good friends there, he is also hounded by the thoughts surrounding his encounters with the mysterious Platoon Sergeant, Ben Cale and the last minute instructions given to him moments before Cale went missing in action; presumed dead.

Years after the war, Jack’s changed life is about to be turned upside down yet again as a new set of circumstances enter his world, forcing him back into the unknown past of Ben Cale and the shadowy existence of the C.I.A.

Jack strives to get to the bottom of the mystery, while at the same time struggling to overcome his own demons and the ghosts of the past.

CHAPTER ONE

My true companions

The brilliantly bright rays of the morning sun tore through the gap in the curtains, striking my eyes like the glare from a light-house. It took some time though before the shaft of light finally caused my brain to awaken enough to rouse the rest of my slumber—affected body, and as my tired and sore eyes opened enough to cop its full strength, my arm instinctively rose to my face to block this rude intrusion to my sleep. I lay like this for some time while my mind slowly struggled to come to life properly and compute the basic facts, such as where I was and how I’d gotten there. Neither the pounding sledgehammer inside my head nor the taste of stale alcohol in my mouth were strangers to me, and already I had recalled a few random events which were enough to tell me I’d been out to one of the local bars the night before. The remaining gaps in my memory were large and I knew that they probably didn’t hold anything pleasant, but this was a situation I had become increasingly used to over the last few years—not only becoming familiar with this type of awakening but almost accepting it as more often than not the normal way for my morning to begin.

I risked a quick opening of one eye and lifted my arm enough for a glance around my surroundings, seeing to my relief the familiar features of my small apartment in Olympia, Washington State. I was at least glad that I had obviously made it back there, despite whatever other adventures I must have embarked upon throughout the night. There had been many other times I had woken in similar fashion in other places—parks, hospitals, houses of people I didn’t know and several times in jail cells where I’d been placed to sleep it off.

I slowly lifted myself up from the floor of my living room where I’d slept, my body suddenly becoming aware of a million other aches and pains and after swaying unsteadily on my feet for several moments I steered myself with great effort towards the bathroom—hoping to find some miracle relief there from this onslaught of suffering which assaulted me. Making it to the sink I bent forward, letting the water from the cold tap pool in my up-turned hands before splashing it into my eyes and face. Immediately I felt a sharp pain which for an instant even out-weighed the pounding headache, and I opened my reddened eyes and peered into the mirror to find that a large area around my mouth on the left side of my face was swollen and the lip split in a nasty way. A prod around the area with my finger revealed the teeth behind were slightly loose and the gums very sore, and as I inspected the damage as best I could in my current state, the events which led to this injury slowly began to replay in my mind like scenes of a movie watched through a cloud of fog.

I recalled being in one of the bars in my district, having wandered down there after getting home from work and drinking the best part of a bottle of whiskey to start with. While continuing my affair with more of the same liquor at the bar I had overheard a group of people having a conversation near me, and despite telling myself not to get involved, I could not help being drawn into it. After listening in for a short time I had judged the group to be students from the university nearby—young, full of ideals and opinions and fuelled just enough by the beers they were drinking to be ready to argue their view-points with anyone who cared to challenge them. There were at least four healthy—looking young males among the group and I could tell from the way they watched the other people in the bar that they were almost hoping someone would take offence at their loud discussion, with the alcohol in their systems and their safety-in-numbers boosting their confidence to take on all comers.

When the conversation turned to the wrong-doings of the US soldiers in Vietnam, I couldn’t stop myself commenting. From over the shoulders of the two closest men I said, loudly enough for them to hear.

What the hell would you kids know about what went on in Vietnam?

The four men turned towards me, their eyes sizing me up while the females of their group slowly retreated away from the area of the confrontation, melting silently into the rest of the crowd in the bar.

None of your business pal, said the loudest of the group, what are you anyway, a Vet?

"Now that’s none of your business, son, I countered, let’s just say that I know enough to have respect for the guys who went over there, they didn’t have a choice."

Didn’t have a choice? sneered the man, crap man, everyone has a choice in what they do, you can’t just blame someone else for your own wrong-doings.

And who do you blame kid? Sounds to me like you’re doin’ a great job of blaming everybody for all the mistakes of the world. Maybe you’re gonna fix everything are you? Make it all right?

He looked me up and down with sheer contempt at my criticism, as his friends moved in closer, tightening the circle of intimidation around me.

Maybe you’re just dirty at your own generation for making such a mess of things, he stated, staring angrily into my eyes with a sneer on his lips, Or maybe you’re just some drunken loser who’s realised he has nothing to contribute to the world, so you hang around bars and get in the face of people you know are better than you?

I had to laugh at his question, and I replied, You’re probably closer to the truth than you think son, but that doesn’t mean you know everything. Just take it from me that you might think differently about things once you’ve actually lived some of your life, so take some advice and don’t be so eager to force your opinions on everyone else around you.

The anger rose in his face even more, and I sensed that he was not about to back down from this argument, especially if it would make him look weak to his friends. He glanced around his group quickly to assure his back-up and addressed me again with venom in his voice.

You’re not smart enough to understand our opinions anyway jerk, so I’m not gonna waste my time talking to you. Maybe a punch in the mouth is all that’s needed to get some sense into that drunken head of yours, so shut the hell up or that’s what you’ll get.

I smiled at him mockingly, no fear registering in any part of me, you don’t frighten me son, nor do your friends I said, "I’ve seen better men than you die, and I forgive you for being young, stupid and under the false bravado of alcohol—hell I remember when I had my first beer too!"

He swung at me, but his attack was slow and clumsy and I caught his arm in mid-swing. While he struggled to release it from my grip I warned him, Let it go kid, go back to your girls over there and just enjoy being young and free. Oh and don’t be so quick to judge others, especially when you haven’t had to live through what they did.

He stopped struggling so I let go of his arm, and for a few seconds he stood poised before me, deciding which course of action to follow next. The look of hate never left his eyes but he eventually started to turn away, saying It’s not worth the effort to beat up some old drunken Vet anyway, I got better things to do.

It all seemed like it was going to dissipate into nothing, when one of his friends made the comment, I think you’re right John, I reckon he’s an ex-baby killer.

I completely forgot about the first man and turned on the speaker in a rage.

You shut your mouth you little smart-ass, I snarled. Don’t you dare use that term around me.

He laughed in my face and stated in reply, Whoa that hit a nerve didn’t it man? You don’t like hearing the truth?

I turned away from him, my intention being to walk away, but from the corner of my eye I saw him positioning himself for a swing at me. I managed to move my head enough at the last second so that his punch almost missed, instead just glancing off my cheek bone without much force behind it. Quickly summoning my strength for maximum effect I spun, my right arm flashing through the smokey air of the bar-room with all the weight I could muster behind it. The blow hammered him to the floor at almost the same instant it landed while his friends stood frozen in time, mesmerised by the quick action and the speed in which he’d gone down. I stood in the circle, breathing heavily from the anger inside me and the effort I’d exerted in the punch.

Just so you know, I said to them, I wasn’t a soldier in Vietnam, but I was there and I won’t hear that type of talk about the guys I knew. Some of those guys are dead now, and they were my friends God-damn it.

A few brief moments of silence hung over the entire bar while everyone waited for the next act. My attention was on watching the first man who had challenged me, and it wasn’t long before he made his move to rally his remaining troops to attack me and avenge the hit on their fallen friend. From the many similar occasions I had encountered since my return from Nam I had learnt to handle myself well even when fairly drunk, but this time I was overcome by superior numbers and had taken some pretty hard blows before the bar staff intervened and managed to break up the fight. I was told to leave and luckily for me the other men didn’t decide to continue the fight outside, so I bought a bottle of whisky at a liquor store down the road and wandered the streets for an unknown period of time. Usually I drank to achieve a numbness, a state where the problems of my past and present didn’t seem as bad, but this night I drank because I was angry at the world and all the problems in it. Angry at the politicians who made good men fight in wars and in bars, angry at the attitudes of people who thought their opinions were always right, angry at people in general, for all the human elements which make us criticise and degrade others, make us fail and succeed, and make us decide our choice of actions—right or wrong.

I must have walked the streets aimlessly for hours and maybe the state of mind I was in overcame some of the effects of the whiskey, allowing me just enough control to find my way home before passing out on the floor. Whenever sober I realised how dangerous it was being drunk in the streets at that time of night, but I regularly found myself doing it regardless, as once drunk I had no common sense in regards to my own safety. In the past I had been beaten and robbed, threatened and pursued but it never really bothered me as I had come to accept it as part of the broken life I was now living.

As I stared at my dishevelled appearance in the mirror and reflected on the nights events, I wondered if having someone waiting at home for me would make a difference. It was twelve years since I’d returned from Vietnam and my life had been anything but normal in that time. My marriage to my girlfriend Ellen had been a disaster and had only lasted three short years thanks to the unhappiness created by her desire to lead the standard fairy-tale married life, along with my lack of interest in anything that trivial after what I’d been through in Nam. Before the war I’d been just as keen as any young man to lead the life of a happily married husband, but afterwards my thoughts were too constantly distracted from regular life by being so completely full of the faces and voices of the men I’d known there, the sounds of the jungle and of the bombs and bullets within it. Even now my sleep at night was haunted by these sounds, and the images of things I’d seen vividly replayed by my memory, and enhanced even further by my imagination. In the years immediately after the war I’d started drinking heavily, as it was the only thing which numbed the memories somewhat, the drunkenness bringing some solid sleep at least as opposed to hours of fitful nightmares. Even during the days when I tried to devote my energies to work I couldn’t help day dreaming about the ghosts of my past, the ghosts which haunted me and wouldn’t leave me alone.

I’d had several short-term girlfriends since the breakup of my marriage but the relationships had ended badly, with me unable to give them some security and commit to a normal life. They had been good women and I hadn’t blamed them for wanting to leave. Deep down I knew that nothing would be different now and if anything I was even more disengaged from normality than before, so it would be a waste of time even trying. As well as that I couldn’t imagine myself going through the dating process again—being hopeful and excited about a new relationship. It seemed to me that part of my life was gone, just a distant memory of something that was once important to me many years ago when my world was a much different place, a time when it still seemed possible that the nice things could outweigh the bad things in life.

I was suddenly snapped out of my thoughts by wondering what time it was, and after a glance at the wall clock in the living room realised that I was already several hours late for work. Needing to shower and shave but not wanting to waste any more time I quickly changed clothes, sprayed on some deodorant to hopefully hide the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke from the bar last night, and headed for the door. My apartment building wasn’t in the best area of Olympia by any means but the neighbourhood was mostly crime free, and the majority of my neighbours seemed fairly normal, decent people. They had tended to look upon me with suspicion for quite some time after I had first taken out the lease on the apartment, after noting my late night drunken home-comings and my reluctance to mix with anyone in the neighbourhood, however I’d been here now for about