Children of the Prophet: Book 6: Gary Sterling

By J.G. Stevens

Gary Sterling has climbed the ladder to the rank of Lt. Commander. An Assistant Secretary of State leans on him to go under-cover to trap Russians involved in a drug smuggling ring.
Gary and his wife, Ingrid, move to Sedona, Arizona. Ingrid becomes a volunteer sheriff while Gary inserts himself into the drug ring.
The Sterlings are almost killed by a Sedona drug lord, and Gary is injured so badly the doctor feels it is almost impossible for him to live.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781796072198

J.G. Stevens

Joe Stevens spent seven years in the Navy serving in Cryptographic Communications in Japan, France, and at sea. He graduated at the top of his class from The University of Redlands in California. He and his wife live in Brush Prairie, Washington State.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

666

Arch Daemoness Hillbelly Clanton, she of the straggly hair, had nothing left but a mere whiff of her former glory. The Arch Daemoness had been demoted and assigned to the subversion of a tribe of goat herders in Afghanistan. That she had been sentenced to endure day after day of boiling hot sun, dust, and boredom was bad enough, but the Master had seen fit to inflict a reconstituted Calamity Clanton (complete with lectern) upon her. On top of it all, her numerous facelifts had recently acquired the habit of falling down. It was almost too much for the Arch Daemoness to bear.

Then one day a troop of Mujahedeen fighters stopped by to pick up a few goats for dinner with their dates. Their leader was searching the tents to see what else might be available when he caught a couple of the Arch Daemoness’s mere whiffs.

(&^#%^&*() #@ - (translation = "We’re out of here!)

The dust of their hurried departure had barely settled when Arch Daemoness Hillbelly Clanton, she of the straggly hair, was struck by an idea.

Calamity, she ordered. Gather up your lectern. We’re out of here!

But what will the Master think? whimpered Calamity Clanton, he of the rickety lectern. When he finds out we’re gone, he will hunt us down and…ooh, my head hurts.

Shut up and pull yourself together! ordered Arch Daemoness Hillbelly Clanton, she of the straggly hair. We will do such evil things that the Master will have to forgive us. And the very first evil thing will involve that odious goody-goody, Gary Sterling.

With that they set off across the burning sands, and nothing was heard from them for a bad long time.

666

^V^V^V^

The Angels were enjoying some well-earned R&R when Angel Top Sergeant Spiakov rousted them out.

Aw, come on, Sarge, they groused. Give it a rest. We just got here.

Pipe down and listen up, ordered Angel Top Sergeant Spiakov. We just got word that Hillbelly Clanton is on the move."

What’s the matter, Sarge? Couldn’t the camels, pigs, and goats stand her smell?

No, and I can’t blame them. Anyway, her last known position was Denver, Colorado where she stunk up a switching yard. Now saddle up. We’re on the road again.

You know. commented Angel Leroy. I used to like that song.

^V^V^V^

CHAPTER 1

1956 - Washington, D. C.

The left side of recently appointed Assistant Secretary of State Ernest Bentley Jr.’s (his father stepped in and made the appointment as soon as he got word of his son’s return) face was covered in bandages and it hurt like hell. It was difficult to talk and hard to swallow…and…he was a happy man. He judged his mission as emissary to the revolutionists in Budapest, Hungary to have been a total success (this was open to debate—there were some who would consider telling the Hungarians the U.S. was bailing out of their agreement to help them against the Russians to be a dismal failure). Nevertheless, he had delivered his message and—courtesy of a flame-throwing Russian tank—was returning a wounded hero. All of which was almost a guaranteed Senate seat. With enough money and the right backers the ‘almost’ would become ‘certainty’.

Ernest was reclining in his first class accommodation aboard a 747 watching the clouds float by. Their smooth rolling motion had a soothing comforting effect, but duty called so he laid his briefcase on his lap, pressed the correct code, opened it, extracted a leather bound monogramed note pad and his solid gold Cross pen. After which he sat for a while in thought.

It was his experience that, no matter how mentally alert a man might be, his memory was a fragile thing (with some few exceptions). Normally it didn’t take long for details to begin to blur and fade. At any rate, Ernest Bentley Jr. didn’t want to lose any of what had transpired in the last three days. The Eiffel Tower had barely receded unto the distance when he began making notes on the salient features of his recent adventure.

Wheels down at New York’s LaGuardia Airport, Ernest Bentley Jr. went directly to his comfortable office in the State Department Building. Closeting himself in his inner office, he spent some time pouring over his notes and drafting a report on what he thought of as the Hungarian Fiasco, although he would never refer to it as such. That would put an indelible stain on the State Department ‘s escutcheon, and the electorate would not look kindly upon those who had given a solemn promise to provide aid and support for the Hungarian rebels and then yanked the rug out from under them at the last minute.

It took him a while to properly phrase his report because bragging was frowned upon in the State Department and criticizing the stately edifice, or its occupants, was an unforgivable sin. Therefore the report had to be written so as to showcase the author’s self-effacing nature while subtly emphasizing his heroic role in the proceedings…not to mention the laudable acumen of the higher ups in their handling of the whole affair.

This particular report was doubly difficult in that having plans for him in the future, it behooved Ernest to include favorable mention for Frank Worler, the Assistant Station Chief in Paris. The man’s assistance had been negligible, but he caught the attention of Ernest Bentley Jr. because of his immobile exterior. Gary Sterling had once mentioned that he thought of the man as Stone Face, which was an amusing cognomen and fit the man to a tee. Mr. Worler, along with his glacial exterior, could very well be of future use in the Washington D.C. environment, but Ernest Bentley Jr. had to be extremely careful not to overdo his praise. Otherwise Frank Worler, aka Stone Face, could possibly become too enamored of his own abilities and turn into a competitor. As for Gary Sterling, a sturdy lad who had been by his side through the whole thing, there was no way he could ever become a threat to Bentley. His background as part of the great unwashed would automatically restrict his upward progression past a certain level. Having an upward moving friend (as his father had once advised him) could possibly be of immense value in the dog eat dog of Washington politics. Therefore the actions of Gary Sterling were written of in glowing terms, thus assuring the lad’s upward mobility and tying him irrevocably to Bentley’s sphere of influence.

At last, having finished his rough draft, he gave it to his secretary to apply the finishing touches prior to routing it to his father, an upper upper State Department official, for approval and further dissemination.

Secure in the knowledge that he had produced an incisive thoughtful report, Bentley treated himself to a refreshing cup of hot Earl Gray. After savoring the last drop in the comfort of his very private inner office, he bestirred himself to send for Gary Sterling’s service record.

For a solid hour his eyes were fairly glued to the pages. At last, he leaned back in his overstuffed office chair and reflected on the luck of the Bentleys.

This is almost too good to be true. I knew I had heard his name somewhere before, but I had no idea it was in connection with those war bond rallies. This is more than I could have hoped for. The lad’s a Bona Fide American Hero.

His eyes dropped to Gary Sterling’s service record again, reviewing what he had already seen…left behind at Hungnam while saving a buddy’s life… trailed all the way down the Korean Peninsula with two others in the dead of winter while evading Chicom patrols…rescued from a North Korean patrol boat in the Sea of Japan…awarded the Silver Star, Purple Heart with Cluster, and Combat Infantryman’s Badge. There were also his heroic actions during the re-pacification of Hungary by the Russians, i.e., saving his—Ernest Bentley Jr.’s—life for which Gary would never receive public acclaim, due to security constraints. However, Ernest Bentley, Jr., would see to it that the boy would be suitably recognized (more medals could only enhance Sterling’s future worth.)

Congratulations Gary, along with a Bronze Star and another Purple Heart your application for admission to Officers’ Candidate School and your promotion to Chief Petty Officer has just been approved. Then thoughtful, with a few words from my father those hard headed people in Bupers can be convinced to forget all that time in grade nonsense.

A few days after his return to United States European Command Gary Sterling checked in with the doctor because his eye was bothering him. He was quickly bandaged up and placed on limited duty until a teeny bit of glass could be removed from his eye (courtesy of the same Russian flame throwing-tank that had removed part of his right ear, as well as injuring Ernest Bentley, Jr.). Fortunately, both injuries could easily be explained by the use of a single word, Etoile,—essentially a traffic circle surrounding the Arc de Triumph into which twelve major boulevards emptied—with but one overworked and lonely gendarme for traffic control (the man deserved the Legion of Merit for managing to minimize vehicular mayhem). After which anyone who asked would walk away muttering various obscenities about ‘fucking French asshole drivers’ and never bothered to ask again.

The Exec had been asked to please move Gary along as soon as possible, which turned out to be whenever the doctors were pleased to release him. He was also fitted out with a pair of glasses…which took time because his eye had to be completely healed first. Thus it was that a little over a month-and-a-half after his return to HQ European Command in St. Germaine en Laye, Gary was ordered to report to the office of the executive officer.

Officers are ‘officers and gentlemen’ by act of congress, and as such are expected to conduct themselves accordingly. But there was a Marine Captain commanding the Communications Section: a mixed bunch of Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines, and he had obviously failed to get the message. This gentleman by Act of Congress was the very definition of the word ‘asshole.’

Gary hadn’t known quite what to expect when he was told to report to the Exec. He didn’t think he had done anything seriously wrong, but that turkey Captain could turn a ‘Good morning, Sir’ into a Captain’s Mast and dearly loved to harass the Communication Section watch standers because he had a personal animus toward troops sleeping in the daytime.

The last time Gary had seen the jerk was while walking to the barracks after standing the night shift. Gary was falling-down tired. The first time he had any idea the guy was around was when a shrill Stop right there, Sailor! assaulted his ears. He had automatically rendered a salute without paying attention to much else, but apparently the salute had not been up to Marine standards…a straight up quivering snap. He was on report, but couldn’t have cared less. He replied with a fatalistic Yes, Sir snapped the required type of salute, waited for Captain Asshole to return it, and went to find his rack.

He didn’t think that run in with Captain Asshole had been serious enough to rate personal attention from the Exec, but one never knew. It’s always nerve wracking to be called to the boss’s office out of the blue. Maybe it was the stress of the last few weeks finally catching up, but suddenly the world seemed to close in on him.

Son-of-a-bitch! I’m gonna get busted again tromped through his mind over and over again. That stinking Jarhead probably wrote me up for disobeying a direct order.

By the time he got to the Exec’s office, he was a nervous wreck.

Gary Sterling, RM1, reporting as ordered, Sir, coming to quivering attention.

The Executive Officer, Lt. Cmdr. Joshua Hart, whose father had been suffering from cancer, had just received word that the old man was down to his last few days: Could Joshua please come home?" Understandably, he was distracted and irritated, and more than ready to get the hell out of Eucom, but he had one last bit of business to take care of before he could lock up his office.

As it happened, his last bit of business was standing before him at quivering attention. He spent a moment or two appraising the boy.

Do you feel well, Sterling?

Yes, Sir. An outright lie.

He stood there wobbling for a bit when an image of Ingrid framed in light bloomed large in his mind. "Snap out of it, Gary. You’re strong. I love you. I’m waiting for you." Then with a last beautiful Ingrid smile, she faded away.

^V^V^V^

I don’t care what you’re going to say! snapped Angel Leticia when Angel Leroy approached her. It wasn’t technically direct intervention. It was indirect direct intervention. I learned it from Angel Hepzibah. Besides, you have to admit that it worked.

Well, yes, but I’m not the one to make the call, said Angel Leroy. And if you think when I’m asked I am going to recommend punishment…well…I’m not!

Seriously?

Angel Leticia was over the top startled.

Yes. Seriously, came back Angel Leroy. Gary needed a break, and you gave it to him. AND…I’m proud of you.

At that moment an errant cloud wafted by. Angel Leticia seized it to wipe away her tears. When she wrung it out a brief shower fell to earth and a garden of rhododendrons bloomed.

^V^V^V^

Are you sure, Sterling? You don’t look too good.

Absolutely, Sir. Thank you for asking.

Something’s bothering him, and I think I know what it is. That damned troublesome Marine Captain again. That idiot would cause trouble in the middle of a sermon by the Pope. No wonder Sterling’s upset. He probably thinks I’m going to throw him in the brig. But Wow! This is as perfect as it gets. As much trouble that man has caused me, he deserves what I have planned for him. (Officially, Joshua would chew a troop out if he heard him call the Captain an asshole, but personally he thought the term fit the man to a tee.) Sterling gets transferred out without Captain Asshole knowing about it. He’ll write Sterling up as AWOL, and when he brings it to me I get to tell him Sterling has been transferred out. Then, when I tell him the transfer is highly classified…need to know and all that…he’ll go absolutely ape shit. I can hardly wait till he shows up in my office. I’ll even work late to make sure he doesn’t miss me. Damn! Sometimes I love this job.

At ease, Sterling, I have something for you.

At ease almost turned into total collapse, but with Ingrid’s help, Gary got it together.

Yes, Sir.

With that the Exec removed two small boxes and some papers from his desk.

I have no idea what you did to deserve these, but they don’t give them out lightly.

He opened the boxes and displayed a Bronze Star medal and a Purple Heart.

This is highly irregular. Ordinarily there would be a photographer standing by, but for some reason this has to be done on the QT. Don’t talk about it and don’t put these on your uniform until you are out of European air space.

But…but…but.

The Exec cut him off. I don’t know what you did, but I’m sure you earned it. Like I said, they don’t give these things out lightly.

Now, as to another matter. I have something else for you, Petty Officer Sterling. You passed the exam for Chief Petty Officer. Let me be the first to congratulate you.

But…

The Exec waived him to silence, Not another word. Go directly from here to personnel and pick up your leave papers and orders to report to OCS. Then proceed to the barracks and collect your gear. Transportation is standing by to take you to Orly Field. You have the seventeen hundred flight to New York.

Congratulations, Sterling. I wish you all the best.

With that he shook the Gary’s hand, and the proceedings were over.

After that, whenever the Exec felt himself falling into a well of sadness over his