The Legend of the Shining Mountain and a Descent into Hell : Final Rest

By Clive Bonner

"Legend of the Shining Mountain and A Descent into Hell: Final Rest" are two stories set in the 1960s. In each story, the characters are affected by incidents relating to the Viet Nam War that lead to a once-in-a-lifetime adventure and deep bonds of family and friendship.
In "Legend," after their father is killed in action, two sisters, in hopes of saving the family ranch from foreclosure find an old faded sheet of paper in their miner Grandfather's diary. The paper states, 'Go into the mountain's tusk wherein lies a river of golden sand.' In desperate hope to save the ranch the sisters wander into the wilderness in search of fortune. Will the sisters find this legendary gold deposit in time, or is it merely a campfire tale?
In "A Descent into Hell: Final Rest," Frank Gallagher, a mysterious Vietnam War pilot currently on leave seeks the help of outdoor enthusiast, Ed Bradford to search for a long-forgotten mountain-cave. The cave, known as 'The Chimney' to the bygone Native Americans, can only be accessed in early winter. If temperatures rise while they are in the cave, it will mean imminent death for the explorers, and yet Frank is willing to take the risk.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 21, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496925091

Book preview

The Legend Of The Shining Mountain

by

Clive Bonner

Chapter One

It was April 1965 when B-52 Bomber pilot, Colonel Jack Clevenger went Missing In Action. His last orders were to drop a load of napalm upon a strip of land infamously known as the Sauna of Blood. This Viet Cong hideout was so impenetrable, that it was believed that bleached and rotting bones lined its perimeter.

This particular Viet Cong stronghold was commanded by a heinous, sadistic individual who called himself Colonel Trang. His personal motto was to take no prisoners and spare nobody.

As Jack flew over the jungle, his plane received tumultuous ground fire and had been set ablaze.

I’m going down! he yelled over his radio.

He ejected himself from the cockpit and bailed out over the green, lush, canopy of foliage below. His chute opened and he rapidly dropped. Expecting to hear rifle fire and bullets whizzing by as he approached the fast-appearing ground, he heard no sounds. The only noise he heard was the rushing air around him as he neared the treetops. He cleared through the trees, tumbled down through the foliage, and safely hit the ground without bodily harm to himself. Upon landing, he freed himself from his chute, haphazardly folded it, and quickly hid it in the surrounding brush. Colonel Clevenger scanned his surroundings and took out his compass before disappearing into the jungle.

While stealthily making his way through, he felt a severe pang to the back of his head. He teetered in pain from the blow as his vision faded into darkness. Then, he fell unconscious to the ground.

How long Jack had laid there, he did not know. When he came to, his head throbbed intensely. He tried to stand up, but quickly sat back down when nausea overtook him. Dizziness set in, and again, he passed out and fell to the ground.

Sometime later, he awoke, his head pulsing in unbearable pain. With blurred vision, he could make out four individuals standing over him.

Must be Viet Cong, he surmised miserably.

Get up! Yankee pig! The shortest one said in broken English. He proceeded to repeatedly kick Colonel Clevenger while another slammed the butt of his rifle into his chest. Jack lost consciousness again, and the other two grabbed his arms and dragged him across the jungle floor.

The shortest of the gang pointed to a particular tree whose trunk and branches were twisted in a serpentine fashion. The Viet Cong violently positioned Jack’s unconscious body into a standing position behind the tree. The one who had previously kicked Jack grabbed a bucket of water and dumped it upon his badly bruised and bloodied face. When the bucket was empty, he dropped it at the edge of a small watering hole. Colonel Clevenger regained consciousness and looked intently at his evil tormentors. My name is Jack Clevenger! he repeated twice.

Before he told them his rank and serial number, one of the gang stepped forward, his face taut with hatred.

You are a stubborn man, Colonel Clevenger, his eyes glaring at Jack’s insignia. Like all American pigs, you come over to Vietnam to fight for freedom. But, no one back home cares about what happens to you here. For you, the war is now over, for I am Colonel Trang.

What do you mean by that? Jack frantically asked.

One of the Viet Cong unsheathed a slightly curved sword from a scabbard upon his hip.

No! You can’t do this! It’s against the rules of the Geneva Convention. As a captive prisoner, I have my rights! I say again, my name is Jack Clevenger, my rank is Colonel, and my serial number is…

Colonel Trang nodded his head toward the swordsman. One of the Viet Cong reached around Jack’s forehead and wrenched it back. The swordsman swung the blade horizontally to Colonel Clevenger’s throat.

Chapter Two

Mary Clevenger, Jack’s oldest of two daughters, carried a brown paper bag full of groceries as she strolled in the sunny June morning. She admired the green neighborhood lawns adorned with bright colored flower beds during her three block walk in casual blue jeans, a white blouse, and jogging shoes. The warm breeze gently whiffed her long flaxen hair into her face.

She stopped at her Aunt Harriet’s gray rusty mailbox, opened the squeaky door, and grabbed a few letters. Balancing the grocery bag in one arm, she flipped through the envelopes with the opposite hand as she ambled up the sidewalk to the mahogany front porch.

From out of the corner of her eye, she saw a straw hat and a flash of pink and yellow. It was Mrs. Brosig, her elderly next door neighbor. Mrs. Brosig was kneeling next to a border of stones that surrounded a large flower garden shaded by a weeping willow. She was busy weeding.

Hi, Mrs. Brosig! It’s a nice day to be outside, huh.

Mrs. Brosig’s wrinkled face appeared over the white picket fence separating the properties.

Sure is, she replied, smiling. She threw a handful of pulled weeds into a bucket at her side, her face disappeared from above the fence and she returned to weeding. Then, she stopped to wipe her brow.

Oh! Mary. I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you girls heard anything of your father?

Mary set her sack of groceries down on the sidewalk and thumbed through the mail again.

No. Not a thing, Mrs. Brosig, she answered. And it’s been several weeks now.

I’m sorry to hear that, Mary. I was hoping you had good news.

Mary opened an envelope and extracted a letter.

Me too. Anyway, nice talking to you, Mrs. Brosig.

Mrs. Brosig waved to Mary with her garden trowel, then bent over to continue weeding.

Mary picked up the sack of groceries, walked up the porch steps, and entered the house. She closed the door behind her and walked through the living room while intently reading the letter. When she entered the kitchen, she set down the grocery sack and the other mail upon the dining table. Then, she took out a carton of milk from the grocery bag and put it in the refrigerator.

Mary heard the front door open and shut, and Pepper, her younger sister, stormed into the kitchen, panting and dressed in sweats.

Hi! Sis. I just got done with my three mile jog, Pepper exclaimed between breaths.

Hi Pepper. Mary replied, while setting a loaf of bread and some canned goods upon the kitchen counter.

Pepper peeked into the grocery sack. Went grocery shopping without me, I see. Gee, I wish you had waited until I got home. I wanted to get a few things, myself. But that’s okay. Pepper looked away from the grocery bag. Any word on Dad, yet? she suddenly asked with concern.

No. Not a thing, Pepper.

Mary put the last of the groceries up in a cupboard above the counter-top. Then, the sisters sat down at the kitchen table, worrying about their missing father.

They will find him, Sis, said Pepper, holding back her tears. How hard can it be to locate a missing plane?

Mary ignored the question and quickly sifted through the mail. She grabbed two yellow and purple envelopes and handed them to Pepper.

Thanks. I’ve been expecting these, she said.

You know. Pepper changed the subject. All this past while, I’ve been thinking that we should have stayed and helped Mom at the ranch this summer. I just know that she can’t handle all the chores by herself. Pepper opened her mail and looked at its contents.

You’re right, Pepper. But, you know Mom. She told us that by spending the summer in Denver, we could make more money to cover our college tuition, Mary said in earnest.

I know. But I don’t think it’s right, Pepper argued, still looking at her mail.

Pepper removed a form from the yellow envelope. I need to fill this out and mail it this afternoon.

The phone in the living room rang. I’ll get it! Pepper exclaimed, laying the paper down.

My boss probably wants me to come to work early. I do hope so. I can surely use the extra money. Pepper dashed out of the kitchen and into the living room. She picked up the ringing phone, and plopped down upon the couch.

Hello! she answered.

Hello Pepper! It’s Mom.

Sandy, Pepper and Mary’s mother, had called from their ranch in Crystal Valley, Idaho. She was forty-two years of age with a strong athletic build who had been born and raised on her parent’s ranch. After she married Jack, they bought their own ranch and Sandy worked and ran the place while her husband made a career in the Air Force.

Pepper instinctively noticed that her mother’s usually happy and radiant voice sounded weary and extremely tired.

What’s wrong, Mom? You sound ill or something, Pepper asked with concern.

Is Mary there with you? Sandy asked, while sitting at the desk in the den, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Yes. She is, Mom. We both got home around the same time, not too long ago.

"It’s about your father. Just this morning, two men in a government sedan pulled up in front of the house. When