The Last Flag

By Barbara Butterfield

Honor Guard member: GSgt. Zach Szarbino hands a folded United States flag to a grieving widow…for the last time. Reaching the breaking point, he and best friend, MSgt. Alex Bach risk everything to make sure no more folded flags have to be handed to grieving family members. Together, the two soldiers concoct an extraordinary plan to eliminate the deranged leader of a violent regime.
Will these brave, though slightly off-beat soldiers accomplish their goal, or be stopped somewhere along the way?
The Bible states that with God all things are possible and Zach and Alex are about to find out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664151222

Barbara Butterfield

Ms. Butterfield is California born and raised, and currently resides in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona…where she lives with her favorite feline friend: Baybee. Integrity, suspense, camaraderie, romance, and personal growth are all values that play a vital role in her novels. More importantly, the gospel and spiritual growth are also an aspect of life into which she delves. Ms. Butterfield has written for many years; her first novel having been penned at the age of fourteen. She also studied writing and journalism, becoming the Editor-In-Chief of the school’s newspaper. She is currently working on her 60th novel.

Book preview

THE

LAST

FLAG

Barbara Butterfield

Copyright © 2021 by Barbara Butterfield.

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.

Cover photography from ShareFaith of Medford, Oregon.

Rev. date: 01/08/2021

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

817788

Contents

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

Dedication

My thanks and appreciation are extended to the following friends for their contribution to this literary adventure:

Thanks to the following all-around nice guys for their participation as models and/or lending their names as characters in the story:

Michael Moletsky

Additionally, thanks and grateful appreciation go to my dear friend and sister in Christ, Gail ‘Ozzypalooza’ Chavez for doing such a great job proofreading the manuscript…a few times, thereby helping to keep me sane and preventing my eyes from going crossed permanently. It amazes me how Gail consistently manages to capture the tiniest errors. Thank you!

Thank you, one and all! Blessings!

Chapter 1

It was folded to precise and practiced perfection. Somberly, he held it close to his body as if to protect it. But truth be told, did he protect it? Or was it the other way around…did it protect him?

It was just a piece of fabric. Red, white and blue linen, delicately stitched together. Individually, the colorful pieces of material held no particular meaning. But once sewn together the stars and stripes became a flag…and not just any flag, but one of enduring significance.

The flag was a lot like the people it represented. They were all individuals, and may not have meant a lot to each other…but once ‘stitched’ together "We The People" became one, and it meant something…something of enduring significance.

In the distance, a highly-polished bugle played the mournful strains of Taps as it sounded on the damp, late afternoon air. Again…with practiced ease the somber, heart-wrenching melody was the only sound that could be heard.

It was an overcast, rainy day…and the family and friends of the recently deceased Marine sat uncomfortably beneath a forest-green awning. Though its use was obvious, it only meagerly managed to prevent most of them from getting pelted by the breeze-driven rain.

Now, this particular Honor Guard Marine stood rigidly at attention just as he had been trained to do, through rain or shine. Training, discipline and honor cohesively intermingled to make this man what he was today, and he was glad to be where he was in life.

Zach Szarbino was a thirty-three year old Gunnery Sergeant who proudly served within the ranks of the United States Marine Corps. It was within this group of dedicated individuals that he had become a long-standing member of the elite group known as the Honor Guard.

Every branch of the military has its own version of the Guard. In this case, the purpose of the group was to provide funeral honors for fellow Marines that had fallen…or, in other words…had died. It did not matter whether their untimely passing was in the line of duty, or as veterans who had…at one time served their country with patriotism, courage and honor.

Zach thoroughly enjoyed being a member of the Marine Corps. But he also found it to be a profound honor to be a part of the elite experience that was the Guard. Zach considered it a privilege to be able to honor his fellow Marines in what would be the final tribute to their life and service. It made him feel as if he was part of something special, and to the families that mourned the loss of a loved one…he was indeed.

Though Zach had a somewhat edgy exterior, on the inside he was a man of deep convictions and had a thoroughly compassionate heart.

On the field of battle he was a force with which to be reckoned. But when carrying out his duties at a funeral, he was different. This was a time-honored and humbling place to serve. It was a place where he could let the quieter side of himself be seen, and it was acceptable.

In a way, he realized that one day there could be an Honor Guard folding that flag over his casket, and it was a sobering thought. It didn’t frighten him in the least, but it did make him think. One day…what if…

His team member in the Guard was thirty-one year old, Master Sergeant Alex Bach. Both men were staff non-commissioned officers and had fought long, hard battles to get to where they were today.

Zach always seemed to be pushing the envelope to get to that next rank…the next higher level or just simply bucking the trend, as needed. Whereas Alex worked at advancing too, he was just more relaxed about it.

Alex was the type of buddy who held his friend’s beer when asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about advancing his career within the Marine Corps, for he did. It’s just that his best friend in life…and in arms: Zach was more of a Type A personality, wherein Alex was a more traditional Type B.

Zach’s edgy, though easy-going southern upbringing and style with which he chose to live his life was one thing. It was a matter of his heritage, borne from years in the deep-south he was both a gentleman and rebel.

Yet no one could understand how such a down-home personality could choose sniper training as a career objective. But the twists and turns of life can often work out…uniquely.

Alex had been raised primarily in Alaska, born into a family of means, yet not what might be called: affluent. But, for a time his family had lived in Georgia, where he and Zach had met in high school. They soon became best friends and had grown into men together.

Chapter 2

Both buddies could still clearly remember the time when they were stationed at Camp Pennington. Zach had suddenly shoved his frosty brown bottle of Mountain Man ale into his friend’s hand.

It was a much-deserved day off, which meant a lot to the whole squad. Brilliant sunshine combined with a light, on-shore breeze and was mixed with a temperature in the low 80’s. In short, the day was absolute perfection for some time at the beach.

Here, hold this, Zach ordered and without looking in his friend’s direction, he thrust his beer bottle toward his unsuspecting buddy.

Hold your own beer, Alex replied as he idly pushed his friend’s hand away. He didn’t even bother to look up from where he was reading the newest copy of Ammo Warehouse.

No, really…hold this while I go jump off that cliff, Zach commented with an eager gleam in his eyes. That gleam always succeeded in getting his friend’s attention, even if he didn’t readily react.

What? Alex replied, momentarily surprised to hear what his friend was planning to do.

That cliff…over there, Zach answered, as he eagerly pointed an out-stretched arm in the direction of the bluff that sat high above the ocean. In fact, it was the Pacific Ocean that roiled into frothy, white surf a good fifty-feet below the bluff.

You’re nuts, Alex ably assured.

"If they can do it…" Zach argued, an activity for which he had an inherent talent.

"Have you seen any of ’em comin’ back up?" Came Alex’s good-natured retort.

A few, Zach was quick to reply, shrugging.

Uh-huh, Alex grumbled, doubtful to say the least as he turned another page of the magazine.

Crap! Get a load of that idiot! Zach exclaimed as he agilely jumped to his feet. Excited, he couldn’t quite believe his eyes as he witnessed another squad member, Sgt. Bryce Robinson execute a flawless one-and-a-half gainer from the edge of the bluff.

What is it?! Alex exclaimed as he reacted to Zach’s exuberance, and face it…shock.

Robinson! He just threw himself right off the face of that cliff! Just threw himself right off!

He’s got health insurance, so what? Alex replied as he desperately tried to get back to his reading.

Man, what balls…titanium balls, that’s what I’m gonna call Bryce from now on. TB, for short!

TB is a disease, Alex offered, without bothering to glance upward. I seriously doubt that he’d like being referred to as a disabling illness.

He’s a sergeant, isn’t he? Zach offered as he glanced down at his best friend.

Suppose so, Alex replied as he wet his index finger with his tongue and turned the next page of the magazine.

Chuckie…

Please don’t call me that, Alex muttered. That particular nickname…as always rankled him down to the very soles of his feet. Why do you call me that? It’s not even my name.

Fine, whatever. Alex…dude, it looks like fun, Zach eagerly commented, not to be easily dissuaded from participating in the adventure.

Zach…dude, it looks like death! Alex mimicked. Suddenly, and it must have been the tone in Szarbino’s voice, but Alex was trying really hard to keep from laughing right out loud.

You are absolutely no fun, Zach surmised. "Look, just hold my beer, man. It’s a hot summer day…they’re doing it…"

What did your mama tell you about ‘…if all your friends are doing something’…remember that? She told you not to do it too, right?

My mama never told me that, Zach replied, the very picture of innocence.

Then you had a bad mama, Alex assessed, and he turned his attention back to the magazine.

Hey, don’t be dissin’ my mama, Zach warned…good-naturedly, of course. She just knew right from the start that I’d go and do it anyway, he stated with a shrug.

Rebel.

Yep. So hold my damn beer! Zach insisted.

Okay…okay, Alex resignedly acquiesced as his right hand opened just far enough to grasp the chilled bottle.

But if you splat your ugly mug all over those rocks down at the bottom, man…don’t come cryin’ to me, Alex warned.

Got it! Zach grinned, and hitching up his surfer baggies he dashed off toward the edge of the cliff and to the group of soaked, sand-coated young Marines who had been cliff jumping for the last hour or so.

Alex simply watched his buddy run off. Slowly shaking his head, he opted to return his attention to the magazine.

I ain’t his mama, the young Marine somberly advised himself. He’s just gonna do what he’s gonna do. I learned that lesson a long time ago. I’ll just sit here, relax with his beer and read up on my other friend the M110 SASS rifle. Oh baby, ‘you are so beautiful to me’, Alex hummed as he quietly broke into song.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Zach…soaking wet and with sand clinging to his wet feet walked back over to his friend and plopped down onto his beach towel.

You did it? Alex asked without looking up.

I did, Zach confirmed with a simple nod of his head, his forearms casually resting upon bent knees.

How was it?

Scary, Zach willfully admitted.

No shit, bud. Do it again?

No way.

You’re bleeding, Alex surmised finally eyeing his friend, and more specifically his shoulder.

Yep, Zach mumbled, idly swiping his palm against the torn flesh.

I warned you about those dang rocks at the bottom.

No, actually it was a seagull’s beak…on the way down, Zach explained.

Kill it? Alex asked, more concerned about the condition of the bird than his best friend.

No, Zach thoughtfully sighed. I could still hear it laughing at me when I hit the water.

Hurt?

Not much…stung a bit. But I didn’t realize low tide happened this early in the afternoon, Zach explained as he idly rubbed at his right hip. Alex rolled big, dark brown eyes upward where his droll expression caught his buddy’s gaze.

Though no words were spoken, much was obviously conveyed.

You’ll never guess who I met down in the water, Zach continued, obviously having fully recovered from his adventure. Idly, Alex offered the bottle of ale back to its original owner. Thanks.

Sure. Who, Santa? Alex quipped.

"No, but I did see a guy in a Santa suit body-surfing a ways up the beach," Zach offered, pointing an out-stretched arm, thereby indicating the desired direction.

That’s weird.

No, it’s California, Zach snidely corrected.

You have a point there, Alex agreed. So, who’d you meet in the water.

Jet Ski.

Who? Alex questioned, a bit surprised.

Michael ‘Jet-Ski’ Moletsky, Zach replied, carefully enunciating every syllable.

No shit.

None whatsoever, my friend. Big as life and just as much a rebel as he’s always been.

Rebel with ‘tude, Alex concurred.

Yep, my idol, Zach sighed.

Was he swimmin’, or had he just jumped off the bluff?

Neither. In true dedication to his name…

Don’t say it…

I must, I really must, Zach mused as he expertly baited his friend. This was a talent for which he was exquisitely suited, and something he really enjoyed doing too.

He was down there on his jet ski. Like a boss, he’s ridin’ the swells. He managed to keep himself just far enough away from the rocks to prevent crashing onto them, but also close enough so he could maneuver in to pick-up the most recent young Marine who had just thrown himself off the cliff.

Sounds like him, Alex concurred.

But there’s more.

How in the heck could there be more?

Remember, who we’re talkin’ about here. The one and only original Jet-Ski Moletsky… Zach reminded his buddy.

The embarrassment of Alpharetta High, Alex lent his own assessment of a Marine and old friend whom…in spite of everything, he liked and respected. But even Zach had to admit that Mike Moletsky was one toe over the line, most of the time.

So what was he doing down there…pickin’ guys up, so what?

"He was charging them for his services!" Zach replied, nearly knocking himself over with his own laughter.

No way.

Way. It’s true. He has pre-printed invoices in a water-proof glove box. As soon as he pulls you up out of the water and you’re sittin’ all comfy on his back seat…he hands you a water-proof invoice and pen to sign with, acknowledging that you’ll pay the bill.

That’s nutz! Alex gasped, even though he was aware of the Moletsky Mantra: ‘Money don’t just come to you, you got to harvest it like wheat’. He was still surprised to hear that his friend was…in a way…taking advantage of his fellow Marines.

He’s makin’ some good coin down there today, let me tell you! Zach enthused.

And what if the rescued party doesn’t want to pay up?

I discovered…through my own research that he has a few choices: 1) he carries a gun on board, 2) his lawyer’s business card…

Water-proof?

Of course, Zach mused. And 3) worst case, he just shoves your unappreciative ass off the back of the ski, and let’s nature take its course.

That’s cold.

That’s my boy! Zach enthused, slapping his hands together.

I wonder if he’s still engaged, Alex asked, his mind going back a couple years to Moletsky’s bachelor party.

Yes, and no.

How’s that.

Dude, come on, get real…you know Moletsky goes through women like Grant tore through Richmond during the Civil War.

I know what war it was!

Just sayin’, Zach shrugged.

That guys had more bachelor parties than I can count, Alex offered, shaking his head in quandary.

I don’t know how he does it, Zach nodded.

"I don’t know why he’d want to," Alex questioned.

Dude, don’t make me get that old book of my mom’s out for you to read again.

Crap, please no! Alex gasped. You showed that thing to me in high school!

That’s when the nightmares began, right? Zach commented, completely sympathetic toward his friend.

I had my ideas of what sex was…you know, and then you had to go wreck it all with that damn book!

I risked my life…and my rear-end by sneakin’ that thing out of the house just so you could read it and figure things out! Zach reminded his good friend of the lengths he had gone just to help a guy out.

I know, and I appreciate that.

Why didn’t your folks have one of those books at your house? Zach asked, quizzically.

According to Dad, I would learn what I needed to learn when I needed to learn it, and that was that.

But what about your birth, you never knew where you came from.

I came from Juneau, Alaska. According to Dad that was all the info I needed.

My dad was totally into the idea of immaculate conception, Zach idly offered as the men continued their conversation.

"Well, your folks were catholic."

Naw-aw…Jewish, all the way, Zach argued.

No shit.

Please, my friend, this is the closest thing to a religious discussion you and I have ever had. Please, no cussing till we come to a full and complete stop.

Geez, okay. Well, still you have to be kiddin’ me.

Not at all.

I didn’t know they were Jewish, I mean, not that it matters or anything. But what about that cross in the living room? Alex asked, genuinely wanting to know.

Confused Jewish, what can I say, Zach explained.

So, did you pay Moletsky?

Naw, I signed the invoice, he got a copy and I got one. I’ll send him a dollar…in pennies, every month for a year.

He’ll love that.

Yeah, now won’t he, Zach grinned, and one might say it was a rather cocky affectation at that.

Here, hold my beer, Zach ordered, holding the bottle out to his friend once again.

Why?

I’m gonna go make another jump.

You’ll owe Moletsky more bucks!

Let’s just say I’m willing to take that risk, Zach replied as he jumped to his feet.

Your beer might be gone by the time you get back! Alex shouted the friendly warning at the rapidly departing backside of his best friend.

That’s okay. Mazel tov! Zach shouted, and off he ran.

* * *

Thus had been their friendship over the years. They fought together, served together, partied and played together. These two men were the perfect picture of camaraderie at its finest, and they were friends to the core.

Chapter 3

At just the proper moment, Zach stepped forward where he took a knee before the deceased’s widow. Her eyes glistened with unspilled tears as white glove-clad hands reached out to her, extending the flag of her beloved husband.

Tenderly, she accepted the flag, hugging it close to her chest. She nodded, wordlessly thanking the officer for his kindness.

Gunnery Sergeant Szarbino nodded once, rose to his feet, executed a flawless about-face and strode precisely back over to where his buddy, Master Sergeant Alex Bach stood rigidly at attention.

Together they strode from the awning-covered site, their part of the ceremony having been completed. They walked, keeping perfect time with each other, exiting the venue with dignity for the Corps, and respect for the deceased and their families.

They felt raindrops gently splash against their faces, but they didn’t mind. They left the funeral behind them, thankful to be alive and able to feel the rain on their skin.

Though their part in the ceremony was complete, and they were leaving the area…both were well aware that they had yet another funeral to attend tomorrow.

There just seemed to be a never-ending stream of soldiers coming home from over-seas.

Many servicemen re-entered the States exhausted, yet relieved and elated…like people returning from vacation in nice, comfortable planes.

There were however, far too many who returned home in flag-draped coffins, secured firmly within the cargo bay of a transport plane.

They too, were coming home, but their lives had met an untimely demise. Consequently, the lives of their loved ones had also been drastically…and forever changed.

Meeting the homecoming planes many would embrace their loved ones with flowers, joyful tears and kisses.

Yet, there were many who would welcome their loved ones home by somberly laying flowers upon a casket. Falling upon it…their grief deeply felt, they would embrace their loved one as best they could, one last time…and weep.

Today had been different though. Alex accepted the duty with dignity and respect. Then…per usual, he mentally filed the moment away with the hundreds of prior funerals in which he had played a part.

But not Zach. This time he carried the pained expression of the widow with him, as well as the picture of her now-fatherless children seated to either side of her.

For some reason, the picture of this woman and her children became engraved upon his mind and much to his dismay, it would not go away. Not this time.

Chapter 4

He had ruled the small Middle European country of Indra for the last thirty-five of his forty-five years of life. The land of his ancestors was centrally located and completely self-sufficient...he made sure of that. It was also the only country ruled entirely by a clan.

His style was that of a patriarchal dictatorship. Zahn Heinrich Aamir was a peculiar by-product of a racially-mixed and hastily-procured marriage. His name reflected his rather confused ancestry in that it gave lie to his predecessors who were Dutch, German and Arabic.

Known as the Dragon Potentate of the small, land-locked country he not only ruled the land, but was the ultimate keeper of a staff of henchmen known as Servitors. These men were specially chosen and kept close to him. They served as advisors, guards and those who were rewarded by being given special assignments, as the need arose.

Zahn was a man born to privilege, wealth and power. Having everything...he cared for nothing. Save for his own comfort.

Those who ably assisted in providing for his wants were spared his wrath. Those that rebelled…even on the most rudimentary level, were punished. It was not uncommon for various individuals…who unwisely chose to engage in independent thought, to go missing under the cover of darkness.

For as the sun set, fear rose.

Only on moonless nights, and should the order be given, men...young and old alike, were taken by black-clad Guards. Against their will, they were forced from their homes never to be seen or heard from again.

The Guards were a regimented group of men that exacted the punishment of Enforcement and Control. They were so highly-trained, so thoroughly brainwashed, and so completely ruthless in their dealings that no one dared stand up to them, or even protest their malevolent presence.

Whole families were striped of all but their most meager possessions and were forced to labor in the mines and fields, as well as the palaces. Male and female…old and young toiled without ceasing. This labor was not necessarily for the good of Indra, but definitely for the continued opulent existence of its ruler.

Fathers, as well as their sons, worked in the mines or fields and were kept under unceasing control by Guards wielding whips and chains. Men, even down to the youngest boy, often felt the lash keenly upon their bodies on an almost daily basis.

Attractive wives were abducted and forced to breed with the cream of the crop of Zahn’s Guards. Young girls tended to the housekeeping chores of the many palaces, and performed childcare.

The offspring between a Guard and a comely young miss was a possession in which Zahn took great interest. Male children earned special education, while females were trained as Servitors to the Guards, and even as potential mates for the ruler himself.

Due primarily to his own ruling, Zahn had several wives. If one…through any circumstance died…or simply turned up missing, he immediately found a replacement.

As the exalted leader of Indra it was of supreme importance that he have multiple wives at all times. The common perception, which was keenly adhered to, was that the more wives a man had the more important his stature. Therefore men with the most wives were revered and honored above the rest of the male populace.

Zahn did what he wanted, when he wanted. Who his actions may have hurt was unimportant to him. He was calculating, cold, ruthless, mercurial and he held absolute reign over the entire country…and a few misguided allies as well.

Chapter 5

With the topic of his graduate thesis having recently been announced in the universities newsletter, it didn’t take long for unknown sources to make sure the announcement also made an appearance in the local newspaper. Once it became public, the scientific notice became widespread.

It was a mere three days later that Mathias T. Boxler, ambassador for the sovereign nation of Indra, approached the office of one Austin Grant, chemical scientist at The Georgian State University.

The building hadn’t been difficult to locate since the three-story edifice sat on a slight knoll bordering the exquisite landscape of Lake Lanier.

The building was constructed almost entirely of glass, which was kept exceedingly clean and pristine at all times. Needless to say, the view from any office within the futuristic structure was a real eye-opening pleasure.

All of the door levers, as well as lighting and bathroom fixtures, were made of highly-polished pewter. These fixtures maintained their sheen through fastidious daily cleaning by the attentive maintenance staff.

The university officials…as well as professors whose offices were located within these exotic walls, enjoyed the results that funding had secured for such an impressive building. One glance could easily tell any passerby that this was a very unique building in which some lucky person’s office…or conference rooms, resided.

* * *

Having been escorted into the scientist’s private office, Mathias took a seat and waited for his host to arrive.

It had been the ambassador’s idea to get together for lunch at a popular, local restaurant off campus, but Austin hadn’t wanted to meet elsewhere. He preferred to stay close to his laboratory and his large cache of scientific data, notes and computers.

So it was that Mr. Boxler was forced to bide his time while he waited for the delayed scientist. Seated comfortably in a leather over-stuffed chair, he casually glanced out the expansive wall of windows that surrounded the over-sized corner office.

This particular sanctum held an exquisite…and unobstructed view of the lake and the forested hillsides to the northwest. Therefore, the view was something most people who were consigned to a daily routine of eight hours in the work-a-day world, could only dream of.

It was a lovely view and Boxler could only hope that there were no vigilant security personnel patrolling the parking lot down below.

These contingency types of thoughts roiled through the ambassador’s mind just in case their meeting went south and he had to do the unthinkable…murder scientist: Austin Grant.

Of course, Boxler hoped the meeting would go well, but he had an alternate plan just in case. No matter the outcome of this meeting he surely wanted to be able to make a clean get-away.

* * *

After having waited about fifteen minutes, a small inner door opened and in strode his host.

Austin was the quintessential picture of a bookworm. Perhaps he had been a slight-figured teen who turned to books in order to avoid much larger bullies that might have made his high school years miserable.

This was unknown, but what we did know about him was that Austin Grant stood about 5'7", and weighed in at one-hundred-twenty pounds. He kept his strawberry-blonde hair cropped neatly short.

When he wasn’t deeply involved in his studies and scientific observation, he was an avid bicyclist and amateur photographer, not to mention a genuinely serious patriot.

In living life, Austin found tremendous joy and fulfillment in observing the world and all it had to offer. He was also an absolute genius.

Ambassador Boxler, Austin greeted with an amicable smile. The young scientist cordially extended a hand toward his guest as he strode across the office.

Austin Grant, Boxler nearly gasped in greeting as he rose to his feet to shake the scientist’s offered hand. It is indeed an honor to meet someone like you!

Someone like me? Austin questioned the man’s verbiage.

I’ve never met a genius before, Boxler explained, the very essence of humility.

Sir… Austin began, deigning to the older man’s maturity, but was instantly interrupted.

Please…please, call me Mathias, Boxler begged, his humble stance so great that to any other person it could easily have been interpreted as being feigned.

But Austin was more book smart than street smart and didn’t make the connection. Plus, he was just a truly nice guy and it was hard for him to ascertain the devious agendas in people of less than noble character.

Okay, thank you, Mathias. Though I’m just like any other person, Austin humbly explained.

Surely you jest.

"Not at all, it’s just that I’ve applied myself to specialized pursuits in life.