The Fourth Mesa: Return to Misty Valley

THE FOURTH MESA

RETURN TO MISTY VALLEY

R. James Roybal

Copyright © 2011 by R. James Roybal.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2011907838

ISBN: Hardcover     978-1-4628-7387-6

ISBN: Softcover      978-1-4628-7386-9

ISBN: Ebook            978-1-4628-7388-3

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.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

Editing by: Tami Ellis

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I    SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT—JULY 1969

CHAPTER II    BITTERROOT VALLEY

CHAPTER III    A RACE WITH THE DEVIL

CHAPTER IV    SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO

CHAPTER V    THE LADY OF THE HOUSE

CHAPTER VI    GLORIETA PASS

CHAPTER VII    THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN

CHAPTER VIII    THE SNOW GODS

CHAPTER IX    AWAKENING THE GODS

CHAPTER X    THE FOURTH MESA

CHAPTER XI    THE CAVE

CHAPTER XII    THE STORM IN THE CANYON

This book is dedicated to my Father—

Rudy E. Roybal who gave me the Roybal heritage.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To my Friend and Co-worker Tami Ellis who helped edit this book and keeps me organized.

To my cousin Terry Wamsley a renowned Las Vegas Artist who contributed the use of her drawing which was one of her many paintings that was displayed in the lobby of the Mt. Charleston Hotel, Las Vegas, Nevada.

Chapter I

SAN FRANCISCO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT—JULY 1969

United States Army, 9th Division, returning Vietnam veteran, First Sergeant Michael

O’Callaghan found himself in a world possessed of motions of sounds and smells. He found himself standing in the middle of the chaotic bustle of human bodies that comprised San Francisco’s International Airport Terminal 1. He had desperately spent the better part of the past twenty minutes trying to catch someone, anyone’s attention. He was trying to find someone who could direct him to the South Terminal.

Everyone he had tried to approach in order to ask the question had averted their eyes, quickly changed direction then hurried off to some unknown vital errand.

Mike stood six foot two and weighed two hundred twenty eight pounds with less than two percent body fat. To say that he looked good in uniform would be more than an understatement. He had wide shoulders, narrow hips, with well muscled, well defined legs, that indicated an animal type of brute force. His hair was recently cut close in the accepted military fashion. When he was allowed to wear it longer, it was blond. When he wore it longer it had streaks of gold with just a bit of a curl. His eyes were colored, Paul Newman blue. On his head was a green beret with a silver Skull and Cross Bones emblem. On his chest was a silver parachute suspended over six rows of multi colored ribbons, which included two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star.

As he glided across the terminal he could feel the stares of the waiting passengers and airline ticket-counter agents. Some of the stares were outright hostile and some were sympathetic. None appeared to be friendly. He ignored them all. He had been fighting in South East Asia for the last five years and he was not here to engage anyone in deep meaningful conversations in order to acquire recognition or pity.

Sergeant O’Callaghan was here for two reasons. The first one was that he had his discharge papers inside his jacket next to his heart. After five long years he was finally going home. The second and more important reason was that he was escorting his best friend, Corporal Orion Bell, to his home in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana. It had taken a lot of arm twisting and called-in favors in order to get his orders changed. He had to do this one last mission, not only for himself, but also for Corporal Bell. 1st Sgt. Michael O’Callaghan winning the Silver Star had tipped the scales in his favor. All commanding officers love heroes!

The Sergeant walked up to a nearby airlines agent who was standing at the desk of the last departing flight and asked, "Excuse me Sir. I am lost and trying to catch a connecting flight. Can you help me?"

The agent looked up with impatient disdain then resumed looking back down, reshuffling the papers in his hand. He never said a word or acknowledged the presence of the soldier that was standing in front of him.

An emotional mixture of both sadness and anger hit the Sergeant like a jab to his solar plexus. He almost succumbed to a sudden urge of grabbing this scrawny little dirt bag by his pencil thin neck and dragging him across the desk in order to give him an up close look at two pissed off blazing eyes.

However, the army had managed to teach him patience and self-control. The Sergeant counted slowly to himself, by the time he reached fifty he had managed to control his anger. The whole time he had been counting to himself he’d been staring at the airline ticket agent. His intense gaze achieved the effect he wanted because now little beads of perspiration were beginning to form on the gate agent’s forehead. The agent’s breathing had quickened and moisture had started forming around the agent’s arm pits.

The gate agent finally looked up, and with a voice full of agitation asked, Are you still here? He said it so loudly all the people standing nearby turned to stare at the agent.

First Sergeant Mike O’Callaghan put on his best smile, leaning over and still smiling as if to say something in confidence to the gate agent, whispered softly and menacingly into his ear, "Listen to me carefully you pencil necked little pecker wood!

For the past four years I have been killing a lot of better men then you will ever hope to be. Now, are you going to help me or am I going to have to rip your throat out?"

The gate agent carefully put his papers down cleared his throat smiled broadly and said. "Yes sir! By all means, Sir! What can I do for you, Sir?"

The sarcasm was not lost on the 1st Sergeant. He smiled back showing two rows of very white teeth and said in a thick Irish brogue, "Now Laddie that is so much a better attitude. I think everyone should have an enthusiasm for whatever type of work that they are capable of doing no matter how mundane or demeaning it may be. I do not wish to take any more of your time so I would greatly appreciate directions to the Western Airlines ticket counter that is supposedly located in Terminal 2.

The ticket agent remained rigid but courteously gave the Sergeant the directions he had requested. Sergeant O’Callaghan said, Thank you.

The Sergeant sensing a presence behind him spun around quickly and knocked over another gate agent that must have come up quietly behind him. His pivoted reactions had thrown a female airline agent backward.

His reflexes were lightning fast because at this point in time she was now leaning over backward, held frozen in place at an odd angle to the floor. Sergeant O’Callaghan was holding up the female airline agent. He was completely mesmerized by her wide open in surprise eyes.

This was the first woman Sergeant O’Callaghan had held in his arms in over a year and the first round eye, A.K.A. "a white woman" in over four years. Sergeant O’Callaghan was in total control of the situation and he could not think of a thing that would hasten the curtailing of the current situation.

His eyes slowly moved from her face to her name-tag that read Linda, which was pinned to her lapel just above and to the side of her nicely shaped bust. Her blouse was opened, just enough to show a bit of tantalizing black lace that was straining to hold in a milky white breast.

Linda appeared to be all of five feet tall weighing probably no more than 110 lbs.

She had long brown silky hair that smelled of coconuts. Her wide open hazel eyes were sprinkled with gold specks that looked like a distant galaxy. She also possessed a perfectly matched set of very beautiful heart shaped luscious lips.

Not wanting to lose the moment, Sergeant Mike O’Callaghan stared deep into her eyes, paused, then leaned down and kissed her deeply. Everything faded, the noise, the other people, only the two of them existed. A full minute later their lips came undone and they continued to gaze at each other.

Linda stared at Mike, smiled sweetly and said, "Welcome home soldier."

1st Sergeant Mike O’Callaghan gently lifted her back to a respectable standing position and said, That is a welcome home that I dreamed of every night for five years and I promise you I will always remember this moment. Her eyes were now level with his ribbons. She looked at the bank of ribbons and decorations, pointed at them and said, "Good job soldier!" Everyone in the terminal applauded.

It turned out that Linda was the surly agent’s supervisor. Linda told the agent to remain at this position because she was going to escort the Sergeant to his destination and she would be back when she got back. If a true emergency were to occur, page her on the white courtesy telephone.

Linda took Sergeant O’Callaghan’s arm in hers and gently guided him through the traffic of wandering passengers before finally leading him to a motorized terminal cart parked nearby. 1st Sergeant O’Callaghan sat down on the passenger side of the cart and Linda drove, going through the terminal, then outside onto the sidewalk in front of the building. As she drove she asked him the usual questions. His sign, his sexual preference, his marriage status, his girlfriend status, and finally where he was going, for how long, and would he be coming back.

O’Callaghan was not used to such straightforward questions and answered the questions with short one-sentence answers.

He was a Taurus. He was not married. That he, as well as ninety nine percent of the other guys in his company had gotten Dear John letters from their girlfriends while they were still in basic training.

He was on his way to Montana to escort a friend home. However, he said he was confused by the question of sexual preference.

Linda laughed and asked, Do you like Boys or Girls?

O’Callaghan was dumbfounded but replied, First off, Please call me Mike, and to answer your question, I really like girls, of course! For a minute there I thought you meant top or bottom

Linda laughed and said, Well now! I don’t feel so bad taking you away from Tinker Bell.

O’Callaghan asked. "Who is Tinker Bell?"

Linda laughed and said, "The gate agent whose throat you were going to rip out."

O’Callaghan just smiled but did not say anything else because Linda started telling him about herself. She was a Scorpio, therefore, oversexed. She couldn’t keep a boyfriend because she was so oversexed that she burned them out. She had been married for one month and her husband had volunteered for the draft, because she had burned him out.

He ended up going to Vietnam. He died there six months later in a bomb explosion in a Saigon bordello. She did not want his body sent home because she would never know if she were putting flowers on him or one of his girlfriends.

She did not have any children and had absolutely no idea what she wanted out of life except for maybe a good time because the death of her husband had been such waste.

His death had destroyed of all of her dreams and plans. Now, she said, she only lived to "Seize the day, or in her case, sleaze the day!"

Linda drove on the sidewalk to the south side of Terminal Number 2 and went down an asphalt drive that started at the street end of the terminal and ended up behind Terminal Building 1. A long series of gates marked with the letter F ran perpendicular, and to the north of the main Terminal Building 1. Another series of Gates marked FF ran perpendicular, and to the south of Terminal 2, and was directly across from the gates marked with an F.

There was about five hundred yards of concrete airport apron between the loading gates. With the main terminal building to the West of the loading gates, the whole complex looked like a giant U with the baggage area forming the bottom of the U.

Linda drove into the baggage collection area, which was an area filled with running Gray belts and machines that sorted the luggage that came down from the ticket counter and the curb side street check-in upstairs. There were silver metal containers that were flat on top, with the bottom shaped like half circles on wheels. The shape appeared to be designed to accommodate the shape of the inside of the aircraft that was transporting them.

She drove the cart up to a little glassed-in box of a building. Inside the little box was an airline agent reading a book. He was sitting next to a small electric heater apparently trying to keep warm.

O’Callaghan suddenly realized he was very cold and it was raining. Linda got out of the golf cart, walked up to the agent in the little box, and said, "Hey Tommy! I have a soldier here who is escorting an H.R. named Corporal Bell. Do you happen to know the location of his missing friend?"

The Agent named Tommy limped out of the box. He obviously had an artificial left leg and a hook for a left hand. His face was badly scarred showing signs of deep burns.

The agent was looking at a manifest, and after a few minutes said, "Corporal Bell was bumped in Guam and he will be delayed until tomorrow noon. I have made arrangements to have Corporal Bell and his escort expedited on flight 479 to Missoula leaving tomorrow night and arriving in the Missoula airport the next morning."

The agent looked up at Sergeant O’Callaghan and said, "I have located your bag, and as soon as it has gone through customs I will have it delivered to wherever you are staying. Here is a card with my direct telephone number on it. In addition, I have contacted the Missoula station. The station manager there is driving over to Corporal Bell’s parent’s house to tell them about the delay. They apparently do not have a listed telephone number and they live about fifty miles south of Missoula. I deeply apologize for the delay Sergeant, but under the circumstances it is the best arrangements I can make."

Sergeant O’Callaghan looked at the agent named Tommy and said, I appreciate everything you have done. By the way, who bumped Corporal Bell?

Tommy replied, "Corporal Bell was bumped in Guam by an Air Force General on his way home with a plane load of teak furniture for his wife. I just found out about it an hour ago when I got the telex with the on board manifest. However, I think the general will have a surprise waiting for him when he goes to claim his furniture. I have a friend with the military intelligence in Saigon and I telexed the situation to him. He sent a telex to the station manager here who has agreed to hold the furniture pending the outcome of an investigation by Custom and Drug enforcement agents. The good general will have a lot of explaining to do because he had listed the furniture in his export declarations as returning personal office equipment. This little escapade should get him an early retirement as a lieutenant and hopefully some busted up teak furniture."

O’Callaghan and Linda laughed and O’Callaghan put out his hand to shake Tommy’s. He asked, "Who were you with?"

Tommy smiled and said, Same outfit as you and Corporal Bell. I was with the 9th. I was a radio man for headquarters and my hooch was fraged during the ’68 Tet Offensive.

O’Callaghan saluted Tommy, turned and got back into the golf cart. Linda did a u-turn and raced back up the asphalt drive. When she reached the top of the driveway she stopped the golf cart and said, "I get off in half an hour. You are welcome to spend the night at my apartment. I promise to have you back in time for your flight."

O’Callaghan smiled and after a long pause finally said, "Why the hell not?"

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

O’Callaghan had agreed to wait for Linda outside Terminal 1, as Linda did not want anyone to see her picking up a passenger in her car. He retrieved his 90lb plus Canvas duffel bag easily carrying the bag with one hand. He stopped and bought a pack of Camel non-filtered cigarettes. He lit the cigarette with one hand and took a deep drag, drawing the acrid smoke deep into his lungs. He held the smoke in his lungs for close to a minute then released the blue smoke slowly into the misty air and said to the night air, Man is that coffee! He laughed at his joke remembering that he first heard the saying when he was in Vietnam. When the height of the firefight that had lasted all night was finally over, the incoming mortar rounds had stopped falling and the silence of the morning engulfed them, Corporal Bell stood up, lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply slowly exhaled the smoke and said, Man that is good Coffee. That phrase became the motto of the company.

At this moment, he was standing outside under the overhang of the building, just smoking a cigarette and watching the rain. It was the first time in many years that he was not anxious about allowing a light to show from the cherry red end of his cigarette. The rain was gentle and soothing, not at