"Your mission is to proceed down the Ohio River in a Navy patrol boat. Pick up Bush's path, follow it, learn what you can along the way. When you find him infiltrate his campaign by whatever means available and terminate Bush's command."
"Terminate with extreme prejudice?"
"You understand captain, that this operation does not exist, nor will it ever exist."
I was in a Navy PBR, a type of plastic patrol boat, pretty common sight on the rivers. They said it was a good way to pick up information without drawing lot of attention. That was okay; I needed the air and the time. Only problem was I wouldn't be alone.
The crew was mostly just kids, rock and rollers with one foot in their graves. The machinist, the one they called "Chief," was Mary Beth Cahill. She was from Dorchester. She was wrapped too tight for Ohio, probably wrapped too tight for Dorchester. Up front on the '50s was a famous lawyer from North Carolina. John Edwards. You look at him and you wouldn't believe he ever won a case in his whole life. Then there was Theresa. Mrs. Theresa was a cook from some South African shithole. Light and space of the campaign had really put the zap on her head.
(Sound of explosions in the distance)
"What the fuck is that?"
"Arc lights, B-52 strikes. Every time I hear that something terrible happens. Hey, Hueys up ahead."
"Let's have a look, chief."
It was the AirCav, First of the Ninth, our escort into the Ohio River. But they were supposed to be waiting for us another 30 miles ahead. Well, Air Mobile, those boys just couldn't stay put. First of the Ninth was an old cavalry division that had cashed in its horses for choppers, and gone tear-assing around northern Ohio, looking for the shit. They've given the Republicans a few surprises in their time here. What they were mopping up now hadn't even happened an hour ago.
Their commander was a guy named Clinton. He hadn't heard of a mission to take us down to the Ohio. He was flicking death cards at dead Young Republicans, then said:
"Well, we'll see what we can do about that. But for now stay out of my way."
Clinton had a pretty good day for himself. They choppered in Big Macs and beer and turned the LZ into a beach party. He wasn't a bad officer, I guess. He loved his boys and girls, and some even felt safe with him. He was one of those guys that had that weird light around him. You just knew he wasn't gonna get so much as a scratch, though he was just begging for it. But could he help me on my mission?
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