Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 1 – A Knight without Honor

Have Gun Will Travel reads the card of a man.

A knight without armor in a savage land.

His fast gun for hire heeds the calling wind.

A soldier of fortune is the man called Paladin.

Paladin, Paladin Where do you roam?

Paladin, Paladin, Far, far from home.
He travels on to wherever he must
A chess knight of silver is his badge of trust

There are campfire legends that the trailmen spin

Of the man with the gun
Of the man called Paladin

Paladin, Paladin Where do you roam?

Paladin, Paladin Far, far from home
Far from home. Far from home.

Yeah, I know the song said a knight without armor, but I was a knight without honor. I’d
gotten ‘enlisted’ in ‘68 and sent to the Republic of Vietnam. I’d burned my draft card to
protest the war and was on the way to Canada when they caught up with me. That
judge; he gave me a choice, of joining the Army or going to jail for 20 years. Hell, I was
only 18 and I figured I’d get raped in prison or killed and if I went in the Army at least I’d
have a gun to fight back with. I did my year and somehow managed to avoid getting my
butt shot off and when I got back to the states, I was given a chance to go to Ranger
School. I figured going to school beat the hell out of going back to Vietnam; I’d had to
enlist for 4 years, for crying out loud.

So, I went to Ranger School and afterwards volunteered for the Green Berets. Anything
to avoid going back to that tropical hellhole, but they said I already was in the Special
Forces and they wouldn’t take me. That’s how I didn’t get to become a Green Beret. I
did get to go back to Vietnam for a second tour, lucky me. I felt like a million bucks and
was as Gung Ho as a Marine. Right up until I somehow managed to step on a punji
stick and get a million dollar wound. They flew me stateside and treated me at Brooks. I
guess I wasn’t fancy enough to go to Walter Reed. Anyway, whatever they put on that
punji stick took care of any thoughts I had about a military career.

My leg just didn’t heal right and I was eventually given an honorable discharge. And up
to this point, my honor was intact. Yeah, yeah I know I got started off on the wrong foot,
but that judge did me a favor, he got me some of the best training in the world for my
second career. My leg eventually got better, after I got out of the Army, and I ended up
doing a couple of turns in Africa as a merc. After that the war was over and somehow I
ended up working for the government again, this time for the Agency. It seems that they

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had this specialty that they didn’t really talk about and I got some more training and sent
to Europe. There’s a euphemism for the type of work I did in Europe, but the Agency
never really admitted that people like me existed.

I took a bullet and was forced to retire. They say in the movies that you never retire from
the Company, but don’t you believe it. I was so retired that I didn’t even exist. I can’t re-
ally tell you that I had any honor left at this point, but I thought that I did. Anyway the re-
ality of my situation came sharply in focus when I got my statement from my Swiss ac-
count. I had saved a lot and perhaps diverted a few dollars and I thought I was set for-
ever. Didn’t work out that way. Here I was an ex-Ranger turned ex-merc turned ex-
mechanic and I was getting short on money.

I can’t tell you how I turned to the business I’m in, but stuff happens and I got ten grand
for my first job. Apparently the word got out that there was a new boy in town and I got a
phone call and an offer I couldn’t turn down. Some boss wanted another boss eliminat-
ed and he wanted outside talent so it couldn’t be traced back to him. I figured he’d
probably try and take out some insurance and eliminate me. That’s what I might have
done if I were in his place. So I lied when I told him when and where I’d make the hit
and I took care of business and then went to the location I’d given him. Sure enough,
there were a couple of guys sitting in a car that had mob written all over them. I took
them out and then buried them real deep let me tell you. That was risky, but I didn’t
have a lot of options. After I collected the remainder of my fee, I did a freebie and elimi-
nated the guy who hired me.

That was when I hit on the Paladin gimmick. I couldn’t print up a fancy card that said
wire Paladin, San Francisco but I could adopt the alias. I assumed a nom d’ guerre as it
were and went by that single name, Paladin. What I did instead of the fancy card was
put out the name and a pager number. “There was a lot of thought put into this TV se-
ries, which was not your typical Western. For one thing, his name: a Paladin was a law-
ful knight of Charlemagne’s court. This accounts for the chess-piece knight on his call-
ing card, and the lyrics of the theme song, which refer to him as “a knight without armor
in a savage land.” Paladin was a graduate of the USMA and a Union officer during the
Civil War. He had honor in addition to principles.

His calling card said “Have Gun, Will Travel” and “Wire Paladin, San Francisco.” (By the
way, “Wire” was not his first name; it’s a verb meaning “send a telegram.”) Paladin, the
only name he ever went by, was a true split-personality type. He was equally at home
wearing expensive suits and living a rich playboy lifestyle in a San Francisco hotel, or
donning his black working clothes, and avenging evil. Some of the clients he stood up
for were not in the majority; for example, he once defended the Mennonites, which
probably would make him seem to be a non-conformist. Paladin only cared about right
and wrong. Even though he charged a fee for his services, he only took cases he be-
lieved in, and clients he wanted to help.

I was pretty much a non-conformist and the idea of resurrecting the TV hero/villain had
certain appeal. I’d seen a lot of movies about so called hit men, like The Mechanic, The

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Specialist, Assassins and of course The Hitman and knew that they were just movies.
Never totally ignore a movie; sometimes those writers get reasonable ideas like in The
Specialist where he always made the call from a public phone. They can even trace a
cell phone, or so I’m told, but I never bothered to find out. The gimmick that Sly used
was good enough for me because I got to pick the location I made the call from. But my
favorite hitman was Mitch Leary/John Booth/James Carney played by John Malkovich in
In the Line of Fire.

That’s me, Paladin. Have Gun, Will Travel, for a price. A nobody is 25 large and a
somebody starts at 100 large and goes up; if the name is big enough, I might insist on 7
figures. And to keep the image, I’m real picky about the cases I take. I’m not going to do
some working stiff just because his old lady didn’t like him. I’d be willing to tell a small
portion of my story and some of my more infamous hits if you’d be interested.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 2 – Project 90-003

Fee: $250,000
Special Requirements: None

I pride myself in carrying out a client’s wishes. This subject was a real piece of work, a
slum landlord in New York City. Nobody I’d ever heard of and probably anonymous to
the remainder of the country as well. The guy owned a dozen or more apartment build-
ings and rented to the disadvantaged, usually illegal aliens who couldn’t go to the cops
to complain. Understand that I didn’t care one way or another how the guy made his liv-
ing, a job was a job. Thing is that once the cops got to checking this guy out, they’d
have so many suspects they might never consider it to be a professional hit.

Ritchie was my Hey Boy, but I’ll be danged if I can remember how I ran into him. Proba-
bly sometime after he got out for running that computer scam. Ritchie was a genius
when it came to hacking. I’d give him the name of the next possible assignment and in
24-hours he’d have a book on the victim. I always insisted on the name of the target and
24-hours to accept or decline and I always made it a point to get my client’s name and
his or her relationship to the target.

“This guy is a real piece of work,” Ritchie announced handing me the computer printout.

“Give me the Reader’s Digest version,” I told Ritchie.

“The guy owns 14 apartment buildings under shell corporations which are owned by a
holding company,” Ritchie said. “The holding company is based in the Bahamas with no
apparent ties back to the target. Anyway, from the look of the guy’s bank accounts, he’s
making millions a year and sending it all offshore. As a front, he’s a diamond merchant.”

“Did you check out the relationship between the client and the target?” I asked.

“The client is the guy’s partner,” Ritchie said.

That squared with what the client told me and when he called back I accepted the as-
signment. He thought the fee was a little steep and I told him he was free to go else-
where. But he must have been in a hurry because he asked where to send the money. I
gave him the number of my Swiss bank account that was a cutout. The money would be
immediately transferred to the Bahamas and disappear. Hmm, the same bank in the
Bahamas, maybe I should get Ritchie to work some of his magic and transfer the money
around a little bit. No, I wouldn’t do that; I was a killer, not a thief.

I caught the first plane out of SFO bound for Kennedy. I checked into the Essex House
on Central Park South and sat down to review the information Ritchie had provided. The
Diamond district is centered on West 47th street between Fifth Avenue and Avenue of
the Americas (Sixth Avenue). One block south of Rockefeller center, three blocks south
of Radio City Music Hall (along Avenue of the Americas), or three blocks south of St.

4
Patrick’s Cathedral (along Fifth Avenue). The United States is the world’s largest con-
sumer market for diamonds. Over 90 percent of the diamonds that come into this coun-
try go through New York City and most of them go through the Diamond District. More
than 2,600 independent businesses are located on this block, nearly all of them related
to diamonds or jewelry.

There was no way I could fulfill the contract at the guy’s place of business, there would
be too many people around. I didn’t really assume I could and he had a plush pad on
the upper west side. What I really wanted to do was get him to one of those tenement
buildings of his. In those neighborhoods, he could get mugged and nobody would be the
wiser. Call that plan A. But first I had to keep an eye on the guy and look for chinks in
his armor. Some little idiosyncrasy I could turn to my advantage. And, I was pressed for
time.

The guy must have watched Kojak on TV or something because his personal security
was tight. I decided to set fire to one of those tenements and call him up and tell him the
building was burning. In all of the excitement, nobody would even notice someone tak-
ing him out. I hired a couple of local thugs to roust everyone out of the apartments, and
set the fire myself. Then, I went to a nearby payphone and put it a call.

“It’s me,” I said.

“Who is this?” he replied.

“Just wanted to let you know the building on 44th street is burning,” I said.

“What building?” he asked.

“It’s just the first one,” I said. “Either you meet me here with 50 grand or I’ll burn all of
the rest.”

“Meet you where?” he asked.

“In Hell’s Kitchen at 44th and 11th Avenue,” I said.

“How will I know you?” he asked.

“I’ll know you, that’s all that matters,” I said and hung up.

After that, it was just a matter of waiting to see if the guy showed up. About 45 minutes
later a cab pulled up and dropped the target off. He was carrying a briefcase so I as-
sumed he’d brought the money. He just stood there looking around and finally when I
was certain he was alone I approached him.

“Did you bring the money?” I asked.

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“How can I be sure you won’t burn down my other buildings if I pay you?” he asked.

“There are only 2 certainties if life, brother, death and taxes,” I replied. “And from what I
know of your business you seemed to be determined to avoid the latter. I guarantee you
will never see me again. Hand it over.”

He handed me the briefcase and I went through the motions. There was $50 thousand
all right, used 100’s wrapped with rubber bands. He was looking around trying to find a
cab to hail and I pulled out the weapon of opportunity I’d picked up at a vacant lot. It
was a piece of rebar, about ¾” thick and 18” long. He never even saw the blow coming.
He went down and I rammed that bar right into his chest. The blow probably killed him
but I had to be sure. Anyway, I took the 50 grand and threw the briefcase on the ground.
It wasn’t that bad of a walk back to the Essex House and I couldn’t afford to leave a trail.

The 50 G’s was a little bonus the client didn’t need to know anything about. It covered
my expenses and then some and was totally untraceable. The next morning I took a
shuttle to Kennedy and caught my flight back home. Almost precisely 24-hours after the
target hit the ground my pager when off and I called him back.

“Did you have to be so gruesome?” the client asked.

“What are the cops saying?” I asked back.

“Said it was a mugging. Say what was in his briefcase?” he asked.

“Nothing of consequence, did you wire the money?” I wanted to know.

“Sent it this afternoon before the banks closed,” he replied.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 3 – Project 93-005

Fee: $2,500,000
Special Requirements: Republic of Georgia
Target: Zviad Konstantines dze Gamsakhurdia a dissident, scientist and writer, who be-
came the first democratically elected President of the Republic of Georgia in the post-
Soviet era.

This guy was a different matter altogether. He had been booted out of office by a coup
d’état. Clashes between pro- and anti-Gamsakhurdia forces continued throughout 1992
and 1993 with Gamsakhurdia supporters taking captive government officials and gov-
ernment forces retaliating with reprisal raids. Man I thought hard about this one, I wasn’t
so sure I wanted to get anywhere near the Soviet Union or whatever they called them-
selves. Gamsakhurdia took advantage of the Georgian army’s rout to seize large quanti-
ties of weapons abandoned by the retreating government forces. A civil war engulfed
western Georgia in October 1993 as Gamsakhurdia’s forces succeeded in capturing
several key towns and transport hubs. Government forces fell back in disarray, leaving
few obstacles between Gamsakhurdia’s forces and Tblisi.

I booked passage from SFO through Kennedy to Ankara, Turkey with a stop in Athens.
Ritchie got me what he could on the guy but it was mostly background stuff. With all of
the incidents going on in Georgia in 1993, there wasn’t too much current information to
be had. I took a truck from Ankara to Hopa where I picked up the arms Ritchie was sup-
posed to arrange for me. That was one thing about Ritchie, give him a day and he could
arrange anything. He had me outfitted as one of the opposition. You know, regular
clothes and a captured Russian AK-74 plus a Stechkin pistol.

We crossed over the Lesser Caucasus Mountains and across the Kolkhida Lowlands
headed for Zugdidi. Just a week before, the target had returned to Georgia and set up
what amounted to a “government in exile” in the western Georgian city of Zugdidi. Let
me tell you this wasn’t the place to be and I regretted setting the fee so low, I should
have asked for 5 million. I couldn’t get close to the guy even though I had made it to
Zugdidi. The main problem was the language, of course, I didn’t speak Georgian. Ritch-
ie must have anticipated that because he’d arranged for a guide who spoke English. If
he agreed to pay the guy too much, though, I was going to take it out of his hide.

To be honest with you, I had about given up hope of being able to get to the target when
the Russians sent in 2,000 troops to help the Georgian government under Eduard She-
vardnadze. That was around the last of October. All hell broke loose and Zugdidi fell on
November 6th, and the target bugged out. If you go to Wikipedia and read about what
happened next, you’re going to get several versions of the story. You might want to click
on the link down at the beginning of the section where it talks about his death and read
all of the correspondence exchanged between Georgians loyal to the target and the
Wikipedia editors.

Here’s what really happened. My guide and I heard a rumor that the target was in a vil-

7
lage called Khibula. We made our way there and saw a fair sized group of pro-
Shevardnadze Mkhedrioni militia. They were headed towards a building and I assumed
that that was where he and his supporters were. I managed to slip into the building be-
fore the militia had it surrounded and began to look around. There were a fair number of
people in the building and I was doing my best to remain unobserved. I ducked into a
room to avoid a guy coming down the hall and a voice came from behind me.

“Будут вами?”

I recognized the Russian language but had no idea what the man said. I did however
recognize that the target was standing right before me.

“I am an American, they call me Paladin,” I replied.

“Американско? Почему вы здесь?” he said, followed by, “American? Why are you
here?”

“I’m fulfilling a contractual obligation,” I explained reaching for the Stechkin pistol.

“Что вид контрактня обязательство? What kind of a contractual obligation?” he asked.

I’m sure he understood my reply. I let a single round go getting him in the head and
tossed the pistol on the ground together with a note the client had furnished. The note
said, “Being in clear conscience, I commit this act in token of protest against the ruling
regime in Georgia and because I am deprived of the possibility, acting as the president,
to normalize the situation, to restore law and order”. I looked and I could get out of the
room through a window and I had no more than cleared the sill than his bodyguards
came rushing in. I hugged the building and slipped to the next side before getting the
hell out of there.

The thing was, it was a bitch getting back to Turkey and I ended up darned near getting
killed. I decided right then and there that any more political assassinations would start at
$5 million and go up. We obviously made it to Turkey; I’m here to tell the story. But, do
you know what the most scary part of the trip was? Going through the Athens airport. Of
course, 9/11/01 was still 8 years off, but jeez, they didn’t have any security at all and
remember all of those hijackings? I must just live under a lucky star.

“So what did that guide cost me?” I asked Ritchie.

“$10,000 US,” he replied.

“That much, huh? Well that’s not too bad. Plus he got the AK-74,” I responded.

“Have any trouble?” Ritchie asked.

“Ritchie, the next time I get a political job, remind me that the minimum price is $5 mil-

8
lion and that I’ll only do it if they speak English,” I instructed.

“That bad huh?” Ritchie chuckled.

“They were in the middle of a civil war over there,” I explained. “The target was safely
out of Georgia but he came back. I got to Zugdidi but couldn’t get close to him. The only
reason I was able to fulfill the contract was because he bugged out and some pro- She-
vardnadze Mkhedrioni militia found him and we heard a rumor.”

“There hasn’t been any announcement of his death,” Ritchie announced.

“They can’t keep it a secret forever,” I said. “As soon as they announce it, I’ll get my
phone call.”

I did on January 6th, 1994. The remaining $1.25 million was transferred into my Swiss
account and made it to the Bahamas the same day. I did have one thing in common
with that New York Landlord. I didn’t pay taxes on this particular income. I had a legiti-
mate job as a security consultant and I had a CPA handling that money. As far as the
IRS was concerned, I reported every penny I made. Ritchie was the ‘office manager’ for
the security company and I paid him very well indeed. Hell, Ritchie would have probably
paid me for the job. I kept him in every computer toy his heart desired. Why not, it was
all a legitimate business expense?

Say I forgot to mention who the client was. Some guy on the staff of the Georgian Em-
bassy and he had no connection whatever to the target. But, the target and the new
President of Georgia, Eduard Shevardnadze, were bitter enemies. I can’t get involved in
politics, there are always two, or more, sides and you never know who might hire you.
This project didn’t get much attention in the media and what press play it did get was
totally contradictory.

“So Ritchie,” I said, “What say we shut down the office and head for Mexico? I could use
a week or two in Puerto Vallarta.”

“Why not?” Ritchie replied, “We’ll charge it to a business conference and if they need to
reach you, you have that Iridium Global Satellite Paging Service.”

9
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 4 – Project 96-001

This wasn’t your typical project, not one bit. Harry Callahan said, “A man’s got to know
his limitations.” Well, I knew mine and after that last job in 1995 realized that I had may-
be pissed off the wrong people. I saw an ad for an abandoned missile silo and we went
to check it out. It was at Walker AFB near Roswell, NM. I could see the potential in the
place and after that last job in 1995 money wasn’t a problem so I bought it lock, stock,
and barrel.

“Ritchie once we get this place cleaned out and fixed up, you won’t have to worry about
EMP anymore,” I told him.

“Yeah and the beauty of it is that we can capitalize the silo and write it off over 40
years,” he replied.

“Like hell we can,” I told him, “This place is going to be our little secret. Hire us a con-
tractor to get the place repainted and rewired so we can see what I bought. I’ll make
myself a loan out of that shell corporation we set up for the Bahamas bank account.”

“I’m telling you, boss, you’re making a mistake,” Ritchie insisted. “Look, we can get one
of those private post office boxes at a place in Roswell and use that for our mailing ad-
dress. Then we’ll capitalize the ‘building’ and write it off over 40 years. On top of that,
you can pay yourself interest on the loan and you’ll end up with negative income and
positive cash flow, the best of both worlds.”

“You sure about that Ritchie?” I asked.

“Hell, boss, the doctors do it all the time,” he assured me.

“Ok, set it up with the CPA and I’ll transfer the money to the security company,” I told
him.

“Make sure you transfer enough to rehabilitate the place,” he urged.

“How much do figure we’re going to need?” I asked.

“By the time you get it all fixed up and decked out, probably about double what you’re
going to pay for the silo,” he guessed.

I decided right then and there to take the first 6 months of 1996 off. We went into Ro-
swell and got a motel and I called the Bahamas and arranged for the transfer of the
money. The next day we went to the realtor who was handling the transaction and I
wrote him a check for the silo. The silo was dry and had been vandalized, but there was
nothing that money couldn’t repair. I’d bought the place for a song, but before I had it
finished, I’d be singing a different tune. But, I had to admit that I could get used to not
killing people for a living.

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A friend wrote to tell me, “I have a friend that was a Lt. with the Texarkana, TX Police
Department. He was a sniper for the Army in ‘Nam. The guy that trained him in his field
was the sniper for the Police Department that took out the McDonald’s killer in CA. We
didn’t talk much about what he did but he did tell me this after me asking ‘How in the
hell do you train to do this job?’ To desensitize yourself to the ‘hit’ you aimed your rifle at
the target and in your mind you’d go ‘BANG, BANG, BANG’, again and again and again
and again. And then when you really do pull the trigger it’s no big deal. It’s just another
‘BANG’.”

She went on, “Another friend was from LA ‘the swamps’ and he was a crack shot in the
late ‘70’s for his college. He was recruited by the Army, or someone; he didn’t really
say, and trained for behind the lines espionage. He was dropped somewhere in some
rag-head country with only a radio, pocketknife, some water and very little food for a job
that was to last two weeks. He was to watch a road and report the traffic. He found a
very small cave and started his watch. A few days later a Shepherd’s dog discovered
him and he had to kill the dog and drag him into his cave. The Shepherd came looking
for him and he had to kill the Shepherd. The Shepherd was a kid about 14 and it liked to
have killed ‘Mike’ too. He never got over it. When I met him was about 8 years later and
he still had nightmares over it. He was always trying to find some way to tell his story to
let people know it is not as easy to kill as some think. Not that he didn’t think it wasn’t
necessary, just that it’s not an easy job. Of course then if he had told his story he would
have ‘disappeared’.” (With thanks to a friend)

She was right you know. It wasn’t easy to kill someone even if they ‘deserved’ it. And
the more I did it the more I wanted out of the business. I always figured that you were
born with just so much luck and when your luck ran out, you’d better duck or you were
dead. That’s why I bought a missile silo. They were supposed to be impregnable and
could withstand a 1-megaton bomb as close as a 1-mile away. Ritchie got the place re-
wired and ordered a generator from Cummings Power Generation. The government put
in a well for the company at no charge, something about removing pollution.

The command building had 2 levels, each 40 feet in diameter. Access was by stairs and
through two blast-proof doors. Each level had about 2,363 square feet of floor space not
including stairway or vestibule. Due to insulation of the earth, heating and cooling needs
were minimal. The missile silo was a huge structure 50 feet in diameter and approxi-
mately 185 feet deep. Access was from a 40-foot tunnel leading from the command-
building stairway. The missile silo had an approximate volume of 363,062 cubic feet. If I
built a deck in the silo, it would have 1962 square feet of floor space. I speculated that I
could build about 14 floors in the silo with 12’ ceilings and extra strong floors.

To make things better there were storage tanks for the oxidizer and fuel plus several
water tanks. I was sure we could clean all of the tanks out and use one for gas and one
for diesel. Maybe I’d have to replace the water tanks, but that would be a small price to
pay. The realtor told me that there was storage for 2.5 million gallons, not counting the
water. And that generator Ritchie ordered, I don’t know what he was thinking. It was a

11
Cumming Power DFLC that was capable of 1250 kW, 1563 kVA in Standby mode and
1100 kW, 1375 kVA in Prime mode. As a Prime power unit, it burned anywhere from
23.6gph at ¼ power to 76.9gph at full power. I guess it was a good thing we had such
big fuel tanks.

I sat down and figured it out that if we were stuck in the silo for a year and running at full
power, we’d need 365.25 times 24 times 76.9 or 674,105.4-gallons of diesel. I was real-
ly worried until I got the total-I mean really, 77gph? Then Ritchie gave me the spec
sheet on the generator. That sucker used 177 quarts of oil. I figured I’d have to buy en-
gine oil by the 55-gallon drum, not to mention oil, air and fuel filters and spare parts. The
project was starting to get away from me; I’d never intended anything like it was turning
into. It was sort of like eating peanuts, once you got started, you couldn’t stop.

Ritchie said I was foolish to waste the space on 12’ ceilings and if I built 8’ ceilings we
could have a 21-story facility in the silo. I was going to tell him not just no but HELL NO,
when he pointed out that I could loan myself more money, I had plenty, and charge my-
self more interest and depreciate a more expensive building. He must have lost me at a
turn because what he said almost made sense and before I knew it I’d told him to go
ahead. Later I realized that Ritchie had run one by me and I was going to object. But
Ritchie didn’t let any moss grow on his sneakers and the contractor already had 2 floors
in.

We, I, was still ok on money and I really did want to take 1996 off. It was getting bad
enough that when the banker in the Bahamas heard my voice on the phone, he only
had one question, “How much?” And every time I called he kept telling me to put my
money in gold. But, it had started out a little over $400 an ounce in January of 1996 and
by July, the price was down to about $375 so I told him no. It wasn’t quite time to put my
money into gold just yet. I figured that sooner or later the price would get down to about
$250 an ounce and I’d pounce.

It sure was good that 1995 had been my personal best the way Ritchie was spending
my money. I’d done 6 jobs and these weren’t NYC landlords, any of them. Two were
small but four were big and I’d added about $7.5 million to the $7.5 million I had socked
away, doubling my holdings. The banks in the Bahamas were earning big money for me
by making selective investments in those Internet Companies. It was almost like they
had insider information, but they probably didn’t. They were getting a healthy fee for
their services but my money was growing by leaps and bounds. It figured that one of
these days that would all end, too. Either the Internet bubble would burst or they’d
change their banking regulations or both.

At the moment, however, I was sitting in tall cotton and wasn’t particularly spending
money any faster than my assets were earning it. By the end of 1996, we had the silo
completed and outfitted, or so I thought. It was completed, but Ritchie wasn’t quite done
with the outfitting. I told him that from now on he was going to need to limit his spending
to the money I earned. There was a lot of money floating around in 1997, let me tell you.
The security company showed a handsome profit and Paladin Enterprises, a Bahamian

12
company, earned a cool $10 million on 7 jobs. I know you probably want to hear about
projects 97-001 through 97-007, but I’m not going to tell you. I’ve probably already said
too much.

The security company had a very positive cash flow but Ritchie was right, we lost mon-
ey. We had all of that interest expense on top of depreciation amounting to 2.5% of my
prior year’s investment in the silo and the building improvements. The accountant said
to just use 40-year, straight-line depreciation and that was 2.5% for 40-years. Some
things, like the generator for example, could be written off over a shorter period, like 10-
years. Ritchie took me at my word, too and every penny the security firm made either
went for rent, utilities, taxes or into the silo.

Ritchie put a Hewlett-Packard mini-computer and a T-3 line into the silo and had power
run to the site. He told me with the new stuff there in New Mexico we could run the shop
from there and save costs. Specifically, we could eliminate the cost of rent for an office
and our utilities would be about the same. He also said that if the employer could show
a legitimate reason for him to live onsite that we could live at the shelter and he wouldn’t
have to pay any income tax on his free living expenses. He must have huddled with the
CPA when I’d been off on one of those 7 jobs.

I told Ritchie to generate a letter for me to sign and he dipped into a folder and fished
out something that he and the CPA must have dreamed up. I signed the dang thing be-
cause I needed to take some time off anyway. We headed to Puerto Vallarta to spend
Christmas and New Year’s. Man did we have a good time. I met this redhead from Los
Angeles, Stacy was her name, and we hit it off very well. She was just the type of girl I’d
like to settle down with and marry, someday. Ritchie had fun too, in a geekish sort of
way. Spent all of his time in an Internet Café surfing the web.

“So, boss, what’s with the redhead?” Ritchie asked. “You thinking about retiring and tak-
ing up the domestic way of life?”

“I think this coming year we should be more selective in the contracts I take, Ritchie,” I
told him. You know the risks are the same whether it’s a $25,000 job or a $5,000,000
job. Maybe I can just get a couple of big jobs in ‘98 and spend more time working on
security consulting and the silo.”

“Does that mean you’re willing to move the business?” he asked.

“Why not?” I replied. “I might even be able to get to Los Angeles from time to time.”

“Good because the lease is up on the office on January 31st and they’ve been bugging
me about renewing it,” he replied. “I’ll take care of getting everything moved. What
about your condo?”

“Put it on the market and get what you can,” I told him. “Whatever you get out of it can

13
be spent on the silo.”

14
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 5 – One Last Job

Like I said, I was getting mighty tired of killing people for a living. There was a time
when the cops weren’t too smart but now they were getting into DNA and all of the sci-
entific stuff. There was just no way you could do a job up close and personal anymore
because you’d leave something behind and some whiz kid in a lab somewhere would
find it and somehow trace it to you. I’d told Ritchie that I wasn’t going to do the small
jobs anymore and I had until July before a big job came along.

In the meantime, Ritchie had moved the office to the silo and set it up on the top floor of
the command center. The second floor of the command center looked more like mission
control in Houston to me. Ritchie had a computer on every desk and they were all net-
worked to that HP mini-computer. He called that the server and said the computers on
the desks were clients. I wasn’t all that much into using computers so Ritchie just kept
nagging until I caved in. It was amazing what he had stored on that server, topo maps
and everything.

“Boss, we’ve got to equip those 21-floors in the silo,” Ritchie insisted one day.

“Not until I do a job Ritchie,” I told him. “You’ve spent enough money. But if you want to
shop around and locate the best prices on stuff, I’ll buy as much of it as I can with the
money I get from the next job I do.”

That was in May I’d told him that. Man, could he make those computers do all of his
work. Then in July I got a job I couldn’t turn down, $10 million for one guy. That’s right
$10 million. I immediately knew I should turn it down, but it was $10 followed by 6 zeros
and that was more money than I had made on 7 jobs the previous year. Ritchie checked
out the target and the client and everything seemed to be perfectly legitimate, if I dare
use the term. So, I took the job and $5 million was deposited in my Swiss account and
transferred to the Bahamas. The minute Ritchie saw the money in my Bahamian bank
account he was all over me to transfer the money to the corporate account.

“How the hell do you know the money is in my account in the Bahamas?” I asked.

“I hacked the bank and checked,” he replied.

“You not supposed to be able to do that,” I protested.

“There probably are a dozen people in the world who can and you’re just lucky to have
one of them on your payroll,” he laughed.

“I’ll transfer the money, but you can only have $4 million,” I told him. “I have a feeling
that this job is going to be awfully tough. I may require more operating capital than usu-
al.”

The truth was I didn’t want Ritchie blowing the whole $5 million on the silo. The darned

15
place had only cost me $150,000 and the improvements were only supposed to cost
another $150,000. To date, we had spent closer to $1 million and the place wasn’t even
fully equipped. The idea of letting him get his hands on that much money all at once
sent shivers down my spine. I had visions of gold plated computers on all of the desks
and God only knows what else. This job was to be in the City of Angels but I didn’t be-
lieve in mixing business with pleasure. Ritchie and I knew who I was and not another
living soul, at least not until now, knew my real identity. I planned to keep it that way.
Once I got to LA and checked the job out, I was back on the phone to Ritchie in a heart-
beat.

“Ritchie, I think I may do a little hunting while I’m here in California,” I said. “Do you re-
member that rifle I was telling you about?”

“Yeah boss, I remember,” he answered.

“Pick one up for the company back east and bring it to me here in LA,” I told him. “Make
sure it’s fully equipped.”

“Rog, I’ll be there tomorrow,” he answered.

Basically I had told him to take some of that money that he’d transferred from the Ba-
hamian account and that I hadn’t taken and use it to buy a Barrett M82A1. I wanted it
outfitted with a Swarovski LRS, 3-12×50mm objective, with a laser range finder. I also
wanted the rifle equipped with a model BT8 Telescopic Reflex Suppressor and I wanted
match grade armor piercing ammunition. Barrett would later rename the rifle the model
M107 to reflect the new name given to the rifle when the Army formally adopted it in
2003-4. And, I wanted it tomorrow.

“Hey boss, I had to drive all night,” Ritchie said.

“Did you get what I wanted?” I asked.

“Yeah, but don’t asked me how much I spent,” he laughed.

“I can guess about double what the stuff would usually cost to be able to get it here
overnight,” I grinned.

“At least,” Ritchie said.

“So head back to New Mexico and I’ll see you when I’m done with the job,” I directed.

“Might be a good idea for you to retire after this one,” Ritchie said. “With the money you
already have in that bank account and the other half of this job, you’ll be set for life.”

“I was thinking the same thing myself Ritchie,” I admitted.

16
I was too; getting a $10,000,000 contract was a once in a lifetime deal. Even if Ritchie
spent the entire $4 million, and I was sure he wouldn’t, I’d have for sure $20 million in
the bank. I figured with a little good luck maybe I could turn that $20 into $40. The Inter-
net boom couldn’t last much longer and the price of gold had to drop pretty soon. Be-
sides I rather fancied Stacy and had the impression that it was mutual. Once I had this
score done, I’d drop the Paladin handle and switch to the name I’d given Stacy. You
know how it is, right? You need the ability to disappear at a moment’s notice and reap-
pear as someone else. I had a Swiss Passport under an assumed identity, American
Passports under my real name and one assumed identity and a British Passport on a
3rd assumed identity. The only set I never used were the papers in my real name.

I guess I underestimated Ritchie. As I was later to learn, in my absence he filled both of

the fuel tanks and blended in a stabilizer when he did. The smaller tank and the larger
tank both got diesel fuel and he added a smaller still 18,000-gallon tank for gasoline. He
had a line on used military bunk beds and he’d bought enough to put 130 bunks on
each of 6 floors (780). He fitted 3 floors out as combination dining/recreation rooms
complete with big screen TV’s (2 per floor) and tables and chairs. Two more of the
floors were equipped for the storage of arms and ammunition leaving 10 floors for the
storage of supplies. And he’d managed to blow the whole $4 million.

This target was somebody I’d never heard of. He traveled everywhere in a bulletproof
limo and had a flock of bodyguards. He lived in a mansion in Bel-Air and I had to go
cross-country to check the place out. The guards at the mansion were very discrete,
dressed in business suits carefully tailored to conceal the bulge of the micro-Uzi’s they
carried. I wouldn’t have even known about those except something startled one of them
one night and that machine pistol came out in a flash. This guy had better protection
than the President of the county, Bill Clinton. Him, I’d have done for free. Kennedy had
at least managed to keep his philandering out of the press. On the other hand, consider-
ing the bimbo he was married to, I’d have probably done the same.

I’d ordered the rifle because it was evident from the outset that this was going to be a
long range hit. I’d taken a day off and gone up to the Angeles National Forest to one of
the illicit shooting ranges and sighted in the rifle. By the end of the day, I was putting all
of my shots in the 8, 9 or 10 rings on a full sized silhouette at 1,000-yards. Three old
geezers showed up to shoot their rifles, but we ignored each other. I did notice that they
all had M1A’s fixed up with powerful scopes, suppressors and were using 20-round
magazines. Didn’t those old farts know that was illegal in California? Two short white
guys and one tall slender black fellow. One of the short guys was real roly-poly and the
other looked like warmed over death. He was using a cane, this third guy. Regular snip-
er rifles and they weren’t doing any better at 300-yards than I was at 1,000. All except
the guy with the cane; he was doing real good out to 600-yards.

With the rifle ready to go, I only had to pick a time and a place where I could get a clear
shot at the guy. Easier said than done. I got a page from Ritchie on the pager and called
him back. He had ‘the’ pager in case we got a call for another job and I had the backup.
The client was getting anxious and wanted the deal closed within 5 days. I was ready

17
anyway, because I’d found the chink in this guy’s armor. Millions for defense but not a
penny for tribute. Yeah right. The target was divorced and remarried and one day a
week he took time off to spend with his daughter.

This was when the whole thing got dicey. The daughter was Stacy and every Saturday
morning Stacy and her father got together. He usually drove himself in an old beater
and was dressed casually. If you didn’t know it was him, you’d have never have recog-
nized him. No way was I going to get him while he was with Stacy but on the way to and
from, he was especially vulnerable. Man was I torn; the target was the father of the
woman I’d come to adore. But, I’d taken the down payment and didn’t know it yet but
Ritchie had spent it. I wanted to walk away clean with my reputation intact and the fol-
lowing Saturday, I took him out on his way back to the mansion. What a bummer.

I packed up and headed for New Mexico. By the time I got there, Ritchie had taken the
call and the money was safely in my Bahamas bank account. That was it; I was hanging
up the gun belt. I had most of the million I’d reserved out of the down payment and
though Ritchie had gone through the $4 million in my absence, there was little left un-
done. Ritchie had even stocked the armories, buying out several distributors’ supplies of
M1A rifles and filling in with Steyr AUGs. Ritchie was more survival oriented than I was
in one sense because he was an organizer. Me, I was just the ex-protester turned ex-
grunt turned ex-ranger turned ex-merc turned ex-CIA hit man turned ex-assassin. From
now on, I was a full time security consultant.

Ammo wise, Richie’s research showed him that Hornady had the best bang for the buck
on the 5.56 and 7.62 and he loaded up with match grade ammo. He’d acquired pistols
in 9mm and .45ACP and chose Speer as his ammo source. The pistols? Mostly Glocks
plus Browning Hi-Powers and HK USP Tactical’s. FMJ ammo for practice and JHP for
‘duty’ use. He spent almost as much on accessories as on the weapons, if not more.

I got over to LA to see Stacy quite a bit. It was kind of funny; she hadn’t called the pager
when her Dad had been killed. About the only thing she said about it was that her Dad
had died. Strange, very strange. We were married in July of 1999 in a quiet ceremony in
Las Vegas. She quit her job at the Albertson’s and sold off most of her things. I’d fixed a
nice little apartment up on the floor connecting the command center to the silo. The fol-
lowing month the price of gold hit $250 an ounce on the London exchange and I con-
verted $15 million to gold. I noticed that Stacy was on the phone to someone, but didn’t
eavesdrop.

“Ritchie, how good is your access to my Bahamian bank account?” I asked.

“What do you need boss, money transferred in or out?” he laughed.

“Can you get all of my remaining millions out of that account without leaving a trace?” I
asked.

“I can move it to the Swiss account and from there to the corporate account,” he an-

18
nounced. “Then, I can go back in and erase every trace of the transactions. The Baha-
mians won’t have a clue where the money went and there won’t be anything for them to
trace. I’ll call the corporate bank and tell them to expect a large transfer from Switzer-
land.”

“What about that money the Realtor had?”

“Well… I figured you’d change your mind and moved it to Switzerland, then to the cor-
porate account, then back to the second Swiss account and finally to your Bahamas ac-
count.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“I just did. Want me to move it all?”

“Do it,” I told him. I wasn’t a killer anymore so why not be a thief?

“Stacy, I’ve got to go to the Bahamas and take care of some banking business, would
you like to come along and make it a holiday?” I asked.

“I need to go there anyway, honey,” she said, “I’ve got some banking business to take
care of myself.”

“Really?” I replied.

“How did a gal who worked in a grocery store get enough money to need a Bahamian
bank account?” I asked.

“Terms of the Trust Fund my father set up when he and my mother got divorced,” Stacy
explained. “I got $25 million in a Trust Fund that became mine when I turned 30. By the
time I got my hands on the money, it was closer to $35 million, but I had to spend some
money on something very special so I only have $25 million left. I converted $20 million
to gold and left the other five million in the bank. I overheard you talking to Ritchie and I
persuaded him to do the same thing with my account. So, instead of you having $5 mil-
lion plus in your corporate account, you have $10 million plus.”

“What did you spend the $10 million on?” I asked.

“Oh, I hired you to kill Daddy Dearest, Paladin,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “He
was the most miserable SOB I’ve ever known in my whole life.”

I was standing there catching flies with my mouth. You could have knocked me over
with a feather, I’m telling you. You’d have never have known it to look at Stacy, 5’9” tall,
slender with a figure that could have made her a centerfold. Shoulder length red hair,
her natural color, and maybe 120 pounds soaking wet, and a cold-blooded killer to boot.
The client isn’t any different than the mechanic. They’re every bit as guilty of the murder

19
and in many jurisdictions, the fact that they hired the killing constitutes a special circum-
stance and makes them eligible for the death penalty.

It turns out that Stacy also knew a hacker who knew Ritchie. Apparently Ritchie had
said something to the gal and she’d put 2 and 2 together and shared the information
with Stacy. I’d have to have a talk with Ritchie about his big mouth, one of these days.
On the other hand he told me he was thinking of getting married to a gal from LA who
was a geek like he was. He gave me her name and I dropped it on Stacy and she
smiled. Small world isn’t it?

Once Stacy and I got to Freeport, we split up and she went to her bank and I went to
mine.

“I’m William Paladin and I’d like to talk to an officer about closing my business account,”
I told the receptionist.

“It will be just a moment Mr. Paladin, he’s with another customer,” she told me.

“Mr. Paladin, I’m John Buckley, and I don’t believe I ever had the pleasure,” the VP said.
“I’m sorry, but would you happen to have any identification, we can’t be too careful you
know.”

“Here’s my passport and my International Driver’s License,” I said handing the docu-
ments over. “I’ve got a couple of credit cards if you’d like to see them.”

“No, that will be sufficient. What can I do for you Mr. Paladin?” Buckley asked.

“I want to arrange for the transfer of the gold back to the States and I want to close my
account,” I told him handing him the last statement from the account. “According to that
statement, I have $15 million in gold and a little over $6 million in my checking account.”

“That’s right,” he assured me, “I handled the gold purchase personally. Let me check on
the balance in your checking account. How do you want that, will a bank check be ok?”

“Sure why not,” I told him, noticing him blanch when he brought up the account infor-
mation. “Is something wrong?”

“According to our computer your checking balance is zero,” he replied. “I’m sure it’s just
an error, but I’ll have to investigate.”

“Investigate all you want,” I told him, “But you have 24-hours to transfer my gold and
come up with a check for the balance in that account plus interest accrued since the last
statement.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

20
“My wife and I are at the Paradise Cove Beach Resort, Cottage 3,” I told him. “24-hours,
remember.”

“How did it go?” I asked her.

“The bank official turned as white as a ghost when he saw my money was missing,” she
laughed. “I gave him 24-hours to transfer the gold and find my money.”

“Yeah, I did the same thing, babe,” I replied, “How’s about you get in that swimming suit
of yours and we do some snorkeling?”

I could give a crap about snorkeling, but Stacy was something else in a swimming suit.
Thing was she never made it into the suit.

21
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 6 – Life’s Getting Interesting

I suppose I should take some time out and tell you a little more about myself. I was born
in 1950 in Los Angeles, California. Never got out of the city until I’d headed to Canada
to avoid the draft. It doesn’t matter what my real name is because I didn’t use it anyway.
The name I’d given Stacy was William Rogers and I had all of the papers to back it up. It
was the name I used in connection with the security consulting business. So, when Sta-
cy and I got married in ‘99 in Vegas, I’d just turned 49. Funny, I was born on the 4th of
July. I was 5’11” tall, and weighed in around 165. I worked out a lot and stopped just
short of bulking up the muscles. To look at me, I was just an ordinary guy graying slight-
ly at the temples.

I’ve described Stacy to you; man was she easy to look at. Now I don’t really want to get
too personal, but I can tell you that in the bedroom we had very similar tastes. It was
usually a no holds barred free-for-all. It was 2000 now and Stacy was expecting. She
kept rubbing cocoa butter on her belly to keep from getting stretch marks. Did you ever
notice how a pregnant woman just seems to glow? Man, she was positively radiant.
Ritchie and Norma got married and I had him convert the floor above ours into an
apartment for the two of them. Ritchie, as I told you, didn’t have any moss on his
sneakers and Norma was pregnant, too.

Let’s talk about Stacy and my gold for a minute. A standard mint ingot is about 400 troy
ounces of gold. At $250 an ounce, the ingots cost us $100,000 apiece, not counting the
commission, which we both managed to get down to 4%. I bought $15 million and had
150 ingots and Stacy had 200 ingots. We took about half of the money ($5 million) out
of the corporate account and bought some of the pre-1965 silver coins with 90% silver
at $5 an ounce. Those 350 gold bars weighed 27.5 pounds apiece, so I guess we had
about 9,625 pounds of gold stored under the floorboards of the silo’s bottom floor to-
gether with about 68,750 pounds of coins.

The idea was that we’d hold on to the gold until it hit about $400 an ounce. Then, we’d
convert 50 ingots to Krugerrands or Eagles and unload the rest. At $400 an ounce, we’d
get $48 million for the gold. We were going to watch the silver price, too and if it ever hit
$8 an ounce, we were going to unload 90% of it. Gold and silver are nice, but you can’t
eat them. Stacy and I had a daughter and named her Teresa Marie. She came out at a
whopping 6#9oz. Ritchie and Norma had a baby boy who they named Robert David.
Little Bobbie came out at 9#2oz.

There was that entire bugaboo about the Y2k thing but Ritchie and Norma assured us
that our computers systems were sound. I’ll bet we could have sold the silo for about
double our investment in the fall of 1999. What the hell, it would just mean finding some
place less secure to live so we said to hell with it. Up to this point, we hadn’t given much
thought to what we were going to do with all of those beds, weapons and supplies. But
with 2 pregnant women on our hands, neither Ritchie nor I had any intention of moving.

In the spring of 2000, after the babies were born, I made Ritchie a full partner in the se-

22
curity business. He’d set up some sort of website and was marketing information search
services and by this time, that was the majority of our income, so it was the least I could
do. He’d bought a newer generation of computers and installed a bigger T-3 line, what-
ever that is; twenty-eight T-1 lines as he’d explained it. I looked and learned that T what
he really said was that he’d increased the speed to OC-12. It meant replacing the cop-
per lines with fiber optics and putting in some additional equipment, but that was strictly
his show. He was talking about something called blade servers whatever in the hell they
are.

I didn’t work much, just the occasional consulting job at a flat rate of $400 an hour. It
was mostly advising people how to plugs leaks in their personal security systems for
their corporate executives. Boring, but entirely legal. Plus I charged $200 an hour for
travel time so I was making money door-to-door. We’d taken one of the empty storage
floors and set up a medical clinic and had a regular hospital and even a dentist chair.
We didn’t have a doctor or a dentist, but we had all of the equipment and supplies.
Norma claimed that most drugs were good for a lot longer than what the labels said and
she programmed everything into a computer and set up an automatic reorder system.

The business cleared 7 figures, approaching 8, during the year 2000 most of it due to
Ritchie and those computers of his. We’d ended up hiring about two-dozen married
people that Ritchie and Norma knew and they lived in Roswell and commuted to work.
Plus we had to hire a janitorial service full time to keep the silo and command center
clean. We had a lot of people on the payroll by this time. And Norma and Stacy got
pregnant again. I told Ritchie to lay in a big supply of disposable diapers; he could use a
full floor in the silo. And, as far as I was concerned he could fill another floor with ciga-
rettes and toilet paper.

Ritchie had spent a large fortune on food for the shelter. He said we had enough food
for the foreseeable population for up to 2 years. And, I’ve got to tell you, I was beginning
to feel my age. Turned 50 on July 4, 2000 and they had one of those parties with all of
the junk from one of the party stores. That was the last darned thing I needed was to be
reminded that I had reached middle age. I was actually giving some thought to dying the
hair at my temples to look a little younger, but Stacy said that she thought it made me
look ‘distinguished’.

“How big of a litter are you planning on having?” I asked Stacy.

“Well, handsome, the doctor says it is twins so I guess at least 3,” she laughed.

“Twins?” I responded. “How in the hell did that happen?”

“Come to bed and I’ll show you,” she said. Well I was always in favor of getting an edu-
cation so I accepted the instruction with barely a whimper.

“Do you understand now?” she asked.

23
“Maybe if we cover it just one more time, I will,” I replied.

Dang, I was so worn out after that, I was almost limping. But I was well educated, I can
tell you that! Say, I didn’t really explain how we’d made out with those Bahamian bank-
ers, did I? They huffed and puffed and Stacy and I each got a lawyer. She was still go-
ing by her maiden name as far as the bank was concerned and I’d gotten her a second
set of papers that matched my Bill Rogers identity. Eventually the banks figured out
they’d been robbed but there wasn’t a trace of who’d done it. They had to settle up with
us for the full balances of our accounts together with accrued interest and legal fees. I
went back and looked at all the bank fees I’d paid them over the years and it looked to
me like they’d still made a profit, just not quite as much as they’d planned. On Stacy’s
account, it was a different story; they’d actually lost money on her. But, when you fig-
ured in the 4% they charged for acquiring the gold, they didn’t get hurt too bad.

Anyway, we had that extra $14 million and we converted it to Euros on January 2, 2001
and deposited it in a Swiss bank. Things were going along great and in 2001 I had
turned 51. The business was making money hand over fist and I’d given up consulting
entirely to stay at the silo and manage security. They’d brought out those Hummers and
I bought a dozen. Should have bought them earlier, the price really went up. I put a bug
in Ritchie’s ear and he went looking. He hooked us up with a guy who had a dozen Ma
Deuces and we had the Hummer’s modified to accept a ring mount for the machine
guns. Of course, we kept the machine guns in the armory and put the seats back in.
Looked like Hummers with sunroofs.

Yes of course the machine guns were registered. I didn’t want the feds snooping
around. We had them stored in a separate armory all of their own just in case the feds
came looking. Now, you realize of course that those M16’s were an entirely different
story, right? They were hotter than a Saturday Night Special after you’d burned off 3
clips. I was a murderer, a thief and now the proud owner of about 400 stolen guns. I
tried to spend a lot of time above ground to get used to the heat. I didn’t figure Heaven
was in the picture for a bad boy like me. I’d broken two of the Commandments, one
several times. If God would keep Moses out of the Promised Land for one Egyptian
guard, what chance did I have?

Stacy had two baby girls in August of 2001. The first one out got tagged with the handle
Mary Elizabeth and the second one out with Ashley Suzanne. They were little things,
just under 6 pounds each. Teresa Marie, Mary Elizabeth and Ashley Suzanne; dang
was this going to be expensive in about 20 years. And on the first of September, Norma
became the proud mother of twin boys, Donald Harry and Paul Wayne, about 7½
pounds each. They had Robert David, Donald Harry and Paul Wayne, what a set of
bookends. Maybe I’d get lucky and Ritchie’s boys would marry my girls and we could
split the cost of the weddings.

“Jeez Louise, what do you mean they hit the World Trade Center and the Pentagon?” I
asked. “Who hit the WTC and the Pentagon?”

24
“Must be terrorists’ boss,” Ritchie said. “There was another plane crashed in Pennsyl-
vania that had been hijacked, too.”

“If you want me, I’ll be glued to a TV,” I told him and headed for one of the din-
ing/recreation rooms in the silo.

I couldn’t believe my eyes, four airliners had been hijacked and 2 of them had been
flown into the WTC Towers in New York. A 3rd jet had slammed into the Pentagon and
the broadcasters were debating what the target of that 4th jet was. Bush was off some-
where in the country, Sarasota, Florida, I think they said, and was now scooting around
the country in Air Force One. Wait, make that Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebras-
ka, and the President is in a secure location. That evening, Bush was on TV delivering a
speech:

Today, our nation saw evil, the very worst of human nature. And we responded with the
best of America – with the daring of our rescue workers, with the caring for strangers
and neighbors who came to give blood and help in any way they could.

Immediately following the first attack, I implemented our government’s emergency re-
sponse plans. Our military is powerful, and it’s prepared. Our emergency teams are
working in New York City and Washington, DC to help with local rescue efforts.

Our first priority is to get help to those who have been injured, and to take every precau-
tion to protect our citizens at home and around the world from further attacks…

This is a day when all Americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice
and peace. America has stood down enemies before, and we will do so this time. None
of us will ever forget this day. Yet, we go forward to defend freedom and all that is good
and just in our world.

Thank you. Good night and God bless America.

Within a week they had identified the hijackers. But, some of the identities proved to be
wrong because of stolen identities. There was a really good summary in the Guardian
that summarized who was and wasn’t involved. Then Bush declared a ‘War on Terror’
and began going after some guy named bin Laden in Afghanistan. Bin Laden was a
Saudi who apparently was angry at the US over the Gulf war. Ritchie and I talked about
how things were shaping up and I warned him.

“You know Ritchie, it’s just a matter of time before the President goes after Saddam
Hussein,” I told him. “His father didn’t after the Gulf war and I’ll bet dimes to donuts that
George will finish what his father didn’t.”

“Have you seen all of those conspiracy theories on the Internet?” Ritchie asked.

“No, I haven’t been surfing the web much, tell me what you’ve seen,” I directed.

25
“Man I’ve even seen one website that claims the actual hijackers were Israelis,” he said.

“That’s a bunch of crap, Ritchie,” I replied. “Whether they know the true identities of all
the hijackers or not, there is ample evidence of who some of them were. I can’t see the
Israelis working with the Arabs on any plot to get the US involved in a war. I’m telling
you, Bush is going to go back to Iraq one of these days.”

He did, too in March of 2003. I’d hoped against hope that I’d been wrong, but the man
did just exactly as I predicted. Then on May 1, 2003 George W. Bush landed on the air-
craft carrier CVN Abraham Lincoln, in a Lockheed S-3 Viking, where he gave a speech
announcing the end of major combat operations in the Iraq war. Clearly visible in the
background was a banner stating “Mission Accomplished”. Bush’s landing was criticized
by opponents as an overly theatrical and expensive stunt. The banner, made by White
House personnel (according to a CNN story) and placed there by the US Navy, was crit-
icized as premature – especially later as the guerrilla war dragged on.

Stacy and I converted 50 ingots to coins in January of 2004 when gold hit $425 on the
London Market and sold the other 300, clearing about $49 million that we immediately
converted to Euros and deposited in the Swiss account. We unloaded 90% of the silver
when it hit $8.25 an ounce on April 2, accepting payment in dollars, converting them to
Euros and depositing that money in Switzerland, too. The silver transactions were near-
ly as lucrative as the gold transactions, and we only added about $7.4 million USD.
Whoever said that crime didn’t pay must have been talking about the hereafter.

I not going to make any excuses for my behavior, I always went against the grain any-
way. Hell before I got caught and forced into the Army, I was a pacifist. But they taught
me to kill and to be able to live with it, more or less. It was the living with it that was get-
ting to me. With the sole exception of that guy over in Georgia, every one of the people
I’d eliminated was a stain on society. Mostly that was why I was in Roswell New Mexico
hiding in a silo. Stacy’s Dad was a mobster, which explained why he had such tight se-
curity. She didn’t say but I suspected there was more to that story. I remember one
night we were watching TV and a program about incest came on. Stacy reacted like
she’d been shot and immediately changed the channel. I wasn’t sure and I figured she’d
tell me if she wanted me to know so I dropped it.

So, I’m maybe going to hell but I’ve got a few good years left to try and set things right.
Apparently I haven’t committed any sins that would totally bar me from Heaven. I ha-
ven’t been big on taking the Lord’s name in vain and I haven’t blasphemed, at least I
don’t think so. And, the Bible didn’t say that Moses didn’t go to Heaven, just that he was
barred from the Promised Land. To tell you the absolute truth, I have no interest in go-
ing to Israel anyway. Ain’t none of those Jews going to Heaven any faster than me, they
stole a whole country. Twice! First they took it from the Canaanites and second from the
Palestinians. And, I don’t see anywhere in the Bible where God gave it to them 2 times,
only once.

26
The Euros went up so good that towards the end of 2004 we converted all of our money
back to dollars and moved it out of that Swiss bank and back to somewhere in the US.
Investing in those Euros had been a pretty good thing. It went crazy on the market and
we ended up with over $100 million in good old US dollars. You know, Europe is as old
as dirt and one of these days they’d get their comeuppance and the US dollar would be
better than gold. ‘Sides better to have the money back at home than in the hands of
those Nazi collaborators.

Those Swiss bankers’ hands were as dirty as mine. They stole all of the money from
those Jews that Hitler killed and finally settled up for a billion dollars. Hell that was just a
fraction of what they’d ripped those people off for. I’d better shut up about that, they
have a lot of money and could hire someone in my profession to shut me down perma-
nently. Stacy and I and the 3 girls were sitting pretty nice here in Roswell. Ritchie and
Norma and the boys were doing pretty good too. Apparently Ritchie and Norma had fig-
ured out some scam because one day right after Christmas 2004 he came showing me
a bank statement that indicated that Norma and he were worth as much as Stacy and I.
He said something about a Richard Pryor movie (Superman III) giving him the idea. I
hadn’t seen the movie and didn’t understand but he said a penny here and a penny
there really added up. Must have, to the tune of more than 10 billion pennies.

27
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 7 – Special Residents

One of the problems with aging is that the older you get the faster time flies. In one
chapter I’d gone from being a 49-year-old bachelor to 54-year-old married man with 3
daughters. And my wealth had increased dramatically. Of course, I’d married about half
of the money but my wife and I were a perfect match. I was beginning to wonder if she
weren’t trying to kill me off with the entire grab ass thing so she could have all of the
money. Naw, once you have a lot of money, a little more becomes irrelevant. Strictly
speaking more of it was hers than mine anyway. If she really wanted the money all that
badly, all she had to do was ask.

I still worked out every day, but I could tell I was beginning to slow down. Nature has a
way of compensating, what you lose in ability, you seem to gain in wisdom. That sort of
reminded me of those 3 old geezers I’d seen in the Angeles National Forest 5 years be-
fore. They weren’t very much older, when I saw them, than I was now. But, I could still
put all 5 shots in the silhouette at 1,000-yards. I remembered the guy with the cane mut-
tering something about ‘600-yards’ with an evil grin on his face. I was curious what that
was all about but wasn’t about to go all the way to California to ask.

“Eat your Wheaties,” Stacy said, “I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

I popped a handful of vitamins and hoped they’d be enough. Then I took her advice and
had 3 bowls of Wheaties just to stoke up on carbs. It’s sort of cool to marry a woman
who is 20 years younger than you are, but they can age you quickly, if you know what I
mean. It would be better for a 20-year-old man to marry a 40-year-old woman. Then
both of them would be near the peak of their stamina.

“So who are we going to populate this silo with?” I asked Ritchie.

“You know Bill, I’ve been thinking about that,” he answered. “We need to look around
and find a physician who’s a dentist to kill 2 birds with one stone. Then we need some
nurses. You could beef up your security force with a dozen or so married guys.”

“I’m all in favor of that Ritchie but two things come to mind,” I told him. “In the first place
it’s going to be pretty danged hard to find a doctor who’s also a dentist. In the second
place, this place is set up for sheltering people, not for them living here.”

“I read an article on the Internet about a plastic surgeon in Palmdale, California who is
also a dentist. The guy’s name was Waugh,” Ritchie said. “He can’t be the only one in
the country. As far as the housing goes, we have a 10-acre site. A guy sure could build
a big mobile home park on 10-acres.”

“But what about employment?” I asked. “Even if we hire a dual purpose doctor and a
couple of nurses, plus a few more security people, we have room for almost 800 peo-
ple.”

28
“We could advertise a survival community,” Ritchie suggested. “I’ll tell you Bill, if we
were looking for older people looking to retire early we’d be a lot better off. We could bill
it as a combined retirement, survival community with onsite medical attention. And as-
suming we got mostly retired people they have their own source of incomes and we
wouldn’t have to worry about them. We could keep the lot rents low and make it a
closed community for members only. There are 1,001 ways to keep out the people you
don’t want.”

Maybe Ritchie was right and maybe not, but a lawyer could tell us about that. I decided
to go to Palmdale, California and look up this Dr. Waugh and see if he knew of anyone
who might meet our needs. I told Ritchie to run the question of a closed community by
our lawyer to see what his thoughts were on the matter. I explained to Stacy that I had
to make a trip to Palmdale and she told me she was coming along if she could get Nor-
ma to watch the girls. I thought about that a minute and said sure, why not, I could eat
more Wheaties.

Stacy and I stopped in Flagstaff the first night and stayed at the Hilton Garden Inn. The
date, you should note was January 3, 2005. Nice place, fair to good restaurant, and
very comfortable beds. I picked the perfect time for this trip, as Stacy was indisposed.
We drove into Palmdale the next day and got a room at the Hampton Inn and Suites. I
saw a Wal-Mart store across the lot and I needed some razor blades so Stacy and I
walked over. I swear to God, I hadn’t expected it but there looking at batteries was that
guy with the cane from 5 years before. He obviously recognized me and I was really cu-
rious about the ‘600-yards’ remark, so I walked up to him.

“My name is Bill Rogers, do you remember me?” I asked.

“About 5 years ago up at the range in the Angeles National Forest?” he asked. “My
name is Gary Olsen.”

“That’s the place,” I said. “Say, I’ve been curious about something for a very long time. I
heard you mutter something about 600-yards and I’ve always wondered what you were
talking about.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” the guy says. “I won’t tell anyone about the Mafioso you capped
and you won’t tell anyone about what I’m going to tell you.”

“I’m afraid you must have me mixed up with someone else,” I said.

“Really?” he replied coolly. “Let me show you something.”

He dug into his jacket pocket and came up with a keychain. On the keychain was a
.50BMG slug.

“After I read about that shooting down in Beverly Hills, I thought about the guy we’d
seen up in the mountains practicing that day,” he explained. “You picked up your brass

29
and targets but you didn’t recover the slugs. My amigos and I drove back up there later
to go shooting and I went over to the area you were using as a backstop and dug
around until I came up with about a dozen slugs. They’re all armor piercing, did you
know that? Those were the same kind of slugs that were used on that Don.”

“How dare you accuse my husband of something like that,” Stacy butted in. “That Mafi-
oso as you call him was my father.”

“Lady I don’t care if he was your first husband,” the guy says. “In the first place it’s none
of my business and in the second place the ATF didn’t show up at our three houses
looking to bust us for having suppressors on our rifles. If I recall, you had one of those
Suppressors yourself Bill.”

Dang, he had me there on both counts. Either I was going to have to make friends with
this guy or kill him. And from what I’d seen of those 3 guys 5 years before, they were
thicker than thieves. That meant I’d either have to kill 3 guys or make friends and mak-
ing friends was so much easier. Besides, I could always dust him and his 2 friends if it
came down to that.

“I’m not admitting anything,” I said, “But you have my word that your secret is safe with
me. By the way what are your 2 friends’ names?”

“Ron and Clarence. But that’s all you’re getting from me,” he said. “You might want to
make sure your secret is safe and take the three of us out. What I was referring to is
Geraldo Rivera. I detest that SOB and I’ve been thinking about taking him out for years.
I write patriot fiction under the handle of TOM and in several of my stories I talked about
shooting that bastard. In one of my stories, Preparations, I got him at 600-yards.”

“I seem to recall you were shooting out to 600-yards with that M1A of yours,” I told him.
“Which model of M1A was that?”

“I have a Super Match and when they came out with the Marine Corps camo stock, I
bought one of them and had the rifle properly bedded,” he replied. “I can almost shoot
out to 700-yards now that I had the lenses replaced in my eyes,” Gary said. Cataracts,
you know.”

“What do you do for a living Gary?” I inquired.

“I’m disabled and so is my friend Ron. Clarence is retired,” he went on.

“I have a missile silo all tricked out as a survival shelter in New Mexico,” I explained.
“My partner was talking about turning the area around the silo into a trailer park and
opening up a survivalist type retirement community.”

“Where do I sign up?” he asked.

30
“We haven’t decided to do it or not,” I told Gary. “Give me your address and if we decide
to go with it, I’ll have my partner send you some literature.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Gary said. “Well, ma’am, it was nice to meet you. Bill you take care
of yourself and keep your powder dry.”

That was it; the guy just walked off like he couldn’t care less what he’d thought I’d done.
We got those razor blades and headed back to the Hampton quickly.

“Why did you have to walk up to that guy and start a conversation?” Stacy asked.

“Honey you’d have to have been at the shooting range 5 years ago to appreciate it,” I
told her. “These 3 old geezers were out there with M1A rifles that had 20-round maga-
zines and suppressors. The other two guys, Ron and Clarence, Gary just said their
names were, couldn’t shoot accurately much beyond 300 yards. This Gary was plunking
them in at 600. He was as good at 600 as I am at 1,000. I don’t think he’ll be saying an-
ything to anyone. Besides, if we open that trailer park maybe we can give them free rent
just to keep an eye on them.”

“You probably ought to get rid of that M82,” she suggested.

“Why?” I asked. “Ritchie paid a fortune for that rifle, the scope and the suppressor. I
think he told me it came to about $40,000. No way I’m going to get rid of that gun. But, I
think it might be a good idea to get it re-barreled. I’ll take care of that when we get
home.”

“Call Ritchie and have him do it right now,” she insisted.

“Ok, ok, I’m dialing,” I said reaching for the phone.

“This is Ritchie,” Ritchie answered.

“Do me a favor will you?” I asked.

“What do you need boss?” Ritchie asked.

“Take the M82 that I used in Los Angeles and get it re-barreled tomorrow,” I told him.
“Be sure you get the barrel back and then use a cutting torch on it. I don’t want that bar-
rel tied to me in any way.”

“Sure boss, but what’s up?” Ritchie asked.

“What’s the story on the trailer park?” I asked.

“Lawyer said we can make it a closed community, no problem,” Ritchie replied.

31
“I want you to put in 3 spots and furnish them with triplewides,” I told him thinking quick-
ly. “We have our first three clients and they are going to be on me. I’ll explain when I
see you.”

“Ok boss, tell them to give me about 6 weeks and they can move in,” Ritchie said.

“What are you doing?” Stacy asked.

“Hey honey,” I told her. “How much can 3 triple wide mobile homes cost? It’s cheap in-
surance and those 3 old geezers might just come in handy.”

The next day Stacy and I met with Ralph Waugh, DDS, MD. He recommended a couple
of younger doctors that we might be able to hire if I was willing to shell out the big
bucks. I got the particulars and called Ritchie with the information. He told me that the
rifle was in the shop and he’d had the gunsmith remove the barrel and had brought it
back and cut it up. That took care of Gary and his darn slugs. Still, I was serious when I
suggested that we should move the 3 old geezers to New Mexico. Hell that Gary was a
pretty fair shot and they already had suppressors for their rifles. So I looked Gary Olsen
up in the phone book and called him up.

“This is Bill Rogers, would it be ok if my wife Stacy and I came by,” I asked nicely.

“I don’t know anyone named Bill Rogers,” the guy said.

“We met last night at Wal-Mart,” I reminded him.

“Hang on a minute,” he said.

I could hear him in the background calling to his wife, “Sharon were we at Wal-Mart last
night?” and her replying, “Yes, dear.”

“She says we were there last night so I suppose I met you,” he said. “I have problems
with my short-term memory. What did we talk about?”

“Shooting in Angeles National Forest,” I reminded him.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “You’re the guy with that good looking redhead. I thought we had
settled everything last night.”

“I have an offer I like to make concerning our new trailer park,” I told him.

“Yeah,” he says, “36D-24-34”

This guy wasn’t a legman that was sure. “36D-24-35½,” I corrected.

“Sure come on over,” he told me.

32
“The phonebook doesn’t list your address,” I remarked.

“4560 Moonraker Road,” he laughed, “Obviously you’re not a fan of my fiction.”

“About a ½ hour?” I suggested.

“We’ll put the coffee on,” he replied and hung up.

I just about had this guy figured out. He was one of those guys who could never re-
member a name or forget a chest. I was tempted to leave Stacy at the Hampton Inn, but
when I told her about what he’d said, she laughed and said, “Well 2 out of 3 isn’t bad.”
Personally, I have preferred punching his lights out.

33
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 8 – A Flurry of New People

We found a small housing tract on the east side of town. We drove in and came to a
corner where we had to turn left. About 3 doors down on the right side the curb was
marked ‘4560’. We got out and walked up to the door. I rang the bell and an older wom-
an answered.

“Are you Bill?” she asked.

“Yes, and this is my wife Stacy,” I replied.

She gave Stacy the once over and smiled inwardly, I could tell. She led us to the kitchen
and told us to take a seat and she’d get Gary. About that time Gary came padding down
the hall and grabbed a chair. He looked briefly at Stacy’s face, said “Hi” and turned to
me.

“What’s this offer you were talking about?” he asked right to the point.

“If you and your friends want to move to New Mexico, I’d be willing to put you up in new
triplewides, rent free,” I explained.

“What’s the catch?” he asked.

“No catch at all Mr. Olsen, I assure you,” I told him.

“I remember you now,” he said. “Want to keep an eye on us, huh?”

“Can you blame me?” I asked.

“I told you that was all settled last night,” he replied.

“You say you write Patriot Fiction?” I asked.

“That’s right.”

“Is that like the survivalist sort of thing?” I asked.

“Yeah, nukes, plagues, earthquakes, volcanoes, abrupt weather changes, you know the
drill,” he replied.

“I have an Atlas-F missile silo just outside of Roswell, New Mexico,” I explained. “It’s
fixed up to house about 780 people and we’re going to put in a retirement community
and provide shelter if necessary. We have food, weapons and everything everyone
would need for a 2-year period.”

“Really? Sharon, do you feel like moving?” he asked.

34
“I always told you that I’d go wherever you go, Gary,” she replied.

I’m going to have to tell you that her tone said something entirely different. But, that was
none of my business.

“What about my kids?” he asked. I could see her brighten appreciably.

“Tell me about them,” I suggested.

“My oldest daughter lives with a guy who works as a locksmith in North Hollywood,” he
started. “My other daughter goes to college at the Bakersfield campus at AV College.”

I looked at Stacy to bail me out, but she just smiled, as if to say, “You made your bed lie
in it.”

“Do any of your kids know anything about computers?” I asked.

“Hell yes,” he said, “I taught them myself.”

“I could give them jobs as computer operators,” I said thinking quickly. “And the job
would include housing.”

“David and Lorrie have 4 grown boys,” he offered up next.

“Still in school?” I asked.

“Sharon?” he looked for assistance.

“One’s out of high school, the twins are seniors and the youngest is a junior,” she ex-
plained.

“I can give the oldest boy a job as a security man and the same for the others when
they graduate,” I offered. “They can go to school in Roswell. There is a Junior College,
Eastern New Mexico University-Roswell in town. The college confers certificates, asso-
ciate’s degrees and certificates of occupational training in contemporary career / tech-
nical programs and general transfer academic programs. Upper division and graduate
level courses are also offered through a distance education program with the main
campus in Portales.”

“Where Is Portales?” he asked.

“About 90 miles or so up US 70 to the northeast,” I replied. “But they have a distant

learning center and I think she could attend classes in Roswell.”

“She’s a junior studying in Criminal Justice,” he explained.

35
“They have a program for that,” I assured him (they do).

“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re willing to provide housing for me and my kids
plus Ron and Clarence at basically no charge. You’re willing to give David, Amy and
Josh each a job and hire, Justin, Jesse and Jason when they finish high school, right?”

“That’s right,” I said.

“I’m all for it, but I’ll have to talk to Ron and Clarence,” he told me.

“You can reach me 24/7 at this pager number,” I said handing him a piece of paper with
‘the’ pager number on it. “That pager number will reach me anywhere in the world.”

“Figures,” he laughed. “How soon can we move?”

“About 6 weeks according to my partner,” I replied.

“Tell your partner I’ll call as soon as I talk to everyone, and thanks for the offer, you may
not know it, but you’re a dream come true.”

Two days later we were back in Roswell. Ritchie pigeonholed me immediately.

“First, I talked to the doctor/dentist and he’ll be here next week to discuss the job,”
Ritchie explained. “Second, I want to know all about these people you’re moving here
and putting up at our expense.”

I carefully covered the entire deal with him and he sort of got a screwy look on his face.

“Look Boss, I don’t take just any computer people,” he explained. “However, you said
the one guy is a locksmith, so we can put him in charge of Maintenance at a slightly
higher salary. He can run a locksmith service on the side if he wants, I could care. Now
that daughter who’s the college student we’ll make the receptionist. She can handle the
phone and will have a ton of time to study. We’ll pay her as much as we pay him. What
you do about the others and the security force is up to you, but you’re going to have to
provide them with some training. We’ll have 4 triplewides and a doublewide ready in 4
weeks, a little sooner than I thought. Say what’s she studying in college?”

“Criminal Justice,” I laughed.

“It just keeps getting better and better,” he groaned.

It is absolutely amazing what you can accomplish in a very short time by spreading
some money around. Inside of 3 weeks the place was all graded, supports for the mo-
bile homes installed and the utilities in. On the advice of a mobile home dealer, the guy
who sold us the 4 units I had to buy, we dug shallow holes and put in a set of risers that

36
almost looked like those concrete medians they were using these days. The dealer had
ordered the homes and they been delivered and set up. At Ritchie’s suggestion we in-
stalled solar electrical panels on the roof of each home. Each home was wired for elec-
trical service from town and an automatic transfer switch that would switch over to our
generator power in case the power went out. Our generator was also hooked into the
same electrical feed and would feed power to the automatic switches in a matter of sec-
onds.

Ritchie said we should have a second backup generator to the first so I gave him the go
ahead. We also put in a new, large capacity well and a water tower plus fire hydrants.
We added an extensive septic system large enough to handle every home we intended
to have with a little extra capacity. The interview with the doctor/dentist went very well
and Ritchie brought him aboard with a guarantee that if he couldn’t generate at least
$100,000 per year clear, we’d make up the difference. His wife was a nurse so I needed
a couple of security people who were married to nurses. I said onsite medical treatment,
not FREE onsite medical treatment. Ritchie had also run an ad in several major papers
and we had more applicants than we had spaces. We decided to interview each appli-
cant to make sure they fit in. Veterans were given a major preference.

We topped the ground with sod after installing sprinkler systems. What a difference 4
weeks could make. This place was beginning to look like a real community. We classi-
fied it as a closed housing tract/guarded community and started to interview the appli-
cants. The best we could come up with was a point system. You needed 100 points and
no black marks before you’d be asked to join the community. Veteran: 20 points. Chris-
tian: 10 points. Jewish faith: 5 points. Muslim/Other: 0 points. Agnostic or Atheist: -10
points. Financially independent: 10 points. Public Dole (excluding Disability/Social Secu-
rity): -10 points. Proficient with a firearm: 5 points. Member of the NRA: 5 points. Swear-
ing Allegiance to the Flag: 10 points. Refusing to Swear Allegiance to the Flag: Black
Mark. Support of the 2nd Amendment: 5 points. Opposed to the 2nd Amendment: Black
Mark. High School Dropout: -5 points. High School Graduate: 5 points. GED: 10 points.
College Student: 5 points. College Graduate: 10 points. Post Graduate work: 5 points.
Employable: 10 points. Other Black Marks: objecting to our selection system; active al-
coholic or addict; anti-social personality/behavior. I don’t have the list handy and that is
all I can remember at the moment, but you get the idea. We decided to make excep-
tions on a case-by-case basis but no black marks were allowed. We also granted bonus
points, mostly on whim.

Gary had 85 points and Sharon had 40 making for 125. Ron had 50 points and his wife
added 25; his 3 kids each added 40, giving the household a total of 195. Clarence had
40, as did his wife and his sister for a total of 120. David and Lorrie and their family to-
taled up to 200, but it was a large family. Amy only had 60, but we made an exception.
We added her score to Lorrie and David’s and divided by 2.

Ritchie and I agreed that our system might not be fair, but we owned the community and
the lawyer said that as long as we used the same standards for everybody, we could do
what we wanted. After we’d interviewed all of the applicants we ranked everyone by

37
score and sent out letters of invitation. Some declined, so we kept going down the list
until we ran out of families with 100 points. We only had 15 vacant lots. As to the hous-
es for Gary, Ron and Clarence and their families, Ritchie had gone ahead and ordered
4-bedroom triplewides and a 3-bedroom doublewide for Amy.

By my 55th birthday everyone was moved in and settled. It was the 4th of July so I told
Ritchie to arrange a big bash and let everyone get better acquainted. Doing the inter-
views introduced us to the people, but I really wanted to get to know them. If TSHTF, we
were all going to be in that hole in the ground for up to two weeks, hell, maybe more.
Anyway, we supplied hamburgers and hot dogs and beverages including one keg of
beer and we ended up with beer left over. Nice middle-aged group of people with a few
younger folks and some grandchildren thrown in.

On July 5th, Ritchie came up with the bright idea of starting a shooting club for recrea-
tion and putting in a range. Ritchie was learning, and I gave him the thumbs up. The
thing about it was the silo was just too close to town so Ritchie bought a small parcel of
land out in the boonies, erected a clubhouse and set up the range there. Once he had
that going well, we had a community meeting and explained all about the amenities. We
had a Doctor/dentist with a clinic in the silo (not free). Everyone was assigned to a bed
in the shelter according to gender. We also explained about the available rations and
passed out a signup sheet for anyone who wanted to volunteer to be a cook. I told them
we’d pay a nominal wage if it ever came to that.

Except for running the security operation, I was retired. As some of the people became
more competent, I made one of them the Chief of Security and completely retired. The
girls were just at that age where they benefit by having Daddy and Mommy around full
time. We hadn’t figured on having as many kids as we ended up with so Ritchie ordered
up some playground equipment and had it installed in the park. Right after the tribe from
Palmdale moved in and was settled, that Olsen fella came up to me and handed me a
gift-wrapped box. I opened it and it contained 2 .50BMG shell casings.

“I wasn’t completely candid with you when we talked,” he said. “Everything I told you
was true but I omitted a detail. When I dug out those slugs I also looked around to see
just how well you’d policed your brass. I figured if you ever found out I had those slugs
you’d re-barrel the rifle if you still had it. Pretty fancy rifle, I know I would have kept it.
Anyway, you missed a couple of pieces of brass. As a show of my good faith and ap-
preciation I’m giving you my trump card.”

I checked the casings against a box of brass I’d saved from my occasional trips to a
range. Even without fancy magnification it was obvious that the brass had come from
my Barrett. That son-of-a-bitch had me by the short hairs the entire time. Pretty slick for
an old man who could barely walk and talked like he’d had a stroke. And, I had no doubt
that those 2 buddies of his knew all about those shell casings. He wanted to know did
we intend to put in a stable. I told him we hadn’t thought about it, but we’d check around
and see how many people wanted to get horses. Ritchie handled that and the next thing
you know we had a 36-stall horse barn on some adjacent property Ritchie had picked

38
up. Ritchie arranged for hay and feed and charged people so much a head for stabling
their horses. It was strictly a do it yourself project, they had to take care of their own
livestock.

39
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 9 – Lights Out

I’ve got to tell you about this, it was probably the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Early in
August the 3 old geezers go out and buy some horses, Morgan’s, no less. That sort of
made sense because Gary’s wife and Ron and his wife were a little on the chubby side.
Anyway, Ritchie tells me that they didn’t bat an eye when he told them it was $50 a
month per horse and they had to feed them and clean the stalls. Plus they’d be respon-
sible for letting them out to the pasture in the morning and bringing them in at night.

The Morgan averages between 14.1 and 15.2 hands and occasionally reaches 16
hands. It is most frequently found in the colors bay, black, brown, chestnut, gray, palo-
mino, crème, dun and buckskin. The Morgan is easily recognized by its proud carriage,
upright graceful neck, and distinctive head with expressive eyes. Deep bodied and
compact, the Morgan has strongly muscled quarters. The Morgan horse has a dramatic
gait with considerable action.

Morgan’s can be found in all 50 states and in more than 20 foreign countries. They have
changed very little. The Morgan has remained a stylish, spirited mount with confor-
mation that lends itself well to a vast range of disciplines. Morgan versatility is widely
recognized. The breed’s soundness, power and stamina make it the choice of many
driving enthusiasts. Morgan’s comprised a large number of entries at Combined Driving
and Carriage events, and was the first American breed to represent the United States in
World Pairs Driving competition. Morgan’s also excel in many other disciplines, includ-
ing Park Saddle and Harness, English and Classic Pleasure Saddle and Driving, West-
ern, Hunter, Jumper, Eventing, Dressage, Reining, Cutting, Endurance and Competitive
Trail. They are gentle enough for lessons, 4-H and Pony Club involvement, and due to
their steady, comfortable gaits, are in great demand as therapeutic riding horses. Mor-
gan’s are equally well known for their loving, kind dispositions.

The funny part came about a week later. Here are these 3 old guys and their wives on
those Morgan horses with what looks to be custom saddles. They got a bedroll on the
front in the style of the Calvary, budging saddlebags, Winchesters in scabbards and the
guys have single action revolvers strapped on. And that Olsen guy was wearing a straw
hat that must have been at the battle of the Alamo. It was old and stained and had
enough hair grease in it to grease the axles on your car. I could tell he wasn’t all that
happy being on a house, and his wife was laughing her fool head off at him.

“Morning folks,” I called out, “Out for a morning ride?”

Olsen muttered something I didn’t catch and then said, “As far as I’m concerned, the
only thing a horse if good for is feeding carrots to.”

“What’s in the saddlebags?” I tried to change the subject.

“Them’s our BOB’s,” Green answered. “You know, Bug Out Bags.”

40
“Where are you bugging out to?” I asked trying to make conversation.

“Ain’t going nowhere Mr. Rogers,” Rawlings cracked. “But if’n one of these horses was
to bust a leg or get bit by a snake we might get stuck somewheres.”

“Did you ever think about carrying a cell phone?” I asked.

“We got 3 cell phones here, one for each family,” Olsen said. “But what if the Russians
attack while we’re out on a ride?”

“I’m sure we’d have some warning,” I tried to assure him.

“Did you see that TV movie called ‘The Day After’?” Olsen asked.

“Must have missed that one,” I told him. “What was that about?”

“Russians attacked the US and nuked the country but good,” Olsen replied. “Govern-
ment knew it was coming but the people sure didn’t.”

He had a point there, those attacks on 9/11 had occurred and the 9/11 Commission had
said that it was a combination of failures by the government, mostly in the intelligence
field. They called for the appointment of an Intelligence Czar, among other things. Hell,
they had it all wrong; it was Congress who had gutted the CIA. But, that’s another story I
won’t go into. So these 3 old farts figured the Russians were coming, huh? Well my
money was on China. They had all of those satellites in orbit and even the Washington
Times had suggested that they’d lied about the nature of some of those satellites. I’d bet
dimes to donuts that they had some secret military satellites up there disguised as civil-
ian craft.

“Of course those Chinese have a bunch of nukes, too,” Olsen went on.

I snapped out of my reverie to listen to what he had to say.

“I always figured it would be the Chinese anyway, ‘cause Russia’s still rebuilding from
the cold war,” he went on. “Then they went and launched a test missile back on Christ-
mas Eve of 2004 and I’m not so sure anymore. You got a communications setup in that
shelter of yours, Rogers?”

“No, why?” I asked.

“I’m a Ham operator but I got no radio,” he said. “You buy the radio and put in the an-
tennas and I got the license to operate it for you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I told him. “Got to go folks, have a nice ride.”

41
That was a nasty look Olsen gave in response to my last remark, but I let it go. The man
seemed to be well educated, but maybe a little off in the head. I mentioned something
about communications equipment to Ritchie only to learn that I’d been wrong. Part of
the $4 million he’d spent was to put in a complete set of Ham radios and a ‘hot’
SINCGARS. He told we had radios covering every frequency including the aviation
bands. I told him to mention that to Olsen because Olsen had a radio license.

“Well, ok, boss,” Ritchie said, “But Norma and I have licenses too. They publish the ex-
ams and it’s just a little memorization work to get a Technicians license. Keep it up; and
you can test all of the way to the top. We both have Amateur Extra Class Licenses.”

I went to the apartment to see what Stacy was doing. Teresa would be starting Kinder-
garten this year and I figured they’d be trying on clothes. They weren’t, the girls were
watching TV and horsing around. I sat down at the kitchen table to visit with Stacy.

“Those old guys from Palmdale are something else,” I told her.

“What did they do now?” she asked.

I explained about the horses and the Russians coming and about Olsen being a Ham
operator. I may have mentioned that Ritchie and Norma were, too, I can’t remember.

“I figured those old guys would be either a laugh a minute or a ton of trouble,” Stacy
chuckled. “They sort of remind me of the 3 Stooges. I took Terri into Roswell to get her
school clothes yesterday. I took Mary and Ashley along and they raised such a fuss I
had to buy them new outfits, too.”

“It’s not like we can’t afford a few extra clothes,” I said.

“Have you seen the prices lately?” she asked. “You’d think they were made out of gold
rather than cotton or polyester.”

I started to say something when the lights blinked out. The emergency lights came on
automatically and sort of gave the apartment an eerie glow. I headed to the command
center to see what was going on and Ritchie met me in the passage.

“Hey boss,” he said, “We just lost power.”

“I know, the emergency lights came on and then the generator kicked in,” I replied.

“No, boss, you don’t get it, I think the whole darned country lost power,” Ritchie ex-
plained.

It turned out that Ritchie was both right and wrong. The whole country, as it turned out,
was down, but it was more than just the power. What was it? Barely an hour before that
I’d been thinking of those Chinese satellites? There was no way to confirm my theory

42
and nobody was in any danger so we didn’t call an alert. Roswell was situated on a
large pool of oil and natural gas. Southwestern Public Service Company provided local
electrical service and PNM Gas Services provided natural gas. Because of the natural
gas we had available, one of the requirements was that everyone used gas stoves, fur-
naces and hot water heaters. The homes had to be Energy Star compliant. With both
generators running, we could generate 2,500kw of energy. Richie had stocked up on
orifices to convert everything to propane and had buried and filled 4 30,000 gallon pro-
pane tanks.

Ritchie and I had talked about wind turbines but decided that they would be susceptible
to a nuclear blast. The homes all had solar panels installed and the odds were that we’d
only need to kick in one generator anyway. We’d only installed a limited number of stor-
age batteries in the homes because we could invoke a conservation policy in an emer-
gency. With the energy efficiency of the homes and the conservation policy, the resi-
dents of the trailer park could get by easily without us needing to run the second gener-
ator. We had to heat the command center anyway most of the time because the ambi-
ent temperature was a chilly 56°.

“Gary Olsen wants to see you,” Ritchie advised.

“What does he want?” I asked.

“He just wants to know if we know what’s going on,” Ritchie explained.

“I’d better talk to him, I suppose,” I told Ritchie. “Show him in.”

“You have any idea what’s going on?” he asked. “If you ask me, which you didn’t, the
Chinamen attacked us with some of those satellites of theirs and hit the country with an
EMP blast.”

“While we were visiting earlier I was thinking that the Chinese might have lied about
some of those satellites of theirs,” I commented.

“You know what a Faraday cage is?” Olsen asked.

“Don’t have the slightest idea,” I admitted.

“The Faraday cage is an electrical apparatus designed to prevent the passage of elec-
tromagnetic waves, either containing them in or excluding them from its interior space,”
he replied. “Our 5 homes have been retrofitted slightly so each home is a Faraday cage
and everything inside is safe.”

“How in the hell did you manage that?” I asked.

“Steel screening,” he replied.

43
“Care to elaborate?” I asked.

“We put steel screening in the attics and on the outside of our homes underneath the
siding,” he replied.

“When did you do that?” I asked.

“Been working on it since we moved in,” he replied. “Every day we took down some of
those exterior panels, slapped on some screening and put all but one of the panels back
up. Had to leave one panel off so we could have a continuous wrap.”

I hadn’t noticed, but it had been so busy with all of those homes moving in that I proba-
bly wouldn’t have noticed anything short of a fire. I had to see this one for myself.

“So, mind showing me what you did to your home?” I asked.

“Come on over, the coffee is on,” he laughed.

There was screening over all of the windows and screen doors. The wire was connect-
ed to the mesh under the exterior panels because I could see the wire that ran to the
small hole drilled in the panel. Olsen took me inside, lifted up the attic access panel and
handed me a flashlight. The whole attic had a layer of that material they use to make
screen doors and it wasn’t the fiberglass stuff either. Sharon was sitting there watching
some DVD movie on the TV, The American President, I think.

“A high-altitude nuclear detonation produces an immediate flux of gamma rays from the
nuclear reactions within the device. These photons in turn produce high-energy free
electrons by Compton scattering at altitudes between (roughly) 20 and 40 km. These
electrons are then trapped in the Earth’s magnetic field, giving rise to an oscillating elec-
tric current. This current is asymmetric in general and gives rise to a rapidly rising radi-
ated electromagnetic field called an electromagnetic pulse (EMP). Because the elec-
trons are trapped essentially simultaneously, a very large electromagnetic source radi-
ates coherently.

“The pulse can easily span continent-sized areas, and this radiation can affect systems
on land, sea, and air. The first recorded EMP incident accompanied a high-altitude nu-
clear test over the South Pacific and resulted in power system failures as far away as
Hawaii. A large device detonated at 400–500 km over Kansas would affect all of CO-
NUS. The signal from such an event extends to the visual horizon as seen from the
burst point.

“A major area of concern when it comes to EMP is nuclear reactors located in the US.
Unfortunately, a little-known Federal dictum prohibits the NRC from requiring power
plants to withstand the effects of a nuclear war. This means that, in the event of a nu-
clear war, many nuclear reactors’ control systems might/will be damaged by an EMP
surge. In such a case, the core-cooling controls might become inoperable and a core

44
melt down and breaching of the containment vessel by radioactive materials into the
surrounding area might well result.”

I noticed that Olsen also had surge protectors on every appliance. I asked about his ma-
jor appliances and he said industrial surge protectors were installed in all of the 220-volt
circuits. Which only left me how many homes with burnt out electronics? I didn’t guaran-
tee the residents I could protect them from everything, only that we had a shelter and
onsite medical care plus backup power. It turned out that Ritchie had a surprise or two
for me.

“Hey boss, send the security people out and find out how many folks need replacement
appliances or repairs,” he suggested.

“Then what Ritchie?” I asked. “I suppose you’re going to take your computer repair kit
and fix everything, right?”

“Nope. I’m going to dig out all of those repair parts for those electrical appliances and
get those 2 retired electricians that moved in to repair everything,” he laughed.

“What repair parts?” I asked.

“Well, I figured that if the US ever got nuked, EMP would take out a lot of electronics
and electrical stuff,” he explained. “The wiring in those all homes is a natural conductor.
So, I had two of my guys go around and get everyone’s major appliance model numbers
and stock up on the key replacement parts.”

“How did you know what to buy?” I wanted to know.

“I didn’t but the supplier did so I just gave him the list and he ordered the stuff in. We’ve
had it on hand since late July,” he still had a smirk on his face. “Beside, Bill, a lot of the
electrical appliances these days have electrical cords under 30” and the appliances
don’t burn out. Can’t help those people on TV’s or radios, but I have most of the im-
portant things covered.”

45
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 10 – Lights On

Do all computer guys think like that or was it just Ritchie? He had a big supply of light
bulbs on hand in case anyone needed them. Ritchie gave the two electricians free re-
pair parts in exchange for their installing the repair parts for the other residents. He
marked the parts up just enough to cover the cost of the parts for the electricians. It
turned out that because he’d purchased so many parts, he’d gotten a very large dis-
count. The residents ended up paying a lot less this way than if they had contacted a
repairman. And, within a week, we had everybody up and running. During that week we
fired up the silo and many used the facilities to cook their meals. Others cooked on their
gas grills.

Norma was covering the communications center. During that first week all she was pick-
ing up was traffic on the SINCGARS equipment. But, I’m getting ahead of the story.
While Ritchie had the people out checking on everyone’s’ appliances, I called a meeting
with the heads of each family. I explained that we had repair parts for their major appli-
ances, if needed, and could provide them at a price well below retail. I went on to ex-
plain that we had an arrangement worked out with the two retired electricians in the park
and that they’d be around and make necessary repairs. We’d bill the residents for the
repairs when their lot rent came due next month so they didn’t have to worry about
money at the moment.

When we cashed out all of the precious metals, we took payment in cash, as in green-
backs. The corporate account was separate; remember? Anyway, we took all of that
cash and socked it away. The interest rates were so low that they didn’t make up for risk
of having it invested and unavailable. A bundle of new $100 bills is about 0.43” thick,
give or take, and is worth $10,000. An eight foot ceiling is 96” high and one stack of bills
from floor to ceiling was $960,000. We had about $96 million is CASH so we had 90 8’
high piles of $100 bills, plus $6 million in 1’s, 5’s, 10s and 20’s. And, as we needed
money, we deposited some in our personal accounts; we, as in Ritchie and me. Ritchie
was into this survival stuff in a really big way.

Roswell isn’t the little spot in the road it was back in ‘47. The population of the city was
over 50,000 and the county over 60,000. It was going to be a while before they got
power back on in the city and the people were getting restless. You know how these silo
sites were protected, right? They had cyclone fence and barbed wire plus a gate at the
entrance. Ritchie and I decided to kick up the security level one notch just in case peo-
ple came down here looking to help themselves. This forced us to call another meeting
and explain that the fine print in the agreement everyone had signed had made them
part of our militia. Nobody seemed too surprised until we started handing out guns,
ammo and surplus web gear. We mounted the Ma Deuces on the Hummers and used 6
of them to run continuous patrols and kept 6 in reserve. I knew I should have pinned
Ritchie down better about what he’d spent that $4 million on. He came dragging out
some M-60’s, M-249’s and some LAW’s.

“What gives, Ritchie?” I asked.

46
“Read an article titled, A Defense Cookbook for the Logistician at Global Security,” he
explained. “It said we needed Ma Deuces, AT-4’s, hand grenades, M-60’s, SAW’s,
M203’s and Claymore Mines to really be able to protect this place. It said the Ma
Deuce’s were good against aircraft if we had ring mounts so I replaced the pedestal
mounts. Couldn’t get any of the AT-4’s, but I got some LAW’s. Got some of those M67
frags, too.”

“Didn’t you get any non-lethal munitions?” I asked. This boy wanted to kill our neigh-
bors.

“Got some of the M84’s and those ABC-M7A3 CS grenades,” he replied. “Plus I have
some M1079 Crowd Dispersal rounds for the M203’s.”

Yeah right, Ritchie. I noticed that some of the 40mm rounds were in cases marked
M406. It looked to me that we could try and scare the townspeople off or kill them if
necessary. However, given the choice, I’d rather try and just get along. We didn’t have
room for 50,000 people or more, but we did have an extra 1¼Mw of electrical power
that we could feed into the electrical system. Here I am living in a hole with my family
doing everything in my power to avoid attention and you’re handing out machines guns,
hand grenades and anti-tank weapons.

“If anyone shows up, try to reason with them,” I suggested. “Better yet, why don’t you go
into Roswell and see if our supplying their electrical grid with 1¼ megawatts of power
would help them any.”

“Yeah ok boss, but sooner or later we’re going to have to kill someone,” Ritchie said. “If
you will see to issuing the non-lethal munitions, I’ll drive into town and talk to whoever is
in charge.”

I was thinking that if push came to shove, we could supply all of our generated electrici-
ty to the town rather than have the situation turn ugly. But, the best we could do was
2½Mw and I was beginning to have my doubts that that would be enough. Let me give
you a little background on our electrical supplier and you’ll see what I mean.

Southwestern Public Service Company dba Xcel Energy is the fourth-largest combina-
tion electricity and natural gas Energy Company in the US. They offer a comprehensive
portfolio of energy-related products and services to 3.3 million electricity customers and
1.8 million natural gas customers.

The company has regulated operations in 11 Western and Midwestern states, and rev-
enue of $7.9 billion annually; owns over 260,000 conductor miles of electricity transmis-
sion and distribution lines, and more than 32,000 miles of natural gas pipelines; and op-
erates power plants that generate about 15,433 megawatts of electric power.

47
What they didn’t tell you was that they operated 71 generating plants and were head-
quartered in Amarillo. The company had all kinds of security measures for its plants. Fat
lot of good that did them, THE GRID WAS DOWN. Their major control centers are in
Minneapolis, Minnesota; Golden, Colorado; and Amarillo, Texas. Energy has been a hot
topic and widely discussed in New Mexico, too. The sun doesn’t always shine (especial-
ly at night) and the wind isn’t so windy, another reason we avoided wind turbines.

“They’ll take all the power we can supply them,” Ritchie said when he returned.

“What kind of energy conservation steps will they implement?” I needed to know.

“They tried to gloss that one over, boss,” Ritchie announced. “In my opinion, none.”

“Tell you what Ritchie, I was thinking about giving them our entire 2½Mw capacity, but if
that’s the attitude they have, I’d like you to go back and tell them that we can only sup-
ply 1¼Mw and that if they over draw and trip our breakers it won’t be coming back on.”

“You trying to get me killed, huh?” Ritchie said.

“Take the entire security force with you plus those old geezers from California,” I told
him.

“Yeah, like 3 tired old men will make a difference,” Ritchie shook his head.

An hour later Ritchie was back. “Do you know what those old guys did?” he asked.

“I wasn’t there Ritchie, tell me,” I told him.

“That Olsen guy butts his nose in after I explained the deal to them and they started pro-
testing our not restoring power if they popped the breaker,” Ritchie starts up. “He looks
the Mayor of the town right in the eye and asks the Mayor what his name is. So the
Mayor asks why. Olsen says that if they don’t want to do it our way there’ll be trouble
and he likes to know the name of people he kills.”

“What did the Mayor say to that?” I asked.

“First he turns about 6 shades of white then the Police Chief asks if that’s a threat,”
Ritchie continued. “So Olsen says no and everyone relaxes. As we’re walking out the
door, Olsen stops, turns around and says, about as plainly as can be, ‘It’s a promise.’”

“Give them the power and ask Olsen to come see me,” I suggested to Ritchie.

“You want to talk to me?” Gary asked.

“I understand you made the Mayor a promise,” I smiled.

48
“Darn right I did and I’ll keep it if they mess with this community,” he said. “Look, maybe
I was out of line, but that Mayor was an arrogant arse.”

I could see that his heart was in the right place even if he did have a big mouth. So I
cautioned him about making promises he couldn’t keep. He cocked his head to the right
and sort of raised his chin. He looked over his nose at me but didn’t say a word. I looked
at his eyes and they were as hard as steel. After a bit, he turned on his heel and walked
out without saying another word. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it in the eyes of the
fella that shot me in Europe and ended my career with the Agency, just before he pulled
the trigger. I thought I was dead and apparently so did he because he didn’t shoot me a
second time. But, I’ll never forget that look…

The power thing lasted about an hour. After that they overloaded the circuit and the
breaker tripped. Ritchie had warned them that we wouldn’t turn it back on so I told him
to shut down the generator. Maybe a half hour later I heard a disturbance at the gate
and Ritchie and I got in a Hummer, Ma Deuce and all, and drove over. There were
those guys from Palmdale standing there talking to the Mayor. Olsen was talking in a
measured voice just to make certain that the Mayor understood every word he said. The
Mayor must have pushed a button because Olsen shuddered, looked at his pals and
chambered a round in his M1A. It got deathly quiet in an instant and Olsen asked,
“What did you say your name was again?” The Mayor blanched and headed towards his
car about as fast as I’d ever seen him move. For some reason, they never came back.

But, our natural gas was turned off and I only found out about it because someone
complained that his gas grill didn’t light anymore. I checked with Ritchie and he told me
he had new orifices for all of the natural gas fueled appliances and he’d dig them out
and have someone install them. He mentioned that he had about 4 of those 30,000-
gallon tanks of propane so we could avoid going into Roswell altogether. Ritchie never
ceased to amaze me. Every time a problem popped up he had a solution. With 2½-
million gallons of diesel fuel stored, and getting by on a single generator, we were good
for about 4 years without power. But, we had to live in this town so I decided to go talk
to the Mayor myself.

“Mayor, I’m here to see what we can work out on the power,” I told him.

“That nut you have living in that trailer park was going to kill me,” the Mayor responded.

“Somehow I think that if he wanted you dead, you’d already be dead,” I told his honor. “I
think he just wanted you to back off and apparently you did. We have electrical generat-
ing capacity of 2,500Kw at the silo. I only offered half of that so as not to hurt our resi-
dents. We can implement conservation measures and get by without our generators.
However, for me to ask the residents to go along with that I need some assurance that
Roswell will implement conservation measures too.”

“Look, Rogers,” he said, “We have people on respirators and medical equipment and
we’ve had to move everyone to the hospital just so they don’t die. We need that power.”

49
“You say that they’re at the hospital and are all ok?” I asked.

“That’s right,” he admitted.

“Then I don’t see how that is our problem, Your Honor,” I told him.

“We turned off your natural gas,” he said.

“And temporarily inconvenienced a few residents trying to use their gas grills,” I pointed
out. “The trailer park is natural and electric except for a few backyard grills. We have
120,000 gallons of propane and the gas appliances are being converted to propane
even as we speak.”

“What do you want for the power Rogers?” he asked.

“I want you to agree not to overload our system and to replace the diesel fuel we use up
supplying the city power,” I answered. “You’ll only be able to accomplish that if you im-
plement strong conservation measures. There are over 17,000 households in Roswell.
We have a 2,500Kw capacity. That means that each home can only have about 147
watts. That’s not really enough to run everything so you are going to need to get people
to double, triple or quadruple up.”

What I didn’t tell his honor was that he was going to have to congregate people to have
enough energy to go around. If they got people in places like the high school gym and
used the schools cooking facilities, they’d be using mostly gas and very little electricity.
But, it wasn’t my place to tell him how to run his city. It was very legitimate, however, for
me to insist that he make the best of what we could provide and not squander a pre-
cious resource. The simple fact was that we probably had more diesel fuel in those oxi-
dizer and propellant tanks than they had in the entire city of Roswell.

Another simple fact was that it was going to be a very long time before the lights came
back on. Some electrical equipment is innately EMP-resistant. This includes large elec-
tric motors, vacuum tube equipment, electrical generators, transformers, relays, and the
like. These MIGHT even survive a massive surge of EMP and would likely to survive if a
few of the above precautions were taking in their design and deployment.

50
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 11 – What’s Wrong With This Picture?

I’m a travelin’ man

I’ve made a lot of stops all over the world

Ricky Nelson was singing about his sex life and when I thought about traveling it always
brought to mind where I’d gone and who I’d killed. I most certainly wasn’t the most pro-
lific person in my former profession. There was any number of people out there who had
probably filled more contracts than I had. Admittedly, many of my contracts were rather
high profile and generated greater fees, but the risk was often proportionate to the fee.
Of all the contracts I’d fulfilled, the one in Georgia had been the most difficult. Thinking
back, I cannot imagine why I took it. The money I guess, it was always more money.

Taking out my wife’s father at the behest of my wife was a real turning point for me. We
hadn’t gotten married out of any desire to not be able to testify against each other, but
rather out of something far more basic, love and lust. Of course she wasn’t my wife
when I filled the contract, but still… His Honor, the Mayor, apparently got the message
because we started delivering our full 2,500Kw capacity to Roswell and they never
brought the system down once. I don’t really know where they got the diesel fuel, but
they began to make regular deliveries. We were using just short of 25,800-gallons of
diesel a week. Once a week 2 tankers pulled in and delivered refilled the tanks.

By giving the city a heads up, we were able to shut down the generators at regular in-
tervals to service them and change the oil. I sent Ritchie back to town to hit the Mayor
up for oil plus the 3 types of filters we needed. The Mayor, according to Ritchie, didn’t
blink an eye. The next day a truck showed up with several 55-gallon drums of oil and
the filters we needed. No, that’s not the right term; expected would be more correct. We
had enough barrels of oil and filters to exhaust our entire inventory of fuel, all 2½-million
gallons. Ritchie had also laid in a supply of repair parts in case we had to rebuild the
engines or repair the alternators. We didn’t have a mechanic aboard who could handle
the task, but with Roswell getting all of the power, they’d have to supply one if needed.

Winter was coming on now and I was worried about the heat. If we weren’t giving away
all of the power, it wouldn’t have been a problem. We’d really loaded those homes up
and most of them were capable of producing about 15kw of energy, using 175-watt, 24-
volt panels. While this exceeded the demand of most of the homes most of the time, so-
lar panels do not produce at maximum all of the time. There is the angle of the sun to
consider and the outside temperature and whether the sun even shines on a particular
day.

I told you earlier that we’d limited the number of batteries in the homes. Ritchie and I
now believe that to be a mistake. Those crusty old guys from California had been ahead
of us on protecting against EMP and as it turned out, they were ahead of us on the
number of batteries available in their homes to store electricity. And then Gary came in
and told me something I hadn’t considered.

51
“Our solar panels work, right?” he asked.

“As far as I know, yes,” I replied.

“Do you know how a solar panel is constructed?” he asked.

“I have no idea,” I admitted.

“A solar panel is essentially a big transistor for want of a better explanation,” Gary
smiled. “What happens to transistors when you get an EMP?”

“They get fried, right?” I guessed.

“Yeah, that’s right, so we didn’t get no darned EMP or they’d be deader than a doornail,
right?” he continued.

His logic was inescapable. And after I thought about it for maybe 30 seconds, I bright-
ened up like a light bulb and asked, “Then what happened to the electricity?”

“I’ll be darned if I know what happened,” he laughed, “But I sure in the hell know what
didn’t happen. Probably some danged conspiracy or a terrorist attack that took the grid
down permanently.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “How else do you account for that equipment
and appliances being damaged?”

“I asked one of those electricians who had to have parts replaced and who didn’t,” Gary
explained. “It seems that in the homes without surge protection LIKE OURS, people on-
ly lost the equipment that was on. Ergo, it was a massive surge, not unlike an EMP in
many ways, but different in others.”

“I guess that explains why some TV’s still work and other don’t,” I admitted. “But why
haven’t the broadcast channels like radio and TV come back on?”

“That’s what makes me think there is a conspiracy,” he said. “To quote a line out of my
favorite move, ‘it don’t make no sense’.” (Which movie and who said it?)

“Would you and those pals of yours…” I started to say.

“They all call us The Three Amigos,” he says, “Get it right.”

“Would The Three Amigos be interested in taking a little road trip?” I asked.

“We get to kill anybody?” he asked, expectantly.

“Possibly,” I acknowledged.

52
“We’re your men,” he grinned from ear to ear. “When are we leaving?”

“Make it an hour and bring all of your gear,” I told him.

Gary gave a bit of a funny look, shrugged his shoulders and went to round up Ron and
Clarence. An hour later I came out of the silo to see them standing there with ALL of
their gear. Each man was wearing a military only Interceptor® QTV body armor with
what turned out to be level 4 plates; ALICE web gear with a model 1911 swivel leather
flap holster holding a M1911 and an 1860 Standard issue Civil War style holster with full
flap design holding their Vaqueros; M67 grenades; their M1A’s Super Match rifles with a
bag full of magazines; a M16 style rifle with M203 attached and several grenade pouch-
es on their pistol belts; 2 canteens; PASGT Kevlar Helmets; a second bag full of loaded
magazines for the M16’s; and, a Randall Fighting knife-8” model 2 “Fighting Stiletto”.

“You guys dressed up for a Halloween Party?” I asked.

“You said to bring all of your gear,” Gary gave me a mean look.

I looked closer at the pile and could see the Winchester rifle in its scabbard and a soft
case that I could only presume held a shotgun.

“Look, you 3 amigos are going to have to make up your minds whether your Civil War
Calvary or modern soldiers,” I chuckled.

They lost the 1860 holsters with the Vaqueros and the Winchesters.

“That’s a good start,” I laughed, “But why 2 rifles?”

“Because you can’t mount a M203 on a M1A and the M16 is a POS,” Gary said. “Be-
sides, we have 2 sets of ALICE gear, one set up with the M16 mags and the other with
the M1A mags.”

“Fine drag it all with you,” I said, “But someone is going to dust your butt while you’re
trying to figure out which gun to use.”

I had talked to Ritchie about Gary’s theory. Ritchie told me that the satellites powered
by solar panels had problems during the Leonid Meteor Showers not so much from
physical impacts of the meteorites as from the EMP the meteorite generated when it
struck the panels and burned out the electronics. Ritchie went on to say that it seemed
to him that we were talking about a PN Junction in those solar panels and that an EMP
damages a transistor by switching the PN Junctions to the on position permanently. In
addition, Ritchie pointed out that all of that wiring for the solar panels would be a mag-
net for an EMP. Whatever.

53
Assuming Gary was right, I went ahead and joined them. After they had shed what they
would agree to I started to load their gear into the Hummer. It was all I could do to keep
from laughing out loud. Each of the guys had his shotgun in an identical sleeve in a
camouflage pattern. They used magic markers to label the cases, Gary, Ronald and
Clarence. I got to thinking what would happen if one of them grabbed the wrong case…
We set off to follow the high power lines, looking for a break. Didn’t find a single one
and we made it almost to Amarillo.

“What do you think?” I asked anyone who would answer.

“Ain’t no power lines down, that’s for sure,” Clarence summarized the obvious.

“Did anyone check the power distribution system in Roswell before we left?” Gary
asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Did anyone go into town or wherever the power is distributed from and see if the
switches were turned on,” he rephrased the question.

I grabbed the mike to the second of the 13 SINCGARS that Ritchie had acquired and
gave him a call.

“Silo 2, this is Bill,” I said into the mike.

“Yeah, boss,” Ritchie answered.

“Did anybody check out the power distribution system in Roswell?” I asked.

“Rog, it’s deader than a doornail,” Ritchie said.

“You heard the man,” I told Gary.

“Hey Gar-Bear,” Ron called from the back seat, “How’s come you get to ride in front and
Clarence and I have to ride in the back of the bus?”

“‘Cause I’m the youngest, butthead,” Gary explained.

“I didn’t know you was an butthead, Gary,” Clarence picked up the banter.

“Let me rephase that,” Gary said. “Because I am the youngest, you butthead.”

“Why’d you call me a butthead?” Clarence asked.

“I was talking to Ron, Clarence,” Gary said.

54
“Who’s on first?” Ron asked.

I was beginning to understand what Stacy was getting at. Another 100 miles listening to
these 3 nuts would have me answering Ron’s question. About then we came upon a
major substation outside of Amarillo. The thing looked like it had been hit with an atom
bomb. Almost, but I’m telling you it was a mess. I found a phone booth that still had a
phone book and looked up the address for the Xcel Energy Control Center. I got the ad-
dress and we headed over there to see if it had been hit too. Whatever they’d used on
that substation was a firecracker compared to whatever they’d used on the distribution
center.

Long story short, I pull up to the curb and asked some guy what happened to the Con-
trol Center. He says they took out all 4 of the Xcel Control Centers and some more at
other utilities back east.

“How do you know what happened?” I asked.

“I was the manager of that Center until they blew it up,” he announced. “Haven’t you
been listening to the news?”

“Mister we haven’t had any news in Roswell since the lights went out,” I told him.

“That’s funny, we’ve been getting regular reports on KATP,” the guy says. “I only listen
to it and KACV, but it’s on the air too.”

“Ritchie, this is Bill,” I radioed. “A bunch of the Control Centers have been taken out, but
the radio stations here in Amarillo are on the air.”

“AM or FM, boss?” Ritchie asked.

“Try them all,” I suggested.

“Nada, Jefe,” Ritchie replied a few minutes later.

I turned on the radio and spun the dial and hit station after station. I looked at Gary and
Gary looked at Ron and Ron looked at Clarence who reached in the back and grabbed
a rifle.

55
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 12 – Learning the Truth

“Put the rifle away, Clarence,” I told him. I wasn’t going to get us busted for openly dis-
playing arms in Amarillo. At least not M16s with M203s attached. I should have let The
Three Amigos bring those 1860 holsters with their Vaqueros and Winchesters.

“Pull over there,” Gary pointed to a newspaper box. He piled out of the Hummer and
searched his pockets for a coin. When he didn’t find one, he gave that cover a good
yank and helped himself to 4 papers, then got back in the vehicle.

“How’s about we get us a motel and catch up on the news?” he suggested. “I could use
a drink.”

We found a motel with a restaurant and after dumping our things into separate rooms,
headed to the restaurant to get Gary that drink. Turns out that about the only thing The
Three Amigos drank was coffee, hot and black. Ron dumped enough Sweet and Low in
his coffee to make my stomach hurt. We went ahead and ordered from the menu and
started reading the papers. It had been nearly 10-weeks since the lights went out and
most of that story was old news and wasn’t really being covered. I decided to go to the
adjoining bar and see if the bartender could fill me in.

“We just got into town and see that there was a blown up substation on the west side
and Xcel’s control facility looks like it was hit by a bomb,” I said ordering a longneck.

“Yep, it’s like that all over the country,” he says. Typical bartender listens but never has
much to say.

“So friend, I’d be grateful if you could fill me in a little,” I said, laying a $50 bill on the bar.

Poof. The bill was gone and his mouth was running a mile a minute.

“About 10-weeks ago, there was a massive terrorist attack around the country,” he be-
gan to explain. “There must have been a bunch of the terrorists, but nobody knows be-
cause there hasn’t been a single arrest. Anyway, they bombed power distribution facili-
ties all the way from eastern Canada to the west coast. The grid overloaded in some
places and a surge wiped out a lot of stuff. Some cities got power back up, like we did,
but there’s no distribution network anymore.”

“I didn’t notice anyone working on either of those facilities,” I tossed in. “And something
else I ought to mention. My friends and I are from New Mexico and we can’t get any ra-
dio news.”

“The stations had to cut back to broadcasting with only 500 watts of power,” he said.
“You can get the stations just fine if you live in the city. Anyway, to continue with the sto-
ry, whoever they were didn’t just stop with the electrical power. They up and destroyed
a lot of the communications facilities. We’ve had people here in the bar who have local

56
phone service but no long distance. We’ve had other folks who don’t have any phone
service at all. The Internet is down, of course. The thing is if you don’t have local power
or a standby generator, you don’t have any power at all.”

“We heard something about EMP,” I said to see what his reaction was.

“That was the first report that got out among the military until they figured out what really
happened,” he allowed. “Bush has all of the military cleaning up the facilities that got
blown up and the Corp of Engineers is trying to rebuild some of the plants and get the
electrical grid back up.”

“Bush is a Texan, why hasn’t Amarillo been cleaned up and everything restored?” I
asked.

“Those terrorists, or whoever it was, used some of those missing Russian nukes on the
east coast, that’s why,” he explained. “They’re having a hell of a time cleaning it up.”

“You get national news here?” I asked.

“Naw, just pick stuff up here and there from folks passing through,” he explained. “You
boys stop by the Sheriff’s office and pick up travel permits, did you?”

“Travel permits? What travel permits?” I asked.

“I take it that means you didn’t,” he chuckled. “The Department of Homeland Security
and FEMA got Bush to issue an Executive Order. I think they’re trying to use it to catch
the terrorists. Anyway, to travel more than 50 miles from home, you need a travel per-
mit.”

“We don’t have any because Roswell is so cut off that we have no idea over there
what’s going on,” I explained.

“Well, you boys stop by the Sheriff’s Office and pick up a permit,” he suggested. “They
make allowances for people from out-of-town, so you won’t have any trouble. Just show
them your driver’s license and state your business and they’ll give you a permit for
wherever you’re going to. You want another long neck?”

“No thanks,” I said and laid a five on the counter, “I think my lunch is ready.”

“Find out anything?” Ron asked when I returned to the table.

“Lots,” I said. “Let’s eat up and get to one of the rooms and I’ll fill you in.”

We finished our lunch and The Three Amigos got large Styrofoam containers of coffee
to go. We gathered in my room and I told them everything the bartender had said.

57
“Now that figures,” Gary said when I’d finished. “I wonder how many pockets there are
around the country that are blacked out?”

“He didn’t say and I didn’t think to ask,” I said. “I suppose we’d better go to the Sheriff’s
office and get those travel permits.”

“Bull,” Ron exploded. “I don’t need anybody’s permission to travel around this county,
it’s the USA.”

“He’s right, partner,” Gary said. “We have to keep a low profile until we get more infor-
mation. Why don’t we all get cleaned up and take a cab to the Sheriff’s office?”

I thought about that and Gary had a point. If they got one look at the contents of the
Hummer we’d be in deep doo-doo. That Ma Deuce was under a canvas in the back to-
gether with 2,000 rounds of ammo. Then, there were all of those military weapons, with
suppressors yet! We all had concealed weapons permits, but I had no idea whether
they would be honored during the present crisis with DHS/FEMA running the show. Be-
sides, the Sheriff’s office might have more information. So we cleaned up and about 2
hours later we taking our turns getting the permits.

“What’s your business in Amarillo?” the Deputy asked.

“Deputy, we’re from Roswell and the city has been cut off for 10-weeks,” I explained.
“We came to find out what happened to the electricity and phones.”

“The 4 of you together?” he asked.

“Yes. Give him your driver’s licenses fellas,” I suggested to The Three Amigos.

“I’ll give you 96-hour permits,” he says. “You boys can check at the information office we
have set up and get a copy of the new Travel Rules and find out all that we know about
what’s going on.”

Hell, they didn’t know anything, that bartender had been a better source of information.
But, we picked up a copy of the Travel Rules and took a cab back to the motel. Here we
were 215 miles from home with 96-hour Travel Permits and very little information to go
on. Ron said he was hungry so we headed to the restaurant. I noticed a different bar-
tender behind the bar so I told the fellas I’d go pump him a little. I ordered a long neck
and fished out another fifty and a five. I paid for the beer and told him to keep the
change. Then I laid the fifty on the bar and suggested that he fill me in. He didn’t know a
whole lot more than the first bartender; I could have saved myself fifty bucks. Wanted to
know did we have travel permits and I told him yes. He almost seemed disappointed.

The gist of it was that parties unknown had attacked the US from within. On the east
coast, the attackers had employed several nuclear weapons and apparently there was a
lot of contamination to be cleaned up. Since Amarillo hadn’t been the victim of one of

58
those nukes, the city was near the bottom of the list as far as federal cleanup went. The
locals were starting the cleanup soon but they could only clean up, there was a dearth
of repair parts. There must be a shortage of food, too because I had to make 4 selec-
tions from the menu before I could order something that they had.

“I think maybe we’d better head back home fellas,” I suggested. “I didn’t learn a whole
lot more and I think it might be a while before they restore power and communications.”

“I thought you said we might get to kill somebody,” Gary replied.

“Somehow, Gary, I suspect that this is only the beginning,” I responded. “Who knows,
before this is over, you might get to shoot the Mayor.”

“That SOB,” Gary smiled. “He isn’t worth a bullet; I’m going to use my knife.”

We spent the night in Amarillo and early the next morning headed back to Roswell. I got
Norma on the radio and told her we were inbound and should be there in about 4-5
hours. She informed me that both Gary and Ron had visitors waiting for them when they
got home. Someone, probably military, came on the SINCGARS and wanted to know
who we were and what we were doing on these frequencies. The idiot wasn’t thinking or
he’d have realized that we were using military radios. Or, maybe he was and was just
playing dumb.

We arrived back in Roswell before noon and I went to see Stacy and the girls and left
The Three Amigos on their own.

“Find out anything?” Stacy asked.

“Terrorists or somebody brought down the electrical grid for the country and took out a
lot of control centers,” I explained. “They used tactical nukes on the east coast. Whoev-
er did it took out communications as well. I think that we’re going to be on our own for
quite a while.”

“How did the fellas from California work out?” she asked.

“We didn’t get into any trouble so I didn’t find out,” I told her. “But you were right about
one thing, honey. They’re a combination of the 3 Stooges, and Abbott and Costello. It
got to the point on the way to Amarillo, where we ended up by the way, that I was about
to join in with the ‘Who’s on First’ routine.”

All of the birds were returning to the roost. Damon was there with his 3 kids and Derek
and Mary had shown up with DJ, Elizabeth and Josh. Over at Ron and Linda’s, they had
a similar situation. Jennifer was there with her husband and two kids and Paula and
Mark had arrived from Austin, MN. Plus at Clarence and Lucy’s their children had pulled
in. Gary went to see Ritchie and reminded him that the deal was housing for all of their
families. There were 15 empty doublewides sitting so Ritchie took it upon himself to as-

59
sign each of them to one of the empty homes. The number of empty homes went from
15 to 8 in a matter of minutes. (2+2+3) Later that afternoon I went to see The Three
Amigos and meet their families. Ritchie had told me what he’d done and I told him that
that was ok, I’d given my word. I also told him to stay off the SINCGARS and just moni-
tor the frequencies. Finally, I told him to quietly slip the alert status from blue to yellow
and I’d explain later.

“This is my son Damon and his kids are named Britney, Aaron and Eric,” Gary said.
“The other one is my son Derek, his wife Mary and their kids, Derek, Elizabeth and
Joshua. I really appreciate Ritchie assigning them houses, Bill.”

“What are the backgrounds?” I asked. “Part of the deal was my finding them employ-
ment.”

“Damon is an electronics technician trained by the Navy,” Gary said. “Derek and Mary
met in the Army. He drove a tank and she hauled his tank around on a transporter. Da-
mon was also an over-the-road trucker for a while.”

“I’d appreciate it if Damon would get with Ritchie and check out the communications
gear,” I suggested. “Derek how about you take over the job as Assistant Director of Se-
curity?”

“I can if you need me Mr. Rogers, but I’m a whiz on inventory management,” Derek re-
plied.

“Derek, Ritchie’s wife Norma has the inventory all computerized, so you can check with
her,” I suggested, “But with your military background I’d really like you on the security
team.”

“You got a doctor here?” Damon asked. “I’m out of my meds and I’m bipolar.”

“Damon, we have a doctor with a clinic in the silo,” I told him. “He probably has what
you need. I’ve still got to meet Ron’s kids and Clarence’s kids so I’ll see you folks later.
Gary, could you meet me in the command center in about an hour?”

“I’ll be there,” he replied.

Paula was a teacher and I discussed her getting a school running. Mark was in market-
ing and I assigned him to the security force. Jennifer ran a day care so I told her to
check with Stacy and her husband was a mechanic and I put him on maintenance.
Clarence’s boys all ended up on the security force. Each of the families that had just
been added had something to contribute to the community and I was thankful for that. I
had a feeling that things were going to get a whole lot worse before they got better. I
didn’t know at the time what a gift I had for understatement. I also asked Ron and Clar-
ence to meet with me in the command center.

60
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 13 – Painful Lessons

We hadn’t been back 3 days before the folks in Roswell finally overloaded the circuits
and brought down the generators. We had to pull the alternators and take them to town
to be repaired. The engines were ok, just a little tired. After we got the alternators back,
installed and checked out, Ritchie, The Three Amigos and I went to see the Mayor.

“Your Honor,” I said, “Let me bring you up to speed. The United States has suffered a
massive attack from within. Electrical facilities all over the country have been taken out
and on the east coast whoever did it used nukes. They also took out the communica-
tions network. Here is a copy of the Travel Rules that FEMA/DHS have implemented
pursuant an Executive Order issued by Bush. We went to Amarillo and they have elec-
tricity but are short of food. You shouldn’t expect the power to come on anytime soon.
What have you done to locate alternative sources of power?”

“Nothing, we have your power,” he said.

“Had our power,” I replied. “You overloaded our generators and took out both of the al-
ternators, requiring us to use our only set of parts (a lie) to make repairs. I’m sorry, but
you broke the Agreement, and won’t be getting any more power from us.”

“Then we’ll just come and take it,” he said.

Kaboom!!!

Gary had gone back on what he’d said and wasted a bullet after all. He swung the
Vaquero towards the door just as the Chief of Police came rushing in. The Chief took
one look at the Mayor and a second at Gary and the massive .45. Gary had him cold so
he didn’t reach for his gun.

“Self-defense, Chief,” Gary said. “The Mayor declared war on us.”

“That’s right, Chief,” Ron added, “Bill here told him he was going to have to cutoff power
to Roswell and the Mayor said that you folks were going to come and take it.”

“You’re under arrest Olsen,” the Chief said.

Kaboom!!!

“Screw it, they can only hang you once,” Gary said holstering the gun.

We stepped over the body of the Chief and headed back for the silo. The minute I got
there I told Ritchie to put us on Red Alert. It was at this point that I learned what my
partner had been doing with all of the income from the business. The only remaining re-
coilless rifle remaining in service with the US military was the M3 Carl Gustaf Rifle. This
particular weapon was manufactured by Bofors Weapons Systems of Sweden and was

61
used by military units around the world. The models we had were Canadian. A quick re-
view of our inventory of projectiles revealed FFV441, HE Shrapnel rounds, useful in a
“lobbed” trajectory to 1,000m, which can be fused to fire on impact or airburst; FFV502
dual-use HEDP rounds; FFV551 primary HEAT rounds, with a range of about 700m, ef-
fective against moving targets at up to 400m; and, FFV545 illuminating starshells. They
were supplemental to our LAW’s.

Ritchie hadn’t bought any cannons or tanks, but he did have three Mk-19’s that could
use the ring mounts for the Hummers. I suppose our little militia could be best described
as a heavy infantry unit. As for size, I suppose we could field maybe two scant compa-
nies. By my calculations that put a hair over 400 of us up against the entire population
of Roswell. Maybe some of the wives would join in, especially the younger ones like
Gary’s daughter-in-law who was ex-Army. We were probably better armed than they
were unless they got to a military base and helped themselves to some weapons, that
is. Regardless, I’d tried it the easy way and that greedy Mayor just didn’t know when to
quit. I’d told, what did they call him, Gar-Bear, that he might get to take out the Mayor
and obviously he’d seen to it that he got the chance.

One of these days I was going to have to talk to Ritchie and find out where he got so
many illegal arms. But, I had a sneaking suspicion that I already knew. What the ex-
pression? Money talks and BS walks? Even in a country like ours, the proper amount of
money applied in the right places can oil the hinges and open a lot of doors. Most folks
know this instinctively but they don’t know who to talk to or have the funds to make it
happen. You take those 3 old guys from California for example. They must have some
sort of inside contact because according to them, those M1A’s of theirs didn’t start out
or end up as being California legal. And, they had their own M16A3’s and you absolute-
ly couldn’t buy those on the street. Neither could you buy M203’s or the 40mm gre-
nades, but they had all of those and more.

Gary had mentioned on the way back to Roswell from Amarillo that they spent more for
their ammo than the typical guy and bought Black Hills ammo for some of their guns.
Maybe so, but the last time I looked, Black Hills didn’t sell 40mm grenades new or re-
loaded. He talked about the shotguns and how much he detested the tactical loads
even though that was all he used. The low recoil, he said, gave them a faster recovery
time and the 2¾” shells meant another round or so. They alternated slugs and the 8-
pellet 00 buck in the shotguns. The cartridges in the rifle cartridge belt were the 325
grain +P cartridges put out by Buffalo Bore and the cartridges in the gun belts were
Winchester Silver Tips. He said he didn’t know if the Vaquero could handle the Buffalo
Bore rounds or not and he didn’t want to lose a hand finding out.

He went on to say that he’d always wanted one of those Barrett rifles but they were not
only illegal in California but also so expensive that he’d never been able to afford one.
He referred to that rifle I had and said it was really quite something. He’d seen, he said,
pictures of the rifle with the Reflex suppressor mounted but had never handled one. He
asked about the recoil and I explained that the suppressor reduced it to the point that
the rifle wasn’t unpleasant to shoot. He responded that it was pretty loud for a sup-

62
pressed weapon and I reminded him that I’d been shooting hand loaded .50BMG match
grade rounds to guarantee the accuracy I was getting. He asked about the spring be-
hind the suppressor and I explained that it helped to reduce the recoil even further.

When Olsen didn’t have up a head of steam, he was a pretty nice fellow. He explained
to me that he had what some referred to as a German temper, saying that he was slow
to rile but when he went off it was explosive. That Mayor had gotten his goat and it
made Gary angry just to think about him. I’d certainly agree with that. When we went
into the Mayor’s office, I told everyone to keep their cool. The Mayor had opened his
mouth and claimed a right to something that wasn’t his and then he’d said he’d take it
away from us. I was thinking that this would be one funeral we’d skip.

Ritchie got the weapons all reissued and I put Gary’s boy Derek in charge of one com-
pany and the Security Chief in charge of the other. Each company had 20 10-person
squads plus squad leaders and platoon leaders. We didn’t bother with the typical mili-
tary arrangement of having officers and enlisted. In the first place we didn’t have
enough people and in the second place the NCOs’ ran the military anyway, for the most
part. We just designated people to make decisions at the squad and platoon levels and
let Derek and Al make the decision at the company level. Al Davis was now in charge of
the security force. He was a retired 30-year Marine Noncom with a chest full of ribbons.
Gary mentioned that his boy had 4 rows of ribbons, which wasn’t bad for an E-5 in the
Guard. His boy had done a tour in Korea and one in Kosovo. I could have done worse.

We pulled Ma Deuces off 2 of the Hummers and mounted the Mk-19’s. That gave each
company 5 Hummers with a heavy machine gun and one with an automatic grenade
launcher. We set the other Mk-19 and 2 Ma Deuces up on tripod mounts to guard the
entrance to the silo complex. Being we were at our highest security level, Stacy sug-
gested that we get all of the ladies who weren’t fighting into the shelter with the younger
children. She said she’d get Ron’s girls Paula and Jennifer to help her with that and that
she’d see to it that the kitchens were fired up and hot meals prepared. None of the
women who had signed up as kitchen staff were part of our militia.

We had enough SAW’s to issue one per squad and enough M-60’s to do the same. 4
rifles in each squad carried the M203 grenade launchers. To a man, the squad leaders
wanted an M1A rifle so there was one of them, minimum, per squad. About ½ of the ri-
flemen who didn’t have the M203 wanted the M1A rifles so we obliged. That gave us 2
machine guns, 3 MBR’s, 4 grenadiers and 2 backup riflemen to the squad. We assigned
the fellas with the plain M16’s to carry ammo for the machine gunners. Not a bad tacti-
cal setup. Each of the 12 Hummers had a driver and a gunner, every last one of them a
woman. I’m not a sexist and I don’t want anyone getting that idea. But I’ve seen the way
some women drive and frankly some of them are better than men. The few extra people
we had manned the machineguns and the Mk-19 by the silo entrance or were issued an
M16A3/M203 combo.

Al, Derek and I decided that we’d have one company on duty at a time in 12-hour shifts.
I know that it would probably have been better to run 4-hour shifts, but that made for too

63
much moving of people around. We set up some of those camping privacy screens as
latrines and brought the people on duty hot meals twice during their shift. Usually when
you got drafted during a war, your term of duty was the duration plus 6 months. In this
man’s army your term of duty was only the duration, or until you died of old age, which-
ever came first.

“You know honey, on the way back from Amarillo, Olsen and I were talking,” I told Sta-
cy. “He sure fancies that Barrett Rifle of mine.”

“He’s a crippled up old man, could he handle a rifle that weighs that much?” she asked.

“It might be interesting to find out,” I answered. “He’s a pretty fair shot.”

“It’s your rifle so do what you want,” she said. “And, if lugging it around gives him a
heart attack you can always reclaim it.”

It took the people of Roswell about 3 days to screw up the courage to attack us. It hap-
pened just after a shift change, so I’m guessing 2am. They came sneaking in and sur-
rounded the site. Say, before I continue, do you remember the article that Ritchie said
he read at Global Security? A Defense Cookbook for the Logistician recommended the
M-18 Claymore mine and by now you should know Ritchie. The mines were planted
right up near the cyclone fence, on the outside of course. There were hastily dug
fighting positions and from these fighting positions a man could discharge 3 different
Claymores. The Claymore came with a 100’ spool of firing wire so we had the guy 50’
back of the fence in a fighting position (foxhole) directly behind one Claymore. The other
two Claymores were 100’ from the foxhole putting the mines about 80’ apart. And we
had enough of the M-18’s to ring the place multiple times, if necessary.

Our plot was roughly square meaning that the perimeter of the area was only about
2,640 feet. We had a mine on each corner pointed to cover both sides plus 8 mines on
each side for a total of 38. Make that about 5 times, Ritchie had 200 of the Claymores.
Anyway, the townspeople started out by firing at us from the dark. We had good light
discipline and they couldn’t really see anything unless they had night vision. I’m sure
some of them did because a few of my people who didn’t happen to be in a fighting po-
sition when the firing started went down. Someone with one of those Gustaf’s popped a
star shell lighting up the area.

By now all of my people were in their fighting positions and the star shell only exposed
the positions of the townspeople. Nobody needed to give the command to fire or to tell
the people when to touch off those Claymores. You do recall that we gave a pretty good
veteran’s preference, right? I’ll tell you one thing; never during either of my tours in Nam
did I see Charlie behave as stupidly as those townspeople. Never. The company that
had just gone off duty an hour or so before had routed out and was looking for opportu-
nities to make it to the extra fighting holes we’d dug. Hell that was easy, the townspeo-
ple didn’t have any machine guns, grenade launchers and such and they were eating
dirt trying to avoid getting killed.

64
As soon as the star shell began to peter out the second company made a rush for their
foxholes and nearly every one of them made it. When it was evident that all of my peo-
ple were secure another star shell popped up catching some of the townspeople, who
had taken advantage of the darkness and moved in a little closer, off guard. Some of
them were within the lethal range of the mines and a few of the mines were detonated,
cutting them down like wheat. With machine guns firing at them and grenades being
lobbed and now the mines, it became too much for the attackers and they began to pull
back. We had about enough ammo to fight WW III so we kept up fire until there weren’t
any more good targets.

We quickly moved the wounded to the silo complex and left the dead lay where they fell
until we had the morning light. The townspeople did not come back after sunup to re-
trieve the dead and wounded so I sent people outside our perimeter to check them out.
We hauled their wounded a ways off so they could recover them and treat them without
fear of our firing on them and hauled their dead and stacked them like so much cord-
wood. We didn’t take a count of their dead and injured, this wasn’t Nam and we didn’t
have any politician to please with some inflated numbers that didn’t mean anything an-
yway. They lost a bunch dead and a fair number wounded. They’d have had fewer dead
if they’d have raised a white flag and recovered them, but for whatever reason they
didn’t.

In the morning after we’d gathered our dead and laid them to rest in some quickly dug
graves, Gar-Bear went to his house and came out with a red flag. He lowered the Stars
and Stripes and added the red flag below it. I walked over to Ron and asked him what
the red flag was all about.

“Bill it could be one of two things, but they both mean the same,” Ron said. “In the early
days of the so-called ‘Golden Age of Piracy’ (mid-to-late 1500’s), pirates (especially
French boucaniers, or buccaneers) kept two battle flags, one plain red and one plain
black. Before a battle, the captain would hoist one or the other to show whether quarter
was being given (for the non-English speakers, this is an archaic expression meaning
whether or not prisoners would be taken). The red flag meant ‘no quarter’ (no prisoners,
slaughter every one of the enemy). In San Antonio when Santa Anna arrived he raised
a red flag warning the defenders that no quarter would be given. Either way, I think my
friend Gary is telling those townspeople that if it’s up to him, he’ll kill each and every
one.”

I went into the complex and located that Barrett rifle and the magazines and ammo. I
got Ritchie to help me carry the things and we took them topside and I gave them to
Gary. He just stood there holding the rifle with his mouth open staring. After a minute he
got a big grin on his face and said,” For me? Gee, thanks.” I showed him how to operate
the weapon and helped him load the magazines; I think Stacy was wrong; it was going
to be a long time before I got that rifle back, if ever.

65
What I did instead was buy him a McMillan Brothers Tac-50 with the Nightforce NXS 12-
42×56mm scope and night vision rail, 8 extra magazines plus a MUNS and Jet sup-
pressor for about 25 grand. Richie already had a large supply of Mk 211 and M1022 so I
bought him 10 cases of Hornady 750gr A-MAX match ammo.

66
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 14 – Information Blackout

It was getting down in the fall and the trees were shedding their leaves and there was a
definite chill in the air. The lights had gone out on Sunday August 14, 2005. We’d gone
to Amarillo the week before Thanksgiving and Gary had shot the Mayor the Tuesday
before Thanksgiving and we were attacked on the day after Thanksgiving. Officially,
winter was still a month away but it looked like it might snow. Apparently Amarillo was
still under power restrictions or we’d have picked up one of their radio stations by now.
This whole situation stunk to high Heaven. One would have thought that somewhere
someone would have a radio station on the air that was putting out more than 500
watts.

AM propagation characteristics vary drastically between day and night, resulting in two
completely different allocation schemes (and, consequently, different daytime and
nighttime facilities for most AM stations). During daytime hours, AM signals propagate
principally via currents conducted through the earth, called groundwave propagation.
Useful groundwave signals have a range of only about 200 miles for the most powerful
AM stations, and less than 50 miles for many stations. After sunset, changes in the up-
per atmosphere cause the reflection of AM signals back to earth, resulting in the trans-
mission of skywave signals over paths that may extend thousands of miles. Nighttime
skywave propagation results in a much greater potential for inter-station interference.
With the exception of powerful clear channel stations and relatively low-power local sta-
tions, many AM stations are required to cease operation at sunset. Most of those that
remain on the air at night must reduce power or use directional antenna systems, or
both.

That’s the whys and wherefores of AM radio transmission and signal strength. Ritchie
gave the information to me and he told me where he got the information way back
when. The townspeople hadn’t been back, but today was only Tuesday, November 29,
2005. I imagined that they’d be back. However because it was getting downright chilly
outside, we talked it over and decided to only maintain a platoon and 2 Hummers on du-
ty at all times. Turns out we had some night vision of our own and we equipped the
nighttime platoon with the binoculars. We had 8 platoons so the folks only had to pull a
12-hour shift every 4 days. Stacy suggested that we let everyone go back to their
homes but to pass out the extra firearms so that everyone old enough to use a gun had
one to use.

The problem with that, of course, was some of those people had never fired a gun be-
fore and the range was down the road a ways. Al suggested that we send a second pla-
toon to guard the people that were learning to shoot and the guards could help with the
instruction. It would take several days to get everyone to the point where I’d feel safe
being around him or her when he or she had a gun in his or her hand, but if that’s what
it took to be secure, so be it. I went with the group one morning out of curiosity. The
people who had never fired a gun in their lives turned out to be easier to teach than
those who’d fired guns but never had any training.

67
When I got back and head for our apartment, who should I run into coming out of our
apartment but Gary Olsen, with a smile on his face that went from ear to ear. He said
good afternoon slapped me on the back and went on his way. Now I’m not a jealous
man, but I’ll have to admit that I was really curious now. I went in and poured some cof-
fee, another bad habit I’d picked up from The Three Amigos, and sat down at the table.
Stacy was loading the dishwasher and I asked her what Olsen had wanted.

“Nothing, just a little information,” Stacy said.

“What kind of information and why didn’t he ask me?” I inquired further.

“It was nothing important and I guess you weren’t around, honey,” she said dismissing
me.

It wasn’t important until she said it wasn’t important and now it was very important. I got
up and headed to Olsen’s house to find out what the story was. I knocked on the door,
perhaps just a trifle too strong and Sharon answered the door.

“Gary here?” I asked.

“Sure, come in,” she said. “GARY, BILL’S HERE.”

“Coffee?” she asked.

“Just had a cup, thanks I’ll pass,” I responded.

“I was just coming to see you Bill,” Gary said. “Could Ron, Clarence and I have permis-
sion to leave for a few days?”

I hadn’t expected that. He was running for his life and taking his pals with him.

“I suppose, where are you headed?” I asked.

“Burbank,” he replied pouring a cup of coffee and sitting down.

“What’s in Burbank?” I was sort of curious now.

“A store where I can get a rather unique one of a kind gift for a friend of mine,” he said.

“Did Stacy give you the information you wanted?” I asked.

Sharon looked at Gary in a most peculiar way.

“As a matter of fact she did,” he said, “Told me exactly what I needed to know.”

“How about I ride along and keep you company,” I offered.

68
“Thanks for the offer, but we’ll be all right,” he said. “If it’s ok with you, we’ll leave tomor-
row and try to be back in about 4 or 5 days.”

“Well, ok,” I said, “I’ll see you when you’re (if you ever come) back.”

The next morning Gary’s vehicle was gone when I came out of the silo to have a look
around. I decided that it was time for a cup of coffee and went to his house and knocked
on the door. Sharon answered and invited me in. I went into the kitchen and sat down at
the table. When she asked if I wanted coffee, I said yes and she poured me a cup and
sat down at the table with me.

“They left very early this morning, Bill, maybe around five,” she said.

“Headed to Burbank?” I asked.

“There and to Palmdale,” she said, “The fellas know a gal named Sandy in Palmdale
who can cut a few corners for them.”

“Do you know what they went to California to buy?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you going to tell me?” I asked after a minute of dead silence.

“No,” she said. “Would you like some more coffee?”

“Well do you know what kind of information that he got from Stacy?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Are you going to tell me?” I asked after another minute of dead silence.

“Not that either,” she replied.

“Well, I’ve got to run,” I told her, “Thanks for the coffee Sharon. I can find my way out.”

I went to my office and was sitting there watching the security cameras Ritchie had in-
stalled outside of the silo when Ritchie walked in.

“They’re back,” he said.

“They only left at 5 am according to Sharon,” I said.

Ritchie chuckled. “Boss I was talking about the townspeople, not The Three Amigos.”

69
“Are they attacking?” I asked.

“The townspeople or The Three Amigos?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied, two can play this game.

“Nope,” he said and walked over to his desk and sat down.

“Where did they go?” I asked.

“The Three Amigos went to Burbank and Palmdale and I don’t know where the towns-
people went only that they’re back,” Ritchie explained.

I was starting to get a little tired of this game. “Look Ritchie, I could care less about The
Three Amigos. Tell me about the townspeople.”

“Oh, they brought in 3 semi flatbeds loaded with large generators,” Ritchie replied.
“They’re the Cumming Diesel units on one, but I couldn’t see what size they were ex-
cept that they’re bigger than ours. We have the model DFLC and I think they came back
with several of the model DQLA’s. They have about twice the capacity of our units. The
other semi had some generators I recognized. Television station KSWS has it’s studios
in Lubbock, but it’s transmitter is about 8 miles west of Caprock. That’s about 40-50
miles east of here. They have, make that had, not one but TWO big huge diesel genera-
tors to run that 50 KW RF transmitter for when the ice takes down the power lines. I’ve
seen these rascals and they are monsters and they get run-up every week to make sure
that they stay in shape. I don’t know how they managed, but they stole those 2 genera-
tors from that TV transmitter and loaded them each on a truck and hauled them back.”

“They could have gone after those generators instead of attacking us Ritchie,” I ob-
served.

“You know Bill, some people are just too lazy to do things the right way,” Ritchie replied.
“If they can steal a generator a few miles away, why go a long way off? We were what
they took to be a known commodity. It wasn’t until they attacked that they found out that
they didn’t know as much as they thought. That Mayor of theirs got them started in the
wrong direction. It’s a real shame that townspeople got killed, but they killed some of
ours.”

“I really wasn’t all that much into this preparedness thing when we started,” I admitted,
“But I can see now that it was the right thing to do. I stayed out of that fight because I’ve
had enough of killing. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t if I had to, but I really have had
enough.”

I was hoping that we had seen the end of the people from Roswell, but a few days later
a committee made up of members of the city government came to call. I had no expec-
tations concerning what they wanted but agreed to meet with them. I was afraid that

70
they come to insist on Gary Olsen’s arrest and demand some sort of redress over the
number of townspeople killed. The Three Amigos were running late and hadn’t returned
from California at the time the committee showed up.

“Can I help you?” I asked. There were 4 men and one woman, who I recognized as the
city council elected on March 2, 2004.

“We came to talk to you about 2 things, the death of the Mayor and Police Chief and the
shooting that occurred the other day,” one of the men said.

“I’m listening,” I replied. Better not to give them too much wiggle room until I heard them
out.

“The Mayor was wrong to handle the situation the way he did,” one of them said.

“I guess so, he declared war on us and it got him killed,” I replied.

“We heard that the Chief of Police and he were in on it together,” another offered.

“I wouldn’t know about that,” I replied.

“Anyway, there’s no arrest warrant for Olsen,” a third one said.

“I’ll tell him when I see him,” I offered.

“Now, about the attack. We could have come to you and tried to work something out.
But some members of the community wanted to take things into their own hands. We
were opposed to it, but there are only five of us and tempers were pretty aroused. All of
the people who started it ended up dead or dying later, plus a few who got sucked into
the deal. We’ve come to see what the City of Roswell can do to compensate those
members of your trailer park who were killed or injured. We really would like to avoid a
bunch of lawsuits.”

“I’ll give you a list of the names of the people who were killed and injured and you can
discuss this with the families of those killed or the injured people themselves,” I sug-
gested.

“You wouldn’t have a word with them on our behalf?” the lady inquired.

“I wasn’t involved in that fight personally and I really don’t believe that I can speak for
the people,” I responded to her. “I’m willing to advise them to discuss the matter with
you before bringing their lawsuits, however.”

“Please have them contact the City Hall and arrange to meet with us,” a man said, “I’m
sure we can work something out. Thank you for your time, Mr. Rogers, we’ll be leaving
now.”

71
The city council had no more than left than The Three Amigos pulled in. It would be in-
teresting to see what that Olsen guy had gotten for Stacy. They didn’t even stop at
home but came directly to the silo entrance where I had been standing watching the city
council leave.

“I expect you’ll want to see Stacy,” I said to Gary.

“She not too hard on the eyes, but no, I want to see you,” he said, “And it’s all rather
personal so is there somewhere we could go?”

“We can go to my apartment,” I offered.

“Perfect,” he said.

I noticed that the 3 men were carrying several boxes of various sizes, and frankly I was
beginning to get curious again. We made our way to our apartment and went into the
living room where Stacy was watching a video on the TV.

“Where are the girls?” I asked.

“Oh, Jennifer came by and picked them up to play,” Stacy said. “Did you get everything,
Gary?”

“It was a challenge, but yes, we got everything,” he replied. “Well almost. We couldn’t
get one item, but you can take care of that Stacy.”

“Bill you’re giving me that rifle was one of the nicest things that anyone has ever done
for me,” Gary started. “This whole thing started back in Palmdale after you came to me
and invited us to move here to Roswell. I went out on the net and started doing some
looking. I’m pretty handy when it comes to using the Internet to do research. I discover
that there was a suspect in the killing of Stacy’s father. Unfortunately they only knew the
killer by his working name, Paladin. I knew who did that killing, or was pretty sure I did,
and when you made the offer you did, I was positive. Anyway, I, we, hope you will ac-
cept these small gifts in the spirit they’re offered. Let me start with the leather.”

Gary handed me a package that contained a gun belt and holster. It carried the label
Alfonso’s Gun Leather. Inside were a black gun belt and holster with a small silver
chess knight, also known to some as a paladin. The gun belt and holster were faithful
reproduction of the rig that Richard Boone wore on the TV show. Gary then handed me
a box containing a Ruger Vaquero with a 7½” barrel in .45 Colt. A third box contained a
derringer in .38 Special. Gary stopped at that point and explained that the derringer that
would have been carried, had Paladin been real, would probably have been .41 Rimfire
but that he’d read an article that said anything over a .38 Special was impossible to
handle and a .41 Rimfire was unavailable. The final box contained a black hat identical
to the one Richard Boone wore on the show. Gary explained that he had to talk to Stacy

72
to get my waist size for the gun belt and hat size. Finally, Clarence handed me a Win-
chester Model 94 Legacy with a 24” barrel in the .45 Colt caliber.

73
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 15 – Locomotives

What Gary had been referring to when he’d said they couldn’t get everything was those
boots that Paladin wore. My beloved wife had been shopping, too. She had the black
pants and shirts. I put everything away, for the moment, and went looking for Ritchie. I
really wanted to see what the folks in Roswell had accomplished by acquiring those
generators. It had, at least, seemed to make them a little more civil. And, if I recalled
correctly, there was a store in town where I could get that pair of boots.

Roswell was doing much better and they had enough power that some of the people
had been able to return to their homes. Ritchie scratched his head and looked around
and wanted to know, “Where are the locomotives?”

“What are you talking about now?” I asked.

“Boss, when I was surfing the web checking out those solar panels, I ran across some
website that talked about using locomotives as an emergency source of power,” he re-
plied. “One place even refurbished locomotives and had an accessory pack that let
owners of private locomotives, like corporations, fix up their material handling equip-
ment to provide power in case of a brownout or blackout.”

He was right, again. Those diesel electric locomotives were nothing more than huge al-
ternators driven by the diesel engine. I told him to go find the city council and give them
the word; I wanted to go shopping for a pair of boots. I sure hoped we didn’t have a big
ice storm this winter. Those generators they’d stolen from that TV station were there to
provide backup power in case an ice storm took out the power. Whoa, what was I think-
ing? What power? I found those boots ok, but they pinched my feet. The salesman as-
sured me they’d get better as soon as I had them broken in.

A “Paladin” is defined in the American Heritage College Dictionary as a “paragon of

chivalry; a heroic champion; a strong supporter or defender of a cause; and any of the
12 peers of French emperor Charlemagne’s court.” While the same dictionary does not
specifically describe a knight as a Paladin or vice-versa, the knight’s definition of “a de-
fender, champion, or zealous upholder of a cause or principle” closely resembles the
aforementioned definition of a Paladin.

Wheeling, WV - The oldest cigar maker in America, Marsh Wheeling, has closed its his-
toric 161-year-old cigar factory in Wheeling, West Virginia, once considered the heart of
the cigar industry.

John Berger & Son Co. of Cincinnati, which bought Marsh in 1988, transferred produc-
tion of the product line to Marsh’s sister company, National Cigar Corp., which will con-
tinue to make the machine-made Wheeling Stogies at its facility in Frankfort, Ind.

The move was prompted by declining sales, rising taxes, and fear of lawsuits: West Vir-
ginia is one of the few states where courts have recognized the right of healthy smokers

74
to sue tobacco companies for medical screening. A landmark class-action suit against
the nation’s largest cigarette makers was rejected there by a jury in December, but
Marsh Wheeling lawyer Jim Gardill said shareholders consider the law too much of a
liability.

“In this particular case, it played a role,” he said. “You can get damages even though
you’ve not been injured. That’s a peculiar issue to explain to management in other
states. It’s just bizarre.”

The long, thin cigars that Miflin Marsh first rolled at his Wheeling home in 1840 were
low-priced stogies aimed at the ordinary, middle-income smoker. Marsh sold the first
stogies from a basket hooked on his arm, handing them out on steamboats that once
worked the Ohio River. By the late 1800s, the cigars were so popular and inexpensive
that taverns placed them on the counter like pretzels or toothpicks, free of charge.

If one is going to promote an image, he’d better go ‘whole hog’, I decided. So, I found a
cigar store and bought some of the stogies that I had to bite the end off. They used
them in the movies all the time, making you think that they were expensive cigars. They
were expensive, that much was true, at least moving into 2006. But, they weren’t ex-
pensive in the sense most people took it because they weren’t exactly Havana’s. On the
other hand, they were long and thin and promoted the image from TV. When I got
home, I showered and shaved, again, and got all dressed up in my ‘Paladin Suit’. I stuck
some cigars in my boot and when to see the Gary.

“Well, look at you,” Sharon said when she answered the door. “GARY, BILL’S HERE.
Come in Mr. Paladin.”

“Hey, you found some boots!” Gary said walking into the kitchen and giving me the once
over. “Did you find those cigars?”

I pulled a pair from my boots and handed him one.

“We’ll have to go to my office, Bill, it’s the only room in the house we can smoke in,”
Gary said. “Man, I haven’t had a Marsh Wheeling cigar in years.”

“I’m a little leery about dressing up as Paladin,” I told him accepting a light. “What if
people put 2 and 2 together?”

“Why should they?” he asked. “Alfonso’s had sold dozens of those holsters, or so they
told me. And the 3 of us are here in Roswell where you can keep tabs on us. But you
will need a horse and saddle so you can go riding with us.”

“I might do that,” I admitted, “But Paladin was a solitary figure.”

75
“And so you were,” he said. “Your reputation exceeds that of Carlos the Jackal, you
know. But from everything I saw on the web, nobody has a clue as to who you are. Hell,
even my wife thinks this fixing you up like Richard Boone is all just a gag.”

“I told Ritchie to talk to the city council about using locomotives to generate power,” I
changed the subject. “By the way, the city council says that they considered your shoot-
ing of the Mayor and Chief of Police to be justified and there’s no warrant out on you.”

“Good. But I sort of figured, ‘Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke’,” he replied.

“For a minute there I was wondering what the hell was going on between you and my
wife,” I told him.

“You have a self-esteem problem?” he asked. “Reason I ask is ‘cause that wife of yours
only has eyes for you, partner. She’s nice to look at and all, and a man’s allowed a little
imagination. But been there, done that and Ronald was right, any woman who’d run
around on her husband wouldn’t be worth having and your Stacy is definitely worth hav-
ing. Next lifetime I’m going to marry me a redhead, just for chits and giggles.”

“So where do I find a horse?” I asked.

“At the stables,” he laughed. “That rifle you gave me must have set you back a bundle.
The boys and I went the whole 9-yards and even got you the horse and saddle. It’s a
big one, about 15 hands. But, being you’re as light as you are, we didn’t get a Morgan.
Got you a Moroccan Barb stallion and I expect Sharon will kill me when she finds out.
She always wanted an Arabian, but only a Morgan can carry her comfortably.”

“I’ll get you some of those cigars,” I told him, “And thanks for everything.”

“Hey no problem, Paladin,” he chuckled.

I noticed that Stacy had picked up some western cut shirts plus boots and a hat. I didn’t
know if she rode or not, but I told Ritchie to find her an Arabian mare to go with the stal-
lion they’d bought me. I also told him to find her a short-barreled Vaquero and a gun
belt, holster and rifle. If we were going to play cowboys and Indians, we might as well do
it right. Norma and he hitched a trailer to a Hummer and took off the next day. They
were back in under a week and he gave me a thumb up then handed me some boxes.
Inside of one was an El Paso Saddlery Co. 1890 “Original” holster and belt. He said the
rifle was the same as mine and that the tack was at the stables with the mare.

Long story short, I gave her the gear and she did a fashion show. The skintight blue
jeans and form hugging western cut shirt… All I could think was, “Dale Evans, eat your
heart out.” Fortunately, Jennifer had the girls for another 3 hours…

It wouldn’t be the 4 amigos, I decided. It was Paladin and Lady plus The Three Amigos.
We still didn’t have the electricity back on and there was still the radio and TV blackout.

76
I half expected that any day the Army would swoop in, in their Apache’s and Black-
hawk’s, to restore law and order. Didn’t happen; it was as if Roswell had fallen off the
earth. The city council listened to Ritchie and started to round up locomotives. When
they had enough and Roswell was fully powered up, they loaded up those two genera-
tors they’d stolen and returned them to KSWS.

Cut off from the country as we were, in some ways Roswell reverted to earlier times.
There wasn’t a whole lot of diesel fuel in the town and they had to go foraging. The city
was burning enough diesel fuel keeping the lights on that they didn’t even have to stabi-
lize it. At least not at first; but they just kept foraging and eventually they had so much
fuel on hand they didn’t have any choice. Neither did they have any PRI-D. A 55-gallon
drum of PRI-D would stabilize 110,000-gallons of diesel. Ritchie gave them 10 drums
and told them they’d better start scrounging for more of the stabilizer rather than fuel. I
expect that they must have made a trip to Houston because they returned those 10
drums of PRI-D.

Anyone who was curious about my new attire got told that I was a TV junkie and they let
it go at that. One day in early May of 2006 when The Three Amigos and I were out rid-
ing south by the gun range we noticed those Apache’s and Blackhawk’s that I’d been
worried about. I figured that Roswell was dead meat but they didn’t even slow down.
They were headed towards the southwest so I sort of figured they were headed to Ala-
mogordo and either White Sands or Ft. Bliss.

You thought I was joking about cowboys and Indians, right? The Mescalero Apache In-
dian Reservation is located to the northeast of Alamogordo. It was about 87 miles by
road and only about 75 miles as the crow flies from Roswell. We were later to learn that
we weren’t the only people in New Mexico to go a little bit primitive. They had the Casi-
no Apache, the Inn of the Mountain Gods and Mescalero Inn, plus their own telephone
system, Mescalero Apache Telecom, Inc. There was also the Mescalero Tribal Store,
Mescalero Metal Fabrication and Mescalero Gas Company. In many respects the tribes
depended upon tourism and there weren’t any tourists. The Res was the home of the
Mescalero, Chiricahua and Lipan Apache. These folks were pretty self-dependent and
didn’t need to go on the warpath. But, the way I heard it the Army came busting in, rais-
ing hell, and they’d had enough of that.

Of course, at the time, there weren’t any communications and we didn’t know anything
about it. But the Army was in the area, for sure, because Ritchie told me that that
SINCGARS was full of chatter. To top it off, the citizens of Roswell had gotten pretty in-
dependent themselves. Once we’d killed a few of them and made them pull their heads
out, they began to scrounge far and wide. They were bringing in food by the semi load
and had more than enough fuel for those locomotives that were now their primary
source of power. And then, KINF AM radio and KRPV, KBIM, K15FT, K17EM, KOBR,
K50FG and K13RK, all TV stations, came back on the air. They didn’t have any outside
news, but were running a lot of movies.

77
One of those reporters must have made a trip to Alamogordo because we heard about
some unrest on the Res. Nothing specific, you understand, just that the folks over there
didn’t want any more white eyes coming around until they got settled up with the Army.
This news was unsettling to The Three Amigos and it was then that I learned of the divi-
sion in their camp. It seemed that Gary and Sharon were ‘Indian Lovers’ Clarence was
neutral, probably because of the race thing, and Ronald and his brother Robert up in
northern New Mexico, just south of Durango, CO, absolutely disliked Indians. Not that
The Three Amigos fought about it, but they sure had different attitudes. Gary was all for
saddling up and riding over to Alamogordo to help his Indian brethren, Clarence could
have cared less and Ron would only go if he could shoot a couple of those Apaches.

Stacy turned out to be quite the horsewoman. Hell, she could ride a whole lot better
than I could. She explained to me that ‘Daddy Dearest’ had tried to buy her off by get-
ting her riding lessons. A fat lot of good that did him; I’d gotten him right between the
eyes with the first shot and after the car smashed into another car at the curb, had add-
ed a couple more just to be sure. I’d fired 3 shots but could only find two of my casings
so John Law had some evidence on me. That was another reason I initially gave the
Barrett to Gary. I figured that if they ever matched that casing to the rifle he’d die rather
than give me up. I figured that Ron and Clarence were probably the same way and that
I had nothing to fear. Turns out I was right.

78
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 16 – Government Trouble

The fellas didn’t go over to Mescalero and avoided having to decide which side was
right. We were getting along fine and in June the new gardens were starting to come up.
This riding pastime was getting addictive and I left Ritchie to run things and sometimes
the 8 of us went riding and others only the 4 of us. On this particular morning, we rode
up to the silo and were just riding up and down the streets looking things over. I heard
the choppers, but figured they were headed to Alamogordo. Man, was I wrong.

I can’t begin to tell you how many of them there were, certainly more than a few. They
landed all around the trailer park and began to disgorge troops. There were also some
civilians mixed in who turned out to be FBI. Before our security people could react in
any meaningful way, they busted into the trailer park and began searching door-to-door.
The guys and I rode up to the gate and dismounted to have a word with whoever was in
charge.

“What’s the meaning of this?” I asked in my most assertive voice.

“Hey lookie here,” one of the soldiers said, “It’s another one of those Paladin nuts. How
many does that make?”

“Something I can do for you?” an officer asked.

“I own this trailer park and missile silo and I want to know what you think you’re doing,” I
demanded.

“What’s your name, Paladin?” the office asked.

“I’m William Rogers and I want to know what you think you’re doing,” I responded.

“William Rogers, huh?” the officer said looking at a piece of paper. “Well, that’s the
name on the records for this property. I’ll tell you exactly what we’re doing Rogers; we’re
searching for military style firearms. It is an offense under the new Executive Order to
have military weapons of any kind.”

“You don’t say,” I snapped, “What ever happened to the Constitution?”

“It’s been suspended because of the attacks,” he replied.

“You can’t suspend the Constitution,” Gary growled.

“Who are you?” the officer asked.

“My name is Gary Olsen and I’m a resident here,” Gary replied, “What’s it to you?”

79
“The Constitution HAS been suspended, Olsen and you’d better shut up or you’ll be ar-
rested for obstruction of justice,” the officer replied.

“You can’t do that, it’s Unconstitutional,” Gary replied.

“In order for it to be Unconstitutional, there has to be a Constitution,” the officer laughed
and “I told you, it’s been suspended.”

“Hey Major, check this out,” a soldier said walking up with the Barrett rifle I’d given Gary.

“Where did you get that rifle soldier?” the Major asked.

“The lady said her last name was Olsen,” the soldier explained.

“Relative of yours?” the Major asked Gary.

“My wife Major and I’ll thank you to return my rifle,” Gary said.

“No can do, it’s a military style weapon,” the Major replied.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Gary, Ron and Clarence slipping the thongs off the
hammers of their Colts. About that time another soldier came up carrying all of the am-
mo and empty casings for that rifle. One of those FBI guys reached into the pail of emp-
ty casings and pulled out one. He looked at it closely and turned to a colleague. “Hey
Harry, did we bring the file folder with those pictures of the shell casings? I need the one
that had pictures of the .50 calibers casings.”

Another agent, Harry I presume, handed the first agent a file folder. I could see from my
vantage point that it had enlarged pictures of casing head stamps. The agent kept look-
ing at the casing and then at the pictures until he found a match.

“Whee doggie,” he said, “Would you look at that? These casings match the casing we
picked up in LA a few years back when that hired gun named Paladin killed the mob-
ster.”

“Where did you get the rifle Olsen?” the agent asked.

“Bought it back in Palmdale before I moved to New Mexico,” Gary said evenly.

“When was that?” the agent asked.

“Let me think,” Gary said. “That was September 12, 2001.”

“How can you be sure of the date?” the agent asked.

80
“Because I bought it the day after those terrorists brought the World Trade Center
down,” he replied.

“Buy it though a gun dealer?” the agent asked.

“Naw, from a private party,” Gary said. “Can I have my rifle back now?”

“Did you register the transaction as required by law?” the agent wanted to know.

“How the hell could I do that?” Gary asked. “The rifle was illegal in California. But, it is
legal here in New Mexico so give me my rifle back.”

“Who did you buy the rifle from?” the agent asked.

“Uh, Dough,” Gary said after a moment. “Yeah that’s it; he said his name was John
Dough.”

I leaned over to Gary and whispered in his left ear, the good one, “Forget it Gar-Bear, I’ll
replace the rifle.”

“Sons-of-Bitches,” Gary hissed to me under his breath. “That’s why I’m a Patron mem-
ber of the NRA.”

“What did you say about the NRA?” the agent asked. “Membership in that organization
is now a felony.”

“I said I ought to contact the NRA,” Gary replied. The old boy was quicker on his feet
than I thought.

“You do and you’ll go to jail for sure,” the agent snapped. “We’ll put you in the cell with
Charlton Heston.”

“You boys locked up Moses?” Gary asked. “Son-of-a-Bitch!”

“He was a lousy actor anyway,” Harry said. “We’ll probably let him go; he doesn’t even
know his name anymore because of the Alzheimer’s. Keeps saying his name is Judah.”

They searched the houses from top to bottom, but that Barrett rifle was the only ‘illegal’
weapon they found. Then they went through the silo with a fine-tooth comb. When you
opened to doors to the armories, all you saw was a pile of boxes, one of Ritchie’s little
tricks. And the boxes were mounted to solid doors and gave the impression that the
rooms were filled to the brim with boxes of Uncle Ben’s Converted Rice. The boxes
were 2 layers deep so if they pulled out a box to check, that’s what they saw, a case of
Uncle Ben’s. Ritchie was a frigin’ genius.

81
Of course Gary had shut up after the Ben Hur remark. Standing there, I could almost
see the gears churning in his head. I didn’t know him well enough to know what he
might be planning, but I was relatively certain that whatever it was some people would
be very sorry they took that rifle I’d given him. Apparently the feds decided that Gary
was all bark and no bite because they didn’t haul him off in handcuffs. He was 63 years
old and pretty crippled up with his diabetes in the early summer of 2006. But his brain
still worked well when he wasn’t having memory lapses. That afternoon, The Three
Amigos went into town and bought a load of fertilizer for the gardens. In fact, they had to
make several trips and I just assumed they were stocking up for the next year or so be-
cause fertilizer might be hard to get until the country got straightened out.

For maybe the next 10 days, I didn’t see much of The Three Amigos so Stacy and I
went riding alone. Ritchie told me that the old guys wanted to borrow some of our empty
55-gallon drums and I told him to go ahead and let them have them, we had a lot by this
time, what with changing the oil in the generator and stabilizing the diesel fuel. A couple
of days later, Ritchie said the old boys had needed some diesel fuel and they pumped
some into some drums. He wondered aloud if maybe they were planning on returning to
California but I told him that there was nothing in California that they couldn’t find here in
Roswell. He said they hadn’t taken all that much fuel anyway, maybe 5-6 gallons per
drum.

“Sorry about that Bill,” Gary said, “We were working on a small project. Maybe we can
go riding tomorrow. After that the guys and I are taking off for a day, but we won’t be
gone long.”

“Sure,” I said, “We’ll ride tomorrow. Will it be just us fellas or will it include the wives?”

“Probably just the four of us,” he answered. “Say did you hear about the theft of that dy-
namite and the blasting caps from the explosives place in Roswell?”

“I hadn’t heard,” I admitted, “What did they take?”

“Well, I heard that they took dynamite, blasting caps, det cord and some timers,” he re-
plied.

“Huh,” I said. “What would anyone want with explosives?”

“Well I assume that they took them so they could blow something up,” he chuckled.
“Say I was talking to the new Police Chief and he was telling me that they have my rifle
on display at the federal building in El Paso.”

“Really?” I said. “That surprises me. I figured they’d send it to the FBI lab in Washing-
ton.”

“No sir,” he says, “They have it right in the lobby of that federal building at 700 East San
Antonio in El Paso. Well, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

82
I noticed late that night that the fellas had rented a moving truck and were loading
something into it. I was going to go ask what that was about, but I got busy and decided
that could wait until we went riding the next day.

“So, where are you guys going tomorrow?” I asked the next morning during our ride.

“We’re going down to El Paso,” Gary said. “We got a truck and loaded some things
aboard it that we need to deliver down there. It will be a one-way trip for the truck and
we’ll drop it off there. And while we were at it, we thought maybe we’d stop by El Paso
Saddlery and pick up some more holsters.”

“You boys drive real careful,” I suggested.

“You can count on that Paladin,” Clarence laughed. “We’ll avoid every bump in the
road.”

“What time are you boys leaving?” I asked.

“About 8 o’clock,” Gary replied.

“Mind if I ride along?” I asked. “Or is this one of those secret missions of yours?”

“It is that,” Gary admitted, “But if you want to run the risk, you’d be welcome. The only
thing is I want your promise that you won’t interfere with our secret mission.”

“Sure, you have my word,” I chuckled.

“This is a secret mission and it isn’t a laughing matter, Bill,” Gary said sharply.

“I said you have my word,” I replied.

The next morning I was over at Gary’s around 7:30am. He told me to go back to the silo
and get my Paladin Suit and my revolver, derringer and rifle. Odd, I thought, but what
the hell. I was back in about 15 minutes and I noticed that Gary not only had his rifle
and that 1860 holster and Vaquero but two Ruger gun boxes. Then I looked closer and
discovered that all 3 of the amigos had 2 extra guns. Once we were in El Paso, our first
stop was the Saddlery. There, each of the amigos bought a Hollywood Fast Draw Rig
Double Holster and a Tombstone Speed Shoulder rig. When we got back to the pickup,
they stopped and loaded cartridges into the belts. Then, they opened the boxes and
added another 7½” Vaquero to the holster on the left side and a 4⅝” Vaquero to the
shoulder rig. Damon was driving the big truck for the fellas and he never left it.

Our second stop was at the federal building located at 700 East San Antonio. The fellas
asked me to stay in the pickup truck and cover their backs. I noticed that Damon parked
the big truck at the curb in front of the building and came and joined me in the pickup. I

83
was about to ask him what this was all about when the shooting started. Damon fired up
the motor of the pickup and told me to fasten my seatbelt. He did a U-Turn and pulled
up right in front of the federal building next to where the U-Haul rental truck was parked.
The Three Amigos jumped in and he made tracks. Gary was carrying that Barrett rifle
and had a smirk on his face. We got about a mile when a massive explosion rocked the
truck. Of course, how could I have been so stupid? Hell, I didn’t even turn around and
look; I just knew that federal building was a pile of ruins.

“Hey, won’t they trace that truck to you?” I asked.

“How are they going to do that?” Gary asked. “Damon stole that truck yesterday morn-
ing from Flagstaff, Arizona.”

“Which means that he left a car there that they can trace,” I suggested.

“Naw, Kevin dropped him off,” Ron said.

“Where is Kevin?” I asked.

“Hell, I don’t know,” Ron said, “He probably got arrested for speeding again. That boy
has a solid lead foot.”

When we arrived back at the trailer park, Kevin’s car was sitting there so there must
have been another explanation for his absence. Turns out he got thirsty and got a motel
room and a case of beer in Holbrook and tied one on out of his Mom and Dad’s reach. I
didn’t see any more of the Barrett rifle, but Gary assured me it was safe. As it turned
out, while the guys were in California they’d really loaded up on Rugers. Not only did
they have the blued Vaqueros that they carried in their new rigs, but also they had the
nickel-plated Vaqueros shown in the photo of the Paladin holster set. These latter guns
were now in their model 1860 Civil War holsters. They also had nickel plated guns for
their single holster fast draw rigs they were wearing the day the Army came.

84
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 17 – More Government Trouble

I should have figured that the government would be back when they got the rubble from
the federal building in El Paso cleaned up and couldn’t find the Barrett rifle. But, for
some reason it never occurred to me. In late July we were out riding, the four of us,
when I heard those choppers again. We headed up to the trailer park as fast as Gary
was willing to ride which meant that we walked the horses. It was only about a mile so it
didn’t take that long. Gary had confided to me that he really didn’t know why he bought
the double rig. His left hand was so numb that all it was good for was lifting the gun from
the left side holster so he could take it and shoot it with his right hand. He said it was the
ravages of his diabetes.

Those boys sure did have their share of Ruger revolvers. Time was when a man was
lucky to own one and they only cost about $20 at the time. By my count, they had the
single holster fast draw rig, the 1860 Civil War holster, the double holster rig and those
Tombstone shoulder rigs and guns for all of the leather, which made about 5 of the
Vaqueros apiece. I noticed that they spent a lot of time on the range, too. I went along
one day and learned that they spent a lot of time practicing both shooting and their fast
draw. It didn’t matter how fast you could draw a gun if you couldn’t hit the target after
the gun cleared leather. Gary told me there was some TV show from the late ‘50’s
called The Restless Gun. On the show, Gary said, John Payne had taught a guy the
fast draw but had made him learn by learning accuracy first and the fast draw second.
Once Payne taught the kid both, he’d turned on Payne and found out that Payne hadn’t
taught him everything.

Gary said that if I’d ever paid any attention to Gunsmoke, Marshal Dillon was outdrawn
by a bad guy more than once. Dillon was alive because he was more accurate than he
was fast. Well, it was only a TV show, but it seemed to make sense. Maybe I should
spend some time practicing with the single action; it wasn’t too smart to walk around
with a gun strapped on just for looks.

It was the same bunch of federal people and they liked to tore the trailer park to pieces
searching for that Barrett rifle that they assumed Gary had taken. Apparently they’d had
someone in town checking out the fellas because they were also looking for the fertiliz-
er. They had copies of the purchase receipts and when they finished counting they only
came up one bag short. They were all set to arrest Gary when he told them to look in
his shed. In the shed was a half full bag of fertilizer. They were fit to be tied. All of the
fertilizer was accounted for and they found none of the stolen explosives. By this time I
was a bit puzzled myself. Then they hit The Three Amigos homes with metal detectors
and aside from finding the screening in the floor, ceilings and walls didn’t find any metal
that didn’t belong. I was beginning to think they’d arrest the guys’ just on general princi-
ples but they packed up and left. But it was sort of like Santa Claus leaving, you knew
they’d be back.

“How did you pull that off?” I asked.

85
“Pull what off?” Gary asked back.

“The whole thing,” I said. “You had all of the fertilizer you bought and I know you have
that rifle hidden, so how did you do it?”

“Well, we stole as much fertilizer as we bought,” he laughed. “We bought all of the ferti-
lizer in one place and took a little bit from each of the others. The dynamite doesn’t re-
act to that radar stuff of theirs and it’s buried in the backyard. The rifle is in the attic, al-
most in plain view if you know where to look. You know those metal vent pipes for the
toilets? It’s strapped to one of them.”

“Wait a minute, those vent pipes are PVC,” I said.

“Check for yourself,” he shook his head.

Sure enough, the PVC vent pipes had been replaced with metal pipes and you didn’t
even have to go all of the way into the attic to see the galvanized finish. Apparently Gar-
Bear was trusting on luck and the people being a little bit lazy. I crawled into the attic
and on the backside of the further vent pipe I found the Barrett. That still left a lot unex-
plained, but I was tired of feeling foolish and stopped asking. Since the amigos all had 2
of the 7½” nickel-plated Vaqueros and 2 of the 7½” blued Vaqueros, they frequently
switched guns between holsters. I presumed they did that just to keep everyone off bal-
ance. Ron said something about never being predictable.

I started to spend more time on the range with the fellas, if I was supposed to be Pala-
din like on TV; I’d darn well better learn to use that gun I had. By early fall I was as good
as or better than any of those 3 old men. I was both fast and accurate, probably due to
my superior training. Then one day, they informed me it was time to take on the Army. I
had visions of our Hummers going up against their tanks and Apaches and it kept me
awake all night. The Three Amigos had an entirely different idea. I guess Gary must
have had a long talk with Ron because one day we saddled up and loaded some pack
animals and headed towards the southwest.

It became apparent almost immediately that we were headed to the Res. Gary told me
that the Res was one of his favorite places and figured prominently in much of his fic-
tion. He said he wasn’t interested in undoing what had been done to the original inhab-
itants of this great land but he wasn’t going to add to their misery. He thought it was fit-
ting and proper that they had those casinos and were finally raking in the bucks after all
those years of living in the ‘white man’s squalor’. I suggested that maybe I shouldn’t
have worn the Paladin outfit and Ron said nonsense. Paladin, he said, represented an
idea and anyone who knew of the old TV show had a certain expectation of how Paladin
would act. So long as I kept that in mind, it would go a long ways towards establishing
trust with the folks on the Mescalero Reservation.

“So am I the 4th amigo or a goodwill ambassador?” I asked.

86
“You set the ground rules and said it was The Three Amigos and Paladin and his Lady,”
Clarence blurted out. “So let’s just leave it at that. We gonna have some fun messing
with the Army, Mr. Paladin, I can tell you that. They gonna play by modern rules and
we’re gonna play like it’s the 1880’s.”

“None of us were alive back then,” I suggested, “So how do we know what it was like in
the 1880’s?”

“We don’t,” Gary said, “But neither do they. We’re going to start out playing it like they
did in the movies and after a while they’ll figure we’re playing according to some script.
After that happens, we’ll reverse and double-reverse so they won’t know if we’re coming
or going.”

“Yeah right,” I said. “Those boys have helicopters and tanks.”

“And we have the 10th Calvary,” Clarence laughed.

“What do the Buffalo Soldiers have to do with this?” I asked.

“Tenacity and temerity,” Clarence replied

“Can you even spell tenacity or temerity, Clarence?” Ron asked.

“Maybe I can and maybe I can’t, Ron, but I know what they mean,” Clarence replied
evenly. “So brave and courageous were these men that their legendary Indian foes
called them Buffalo Soldiers. Their commanding officer, Colonel Benjamin H. Grierson
of Civil War fame, said the name was given because the Indians respected a brave and
powerful adversary, which relates directly to their much-revered buffalo. Others say it
was due to the similarity of the soldier’s hair to that of the hair surrounding the buffalo’s
head. The Tenth had the lowest desertion rate in the army, though their army posts
were often in the worst country in the west. Official reports, show these soldiers were
frequently subjected to the harshest of discipline, racist officers, and poor food, equip-
ment and shelter.”

“Ron,” I ventured, “It would seem to me that he knows what they mean.”

“Maybe, but we have something the 10th Calvary didn’t,” Ron chuckled.

“What might that be?” Clarence asked.

“Interceptor vests,” Ron smiled coyly.

“Was I supposed to bring an Interceptor vest?” I asked, because I most certainly hadn’t.

“Ritchie packed it for you, Paladin,” Gary said. “This isn’t a suicide mission.”

87
I was hoping that the vest they packed was black. It wouldn’t do for the legendary Pala-
din to be seen hiding behind protection. Those 3 men might be blowing smoke so, when
we stopped that first night out, I took the opportunity to inspect the packs. Sure enough
there was an Interceptor vest in black for me. Allow me to point out that in this conflict I
wasn’t a knight without armor in a hostile land. There were also LAW’s and grenades
and dynamite. They must have talked to Stacy because there were plenty of my favorite
Mountain House meals. And just in case it was needed, there was the Barrett rifle and
some MP5’s that I didn’t even know we had. Ritchie, again.

The next morning we were off after sunup. It would have been sooner, but they had to
have their coffee. We’d made 40 miles the first day, not bad, considering. I sure was
glad I’d been riding a lot with the boys; else I would have had saddle sores. We were
barely on the Res when the Apaches approached us. Maybe you can tell one Apache
from another, but they all looked like Indians to me. I had thought to pack two boxes of
cigars in my saddlebags and we all sat down for a smoke. They seemed to ignore Ron
and Gary and to concentrate on Clarence and me. They wanted to know if Clarence
was a real Buffalo Soldier and he told them only in spirit. That seemed good enough for
them and they turned their attention to me.

Was I really Paladin, they wanted to know. Yes, I told them I was; but not the guy from
the TV show that had died in 1981. Was I real a hired gun, they asked and I answered
truthfully that I was. I admitted that I hadn’t attended West Point like the TV hero but told
them I was an Army Ranger with 2 tours in Nam. That seemed to impress them; they
had lost brothers in Nam. The fact that I managed to survive 2 tours impressed them
even more. I also explained that I hadn’t finished the 2nd tour and that a punji stick had
done me in. One of them said something about punji sticks being bad medicine and I
figured I was in.

I hadn’t had time to check the last 2 packhorses the night before and was rather sur-
prised when the amigos unlimbered a pile of M16’s and magazines. The other horse
held .223 ammo. Not a lot, only 5,000 rounds, but enough to get started. Gary and Ron
moved into the circle and began to outline what they had in mind in the most general of
terms. The residents of the Res allowed as how this approach was very Apache in na-
ture and would have made Geronimo proud. I gave the residents my box of the lighter
wrapped cigars and passed out a few of the dark ones to The Three Amigos. We were
good to go.

The Army had stationed a group of Blackhawk’s to transport Infantry and 4 Apaches to
provide air cover. The Apache Indians had left them alone out of fear of the FLIR on the
Apache helicopters. In operation Iraqi Freedom, I wondered if that was still going on,
insurgents using the RPG-7’s had brought several of the AH-64 helicopters down. The
LAW was akin to the RPG-7, both were 66mm projectiles. The Blackhawk’s were first
deployed in 1978 while I was off in Africa. However, during my days with the Agency I
became very familiar with the aircraft and their vulnerabilities. A properly placed round
of armor piercing .50BMG ammunition could disable the GE Engines.

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Since Gary had the Barrett rifle with the laser range finding scope, he could get the dis-
tances to each of the 4 Apache choppers. The maximum range of the M72 was 200 me-
ters unless the exact range was known. In this latter instance, the maximum range was
225 meters. Provided the attack helicopters were within range, we could attack them
from our present position using the LAW’s. Otherwise, someone would have to move
closer. I pointed out the vulnerabilities of the Blackhawk’s to Gary and when I was con-
fident that he understood he began to range the AH-64’s. As luck would have it, 3 were
within 200 meters and the 4th was barely 230 meters away. We decided to chance the
4th AH-64; it was only 30 extra meters. The LAW rocket comes 5 to the container so we
doubled up on that 4th bird.

Gary began to fire rounds into the Blackhawk’s and either the sounds of his firing or the
damage to one of the choppers brought the military to full alert. The moment there was
movement toward the Apaches, the first 4 LAW’s were fired. This time we wouldn’t need
the 5th. Gary had 3 of the Blackhawk’s disabled and was working on number 4. It took 2
rounds to disable that bird. He swapped magazines and went for number 5. It was a
one-shot kill and number 6 a 2-shot kill. Number 7 was having a good day and Gary
needed a third magazine to bring it to task. He finished off number 8 with the remainder
of the third magazine and we departed the area.

“Maybe you should re-sight the Barrett and use it,” Gary suggested.

“You got all 8,” I told him.

“With 15 rounds of ammo,” he groused. “I’m not giving back the rifle, but I’ve seen you
use it. Go ahead, you won’t hurt my feelings.”

I really didn’t want to take the rifle because I was long out of practice. But he insisted
and I took it. I found an area out of sight and hearing of the soldiers and spent some
time getting back into form. While I was off doing that, The Three Amigos and the
Apaches harassed those soldiers something fierce. Instead of a steady rain of fire,
they’d pop a round off and then wait; sometimes a minute and sometimes 5. It was
some more of Gary’s strategy of being unpredictable. Eventually the soldiers got off a
radio call and reinforcements arrived. There were some caves and some dugouts and
my friends and those Indians went to ground. I burned off about 100 rounds until I was
totally satisfied with my shooting. It may not sound like much, but even with the sup-
pressor and the barrel spring that Barrett had a kick.

I got close to where I’d left them and could see the 2 new Apaches and 4 new Black-
hawk’s. I dug out the FRS radio and called Gary. He whispered back that I ought to stay
under cover until dark. After that the Indian who was with him would find me and we’d
all move to a safer position. I’d have tried to take out the Apaches with the rifle but I
wasn’t that familiar with the aircraft. There was no way I was going to open fire on the
Blackhawk’s with 2 Apaches sitting there. You don’t get to be between 55 and 60 by be-
ing stupid. A while later I heard voices and assumed, correctly, that it was an undisci-
plined patrol. They were making a fair amount of noise just trying to be quiet. They

89
weren’t doing themselves any good with the loud whispers. That was a lesson that I’d
learned in ‘Nam.

They moved on and shortly after dark I was startled to feel a hand on my shoulder. It
was one of the Indians and he put a finger to his lips and then curled a finger for me to
follow. 20 minutes later we were clear of the area and I rejoined The Three Amigos.

“You good with the rifle again?” Gary asked.

“I suppose I can hold my own out to 1,000-yards,” I told him.

“Let’s get the horses and get out of here, Gar-Bear,” Ron suggested.

Our hosts were just finishing cinching the saddles when we got to the horses so we
mounted up and rode over to Mescalero. There were introductions all around and then a
hot meal. And tonight it would be a regular bed instead of the sleeping bag. Those insu-
lite pads aren’t big enough and could stand to be much thicker, you know. The Therm-a-
rest pads would have been much better, especially if we’d had the full sized pads.

“Four Apaches and eight transport choppers wasn’t bad, Gar-Bear,” Ron was saying.
“Why did you give the rifle back to Paladin?”

“Ron it took me 15 shots to take out 8 choppers,” Gary replied. “You’ve seen how he
shoots; he never misses. Besides, I didn’t give the rifle back to him, I just asked him to
use it on this trip.”

“Yeah, Ron,” Clarence added, “I’ve seen that guy shoot up in the Angeles Forest, he’s
good.”

“That was a long time ago guys,” Ron said.

“Ron my best shooting was with the M1A at 600 yards,” Gary countered. “That Barrett
rifle is nice and I really like it, but it kicks.”

“You probably weren’t holding it right,” Ron suggested.

“I can give Gary the rifle back,” I joined the conversation.

“Like hell you will,” Gary snapped. “We do the best we can with what we have and I am
not a trained shooter. You were a Ranger and I’m sure they taught you to shoot.”

When had I told him that? Oh right, he must have overheard when I was briefing the In-
dians about my background. But Ron and he were off to the side and couldn’t have
heard that conversation. Gary was sitting with his bad ear turned towards us visiting
with Ron. Hmm, maybe Gary had done more checking on my background than he’d re-

90
vealed. Well, it didn’t matter, we were all in this together and covering each other’s
backs. It was good that he knew of my Ranger background, it was Specials Forces.

91
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 18 – The Thorn

We hadn’t killed any of those soldiers, not intentionally at least. They were Americans
the same as we, and that was a line that would be hard to cross. Gary pointed out that
having Derek in Korea for 13 months and then in Kosovo for 6 months had amounted to
19 months of dread. He related that there were times that he looked out the window of
his office just waiting for a staff car to pull up with news that his son was dead, wounded
or missing in action. Ron hadn’t been in the military and neither had his sons or daugh-
ters. And Clarence simply refused to discuss the subject.

We needed to take one or more prisoners to find out what was going on. Preferably
someone young who had earned some rank, like a corporal or sergeant. The Apache
moving in on me undetected came to mind and I wondered aloud if perhaps our hosts
could manage the same with some of those soldiers.

“How many do you want?” Travis Chino asked.

“Maybe a couple,” I suggested.

“Tell you what, Paladin,” Travis smiled. “We’ll slip in and grab a corporal and a sergeant,
that’s what you said you wanted, right? Then we’ll do some of our Indian stuff and you
can open fire with those rockets and that fancy rifle and take out the new choppers.”

The dark would be our ally in this adventure. We rested for the day and late in the after-
noon saddled up and headed back to that military encampment. We staked out the
horses and began to move closer. Travis and 3 others slipped off, presumably to go
soldier hunting. We took up a position different than the first time and I ranged the 2
Apache helicopters. They were only 175 and 185 meters away, an ‘easy’ reach for the
LAW’s. Then I ranged the 4 Blackhawk’s and adjusted the scope accordingly. I laid out
2 extra magazines though I doubted I’d need them. Maybe 30 minutes later I heard a
night owl hoot and the Apache beside me laid his hand on my shoulder. Ron and Clar-
ence readied the LAW’s and I took my first shot disabling one Blackhawk. They fired the
rockets hitting the AH-64s and the battle was joined. The Three Amigos and the 3
Apaches laid down light suppression fire and I finished off the Blackhawk’s, needing on-
ly 2 shots for one and single shots for the others.

When Travis and his 3 companions joined us dragging 2 unconscious soldiers we re-
tired back to Mescalero. Other than a lump on the head, the soldiers would be fine,
Travis assured me. They were awake by the time we reached the community and we
took both of them into a conference room and got them coffee and some aspirin. It was
obvious, even to them, that any improper behavior on their part would bring an immedi-
ate response from us.

“Look boys,” I told them, “Tell us what we want to know and we’ll let you escape back to
your outfit. All we want is a little information. We’re all Americans here but you have in-

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formation and we want it. You start that name, rank, service number and date of birth
crap on us and I give you to our Apache friends.”

“What kind of information?” the sergeant asked. “And who in the hell do you think you
are, Paladin?”

“Actually, Paladin in my name,” I replied. “What we want to know is what is going on in

the country. The lights went out in August and the communications have been down
since. What’s the deal, has the country been invaded or something?”

“That’s all you want to know?” the sergeant asked. “You don’t want military infor-
mation?”

“What an idiot,” I thought. Just finding out what was going on with our country WAS mili-
tary information from our perspective. Were soldiers different these days?

“That’s right sergeant,” I said, “Bring us up to speed with what’s happened since August
and we’ll see about letting you go.”

“The President wasn’t feeling well and he went into Bethesda for an exam,” the ser-
geant said. “The doctors decided that he needed a bypass, so they passed the reins to
Cheney and he went into surgery. While they were doing the operation, a bunch of ter-
rorists attacked the infrastructure and brought down the power. The media wasn’t given
any information about the President’s condition and there was a total media blackout
about it. Besides, those terrorists struck and the media had a new story to report.”

“Bush came out of the surgery ok, but those strikes against the country were well or-
chestrated and before anyone could really react,” he continued, “The terrorists took
down the communications centers. You might be surprised how much of our communi-
cations is dependent on satellites-I know that I was. So with Bush in the hospital and the
VP running the country as Acting President, the new Secretary of DHS cranks the threat
level to red and Cheney issues some Executive Orders. Some of the power stations in
the northeast were hit with nukes creating a terrible mess that everyone has been work-
ing on cleaning up ever since.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Gary snapped. There was the line again from the end of
‘Midway’, where Admiral Nimitz commented on what Charlton Heston would have said.
“We have been in a total communications blackout since August. On 2 separate occa-
sions, Army troops hit our housing area looking for guns. They said the Constitution was
suspended and things like membership in the NRA were a felony. Explain that to me,
sergeant.”

“That came later after Bush died,” the sergeant said. “Nobody was able to stop the at-
tack on our infrastructure and eventually, Cheney signed more Executive Orders tempo-
rarily suspending Constitutional guarantees. It all gets confusing after that and most of
us just followed orders.”

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“So let me get this straight,” I said. “Bush is dead, Cheney is President, we’ve been at-
tacked by terrorists using nukes and the President and DHS have suspended the Con-
stitution?”

“Almost,” the sergeant said. “Except Cheney isn’t President anymore. Before he could
appoint a new Vice president, he had a heart attack and died.”

“So that means the Speaker of the House is President,” Gary said.

“No,” the sergeant said, “But you’re getting closer. The Speaker was killed in an auto
accident along with the President Pro Tem of the Senate. That was a very strange deal,
I’ll tell you. The President is a woman, Condoleezza Rice.”

“You’re telling us that a political science professor is running the country?” Gary butted
in.

“Her. And the military,” the sergeant acknowledged.

“What’s the military have to do with it?” I asked.

“She ordered an immediate withdrawal from Afghanistan and Iraq,” the sergeant ex-
plained. “Then she got cozy with the Joint Chiefs.”

“So why the information blackout?” Ron asked.

“When they suspended the Constitution, they clamped down of the media,” he replied.

“Who is ‘they’?” I asked.

“Oh, the President and the Joint Chiefs, together with the Director of Homeland Security
and the Director of FEMA.”

“Put the blindfolds back on these two,” I suggested, “And drop them off back at that en-
campment.

“You’re going to let them go?” Ron asked.

“I’m not going to kill an American soldier who was just doing his job,” I said. “I’m Pala-
din, remember. But if I were the sergeant or the corporal, I’d find a different line of work.
Did you hear me sergeant?”

“Yes sir,” the sergeant replied.

This really didn’t make any sense. I could see the President and the DHS tangled up in
something, but FEMA was part of DHS and had no independent Director. And, the Joint

94
Chiefs were sworn to protect and defend the Constitution. Maybe we had more infor-
mation, but I was about as confused as a man could be. Gary was right it didn’t make
any sense.

“The closest that I every came to a scenario like this,” Gary said, “Was in my story enti-
tled Preparations. In that story I had Wesley Clark staging a coup d’état.”

Guardian coups - These coups have been described as musical chairs. The stated aim
of this form of coup is to improve public order, efficiency, or to end corruption. There is
usually no fundamental shift in the structure of power, and the leaders of these types of
coups generally portray their actions as a temporary and unfortunate necessity. Many
nations with guardian coups undergo many shifts between civilian and military govern-
ments. The term self-coup is used when the current government assumes extraordinary
powers not allowed by the legislation. A self-coup occurs when a country’s leader dis-
solves the national legislature and assumes extraordinary powers not granted under
normal circumstances. Other measures taken may include annulling the nation’s consti-
tution and suspending civil courts. In most cases the head of state is granted dictatorial
powers.

Now, if the United States had experienced either a guardian coup or a self-coup that
would explain a lot. But, there was something else the sergeant had said that really
piqued my curiosity. “Nobody was able to stop the attack on our infrastructure…” Could
the attack on the country’s infrastructure been some part of a plot to create a National
Emergency thus allowing the coup? And, if there had been a coup, what could a small
group of civilians from New Mexico and the Apache Nation do about it?

“There is a great question between the Apache and the Government. For twenty years
we have been held prisoners of war under a treaty, which was made with General Miles,
on the part of the United States Government, and myself as the representative of the
Apaches. That treaty has not at all times been properly observed by the Government,
although at the present time it is being more nearly fulfilled on their part the heretofore.
In the treaty with General Miles we agreed to go to a place outside of Arizona and learn
to live as the white people do. I think that my people are now capable of living in ac-
cordance with the laws of the United States, and we would, of course, like to have the
liberty to return to that land which is ours by divine right. We are reduced in numbers,
and having learned how to cultivate the soil would not require so much ground as was
formerly necessary. We do not ask all of the land, which the Almighty gave us in the be-
ginning, but that we may have sufficient lands there to cultivate. What we do not need
we are glad for the white men to cultivate.

“I know that if my people were placed in that mountainous region lying around the head
waters of the Gila River they would live in peace and act according to the will of the
President. They would be prosperous and happy in tilling the soil and learning the civili-
zation of the white men, whom they now respect. Could I but see this accomplished, I
think I could forget all the wrongs that I have ever received, and die a contented and
happy old man. But we can do nothing in this matter ourselves-we must wait until those

95
in authority choose to act. If this cannot be done during my lifetime-if I must die in bond-
age-I hope that the remnant of the Apache tribe may, when I am gone, be granted the
one privilege, which they request-to return to Arizona.”

“Those were the words of Geronimo,” Travis said. “It is time for the Apache to return to
Arizona. Will you help us?”

“We will if you will help us restore the country,” I said.

“Then we will be a thorn in the Army’s side,” he suggested. “We will use the tactics of
the great Apaches and make them crazy.”

“I have many more weapons back in Roswell,” I told him, “Together with enough ammu-
nition for a major war.”

“The Three Amigos want a piece of this,” Gary said. “But where do we start?”

“At the beginning,” Ron laughed.

“Do we get to take scalps?” Clarence asked.

“That’s up to you Clarence,” Gary said. “I have special presents put away for you two
yard birds and Paladin.”

“Whatcha got, Gar-Bear?” Ron asked.

I’ll have to admit that I was curious as well. Gary had a peculiar sense of history and
some very strange tastes.

“I’ve been saving some knives for a very special occasion,” he replied. “Back before the
lights went out, I took some of the money we cleared from selling our house in Palmdale
and ordered some knives from Randall Made Knives down in Orlando. This seems like
the appropriate time to pass them out. When we get back to Roswell, you’ll all get a
Randall Model 12 ‘Smithsonian Bowie’ – 11” blade, 2 ¼” wide, of ⅜” stock. Top cutting
edge sharpened about 5¼”.”

“What about those nice fighting stilettos we have?” Ron asked.

“They’ll make a nice boot knife,” Gary replied.

“But you wear tennis shoes,” Clarence laughed.

“I’ve got some cowboy boots,” Gary said. “They just hurt my feet.”

“Tight leather boots or shoes can be made to fit great and be comfortable by filling them
with warm water and letting them soak for about 60 seconds,” I said, “You then put them

96
on wet and wear them until they’re dry. One day of not feeling too comfortable gives you
a perfect fit for life. Someone gave me an Old Timer’s Tip and I tried it. It worked out
great. And as far as starting this shindig goes I think we should get everyone to Roswell
and pass out those arms and ammunition.”

The four of us saddled up and started back to Roswell. Since we’d been up all night
grilling the soldiers, we left before first light and made 45 miles that day. Our load was a
little lighter since we were absent 5 M72’s and a few pounds of ammunition. The follow-
ing day we made it the rest of the way back to the trailer park and we started issuing the
M16’s, grenades and ammo to our Apache friends. They had arrived in pickups pulling
horse trailers. We also passed out some of the survival food. Gary came dragging those
knives and they were very nice, but a little heavy, weighing almost 2 pounds.

“I think maybe I need a different rig,” Gary said. “Could we swing by Laredo so I could
pick up a Laredoan Crossdraw rig?”

The “Laredoan Crossdraw” rig features the same belt as the 1914 “Laredoan” with the
addition of a matching crossdraw holster. The crossdraw holster is designed to be easily
attached and removed from the belt. Its high ride design and 30° cant makes for a
smooth and effortless draw. The 1914-2 allows the drawing of either of your two pistols
with your strong arm, drawing the second gun after reholstering the first. The crossdraw
holster is cut from the same quality leather as the “Laredoan”, it is had molded for a per-
fect fit and has latigo hammer tie down.

We took 295 down to I-10 and on into San Antonio where we picked up I-35 and head-
ed to Laredo. I’ll have to admit that given what Gary had told me about his useless left
hand this rig made a lot more sense for him. It turned out that Gary had a Vaquero that
none of us knew about. It was a nickel-plated, 4⅝” piece with the stag grips that
matched his 7½” nickel-plated revolvers. This he wore in the canted holster. He also
had his Tombstone rig with its 4⅝” Vaquero. This gave him 3 revolvers readily accessi-
ble to his good hand. He wore the cross draw gun slid around front for easy access and
had that Randall Bowie on the gun belt on his left side.

After we finished up in Laredo, we returned to San Antonio and to Damon who was
parked in a parking lot in a stolen moving truck with a load of ANFO. We set the timer
and delivered the load of fertilizer to the federal build so that they could fertilize their
plants and took off for Dallas. Derek and Ron’s son John together with Damon, were in
one pickup pulling a 4-horse trailer and The Three Amigos and I were in a second, also
pulling a 4-horse trailer.

97
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 19 – Double, Double, Toil and Trouble

A line from Macbeth? You would maybe prefer Mein Gott im Himmel or Chanson
d’Amour?

The United States of America is a blended culture. I’m relatively certain that most peo-
ple could translate the German to ‘My God in Heaven’ or the French to ‘Song of Love’,
but how many knew the line was from Macbeth? Most thought the line was bubble,
bubble, toil and trouble.

We passed through Austin and had a meal before continuing on to Dallas. If anyone
was looking for us, we were unaware of it. We didn’t stand out driving pickups and pull-
ing horse trailers, except perhaps me in my Paladin Suit. We weren’t cowboys though
we had the ‘western look’. But then, we didn’t claim to be cowboys. We didn’t claim to
be anything. Our mode of dress helped us fit in a little better that was all. I decided that I
needed to get rid of the black shirt and pants and wear denims and a western cut shirt; I
plainly stood out too much and was attracting too much attention.

How did cowboy become a bad word? To start, the term has been badly misused for
years. A gunslinger was not a cowboy, although many cowboys may have been good
with a six-shooter. Today’s rodeo contestant is not usually a cowboy; just someone pay-
ing tribute to what cowboys did for fun. Neither is a country singer, a farmer, a card
shark or a line dancer a cowboy.

A cowboy makes a living working with cattle. They earned their recognition on danger-
ous cattle drives running from Texas to Wyoming in the late 1800s. The average age of
a cowboy was 16. That’s why they were cow-boys and not cow-men. The cowboys en-
dured blistering deserts, blinding snowstorms and bone chilling cold as they moved beef
for a nation of meat lovers. They slept only a couple hours each night, often sitting in the
saddle. They fought off snakes, wild cats and wolves. The handful of cowboys guarding
a large herd also made a tempting target for roaming bands of marauders or Indians. If
rodeo bullriding is the most dangerous eight seconds in sports, cowboying was the most
dangerous eight months of life.

Many cowboys were Civil War veterans, who, unable to readjust to comfortable life on
the East Coast, wandered west to make an honest living the only way they knew how –
enduring hardship no one else could endure. Almost half of all working cowboys were
blacks, Hispanics and Indians. There was no room for discrimination when so few were
willing or able to do the job. Cowboys were not rednecks, in the negative sense the term
has today of an intolerant rural white. Several black cowboys were widely admired as
the best in the business. Cattle drives were integrated even before the military, which so
often receives credit for valuing duty over skin tone.

The cowboy became larger than life, because they lived life so much larger than others.
Western dime-store novels, and later Hollywood, made the cowboy into a mythical fig-
ure. He came to represent a rugged, independent American who chooses action over

98
words. Movie actors like John Wayne and Clint Eastwood made the cowboy an icon, but
also associated the term more with guns, gambling and violence than with hard, hum-
bling work. And as inevitably happens with icons which become stale and rigid meta-
phors, the slings and arrows of public cynicism started.

The cowboy is now the butt of jokes and an adjective meaning brash recklessness.
Even those Americans who today admire the cowboy often hold large misconceptions of
what the cowboy represented. The hat today often connotes racial intolerance, extreme
political conservatism or a cocky disregard for civilized norms. The cowboy now regret-
tably represents some of the worst instead of the best of American culture. When poll-
sters asked Americans for the best one-word description for their commander-in-chief,
they chose positive terms like “courageous,” “determined” and “decisive.” The most
common term chosen as a negative description was “cowboy.” But given who the cow-
boys really were, aren’t those terms synonymous?

There was still a news blackout but we had mounted the SINCGARS radios in the
trucks together with some CB’s for quick communications. The SINCGARS operates on
any of 2320 channels and our system changed channels every day. On weeks begin-
ning with an even number day we used the date as the channel with the month first and
the day second. Thus, a call on July 4th would have been channel 0704 if the week be-
gan with an even day. If a week began with an odd numbered day, we added 1,000.
Thus a call on July 4th would have been on channel 1704 if the week began with an odd
day. We couldn’t use all of the channels, but it was a different channel every day and a
different set every week. The CB’s were for truck-to-truck communications on the chan-
nel that was the same as the day number.

The saddle rifles were in cases behind the back seat and the illegal, military style weap-
ons, in the toolbox together with the dynamite, etc. We wouldn’t pass a close inspection
but Ritchie had gotten together with the new Police Chief and we had pads of signed
Travel Permits, all showing that we were either on a hunting trip or on our way to partic-
ipate in a rodeo somewhere. And not only did we have permits issued by Roswell, we
had forged permits from Amarillo. All it took was a scanner and an editor to produce the
genuine blank permits and someone to fill them out. It was easy to duplicate the rubber
stamped signature of the Sheriff from Amarillo. You didn’t really believe he signed all of
those permits personally did you?

“Crack the window a little further would you?” I asked, “The smoke is getting pretty thick
in here.”

“There’s a clothing store over there,” Gary pointed out. “You said you wanted to change
your clothes?”

“Yeah, I’ll save the Paladin Suit for when it means something,” I said. “Call the other
truck and pull in there.”

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I came out of the store a changed man. The jeans were too new and the shirt had
creases from being in a package, but I didn’t look like Paladin any more. I guess I
looked more like a Dime Store Cowboy. I’d run everything through a washer when we
stopped for the night and at least get the sizing out before I got chaffed. I’d gotten a new
straw hat, too. So did Gary, claiming that it was time to ‘change the oil’. He didn’t dis-
card his old hat, so I took it to mean that he now had a dress hat. That was a nice look-
ing set of leather he’d picked up in Laredo and I picked up the cross draw holster for
when I could find a second gun.

“Do we have any particular agenda in mind?” Gary asked.

“Not that I know of,” I told him, “Do you have something in mind or somewhere you’d
like to go to?”

“Point this truck east out of Dallas and head for Orlando,” he said.

“You have something in mind?” I asked.

“Yeah, but doesn’t have anything to do with our mission so everyone look for targets of
opportunity where we can screw the government up,” he replied taking a deep breath.
“Remind me to use my nebulizer tonight when I go to bed.”

“You ok?” I asked.

“He’s ok, Bill,” Ron said. “Gary and I just have a little COPD, no big deal.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t smoke in the truck,” I offered.

“Now you sound like my wife,” Gary laughed. “I’m going to quit smoking just as soon as
it kills me.”

“If I don’t kill you first, partner,” Ron added.

We picked up I-20 and headed east. We pulled in at the first place we could find that
would allow us to get the horses out of the trailers. I gave Derek a wad of bills and told
him to go get us some motel rooms. I had a duffel bag of those $100 bills; you never
knew when a little extra money would be called for. I saw a gun shop down the street
and figured to go pick up the 2nd Colt after we got the horses squared around.

“Come on, Paladin,” Ron said, “Let’s go buy you a gun.”

We were wearing our iron. Texas prohibits the open carrying of firearms, but we didn’t
really care, we had the multistate CCW’s. They had the revolver I wanted, but there was
a waiting period and the guy didn’t know us. The gun was a used Colt SAA, mint bore,
mint grips, 4 3/4’’ barrel, Like New no Box, 1980 Mfg 3rd Generation, Nickel Finish,
Pearl Grips (“Only a pimp in a New Orleans whorehouse or a tin-horn gambler would

100
carry a pearl-handled pistol.”) I told him I’d take it and showed him my CCW. He wanted
$1,150 for the gun and told me there was a waiting period. I told him I didn’t want the
pimp grips and laid down 25 $100 bills. I walked out of there with the gun sporting a nice
set of Ivory grips (Patton would have approved). The grips were $500 extra. Money
talks and BS walks and the Colt SAA hadn’t been considered a military style firearm
since they’d replaced them with the .38 about 100 years ago. The grips had been
swapped out from another gun in the case. I paid $3,000 for a $1,150 revolver, but no
waiting period. What the hell, it was only money and we had piles and piles of money
back at the silo.

And, speaking of Patton, Now I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war
by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his
country. Men, all this stuff you’ve heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to
stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans traditionally love to fight. ALL RE-
AL Americans, love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the cham-
pion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big league ball players, the toughest box-
ers... Americans love a winner and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the
time. I wouldn’t give a hoot in Hell for a man who lost and laughed. That’s why Ameri-
cans have never lost and will never lose a war. Because the very thought of losing is
hateful to Americans. Now, an army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, fights as a team.
This individuality stuff is a bunch of crap. The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about
individuality for the Saturday Evening Post, don’t know anything more about real battle
than they do about fornicating. Now we have the finest food and equipment, the best
spirit, and the best men in the world. You know... My God, I actually pity those poor bas-
tards we’re going up against. My God, I do. We’re not just going to shoot the bastards,
we’re going to cut out their living guts and use them to grease the treads of our tanks.
We’re going to murder those lousy Hun bastards by the bushel. Now some of you boys,
I know, are wondering whether or not you’ll chicken out under fire. Don’t worry about it. I
can assure you that you’ll all do your duty. The Nazis are the enemy. Wade into them.
Spill their blood, shoot them in the belly. When you put your hand into a bunch of goo,
that a moment before was your best friends face, you’ll know what to do. Now there’s
another thing I want you to remember. I don’t want to get any messages saying that we
are holding our position. We’re not holding anything, we’ll let the Hun do that. We are
advancing constantly, and we’re not interested in holding onto anything except the en-
emy. We’re going to hold onto him by the nose, and we’re going to kick him in the ass.
We’re going to kick the hell out of him all the time, and we’re going to go through him
like crap through a goose. Now, there’s one thing that you men will be able to say when
you get back home, and you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now when you’re
sitting around your fireside with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you, “What
did you do in the great World War Two?” You won’t have to say, “Well, I shoveled shit in
Louisiana.” Alright now, you sons of bitches, you know how I feel. Oh!... I will be proud
to lead you wonderful guys into battle anytime, anywhere. That’s all.

That wasn’t George C. Scott. That was Patton’s speech delivered to the troops in Eng-
land on May 31, 1944. He was one heroic SOB! But, not everyone liked him. One sol-
dier actually said, “Yeah, our blood and his guts.” (One of Patton’s drivers in Europe

101
was a young Lieutenant named Ralph Juhl, later the Ford tractor dealer in Waverly, Io-
wa.)

When we got to Shreveport we found boarding for the horses and took a motel in town.
This seemed like as likely place as any to start our mischief. Maybe at a place on the
east side of town called Barksdale, AFB. Home to the 2d Bomb Wing and the Mighty 8th
Air Force; Barksdale is situated on over 22,000 acres of land in the NW corner of Loui-
siana. Just 18 miles east of the Texas border and 70 miles south of Arkansas it’s just a
short drive to any of several large cities. Barksdale AFB is 3 hours from Dallas, TX; 6
hours from New Orleans, LA; 5 hours from Houston, TX and 3 hours from Little Rock,
AR. Upon arrival, Barksdale is an easy find as Interstate 20 goes right by the base, and
Interstate 49 ends just 8 miles from the base.

It was a real shame none of us were pilots, Barksdale was the home to the B-52 and the
A-10 Warthogs or so we heard. We weren’t looking to hurt people, rather just to create
an incident and maybe damage some aircraft. As I said earlier, none of us wanted to be
forced to kill American soldiers, airmen or sailors. That didn’t mean that we couldn’t
damage a few of their precious aircraft. Those A-10’s were hard kills so I got out the
Barrett rifle and did some long range sniping. I’m not sure how many Stratofortress en-
gines I damaged, but more than enough to get their attention. They went to an alert sta-
tus and we got the hell out of there.

A call to Ritchie reveal that our Apache brethren were having a great time scaring the
living crap out of soldiers stationed at various Army posts. Unfortunately the ‘cousins’ as
The Three Amigos called them weren’t quite so particular about whether they scared
the troops or killed them. Ritchie said that they had passed on taking scalps because to
do so would point a finger right to the Indian tribes. That got quite a reaction out of Clar-
ence, he’d been working on the Bowie knife Gary had given him and it was literally razor
sharp.

Nothing happens in a vacuum and we figured that it wouldn’t do for us to remain in the
area. The next morning we loaded up the horses for a long day on the road. We took I-
49 to Lafayette, LA and headed east on I-10, only then realizing that we could have tak-
en I-10 east out of San Antonio through Houston and ended up right where we were.
But, as I’ve said we had no particular agenda. By flopping around like a dying fish we
were making it harder for anyone to define our route. Conversely, we were exposing
ourselves to more people. We pushed hard that day ending up in Tallahassee, FL. We
took the next day off to rest the horses and ourselves. Two days later we were off early
making our way to I-75. We followed it south to Florida’s Turnpike and that into Orlando.

The next morning Gary and Ron took off in the pickup and returned about 4 hours later.
This time, Gary had 10 packages. The first 3 packages contain more of the Bowie
knives, one each for Damon, Derek and John. The other 7 packages were identical and
contained, of all things, Randall’s Model 13 “Arkansas Toothpick” – 12” blade, 1½” wide
of ¼” stock. 5” leather handle with a brass lugged hilt and Duralumin butt cap. The
knives were replicas of the historic stiletto-dagger famous in Confederate days. Is all

102
this old fart thought about was guns and knives? Each of the amigos now sported 3 of
each, but they hadn’t started to clank, yet. We took I-4 over to I-95 and lodged the hors-
es and ourselves. It was becoming a little difficult to find lodging for the animals.

“Anyone have any ideas where we should go from here?” I asked.

“We’d play hell going east very far,” Ron laughed.

“North ok with everybody?” I asked.

“Hell yeah,” Gary said, “Maybe we can make it all the way to Savannah.”

It turned out that given our late start we were lucky to make Jacksonville. Later that
evening, Gary came to my room and wondered aloud what the odds were we could take
out Ms. Rice. I explained to him that the Secret Service did an excellent job of guarding
the President. He, in turn, pointed out that I was a trained professional assassin, that I
had a rather fancy Barrett rifle available that was last sighted in by me and that even
Presidents screwed up. I told him he had no idea what a toll that killing undeserving
people took on a person. He countered with his opinion that there was perhaps no more
deserving person than Madam President. Anyone, he said, who would suspend the
Constitution didn’t deserve to live. I told him that I’d think about it.

We left early the next morning after picking up the horses. It was over 700 miles to
Washington, DC. I told the fellas that we could go there but I was still considering some-
thing that Gary and I talked about and therefore had no idea what we’d do when we got
there. Gary suggested that we head for Cunningham Falls State Park. At the time, it
didn’t occur to anyone that the park was adjacent to Catoctin Mountain National Park,
the home of Camp David.

It took us 2 days to get to Cunningham Falls State Park. During the course of the jour-
ney, I had decided that I might take the ‘contract’ and told Gary to give me $1. I was a
businessman, after all, and I had to charge a fee for this type of service, no matter how
minimal. I didn’t think much would come of it, but I was now contracted to kill the Presi-
dent of the United States. But, unlike John Malkovich, I wasn’t trying to right some per-
ceived wrong. I was simply carrying out a contract.

103
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 20 – Filling the Contract

I had to think long and hard about Gary’s suggestion that the President should be elimi-
nated. I considered many things like the fact that she was 4th in the line of succession
and was never really intended to be President. Then I considered how she came to be
President. The sergeant hadn’t said how Bush had died; only that he was dead. Every-
one knew about Cheney’s heart but even the sergeant thought the accident that had
taken out the next 2 people in the line of succession was “a very strange deal”. I didn’t
really know much about the woman; only that she had ties to the first Bush administra-
tion when I was still with the Agency. But the idea of a palace coup wasn’t all that un-
reasonable, it happened all the time, in other countries.

The Camp is operated by Navy personnel, and troops from the Marine Barracks in
Washington, DC, provide permanent security. Marine One carries the President during
the half-hour helicopter ride from our Nation’s capital. Guests at Camp David can enjoy
a pool, putting green, driving range, tennis courts, gymnasium, and the many guest cab-
ins – Dogwood, Maple, Holly, Birch, and Rosebud, to name a few. The presidential cab-
in is called Aspen Lodge. The Presidential retreat is not open or accessible to the pub-
lic, but the eastern hardwood forest of Catoctin Mountain Park has many other attrac-
tions for visitors: camping, picnicking, fishing, 25 miles of hiking trails, scenic mountain
vistas, all await exploration.

In 1952 Truman approved a compromise under which the land north of Maryland Route
77 would remain Catoctin Mountain Park operated by the National Park Service and the
land south of Maryland Route 77 would become Cunningham Falls State Park. The offi-
cial transfer took effect in 1954. President Eisenhower renamed the retreat, after he
took office in 1953, “Camp David,” after his grandson.

As you no doubt knew, I preferred to have a lot of information about my targets. The
web was down and would remain so for an indeterminate period of time. I realized that I
was going to need to develop all of my own intelligence to even attempt this job. Without
doubt, these Marines would be a few good men and maybe not so few, but definitely
very good. It would take all of my skills and I wasn’t in the shape I’d been back when I’d
been really active. I decided that I needed to run to try and get back into shape. And it
couldn’t be a simple jog; I was going to have to test their perimeter at the same time I
was getting in shape. There wasn’t any time table just that the job had to get done be-
fore Madam President had the country in an even worse mess than it presently was in. I
started out slowly with the jogging, loosening up a little first and taking it easy for the
first few days.

Hell, I didn’t even have a good idea where in that forest Camp David was. By searching
maps I found the probable location. My scouting revealed that I was correct but the
place was guarded better than the White House. The 132-acre camp put most every-
thing out of the range of my Barrett. I gave it some thought and got on the radio to
Ritchie.

104
“White Knight calling Whiz Kid,” I sent.

“Yeah boss,” Ritchie answered.

“Translate. Gamma minus one. Working part times four. ASAP,” I transmitted.

“Rog, 10-20?” Ritchie replied.

“Hagerstown,” I replied.

“10-4, 48,” he replied.

Gary was standing there listening and his mental gears were churning to the point there
was almost smoke coming from his ears. He got a puzzled look and then brightened
considerably. A look of awe came over his face.

“You have Stingers?” he asked.

I smiled. Gamma is the 3rd letter of the Greek alphabet. Gamma minus one is Beta.
Translated to English was the letter B. The working part of a Bee is the Stinger and I
had told Ritchie to bring me 4 as soon as possible. Ritchie had replied that it would take
about 48 hours to bring them and wanted to know where he should deliver them. By
prearrangement, I’d give him the name of a nearby city and he’d meet me at the first
service station south of the city; or if the city only ran east-west the first station east of
the city.

The Stinger is a man-portable, shoulder-fired guided missile system, which enables the
soldier to effectively engage low-altitude jet, propeller-driven and helicopter aircraft. De-
veloped by the United States Army Missile Command, the Stinger was the successor to
the Redeye Weapon System. The system is a “fire-and-forget” weapon employing a
passive infrared seeker and proportional navigation system. Stinger also is designed for
the threat beyond the 1990s, with an all-aspect engagement capability, and IFF (Identi-
fication-Friend-or-Foe), improved range and maneuverability, and significant counter-
measures immunity. The missile, packaged within its disposable launch tube, is deliv-
ered as a certified round, requiring no field testing or direct support maintenance. A
separable, reusable grip stock is attached to the round prior to use and may be used
again.

Ritchie had reprogrammed our Stingers to eliminate the IFF feature (used a terst Jump-
er plug). Don’t you just love it when you have one of the 10 best hackers in the world on
your staff? I told Ritchie was a genius, didn’t I? Two days later we met up with Ritchie at
a service station outside of Hagerstown. He followed me to an out of the way location
and we transferred the Stingers to the pickup and covered them with a tarp.

“What’s up, boss?” Ritchie asked.

105
“I took a new contract,” I told him.

“Anyone I know?” he asked.

“Condoleezza Rice.”

“Don’t let this Paladin thing go to your head,” he said. “How much are we getting for this
contract?”

“$1,” I replied.

$1?” he echoed, starting to come unglued. “Have you lost your mind? I thought you had
retired.”

“I had, but this came up and under the circumstances, it was something I felt I had to
do,” I replied.

“So who’s the contractor?” he asked.

“Gary,” I said.

“He hired you to assassinate the President of the United States and only offered a dol-
lar?” Ritchie was shocked.

“He didn’t offer me anything,” I explained. “The dollar was my idea to make the contract
binding.”

“Assuming you can off the Prez,” Ritchie expounded, “Who are you going after next, the
Joint Chiefs? Or maybe you’ll just take on the whole Marine Corps singled handed?”

“Chill Ritchie, it will be a piece of cake,” I said not believing it myself.

“I almost forgot,” Ritchie said, “I have a present for you.”

“Thanks,” I said taking the Colt revolver box.

“It’s not from me,” he said. “Gary called Sharon and Sharon got it, whatever it is. I didn’t
even look in the box.”

The box contained a Colt SAA, nickel-plated, 7½” barrel, with real Ivory grips. It
matched my new used Colt that I had picked up outside of Dallas. I wasn’t aware but a
company or two still produced genuine ivory grips. Gary must have sent a message to
Sharon and put her up to this. No doubt she had some of his proclivity for guns. After
we got back to Cunningham Falls State Park, I went to thank him and he started laying
questions on me.

106
“How are you going to defeat the ammonia sniffer?” he asked.

“What are you talking about?” I wanted to know because he lost me on the turn.

“In that Charles Bronson movie called Assassination, Bronson mounted an ammonia
detector in a look-alike Marine-One and detected the sniper at long range,” Gary ex-
plained. “Only humans and monkeys give off ammonia.”

“Really?” I replied, somewhat astonished. “Personally, I’d be more worried about FLIR.”

“Yeah, that too,” Gary said. “How are you going to pull this off?”

“Sooner or later the President is going to come to Camp David,” I explained. “We’ll
probably see Marine-One come in. I propose to position us to the east of the Camp in
the general flight path the chopper takes. We’ll have to do something to mask my body
heat. When the chopper leaves, I’ll hear it and pop up as it passes over and let a Sting-
er fly. What could be more simple?”

“That doesn’t cover the ammonia problem,” he said.

“So go to the store and buy a few gallons of ammonia and you and the amigos can
spread it around after the chopper comes in,” I laughed, not really convinced but humor-
ing the old man.

“I get a discount if we help?” he kidded.

“Sorry,” I said, “It has to be a full dollar to make the contract legal.”

“How can a contract to murder someone be legal?” he asked.

“Don’t get the legality of the contract itself mixed up with the legality of the act itself,” I
retorted.

“A contract to perform an illegal act is null and void on its face,” he replied. “But what the
hell, we’ll help you at no extra charge.”

Rice didn’t show up for about 3 weeks. It gave me plenty of time to scout a good loca-
tion. An earlier flight by Marine-One gave me some idea of a route they might take. I
didn’t know whether Rice was on that chopper or not, but it hadn’t been at Camp David
long enough to discharge any passengers, so I had to let it go. I dug a hole on the east-
ern side of a low hill and hung some Real Tree camouflage netting over the entrance.
The sound of the choppers rotors echoing off the opposing hill would give me ample no-
tice of the chopper passing over. As insurance, I decided to spot The Three Amigos in
the area with FRS radios. Gary made sure they all had a gallon of ammonia and their
Super Match rifles.

107
It wasn’t that long before Marine-One showed up again and didn’t leave right away. I
figure that Madam President was now at Camp David. It was a Friday when it came in
and I wasn’t really sure if she was spending the weekend or what. Marine-One took off
a little later, I presumed to refuel. I told the boys that as soon as it returned we should
head for our spots. Ron and Gary both said no to that; they said that if Marine-One
came in and Rice was ready to leave we wouldn’t have time. They suggested that we
move everything we had to a distant location except for the one pickup, just in case the
Secret Service got on to us.

I couldn’t argue with their logic and I took a Stinger and headed for my hole. Clarence
trailed along with my backup missile. He dropped it off and I crawled in that hole to wait.
As far as a backup went, I didn’t think I’d need it. If the first missile missed there
wouldn’t be a second chance. It would be, in any case, cut and run. I guess I sat in that
hole all of Friday night, all of Saturday and early on Sunday morning I heard Marine-
One returning.

“Heads up fellas,” I announced on the FRS radio.

I received 2 clicks from each of The Three Amigos. About a half-hour later, Ron an-
nounced, “Here she comes.”

I flipped aside the camouflage netting and got ready.

Whump-Whump-Whump the big chopper passed right overhead. I lined up the Stinger
acquired the target and let her rip. I guess I must have been in their blind spot because
they didn’t react at first. But, the Marine Corp pilot did his very best to evade the missile.
Marine-One exploded in a ball of flames and I grabbed the second Stinger and headed
to the truck as fast as I could manage hauling 35 pounds of awkward weight. I was al-
most to the truck when another chopper appeared. I figured this to be Secret Service
and used the second Stinger to bring it down. Right about then, the fellas showed up
and we piled in the pickup and headed up to Hagerstown to join up with the other truck.

“When we get to Hagerstown, find 416 and take it up to Mercersburg, Pennsylvania,”

Gary suggested. “I have all kind of relatives in Mercersburg and McConnellsburg.”

Gary had a lot of cousins in the area, and I’m not talking Indians here. It seems that his
grandfather and grandfather’s brother were born in McConnellsburg and had moved to
Iowa as young men. He said he’d only been there once, maybe in 1956, he couldn’t re-
member. I guess not, that had been 50 years before! We were distributed among the
cousins’ homes and they all thought it strange that we were dressed up like a bunch of
cowboys. I really got their attention when I dressed up as Paladin.

“That’s not right,” Gary’s cousin said. “Paladin only had 1 pistol, not 2. And it was blued
not nickel-plated. But, the holster’s right. Say did you boys know that someone shot
down Marine-One and killed Condi Rice?”

108
“Really?” Gary said, “When did that happen and what was she doing in the chopper, go-
ing to meet Bush?”

“Bush is dead,” the cousin said. “And after Cheney died, she was the next living person
in line.”

“Bush is dead?” Gary said, “What happened?”

“Heart surgery,” the cousin said, “Then he threw a clot.”

“What happened to Cheney?” Gary asked.

“Heart attack,” the cousin replied.

“But the Speaker of the House would be next in line, followed by the President Pro Tem
of the Senate,” Gary played the fiddle.

“Car accident,” the cousin said, “Got them both.”

“Doesn’t it seem just a little strange to you that Bush needed heart surgery and then
died?” Gary asked. “Followed by the death of the Vice President and the next two peo-
ple in the line of succession?”

“Washington is a real pressure cooker,” the cousin said, “A lot of people have been dy-
ing lately. I meant to ask you, what brings you to Pennsylvania?”

“We’re doing some rodeo work and are in between contracts,” I explained.

109
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 21 – A Working Partnership

Gary’s relatives were a little too much eastern establishment liberals to suit my tastes.
On the other hand, they were only about 110 miles outside of Washington and seemed
to have a lot of knowledge about things that were going on in the place. I was a little
antsy and really wanted to move on. One day Gary came rushing to my side.

“Pack up, we’re leaving,” he said.

“Why?” I asked, “They said they’re having ham tonight.”

“Exactly,” he said.

It turns out that when Gary had gone back to visit his relatives in Pennsylvania back in
1956, they’d had one of those ‘home-cured Smithfield’ hams. He claimed that that ham
smelled like a puppy that had been locked in a hot car all day and had emptied its blad-
der a 100 times. We left immediately. While we were traveling to only God knows
where, Gary reminded me of Gordon Sinclair and his little speech called ‘The Ameri-
cans’. Broadcast on June 5, 1973 by CFRB, Toronto, Ontario, Gary could recite the en-
tire speech by heart.

The United States dollar took another pounding on German, French and British ex-
changes this morning, hitting the lowest point ever known in West Germany. It has de-
clined there by 41% since 1971 and this Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for the
Americans as the most generous and possibly the least-appreciated people in all the
earth.

As long as sixty years ago, when I first started to read newspapers, I read of floods on
the Yellow River and the Yangtze. Who rushed in with men and money to help? The
Americans did.

They have helped control floods on the Nile, the Amazon, the Ganges and the Niger.
Today, the rich bottom land of the Mississippi is under water and no foreign land has
sent a dollar to help. Germany, Japan and, to a lesser extent, Britain and Italy, were lift-
ed out of the debris of war by the Americans who poured in billions of dollars and for-
gave other billions in debts. None of those countries is today paying even the interest on
its remaining debts to the United States.

When the franc was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped
it up and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was
there. I saw it.

When distant cities are hit by earthquakes, it is the United States that hurries into help...
Managua Nicaragua is one of the most recent examples. So far this spring, 59 Ameri-
can communities have been flattened by tornadoes. Nobody has helped.

110
The Marshall Plan... the Truman Policy... all pumped billions upon billions of dollars into
discouraged countries. Now, newspapers in those countries are writing about the deca-
dent war-mongering Americans.

I’d like to see one of those countries that is gloating over the erosion of the United
States dollar build its own airplanes.

Come on... let’s hear it! Does any other country in the world have a plane to equal the
Boeing Jumbo Jet, the Lockheed Tristar or the Douglas DC-10? If so, why don’t they fly
them? Why do all international lines except Russia fly American planes? Why does no
other land on earth even consider putting a man or women on the moon?

You talk about Japanese technocracy and you get radios. You talk about German tech-
nocracy and you get automobiles. You talk about American technocracy and you find
men on the moon, not once, but several times... and safely home again. You talk about
scandals and the Americans put theirs right in the store window for everyone to look at.
Even the draft dodgers are not pursued and hounded. They are here on our streets,
most of them... unless they are breaking Canadian laws... are getting American dollars
from Ma and Pa at home to spend here.

When the Americans get out of this bind ... as they will... who could blame them if they
said ‘the hell with the rest of the world’. Let someone else buy the Israel bonds, Let
someone else build or repair foreign dams or design foreign buildings that won’t shake
apart in earthquakes.

When the railways of France, Germany and India were breaking down through age, it
was the Americans who rebuilt them. When the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New
York Central went broke, nobody loaned them an old caboose. Both are still broke. I can
name to you 5,000 times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trou-
ble.

Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trou-
ble? I don’t think there was outside help even during the San Francisco earthquake.

Our neighbors have faced it alone and I am one Canadian who is darn tired of hearing
them kicked around. They will come out of this thing with their flag high. And when they
do, they are entitled to thumb their nose at the lands that are gloating over their present
troubles.

I hope Canada is not one of these. But there are many smug, self-righteous Canadians.
And finally, the American Red Cross was told at its 48th Annual meeting in New Orleans
this morning that it was broke.

This year’s disasters... with the year less than half-over… has taken it all and no-
body...but nobody... has helped.

111
Gary went on to say that around Christmas of 2004 when that giant tsunami wiped out
155,000 people maybe more, and some Norwegian criticized the United States for be-
ing stingy, he immediately thought of Gordon Sinclair. Sinclair had died 17May84 and
the world lost a champion of the noble cause. All of the money Sinclair made from his
writing and recording of “The Americans, A Canadian Opinion” which praised the inter-
national efforts of the United States in the face of overwhelming world criticism at the
time and his recording, backed by the stirring rendition of “The Battle Hymn of the Re-
public,” was a huge success, with all proceeds from the sale going to the International
Red Cross.

Canada didn’t seem to feel that way about the United States anymore. Do you suppose
that American objections to Canada being a haven for draft dodgers and terrorists ‘com-
ing to America’ were the cause? Or, maybe it was the Iraqi war? The country of México
showed its appreciation for NATFA by sending many of its citizens to the US to look for
work. Ross Perot had been right about that one. During the debates, one question Perot
was continually asked could he, as an independent, govern?

Perot responded:

“Can we govern?... I love that one. The ‘we’ is you and me. You bet your hat we can
govern because we will be there together and we will figure out what to do and you
won’t tolerate gridlock, you won’t tolerate endless meandering and wandering around,
and you won’t tolerate non-performance. And believe me, anybody that knows me un-
derstands I have a very low tolerance for non-performance also. Together we can get
anything done.”

I was along for the ride and we ended up boarding the horses at a stable just outside of
Washington and getting a motel. It turned out that we were in the area northwest of
Washington known by many as Bull Run (after the creek) and Manassas by others
(name of the community). It seemed appropriate to visit the battlefield and we doctored
up 60-day travel permits that showed us as historians studying the Civil War. The 3
younger men were research assistants and we were the historians. It was prophetic in a
way, we were starting a little Civil War of our own, I just didn’t know it at the time. You
Johnny Rebs don’t tell me how you kicked the Union’s ass and I won’t mention how you
almost lost. That war is over fellas and nobody won.

There wasn’t a Senate to confirm a Vice President for Madam President and she had
been running the office without backup. When Marine-One went down, the Director of
Homeland Security, the last man on the list, Rudolph Giuliani, became the new Presi-
dent. We certainly could have done worse, I suppose. All of the other Cabinet members
had resigned, including SecDef. I’ll bet Rumsfeld was sorry he’d done that. Out at the
battlefield The Three Amigos cornered me.

“We make one hell of a team,” Ron said.

“I’ll second the motion,” Clarence added.

112
Gary was uncharacteristically silent.

“You don’t seem have much to say,” I observed.

“I was just thinking, Bill,” he replied. “There are 7 of us and about 2½ million of them.
Those seem like pretty fair odds considering how good you are and how clever we are.
What say we team up and restore this government to the people?”

“Yeah right, 7 guys against the entire US military,” I laughed.

“I was thinking we’d be the Chiefs and the Apaches could be the Indians,” he smirked.

Well hell, that improved the odds considerably, didn’t it? Instead of 7 to 2.5 million it
would be 1,007 to 2.5 million. On the other hand, I now owed him for the new Colt.

“Well why not?” I said. “You hold ‘em and I’ll shoot ‘em.”

“Do you think that the sergeant and corporal out in New Mexico went back to that en-
campment?” he asked.

Probably not,” I allowed.

“The first Man in Black was Hopalong Cassidy. Johnny Cash and Paladin came along
about the same time,” he said. “In 1957, Cash made his first appearance at the Grand
Ole Opry. And by 1958, he’d published 50 songs, sold more than 6 million records and
moved to the Columbia label. It was at the Opry that Cash became known as The Man
in Black. Have Gun Will Travel premiered in 1957, too. Never mind those silly alien
movies; you’re our Man in Black. Those soldiers respected what your represented, I be-
lieve. We owe it to them and their not going back to help this nation.”

“Did it take you a long time to write that speech?” I asked. “Ok, we’ll do it, but Stacy will
never forgive you if you get me killed.”

“Call Ritchie and get all of the Bee parts you have,” he laughed.

Now I’d gone and done it. I had stuck my foot in a really deep pile. How did Gary think
that a thousand people could save the country? I let the fellas think they were running
the show and when something they suggested made sense, we’d try it. If it didn’t make
sense I’d talk them out of it. I hadn’t allowed for how bullheaded Gary could get. We’d
already agreed and shaken hands on it when Ron came around and warned me about
Gary being stubborn. I told Ron that a deal was a deal and I was counting on him and
Clarence to sit on Gary when sitting was needed. I should have known better to trust
Ron or Clarence.

“White Knight calling Whiz Kid,” I sent.

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“Yeah boss,” Ritchie answered.

“Bring me the rest of the Bee parts,” I instructed.

“You want ALL of them?” he asked.

“How many do we have?” I inquired.

“One semi load departing for points east, he laughed. “Where do you want them?”

“Bull Run, check your history,” I replied. “And bring the cousins.”

“ALL of them?” he asked.

“10-4, clear.” I replied.

“10-4, 96,” Ritchie said.

I could just picture a thousand bloodthirsty savages being led by 7 men on horses
charging the modern Army at 3rd Manassas. I didn’t know that the thought would turn
out to be about ½ right. Hey if there are any of you Johnny Rebs out there we’re at the
Best Western Battlefield Inn. Just ask for Paladin and company. I hoped Ritchie would
think to bring more money, I only had a single duffle bag full and that was a lot of
mouths to feed, 1,007 horses and 1,007 men, give or take.

“The stuff you wanted is in the trailer, Boss,” Ritchie said. “I hope you won’t mind if I
don’t stay.”

“You didn’t happen to thing to bring me some money, did you?” I asked.

“2 bags, full,” he said, “Just like Baa Baa Black Sheep.”

“That was 3 bags full, Ritchie,” I said.

“One for my Master and one for my Dame,” Ritchie recited, “But none for the little boy
who cries in the lane. I brought you 2 bags and you’ll just have to make do. But I
brought all of our weapons and ammunition.”

“What did you do for the Indians for travel permits?” I asked.

“They are re-enactors,” he said, “They here to re-enact the battle of the Little Big Horn.”

“That battle was in Montana,” I told him.

“You can bill it as the Buffalo Bill Cody, Jr. Wild West Show,” he said.

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“And invite all of the top brass from Washington to watch the show,” I replied.

“Only instead of blanks, you’ll be using real bullets,” he chuckled. “I printed up some
Posters in case you liked the idea.”

Pretty clever this Ritchie; I went to tell Gary about his idea.

“Yeah, yeah I heard,” he said. “The cousins told me. We’re thinking about making Ritch-
ie the 4th amigo.”

I was crushed. After all I had done for these guys; they were making Ritchie the 4th ami-
go instead of me. How ungrateful could 3 men be? But a deal was a deal. Then Gary
came dragging a silver star like the US Marshals wore in the old west. Each of The
Three Amigos was wearing one and so was Ritchie. He handed me a jewelry case and
it contained my star. Was I Marshall Dillon now or Paladin? Marshal Paladin didn’t have
a ring to it. All I really needed to change my image was a little silver horse head, a Pala-
din, for my crossdraw holster, and Ritchie saw to that.

At the first battle of Manassas, about 3,000 Yanks and 2,000 Rebs died. Second Ma-
nassas had been a bloody affair. With any luck, the 3rd battle of Manassas would be lim-
ited to Union casualties. We weren’t sure how to separate the men from the women.
Gary said that his friend Fleataxi said just to kill them all and let God sort it out. And,
since the 2nd World War, that did seem to be everyone’s attitude. Blame it on the Nazi’s
they started the killing of unarmed civilians.

As the leader of the most powerful nation in the World, the President was responsible to
more than just the population of the United States. Obviously many around the world felt
that the President was individually accountable to each and every individual in the
World. That seems totally unreasonable to me. The President was only accountable to
the American voters, regardless what that fellow from Norway said. If Norway wanted to
give all of their money to a bunch of people in Indonesia, Thailand and Sri Lanka who
hated us except when they needed something, how was that the President’s fault? No
doubt before it were all said and done, the US would turn out to be the largest contribu-
tor anyway. There were all of those ships and airplanes, etc. The US would end up
spending about 100 million for every American killed. But wait, that’s off the subject,
isn’t it?

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 22 – The Wild West Show

The next question was, ‘How do you get all of the Pentagon Brass to the Wild West
Show’? Circus Vargas was the answer to that question. All 3 of the amigos hit on that
about the same time, or perhaps they were visiting before. Anyway, Circus Vargas
comes to town and there are free tickets everywhere. The catch was that only got you in
the gate; in this instance that would get you in to see the performance. Slick, except the
cowboys and Indians would be using real bullets. This was most definitely a one-time
thing. And to make sure we didn’t get some poor enlisted sap who was bringing his kids,
we’d have 2 performances, one for the officers and one for the enlisted. Officers would
natural come first in deference to their rank. We had a special seating area just for the
Joint Chiefs, best seats in the house, right on the ‘50-yard line’.

I was assigned to put on my Paladin Suit and be the Master of Ceremonies. In my line
of work you didn’t want to be noticed. You just wanted to be another faceless person in
the crowd. Not too short not too tall, nor too thin or fat. You wanted to be just another
schmuck on his way to work, or wherever. Plain clothes, no facial hair nondescript
sneakers… So here I was standing in front of a crowd of 5,000 officers and their families
dressed like Paladin and trying to make a bunch of old men and some Indians seem in-
teresting. I didn’t look like Richard Boone and I had nickel-plated guns with Ivory grips.

Ladies and Gentlemen and children of all ages, the show is about to begin, I an-
nounced.

The Lone Ranger (2 spaced gunshots) A fiery horse with a speed of light, a cloud of
dust, and a hearty ‘Hi-Yo, Silver!’ (multiple gunshots)The Lone Ranger! Hi-Yo, Silver,
Away! With his faithful Indian companion Tonto the daring and resourceful masked rider
of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early west. Return with us now to
those thrilling days of yesteryear. The Lone Ranger rides again, I announced.

With this announcement Derek came out on a white horse wearing his Dad’s double
holster rig and the 2 nickel-plated Vaqueros filled with blanks. He rode around the arena
with Travis all dressed up like Tonto. They exited and 6 riders entered, Ron, Clarence,
Gary, Damon, John and Derek, having done a ‘fast change’.

Six Texas Rangers rode in the sun, I continued. Six men of justice rode into an ambush
with death for all but one. Some of the Apaches dressed as outlaws jumped up and fired
blanks at the men with all of them falling gingerly from their horses.

One lone survivor lay on the trail, I continued. Travis reentered and ‘found’ Derek.
Found there by Tonto, the brave Indian Tonto, he lived to tell the tale. At this point
Travis put Derek’s arm in a sling and tossed a canvas over the ‘bodies’. Removing the
canvas revealed 6 freshly dug ‘graves’. “Six graves were put there to hide from the out-
laws that one man lived to fight.” Derek straps back on his Dad’s double rig, dons the
mask and holds a bullet in the air. Travis whistles to the well-trained white horse and it

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runs to his side. A mask to disguise him, a great Silver stallion, and thus began his
fame. The fellas mount up and exit the arena, bringing the house down.

Crap like this went on for over an hour. I even got into the act with ‘The Lone Ranger’
narrating one of Paladin’s encounters with a bad man. We even made a big show of the
Indian and ‘Calvary’ loading their guns leading up to the Grand Finale, the battle of the
Little Big Horn. John made a passable Marshal Dillon and we did a shortened Gun-
smoke episode. It actually wasn’t a bad show, even if I say so myself. Everyone had
worked very hard for this single performance. Now the 1,000 Apaches, most dressed as
Indians and some, the ‘losers’, dressed as Calvary began to fill the arena. They loaded
their guns and the ‘Calvary’ mounted horses on the far side of the arena. We had Gary
dressed up as George Custer wearing a blond wig. We didn’t have any authentic 1873
Trapdoor Springfield carbines, but they screwed that up a lot in the movies so we hoped
the crowd wouldn’t notice.

George A. Custer’s 7th Cavalry had Springfield carbines and Colt .45 revolvers; the
Lakota and Cheyenne Indians had a variety of long arms, including repeaters. But were
the weapons used on June 25, 1876, the deciding factor in the famous battle? I asked.
It is well-known that Custer’s men each brought a trapdoor Springfield and a Colt .45 to
the Little Bighorn that June day in 1876. Identification of the Indian weapons is more
uncertain. Participants claimed to have gone into battle with a plethora of arms – bows
and arrows, ancient muzzleloaders, breechloaders and the latest repeating arms. Bows
and arrows played a part in the fight. Some warriors said they lofted high-trajectory ar-
rows to fall among the troopers while remaining hidden behind hill and vale. The dead
soldiers found pin cushioned with arrows, however, were undoubtedly riddled at close
range after they were already dead or badly wounded. The long range at which most of
the fighting occurred did not allow the bow and arrow a prominent role.

At this point in the show all of the ‘Calvary’ were down and the ‘Indians’ were reloading
their arms (with live ammo) against a possible attack by other ‘Calvary’, all of which I
explained to the audience. They were enchanted and enthralled and there was a lot of
whispering and pointing of fingers. The Apaches had been instructed to only shoot the
men and try to avoid hitting the women and children. The audience was large and it
would be a formidable task to only hit the men. All of a sudden, ‘Crazy Horse’ turned on
the crowd and fired taking out the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.

Those Indians had their lever action Winchesters plus the M16’s. They had salvaged
enough for the entire group with their raids against the Army back in New Mexico. At
first everyone was very successful in shooting only the men. They also managed to take
out all the LEO’s brought in to provide crowd control. And then a woman, I presume a
female officer, pulled out a M9 and began to return fire. That did it! Any woman standing
got shot. It wasn’t many women, but to read later press accounts, we’d killed 10,000
women alone out of a crowd that numbered less than 20,000.

There was screaming and whimpering and wailing and gnashing of teeth, I presume.
We loaded up our livestock and got the hell out of Manassas and Virginia. We literally

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scattered to the three winds with some heading north, others west and some to the
south. East didn’t give us many options. One newspaper actually got it right. The Wash-
ington Times reported that ‘several’ women were killed or injured when a female Army
Lt. Colonel returned fire on the ‘terrorists’. ‘Several’ turned out to be 7 killed (including
the Lt. Colonel) and about 20 wounded. Not really too bad out of a crowd that numbered
about 5,000 men, 5,000 women and 8,000 children, none of whom was injured.

So now we were labeled ‘terrorists’. We weren’t terrorists’, we were insurgents attempt-

ing to put down a palace coup. Hmm, I’ll bet that’s what a lot of those Iraqi terrorists
claimed, huh?

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy; Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. What’s
Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part Belonging to a
man. O! Be some other name: What’s in a name? that which we call a rose By any oth-
er name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, Retain that
dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that
name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.

The point was the hierarchy at the Pentagon was dead and the lady President was dead
and the federal prosecutor, Rudi Giuliani was now President. Giuliani had a clean slate
from which he could rebuild the country, if he chose to. It turns out that the military had
Rudi in a veritable stranglehold and he hadn’t been able to figure any way out. He might
be the Commander-in-Chief, but he was a New Yorker and didn’t own a gun. The Presi-
dent didn’t take long to act. He branded us outlaws but for some reason we didn’t get on
the FBI’s list of ‘Most Wanted’. There was no federal reward like there was for Osama
bin Laden. Outlaws, yes, but seemingly not wanted. Then again there really wasn’t any-
one who could identify us was there? None of us had gotten close enough to the crowd
that they could be absolutely certain who we were. Nevertheless, I put my Paladin Suit
away, just in case.

With our having done as much as we could to save the country, we all returned to New
Mexico. Those Apaches still had a few more soldiers they wanted to tackle; the 5 ami-
gos were done. Yes sir, when I pinned on that tin star, I became an official amigo. How-
ever, for the sake of appearances The Three Amigos and I agreed that I’d change iden-
tities and become Marshall Dillon. According to an article on TV westerns in Time Mag-
azine (March 30, 1959), Arness stood 6’ 7”, weighed 235 lbs, and had chest-waist-hips
measurements of 48-36-36. Arness, who is still living, was made an Honorary United
States Marshal, “In recognition of his unique contribution to the Image and Traditions of
the US Marshal’s Service”

Remember me? I was 5’11” tall, and weighed in around 165, well, call it 170, I was older
now. Well anyway, I was taller than Doc Adams (5’8”) and Miss Kitty (5’5”), but I was
shorter than Chester, Festus, Quint, Newly and Thad. Doc died of a heart attack in 1980

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and Miss Kitty of AIDS-related throat cancer in 1989. The Three Amigos next came
around and said that I was a proper Marshal, but a little too short to be Matt Dillon. They
suggested I go by the handle of William “Bill” Tilghman, a real deputy US marshal from
the Oklahoma territory. Gary said he was going to adopt the pseudonym of Henry
“Heck” Thomas. Ron was going to go by Chris Madsen and Clarence was going to be
Bass Reeves. I wondered aloud if we could pull off a scam like that and Gary said that
the problem with people was that they didn’t pay any attention to history. He then quot-
ed a man named George Santayana and pointed out that, Those who cannot remember
the past are condemned to repeat it.

I pigeonholed Ritchie and asked about papers. He told me that he could handle every-
thing except credit cards and putting the fake passport numbers into the government’s
database. He suggested that some of the data could be loaded into the City of Ro-
swell’s computer ready for upload when the Internet came back up. He said that we had
several dummy Amex accounts and he’d slip in and change the names to reflect our
new handles. All of which could only happen when telephone service was restored and
our T-3 line was active. So far as the credit cards themselves, he had blanks.

“Ritchie, I put off having this talk with you for a very long time,” I said. “Every time I have
a need, you fill it. How do you manage that?”

“We’ve been together a long time, boss,” he said. “Early on when I was helping set all of
your alternative identities I realized that it was a whole lot easier to do many than few.
Then if you wanted some papers really quick, I could slip into a database, make a
change and you’d have genuine fake papers. I scouted around and got birth certificates
for children about your age who died in infancy. Then I built a whole set of legends.”

“Ritchie, the Three Amigos have suggested some new identities and I’m pretty sure the
names are all dead US Deputy Marshals from 100 years ago,” I explained.

“Boss, I was looking at the badge they gave me and it’s genuine,” Ritchie pointed out.

“There’s got to be a whole lot more to The Three Amigos than they’ve let on,” I suggest-
ed. “Did you notice how they all had their own M16A3’s with suppressors and a lot of
things that a guy from California shouldn’t have been able to get his hands on?”

“No, I just concentrate on computers, boss, you know me,” he smiled. “But if you give
me the names, I’ll generate the papers for you and get them all in the databases when I
can. Just use the credit cards for identification, but pay cash for everything. By the way
did they come up with a name for me?”

“Not that I recall,” I told him. “But you don’t do a lot of field work, do you?”

“Nah, there was nothing to delivering a semi load of Stringers and 1,000 Apache Indians
halfway across the country,” he muttered.

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“I’ll talk to Gary,” I told him.

“Gary, Ritchie feels left out that you didn’t give him an alias,” I explained.

“Tell him he’s William S. Tough,” Gary said without batting an eye. “Tough was Buffalo
Bill Cody’s commanding officer during the Civil War and a full-fledged US Marshal out of
Kansas later.”

“Where did you get the badges?” I asked, “Ritchie says they’re real.”

“I got them from Marshal Marshall Thomas,” Gary laughed.

Must be an inside joke, I didn’t get it. Over a period of time, about a year, things slowly
began to return to ‘normal’. The Internet and the phones finally came back up and pow-
er was restored. Ritchie worked some magic and we all received genuine replacement
credit cards from Amex, Discover and Visa in the now partially restored mail service.
After that, we received updated ID cards from the US Marshal Service, and even ‘re-
placement’ Passports. Around home I still went by William Rogers so as not to confuse
the girls. I’d gotten used to the western attire and frequently wore my badge. We’d
managed a trip to Laredo and I picked up a rig like the one Gary wore. I bought a new
crossdraw holster because it had been a bitch getting the paladin on the one I wore with
the Paladin rig.

It was late in the year of 2007 and everything was going along smoothly. Rudi unsus-
pended the Constitution, recalled Congress, and appointed a new Cabinet and Service
Chiefs. He then issued a blanket Presidential pardon for everyone who had participated
in the ‘period of uncertainty’ as he called it. Travis and some representatives of the
Apache nation headed to Washington and got to see Rudi by dropping the term ‘Last
Battle of the Little Bighorn’. In no time at all the Department of Interior and the Bureau of
Indian Affairs were seeing what they might possibly be able to do to ‘right a dreadful
wrong’. Nothing as it turned out because there wasn’t enough open land in Arizona to
give to the Apache.

Then Congress got involved and used a lot of government owned desert land in Arizona
to set up a new reservation for the Apache Nation there in Mescalero. The word was
that Congress was more than a little po’d over Condi or Dick suspending the Constitu-
tion and Rudi ending up as President. There must have been some deals made be-
cause Rudi kept his job and they approved all of his appointments. The Roswell Board
of Education had resumed operating the schools once they had power and were run-
ning them year around until everyone got back on track. As I said, everything was going
smoothly.

We received transfer papers in due course assigning the 5 of us to the US Marshal’s

office there in Roswell as an ‘undercover’ team. We took the papers to the Deputy in
charge and he said it must be really undercover because he hadn’t heard a thing about
it. I told him that we’d be operating our little operation out of the trailer park down at the

120
missile silo. If he had any questions about that, he should contact William Rogers, the
owner of the place. The Deputy was new in town and had no idea who we were.

Sometimes Deputy Marshals wear suits, like in the movie, and sometimes they don’t.
We were a ‘deep cover’ operation and naturally we didn’t. In fact we were dressed all
rather conventionally with western cut shirts, denims, boots and hats. You couldn’t dis-
tinguish us from any other of several thousand ranchers in the area. I explained to the
Deputy that our immediate boss was a Marshal by the name of Bill Tough and that he
was in charge of our operation and reported only to the guy at the top. If you’re going to
run a colossal bluff, go big. The Deputy naturally wanted to know what we were involved
in and I told him it was so hush-hush that even the Chief US Marshal was sworn to deny
the existence of our little group.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 23 – The Visit

Yes sir, I’ll have to tell you that everything was going along fine for a few months there
in late 2007 and early 2008. Anything that was broke got fixed, the Apaches gave us
back our weapons and the silo got restocked. And then the Chief US Marshal showed
up in Roswell. The local Deputy who I’d been referring to happened to mention to the
Chief US Marshal that he’d met his undercover team. The Chief Marshal denied any
knowledge of our existence just like I’d told the Deputy he would. But, the Chief Marshal
wasn’t about to let it go at that, he figured he had a bunch of imposters and intended to
rout them out. To top everything off, the man was a student of Marshal History and
when he heard the names, he was ready to make arrests.

“I understand that you are Deputy US Marshal William “Bill” Tilghman,” the Chief Mar-
shal said.

“That’s not my real name Marshal, it’s an assumed identity for this operation,” I told him.

“And these other fellas, Henry “Heck” Thomas, Chris Madsen, Bass Reeves and William
S. Tough,” he asked, “Are those assumed identities, too?”

“Absolutely,” I replied. “You know as well as I do that those are famous names from US
Marshal History.”

“How does it happen that I have an undercover team of 5 Deputy Marshals and know
nothing about it?” he asked.

“Four Deputy Marshals and one US Marshal,” I said. “And I guess that the reason you
don’t know about it is that he didn’t want you to know.”

“Are you referring to the Attorney General?” he asked.

I couldn’t bluff that one out so I responded in the negative by shaking my head and us-
ing my right index finger to point upward.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “The President?”

I maintained my demeanor and didn’t respond, allowing the Chief US Marshal to AS-
SUME that we were on a special project for the President, Rudi Giuliani. Another one of
the amigos half-baked ideas, which they took from and old TV show called ‘The Wild,
Wild West’. James West and Artemus Gordon are two agents of President Grant who
take their splendidly appointed private train through the west to fight evil. Gary said it
was really appropriate because James West, played by Robert Conrad, had more
gadgets than Houdini. I was beginning to think that The Three Amigos were just natural-
ly dishonest.

“Well, I’ll have to look into this,” he said. I just smiled and he departed abruptly.

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“Ritchie, I need you,” I called out.

“Yeah, boss, what’s up?” he asked.

“Get The Three Amigos in here on the double, we’re up to our butt in alligators,” I said.

“What’s wrong now?” Gary demanded.

“Oh, just the Chief US Marshal paying me a visit,” I replied.

“Did you run the ‘Wild, Wild West scam on him?” Gary asked.

“Yes, and he said he was going to check it out,” I replied.

“Ritchie, do you have the number for the White House switchboard?” Gary asked.

“I can get it,” Ritchie replied.

“Do it,” Gary smiled that evil smile of his.

Ritchie can back in a minute and gave Gary the number. Gary picked up the phone and
dialed the number.

“White House switchboard?” Gary confirmed. “You tell President Giuliani that Paladin is
on the phone. No, I’m not kidding, you just tell him that Paladin from the Last Battle of
the Little Big Horn is on the phone and wants to talk to him. Sure, I’ll wait.”

“Mr. President? You don’t know me. Let’s just say that I’m Paladin from the Last Battle
of the Little Big Horn,” Gary said.

“Travis?” Gary said. “Yeah, worked together with him on a little Wild West Show back in
Manassas. Yeah, but it couldn’t be helped, she shot first. Yes, we heard about the Pres-
idential pardon, that’s not why I’m calling. Why am I calling? It’s like this President Giuli-
ani, five of us fellas from that little fracas settled down here in Roswell, New Mexico. We
made ourselves US Marshals or Deputy Marshals and are running a little undercover
operation here.”

There was a long pause and Gary’s ears started to turn red on the edges. Ron pointed
to Gary’s ears and shook his head. I didn’t understand but the next time Gary spoke, his
voice was a little higher.

“Now listen you WOP SOB,” Gary said, “We took care of Condi Rice and the Joint
Chiefs for you and we can take care of you, if needs be,” Gary spoke forcefully. “That’s
better, and yes I was,” Gary said after a lengthy pause. “Thank you. We’re not doing
anything particularly illegal Mr. President, we’re just trying to maintain law and order in

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the Wild, Wild West. Yes, we made ourselves Marshals and we’re not looking for trou-
ble, may I suggest that you back our play? Why not, you’re the President and you can
make us legitimate US Marshals or Deputy Marshals? Then we can run around and ar-
rest bad guys and make you look good. We’ll be your James West and Artemus Gor-
don’s. No, I didn’t go to West Point and yes the crest is real silver. No, I’m not going to
wear the Paladin Suit anymore, but I might wear the guns. Yes, ok, the Chief US Mar-
shal will give you the names and you just tell him we’re legitimate. What do you mean
sworn in? Yes, we have real badges and genuine ID. How did we manage it is for me
you know and for you to guess. Oh all right, he can swear us in. Goodbye and thank
you Mr. President.”

I noticed that Gary’s ears were no longer red and he had a smirk on his face.

“Well fellas, the Chief US Marshal will be back in a few days and swear us in officially,”
Gary said. “He said that the pardons were blanket and covered everything we did up to
this point in time.”

“What did he say when you called him a WOP SOB?” Ron asked.

“He got a little po’d, so I had to listen for a while,” Gary said. “He wanted to know if I was
the famous murderer of the Mafioso’s. I admitted it and he said he’d pardon all of my
actions because he’d had one hell of a time bringing John Gotti to justice.”

“What gives you the right to confess for me?” I asked.

“What’s the difference, you’re pardoned,” Gary responded. “And Ritchie will be a full US
Marshal and the rest of us will be Ritchie’s Deputies. And we can run around like Robert
Conrad and Ross Martin, who died on July 3, 1981 in Ramona, California from a heart
attack by the way, and save everyone from the bad guys.”

This Gary had some big ones calling Rudi Giuliani a WOP SOB and threatening to kill
him. Just threatening to kill the President could land you in jail or a mental institution. I
wondered if the President was just shining Gary on or if we’d really get to be US Mar-
shals. That would be quite the reversal in roles, going from a bad man to a good guy.
But, I was a good guy and I just administered justice in a much more efficient and per-
manent way and made a couple bucks in the process. The scumbags of the world were
the people who used our system of justice to avoid justice by looking for loopholes in
the law and tiny missteps by law enforcement officers. After some guy had been arrest-
ed a few times he knew the Miranda warning better than the cops who usually read it
from a card so they didn’t forget one little word and accidentally let the scumbag walk on
a technicality.

And then I got to wondering if I wanted to BE a LEO? The police officers put their lives
on the line every day. Hell, they’d stop some guy for speeding and get blown away. That
part was easy; US Marshals and Deputies didn’t arrest guys for speeding. What US
Deputy Marshal’s usually did was protect the federal judiciary, apprehend federal fugi-

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tives, protect witnesses, house and transport prisoners, manage seized assets, serve
criminal processes and handle Special Operations and Programs. Yeah that was us.
The Roswell Special Marshal’s Group doing Special Operations and Programs, whatev-
er the hell they were. Probably anything they needed to be if we were working for the
President. So Giuliani had a hard time busting John Gotti, huh? Well, maybe he’d think
it over and come up with a good use for 5 worn out slightly dishonest old men.

“Gary talked to the President today,” I told Stacy.

“Yeah right,” she laughed out loud. “Called him on the phone and probably called him a
WOP SOB.”

“How did you know he called him a WOP SOB?” I asked, “Did you talk to Ritchie?”

“Get out of here,” she said, “He did no such thing.”

“I swear to God and you KNOW how risky that is,” I replied.

“He really called the President and called him names?” her eyes got wide.

“So help me honey, he did,” I nodded. “Anyway supposedly we’re going to end up as
US Marshals or Deputy Marshals.”

“I can see it all now,” she laughed, “Paladin with a badge.”

“I can’t wear the Paladin suit anymore, Gary bargained that away,” I explained, “In ex-
change for a full pardon.”

“So who are you going to be now?” she wanted to know.

“At home I’ll be William Rogers and on the road I’ll be Deputy US Marshal William “Bill”
Tilghman,” I replied.

“Are you schizophrenic?” she asked.

“More like multiple personality disorder,” I chuckled.

“The girls are all at school and won’t be home for a while,” she raised her eyebrows.

“Hey boss, we’ve been summoned to Washington,” Ritchie said.

This came about 2 weeks after the Chief US Marshal had reappeared and sworn us in.
He’d shaken all of our hands and said it was good we were aboard, although he’d have

125
preferred it if the President had kept him better informed. Ritchie told him now that eve-
rything was out in the open, he talk to Rudi about it, but he couldn’t make any promises.

“The Chief Marshal just left,” I said. “I thought he told me he was headed to Los Ange-
les, San Francisco and then Hawaii.”

“Not him, boss,” Ritchie said, “The Boss, Boss, Giuliani, himself.”

“What does he want?” I inquired.

“Well, I was sitting there trying to tap into one of the NSA computers when Amy tells me
I have a call,” Ritchie began. “I had a mouth full of tea and picked up the phone and
mumbled, Ritchie. ‘This is Rudi,’” the voice says, “‘Is this Bill Tough?’”

“Man I liked to ruin my computer with tea,” Ritchie says, “Anyway I say yes sir and he
says, Get your team together and be at the airport in 3 hours, a VC-20 will be there to
pick you up. Oh, and tell Paladin to wear the suit and guns. And, he hangs up.”

“When did he call?” I asked.

“Half hour, 45 minute ago,” Ritchie says.

“Either put on a suit or some western duds, Ritchie we’re going to see the President,” I
snickered. “Oh and get The Three Amigos ready to go.”

“They’re waiting in the pickup, boss,” Ritchie said.

About 2 hours later we arrived at Roswell airport and watched a VC-20 land. It must
have radioed for fuel because a fuel truck was waiting. While they attended to the air-
craft, a big guy in a business suit got out and sauntered over to where we were sitting in
the pickup.

“Samuel Wayne, Secret Service,” the guy say, “One of you Tough?”

“We’re all Tough,” Ron growled.

“Bill Tough?” the agent asked.

“That’s me,” Ritchie replied.

“Get in the plane,” he says.

We grabbed our overnight bags and walked over to the plane and boarded. A bit later
the fuel truck pulled away and the engines started. Off we went headed to Washington. I
was beginning to wonder if Giuliani had maybe changed his mind. The Steward offered
us drinks and Ron and Clarence ordered coffee. Gary hesitated for a moment or two

126
and then ordered coffee, too. I didn’t know that Gary didn’t like to fly and in years gone
by had never gotten on a plane sober. It was well after dark when we arrived at Reagan
Airport and we loaded in a limo to go to the White House. When we arrived, Wayne re-
lieved us of our hardware. He stood in front of me with his palm out. It finally dawned on
me what he wanted and I handed him the derringer.

We were shown into the Oval Office and Giuliani comes around the desk and greeted
us. He motioned for the steward to get coffee and told us to take a seat. Then he looked
me right in the eye and asked, “Are you Paladin?”

“I should dress like this if I was Matt Dillon?” I asked.

“The voice isn’t the same as I remember from the phone,” he said.

“That’s because it was me that called you names,” Gary chuckled.

“And you are?” Giuliani asked.

“Real name is Gary Olsen but I’m using Heck Thomas these days,” Gary replied. “And
the tall handsome man is Clarence Rawlings aka Bass Reeves. That short pudgy guy is
Ron Green aka Chris Madsen. You know Paladin aka Bill Tilghman and the wimpy guy
is Ritchie aka Bill Tough. Ron, Clarence and I are The Three Amigos.”

“What’s that?” Giuliani asks, “A rock group from the ‘60’s?”

“Watch your mouth,” Ron snapped.

“So Ritchie, you’re in charge of this bunch?” Giuliani asked.

“Only on paper,” Ritchie replied, “Paladin and Olsen really run the gang.”

Ritchie, you should be more careful with your words, partner. Here we are, sitting in the
Oval Office talking to the President of the United States and you call us a gang? I’m def-
initely going to leave you in the office for this gig, whatever it is.

“What can we do for you Mr. President?” I asked. “You didn’t bring us all the way to
Washington just so Ron could bust your nose did you?”

“I have a reputation as a real law and order guy,” Giuliani said. “Sometimes, however,
the law is cumbersome.”

“We don’t do contract killings,” I said. “By the way are we getting paid for this?”

“I have a little slush fund that I can dip into from time to time,” Giuliani replied. “But my
sources tell me that you are a wealthy man.”

127
“The amigos aren’t wealthy,” I replied.

“$100,000 a head per job,” the President offered.

“Depends on the job,” I said. “Make it a sliding scale from $50 thousand to $250,000
and you have a deal.”

“Who decides how much a job is worth?” Giuliani asks.

“I will,” I told him. “I have some experience in contract work.”

“Here’s what I need you to do…”

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 24 – The New Contracts

Some folks can read and others pretend. I had explicitly said that, ‘we don’t do contract
killings’. So, now we were hit men with badges? I figured I’d value a job for what it was
worth and then apply a sliding scale to reflect the danger involved. I was the only indi-
vidual with a lot of experience in these matters and as wild as The Three Amigos were,
they might just be in over their heads. Although they did do a pretty good job at Camp
David, I had to give them that.

The President had a problem involving the UN. That wasn’t surprising; the UN had sat
on its butt through some of the darker days recently and then complained about the
‘wanton slaughter’ that had occurred at 3rd Manassas. Those buttholes at the UN were
bound and determined to disarm America, with whatever means it took. They referred to
us as a brash young society implying, perhaps, that we needed a diaper change. What
was it Gary told me that some guy had as a signature at his favorite website? Some-
thing about the French having 35 Liberation Days? Gordon Sinclair had been right and it
was good that he hadn’t lived to see what had happened. When the US really needed
help, where were the Brits, Aussies and Canadians? Live Free or Die.

The President wanted us to cause problems within the new Tripartite Pact. Since before
George Bush had decided to invade Iraq, the French, German and Russians had done
everything within their power to block any UN participation in the war in Iraq. Then when
the palace coup was in full swing, Condi had reversed her former boss’s position and
perhaps her own and had pulled the troops out, perhaps presuming that the UN would
step in. But, the UN couldn’t, even if they wanted to; there was that tsunami in the Indi-
an Ocean that had a death toll approaching 200,000 and they couldn’t chew gum and
rub their tummy at the same time. With the world aid reaching $3 Billion, the countries
didn’t have any money left to step into Iraq and fill the vacuum our departure had left.
And, all this time later, they were still finding bodies.

Britain and the other coalition partners had pulled their contingents out of Iraq at the first
hint the US was considering a pullout. That bailed Tony Blair out big time and these
days Britain was mum on most UN issues. This left the Tripartite in effective control of
the UN. They couldn’t get anything done, the US vetoed it, but neither could the US get
anything done. Giuliani’s hand had been about eye level when he’d said, “I’ve had it up
to here.” Since this was our first official job as a team, it seemed reasonable to set the
fee at $100,000 a head. There wasn’t a significant danger factor except just being in
New York, hence no danger coefficient. Thank God the Internet was back up.

“Ritchie, I need something.”

“Yeah boss, what?” he responded, his eagerness evident.

“We have some S&W .357 Magnum’s and some .40 S&W autos, right?” I checked.

“Rog,” he said, “Which do you want?”

129
“Both with leather, 4 extra 10 round magazines per and 4 speed loaders per,” I listed
our needs. “Miami Vice on the auto and belt on the S&W’s.”

“Make that 48 and meet me at La Guardia,” he said. “I’ll page you when I have the air-
line and flight number and you can meet me.”

“Sooner is better,” I said. “And send Derek and Al to deliver the stuff and tell them to
pack for a couple of weeks,” I instructed. “We’re going to need help on this one.”

“Ok, ok, 24 but no sooner,” he replied and hung up on me.

“24 hours fellas, so let’s start getting organized the first thing in the morning. Pick up 6
digital cameras,” I ‘suggested’. “I’ll pick up a laptop and an inkjet printer. And somebody
get a couple of boxes of size medium latex gloves.”

“Tomorrow we get everything we need,” I said. “Al and Derek are coming to help. Get
familiar with the area around the UN building. Anybody know anything about surveil-
lance gear?”

“What do you want, we’ll figure it out?” Gary replied first.

“Directional surveillance mikes and micro cassette recorders,” I replied.

“We going to be carrying?”‘ Ron asked.

“S&W model 686P 357 Magnums with 7 rounds and SiG 229’s .40 S&W plus 4
HKS587A speed loaders and 4 extra magazines,” I explained. “We need to get you to a
tailor I know and polish the country look. How about Western cut suits?”

“We need dress hats and boots,” Ron said.

“It’s a one-stop custom tailor shop,” I said, “With 24-hour fitting and 48-hour delivery.”

As US Marshals we wouldn’t have to mess with the Sullivan Law that New York had.
And, if they tried to roust us, we’d charge them with obstruction, referring to the NYPD.
In NYC, you need a permit to even own a handgun, or a federal badge and ID. The
evening of the next day, Derek and Al showed up and we went to the hotel. They had
Badges, ID and more importantly hardware. Ritchie swore them in. We needed more
time on the suits, so I sent them to the tailor early in the morning. There really wasn’t
any rush; the President had given us a month. Two days later, we checked in with the
17th Precinct and told them we’d be doing a special op in their precinct but that it was a
simple surveillance job.

“A couple of those boys look a little old to be on active duty,” the desk sergeant said.

130
“Makeup,” I laughed.

“You carrying?” he asked.

“Sig 229 backup piece and S&W .357,” I replied. “But our main tools this trip are digital
cameras and directional mikes. We’ll be in the general area of the UN.”

“Guess I’d better let the Captain know,” he said.

“By all means, Sergeant,” I said, “We’d like to have a good working relationship (BS)
with you guys that put it on the line on a daily basis. So you will know us, we’ll be the
tourists in western cut suits and 10-gallon hats doing our best not to look like Clint
Eastwood (Coogan’s Bluff-1968). And sergeant we’re from New Mexico, not Texas.”

I overheard him commenting to another cop as I walked away. “Well at least they’re not
FBI or DEA.” Next, I checked us in with the US Marshal’s office in Manhattan and told
them that if they had any questions to call the Chief Marshal. I specifically did not dis-
cuss our assignment with NYPD or the New York office. Ron and Gary (team Alpha) got
the Germans, Derek and Al the Russians (team Bravo) and Clarence and I took the
French (team Charlie). Ritchie had cracked their security computers and had photos of
each of the 3 country’s UN staff. Plus, we had Government Issue handy talkies. Howev-
er, we weren’t going to be wearing those fancy suits for our actual surveillance activi-
ties.

The Soviet Union’s Committee for State Security [KGB] dissolved along with the USSR
in late 1991. However, most of its assets and activities have continued through several
separate organizations. The Foreign Intelligence Service [SVR] was the first element of
the KGB to establish a separate identity [as the Central Intelligence Service - Central-
naya Sluzhbza Razvedkyin [CSR] in October 1991, incorporating most of the foreign
operations, intelligence-gathering and intelligence analysis activities of the KGB First
Chief Directorate.

On 04 April 1982 the French SDECE was replaced by the Directorate of the External
Security (DGSE). Based on his experience as an enterprise manager, Stone Marion
consolidated the structure and the cohesion of the service by the creation of a General
Directorate that controls Directorates of Searches, Counterespionage, Personnel and
the mythical Division Action. This stimulated the coordinate computerization of service.
Furthermore, the DGSE was no longer permitted to operate on French territory.

The German BND regularly exchanges information with other security agencies, includ-
ing the Federal Criminal Police Office, Customs and Federal Border Protection. In addi-
tion to daily current reporting to Bonn, in crisis situations the BND provides additional
overview and situation assessment derived from its own sources or from the services of
other countries. The BND has been involved in a coordinated European effort to stop
arms deals and smuggling. The BND has deployed agents among Islamic activists in
various German cities, and has intensified its surveillance of activities in Central Europe.

131
That’s what we were up against. The UN was supposed to be chartered to promote
peace and harmony, to prevent wars, etc., etc., etc. It was a perfect opportunity of na-
tions to spy on each other. Usually assigned to the NY or Washington Embassy or Con-
sulate, these folks had 2 jobs, spy on other nations and keep any eye on their diplo-
mats, e.g. counterespionage.

Now that we were ready, we spent the first day, or most of it, at the UN taking the tours
and looking in every nook and cranny. Fancy suits, boots and hats plus cameras but no
hardware. Ron had schooled everyone to affect a Texas like drawl, with y’all being ex-
tensively practiced. A bunch of ranchers from the sticks, all dressed up in their Sunday
best taking pictures of everything and everyone in sight. Although not schooled in trade-
craft, The Three Amigos and their kids did pretty darned good.

After that, it was divide and follow the delegations. And eventually they screwed the
pooch. Not the delegates, Ambassadors, themselves, but their assistants, and not in
some fancy Park Avenue restaurant but in a pizza joint. Ron and Gary and the German
were there first. Next came Derek and Al and the Russian. The Frenchman was natural-
ly late and Clarence and I ended up there last. And there the 6 of us were, each team in
a different booth with those tiny directional mikes all pointed at the same table. And they
were speaking English so they didn’t attract attention. We got EVERY word.

“That’s some hot stuff,” Gary said. “What are we going to do with it?”

“Make copies plus transcripts and give it to the papers and CNN,” I said. “We’ll give it to
the NY Times, the Washington Post and the Washington Times plus CNN, FOX,
MSNBC, CBS and ABC. The Washington Times will probably be the only one to run it,
but when their papers hit the newsstands, the others won’t have any choice.”

Banner Headline: Plot to Overthrow the US

“Washington – The Times has learned from recorded conversations and transcripts of a
plot by the Russians, Germans and French to scuttle efforts of the US in the UN. The
three nations, referred to as the Tripartite by some, have been overheard discussing
plans to intentionally block all ongoing US efforts at the United Nations. Caught in a dis-
cussion over pizza and beer in a NY City restaurant, the three individuals were caught
on tape discussing their various operations. Turn to page 3 for a full transcript of the
conversation.”

We caught the next plane to Albuquerque with a connection to Roswell. Ritchie sent
Rudi an e-mail, “Mission Complete”. Rudi sent the 6 of us each a check for $100,000
plus a separate check for expenses. The Post brought out a special edition and CNN
and the others began to spin. Within a week, Rudi rose about 25 points in the polls and
the House and Senate were calling for expulsion of everyone involved. We had been
armed to the teeth, but only for protection. Once we were in disguise, we attracted at-
tention from the 17th Precinct. We weren’t playing by the rules; they said, we were sup-

132
posed to be dressed up in our western suits. You couldn’t tell us from the average New
Yorker, except we couldn’t walk as fast and we spoke English.

I was thinking it would probably be quite a while before we picked up another contract
and we were making plans to try and do something about the flow of drugs across the
Méxican border. Ritchie wasn’t too happy with the idea of our doing conventional law
enforcement work and he got on the phone and had a long (5 minute) conversation with
the President. Picked up a contract for us but with different terms. The President wanted
the Méxican drug cartels put out of business permanently and was offering $2.5 million
a head for the Cartel Leaders, $1 million each for their senior Lieutenants, $350,000
each for the junior Lieutenants and $100,000 a pop for the ‘troops’. I was po’d! We
didn’t do wet work, that was the deal. Ritchie was making a liar out of me. Ritchie said
that it beat the hell out of kidnapping them, dragging them to the US and then hoping
they might get convicted in 3-4 years.

133
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 25 – South of the Border

…down México way. I know what you’re thinking, a song from a western movie, right?
Nope, Frank Sinatra, 1953. Say does anyone know where I can hire a guy to whistle in
the background? Sergio Leone died in 1989, or I’d ask him. Clarence was tall and lean
and made the best Eastwood substitute, with a tan. We were all dressed up like western
movie stars, with a twist. Aboard those pack mules were all of our modern armaments.
Like back when we showed up at Mescalero.

Those tin badges weren’t worth much in Mexico, I can tell you that. We didn’t bother
checking in with the authorities, either. We couldn’t be sure if any of them weren’t on the
cartels’ payrolls. Ritchie stayed in Roswell so there were just the 6 of us, plus. We
trucked the horses down to the border and slipped across at night. When we cut the
fence we bent it inward towards the US. And, we dragged sagebrush to try and cover
our tracks a little. We dropped off a SINCGARS repeater at the border on the US side.
But with our satellite phones, we probably wouldn’t even need the radios. Still, we had
the handy talkies, just in case.

We’d had a little time and everyone spent all of their time on the range, improving their
accuracy and practicing their fast draw. The only member of the crew who spoke Span-
ish was Ron and he became the official spokesman of the group. Thing was, Ron said
he’d learned most of his Spanish in Tijuana. He dad had spent every vacation in Tijuana
for years and Ron and his brother were dragged along. The longer we worked together,
the more I learned about The Three Amigos and why they only drank coffee and iced
tea and could handle some nasty things.

It was a page out of the history books, our trip to México. Here were 6 ‘old time cow-
boys’ (and a couple of Indians) up against groups of Méxicans armed with the latest
firearms and equipment. Let’s talk about that. In the modern era of semi-auto pistols,
marksmanship wasn’t really the name of the game. It was all about firepower. With
handguns that held 13, 15, 17 and sometimes 19 rounds and rifles that took 30 and 40
round magazines, many people just sprayed and prayed. They prayed that all of those
rounds would keep the other guy’s head down until they got lucky and finally hit. I ex-
pect that’s why The Three Amigos had such a love affair with the M1A rifle. And, anoth-
er thing; now that we were LEO’s we could own those 12” cruiser shotguns with pistol
grips and we hung one on each of the saddle horns.

We crossed the border about ½ way between Las Palomas and Cuidad Juarez out of
Dona Ana County. Travis insisted that he and one of the cousins come along to be our
trackers. I don’t know what for, we weren’t planning on tracking anyone, but it lent more
firepower to the equation. Travis wasn’t into this Wild West stuff and he had an M16A3
and a Glock. We ambled the horses in the direction of Juarez looking for our first target,
the Juarez Cartel aka the Chihuahua Cartel led by Juan Jose Esparragoza. Esparrago-
za who was in his 50s, was considered one of México’s top drug lords not behind bars,
overseeing the smuggling of cocaine and marijuana into the United States since 1993.
He had moved from behind-the-scenes operations chief for the Juarez cartel to its lead-

134
er, Méxican and US authorities say.

Esparragoza was on a list of wanted foreign drug lords announced by President Bush in
June 2004, and a federal grand jury indictment issued in El Paso, Texas, on Oct. 27,
2004 charges him with importing 14 tons of marijuana into American territory. The Jua-
rez cartel was the only Méxican drug gang not hit hard by a string of top drug arrests,
and some have suggested it was being protected by government officials, including au-
thorities in Morelos state, which borders México City.

The Juarez cartel had grown very powerful, but try to understand. With all of the crap
that the US had been going though the past few years, drug enforcement wasn’t the
highest priority. However in 2008 with Rudi running for election and riding a wave of
success because of the problems over at the UN, we were sent in to remedy the situa-
tion. Now, the President couldn’t be associated with any of our work, but when we
screwed up the trafficking and the street price for weed and coke started rising, he could
claim some success in the War on Drugs.

Speaking of which, do you have any idea how many wars the US had going on? There
was the War on Drugs, the War on Terror and the War on Poverty, just to name 3. And,
there had been the ‘real’ wars including the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the
Méxican American War, the Civil War, the Spanish American War, World War I, World
War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, Desert Storm, Enduring Freedom and Iraqi
Freedom. That left out the War with Barbary Pirates, the Invasion of Lebanon, the Inva-
sion of Grenada, the Invasion of Panama, the Invasion of Somalia and last but not least
the Invasion of Haiti.

So, we invaded México, again, and it didn’t take all that long to earn a little money. Let’s
see, it was one leader, 6 Senior Lieutenants, 6 Junior Lieutenants and a bunch of
‘troops’. That came to $2.5 + $6 + $2.1 + $3.7 = $14.3 (million) plus expenses, divided 7
ways, of course. That only left the Amezcua-Contreras Cartel, the Caro-Quentaro Car-
tel, the Gulf Cartel, the Omar Rocha-Soto Organization and the Tijuana Cartel, just to
name a few. A man could get positively rich doing this, if he didn’t get killed first. Con-
sidering how much the US had spent on the War on Drugs since Richard Nixon had
started the war, Rudi was getting a bargain. And, that still left Columbia and a half doz-
en other countries.

$14.3 million might sound like a lot of money but it was for 50 people at an average of
$286,000 a head. We had to renegotiate because whether a Leader, Lieutenant or a
troop, they could all kill you just as dead. As a matter of fact, it was those $100,000
guys who’d probably get you; there were more of them. The new deal paid a flat rate of
$250,000 a head with bonuses. The bonuses were $2 million for the Cartel Leader(s),
$500,000 for the Senior Lieutenants and $250,000 for the Junior Lieutenants. Under the
new contract, those same 50 men would pay 50*$250,000 plus bonuses of $2 million,
$3 million and 1.5 million for a total of $19 million, an average of $380,000.

“Clarence,” I said, “I really thought you were going to try and outdraw those fellas.”

135
“With a single action revolver?” he laughed. “Hell no, Paladin, I just did what Eastwood
really did in the movie. He didn’t outdraw 3 bad guys; those were spliced together
scenes. He was standing there with that .45 in his hand to begin with and when they
drew he shot them. THEN he re-holstered the gun and removed the Serape and they
rearranged the footage.

“I agree,” Gary said, “But Clarence was lucky they were slow on the draw. Back in the
‘60’s when I was at Edwards, we went to some danged fast draw demonstration. They
gave us a 1911 loaded with a blank and cocked. Told us the minute they made a move
to shoot them. We all ended up ‘dead’. And, I’m faster than Clarence.”

“You are not,” Clarence disagreed.

“Draw,” Gary said, loosening the thongs on both holsters.

“What a darn minute here fellas,” I said, “Those guns are loaded.”

“You can’t shoot anyone with an empty gun,” Gary snickered with an evil laugh.

Clarence, obviously the wiser of the two, didn’t un-thong his revolvers. Good thing for
Gary, his guns were loaded with blanks but Clarence’s had live ammunition.

Next, we tackled the Amezcua-Contreras Cartel and came out pretty good. It was run by
the brothers Luis and Jesus Amezcua-Contreras. It was a big organization and I do
mean big. Each of the brothers had 5 Lieutenants and each of the Lieutenants had 3
Lieutenants and each of those Lieutenants had a couple dozen men. This bunch was
big in the speed trade among other things. Taking over the drug routes once run by Co-
lumbians, the Méxicans’ influence and the level of public corruption in México have be-
come major sources of friction between that country and the United States. In October
(1997), the US government reported that more than 40 percent of the illegal immigrants
who were deported to México last year had first been convicted of drug charges in US
courts. Those numbers fit an overall pattern of an increase in crimes committed by ille-
gal immigrants.

This job accounted for 87 souls, assuming they had souls. 2 Leaders, 10 Senior Lieu-
tenants, 14 of the 15 Junior Lieutenants and 61 ‘soldiers’ bit the dust. Our dead and
wounded, zero, we mostly shot them in the back. $34,250,000; not bad, almost $400k a
head. We took a break to rest after that, it was a losing battle anyway. As long as there
was someone to buy the product on our side of the border, there would always be
someone to step in and replace the men we eliminated. In November of 2008, Rudi won
the election. We had picked up $14.3 plus $34.25 or $49,550,000, plus expenses. And
old Gar-Bear turned out to be a meticulous accountant. Once elected, Rudi called off
the ‘war’. That was good, because we were thinking that our luck was running out, at
least south of the border.

136
Can you spell lucky? That’s L-U-C-K-Y for the uninitiated. That’s what you get when you
stop a project just in time, lucky. Word filtered back that they had figured out our
scheme of things and had been waiting for us to re-cross the border. Fortunately, we
hadn’t gone back. And, to tell the truth, we hadn’t made much difference in the drug
trade, just slowed it down long enough for ole Rudi to get elected. We didn’t hear from
him much after that either; maybe our activities were a little too high profile. And it was
contract work and just how big do you think the President’s slush fund is?

“I’m getting bored,” Gary said to no one in particular one day.

“What do you want to do, Gar-Bear?” Ron asked.

We were riding when the discussion began. Ever seen those ads with Wilford Brimley
for Liberty Medical? Sitting on a Bay telling you to buy from Liberty, etc. That’s sort of
what Ron looked like except his horse was a Chestnut and he didn’t have a moustache
or white hair. Brimley was a farmer and rodeo rider who, after gaining weight, became a
blacksmith and then a film actor. A former bodyguard to ‘Howard Hughes’, he really was
a diabetic. Who was the only US survivor of The FIRST Battle of Little Big Horn? (A
horse named Comanche.)

“If I knew what I wanted to do, Ronald, I’d do it,” Gary replied. “I don’t need your permis-
sion.”

How can you deal with a person who thinks like that? What did Ron giving permission
have to do with Gary being bored? In fact, Gary seemed to be getting more senile every
day, witness the earlier ‘draw’ statement. Then Sharon got him to resume his nebulizer
treatments and with his brain getting more oxygen, he improved. I don’t know why he
bothered; smoking and having COPD didn’t mix.

Although ultimately a victor in World Wars I and II, France suffered extensive losses in
its empire, wealth, manpower, and rank as a dominant nation-state. Nevertheless,
France was one of the most modern countries in the world and is a leader among Euro-
pean nations. Since 1958, it had constructed a presidential democracy resistant to the
instabilities experienced in earlier parliamentary democracies. In recent years, its rec-
onciliation and cooperation with Germany have proved central to the economic integra-
tion of Europe, including the introduction of a common exchange currency, the euro, in
January 1999. At present, France was at the forefront of European states seeking to
exploit the momentum of monetary union to advance the creation of a more unified and
capable European defense and security apparatus.

As Europe’s largest economy and most populous nation, Germany remained a key
member of the continents economic, political, and defense organizations. European
power struggles immersed Germany in two devastating World Wars in the first half of
the 20th century and left the country occupied by the victorious Allied powers of the US,

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UK, France, and the Soviet Union in 1945. With the advent of the Cold War, two Ger-
man states were formed in 1949: the western Federal Republic of Germany (FRG) and
the eastern German Democratic Republic (GDR). The democratic FRG embedded itself
in key Western economic and security organizations, the EC, which became the EU,
and NATO, while the Communist GDR was on the front line of the Soviet-led Warsaw
Pact. The decline of the USSR and the end of the Cold War allowed for German unifica-
tion in 1990. Since then, Germany had expended considerable funds to bring Eastern
productivity and wages up to Western standards. In January 1999, Germany and 10
other EU countries introduced a common European exchange currency, the euro.

In February of 2009, we got un-bored in a hurry. It was the French and the Germans,
naturally, the Russians knew better. After months of debate in Parlement, the French
Senat and Assemblee Nationale declared war on the United States. The German Bun-
desrat (Senate) and the Bundestag (House) followed suit 4 days later. Germany had no
nuclear weapons and apparently the French knew better than to use theirs. The French
had 6 nuclear submarines, each carrying 16 missiles and each missile carrying 6 100KT
warheads, a grand total of 576 warheads. The French also had 3 Squadrons of Mirage
2000 N and 2 fleets of Super Etendards equipped with the ASPM-A missiles with a
500km range (60 total).

When the French and Germans declared war on the United States, Congress immedi-
ately issued its own declaration of war. The American Fleet was placed on high alert
and hurried to sail. All of the B-2 Bombers at Guam and Diego Garcia were recalled to
Whiteman. B-83 bombs were loaded allowing the aircraft to immediately scramble. All of
the nuclear cruise missiles the US didn’t have were loaded aboard the SSGN’s and all
18 of the SSBN’s and SSGN’s put to sea. All 94 of the B-52’s including the 9 in reserve
were equipped with 20 ALCM’s each. The 92 B-1B bombers were armed with JDAMs.

And they gave a war and nobody came. The French and Germans didn’t want to be the
first to start, fearing American retaliation. The Americans didn’t want to be the first to
start because all anyone had done was talk. It was a gen-u-wine Méxican Standoff and
México declared its neutrality. Sitting at DEFCON 2, Rudi had his finger on the trigger,
so to speak. So Rudi sent a message to the French demanding they surrender. Why
not, they’d surrendered to everyone else, 35 times. Not this time, however, the Ger-
mans were on their side, for a change.

A keg of dynamite won’t explode by itself. It takes a spark to get the ball rolling; one tiny
little spark. Anyone got a Zippo? It was like sitting on a time bomb listening to the clock
tick but not being able to see the face of the clock. DHS went to threat level red. Not be-
cause they had any threats, but because it seemed like the thing to do. We sure got
nervous there in Roswell, I can tell you that. We checked our supplies and bought some
batteries (flashlight), we had everything else. We went to high yellow alert, issuing arms
and ammunition to the residents.

Tick…

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Tick…

Tick…

139
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 26 – KaBoom

For all-of-its military prowess, there is something that Europe lacks. None of the coun-
tries in Europe have any long-range, land-based bombers. If they do, they sure keep
them well hidden. By contrast, the USA has 20 B-2’s, 92 B-1B’s and 94 B-52’s. All of
these planes can reach Europe and safely return. That’s a fair amount of nuclear or
conventional ordinance and these days, we use smart bombs. In order to launch an at-
tack on the United States using bombers, the French would have to move their very
small fleet of carriers into striking range of US forces.

But to do so would be to sacrifice the carriers to no good end. The US Navy was larger
than the combined Navies of the remainder of the world. And, with the Russians out of
the equation, there was simply no way to attack the United States unless one wanted to
use nuclear forces. Use of nuclear forces was tantamount to committing suicide. Back
during WW II, the Allies would mount air strikes at night, the British, and during the day,
the Americans. Some of those raids by the 8th Air Force had up to 1,000 planes. In this
day and age, America’s small fleet of 207 long-range bombers could far exceed the ca-
pacity of several of the 1,000 plane raids. With every bomb hitting a target and some-
times as many as 30 or more precision weapons to the plane, The US could wipe out
most of Europe in a couple of weeks’ worth of bombing with conventional weapons. At
least that was what The Three Amigos and I concluded sitting there waiting for the shoe
to drop. The United States, we decided, could afford to wait. I told Ritchie to drop the
alert level from High Yellow to Guarded.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

It seems that not everyone in the world was willing to wait while the US and Europeans
decided who should shoot first. Where was it written that either side had to start the
war? WW I had been started by the assassination of a minor luminary, Archduke Frantz
Ferdinand Hapsburg. Third in line to the throne at one point, he became heir through
two untimely deaths. The first was of the Emperor’s son, Crown Prince Rudolph, who
killed himself (and his sixteen year old mistress) in 1889. The second was the death of
his father, Archduke Charles Louis, in 1896. Now it was Franz Ferdinand that would be
next in line for the Crown. The Archduke and his wife Sophie were assassinated in Sa-
rajevo on 28Jun14 (their fourteenth wedding anniversary) by Serbian nationalist Gavrilo
Princip. The Archduke’s role of Inspector General of the Austrian army had brought him
to Sarajevo for the summer maneuvers. Neither Emperor Franz Joseph (his uncle) nor
the Kaiser (Wilhelm II) saw fit to attend the funeral.

Gary claimed that neither the Europeans nor the Americans would be the first ones to
move. He was right. WW I happened at the end of a tremendous arms race. WW III
happened because no one wanted to use their powerful weapons. All it took was for
some of the Ayatollah’s people to explode a couple of stolen Russian nukes in Paris.
After that the war went on automatic pilot. French submarines having lost contact with
Paris feared the worst and launched against the United States. At NORAD headquar-
ters, the missile launches set off alarms and the US retaliated. Retaliated against the

140
French and the Germans. Spain, France and Germany account for most of the land-
mass of Europe. Spain was neutral and was spared a direct attack. So were many other
countries like Belgium, Switzerland, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, the Netherlands,
Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Austria, Italy and the islands of the western Mediterranean.

But only one of those countries took Civil Defense serious in a very large way, Switzer-
land, and did they ever get serious after 9/11. They ran a nationwide drill to test their
system and it worked. 100% of the Swiss population can be put in permanent shelters.
And did you know that the Swiss could field an Army of 600,000 in defense of their
country? I didn’t, but Gary did. Thus about 60% of the landmass of Europe was subject-
ed to the American retaliation, all because some ragheads killed some Frenchmen. For
those inclined to say it couldn’t happen to a nicer bunch of people, don’t forget, the US
retaliated. Which somehow just naturally implies that there was some reason to retaliate
in the first place.

The largest French nuclear weapon was 300kt, the smallest 100kt. It depended upon
whether they launched M-4’s or M-45’s. None of which made any difference if one of
them fell on you. The nearest significant targets to those of us in Roswell were the US
military installations to the southwest of us at White Sands, Alamogordo and Ft. Bliss.
The French made military targets their number one priority and major US cities their
second priority. First priority, second priority or third priority, it made no difference ex-
cept when the warhead hit. Finally the silo became very important, I was beginning to
wonder, frankly. I’d retired from killing only to end up killing a lot more people, gotten a
pardon and a license to kill. And, I killed some more, would it ever stop?

Those folks in Roswell got serious about survival and after the lights came back on they
took significant steps to pretend they were Swiss. Obviously my message had gotten
through to them and they realized that if TSHTF, 50,000 people wouldn’t fit in my silo.
Neither would I provide them with electricity or food. But the country as a whole lacked a
Civil Defense program. No one would mess with the United States; we were the most
powerful nation on the Earth. The military managed to save the ships, because all were
at sea. The bombers scrambled if for no other reason than to save their butts. They put
up as many fighter aircraft as they could get to fly and the Army did the best they could
to protect the troops, which wasn’t a hell of a lot. On the other hand most of the troops
weren’t at their bases in the first place, but Nevada looked almost green from the air.

If you were sitting in Washington, DC with your finger on the button, would YOU leave
the troops as sitting ducks? Remember 9/11? God Bless Rudi, he had the smarts and
the time to move the troops ahead of time. An unfortunate few were left to guard the ba-
ses but life can’t be perfect. We went from Guarded (Blue) to Red in an instant and
people started to fill the silo. Most had moved important possessions to the shelter
when we were at high yellow and hadn’t bothered to remove them. Another thing that
helped was the flying time of the French missiles. I imagine that we did a whole lot bet-

141
ter than those folks on the east coast, we had more time. They managed to hit Califor-
nia; the M-45 had a range of 6,000km (3,728 miles).

The M-45 replaced the M-4 as the core of the French sea-based deterrent force. A stra-
tegic weapon, the M-45 has sufficient range to strike most key population centers from
the safety of international waters. As submarines are naturally difficult to locate, the
missiles can be kept safe from a pre-emptive strike and can penetrate enemy waters to
increase the number of potential targets. The distribution of six potent warheads over a
single target area gives the M-45 superior performance against civilian populations than
a single larger warhead. Its accuracy is insufficient for use against hardened targets,
though it is easily capable of destroying large, soft targets such as cities. These factors
make the M-45 an effective deterrent weapon, to be used in the case of an attack.

However… the French replaced the Redoutable class with the Triomphant class and
two of the four Triomphant class subs were equipped with the M-51 SLBMs with 10
110kT warheads and a range of >10,000km, The last of the class came equipped with
the M-51s and one other sub had been retrofitted.

And, the French were attacked first and retaliated forcing the US to retaliate in turn.
Gary said he could hear the newscaster in his head. Was this a tragedy that could have
been avoided? Darn right it could have been avoided, he went on to say, if those French
SOBs and the Germans hadn’t started the trouble in the first place by joining Russia
and ganging up on the US back in 2003. It was all downhill from there, he said, although
he admitted he was surprised that the French and Germans had declared war on the
United States. “Pretty danged dumb thing to do considering this country’s history when
it came to war.”

All of which was totally irrelevant unless you know some way to un-explode a
100kT/110kT nuclear warhead. I’ll give you 576 chances to try. When this whole drill
started and the French declared war on the US, Ritchie got very nervous. He was afraid
that a nuclear attack would happen and take down his precious Internet. That’s when it
became important to have a T-3 connection, a credit card and a lot of disk space. Ritch-
ie had gotten together with one of those manufacturers while we were off in Mexico sav-
ing the world, which one I have no idea, and had put in some kind of storage network.
He tried to explain it, but it was over my head. He was talking about hot swappable
drives and SAN, or something else similar. You know what these geeks are like when
they’re talking 3 miles a minute about something only they understand; RAID 50 and
RAID 10 and RAID 0-5. I didn’t know about any darned raid, the war hadn’t started yet.

Don’t get Ritchie started, he’ll use terms like LAN and WAN and client and server, well I
knew about those anyway. And T-3 wasn’t anything like the connection he wanted but
at $15,000 a month, I told him just to order software instead of downloading it. He really
got excited when he found out he could have had OC-3, OC-12, OC-48 or OC-192. I put
my foot down and then the French attacked and it really didn’t make any difference any
more.

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Not all of the radio stations got knocked off the air. Ritchie said it was because the war-
heads had been exploded in ground bursts or near ground busts. The higher the weap-
on went off, he said, the worse it was on electronics and the lower the ground burst
went off, the worse the fallout. The good news was that everything was billed on the
credit cards. Ritchie claimed that we might not get the bills for a long time, if ever. If it
was on the net and you could download it, Ritchie had it, claiming it might come in
handy when The Three Amigos and Paladin tried to rebuild the world. At least with
some radios managing to stay on the air we had a little news and it wasn’t good. Did
that mean more ground bursts than airbursts?

One of the upsides turned out to be all of those jobs we had done. Man, talk about
equipment. Anytime we needed something we either requisitioned government equip-
ment or went out and bought it and saved the receipt so we could be reimbursed for the
expense. Things like encrypted satellite telephones and surveillance cameras. Things
we couldn’t buy or get issued, we stole. For instance, Ritchie hacked into the NSA com-
puters and download thousands of satellite images and then used a program to convert
the photos to topo maps. A few dozen blank passports had gotten mislaid, as did some
other documents. Give Ritchie the original and unless it took some kind of paper we
couldn’t get, he could reproduce it using that computer system.

At the time we just thought we were being prudent and preparing ahead for more con-
tract business. As it turned out some of those things would become extremely important
in the coming days as the country struggled to rebuild. We ended up in the silo for 3
weeks before the radiation level fell to a point that we could egress. Every US nuclear
power plant and some of the fuel rod storage facilities had been targeted. It really wasn’t
all that hard for the French to do it there had been a sustained warming period in rela-
tions for a while and they took advantage of it.

“What’s the radiation level?” Ron asked.

“In a hurry to get outside Ron?” I inquired.

“No, but old Gar-Bear is doing his claustrophobia routine so we need to get out pretty
soon,” he replied. “Otherwise he may go postal on us.”

“Doesn’t he take something to sleep?” I asked, “I thought I heard him say something
about freeze dried alcohol.”

“He takes 0.5 mg of Xanax every night,” Ron said.

“I get the Doc to raise his dose, if that will help,” I suggested.

“Double it and if that doesn’t chill him out, tell the Doc to insist he take it 3 times a day
instead of just at bedtime,” Ron urged.

“Ritchie says about another week, the radiation level is still just a shade high,” I related.

143
“I wonder what we’re going to find when we get topside,” Ron said to no one in particu-
lar.

“Well, we didn’t have a hit anywhere near us, so other than some left over radioactivity, I
think it will look normal,” I responded repeating something else Ritchie had mentioned.

“They hit Palo Verde, didn’t they?” Ron asked.

“Yes, why?” I was curious.

“There were lots of fuel rods at Palo Verde according to Gar-Bear,” Ron said. “If the
wind was out of the west, Phoenix will be pretty hot.”

“Phoenix took 2 strikes, Ron,” I pointed out, “It will be hot for a while regardless.”

I was more than a little impressed with that Palo Verde comment. “So tell me, how come
he has so much information of the hazards out there?”

“I guess that was the upside to his fiction stories,” Ron chuckled. “He did a lot of re-
search on the Internet. You having this silo and starting a trailer park got him to put his
house on the market the same day you went by. He did that before he even talked to
Clarence and me. He has a second 60Gb drive in that computer of his with nothing but
downloaded pdf files.”

“Sounds like Ritchie and his storage array,” I mentioned. “Except he has terabytes of
files and programs.”

“Sorry about the delay in getting out of the silo,” I said, “We didn’t invoke the seven-ten
rule until the radiation level peaked. We’re monitoring the outside and will go out and
look things over when it gets down to 1mR/hr.”

“How bad do you think it is out there?” Ron asked referring to the country as a whole.

“I have no idea, Ron. I suspect the east coast was hit pretty badly,” I replied. “We’ll just
have to wait and see. We’re monitoring all of the radio broadcasts.”

The radiation had peaked and Ritchie had started a computer program that counted
down from 343 hours. I talked to the Doc and got him to increase Gary’s Xanax level to
the full 0.5mg TID and asked Sharon to make sure he took all 3 pills every day. Gary
got very mellow in a hurry. We weren’t planning on saving the country or the world; we
just didn’t want to be inconvenienced by WW III. Before we could get outside and have
a look around, Gary showed up wanting to talk to me.

“Thanks for adjusting my meds,” he said, “I’m calmed down now. Say, in one of my sto-
ries, I wrote about the Arizona Rangers. I can’t remember, but I think it was Prepara-

144
tions II. I know we’re Marshals not Rangers, but we might need to start acting like Mar-
shals. I was either born 100 years too late or 100 years too soon.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Well, I like the computers, that’s plain enough, got my first one in 1983,” he replied.
“But I had my first brace of 6 guns long before that. Had me a pair of Ruger Black-
hawk’s, the originals, way back in ‘73.”

“You’ve had your chance at playing cowboys and Indians,” I pointed out.

“It wasn’t the same, we were both on the same side,” he laughed. “I’ve got to be going,
just wanted to thank you for the meds.”

Gary left the command center humming what I recognized to be an old Marty Robbins
tune, ‘Big Iron’. A few days later the sustained radiation level was 1mR/hr and falling
ever so slightly. We put on the protection suits Ritchie had bought and went topside to
survey the damage. It was a clear day, but the sun seemed a little dim. Aside from the
very rare hotspot, there wasn’t any radiation and I told Ritchie to get them out of the
shelter.

“When the guys come out,” I suggested, “Have them make a run into town and see how
everyone made out.”

“Ok, boss,” Ritchie replied, “I’ve got it covered.”

A nuclear warhead isn’t very distinguishing. Over in Europe, even though the US had
only hit France and Germany, the radiation had spread just about everywhere. The
Swiss were ok, I presumed, they had their shelters. Hopefully the Brits had gotten un-
derground, too. As for the rest of them, they didn’t sit on France and Germany. Some
European Union! At this time, of course, we didn’t have the whole story about what had
caused the French to nuke the US.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 27 – Picking Up the Pieces

To the town of Agua Fria, rode a stranger one fine day.

Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say.
No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip.
For the stranger there amongst them, had a big iron on his hip.
Big iron on his hip.

It was early in the morning, when he rode into the town.

He came riding from the south side, slowly lookin’ all around.
He’s an outlaw loose and running, came the whisper from each lip.
And he’s here to do some business, with the big iron on his hip.
Big iron on his hip.

In this town there lived an outlaw, by the name of Texas Red.

Many men had tried to take him and that many men were dead.
He was vicious and a killer, though a youth of twenty-four.
And the notches on his pistol, numbered one and nineteen more.
One and nineteen more.

Now the stranger started talking, made it plain to folks around;

Was an Arizona Ranger, wouldn’t be too long in town.
He came here to take an outlaw back, alive, or maybe dead.
And he said it didn’t matter; he was after Texas Red.
After Texas Red.

Wasn’t long before the story was relayed to Texas Red.

But the outlaw didn’t worry; men that tried before were dead.
Twenty men had tried to take him; twenty men had made a slip.
Twenty-one would be the Ranger; with the big iron on his hip.
Big iron on his hip.

The morning passed so quickly, it was time for them to meet.

It was twenty past eleven, when they walked out in the street.
Folks were watching from their windows; every-body held their breath.
They knew this handsome Ranger, was about to meet his death.
About to meet his death.

There was forty feet between them, when they stopped to make their play.
And the swiftness of the Ranger, is still talked about today.
Texas Red had not cleared leather, when a bullet fairly ripped.
And the Ranger’s aim was deadly, with the big iron on his hip.
Big iron on his hip.

It was over in a moment, and the folks had gathered round.

There before them lay the body of the outlaw, on the ground.

146
Oh, he might have gone on living, but he made one fatal slip.
When he tried to match the Ranger, with the big iron on his hip.
Big iron on his hip.

Big iron. Big iron.

When he tried to match the Ranger, with the big iron on his hip.

Agua Fria is just off US 60 northwest of Phoenix, if you’re wondering. It is about 25

miles northwest of modern day downtown Phoenix. Old Gar-Bear had dug out his Marty
Robbins collection of CD’s and was playing them over and over again. Sharon was
about to shoot him, but Ron and Clarence seemed to enjoy the music, especially Ron.
Everyone in Roswell was ok, they’d had enough time to sandbag some community
buildings and the radiation level simply hadn’t gotten that high, 10 Rads, briefly. There
wasn’t any shortage of sand there in Roswell, only of bags.

Our livestock was ok so The Three Amigos had saddled up and had a look around. Ac-
cording to the radio, most of the US military came though the attack intact. Rudi de-
clared Martial Law from his shelter at Mt. Weather and a dusk to dawn curfew. The only
exception was peace officers and the military. The amigos came dragging back 15
young men from Roswell and Ritchie swore them in. Travis and 3 cousins showed up
and they got sworn in too. Counting the 19 others and the 7 of us, we now had 26 Mar-
shals. One US Marshal and 25 Deputies, to be precise. The number didn’t click at the
time.

I was right, you know, the east coast took the blunt of the damage. The French had fired
everything they had and some large cities had multiple strikes. This was apparently in-
tentional to allow for the small (350m) CEP of the missiles. Palmdale, we later learned,
didn’t fare well. One of the French warheads came in a little short. Ritchie divided us up
into 11 teams of 2 and one team of 3. He stayed in the command center orchestrating
everything and the 3-man team kept an eye on Roswell. The other 11 teams started to
reach out and see what the people in our immediate area needed. It was more than we
had to offer, frankly.

Having 4 of us sitting around Roswell didn’t make a lot of sense; the Chief of Police had
everything there under control. I said something to Ritchie about it and he said he’d
work on it. The next thing you know, one of Travis’s relations showed up and Ritchie
swore him in. Gary’s son Damon was doing moderately well on his meds, but was a bit
on the flaky side and Ritchie passed on him. Ron’s son Kevin was content to spend his
time sleeping and he didn’t appear to have the energy to mount a horse. With the extra
man, we left Ritchie in charge in Roswell and put 2 more teams in the field.

The military was stretched pretty thin, cleaning up the country. They had a lot of practice
at that and things went much more smoothly this time. Eventually we got a message
from Rudi wanting to know if we’d cover New Mexico and free up some troops to help
with the cleanup. Ritchie sent a message back telling Mr. President that we’d been do-
ing that since we’d come out of the silo and to go ahead and pull the troops. We did

147
things a little differently, I suppose, than Rudi Giuliani figured we would. He probably
wanted us to arrest the bad guys and drag them all the way back to Roswell so the fed-
eral judge and a bunch of attorneys could spend a lot of time fooling around to dispense
justice. There were only 26 of us out there around the state and we didn’t have a lot of
time to fool around. Besides, The Three Amigos were getting a lot older.

Judges must beware of hard constructions and strained inferences, for there is no
worse torture than that of laws. – Francis Bacon

It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer. – William Black-
stone, Commentaries on the Laws of England

Justice consists in doing no injury to men; decency in giving them no offence. – Cicero

Justice shines by its own light. – Cicero, De Officiis

There is no such thing as justice - in or out of court. – Clarence S. Darrow

Justice is always violent to the party offending, for every man is innocent in his own
eyes.” – Daniel Defoe, The Shortest Way With The Dissenters

Justice is the means by which established injustices are sanctioned. – Anatole France,
Crainquebille

Justice delayed, is justice denied. – William Ewart Gladstone

“Fidelity is the sister of justice.” – Horace

Courtroom: A place where Jesus Christ and Judas Iscariot would be equals, with the
betting odds in favour of Judas. – Henry Louis Mencken

Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical. – Blaise Pascal

The minute you read something you can’t understand, you can almost be sure it was
drawn up by a lawyer. - Will Rogers

There is a point at which even justice does injury. – Sophocles

It is better to risk saving a guilty person than to condemn an innocent one. – Voltaire,
Zadig

Justice, sir, is the great interest of man on earth. It is the ligament which holds civilized
beings and civilized nations together. – Daniel Webster

For justice, though she’s painted blind, is to the weaker side inclined. – SAMUEL BUT-
LER (d 1680), Hudibras

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Injustice is relatively easy to bear; what stings is justice. – H.L. MENCKEN, Prejudices

Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us. – THOMAS OTWAY, Venice Preserved

Mankind censure injustice, fearing that they may be the victims of it and not because
they shrink from committing it. – PLATO, The Republic

The judge is condemned when the criminal is acquitted. – PUBLILIUS SYRUS, Maxims

We love justice greatly, and just men but little. – JOSEPH ROUX, Meditations of a Par-
ish Priest

Use every man after his desert, and who should `scape whipping? – SHAKESPEAR,
Hamlet

There is a point beyond which even justice becomes unjust. - SOPHOCLES, Electra

We redefined justice and it came from the barrel of a .45 Colt caliber or a shotgun or
whatever gun was handy. What was the point of holding a trial for someone you saw
committing an atrocity? There were enough crimes where there were no living witness-
es and we weren’t forensic experts. We drove pickups and towed the horses because
there was too much ground to cover any other way. New Mexico is sparsely populated
with about 2 million people before the attack. Alamogordo, Albuquerque, Carlsbad, Clo-
vis, Farmington, Hobbs, Las Cruses, Rio Rancho, Roswell and Santa Fe accounted for
about 45% of the population. You could eliminate Albuquerque, Las Cruces and Ala-
mogordo; they’d either been hit directly or were close to a military target of value to the
French.

Despite the attacks we realized that New Mexico had about 1.3 million survivors. The
same couldn’t be said for places like NY City. 6 warheads had been targeted on that
city, according to the radio, and there was massive loss of life. It would have been
worse if the attack had come totally unexpected, but a lot of the people who worked in
the city lived elsewhere and had stopped going to work. You could say goodbye to Bos-
ton, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Charlotte, Atlanta, Detroit, Chica-
go, Columbus, Dallas-Ft. Worth and a host of other major cities. You could say goodbye
to about one-third to one-half of the nation’s population as well. And, don’t forget to bid
farewell to the United Nations.

The move to the light came when Stacy got tired of living in the silo.

“So when are we going to have a regular home like other people, honey?” she asked.

“This is a very nice apartment and even you’ll have to admit it’s safe,” I replied.

149
“Norma and I were talking and we’re both tired of living in a hole in the ground,” she
admonished.

“How long has this been coming on?” I asked.

“For a very long time, honey,” she smiled, “Since the lights came back on the first time.”

“I’ll talk to Ritchie and see about putting in a couple of triplewides,” I suggested.

“Mission accomplished,” she said. “We move tomorrow.”

There is absolutely no point in arguing with a woman once she has her mind made up. I
went to see Ritchie and he said that Norma had done the deed all by herself and he
was in the same boat as I. I told him to get his butt into town and find someone to move
the stuff. He said he would and suggested that since we’d have 2 extra floors of space
we spread out the bunks a little more. This would only leave 100 bunks per floor and
reduce the claustrophobia. I told him to do whatever he wanted; I was too busy being
Marshal Bill Tilghman and ridding the west of outlaws. Speaking of which, do you know
the name of the new federal judge in Roswell? His name was James Aubrey Parker,
appointed by Reagan, and he was the grandson or great-grandson of Isaac Parker.

In the year 1875 there existed in the United States a wild and largely untamed land
where outlaws ruled. (NO, this was not Detroit or the South Bronx!) This vast region was
known as the Indian Territory and was located in the area, which is now the state of Ok-
lahoma. This territory was populated by a mixture of cattle thieves, horse thieves, prosti-
tutes, desperados, whiskey peddlers and numerous unsavory characters who sought
refuge in a region free of “White Man’s Court” and without laws which could be used to
extradite them for trial.

The Civil War wrecked the relative peace of the five civilized tribes of Indians that lived
in the territory. It created a storm of racial hatred and unbridled vice. This was the Amer-
ican frontier at its very worst. Folks, this was a baaa-aaad place!

The only court with jurisdiction over the Indian Territory was the US Court for the West-
ern District of Arkansas located in Fort Smith, Arkansas. Fort Smith was situated on the
border of Western Arkansas and Indian Territory. To this court came Judge Issac Par-
ker who was named to replace a corrupt judge at Fort Smith in May of 1875. A severe
and able Federal Judge, Isaac Parker was nicknamed “The Hanging Judge” because of
the many men he sent to the gallows.

During his 21 years on the bench at Fort Smith, Judge Parker sentenced 160 men to die
and hanged 79 of them. It didn’t take Parker long to get going. On May 10, 1875 – only
8 days after he arrived at Fort Smith – he opened his first term of court. Eighteen per-
sons came before him charged with murder and 15 were convicted. Eight of them were
sentenced to die on the gallows on September 3, 1875. One was killed trying to escape
and a second had his sentence commuted to life in prison because of his youth.

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The new judge decreed that under the present circumstances, he thought that maybe
he’d try and adopt his forbearer’s style. He wasn’t sure he’d get away with it, but this
was an emergency after all. And once that rope tightened around the bad guy’s neck it
couldn’t be undone. Kind of like those frogs and their 100kt nuclear warheads. (As of
this point in time, I was just a lawman, what the judge did was strictly up to him and his
conscience.)

All wars have unintended consequences. No matter how cautious generals and political
leaders are, war sets in motion waves of change that can alter the currents of history.
More often, generals and political leaders are not troubled by long-term side effects;
they are sharply focused on achieving a victory and war’s aims. The result is that the
unseen and unintended occur, at times as a bitter riptide, which overwhelms the original
rationales for engaging in armed combat.

The continuing enthusiasm some American political and military leaders have for nucle-
ar weapons–as demonstrated once again by the Senate rejection of the Comprehensive
Test Ban Treaty–is commonly said to be caused by the persistence of Cold War think-
ing. General Lee Butler, once commander-in-chief of US Strategic Command, calls it a
failure of strategic vision. So it is.

But just as surely as dog-eared Cold War-era thinking persists in Congress, the Penta-
gon, in the nuclear weapon labs, and in a passel of think tanks, truly visionary thinking
also abounds. Nuclear weapons should be kept around to deter the use of weapons of
mass destruction, goes the prevailing mantra. But otherwise, wars of the future will be
fought with precision, standoff weapons armed with conventional explosives. Nothing
terribly Cold War about that. Indeed, studies analyzing and/or promoting this idea–which
is integral to the “Revolution in Military Affairs”–have become a cottage industry.

During my long and not too illustrious career, I had tried to avoid collateral damage. As
a professional, I had been completely successful. However, once The Three Amigos
and I started to save the country, things took a turn for the worse. The first collateral
damage came when I shot down Marine-One. I doubt that the pilot, co-pilot or crew-
members’ wives would understand. Then, there had been the 7 women at 3rd Manas-
sas. The lady colonel shot at us so it wasn’t collateral damage. The other 6 women
were caught in the return fire before we sorted out who was shooting and that WAS col-
lateral damage. Gary mentioned the movie, Collateral Damage. It was awaiting release
when the terrorists struck the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. I hadn’t seen it
and he told me about it.

“Gordy Brewer’s family was killed in an explosion. The man responsible is a Columbian
known as The Wolf. When the government feels that they have more important things to
be concerned about than Brewer, Brewer decides to take things into his own hands. He
goes to Columbia to try and find The Wolf but discovers that it’s not going to be that
easy. And when a woman and her child get in his way he has to decide just how much

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like the Wolf he is willing to be. What Would You Do If You Lost Everything? Nothing is
more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose.”

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 28 – Living by the Gun

Those who live by the sword (or gun) will die by the sword (or gun). When Judas had
betrayed Jesus and a crowd came up to arrest Him, the Apostle Peter drew a sword
and attacked one of the guards. Mt 26:52 records, “Jesus said to him, Put your sword
back in its place, for all those who take up the sword perish by the sword.” Now you
take all of those Christian Patriots out there. I expect they’ll find some way to turn it
around and justify their behavior. I didn’t have to justify my behavior, but I did consider
myself forewarned. I will take judicial notice of the fact that Jesus lived about 2,000
years ago and was a pacifist. When they wanted to stone the woman, He said, I Plus,
his girlfriend was a hooker.

On the other hand, He was a strong supporter of the Old Testament and I doubt he dis-
approved of the Judges. Judges administered the will of the people, didn’t they? It sort
of depended upon where you stopped reading the Bible. If you stopped at “An Eye For
An Eye”, you’d be in big trouble. “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye
and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, ‘Do not resist injuries (“evil” in KJV), but who-
ever strikes you on the right cheek turn to him the other as well’” (Matt. 5:38-39 Modern
Language Version). It came from the Sermon on the Mount. So did:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven”
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted”
“Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth”
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled”
“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy”
“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God”
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God”
“Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the King-
dom of heaven.
“Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all man-
ner of evil against you falsely, for My sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is
your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you”

By the way, He also said, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the
prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. Amen I say to you, until heaven and
earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the
law, until all things have taken place.” (Mt 5:17-18) And folks, it isn’t murder if you shoot
them and then tell them to throw up their hands or you’ll shoot. Or, is it the other way
around? Anyway it ended up the same, regardless. They could die quick by the bullet or
quick by the rope after worrying themselves almost to death.

Do you want to see me justify what we were doing on the basis of The Beatitudes, be-
lieve, me I can. We were of pure heart and didn’t kill anyone who didn’t deserve it. We
kept the peace. If they surrendered, we showed them mercy and let the Judge hang
them. Oh yeah, we fit right in with those Beatitudes. And it went on that way for a ‘long’
time. Then, all of those surviving liberals came out of the woodwork like so many worms

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and everything went to hell in a hurry. That was about 2 months after Ritchie had talked
to Rudi. So, we pulled in the reins and let them fight among themselves. We stayed in
Roswell until committees from several cities came begging for help, about a month later.

“He was brilliant, controversial, aloof, egotistical, imperious, courageous and highly in-
telligent,” Gary announced. “He quoted Santayana and said, Only the dead have seen
the end of war. He also said. Duty, honor, country: Those three hallowed words rever-
ently dictate what you ought to be, what you can be, what you will be. They are your ral-
lying point to build courage when courage seems to fail, to regain faith when there
seems to be little cause for faith, to create hope when hope becomes forlorn. He wasn’t
the soldier’s soldier and didn’t much care for blood and guts.”

“Who or what are you ranting about now, Gar-Bear?” Ron quizzed.

“I was just looking in the mirror wondering what my obituary would say,” Gary laughed.

“You’re shining us on,” Clarence said.

“If I am, then prove it and tell me who else the description fits but yours truly,” Gary chal-
lenged.

I’d noticed that Gary liked to play trivia games. He was pretty good at it when his
memory was working. Unless the question was something simple like what he’d had for
breakfast or whether or not he’d eaten. Those 3 old dudes popped a lot of pills. Ron
took medicine for his heart and his cholesterol, Gary took medicine for diabetes, de-
pression and high blood pressure and Clarence took pills for everything except depres-
sion. Clarence most definitely wasn’t depressed; he was jovial about most everything.

“What do you think boys,” I asked, “Are we going to save New Mexico from the bad
guys?”

“Let them eat cake,” Gary said. “The most virtuous are those who content themselves
with being virtuous without seeking to appear so.”

“Huh? What did you just say?” Ron asked.

“I said let them eat cake Ronald,” Gary said. “It’s not our problem. They wanted us to
stop. I say to hell with them.”

“Gary,” Clarence butted in, “What do you want to be like that for? They came asking for
our help.”

“Yeah, after they told us they didn’t need or want our help,” Gary answered. “I’m not
hauling around anymore prisoners even if they are chained in the back of my truck.”

“Maybe Judge Parker will let you spring the trapdoor,” I suggested.

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“Nah, at least when I shoot them they have a chance to defend themselves,” Gary said.

“You stopped shooting them in the back?” Clarence asked.

“They doing their Abbott and Costello routine or one from the three stooges?” Stacy
asked.

“You got me honey, I’ve never heard this one before,” I admitted.

“Gary and Clarence are both right, you know,” Stacy said. “Clarence is right when he
says you fellas should help them and Gary is right that they’re ungrateful.”

“What about me?” Ron asked.

“I didn’t realize that you were part of the conversation,” Stacy replied. “Do you have a
suggestion?”

“No,” Ron smiled.

“Why don’t you fellas set up a communications system with the major communities and
only go out when they radio in they have a major problem?” Stacy suggested.

“What about the smaller communities, honey?” I asked.

“They have police radios and can radio the larger communities for assistance, dear,”
she said. “Anyway, most of those problems are local problems they can handle them-
selves. You fellas only really need to get involved when there is a federal question, this
isn’t really the old Wild West, you know.”

“Sound good to me fellas, what do you think,” I asked.

“We still have those 4-horse trailers so if we go out in 4-man teams, I’ll go along,” Gary
said.

“Yeah ok,” Ron grumbled.

“Good idea,” Clarence agreed.

“Ritchie, how many of the 4-horse trailers do we have?” I asked.

“Enough for all of the Hummers we have with the Ma Deuces and Mk-19’s, boss,” he
answered.

Further discussion resolved that when we got a call for assistance we’d take at least
one Ma Deuce and one Mk-19 equipped Hummer and at least 8 Deputies. With that

155
kind of fire power and that many people we shouldn’t run into anything we couldn’t han-
dle. We weren’t those Texans who claimed ‘one riot, one ranger’. I suggested that
Ritchie send out an email to all of the affected communities. Ritchie promptly reminded
me that the Internet hadn’t been brought back up online yet and we should maybe de-
liver the radios that Stacy suggested and explain the new game plan to the larger com-
munities. He said we had enough of the SINCGARS equipment to implement that part
of the plan. We could assign a different channel to each of the larger communities and
in case they failed to identify themselves, we’d know who it was just by the channel they
used.

Carlsbad (1), Clovis (2), Farmington (3), Hobbs (4), Rio Rancho (5) and Santa Fe (6)
would get the equipment and 3 teams of 8 men and two vehicles could make the deliv-
eries. The other two men could deliver the equipment to Roswell (7) and help them get
it set up. The Police Departments in those 7 communities could then contact the smaller
communities and get the relay system in place. I didn’t really expect we’d get many calls
because everything was tied into the local law enforcement and the big cities could pro-
vide mutual aid to the smaller communities. I failed to consider that a crime on federal
property was a crime on a government reservation, by definition, and generally within
the jurisdiction of the FBI. Ritchie corrected me on that and forwarded a message to Mt.
Weather to get Presidential clearance for our new program.

Hey, I’m not perfect here and I sometimes overlook the obvious, easily described by the
following quote: Those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being
governed by those who are dumber. Ever get involved in local politics? What a frigin’
mess! The smaller communities turned out to be all in favor of the arrangement but the
larger communities wanted to interfere in their affairs, especially if they were called up-
on to provide mutual aid. We didn’t really have time for this and eventually Ritchie put
out the word that if it was a local problem and we were to stay out of it.

Having Ritchie as the US Marshal and me as a Deputy wasn’t without its problems. This
had originally been my business and I’d brought Ritchie in as a full partner because of
his Internet information services, which were bringing in big bucks. But with the Internet
down and likely to be down for a while, the only business the security company had was
gone because we were not taking security consulting jobs these days. I had assumed
that Ritchie would be too busy with his computer to really get involved in the day-to-day
Marshal business. I was wrong; the system was up and running smoothly and Norma
could handle anything, which gave Ritchie time to meddle in the Marshaling.

We arranged the 7 communities in alphabetical order, numbered them and gave them a
channel according to their number. The lower channels had a slightly longer range.
Community 1 used channel 0100, etc. Ritchie informed me that Mr. President Giuliani
also set us up on a compensation system, $100,000 per year for the Deputies and
$110,000 per year for him. Plus expenses, of course.

At first all of the troubles had been local in nature. We were like the IRS who believed in
advertising. Every time the IRS prosecuted someone for cheating on their taxes they put

156
it in the paper and dozens of people filed returns. Every time we dispensed justice in the
old fashioned way the local troubles vanished, for a while. Then they booted us and we
eventually worked out this new arrangement. It became wait and see. Unfortunately, we
didn’t have to wait too long to see. We expected trouble from the west, but ‘they’ hit
Hobbs and we only knew it was Hobbs because it was on channel 400. Just a brief
Mayday followed by silence.

We needed the Calvary, but they were off cleaning up after the French attack. So we
loaded up our horse trailers and took 4 Hummers with machineguns and 3 with Mk-19’s
and headed for Hobbs; all 27 of us including Ritchie. Ritchie was really into the 9mm
stuff, bringing an MP5 and a Glock 17 with a half dozen 19-round magazines. The rest
of us were more prudent, bringing M1A’s, M16A3/M203’s and a bunch of LAW’s. We
had our .45’s and Winchester’s because we had no idea what we were getting into.
Trouble we figured. It was just shy of 120 miles with us taking 380 to the east and then
turning south. Even pedal to the metal, it took 3 hours to get there from the time we got
the Mayday.

Hobbs must have gotten a call out on their police radios or something because when we
finally arrived some of the smaller communities in the area had already responded and
knew what was going on. The first word I heard that I recognized was Comancheros.
There hadn’t been any Comancheros in New Mexico since 1870, according to Gary who
studied history. He said they’d been wiped out in the Red River War. What was left of
them had settled in the west panhandle area 135 years before. Must have run out of
beans there in Texas because here they were back in New Mexico where they’d started
in the first place back in the 1840’s. Why do bad things happening to the country always
bring out the worst in people?

Between the Hobb’s PD and the local mutual aid, they had those Comancheros boxed
up in Air Base City to the northwest of Hobbs. Word was that this was a bad bunch and
they were armed with automatic weapons. We had automatic weapons too so we left
the Winchesters in their scabbards and strapped 3 LAW’s behind each saddle and laid
an M16A3/M203 across our laps. We always took the horses to the range when we
practiced and they were over being gun shy. We moved the Hummers in as close to the
group as we could manage and got some of the cops to man the machine guns and Mk-
19’s. Then, we climbed into our saddles and went to see what the bad guys were up to.

The Comancheros were down in that area at the end of Jack Gomez Boulevard and
trapped. I’d better back up here and explain something. Ritchie was the US Marshal and
as such was in nominal charge. The only thing I can figure is that while we were down in
old Mexico cleaning up those Cartels, he was sitting there in Roswell watching western
movies. I told him that we had a numerical advantage on the Comancheros and that we
had them out gunned with the machineguns and automatic grenade launchers. All we
had to do, I said, was form a semi-circle to the east and pour in the rounds. Hell, there
were only about 40 of them and between the cops from everywhere and the 27 of us;
we had them outnumbered 2 to 1. Ritchie flatly insisted that we mount up and ride in
there and no amount of talking could dissuade him.

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If I had it to do all over again, I would have insisted because there is no more dangerous
critter than a trapped rat. I suppose it was quite a sight, the 27 of us on horses riding up
against those Comancheros. Ritchie must have figured that they’d let us ride in and call
them out, but it didn’t work that way. When we got within rifle range, they opened up be-
cause they were a whole lot smarter than Ritchie. Clarence took a round in his left leg
and it killed his horse. Then Ron and Gary were hit. In about a minute and a half, half of
us were down; all except Ritchie who was still sitting on his horse, looking around.

Dumb, dumb, dumb. Those machineguns and Mk-19’s opened up when we went down
and made short shift of those Comancheros. I had to pull Ritchie off his horse so they
could open up, for crying out loud. The bullet had missed the bone in Clarence’s leg but
he was bleeding pretty good. Gary had a round in his right shoulder and a second in his
right arm and Ronald was gut shot. Derek and Al had escaped with only a graze and I
was shot in the fleshy part of my left side. Ritchie hadn’t even mussed his hair. They
loaded the worst of us up on choppers and hauled us to the hospital in Hobbs. About
that time I was thinking about Norma and how badly she’d feel to be a widow.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 29 – Changes

It was more than slightly obvious that some changes needed to be made. Ritchie almost
got us killed and I let him get away with it. I’d have probably shot him but I figured Stacy
would really get on my case about making Norma a widow and those 3 boys of theirs
orphans. Ritchie didn’t belong in the field or in charge. He was a genius when it came to
computers, but an absolute dork when it came to arresting bad guys. Once The Three
Amigos were healed enough to be moved, we brought them back to Roswell. It was go-
ing to be pretty tough doing much Marshal work with a bunch of us healing up. There
were The Three Amigos healing up, and Derek, Al and myself plus 2 of the cousins and
almost a dozen of those new guys from town. We were just lucky all of us hadn’t been
killed. Very lucky indeed.

“Ritchie, I accept your resignation,” I told him.

“I’m not resigning, boss,” he replied.

“Fair enough,” I said, “Who do you want to read your eulogy?”

“Maybe I’d better just stay here at Roswell from now on,” Ritchie suggested quite spon-
taneously.

Stacy was as angry as a wet hen. She’s ranting and raving about how we’d almost got-
ten killed and about how Ritchie couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag with both
hands and a flashlight. The only thing was she wasn’t mad at Ritchie, she was mad at
me. She claimed that I was the one with the most experience in these matters and I
should have never given in to Ritchie. I couldn’t really argue with that, now could I? So, I
ended up accepting Ritchie’s resignation because if I was going to catch hell it was go-
ing to be for what I did instead of what I failed to do.

It took quite a while for everyone to heal up. We were able to replace the dead horses
and about 4 months later I advised my superiors that we could resume our duties. I’d
taken over as the US Marshal and Ritchie stayed on as a Deputy. We didn’t get any
valor awards or anything because you don’t get awards for being stupid. In my line of
business you could be bold and you could get old but if you were old and bold it meant
that you either had an angel in your pocket or the kind of luck that gamblers only
dreamed about. It seemed that those old farts from Palmdale had brought me a lot of
luck. Or, had they? Here I was living the quiet life in Roswell with no one the wiser as to
my existence. Then we needed a doctor/dentist and I’d run into Gar-Bear at Wal-Mart
and there had been nothing but problems since.

They’d barely shown up and gotten settled in when the lights went out. And that was still
a topic of discussion because no one ever came up with a single terrorist. I didn’t want
to save the country; I wanted peace and quiet. It seemed that the only way I was going
to have that was to have a heart attack and after observing Ron and Clarence, I’d rather
pass. We’d spent March in the shelter and April and May keeping the peace. Then we

159
sat on our butts for June and during July had distributed the radios. In August we’d gone
to Hobbs and got shot to hell and we spent the next 4 months healing up. Which
brought us to January of 2010.

The government was working in the northern states during the spring, summer and fall
of 2009 and when it got cold they’d moved down south. This put some of the troops in
New Mexico, Arizona and California. They cleaned up Albuquerque, Las Cruces and
Alamogordo. People who had survived those attacks moved back home in spurts and
since they were major sized cities we gave them SINCGARS equipment. We told them
don’t call us, when we’re ready, we’ll call you. And here it was January and we were all
healed. But when they began to reestablish the larger cities they brought in other Depu-
ty US Marshals, limiting our duties. That suited me just fine; I was more than ready to
retire.

But NO!!! Congress had refilled Rudi’s Slush Fund and the CIA had finally figured out
after about 9 months that our satellite tapes clearly showed Paris experiencing nuclear
explosions before the French attack. Anyway, I got this call (the phones worked again
and the Internet was up) and Rudi said he wanted some Arab butt. I told Mr. President
Giuliani that he still had a lot of nuclear weapons left and he should just nuke the Middle
East and let God sort them out. But, he wanted plausible deniability. Said he could run
for a second term in 2012 but if he nuked the Middle East he’ll probably only get the
Jewish vote. And he wanted the vote of the Moral Majority. I told him no and he offered
$25 million a head. I told him I’d have to talk it over with the boys; that we were still
healing up from that fiasco at Air Base City.

This thing with the Arabs was really with the Muslims and that was a religious matter.
Did your daddy ever tell you that you shouldn’t discuss politics and religion? Mine did.
He said it was the surest way to start a fight. Now you take those Muslims, for example,
please. There were the Sunni Muslims and the Shi’ite Muslims and depending on which
country in the Middle East one went to, one group or the other would be in charge. It re-
ally wasn’t any different than it was here in the states.

The United States of America has a population of about 269 million people. Eighty-three
and four-tenths percent of the population is categorized as white. This includes diverse
ethnic groups of varied European ancestry coming from both Europe and Latin America.
Americans classified as “black” make up 12.4 percent of the population, although this
group also contains many people of mixed racial background. People from various
Asian ethnic groups comprise 3.3 percent of the population, and Amerindians 0.8 per-
cent. According to 1989 figures, 56 percent of the population belong to a spectrum of
Protestant denominations, 28 percent are Roman Catholic and two percent Jewish. An-
other four percent belong to other religions and ten percent of the population professes
no religion. The figures had changed by 2010, but the shifts were small. Altogether the
US had about 2,500 recognized dominations, mostly Christian. And every single one of
them viewed the same God in a slightly different way. Most, but not all, of the Christian
Churches in America were characterized by a belief in the Holy Trinity.

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My crack about Jesus’ girlfriend being a hooker really stirred the soup: 1. She was a re-
formed harlot; 2. She was a woman; and, most importantly 3. She was a friend of Jesus.
Therefore it was correct to say that Jesus’ girl-friend was a hooker. I’ll tell you some-
thing else, folks, He’d be proud to claim she was His friend. A lot of people must think
that girlfriend is synonymous with sex partner. I didn’t say that. They did that in the mov-
ie and it wasn’t very popular.

Anyway back to the matter at hand. There were a lot of objections to our taking on this
contract. We didn’t speak the language, we didn’t look like Arabs, and we weren’t in the
best of condition. I agreed with the fellas and told them so. But, I felt obligated to point
out how many Ayatollahs there were in the Middle East. No one would ever have to
work another day in his life.

“Right,” Ron snapped, “What makes you think we’d survive a suicide mission like this?”

“I’d fit right in as long as I didn’t have to open my mouth,” Clarence observed.

“If we’re going to right a wrong, I’m for it,” Gary said, “But I’m not getting involved in any
religious persecution.”

“We’re not going to persecute them,” I said, “Just torture them until we find out who did
the Paris bombing and then kill them.”

“That’s ok then,” Gary said. “John Ashcroft said it was ok to torture prisoners. But let’s
not take any pictures of us doing it, ok?”

We agreed on a small party of 10 men: Gary, Ron, Clarence, Al, Derek, Travis, 3 of
Travis’s ‘cousins’ and me.

“This is Paladin. I need to talk to the President,” I said.

“One moment Mr. Paladin, I’ll put your call right through,” the operator replied.

“What’s the verdict?” Rudi asked. (A Prosecutorial joke?)

“We’ll do it but we need a $25 million advance for expenses. Hang onto $5 million and
have it for us in cash, Euros,” I told him.

“When can you leave?” he wanted to know.

“Just as soon as your check clears the bank,” I said.

“I’ll wire the money,” he said, “This is urgent.”

“Then as soon as your wire clears the bank,” I replied. “And we need a C-17 and 3 ar-
mored Land Rovers rigged for LAPES delivery standing by at Andrews.”

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“Weapons?” he asked.

“Suppressed Beretta semi-auto pistols plus some suppressed MP-5N’s,” I suggested.

“Anything else?” he asked.

“We need someone who can give us 3-4 days training in enough conversational French
to get by. And, we’ll need an interpreter/translator who also speaks French and you pay
his salary. Plus French Passports and identification and 2 of those Russian suitcase
nukes,” I insisted.

“ANYTHING ELSE?” he asked, frustrated, angry or both.

“Pick us up in that VC-20 tomorrow afternoon,” I said and hung up.

***

This really was going to be our last job. We would drop the cargo, climb to altitude and
bail out. We could get by with 2 Land Rovers, but I wanted a spare.

“Grab you socks,” I announced, “We’re heading to Iran.”

The standard sidearm for all NATO military forces was the Beretta 92FS. We had
enough of those and the suppressed MP5N’s but we might as well pick up some new
ones. We would supply our own M1A’s because they were already sighted in and
couldn’t be come by quickly. We’d be using the HP Black Hills 175gr BTHP Match am-
mo for the M1A’s. We’d be traveling light and constantly. I wanted to be in and out in
less than a week. The only non-regulation French gear besides the M1A’s would be
those Bowie knives.

We left the Roswell airport shortly after 15:00 local the next afternoon. We arrived at
Andrews late that night and sacked out in the VBOQ. The next few mornings, we went
to the NCO mess hall and headed back to the hanger, per instructions. For the next 4
days we received intensive training in conversational French, received our papers, the
Euros and got a quick bit of training on the nukes. Someone noticed our knives and re-
placed them with Cold Steel Gurkha Kukri knives. We got checked out on the satellite
radios in the Land Rovers on the way to Iran. The Agency had supplied the interpret-
er/translator and he was fluent in Farsi, Arabic, French and English. He also knew how
to operate the Russian nukes. Tehran was GMT + 3:30 and we adjusted our watches on
the way.

The Agency man also had a list of names and their whereabouts that was less than 24-
hours old when we departed. I vaguely remembered the guy and from what I could re-
member, he was very, very good. I should have requested one interpreter/translator for
each of the Rovers, but it hadn’t occurred to me. It turns out this guy was the only one

162
available anyway. After a flight that took hours, we were alerted that we should jump
first and set up 4 locator beacons. The Air Force preferred to drop the Rovers after we
were safely on the ground. This flight carried 2 loadmasters and it took all three of us to
push The Three Amigos off the back ramp. Derek, Al and Travis jumped next followed
by the 3 cousins and then by the Agency guy and me.

We all landed safely and set up the beacons. The C-17 came in at barely 5’ AGL and
LAPES delivered the 3 Rovers. The Agency guy, Travis, Al and I were in the lead vehi-
cle. The Three Amigos and Derek were in the second and the 3 cousins were tail end
Charlie. We were about 200 Klicks east of Tehran. The Land Rovers were English with
the wheel on the right side, in case I didn’t mention it earlier. We made Tehran just after
they’d completed morning prayers.

The Agency was running a small operation in Tehran and as fast as they could round up
the names on the list, we began the interrogations. It wasn’t pretty and within a scant 3
days we had the complete story on the Paris bombing. Ayatollah Ali Hoseini-Khamenei
and 9 others on the Secretariat of the Imam together with President Ali Mohammed
Khatami were behind the bombings. They, together with the 22 members of the Office
of the President, some 14 members of the Supreme Council for National Security and
21 members of the Cabinet were expected to gather in 3 days to present medals to the
4 terrorists who had handled the Paris bombings. Gary had to do the math. 10 + 1 + 22
+ 14 + 21 + 4 = 72. 72 times $25 million was $1,800 million dollars or $180 million dol-
lars for each of the 10 of us. I had told Rudi that he should have bombed the Middle
East; it obviously would have been cheaper.

On the night before the presentation, we planted both Russian nukes, set the timers and
turned them on. We, together with the Agency fellas, hightailed it out of there for our
rendezvous with the C-17 in about 4 hours. This time the C-17 landed and they quickly
loaded the Land Rovers and we got airborne. We headed straight back to Andrews and
landed under great secrecy. During the flight, the Agency guy faxed the ‘hit list’ to the
DCI and he delivered it to Rudi. When we landed we were handed checks for $180 mil-
lion each and hurried aboard the VC-20 with all of our gear. It had taken almost exactly
one week. A lot more than 72 people died; estimates put the losses at anywhere from 1-
3 million. See, Rudi got a bargain. And, guess who got blamed? It was a tossup be-
tween the French and Al-Qaeda. They bombed Paris but Al-Qaeda had supplied the
stolen nukes to Iran in the first place and surviving Iranian government officials knew it.

In summary, this was the best contract I/we ever had. In the first place we had virtually
no expenses. Rudi had supplied the weapons (we kept them) and we’d had free trans-
portation between Roswell and Andrews. We ate in the mess hall and stayed in the
VBOQ, free of charge. We got the Cold Steel Gurkha Kukri knives for free and had kept
them. The Air Force provided non-stop transportation to and from Iran. We didn’t have
to pay the Agency people and the money was ‘tax-free’ because the expense was bur-
ied so deeply that a Congressional Investigation couldn’t find it if they looked for 100
years.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 30 – Semi-Retirement

“I’m sure glad he invited us to move to New Mexico,” Gary said. “I can buy cigarettes
now regardless what they cost.”

“What are you going to do with all of the money?” Ron asked.

“I haven’t decided,” Gary replied. “The Mexican jobs gave me a little over $7 million
($49,550,000 divided 7 ways). I think it would be pretty hard to spend $187 million, but I
could try.”

“We could always give it to our wives,” Ron suggested. “We’d be back to poor in no time
at all.”

“They never sold that other silo, how about we buy it and fix it up?” Gary suggested.
“We each got $187 million, so how about we each donate $12 million to a pool and live
off the interest on the $175 million.”

“I don’t want to be living in a hole in the ground with 800 people,” Clarence said.

“We wouldn’t be,” Gary said. “Add it all up. There’s you and Lucy, your 3 kids and
spouses plus your 8 grandchildren, that’s 16. There’s Ron and Linda and their 5 kids
and 2 spouses and 2 grandchildren, that’s 11. Finally, there’s Sharon and me, our 4 kids
and their 2 spouses and my 13 grandchildren, that’s 21. We’d only have 48 people in
the shelter.”

“That wouldn’t be too bad,” Ron observed. “I expect we could build small apartments in
the silo. How many do you thing we need?”

“4 for Clarence’s family, 6 for your family and 5 for mine,” Gary replied. “Fifteen, Ron.”

“We could put 2 to a floor and have 8 floors of apartments,” Clarence suggested.

“David and Lorrie have a pretty large family (7),” Gary observed. “I think they’ll need a
floor by themselves. We can do without the crowding in this silo like Paladin had in his.”

“How are we going to talk our wives into this?” Clarence asked.

“Oh, darn,” Ron said, “I knew it was too good to be true.”

“Well, as much as it pains me to be deceptive,” Gary laughed, “I don’t think I’m going to
tell Sharon everything. I’ll just tell her we bought some property and we’re going to
move the houses.”

The 3 old geezers had deposited those checks into special accounts at the local banks
and they weren’t joint accounts. The accounts were in one of their assumed names and

164
they had made a show of giving their wives a portion of the money, like the interest only.
Even at that, there was no shortage of cash floating around. Sharon had gone whole
hog on quilting equipment and Linda had starting buying more of those Indian Dolls that
Sharon had gotten her started collecting. Lucy just tucked her money away, probably to
give to the kids and grandkids.

They bought the silo and hired contractors to completely refurbish it. The silo was gutted
and 15 floors were installed. A pair of standby generators went into the bottom of the
silo. The top 8 stories were apartments, one floor was a day room/cafeteria and the re-
maining 6 floors were used for storage. All of this was done out of sight of their wives
and they hadn’t yet announced the move. They got away with it, too. Do you have any
idea how much income $175 million generates in a year? Almost $2 million in an ordi-
nary savings account and our boys weren’t that stupid.

They’d told me what they had going and had sworn me to secrecy. Hell, I didn’t even tell
Stacy for fear she’d let something slip. What I did instead was buy myself a second silo
and have it refurbished on the sly. I’d have told Ritchie, but he’d have told Norma and
Norma would have told Stacy. I put up $40 million, we had money to burn, and I used
the same contractors The Three Amigos used. With that kind of money to spend, we
went first class, I can tell you that. Rather than move the houses, The Three Amigos
had just bought triplewides for them and their families. Sounded good to me and I did
the same. Then those old boys put in a concrete barn. You heard me right, a concrete
barn. I only had a string of 5 horses so I got together with them and we just made the
barn a little bigger. They’d board my livestock for the same amount I’d charged them.
But, I would hire a guy from town to muck out the stalls and feed the animals, because I
wasn’t shoveling any manure.

When everything was finally ready, they told their families and I told Stacy. That was in
early October 2010. Ritchie was still peeved at me over the demotion but he was so
busy trying to make money now that the net was back up that we didn’t really have time
to argue about it. I told him he could run the business and just send me a check for my
share of the profits, if any. Understand, from what I could see we had lots of business,
but he’d gone and installed the OC-12 line and the expenses were eating us alive. He
had so much capacity that he opened up a second business as an ISP. The Three Ami-
gos had a T-3 line installed that ran $2,000 a month and I went with a T-1. The thing
that was nice about it was that the amigos put in their own automated call center in the
shelter and everyone had private phone lines and high-speed Internet service.

We weren’t doing any Marshaling these days even though we still carried the badges.
We hadn’t necessarily hung up our guns, but were at least semi-retired. When the gov-
ernment finally reopened the Roswell Marshal’s office everyone but the 11 of us had
transferred over to that office. I decided to put up Travis and his 3 ‘cousins’ at our place
instead of hiring the guy from town. I got together with Clarence, Ron and Gary and we
hired the 4 men to take care of our livestock and keep up the grounds. We had to keep
the team together as much as possible, you never knew when something might come
up and things would go to hell in a hurry.

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Ronald was born in ‘41, Clarence in ‘42 and Gary in ‘43. I was born in ‘50 and in late fall
of 2010 when we finally moved, we were getting long in the tooth, they more than I.
Come spring, Ron would be 70-years-old. The older Ron got, the mellower he became
and the older Gary got the more he acted like the old Ron. Clarence was ‘mellow yel-
low’. And me? Well I was retired and I just didn’t want to be bothered. With a little over
20 acres between us Travis suggested that we put in some cattle, hogs and poultry.
Gary said that he liked the idea and we could expand that concrete barn to include a
chicken coop and a place for the hogs and milk cows.

Between you and me, I didn’t see the point. We could get milk and eggs in Roswell and
in the event of a problem we had lots of food in storage. I put in 4 triplewides for Travis
and his ‘cousins’ and fixed up 5 apartments in my silo. I was just getting old, I guess.
Besides, after the French had all but wiped out the country, what else could happen?
Pundits had claimed for years that a nuclear war would be the end of civilization, as we
knew it. The pundits were wrong, of course, but it did change a lot of things. The Swiss
became the dominant nation in Europe and our little trip to Tehran had really stirred the
soup. The religious mix in Iran was mostly Shi’ite, the same as the repressed majority in
Iraq.

Shi’a Muslims continue to hold the same fundamental beliefs of other Muslims, with the
principle addition being that they also believe in an imamate, which is the distinctive in-
stitution of Shi’a Islam. The doctrine of the imamate was not fully developed until the
tenth century, and other dogmas developed still later.

Sunni Muslims view the caliph as a temporal leader only and consider an imam to be a
prayer leader, but for the Shi’a the historic caliphs were merely de facto rulers, while the
rightful and true leadership continued to be passed along through a sort of apostolic
succession of Muhammad’s descendants, the Imams (when capitalized, Imam refers to
the Shi’a descendant of the House of Ali).

When the Saud family’s rebellion was defeated, many assumed that Wahhabi Islam
would fade away or simply become another obscure sect. However, it gained renewed
importance under the leadership of Abd al-Aziz in Saud, a new Arabian leader who al-
lied himself with Wahhabi militants known as the Ikhwan. This time the rebellion against
the Ottoman Turks was supported by Western powers who were involved in World War
I, where Turkey was allied with Germany.

Today, Wahhabism is the dominant Islamic tradition on the Arabian Peninsula, though
its influence is greatly reduced in the rest of the Middle East. As Osama bin Laden
comes from Saudi Arabia and is Wahhabi himself, Wahhabi extremism and radical ide-
as of purity have obviously influenced him considerably. Adherents of Wahhabi Islam do
not regard it as simply one school of thought out of many; rather it is the only path of
true Islam – nothing else really counts.

166
After Gary explained that to me one day, when we were sitting around drinking lemon-
ade and smoking cigars in the early spring of 2011, I realized that what was needed
was to start a war among the Muslims. There were 11 major divisions but 2 weren’t
considered Muslim by the Muslims. Gary said it would never work and I thought about
Iraq and Iran and their 8-year war. On the other hand, I was retired and really enjoying
my retirement. More often than not we’d all pile in a Hummer and head to a lake or river
just to go fishing. I gave The Three Amigos 2 of the Hummers, one with an Mk-19 and
one with a Ma Deuce. I kept one of each for myself and let Ritchie keep the rest.

The weapons were stored in the shelter armories and if we carried a gun, more often
than not it was a Winchester or sometimes a .45 revolver. When I did carry my Colt I
used the rig without the paladin because I wanted to put all of that behind me. The first
major attack by terrorists against the United States had been the WTC in ‘93. The sec-
ond by external terrorists came in ‘01. The third attack, attributed to terrorists but never
proven, came in what, 2005 or 2006? Guess the memory is fading, just like Gary’s. The
fourth attack didn’t come directly against the United States but against France. For the
damage it eventually caused, we’d have been better off if it had been against the US.

I figured that Rudi would probably get reelected in 2012 and we wouldn’t have to worry
about the Democrats until 2016. Then, sure as hell, they’d get the White House be-
cause that just seemed to be the natural scheme of things. We’d still be ok unless they
got Congress. Then who could know what would happen, they’d probably outlaw air ri-
fles. Wouldn’t bother us any, a person just wasn’t allowed to own some of the things we
had on hand.

A lot of money had gone into filling those 2½-million gallon diesel tanks. Considering the
price of fuel these days, only a millionaire could even consider it. And, The Three Ami-
gos and I decided that we could get by with smaller generators, too. Who needed 1¼
Mw? We put in a pair of DSHAD 209kw generators that only used 17gph at full power in
each silo. One was primary and one was the backup. 2.5 million gallons of diesel would
last 147,059 hours, 6,127.5 days or 16.8 years. We topped that off with as much food
as we could store and I suppose we had a 10-year or longer supply. In fact, just about
enough food to last us for as long as our generation would live.

We traded horses and brought in a younger set. This time on advice of some folks who
knew, the geezers went with Tennessee Walking Horses. A light horse breed founded in
middle Tennessee, the Tennessee Walking Horse was a composition of Narragansett
and Canadian Pacer, Standardbred, Thoroughbred, Morgan, and American Saddlebred
stock. Originally bred as a utility horse, this breed was an ideal mount for riders of all
ages and levels of experience. The breed easily adapted to English or Western gear,
and its calm, docile temperament combined with naturally smooth and easy gaits in-
sured the popularity of the Tennessee Walking Horse as the “world’s greatest show,
trail, and pleasure horse”. I figured that they knew more about it than I, so I did the
same. There was a horse for every man, woman and child at both silos, for family and
employees.

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We also had a string of mules, 12 or 14; it slips my mind at the moment, some broke to
harness and the rest to pack. Breeding a male donkey to a female horse resulted in a
mule; breeding a male horse to a female donkey produced a hinny. Offspring from ei-
ther cross, although fully developed as males or females, were almost always sterile.
Hence, a line of horses and a line of domestic donkeys must be maintained to perpetu-
ate mule or hinny production. Anyway we had maybe a half dozen of the draft mules
and the remainder was what they called work/pack mules. We bought them as they
came; only specifying size. Travis suggested that we get some Jacks and Jennies to
keep the breed alive. Then he got to breeding those Jacks to the Tennessee Walking
horses and we ended up with a string of what would turn out to be fast walking mules.

At the time, it didn’t seem to be too important. Neither did Travis’s instance that we
maintain bulls, boars and roosters. The November election in 2012 saw Rudi reelected,
just like I thought. Man he was playing on a string of successes. John Gotti, the Mexican
Cartels and the fact that there was peace in the Middle East, thanks to the French or
Osama bin Laden. The US didn’t have a single soldier stationed on foreign soil. With the
rebuilding of the country and the shortage of materials, inflation began to set in. But the
Democrats couldn’t convince the people that we were headed for economic trouble. The
Fed kept raising interest rates trying to bring inflation down just like they’d lowered in-
terest rates during Bush’s first term to foster growth.

The amigos income just kept going up and Gary mentioned that he was taking most of
the money after taxes and buying gold and silver. He said that all 3 of them were and he
was right because that’s how Stacy and I had made so much money, playing the market
and buying and selling gold. And now that we had money to burn she and I talked it
over and got into gold in a big way. Gary said that he could remember when the Dow
Jones Industrial averages were $912 and insisted that it could happen again in his life-
time. The markets had suspended trading for a very long time after the French attack.
When they’d reopened, stocks had been at ½ of their former levels. But, with the infla-
tionary trend, prices had started to rise.

Just after the election of 2012 and before the holidays, there were reports on the news
of a new strain of influenza. We went over to Ritchie’s silo and got everyone vaccinated,
having gotten busy and put it off. Then, a lot of people began getting sick and the CDC
said that they were looking into it but weren’t sure what was going on. The market re-
acted predictably and for every day for 2 weeks running they ended up suspending trad-
ing. None of us wanted to get the bug so everyone stayed pretty close to home. Any-
way, traveling was miserable, even the short way to Roswell because of the winter
storms. It got into the schools and Stacy pulled the girls out and hired a tutor. The next
thing you know, Gary, Ron’s and Clarence’s grandchildren were pulled out and the 3
men got together and hired 2 teachers.

Old Gar-Bear had done the hiring and he’d hired two single women in their 20’s. One
was a blonde and the other a redhead. I had the impression that he didn’t just hire them
for their brains; they sure were easy to look at. Since the tutor that Stacy had hired was
also a licensed teacher we got the 3 women together had set up a private school. That

168
was in early December. Every day the network and cable news had new information
about the flu epidemic and the effects it was having on the country. So many people
were out sick that they closed the markets and the utility companies had to resort to
having supervisor’s keep the utilities up and running. We didn’t give it any thought at the
time because we were snug there in our rural setting away from the crowds.

Then Sharon wanted to go to some Quilting Convention or something and rather than
fight with her, Gary gave in and let her go. Instead of her returning 3 days later, Gary
got a call that she was in a hospital. That was in January. The show was called ‘The
Road to California’ and it had been held in Ontario and she was in Loma Linda. I called
Ritchie and explained the problem and asked him politely to work some of his magic
and get Gary set up with a jet from Roswell to San Bernardino. Ritchie said he’d give a
college try but 2 things were against him from the start. The weather was in the crapper
and he wasn’t sure he could find a pilot who wasn’t sick. I told him thanks for the
thought and got on the phone to Washington. I figured we had a favor or two coming.
We did. The Commander-in-Chief called SecDef and the next thing you knew there was
a Tomcat in bound for Roswell.

Doc came by and told Gary that he’d better wear one of those N-100 masks because
from what he was seeing this flu was very contagious. We managed to get Gary to the
airport and he got all dressed up in a g-suit, parachute and oxygen mask and boarded
the F-14. The pilot took off in a hurry because another storm front was moving in. It was
about 640 NM from Roswell to San Bernardino and the F-14, Gary later told me, made
the trip at about mach 1.7. Ritchie had a car waiting for Gary at the San Bernardino air-
port and he arrived at Loma Linda just in time to tell Sharon goodbye. The Tomcat was
refueled and waiting for Gary at the airport. He said that by prior agreement between
Sharon and him, her body would be cremated and her ashes returned. We held a small
memorial service and the two new school teachers were quite a comfort to old Gar-
Bear. One held each arm and they supported him through the dreadful affair.

169
 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 31 – A Spring in His Step

It seems that Gary had converted a lot of his money; $100 million to be exact, into gold
while the price was down. He divided those $100,000,000 dollars 4 ways and gave each
of the children their share. He told them if there was any left when he died, they could
fight over it but this way, each of them had more than they could use. I think it was just a
tax dodge to avoid inheritance taxes, but what do I know? Anyway, the rumor was that
old Gar-bear was keeping company with those schoolteachers. I didn’t believe it for a
minute because Gary was 70 years old.

“I wonder how much longer those 2 teachers are going to last?” Stacy asked me.

“What do you mean, honey?” I asked.

“They’ve been coming in late and are tired to the bone,” she said. “I don’t think they’ve
been getting much sleep.”

“What’s behind that?” I asked.

“Come here and I’ll show you,” she answered.

***

Well if that was what was behind it, I didn’t figure Gary would last much longer. In fact I
wasn’t sure that I was up for a lot of those demonstrations. Gary sure did seem to have
a spring in his step; he must have tried a new vitamin. He didn’t seem to be so grumpy
anymore either. As of late, he’d been wearing those nickel-plated guns, too. He’d gotten
a call that Sharon’s ashes were ready and he told them to ship them UPS ground.

Meanwhile, around the country the flu epidemic was getting far worse. It was turning out
to be about as deadly as SARS. Ritchie issued an edict that none of the people from the
trailer park was to go into Roswell or anywhere near other people. Sharon had been
vaccinated and it sure hadn’t helped her. Then since his kids couldn’t go to town, he
came over and asked if they could attend our private school. I figured why the hell not
and suggested to him that we put in another apartment in our silo and he move his trail-
er over to our place. He said that some of those people were sneaking into Roswell an-
yway and that might be a good idea. One of the residents could run the trailer park for
us and he’d move most of his equipment to my command center. I got some of the men
from that contractor to equip another apartment for Ritchie and Norma and he put a big
rush on getting everything moved to the command center. Well, not everything; the
phone company couldn’t move that OC3 line so he left the ISP at the other silo. I told
him he was just going to have to make do with my 2 T-1 lines because if they couldn’t
move his lines, they couldn’t add more for me. Did I forget to mention that all of this had
happened in the 2 weeks since Sharon died?

170
It was around the first of February 2013 with a lot of people sick all over the country.
People hadn’t started to die in any great number, but they were not getting over the flu.
The US had rebuilt most but not all of the hospitals after the nuclear attack and there
weren’t any available hospital beds. It was frustrating but there wasn’t a thing we could
do except watch the nightly news and commiserate about how the US had been through
enough. What we didn’t know and wasn’t being reported was that this ‘little’ epidemic
wasn’t confined to the United States. The CDC announced that the illness was a virus
and it couldn’t be treated with antibiotics. Most of the people who contracted the ‘flu’ ex-
perienced serious symptoms for an extended period of up to a month. Then, they got
well or died. In a few rare cases, there were reports of people with compromised im-
mune systems succumbing to the illness in a matter of 2-3 days.

“You know, boss,” Ritchie said, “It’s getting pretty ugly out there. I expect that we’re go-
ing to lose power any day.”

“If the power goes down, we’ll probably lose the phones too,” I observed. “What are you
going to do it the Internet goes down?”

“I was thinking that I’d go back to being a Marshal,” he replied.

The weather was about like what it had been in late 2004-early 2005, lots of rain on the
west coast and snow further inland. It was too cold to be outside for very long and there
was too much snow to move around much. Because of the flu epidemic, many of the
DOT workers were off sick and the roads weren’t getting cleared. This was both good
and bad. It was good because few people ventured forth to challenge the elements and
the slippery roads. At the same time it was bad because emergency vehicles like the
law enforcement, ambulances and firefighting equipment couldn’t move either. The fire
trucks were the most successful due to the size of the trucks and the chains on their
wheels. Governors in several states had already issued warnings to avoid travel, except
in an absolute emergency. January had been awful and had it not been for the weather,
that virus might have gotten more. Sharon had managed to get out on one of the few
commuter flights in time for the quilting show.

“I really don’t believe that any of us are going to get outside and do any law enforce-
ment Ritchie,” I expressed an opinion. “I assume that Norma and you got everything
moved?”

“Yes we did, boss,” he answered, “Say how did you manage to get a foundation put in
for our triplewide with the weather the way it has been?”

“I put in an extra foundation when we built the place,” I explained. “Being around you
and The Three Amigos has really gotten me into being prepared.”

“I hear that Gary has a new girlfriend,” he smiled.

171
“Two, Ritchie,” I grinned, “He’s been messing around with the new school teachers.
They’re worn out and he’s as happy as a clam.”

“How does the old guy do…” Ritchie began to ask. At that moment the alarms went off
indicating that the generator was kicking in. The emergency lights flicked on and ran un-
til the generator was stabilized and the power was restored.

“How does he do it?” I completed his sentence. “I asked Ron about that and he said that
he was pretty sure he knew but refused to talk about it further,” I explained. “I guess you
were right about the power. Do you think the storm took a line down or the blackout is
more widespread?”

Ritchie picked up a phone and dialed a number.

“Hi honey it’s me,” he said. “No, I don’t know, but the generator kicked in so it could be
anything. Yeah, ok, I’ll be home in about an hour. Boss, the phones work so it wasn’t an
EMP. Norma said the streetlights were on until the power went down and now they’re all
off.”

I turned on the TV and the announcer was talking about an outage of undetermined
origin leaving a small portion of east central New Mexico temporarily without power. The
power company, he said, was checking into the cause of the outage and they’d have
more news when the power company called them back. We were watching station
KSWS in Lubbock, TX, the one that the townspeople had borrowed those 2 generators
from. They said they would be back after the break with weather news so we left the TV
on. When they came back on, it was with a severe storm warning. Here in Roswell, we
could get up to a foot of snow.

“Do you think we should get everyone into the shelter?” I asked Ritchie. “We are already
over the average annual snowfall of a foot.”

February 5, 1988... Roswell, NM was buried under 16.5 inches of snow in 24 hours, an
all-time record for that location.

“It might not hurt,” he said. “I’ll call Travis and have him restock the automatic livestock
feeders and come on in.”

“I’ll give Ron a call and tell him we’re bundling up and the animals are taken care of,” I
responded.

I tried Ron’s house and got no answer so I tried the silo. I got no answer there and de-
cided to try Clarence. Clarence didn’t answer and I was beginning to wonder where eve-
ryone had gone. I tried the silo a second time.

“Ron Green,” Ron answered.

172
“Paladin, Ron, I just called to tell you that with the weather forecast we’re going into the
shelter,” I explained. “Ritchie is talking to Travis and they’ll restock the automatic feed-
ers before they come in.”

“We decided to do the same thing,” Ron said. “Everyone is here except Gary and Mutt
and Jeff.”

“Who are Mutt and Jeff?” I asked.

“Mutt is the blonde and Jeff is the redhead,” Ron replied.

“How is Gary these days?” I inquired.

“Looking 60 and acting 40,” Ron responded. “But it will all catch up to him.”

“We are forecast for up to 12”,” I reported.

“We caught that on the Lubbock station,” Ron remarked. “That’s a lot of snow on top of
what we already have. I don’t suppose they’ll have the highways plowed for weeks.”

“Probably not,” I agreed. “Call if you need anything.”

“Yeah, talk to you later, ciao,” Ron replied.

I went to the cafeteria and made a cup of cocoa and sat down in front of the fireplace.
Each floor had a fireplace as a source of heat. I had them install the Eastlake 36 Inch,
5,000 BTU Electric Fireplace’s instead of heaters. Made the place feel almost homey.

“Hey boss, check out the Lubbock station on the TV,” Ritchie hollered.

The National Weather Service has updated its earlier forecast, the announcer said. The
Lubbock area and east central New Mexico are now forecast to get up to 18” of snow. In
other matters, the CDC announced earlier today that the flu epidemic appears to be
worldwide. Europe and the United States have been the worst hit with an additional
47,000 cases reported in the past 24-hours. The worst previous epidemic of these pro-
portions hit in the year 1918. During the 1918-1919 fall period the number of Americans
who died from influenza is estimated at 675,000. Of those, almost 200,000 deaths were
recorded in the month of October 1918 alone. Worldwide, the mortality figure for the full
pandemic was believed to stand somewhere between 30 to 40 million. In 1997 epidemi-
ologists and public health officials from around the world got their first glimpse of an en-
tirely new variety of human influenza. Known as subtype H5N1 for the surface proteins,
which the virus carries, the new strain had only ever previously been observed in birds.
Ominously, the effect of H5N1 on poultry had earned it the evocative title of ‘Chicken
Ebola.’ And when it surfaced in the human population of Hong Kong during 2003 it
proved to be almost as deadly.

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The CDC went on to say that they haven’t yet identified the particular strain in this
year’s virus but that the flu shots administered to people earlier this year are not re-
sistant to the H5N1 Strain. If the virus proves to be that strain or even a more virulent
strain, they report that it could be months before a vaccine is ready. As most of you
probably know, the United States imported most of its flu vaccine from Europe. The
CDC says that bringing American production of a virus online must wait until the strain
is identified and production can begin. Even then, it could take at least 5 months before
enough vaccine is available for the American public as a whole. In other news Xcel En-
ergy issued a brief statement today citing a lack of personnel for the loss of power in the
area. As you know station KSWS has emergency generation facilities and will be able to
remain on the air for the foreseeable future.

“Hey Ritchie,” I yelled.

“I heard boss,” Ritchie said coming into the cafeteria. “We have the line heaters on for
the diesel fuel and Norma, Stacy and the other ladies will be in a little later to start din-
ner.”

I figured that if we did get 18” of snow, as forecast, everything in the area would grind to
a halt for at least a month until enough people could get well to man the snowplows and
clear the roads. As I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t particularly concerned. We had enough
fuel to run the generators for several years and enough food to feed everyone for as
long as we had electricity. We could hold out in the shelter until summer, if need be.

“Hey Ritchie, did you think to check with the people over at the trailer park?” I asked.

“No, I only called Travis,” he replied, “I thought that you were going to do it.”

“Well I didn’t, so give the other silo a call and find out if they moved to the shelter,” I
suggested.

More recently, Ritchie had been much more amenable to my ‘suggestions’. About ½
hour later he came back and informed me that they hadn’t moved to the shelter but
were beginning to. One floor had been set up by the Doc as an isolation ward because
of the number of cases of flu they had among the residents. The ventilation systems in
the first silo had been designed with various antibacterial and antiviral safeguards, but
they had never really been tested. I hoped that Doc had sense enough to put the ill per-
sons on the highest floor in the silo so that others wouldn’t have to come in contact with
them. They had more than enough diesel fuel for their generators and about a 2-year
supply of food so, if they could get through the flu epidemic, they should be ok.

You know what happened next, right? The phones went down. It wasn’t that critical be-
cause all three shelters were fully equipped with radios, but it was one more thing to be
concerned about. About 10 days later the weather finally cleared enough for us to get to
the first silo and to Roswell and see how everyone was doing. All we had were some of

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the protective Tyvek radiation suits and some N-100 masks, so I limited the trip to 4 of
us: Ritchie, Travis, a ‘cousin’ and me. First stop was The Three Amigos shelter and eve-
ryone there was fine. Gary was sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee and looking the
best I’d seen him look in all the time I’d known him.

“You’re looking well,” I commented.

“Feel good too,” he said. “Sort of caught up for lost time.”

“I heard you had a couple of honeys,” I smiled.

“Had is right,” he said, “They both quit their school teaching jobs and bugged out earlier
today.”

“Wear them out did you?” I asked.

“Gee, do you think so?” he asked. “Nah, they were just a couple of gold diggers and I
learned about gold diggers the hard way a few years ago. I paid a pretty dear price to
learn about gold diggers and bimbos; I should have listened to Ron, but I didn’t. I saw
Mutt and Jeff’s agenda early on and just got all I could get without making any promis-
es. Got real snippy when I told them I had no intentions of getting remarried. Then this
morning they told me I had to choose so I told them that I chose to remain single. They
packed their bags and lit out on foot through 30” of snow. You know, when a woman is
trying to hook you they are very liberal in their views. But once they got you, it becomes
a whole different story. So, I’ll rest up and wait for someone else to try and get my $75
million. I’m 70 years old, you know.”

“We’ve got to run into town and over to the shelter at the trailer park,” I said.

“Stay the hell out of town, my friend, they got the flu real bad,” he said. “As far as the
other silo goes, if it were me, I’d call them on the SINCGARS and talk to the Doc or
whoever is in charge over there. This is a bad one; it killed Sharon in 3 days.”

“Somewhere I got the impression that Sharon and you weren’t that close,” I observed.

“We loved each other but at times I think we couldn’t stand each other if you know what
I mean,” he replied somewhat mournfully.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 32 – A Long Hard Spring

Whether or not I agreed with Gary was irrelevant. I presumed his views were based on
his experiences and everyone’s experiences varied. And people respond to grief in dif-
ferent ways. I took his suggestion and we avoided town and called the other silo on the
CB radio. I couldn’t talk to Doc, but a message was relayed that they were getting by
and Doc had quarantined the shelter for the moment. Travis checked on the animals
and refilled the automatic feeders. He’d replaced the hoppers on the feeders with some-
thing much larger that could hold up to 30-days’ worth of food and the feeders had elec-
tric timers that dispensed the food at regular intervals preventing the horses from getting
colic. After they’d mucked out the barn, he and the ‘cousins’ returned to the shelter.

“Bill,” Travis said, “We ought to get a snowplow and clear the snow off the roads be-
tween the shelters.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “We didn’t go into Roswell; I wonder how they’re doing.”

“I heard one or two of those locomotives that they use for generators running,” Travis
replied, “So some of them came through all right.”

“Just avoid the people if you go get a snowplow,” I suggested, “I don’t want you bringing
any bugs back here.”

TV station KSWS was still on the air but that was looking like it might become an issue.
They were down to a couple of announcers and they looked like they’d been sleeping in
their clothes.

“The Associated Press reports that the CDC in Atlanta has issued a press statement in
which they report to have isolated the mechanism at work in the flu virus sweeping the
world. It is a variant of the H5N1 ‘97 Hong Kong virus with new and far more lethal
components. According to the statement, studies are underway to develop an antibody,
which will lead to development of a vaccine. The CDC estimates that it could take as
long as 2 months to complete the study and another 4-6 months to have a vaccine.
Their efforts have been hampered by the effects of the disease on the population.

“President Rudi Giuliani held a news conference today where he spoke to reporters in
the White House briefing room. He urged citizens who are not involved in the distribu-
tion of essential services to remain in their homes. He recapped the CDC report and in-
dicated that the best way to control spread of the illness was to avoid human contact.
People involved in the supply of critical services are urged to use N-95 or N-100 masks
and limit interactions with other people. Giuliani also indicated that the flu is far more
widespread than initially believed and that Europe has been badly hit as well as several
third world counties.

“In other news, the power outages experienced in the immediate area have spread to
other areas of the country, presumably because of the influenza outbreak. The Penta-

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gon has announced that soldiers equipped with protective gear are being moved into
the areas to restore power and other utilities.

“As indicated in earlier broadcasts, this station has backup power and can remain on
the air for an extended period. Unfortunately most of the station staff has been affected
by the flu outbreak and we are currently running on a skeleton crew. We will remain on
the air as long as possible. I apologize for my appearance, but with just 2 of us to as-
semble and report the news we have been forced to remain at the station. If anyone out
there has a pizza, this reporter would be more than willing to cover the delivery charges.
We will continue our substitute programming of reruns and will have additional news at
the top of the hour.”

I felt sorry for the guy but with the roads the way they were, there was nothing we could
do from Roswell to help them out with food. It was a 4-hour drive to Lubbock when the
roads were clear, a distance of about 175 miles. We had tried to raise the folks in Ro-
swell on the CB’s, the police radios and the SINCGARS, but we hadn’t had any re-
sponse. But at night, we could see lights on in town so it didn’t necessarily mean any-
thing. On the other hand, the lights being on didn’t necessarily mean that all was well,
either. Roswell had several locomotives permanently situated on a siding next to a large
diesel fuel storage facility and once the locomotives were running and the backup power
organized, they ran pretty much unattended.

The name of this game was isolation for the moment. It was a shame about those 2
schoolteachers but if that was the way they were behaving, Lord knows what they were
teaching the kids. We still had the teacher Stacy had hired and Jennifer and Paula could
fill in for Gary’s bimbos so we could keep the classes going. Speaking of Gary, it ap-
peared to me as if he had lost some more weight. Normally he ran about 155-160 but
when I visited with him earlier, it looked like he had lost maybe 20 pounds. But, he had
said something about lifting weights so maybe he had lost the weight that way. The next
day I went by their silo and visited with Ron.

“It looks to me like Gary has been losing weight,” I commented.

“Diet and exercise, Paladin,” Ron replied. “He only eats light meals and has his diabetes
under control for the first time in a long time,” Ron related. “Been lifting weights a little to
build his upper body strength. He told me that he was feeling pretty good and had his
blood pressure and blood sugar within normal limits and that his neuropathy was even a
little better. He’s been in the recreation room practicing his fast draw.”

“Really, is he getting faster?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t go up against him,” Ron smiled. “He’s changed. For an old man, he’s lean
and mean and pretty dang fast. Of course, he always had a fascination with those old
single action revolvers. But that crossdraw holster with the short-barreled Vaquero has
allowed him to improve his speed some. The thing is, having lost the weight, he looks

177
like warmed over death and most people wouldn’t give him a second glance. They
probably wonder how he even manages to keep standing.”

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Fair to middling,” he answered. “Clarence is doing well, too. I hate to say it but once the
snow clears away, I think we may have some Marshaling business for a while. Lots of
people got sick and I’d guess there’s a shortage of supplies everywhere. And, if there’s
a shortage of supplies it means people will be out and about helping themselves.”

“Ron that’s the downside to being prepared,” I remarked. “We’re isolated from the great
mass of humanity, warm and snug in our silos and it not only makes us a target for peo-
ple who have less or none, but it separates us from what is really going on out there.”

“I think we’ll find out soon enough,” he grimaced.

By the end of March the snow had started to melt off and the roads became passable in
our Hummers. We finally established contact with Roswell and they’d lost about ⅓ of
the local population to the flu. Once they realized what they were up against, they’d
quickly isolated the sick. All said and done, about ⅔ of the town had gotten sick and ½
of them had died. The other half recovered after about 30 days of severe symptoms.
That seemed to be the pattern of this pandemic. Yeah, the TV managed to stay on the
air and the CDC in Atlanta was now calling this a pandemic and said the death toll from
the flu had proportionally been one of the worst epidemics the world had ever seen.
About ½ of Europe had succumbed to the illness. The experience in the third world
countries was about the same as in the States with ⅔ of the population getting sick and
half of the sick dying.

The CDC had finally developed a vaccine and it would be ready for mass distribution for
the coming fall. As usual, it would contain antiviral agents for the 3 most likely suspect-
ed flu varieties. We started making patrols as the roads permitted and as we could get
to the larger cities, reestablished the system that we had earlier of mutual aid and call-
ing us in when the going got tough.

The population of the United States was growing, negatively. The power outage had
taken a few lives, mostly people dependent on electricity. Then the war had taken a lot
more. Even more had died during the brief period of lawlessness that followed the war.
Before all of the problems, the population of the US had been around 300 million. But, if
I were to hazard a guess, I expect the population could easily be down to 150 million or
even less, maybe only 100 million. You couldn’t really tell what the population of the
country was based on New Mexico because New Mexico was a bit off the beaten path.

“Tell the President that it’s Paladin,” I said. I was on a SINCGARS radio because the
phone service hadn’t been restored.

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“How are things in New Mexico, Paladin?” he asked about 15 minutes later when they
finally got him on the horn.

“We haven’t been out much sir,” I replied. “Roswell had about ⅔ get sick and half of
them died.”

“The Army tells me the phones will be back on in a few days,” he said. “Is my special
Marshal Service intact?”

“Yes sir,” I replied, “Do you need us to do anything?”

“Keep an eye on that part of the country for the next month or so and then I’ll bring you
boys into Washington once the power and phones are up,” he instructed. “Same rules
you operated under the last time we had an emergency. Judge Parker make it through
ok?”

“I’m sorry Mr. President, we haven’t heard,” I told him.

“See you fellas in a month or so,” he said and cut the connection.

It turns out that Judge Parker had gotten sick, but survived. His illness hadn’t improved
his disposition. Rudi hadn’t said anything about the population of the country or how
many people were left alive. I guess as far as he was concerned, it didn’t matter, he
couldn’t get reelected for another term. As it was, he would end up serving just short of
10 years as the President. Anyway I rounded up the fellas and the Marshals from town
who had survived plus some new men so that we were back up to full strength, 26 men.
Call me sexist, but I didn’t want any women on the team. The ladies could arm them-
selves and protect the home areas. There is always something about a woman with a
gun protecting her children that was reassuring. We’d seen some of it after the war and
these women tended to shoot first and ask questions later.

We had “US Marshals” painted on the sides of our Hummers and the horse trailers in
large letters just to keep the women from shooting us. When the men saw the badges
and guns, they tended to be more trusting, but not the women. They had more to lose
than the men, like their virtue. And you put a short-barreled shotgun in the hands of a
woman who’d maybe been raped or had her children attacked and she tended to be
more than a little untrusting. When I mentioned it to Stacy she said it was my own fault.
Those women, she said, would be more trusting if we had a woman along in each
Hummer. We ended up with 26 men and 10 women with 3 people to each of the dozen
Hummers. That left 2 Hummers staffed only with men, but when they ran into a problem
with a woman, they backed off and got on the SINCGARS and called in a Hummer with
a woman aboard. Then a couple of Marshals got wounded in shootouts and we re-
placed the men with women so there was a female Marshal in every Hummer. That
worked better.

179
It took 6 weeks, not 4, for the Army to restore the phones and the power. For the next
few weeks, we made continual patrols to support the locals. Over in Las Cruces, Gary
got into it with a couple of lowlifes that were helping themselves to the contents of a
semi parked at the SW Wal-Mart store late one night. He slipped out of the Hummer
and approached them and then turned on his lantern. They froze and then one of them
made an awkward move. Swish-click-bang-click-bang and the problem was solved all in
the span of about 3 seconds. Gary just left them lay as a warning to others. It was 8
weeks until we could get free to go to Washington and I called to let them know to pick
us up.

Two days later on June 3, 2013, a VC-20 landed at Roswell airport and transported
Ritchie, The Three Amigos and myself to Andrews AFB where Giuliani met us.

“What’s the situation in New Mexico?” Giuliani asked.

“Stable,” I said. “Parker’s ok and back on the bench.”

“I heard,” the President replied. “Did he hang any more looters?”

“Never got the chance,” Gary piped up, “We shot them.”

“The reason I brought you guys to Washington is that we have a problem,” the Presi-
dent announced.

“Can’t get enough flu vaccine?” I suggested.

“We’re fine on the vaccine,” he said. “And with the power back on, we’ve gone a long
way to restoring law and order. We have some industry up and running and the Secre-
tary of Agriculture tells me that they’ve planted the largest crop in years. The long-range
weather forecast looks good so by fall we’ll be pretty squared away on food. By the way,
the latest population estimates for the US put the population around 97 million.”

“Then what’s the problem?” I asked. “Sounds like everything is fine to me.”

“You know how that lava dome has been building at Mt. St. Helens since 2004?” he
asked.

“We’re not geologists,” I pointed out.

“I’ve got geologists running out the ears, he said, “That’s my problem.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“There have been several earthquake swarms recently at Mt. St. Helens and the USGS
sent in a large team of geologists to monitor the event and warn of a possible eruption,”
he continued. “Anyway 3 days ago, a group of eco-terrorists took them hostage. The

180
seismometers seem to indicate that an eruption is imminent and I have almost 50 geol-
ogists and 30 terrorists trapped on that mountain. What I need from you fellas to affect a
rescue.”

“What do you want us to do?” I asked.

“We’ll fly you and the team you took to Iran to Portland and chopper you in to the base
of the mountain,” the President explained. “The hostages and eco-terrorists are on the
north rim where the volcano blew out in ‘80. After that, it’s up to you.”

“Did you have a fee in mind?” I asked.

“I’ll give you $25 million a head for the terrorists dead or alive, providing you can rescue
the hostages,” Giuliani replied.

“Time frame?” I asked.

“We’ll fly you back to Roswell to pick up your gear and your people and then transport
you to Portland immediately,” Rudi replied.

“Isn’t that a job more for the FBI’s HRT or Delta Force or someone?” Gary asked.

“You’re Olsen, right?” the President said.

“Yep,” Gary replied poker faced.

“They’re not available,” the President replied.

“We’ll provide our own transportation, Mr. President,” Gary said, an edge in his voice.

I have no idea why but I looked at Gary, a little surprised, and then at Ron. Ron saw me
looking and gave an almost imperceptible negative shake of his head.

“That’s right, Mr. President,” I said, “We provide our own transportation.”

“Your aircraft is refueled, so you can return to Roswell immediately,” the President in-
formed us.

We boarded the plane and when we were airborne I asked what in the hell was going
on.

“Tango Romeo Alpha Papa,” Gary whispered.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 33 – Double Reverse

It took everyone a moment or two to realize that Gary had said, “T-R-A-P.” We didn’t
say another word all the way to Roswell. I figured Gary was crazy but that I’d better hear
him out. And, if he WAS right, then we’d be better off not talking until we got home. It
was their aircraft, not ours.

After we landed and the VC-20 took off, I asked Gary just what in the hell he was talking
about.

“Did you call him and tell him we were ready to come or did he call you and tell you that
he needed us and would pick us up?” Gary asked.

“I called him,” I replied.

“When did you call them?” he asked.

June 1st,” I replied.

“And the eco-terrorists took those people hostage on May 31st, right?” he asked.

“That sounds about right,” Ritchie said.

“And it was so urgent that they waited until June 3rd to pick us up,” Gary said. “Then in-
stead of working out an agreement on the phone, he flies us to Washington for a face-
to-face meeting where we sit around and chitchat about vaccines and crops and weath-
er and the national population estimates. And those hostages just lost 8 or 10 hours,
minimum. The HRT is called the Hostage Rescue Team for a reason. And Delta Force
is trained to handle hostage rescues. Even if they were busy, there are the SEALS, the
Green Berets, Force Recon and the Rangers. But, Mr. President Giuliani couldn’t do it
without us? BS.”

“You’re making good points but what’s the issue?” Ritchie asked.

“He said, ‘we’ll fly you and the team you took to Iran to Portland’,” Gary replied. “What
difference does it make who goes as long as we get the job done?”

***

Gary did have a point. And it should have been obvious to me because who would send
a bunch of old men to climb a mountain to rescue hostages? I was the youngest at 63,
except for Ritchie and some of the staff, but it didn’t make much sense.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

“It’s a dang shame about Marine-One,” Gary said.

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“What do you mean?” I asked.

“They are vulnerable to Bee parts,” Gary smiled.

We provided our own transportation all right. All of the ways back to Baltimore on a
chartered Gulfstream. We didn’t have a lot of baggage, just what we needed including 2
Bee parts. We picked up the 2 Suburban’s at the airport with Travis and the 3 cousins in
one and The Three Amigos and me in the other. Giuliani had mentioned that he was go-
ing to spend the weekend at Camp David, MD. We had gone to DC on Monday, June
3rd and returned home during the early hours of Tuesday, June 4th. Ritchie had
checked the USGS website in Pasadena and there weren’t any earthquake ‘swarms’
being reported at Mt. St. Helens in excess of the normal 5-10 small quakes a day. He
chartered the Gulfstream V and we headed to Baltimore, arriving late on the evening of
Wednesday June 5th. We spent the night in a motel after picking up the black Subur-
ban’s and then had headed to Camp David. The roads to Camp David were very famil-
iar. Ritchie had paid dearly to have black Suburban’s just like the Secret Service used.
He had paid even more dearly for the Gulfstream and a pilot who was deaf, dumb and
blind when he wasn’t looking out the windshield of the aircraft.

I was guessing that they had slightly altered the flight route for Marine-One after we’d
shot down Condi. I was also guessing that they wouldn’t use the same route in and out.
On the other hand, they really couldn’t deviate much from the flight pattern they’d used
before, so I went looking for my hidey-hole I used the last time. The hole was there but
the netting was gone. I expected that and had a new piece of netting to cover over the
hole again. This would be the last time I could use this hole, no matter how many Presi-
dents I ended up killing. Ever heard the expression, “Third on a match?” Maybe it was
an urban legend, I never knew for sure. But, the story was that German snipers during
WW I waited for the flare of a match. It took them long enough to align their sights that if
you were foolish enough to be the third man to light your cigarette from that match, you
got killed.

I didn’t believe that they’d think that someone would shoot from the virtually same spot. I
assumed instead, as I said, that they would vary their flight pattern instead. But this
hidey-hole was perfect and I decided to use it again. Late Friday afternoon Marine-One
brought Rudi to Camp David on a different flight path that Condi had used. I’d just have
to wait until Sunday to see if I was right. It didn’t matter if I was wrong, either, because
Travis was now trained to use the Stinger and I put him about two miles away from me
to the south. The chopper had come in on a path to the north. The Three Amigos and
the 3 cousins were spread out over the area with radios to give Travis and me a heads
up when the helicopter left. Around eleven in the morning on Sunday, we finally got the
call.

Marine-One would pass about halfway between Travis and me, need I say more? Sure I
will. Whump-Whump-Whump, the bird passed overhead. I got ‘tone’ and fired and could
see Travis’s rocket streaking skyward along with mine. We didn’t stick around to see

183
what happened next, it was most certainly time to bug out. We heard the explosions as
the two rockets hit the President’s bird, followed by a secondary explosion, apparently
the fuel tank exploding. We were in the Suburbans and moving down the road before
anyone had time to react. Those flashing lights we’d installed behind the grilles must
have done the trick. We returned to Baltimore and got a motel and late that night re-
moved the lights and sirens. They and the launcher assemblies ended up back in the
missile cases and we were at the airport at 0800 Monday morning boarding the char-
tered jet.

I guess you could say that old Rudi wouldn’t have to worry about anyone tying the
bombing in Tehran back to him anymore. Or if they did, he just wouldn’t care. Assuming
Rudi did have people waiting at Mt. St. Helens to kill us when we showed up to take out
the eco-terrorists, what would they do when we failed to show up? That’s why I put
Ritchie on a plane to Portland, because of the caller ID. On Thursday evening, he called
Rudi and told him we were in Portland and were having helicopter problems and it might
be Tuesday before we could handle the assault. Ritchie even offered to cut $2.5 million
a head off the price. Nice touch. Which was only a temporary measure, because who-
ever was waiting on the mountain knew who we were and were expecting us Tuesday
morning. So we kept the appointment on Mt. St. Helens on Monday evening.

Ritchie was waiting for us when we got to the Red Rock Pass a little after dark. We
slowly circled the mountain on the east side and came in above them. Just below, al-
most in the crater was where they fell and we left the bodies. This whole deal had to be
pretty hush-hush from Rudi’s point of view and I concluded that he probably hadn’t used
any middlemen to set up the ambush; at least not anyone who would ever talk, espe-
cially considering how he and his sniper team died.

We had to rest a while because we were all pretty tired, especially those 3 old men. But,
it was downhill all the way to the Johnston Ridge Observatory. From there, we got in the
pickup that Ritchie had left and moved to Red Rock Pass to pick up the other truck.
Then, we returned to Portland, dropped off the rental trucks and took a cab to the airport
where we boarded that charter jet one more time and returned to Roswell. I just hoped
that Rudi hadn’t given our name to the VP and told him that if he ever had a problem…

“Yes Mr. President?” I answered the phone. “Really, he did? And you want what? Send
a VC-20 to Roswell to pick us up and we’ll meet you in, say, Denver? At the airport?
Yes sir, I believe we can handle the problem, but we shouldn’t talk about it on the
phone. Thank you sir. Yes sir, I’ve got it somewhere. No sir, we haven’t done that type
of work in years, we’re all US Marshal’s now. Yes sir, about 5 hours.”

“Stacy, have you seen my Paladin Suit?” I asked.

“It’s in the hall closet, but can you still fit into it?” she asked.

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“Do I have a black shirt and trousers?” I asked.

“No, but you can run into Roswell and pick up new ones,” she replied.

“Yeah, this is Paladin,” I told Ron. “We have a new contract and you boys get out the
hardware and dress up real pretty. I’ll have Ritchie pick you fellas up in about 4 hours.
Wear the nickel-plated guns and bring your Winchesters. I’ll give you what information I
have when I see you.”

I found a nice pair of black trousers and a western cut black shirt in town that looked
almost like my Paladin Suit. It wasn’t the pants and shirt that distinguished the outfit an-
yway; it was the holster and gun. When I got home, I strapped on my rig and slid the
derringer up under the belt buckle. I told Ritchie to get dressed up nice because we
were going to see the new President. He asked what about and I told him to commit su-
icide. I cleaned and oiled my blued Colt .45 SAA and I was good to go. Ritchie showed
up all dressed up in a western cut suit and I sat him down and explained what was go-
ing on.

“Ritchie, the new President got our name from the late President Giuliani,” I explained.
“It seems that Giuliani was behind that bombing in Tehran and then recently he tried to
cover his tracks by killing the hit team he used in Iran.”

“You don’t say,” Ritchie chuckled.

“Anyway the new President has no idea who was involved, but he wants us to find them
and kill them,” I continued.

“I suppose he wants to see the bodies?” Ritchie asked.

“Nope he said he’d settle for pictures,” I laughed.

“How much for the job, boss,” Ritchie asked.

“He didn’t say,” I explained, “So I guess it’s negotiable. But if all of this travel keeps up,
we’re going to have to buy our own Gulfstream VI.”

Two hours later we picked up The Three Amigos and headed to the airport. They were
all dressed up in those fancy western suits I’d bought them in New York City for the UN
deal; all except Gary who had lost too much weight. Gary was wearing black pants and
a black shirt just like I was. His hat was black, but a different style than mine and he had
the nickel-plated gun in that Laredoan cross draw rig. He picked lint off that hat all the
way to Denver while I explained to them what the job was. Ron was laughing so hard he
was crying before we got halfway to Denver.

“Mr. President,” I said, “It’s good to meet you.”

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“This is the rest of your gang?” the former VP asked. “What do you call yourselves, the
‘Over The Hill Gang’?”

“Say, wasn’t that the name of that Disney movie?” Clarence asked.

“Mr. President, we’re mostly retired, as I told you on the phone,” I replied evenly. “We’re
all US Marshal’s or Deputy Marshal’s and I think you’ll find that we can handle any prob-
lem you present us with.”

“You’re Paladin, right?” he asked. “Who’s this other guy, your father?”

“Let’s go fellas,” I said, “We can get insulted at home.”

“Hey lighten up Paladin,” the President said. “All right, here’s the deal. President Giuliani
was behind the bombing in Tehran. He hired 10 men to do the job and recently when he
got to thinking about how history would remember him, he arranged to have them elimi-
nated. Somehow, they figured out what he was doing and turned the tables on him. Our
best guess is that those ten men shot down Marine-One killing Giuliani and then headed
to Mt. St. Helens to take out the hit team Giuliani had waiting for them.”

“Mr. President, it sounds to me like you’re talking about a powerful organization,” I said.
“I might have an idea who they are, but to take them on and kill them would be tanta-
mount to suicide.”

“I’m willing to pay to get this job done,” he replied. “What would it take?”

“Are you familiar with how much Giuliani is rumored to have paid for the Tehran job?” I
asked.

“I have no idea,” he responded.

“Well, rumor on the street was that he paid $25 million in expenses up front plus provid-
ed the weapons and all of the transportation,” I explained. “The same rumor mill said
that he paid $1,800 million for the 72 officials killed and the hit team got to keep their
guns and expense money.”

“That was pretty steep,” he blinked.

“It was only rumor, Mr. President,” I said. “Anyway, it will give you some idea how ex-
pensive these things can be. Now, anyone that can earn that kind of money for a single
hit is very dangerous and very risky to take on. Did you say there were 10 of them?”

“That’s right, 10,” he replied.

“$100 million a head, plus $25 million expenses and that’s our only offer,” I announced.

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“That’s one billion dollars with a ‘B’,” he choked.

“And worth every penny of the risk,” I replied.

“But I don’t know how, I mean where, I could get that kind of money,” he sputtered.

“Giuliani found it and so can you,” I said. “Ready to go boys?”

“Ok, ok, it’s a deal,” he said, “How do you want it handled.”

“You wire $25 million to our corporate account,” I said, “And we do the deal. When it’s
over, we’ll deliver the pictures of the bodies and you give us the billion dollars. And if
you renege on the deal, the Washington Post and the New York Times get copies of the
photos, together with an explanation.”

“I agree,” he said very reluctantly.

“We’ll call you and leave a message,” I said. “When you get the message, you meet us
in this room at 8pm the following evening. By the way Mr. President, you saw what hap-
pened to Giuliani when he double-crossed his hit men, right? It’s sort of a personal code
among men in our profession.”

We got on the plane and flew back to Roswell. We were laughing too hard to really dis-
cuss the details about how we were going to pull this off. Ron said it best when he sug-
gested that when you got in the cage with a snake you should expect to get bitten. I told
Ritchie to get his butt up to Albuquerque and get 10 male cadavers, get them smeared
with blood, posed and take the pictures. Maybe some guys in their late 40’s, I suggest-
ed. While he was gone making our money for us, I ordered a new Gulfstream VI with
the latest laser missile defense system. I used the leftover expense money to put in a
tank at the Roswell airport and have it filled with JP5.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Chapter 34 – Traveling First Class

The new Gulfstream VI had upgraded Rolls Royce engines that increased the range
from 6,750 miles to 7,250 miles. Maximum speed was also increased to mach .925.
Northstar and EVS were standard. For a fee, the plane could include the new Matador
laser missile defense system adapted from the Gulfstream IV. The cabin capacity was
the same as the G550, in our case 14. In fact, the plane was not much more than a
G550 with different engines and the Matador system. The total cost of the plane, with
the defensive system was $40 million. Not bad considering how much better it was than
the Gulfstream V (G500 & G550) that went for $36 million without the missile defense
system and the shorter range and slower speed.

After an appropriate wait, I called the White House and asked them to give the Presi-
dent the message that Paladin called. The next evening, we were waiting in Denver
when the President arrived. I handed him the pictures and told him not to bother looking
for the bodies because we’d disposed of them to avoid leaving a trail that could lead
back to the White House. Actually, Ritchie and the Indians had washed off the blood
and returned them to the morgue in Albuquerque. It was amazing what you could rent
for $5,000. The President burned the pictures and handed me a US Treasury check for
$1 billion payable to the security corporation. I handed the check back to him and pulled
out a duplicate set of pictures. I told him it would have to be cash or a check made out
to cash.

Twenty-four hours later a VC-20 landed at Roswell and delivered a check made out to
cash. I gave the pilot a sealed envelope containing the duplicate set of pictures I’d
shown the President (each of us kept a set as a souvenir). I deducted the $20 million
remaining to be paid on the plane and deposited $196 million in each of our special
bank accounts. The cost of maintaining and operating the aircraft, estimated at about
$1,750 per hour, would be a corporate expense. I stopped by The Three Amigos tract
and gave them their deposit slips, and then returned to our command center and gave
Ritchie his. We wrote the $5,000 we gave the guy in Albuquerque off as a business ex-
pense. Not bad for 2 airplane trips and a little white lie. I presumed that this was the end
of our business with the President and we were finally retired once and for all.

And we were for about a year. In one way, we were like federal judges; our jobs were
lifetime appointments. We still got the Marshal checks, $110,000 per for me and
$100,000 per for Ritchie and the fellas. We still made the occasional trip around the
state to make sure everything was working smoothly and, maybe get in a little fishing.
The problem with working with guys like these politicians who end up being President is
that it took an insatiable appetite to get the office and that appetite didn’t go away once
they got the job. Besides, the new President owed somebody for his job, but he thought
he’d had him/them killed. One of the nice things about everyone being Marshals was
that I didn’t have to pay Travis or the cousins. A man and his family can live pretty well
on $100,000 per year when all he has to buy is clothing, groceries and pay some utili-
ties.

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Actually all of us could. The cost of living in Roswell wasn’t too high and the money we
were making on our money was accumulating. I had suggested to the fellas that they
could do a lot better with an offshore account someplace like in the Cayman Islands and
they’d done that shortly after depositing the $187 million checks in their special bank
accounts. They kept the special accounts for their ‘operating expenses’ and transferred
money between the Cayman account and Wells Fargo as needed. Like when Gary had
given his kids the $100 million I mentioned earlier. He’d made just shy of $28,000 in in-
terest from Wells Fargo for the single day the money had been in his account until he
bought the gold. (.06/365 times $100 million) He probably spent it on those teachers.

The last time I’d mentioned our money was when we were in the cash stage. We were
past that and the money was down in the Cayman Islands with the fellas’. I gave Ritchie
the go ahead to upgrade the silo by adding a T-3 line. I also asked Stacy what the $197
million did to our accumulated savings. She said that after you got to a certain point the
amount of money you had became meaningless because you only needed so much to
live on. And, that amount turned out to be the money I earned as a Marshal. The corpo-
ration covered our expenses, other than the living expenses. Then the contract on the
OC-12 came up for renewal and Ritchie sold his customers to Earthlink and shut down
that line and moved the equipment to my new silo.

With that new plane, we could all jump in and have the pilots take us anywhere we
wanted. No more hassle with airlines or charter companies. Gary finally settled down
with a new live-in. Someone more appropriate to his age like a 30-year old former cen-
terfold. He used the corporate lawyer to do the ‘pre-nuptial/anti-palimony’ agreement.
He told me he wasn’t getting married again, but why hire the lawyer twice? I got the im-
pression that he didn’t much care for lawyers. Ron explained to me that Gary had a
thing about lawyers, reporters and politicians when I asked. I figured that explained
Geraldo, who died in the epidemic.

As I said earlier, I figured that we were now fully retired and living off the lifetime income
from being Marshals. I told Gary’s son Derek to get some black clothes and I give him
the Paladin rig so he could carry on the tradition. He was a young man, in relative
terms, being only 37. Ritchie set up a website to help the young man out. It was a good
thing that Derek was a Deputy US Marshal; he wasn’t exactly getting a lot of business.
Derek must have been one of those ‘Indian Lovers’ too because he put together a small
crew consisting mostly of some ‘cousins’.

Then in July 2014, the President called and said he had another job for us. I told him
that we’d retired fully from the business and referred him to Derek. Told him that the boy
was well trained and could handle most any little problem he needed to have ‘resolved’.
It wasn’t an hour later that Derek came to my house.

“The President talk to you?” I asked.

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“Yes sir, he did and that’s why I’m here,” Derek replied. “I’ve already talked to Dad
about this and he said to talk to you. This new President must think he’s Richard Nixon.
He has an enemy’s list and he wants all of the people giving him trouble to ‘go away’.”

“Are we talking about hitting them or what?” I wanted to know.

“He said he didn’t care what we did to get rid of them,” Derek explained. “We can openly
eliminate them, make them disappear or publicly embarrass them.”

“How long is this enemy’s list of his?” I asked.

“He faxed it to me,” Derek said, “And there are 136 names.”

“136? That guy is crazier than I thought,” I got out spitting coffee all over my clean shirt.

“What should I do?” Derek asked, “He’s offering $5 million a head. My Dad said that
was too many people to take on and suggested that I talk to you.”

“Derek, get back to that lunatic and tell him you’re taking it under advisement and will
have an answer for him in a couple of days.” I suggested.

“Yes sir,” he said and left.

Ron was right, when you get into a cage with a snake, you should expect to get bitten.
$5 million a head made the contract worth $680 million, so it wasn’t something a person
could just slough off. But 136 people dying, disappearing or being publicly embarrassed
in a moderately short period of time could have far reaching consequences. I asked
Ritchie to get The Three Amigos together so we could see if there was some way to
turn this thing to our advantage.

“I called this meeting so we could discuss that offer the new President made to Derek,” I
began. “Anyone have any idea how to turn this to our advantage?”

“I don’t have time to get involved,” Gary said, “I’m entertaining.”

“There’s no restriction on what happens to them, is that right?” Clarence asked.

“That’s right Clarence,” I agreed.

“And this is the guy who called us the ‘Over The Hill Gang’?” he continued.

“2 out of 2, Clarence,” I said, “You have something working in your head?”

“Sooner or later, this working relationship with this guy is going to backfire,” Clarence
suggested. “So how about we help Derek do what he wants, in a way, and then when
we have him positioned to take a fall, eliminate him, instead?”

190
“Ritchie, how many Stingers do we have left?” I asked.

“We have 4, but I heard on the news that they installed anti-missile systems on Marine-
One,” Ritchie answered.

“Ritchie, on the north side of US 380, where the State Road 172 joins US 380, there are
concrete structures that lead underground that were formerly Missile sites,” I said. “Only
on the North side of the highway, not the south side, about 200 yards off the road.
Check them out and see if we could fix one up as a temporary habitat.”

“Sure thing, boss,” he replied. “Do you have an idea?”

“I’m working on what Clarence said, fellas,” I explained. “What if we made all 136 peo-
ple temporarily disappear?”

“What are you talking about Paladin?” Ron asked. “You thinking of kidnapping all of
them and putting them up in an abandoned missile silo?”

“I like that,” Gary said. “It sure would be easy to guard them.”

It was just an idea at this point, but it did have certain attractions. Most people think in
terms of keeping people out of a missile silo. But, what if we turned the tables and used
it as a temporary prison of sorts? All it would take would be to clean the place up and
stock it with food, water and beds. We could weld the escape tunnel shut and stuff them
all in the command center. That would let Derek collect the $5 million a head, plus ex-
penses, and when he’d ‘filled’ the contract we could take out the President and turn
them loose. It was something to think about anyway.

“Derek, I want you to take the contract at $5 million a head plus expenses,” I suggested.
“You aren’t going to kill them, you’re going to kidnap them and stuff them in a temporary
prison. And, in the process, you’ll make very certain that they know who hired you.”

“And then what?” Derek asked. “Where is this silo, by the way?”

“The silos are over towards Caprock in this County,” I explained. “I’ve got Ritchie check-
ing them out. After we have all of the people safely disappeared and you’ve collected
the money, you can eliminate the President and then allow them to escape. They’ll be
so busy raising a stink about the kidnapping by ‘minions of the President’ that we should
slip through the cracks.”

“I wouldn’t want to kill any active duty military personnel,” Derek pointed out.

“You won’t, but I haven’t gotten that part figured out yet,” I told him.

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The next day, Derek was back and he’d worked out the contract with the President. The
President also had one more job that he wanted Derek to do. He wanted Derek to cap
Ritchie, The Three Amigos and me. Man this President was dumb! He’d already paid us
$1 billion to kill ourselves and now he was offering $500 million to Derek to tie up the
loose ends. Obviously he had found the source of money that Giuliani had used to pay
us. I asked Derek did the President want to see the bodies or would pictures do? Ap-
parently that SOB didn’t want to get his hands dirty, he’d settle for pictures.

Over the late summer of 2014, we got the old silo ready and moved all the excess
bunks from silo number one to the temporary prison. Ritchie put the word out and locat-
ed a Russian suitcase nuke or two and we set the plan in motion. In September, people
started to disappear and Derek’s bank account slowly grew. By Thanksgiving, he had all
of those 136 people tucked away in that old silo and it was time for phase II. In this
phase, Derek would ‘kill’ us and collect the $500 million. We’d pulled the guard duty
over at the old silo so the only faces the 136 people would recognize were ours and
Derek and his crew was an unknown commodity.

We set Derek up with a video camera and a Mark II with an integral suppressor loaded
with blanks. He shot videotape of the ‘killings’ of Ritchie, Gary, Ron, Clarence and me.
The President gave him a check made out to cash and destroyed the copy of the vide-
otape. It was now time for phase III, with modifications. Instead of letting the prisoners
‘escape’ Derek and his crew was going to rescue them. There would no doubt be re-
wards and awards and lots of media attention. It also gave us a chance to plant extra
seeds about the nasty bum who called himself, ‘President’. Phase III turned out to be a
bitch. How do you get a suitcase nuke anywhere near the President? The Secret Ser-
vice is a whole lot better than they show in the movies.

Remember the old saying that if you can’t bring Mohamed to the mountain you bring the
mountain to Mohamed? In this case, that suitcase nuke was Mohamed and the Presi-
dent was the mountain. Or, was it the other way around? This guy liked to ski and every
winter he made several trips to Aspen, Colorado. Generally, they fly him into Denver
and choppered him and his family over to Aspen. We’d discovered that during one
segment of the journey, they passed very closely to one particular mountain. We put
that Russian nuke on the mountain very close to where the chopper would pass by.
Since Derek didn’t want any part of killing any active duty military personnel, this deed
fell to the original team. We looked pretty good for 5 old men who had been killed twice.

So, while we’re detonating the stolen nuke, Derek and his crew are busy rescuing the
136 people from that silo. Come to think about it, I guess you could say that we brought
the mountain to Mohamed, literally. We were flying above the scene in our Gulfstream
VI and at the proper moment, the mountain became a million pieces of flying rock. The
radio controlled detonator worked perfectly and Marine-One went down one more time.

In the aftermath, they ended up paying Derek and his crew a little over $300 million in
rewards for rescuing those 136 people from the silo. He and his Indians were all award-
ed the Presidential Medal of Freedom. The tape of the President handing Derek the

192
check for killing the five of us, made by a buttonhole camera, was released as proof that
the President had paid someone to kidnap the 136 people. You couldn’t see who was
with the President (Derek) and there was no audio, so the picture said whatever we
wanted it to say. And a word here and a word there to certain reporters made certain
that the video showed exactly what we wanted it to show.

In the aftermath, the publicity became too much to bear and Derek and his Indians
bought an island in the Caribbean and constructed a new underground shelter. The
Three Amigos, Ritchie and I joined them with our families. We sold off the shelters in
New Mexico and made a decent profit. We paid for the url (the website) for 50 years
and posted a note that said, “Gone Fishin’.” But that’s not the end of the story. It turned
out that when the government began tracing the stolen Russian nuke, they ended up
tracing it to a Saudi named bin Laden. I told you Ritchie was a genius with a computer,
didn’t I? I’ll bet that I forgot to mention that Osama bin Laden had been killed by SEAL
Team 6.

Authors Note: Paladin, The Three Amigos and Ritchie retired and turned in their badg-
es. Derek had a runway constructed on his Caribbean island and was able to continue
the business from there. Collectively, they had several billion dollars and wanted for
nothing. Rumor has it that Gary died with a smile on his face. Derek didn’t know it at the
time, but he was better off on that island.

193
 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 35 – Cowboy and the Indians

Derek wasn’t a whole lot like his father, favoring his mother instead. Unlike his father,
Derek was a steady churchgoer and when they’d bought the island and began to set
everything up, he made a few changes to the way things were done. Instead of import-
ing mobile homes or having homes constructed out of lumber, he found it more eco-
nomical to build the homes out of concrete using the slip form construction method. One
of the problems he had to deal with down in the Caribbean was the possibilities of a hur-
ricane. And, there was the problem of the heat with them being so much closer to the
equator. In the end, Derek had worked with an architect and they had built homes with
walls a foot thick with Plexiglas bulletproof windows nearly 12” thick. Then, to protect
the windows in the event of a hurricane, the architect had suggested those roll down
shutters to protect the Plexiglas.

The church was constructed in a similar manner and it sat on the highest point on the
island. The cross on top of the church was also made of Plexiglas and a powerful light
was filtered into it, allowing it to be seen for miles. This living on an island wasn’t without
its complications. Absolutely everything had to be imported. And, depending upon the
weather, importing things could be a problem. So, he had a 10-million gallon tank in-
stalled for diesel fuel for the generators and a 10-million gallon tank installed for JP5 for
the corporate jet. He bought all new Hummers with all of the latest improvements for
ground transportation.

Staff was hired to provide for their needs and it included a doctor/dentist, an anesthesi-
ologist/nurse and 3 additional RNs. The minister was a non-denominational Christian
minister, although Derek would have preferred a Baptist. There were also people hired
to maintain the aircraft, the airport and the grounds. He added a concrete hangar at the
airport to house the Gulfstream VI and made it oversized so it could house a couple of
helicopters. And there were more buildings to construct, all using the identical construc-
tion technique. They needed a small clinic/hospital and a barn for their livestock, etc.

Between buying the island and building everything, Derek had managed to burn though
every dime he’d earned on his first big contract. Not that it matter because they were set
for years. The nice ocean breeze persuaded him to add wind turbines, further stretching
the generating capacity. And, for when the wind didn’t blow, he had solar panels on the
roofs of all the buildings feeding a massive underground battery bank. They’d drilled a
large diameter well and had ample fresh water. Most everything on the island ran on
electricity since it was essentially free beyond the initial investment. And then his father
had died and Derek had a little operating capital to the tune of $500 million. His brother
took his $500 million, said adiós and moved back to the States with his kids.

The older generation slowly passed away to become a distant memory. Derek had
spent a lot of time with his mentor, Paladin, and had learned the ins and outs of the
trade. Paladin taught him many things, things that few Americans knew. For example,
the Nizari sect of Islam became established when Hasan Ibn al-Sabbah refused to rec-
ognize al-Musta’li as the new caliph in 1094, instead supporting al-Musta’li’s brother Ni-

194
zar, who disappeared under suspicious circumstances. This sect is actually very well
known around the world, but under a different name: the Assassins.

The name “assassins” derives from the term for “takers of hashish,” a name given to
them by their enemies. They became famous for their tactic of sending people on sui-
cide missions to kill the commanders of armies, which threatened to overrun their
strongholds. But, like many movements, the Nizaris mellowed with time and became
less violent and more peaceful. Because they were persecuted in Iran, they began to
move to the Indian subcontinent during the 14th century. Here they became to be
known as Khoja (from the Persian word khwaja, meaning master).

The Nizaris gradually made many changes to their beliefs due to their Indian surround-
ings, and in the nineteenth century its popularity was fully revived after a long period of
relative obscurity. Today it has a worldwide following, mostly consisting of businesspeo-
ple from the Indian subcontinent. The current Nizari Imam is the Aga Khan. Today there
are about 20 million Khojas, with 2 million living in Pakistan. Those Nizari who accepted
the caliphate of al-Mustali became known as the Mustalis, and they remained in Egypt
until the fall of the Fatimid dynasty in 1171. From there the movement went to Yemen
where they split again, with some remaining in Yemen and others moving to India.
Those who went to India became known as Bohras.

In the second decade of the 21st Century, Mustalian Ismailis were mainly to be found in
the Indian province of Gujarat, but there are also communities in Arabia, the Persian
Gulf, East Africa, and Burma. All together, they number several hundred thousand.

Paladin had left Derek ownership of the corporation when he’d passed on. When Stacy
died during the third decade of the 21st Century, she’d left their substantial funds to
their daughters who were not surprisingly married to Ritchie and Norma’s sons. Ritchie
and Norma were still around but you almost had to get a pry bar to get either one of
them to leave their yacht. The three boys turned out to be every bit as good as their
parents when it came to making a computer work its magic. A link to the Internet was
provided through satellite and with the advent of more modern technology, they had
what amounted to an old OC-96 link, perhaps a bit more.

Robert David married Teresa Marie, Donald Harry married Mary Elizabeth and Paul
Wayne married Ashley Suzanne. Derek’s 3 children, Derek Spencer, Elizabeth Ann and
Joshua James had grown up and the older two and married and brought their spouses,
Kelley and David back to the island. Josh was in his final year of college at Harvard.
DJ’s wife, Kelley, was a schoolteacher and Elizabeth’s husband David was an electrical
engineer and commercially licensed pilot. As a matter of fact, he had worked briefly for
Gulfstream and after he’d moved to the island, talked Derek into buying a new Gulf-
stream VII.

All of Paladin and Ritchie’s kids had attended college and the boys had degrees in
computer science and the girls in an assortment of disciplines. The world had begun to
stabilize during the latter part of the second decade and there hadn’t been a war of con-

195
sequence in years. The Swiss and the Russians became the two powers to reckon with
in Europe and Asia. The United States had fallen on hard times and while still A super-
power, wasn’t THE superpower. That distinction had fallen to the Russians who now
were the world’s policeman. The Russians had quickly learned that being the world’s
policeman wasn’t without its drawbacks and if they had a choice would have probably
given the job back to the Americans.

And there were the Indians, three generations worth. Travis had helped Derek select a
crew and these ‘cousins’ really were Travis’s and the other ‘cousins’ cousins. As for
Travis and the 3 ‘cousins’ they had grown families who had been sent off to college and
then been persuaded to stay on at the island. There was that in-between generation
made up of Travis’s and the ‘cousins’ real cousins and they were married with small
children. It might be a good point to stop and recap because it might get complicated
later on.

Of the older generation, there was Ritchie and Norma, Travis and the ‘cousins’ and their
wives. Of the Middle generation there was Derek and Mary, Paladin and Stacy’s daugh-
ters who were married to Ritchie and Norma’s sons. The middle generation also includ-
ed the Apache cousins and their families together with Travis and the ‘cousins’ children.
The third generation included Derek and Mary’s grandchildren, Travis and the ‘cousins’
grandchildren, or whatever. It gets so confusing.

There was a lot of ‘old’ money on that 28 square mile island down in the Caribbean.
Nobody had to really work for a living but they worked to keep busy and maintain their
skills. Twice a year a barge pulled in to the small port, or maybe it should be called the
‘unloading’ area and, resupplied the island. Derek had ‘played the market’ and had
turned his inheritance into several times its original value. This was a good thing be-
cause no one wanted to hire the corporation for any of those assassination things. It
was all very interesting, the money was used to earn their income and everyone pretty
much did what they wanted on the island. Eventually they renamed the island and
called the place Utopia. And with the passage of time, Utopia sought and was granted
its independence and became a country of its own.

Utopia, in its most common and general meaning, refers to a hypothetical perfect socie-
ty. It has also been used to describe actual communities founded in attempts to create
such a society. The adjective utopian is often used to refer to good but (physically, so-
cially, economically, or politically) impossible proposals, or at least ones that are very
difficult to implement. The society wasn’t perfect by any means, and the people occa-
sionally had disputes to settle, but they managed. And that Plexiglas cross proclaimed
to anyone who passed by that this was a Christian nation. The name Utopia was cho-
sen, in this instance, because that was what the place was, not what it strived to be.
And, the island and all things Derek owned became owned by the corporation when
Derek had inherited the company and transferred title.

There are political utopias and religious utopias and economic utopias and any type of
utopia one can name. Utopia was all of these and none of these. It was a small island in

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the Caribbean owned by a corporation and inhabited by a group of friends with common
goals and aspirations that chose to live there. By the way, the only outsiders who were
welcome were those who married into one of the families on the island. Derek studied
the lessons learned in such closed communities like Pitcairn Island and other closed
societies and as a group they established rules for their country that either pleased eve-
ryone or didn’t become a rule. There were a few company rules that were enforced, like
the freedom of speech and the right to keep and bear arms, but generally Utopia had
very few rules.

The island’s sensors had indicated in the ‘20’s that a problem was brewing and Derek
had looked and found a pdf file on his father’s old computer titled ‘Abrupt Climate
Change Scenario’. The climate change scenario outlined in the report was modeled on
a century-long climate event that records from an ice core in Greenland indicated oc-
curred 8,200 years before. Immediately following an extended period of warming, much
like the phase the world had been in when the report was written, there was a sudden
cooling. Average annual temperatures in Greenland dropped by roughly 5 degrees
Fahrenheit, and temperature decreases nearly this large were likely to have occurred
throughout the North Atlantic region. During the 8,200 year ago event severe winters in
Europe and some other areas caused glaciers to advance, rivers to freeze, and agricul-
tural lands to be less productive. Scientific evidence suggests that this event was asso-
ciated with, and perhaps caused by, a collapse of the ocean’s conveyor following a pe-
riod of gradual warming.

The scenario concluded with, It is quite plausible that within a decade the evidence of
an imminent abrupt climate shift may become clear and reliable. It is also possible that
our models will better enable us to predict the consequences. In that event the United
States will need to take urgent action to prevent and mitigate some of the most signifi-
cant impacts. Diplomatic action will be needed to minimize the likelihood of conflict in
the most impacted areas, especially in the Caribbean and Asia. However, large popula-
tion movements in this scenario are inevitable. Learning how to manage those popula-
tions, border tensions that arise and the resulting refugees will be critical. New forms of
security agreements dealing specifically with energy, food and water will also be need-
ed. In short, while the US itself will be relatively better off and with more adaptive capac-
ity, it will find itself in a world where Europe will be struggling internally, large numbers
of refugees washing up on its shores and Asia in serious crisis over food and water.
Disruption and conflict will be endemic features of life.

In 2036, the Gulfstream stopped flowing as had been predicted 45-50 years before. In
2036, Derek turned 59 years old. Utopia had spent the better part of 10 years getting
ready for this very day. The population made certain that no necessary skill was unrep-
resented within the population and redundancy was built in. Those boys of the late
Ritchie and Norma added zettabytes of modern storage and began to download just like
their father had so many years before. A zettabyte was 1000 times an extabyte, which
was 1000 times a petabyte, which was 1000 terabytes. Any knowledge that was online
anywhere in the world was now stored on those powerful disc arrays.

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There were other considerations according to that old scenario, more significant in their
impact, like the military considerations. The scenario warned that there was great poten-
tial for tension in the Caribbean and Asia. There was a limit to how much they could do
to defend the 28 square mile island. The cheapest alternative seemed to be Cruise mis-
siles of various types. He bought some AGM-84 harpoons, some BGM-109 cruise mis-
siles and some of those newer ‘Affordable Missiles’. He added multiple Patriot PAC-3
anti-aircraft/anti-missile batteries. The only hard part had been getting the warheads for
the cruise missiles. But, Ritchie came briefly out of retirement and somewhere secured
‘several’ of the TLAM-N (W80) and GLAM (W84) warheads.

When the United States came up missing several nuclear warheads of two different
types, both intended for cruise missiles, there was some kind of stink in Washington.
Ritchie and Norma were killed shortly thereafter in a boating accident and nobody knew
Ritchie’s secret for obtaining nuclear weapons. That was a secret that had died with
him. All of those missiles put one hell of a dent in the accumulated income of the corpo-
ration, maybe like $1 followed by the ‘B’ word, but hey, it was only money and they
hadn’t really earned it. Besides, they didn’t have a Statue of Liberty or the Emma Laza-
rus poem saying, Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to
breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless,
tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door! The other countries could
adopt the world, Utopia was by invitation only. And, if you didn’t have your invitation by
this time, you’d better stop looking in the mail.

In fact, Utopia issued a ‘Statement of Non-Belligerency’ to the nations of the world in

2035 when all of their preparations were complete. It was a wordy document that boiled
down to ‘we don’t want what you have and won’t give you what we have’. The document
also implied that the small island nation had the ability to repel virtually any sort of inva-
sion. Understand, they didn’t come right out and say that they had nuclear weapons, but
there was a tacit implication that they might have some in the ‘all weapons at our dis-
posal’ statement. Plus, the whole world knew that the United States was missing sever-
al nuclear cruise missile warheads. And, unlike the Cubans in the 1960’s the folks at
Utopia didn’t install all of those cruise missile launchers in the wide open for everyone’s
satellites to observe. Derek was as much a student of history as was his father.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 36 – The Change in the Weather

The change in the weather didn’t come on fast and in the beginning only a few scientists
were aware that anything was wrong. The media screamed headlines declaring that this
was The Day After Tomorrow but unlike the movie, where the earth turned to an ice cu-
be in an hour, the change came slowly and most people became dismissive of the
headlines and warnings. The people there on Utopia had satellite TV, about 500 chan-
nels worth, and could follow the slowly developing situation. The scientists’ timetable
was off by about 25 years in their old scenario, but they generally had it right. Ultimately
it would fall to DJ and Joshua to protect the people of Utopia and when the Gulfstream
stopped flowing, Derek began to intensify their lessons.

Derek had seen Korea and Kosovo, but his sons had seen none of this. Fortunately
Gary had gotten into buying tapes from the History Channel and Discovery before he’d
died. Derek had about 1,000 hours of viewing that he could use to educate his boys. DJ
was born in 1993 and Joshua in 2003 and even the two of them had slightly different
perspectives. However, some things never change and those two boys were into the
shooting sports. Well why not? They were very good friends with Clarence’s grandchil-
dren and had an ongoing contest to see who could outshoot whom. Ron’s son John had
remained single and was in his advancing years. Brenda had finally remarried and had
gotten a good one for a change. She had a passel of grandkids too. Kevin had some-
how managed to get his hands on some coke that was pure and had died of a heart at-
tack.

Utopia had the 9 principle bloodlines, Paladin, Ritchie, Gary, Ron, Clarence, Travis and
each of the ‘cousins’. Paladin and Ritchie had only been married once, but Gary had
been married twice and had children by both women. Ron had been married 4 times
and had children by his first 3 wives. John, Brenda and Kevin had been Linda’s children
from her first marriage. Then there were Clarence’s kids and grandkids with several
more bloodlines being introduced and the Apaches who weren’t really cousins and rep-
resented several more bloodlines. I only mention this because one might presume that
the population of the island was such that there might be genetic problems. Utopia was
blessed to be free of bigotry and prejudice and if God could start a whole world with only
2 people, there was a good enough mix in Utopia that they could do the same.

They had started out with 2 Gulfstreams, a G600 and a G700, 2 Sikorsky helicopters, S-
92’s officially, but actually H-92 Superhawks, and 2 Bell 430’s.

During 2004, the Israeli Navy had commissioned three Israeli-made Super Dvora Mk-III
fast patrol ships. They were to replace the venerable Dabur patrol craft that have been
in service for 30 years. The ship’s main role was to protect the coast and intercept ter-
rorists. But they also have a range of 750 nautical miles and could remain at sea for 96
hours without resupply.

The Super Dvora Mk-IIIs were manufactured by Israel Aircraft Industries’ Ramta Divi-
sion in Beersheba. The 27-meter-long craft boasted a top speed of 50 knots, making

199
them the fastest interdiction ships in the Israeli fleet. Ramta delivered three of the ships
to the navy in July 2004. Altogether, the Israelis bought another eleven of the boats for
a total of 14. According to an IAI statement, the vessel was armed with a remote-
controlled Typhoon 25-mm cannon mounted on its hull and more weapons on its stern
and bridge. After that, the Israelis began to market the boats and Derek had purchased
4. He commissioned them as North, South, East and West. The craft were powered by
two Detroit Diesel MTU 12V-4000 series diesel engines driving two state-of-the-art
model 16 Articulated Surface Drives (ASD) and were delivered with the Israeli Barak
Ship Point Defense Missile System.

Being a separate country had certain advantages, obviously. And, you know how the
US was always selling weapons systems to ‘friendly’ countries, right? What could more
‘friendly’ than a country made up of native-born Americans and native-born Native
Americans and native-born Afro Americans? It didn’t start out like that but after Derek
bought the 4 patrol craft and several other weapons systems from the Israelis, the US
defense contractors started lobbying Congress to sell weapons to Utopia. There were
limitations imposed, like no nuclear weapons, etc. but who needed MORE American
nuclear weapons?

Derek purchased 4 AH-64D Longbows to give Utopia some assault aircraft together
with a few Hellfire missiles, a few AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles and a lot of the 70mm
Hydra Folding Rockets and 30mm ammunition. The geography of the island didn’t lend
itself to the Americans or anyone else being able to land tanks. Much of the island was
a high cliff with that small landing area where the barges landed and unloaded. Some
Israeli antitank missiles that could even blow through reactive armor protected the land-
ing area. Because of the well, Utopia didn’t experience the problem that other Caribbe-
an islands experienced with the growing seasons. But to tell the truth, it was a stretch to
even consider Utopia to be part of the Caribbean.

The Island had a name before it was called Utopia, perhaps Ronde Island, but Derek
wasn’t sure. That could have been the name of the neighboring island, too. It was part
of the Windward Islands and not that far from South America. Somehow he’d never got-
ten around to asking and nobody had said. He could always dig around in his papers if
he really wanted to know; what was the point they called it Utopia now. When the Gulf-
stream stopped flowing in 2036, Utopia was fully prepared. His Dad would have been
proud of him for that. Gary had been proud of both of his sons but he’d always shown a
preference towards Derek, unreasonable as it had been. Gary hadn’t gotten along with
his Dad because they’d been too much alike and he hadn’t, if the truth were known, got-
ten along with Damon for the same reason.

Just like the Prodigal son, when the Gulfstream stopped Damon returned to Utopia.
Derek and Damon were fairly close and Derek was extremely happy to see Damon.
Damon still had most of his money, not that it made a difference either way, and Derek
was admittedly a little surprised. Damon’s house had been kept exactly the way it had
been when he’d left to return to the States and Derek had even had a lady clean it
weekly, just in case. Derek had prayed frequently for his brother’s safe return and obvi-

200
ously, God had heard him and answered his prayers. Mary was glad to see Damon, too
but she was far happier that Derek had kept Damon’s house clean. Britney, Aaron and
Eric were also along with their spouses and some grandchildren. Eric was the youngest,
born in 1995, making him about 41. Those spouses were nice people and Derek
couldn’t help the thought that they represented additional genetic diversity for the popu-
lation of Utopia.

***

The first trouble didn’t come until the year 2040 and by this time DJ had taken over and
was generally in charge of things. One of the patrol boats intercepted some folks from
another island further up in the Caribbean and the folks were told to move on by the
crew of the West. The people in the small boat were in fairly tough shape and they in-
sisted on being allowed to proceed to Utopia. A couple of 25mm rounds across their
bow got them to stop their boat but they weren’t happy and they began brandishing
weapons. The skipper of the West pulled alongside and asked them if he could be of
assistance. Realizing that they were outgunned, the folks on the boat asked for food,
water and fuel for their engine, all of which was promptly supplied. They moved on,
much to the relief of the crew.

“You did what?” DJ asked, his voice rising.

“I gave them food, water and fuel Mr. Olsen,” the skipper replied, “They were in a pretty
bad way.”

“Captain, you did the Christian thing and I suppose that I shouldn’t be angry,” DJ re-
sponded. “But dang it man, the next thing you know we’ll have people from several is-
lands or from Venezuela here looking for supplies.”

“Relax, DJ, I’d have done the same,” Derek intervened. “He’s right Captain. I can see
that it’s beginning so from now on you are going to have to exercise much more caution.
If it had been up to me, I’d have acquired 1,000 nuclear weapons and encircled the is-
land at a range of about 12 miles. Unfortunately we have neighboring islands closer
than that. I talked it over with my Dad before he died, and he advised me against it.”

[Good move kid! Your daddy’s ghost is right here keeping an eye on you. Ron and Clar-
ence are over there and here comes Paladin. When you hear that inner voice warning
you that you should or shouldn’t do something, that’ll be one of us.]

“Yes sir, Mr. Olsen,” the skipper replied. “I’ll pass that on to the other crews at the next
briefing.

“No harm no foul, DJ, but you always need to consider the position the people find
themselves in,” Derek suggested. “Did you get those houses arranged for Damon’s
kids?”

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“I took care of it and they’ll be ready in a few days,” DJ replied. “How did you know to
preposition enough supplies to build them homes?”

“Your grandfather was a preparedness freak and he told me that he hoped Damon
didn’t leave,” Derek explained. “But he said Damon and he were just alike and he’d bust
out if he were Damon. He also told me not to be surprised if he ended up coming back
here when TSHTF.”

“Didn’t Grandpa and Uncle Damon get along?” DJ asked.

“About like oil and water, DJ,” Derek laughed.

“What’s going to happen next, Dad?” DJ asked.

“If those scientists were right there are two possibilities, DJ,” Derek replied. “Either it will
get cooler and dryer as heat is siphoned off to the north or it will get warmer and more
moist because the heat getting trapped by the greenhouse gases. I suspect the latter
because the rainfall has been steadily increasing for the last 4 years. Remember, DJ,
this is only the beginning. When it gets bad enough, the fighting over the limited re-
sources will begin. You’re running the show now, but if we can handle it, I’d load up on
food. Have those whiz kids of Ritchie’s do some modeling and try and anticipate things
that might be in short supply if a war breaks out.”

“How long do we have to get it done?” DJ asked.

“Do the food thing immediately and everything else within a year,” Derek directed. “The
projection has conflict breaking out in Europe as soon as year 5. Can we afford to install
more tanks of JP5?”

“If we don’t have to do it all at once, the income will cover it,” DJ replied.

“Just get it done before year 10,” Derek suggested. “Here; sit down and read this copy
of the scenario I printed out. It will explain far better than I.”

DJ took the paper and sat down that evening after dinner and went through it a couple
of times. Their island was located about 12°15’N and 61°40’W. The time zone was GMT
-4. If he was reading the report correctly, his Dad might be wrong on the weather. The
warmth might be there for the next few years, but the unseasonable rain might let up
and the island actually become dryer. Maybe he should have another deep 12” well
drilled at the other end of the island. It would tap the subterranean aquifer at either a
higher or lower level depending up which way the aquifer sloped and most aquifers had
some slope associated with them. He also made a list of things he wanted to see Ritch-
ie’s sons program into their model. The thing that bothered him most was the discussion
of the relationship between carrying capacity of the planet and warfare. And, if there
were a war, what was the possibility of Utopia getting either sucked up into that war or
experiencing the aftermath of the war?

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You know about whiz kids, right? Before he had died in the boating accident Ritchie had
worked with his sons and developed an elaborate model that would allow them to input
single facts, based on real experience, and predict what the effects would be on them
and on the major areas of the world. Bob, Don and Paul had further refined the model to
allow for variances they could see based on the copy of the paper Derek had given
them shortly after he found it on Gary’s computer. Thus when DJ showed up the next
day at the data center, they had the latest predictions. DJ got them started on the re-
vised predictions of what might experience shortage and when the shortages might oc-
cur.

“Is that all you want? Don asked. “We do that automatically every time we change a pa-
rameter in the main model. At the moment, you should concentrate on long-term stor-
age foodstuffs. We have a list of parts that might become scare as the climate change
becomes more pronounced in Europe.”

“Is there any way that you guys could program the computer to automatically order the
supplies as our needs change?”

“Paul turn the automatic order switch on and have the computer do a printout for DJ,
and place orders for what we need, would you?” Don asked.

In that moment, DJ came to understand why Ritchie was so valuable to that old guy
Paladin. The three brothers had his ear and took advantage of it. They showed DJ how
based on the series of backdoors their father and mother had installed in most of the
government systems accessible via the Internet, they would know before ‘enemy’ troops
knew about any pending military action. Since Ritchie and Norma had minor differences
in how they liked to crack someone’s system the fellas were blessed by having more
than one line of attack on everyone’s computer. They had even programmed in a set of
key words to screen for, that should they appear, would set off audible and visual
alarms. Isn’t technology wonderful?

Authors Note: The Three Amigos are dead, but someone forgot to tell their ghosts. How
many of you can hear the voice of a lost loved one whispering in your mental ‘ear’?

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 37 – Memories

To the town of Agua Fria, rode a stranger one fine day.

Hardly spoke to folks around him, didn’t have too much to say.
No one dared to ask his business, no one dared to make a slip.
For the stranger there amongst them, had a big iron...

“Who is that singing, Dad?” DJ asked.

“Marty Robbins, DJ, you must have heard of him,” Derek replied.

“Probably when I was a kid,” DJ smiled. “Where did you find CD’s? I didn’t know that
they’d made any of those in years.”

“They did get replaced by the DVD’s, didn’t they?” Derek acknowledged. “Your grandfa-
ther and Sharon had about 600 of them.”

“I never met her,” DJ said.

“She died in the big influenza epidemic,” Derek explained.

“What’s that song about?” DJ asked.

“The last of the 48 states to join the Union was Arizona,” Derek said. “Before they be-
came a state back in 1912, their state law enforcement was a small group of Rangers.
The song is a tribute to that group that Robbins recorded. The title is Big Iron.”

“That’s nice,” DJ replied, totally unimpressed. “So who was that old guy Paladin?”

“I can’t really say anybody knew his real name, DJ,” Derek explained. “He was a Ranger
who fought in Vietnam. Then he was a mercenary soldier and worked for the CIA. After
that he became a professional assassin. Somewhere along the way, your grandpa ran
into him and he ended up moving your grandpa and his friends to New Mexico to keep
an eye on them. We had some adventures after that, I can tell you.”

“I’m all ears,” DJ grinned.

“That was a long time ago DJ and I think it’s best to leave those stories buried,” Derek
replied ruefully. “You wouldn’t want to know that you father might have been a stone
cold killer for a while, would you?”

[Shut up, kid, don’t burst his bubble.]

“I thought you were a Deputy US Marshal,” DJ said.

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“That too, DJ,” Derek reflected. “There came a time when we bought this island and just
disappeared.”

“Where did you folks get the name for this island?” DJ asked.

“Utopia was a mythological perfect society,” Derek explained. “What we have here isn’t
perfect, but it is about as close as you can come. When this island became an inde-
pendent nation, we decided to rule it collectively as a group. That’s why we have so few
rules. Other than some decency standards, and following the Ten Commandments, we
don’t have any rules that everyone hasn’t agreed upon.”

“What about the rule that everyone carries a gun?” DJ asked.

“An armed society is a polite society, son,” Derek replied. “I made a few rules that ap-
plied to everyone on the island. It IS my island, after all.”

“I finished reading that paper about abrupt climate changes and Bob, Don and Paul are
way ahead of me on everything,” DJ filled Derek in. “They activated an automatic order
system to keep our supplies topped off and they have a computer model that their Dad
helped them build. Every time something happens out there in the world, they can plug
in the information and the model will make projections about what will happen next and
even generate an order for additional supplies.”

“You just make sure you get the extra JP5,” Derek said. “And you want underground
storage for that fuel, aboveground tanks are susceptible to attack. I want you to move
the alert status for the island from green to blue.”

DJ didn’t know what the urgency was. From his reading of the scenario, they had may-
be 6 years before trouble would come looking. But, moving from green to blue was a
small step for the population of Utopia although it meant doubling the active patrol craft
from one to two. He went to his office and called a contractor on the US mainland and
ordered 2 tanks, not one. One was for JP5 and the other was for diesel fuel. He’d been
a little conservative in his estimates to his father and could have both tanks installed
and filled within a year of their construction being completed. And, since he was running
things, he contacted the Israelis and ordered 4 more patrol boats. It was only money
and they had lots of money.

Money was only paper anyway. Bob had a computer program that managed everyone’s
investments and DJ figured that either Ritchie or Norma must have been involved in its
design. People had started managing their investments with home computer programs
back in the 1990’s and this program was light-years ahead. It was turning the invest-
ments at the optimal moments and was producing something like a 25-30% rate of re-
turn. Much of that return had been quietly invested in additional supplies and precious
metals. You couldn’t eat silver, gold or platinum, but much of the world set store in their
possession. Per capita, Utopia was the richest country in the world.

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°

A year later when the Israelis delivered the new patrol boats, DJ, increased the number
of boats on patrol from 2 to 4. The contractor had finished the tanks and they were full.
Utopia had 20 million gallons each of diesel fuel and JP5. They adjusted the basic as-
sumptions about food and supplies and Utopia could go for 20 years on the food they
had on hand, even allowing for a population explosion. Russia had joined the European
Union far ahead of schedule, but the men who had written that paper hadn’t known
about the war between Europe and the United States. The biggest shortages seemed to
be in energy and in food. Severe droughts had plagued most of the Northern Hemi-
sphere.

During the past year, there had been several incidents involving groups of refugees at-
tempting to land on Utopia. In most instances, they had been successfully turned away.
But, there were always the diehard few who wouldn’t take no for an answer and they
were all visiting with Davy Jones. US defense contractors had become desperate for
business and DJ took the opportunity to replace the 25mm canons on the patrol boats
with the 30mm M230 automatic guns shooting M789 High Explosive Dual Purpose mu-
nitions. The 25mm Israeli guns had been relegated to defending the small loading area
where the barges came in and the patrol boats were based.

From time to time those automatic monitors that they had on the computers around the
world kicked up a fuss. There seemed to be a slow military buildup within the developed
countries, like Russia, Switzerland, the United Kingdom and the United States. To a
lesser extent, Canada and México were building their Armies, but they had begun mak-
ing overtures to the US to form a North American Alliance. And while those scientists
had a good overall view of the climate changes back when they’d written their report,
they’d really missed the boat when it came to predicting how and when some things
would happen. It appeared to DJ that people were reacting much faster to the potential
catastrophe.

“I thought you told me that it would take 5 years to put in the fuel,” Derek confronted DJ.

“We have more money than I thought and since everything seems to be happening
faster than predicted, it seemed like the thing to do,” DJ defended his actions.

“You can start wearing this,” Derek said handing DJ the Paladin gun rig. “I’m going to
start wearing your grandfather’s fast draw rig.”

“Hey, these guns are heavy,” DJ said, “They’re nothing like my Glock.”

“I have a bunch of DVD’s I want you to watch, son,” Derek said. “They’re from a TV
show that ran from 1957 to 1963 called Have Gun Will Travel. You need to understand
the heritage behind those guns.”

206
Right, like some old black and whites of a TV show that had aired about 80 years before
were going to make a difference in 2041. But they did. Some of the lessons weren’t par-
ticularly new. They were about honor and decency. Others were most revealing be-
cause they showed something about peoples’ character that they didn’t see much on
Utopia. It was quite a shock.

Derek must have sensed that his time was drawing near. Damon had taken ill the year
before and Derek wasn’t looking all that spry. But, Derek was, after all in the spring of
2041, 67 years old. Well, DJ’s great grandfather had lived to 78 on a bad heart and his
grandfather had made it well into his 80’s fighting diabetes all the way. DJ talked to the
doctor and the doctor said that what the old guys needed was a little action to get their
juices flowing.

“Dad, I’d like Uncle Damon to take over command of our small Navy and for you to take
over command of our small militia,” DJ suggested.

“Good, Damon can be the Fleet Admiral and I can be the General of the Army,” Derek
replied. “Say can you buy any tanks from the US Army?”

“They have some old Abrams M1A1’s,” DJ replied. “But they don’t have any engines.
We could probably almost buy them as scrap.”

“Those original turbine engines were crap anyway,” Derek said. “The M1A1 was the
best of the Abrams tanks and the Honeywell LV100-5 engine that they developed for
the Crusader was the best engine. They finally got their heads out of their butts and re-
placed the original turbines with the LV50-2’s, but you can buy a half dozen of the scrap
tanks and rebarrel them with L55s and replace the engines and they’ll be good as new.”

“What is a Fleet Admiral or a General of the Army?” DJ asked.

“That’s a 5-star, my boy,” Derek laughed, “I’ll finally have one up on Patton.”

“Who?” DJ asked.

“Never mind, son, he was before your time,” Derek replied.

DJ managed to find some replica 5-star insignia on a website and ordered them for his
father and uncle. The M1A1 Abrams fitted out with the a new L55 barrel, new engines
and the latest canon rounds gave the 120mm canon a range beyond 8km and supple-
mented the patrol boats and their various missile systems. The tanks were selling for
scrap prices, like DJ thought, and he found out that they were cheaper by the dozen be-
cause of the transportation costs. During Operation Iraqi Freedom, whatever that was,
the US Army had developed a ‘heavier’ helmet for the troops in Iraq. Which was good or
bad, depending upon your viewpoint.

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Derek had DJ get him a nickel-plated Vaquero in a 5½” barrel because that was similar
to what old George Patton had. Uncle Damon had been an ET in the Navy and he had a
generally low opinion of the military, much to DJ’s chagrin. But Damon pinned on the
stars anyway. Say did Chester Nimitz or Bull Halsey pace the deck of a patrol boat car-
rying a sawed off shotgun? But when you’re the highest-ranking member of the Navy,
who is going to tell you otherwise?

Some things change a lot, like those zettabyte HDD arrays and some things never
change, like the ability of a .45 caliber slug to knock a man off his feet. Derek had al-
ways maintained that the Army should have never adopted the Beretta M9 pistol. What
good was uniformity if that uniformity got you killed? He favored the 10mm round, either
the full-blown round or the .40S&W. He would have preferred the US Army adopt the
Glock 20 with a 15-round magazine or in the alternative, the Glock 22 with a 17-round
magazine.

The .40 was designed to EQUAL the LOW end of the 10’s accepted performance curve
per the FBI test protocol in a higher capacity, shorter gun. The 40 was NOT designed to
go anywhere higher in its performance envelope since it has a limiting factor, that
being the small case. The accepted 10mm “Fed Lite” ammo was considered to be a
good “starting point” and if need arose, the power could easily be goosed up. Since the
40 is in that “lite” ballpark, discussing its power is moot. It works. The 10’s design point
was to extend the .45’s power, and range, with some additional benefit of increased ca-
pacity, and perhaps reliability, with a penalty as well of more perceived recoil with stout
loads.

These items made the 40 the most accepted cartridge in recent history, and its populari-
ty is growing daily. However the 10 is NOT a .40. It will outperform the .40 in most are-
as. One officer wrote me, and I quote:

We found that HOT 45’s and 10’s work well (as did the FBI) on various barriers. Even
body armor hits are ‘distracting’ enough to allow a quick follow up to a non-protected
area of the criminal’s body. Anyway, we sometimes train with steel knock down targets,
and these calibers (.45 & 10) do have VERY impressive results with these. I have used
these targets with new agents who think that smaller calibers have sufficient power to
‘knock down’ a man.

I personally have seen .40’s have big problems with pepper poppers’ setup on windy
days, not so for 10’s, 45’s, and .357’s that go well into ‘Major’ territory. Relevant, per-
haps not, you have to decide for yourself. Me, I carry a 10, and accept the SAME possi-
bility of ‘over penetration’ and similar recoil of a .357.

The official sidearm of the Utopia militia was the Glock 20 with a 15-round magazine
and backup handgun was the Glock 29. The official long arm of the Utopia militia was
the Springfield Armory M1A with a newly improved 25-round magazine. The US military
had problems with 30-round magazines but if you put an engineer on a problem for long
enough, anything could be made to work and work well. The additional weight of the ex-

208
tra five rounds of 7.62×51mm ammo made the weapon a little heavier to carry. It was for
this reason that the other official long arms of the Utopia militia were the HK-416s and
HK-417s with complete barrel sets. People who could handle the extra weight, usually
but not always men, were issued the M1A. The rest of the citizens were issued the Mini-
14s, HK-416s or HK-417s. They used the HK AG-C/EGLM grenade launchers on both
H&K rifles. M1A Super Match rifles and two different .50 caliber rifles were used for
sniping. These included the Barrett M107 and the McMillan TAC-50.

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 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 38 – Confusing Times

To the town of Agua Fria, rode a stranger one fine day…

Without knowing it, DJ had inherited a personal quirk from his grandfather. Sometimes
when he heard a song, it would periodically resurface and he would start humming what
he’d heard. Thus it became with that Marty Robbins song, Big Iron. Eventually he got
the CD from his Dad and burned a copy of the song onto a blank recordable CD that the
3 computer whizzes had dug up. Then, he got curious what the words Agua Fria meant
and had to ask one of the Indians who spoke Spanish. Aqua Fria translates to the Eng-
lish as Cold Water. There was a Clearwater, a Sweetwater, a Chugwater, a Hot Water
and Cold Water. Plus an Aqua Fria.

Orwell’s idea of Utopia was Democratic Socialism which he described in 1984 as:

a society in which all men shall be equal...a society in which wealth, in the sense of per-
sonal possessions and luxuries, should be evenly distributed.... an earthly paradise in
which men should live together in a state of brotherhood, without laws and without brute
labour... where everyone worked short hours, had enough to eat, lived in a house with a
bathroom and a refrigerator, and possessed a motor-car or even an airoplane...

As early as the beginning of the 20th century, human equality had become technically
possible ...there was no longer any real need for class distinctions or for large differ-
ences of wealth... With the development of machine production, the need for human
drudgery, and therefore to a great extent for human inequality, had disappeared... It was
no longer necessary for human beings to live at different social or economic levels... If
the machines were used properly toward that end, hunger, overwork, dirt, illiteracy, and
disease could be eliminated within a few generations.

An all-round increase in wealth meant the destruction of a hierarchical society... for if

leisure and security were enjoyed by all alike, the great mass of human beings who are
normally stupefied by poverty would become literate and would learn to think for them-
selves; and when once they had done this, they would sooner or later realize that the
privileged minority had no function, and they would sweep it away. In the long run, a hi-
erarchical society - with the High, the Middle and the Low - was only possible on a basis
of poverty and ignorance.

Therefore the earthly paradise was discredited at exactly the moment when it became
realized.

DJ regretted picking up the old book shortly after he’d started reading, but he couldn’t
seem to put it down. If this was utopia, what had his father meant by the remark, “It IS
my island, after all?” Was his father claiming to be King, or something? But Utopia was
supposed to be a classless society, wasn’t it? Still no one pressed the issue about
Derek owning the island and the corporation now owned the island. Then again, Derek
was the only shareholder of the corporation, wasn’t he?

210
Say wasn’t the actual name of the Nazi party the National Socialist German Worker’s
Party? Well then, if that was the case, how does that square with their behavior in the
1930’s and 1940’s if you compare it to what Orwell said? The world described in Nine-
teen Eighty-Four has striking and deliberate parallels to the Stalin’s Soviet Union; nota-
bly, the themes of a betrayed revolution, which Orwell put so famously in Animal Farm,
the subordination of individuals to ‘the Party’, and the extensive and institutional use of
propaganda, especially as it influenced the main character of the book, Winston Smith.
Hmm, Stalin sounds a lot like Hitler…

[Hey kid, stop thinking, you’re going to get a headache.]

Blam… Blam… Blam… Blam…

“Frigin’ wetbacks,” Damon cussed while he reloaded his trusty shotgun.

“Mr. Olsen, they aren’t wetbacks,” the skipper tried to persuade him. “Those people are
just refugees and we don’t fire on them unless they fail to heed our instructions.”

Blam… Blam… Blam… Blam…

“Screw ‘em if they can’t take a joke,” Damon chuckled as he began stuff more ‘9-pellet’
tactical buckshot shells into the Cruiser.

“But Mr. Olsen, they’re over 100-yards away,” the skipper said. “Do you want me to pull
the boat closer so you can hit someone?”

“Naw, take us back to port skipper,” Damon replied.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the skipper said gingerly, “But we just started a 96-hour tour one-hour
ago. We can’t return to port for some time.”

“You got more of the buckshot?” Damon asked.

“Yes sir, 4 cases, just like your nephew ordered,” the skipper replied hopefully.

Damon was a bit, shall we say eccentric? He didn’t want to hurt anyone but he wanted
to feel that he was doing his duty to protect Utopia. Plus he wanted to set an example
for the men and women he was leading that they shouldn’t be afraid to engage in battle,
if necessary. All he was actually accomplishing was to make them check the medical
stores aboard the patrol boat to make certain that they were plenty of his meds.

[Family humor?]

211
“Mr. Olsen we can’t continually have your uncle shooting at all the refugees,” the skip-
per said.

“You took 4 cases of blanks, right?” DJ asked. “He isn’t really scaring anybody and as
long as he thinks he’s accomplishing something, I’m in favor of letting him continue.”

“Sir, couldn’t we use a 5th boat with only a skeleton crew?” the skipper asked. “We
could call it his flag ship and only staff it with volunteers.”

“Would anyone volunteer?” DJ asked.

“I’ll skipper the boat and I think I can get 3-4 more,” the skipper answered.

“Fine. Do it, skipper,” DJ smiled, “But just be sure you don’t have any 12-gauge shells
on that boat other than the blanks.”

The Country of Venezuela had 6 light frigates (Lupo class), 2 coastal submarines
(Sabalo class), 4 landing ships (Capana class), 6 relatively new (2008) large missile
boats, 6 small patrol/missile boats (Constitucion class) plus 5 other assorted ships in its
Navy. Venezuela had put up with the refugees from the Caribbean for an extensive pe-
riod of time and finally in June of 2042 the frigates set sail for Utopia under the orders of
the Asamblea Nacional and the President to halt the folks in Utopia from sending even
more people to Venezuela. Oopsie.

The flight time on a cruise missile from Utopia to Caracas, Venezuela bordered on 45
minutes. The distance was about 600km and the missiles flew about 880kmph. The first
response of the Utopians when the radar revealed the presence of the 6 frigates was to
launch all 8 of the patrol boats and try to warn them off. The Captain of the Venezuelan
flotilla had his orders and declined to be dissuaded by the small craft. Mistake number
one. He put a shot across the bow of the East. Mistake number two. The patrol boats
immediately launched a total of 12 Barak Ship Point Defense Missiles, two at each frig-
ate. In response, the Captain ordered his frigates to open fire on the patrol boats. Mis-
take number three. The patrol boats were ducking and dodging and zigzagging to avoid
being hit, all the time trying to maintain fire with the 30mm guns. Well, the Venezuelan
Navy was so busy trying to avoid being sunk by the Barak missiles that the best they
could manage was a minor hit on one patrol boat. Unfortunately that patrol boats was
the ‘flagship’.

“They broke my boat,” Damon said.

“The damage isn’t that bad, sir, we can limp to port,” the skipper replied.

“This is the Admiral calling the General, Derek, are you there?” Damon radioed.

“What now Damon?” Derek inquired.

212
“They fired on us and broke my boat,” Damon replied.

“Who fired on you and do you require assistance?” Derek responded.

“The frigin’ Venezuelan Navy, that’s who and no, we can make it to port,” Damon ex-
plained.

“DJ, launch a TLAM-N on Caracas,” Derek instructed.

At 08:46 (local in Caracas) the country of Utopia joined the nuclear club when the 150kt
W80 warhead exploded above Caracas. At Cheyenne Mountain in Colorado the Ameri-
cans immediately realized what had happened to their missing W80 and W84 war-
heads. Considering the rather large number of warheads they were missing, minus one,
they decided not to get involved in what they deemed to be a local affair. The United
States had never fully recovered from WW III and sure wasn’t looking to get involved in
WW IV. Besides the entire Northern Hemisphere seemed to be entering another ice age
and they were too busy trying to move the 100 million or so citizens from the northern
climes to below the Mason-Dixon Line.

Derek sent a message to the President of the United States. It said:

“Dear Mr. President:

“The Country of Utopia today repelled an invasion by forces of the Country of Venezue-
la and retaliated against that country. As you are no doubt now aware, Utopia possess-
es a substantial quantity of cruise missiles and a large quantity of W80 and W84 war-
heads.

“To paraphrase President John F. Kennedy, ‘It shall be the policy of this nation to regard
any nuclear missile launched against this nation in the future as an attack by the United
States, requiring a full retaliatory response against the United States.”

“Sincerely,

“Derek Olsen, President

Country of Utopia
God Bless America”

Actually I think it was a combination of Kennedy’s words and the ‘God Bless America’
that got to the American President. Or, maybe it was that CIA report he’d gotten a few
months ago that had finally figured out who was responsible for the deaths of Con-
doleezza Rice, Rudolph Gulliani and what’s his name. Besides, it had only been Cara-
cas and the President could always head to Rio if it got too cold in Washington or Mi-
ami. He really would have preferred not to back down, but these boys went through
President’s like crap through a goose. And, if they concentrate all of those warheads

213
below the Mason-Dixon Line, they could virtually wipe out the country. Good warheads
too, some of the US’s finest.

A nuclear weapon system consists of a delivery vehicle, a nuclear warhead, and those
components (facilities, support equipment, procedures, and personnel) required for its
operation. The surface launched Tomahawk Land Attack Missile-Nuclear (TLAM-N)
weapon system on board a ship includes a BGM-109A-l cruise missile with a W80-0 nu-
clear warhead, deck mounted armored box launchers, a weapon control system, and a
mission planning system. And, it hadn’t taken THAT long to permanently bypass the
PAL’s on the warheads. Not when you had all of those highly trained nuclear engineers
living in your country with their quality American educations.

Derek sure hoped his bluff against the American President worked. But, just in case,
Utopia went on Orange Alert. There was no way that Utopia would ever attack the Unit-
ed States, after all, didn’t the Utopians enjoy dual US and Utopian citizenship? He knew
about that report the CIA had sent to the American President, Bob and the fellas had
given him a copy even before the President of the United States had seen it. Now with
any kind of luck, the United States would do what it had always done and declare the
US allied with the newest nuclear power in the Western Hemisphere. And if not, the
Utopians could always move to Rio right after they launched those 101 remaining cruise
missiles.

214
 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 39 – Nuclear Blackmail

That’s what they call the situation that existed. Unfortunately the President of the United
States couldn’t threaten to bomb Russia back into the Stone Age like Kennedy had in
1962. The President was, in fact, helpless so he did what every sound thinking Presi-
dent would do if he found himself in a similar situation. He got on Air Force One and
flew to Utopia to negotiate a truce. Of course about halfway between DC and Utopia, he
got on the radio and personally assured Mr. Derek Olsen that his was a mission of
peace. Good thing too, because they had the plane on their radar and were about to
alert those Patriot batteries.

“So, Mr. President, I assume you finally seen the CIA report?” Derek asked.

“I have Mr. Olsen, it was most revealing,” the President said. “Say have you read the
memo?”

“What I can’t understand is how they figured it out, CIA is an oxymoron, according to
Tom Clancy,” Derek suggested.

“Actually, what I believe the character in the movie said was, “Central Intelligence
Agency... Now, there’s a contradiction in terms,” the President pointed out.

“I probably saw the memo about a week before you did,” Derek chuckled.

“Was it accurate?” the President inquired.

“Mostly, yes,” Derek said. “Although I didn’t actually get involved until we killed what’s
his name. And I was totally opposed to shooting down Marine-One because of the air-
crew. But my father and Paladin exploded that Russian suitcase nuke by remote control
from our Gulfstream VI cruising at about 40,000’ not from another mountain.”

“I see,” the President responded. “So, what do you need, Mr. Olsen, foreign aid? We do
quite handsomely by the Israelis.”

“We want the status quo,” Derek replied, “Nothing more and nothing less. And Utopia
declines to provide foreign aid to the United States. However, we would be willing to buy
a couple of those B-2 Bombers if you can spare any.”

“Sorry Mr. Olsen, but that would be tantamount to committing suicide,” the President
said. “Besides, according to our records, you folks stole about 75 of those warheads,
meaning that you still have 74.”

[Hmm, where have I heard that before? Yeah, huh, that’s what Paladin told what’s his
name. And don’t correct him, whatever you do. 74? Kid, you’ve got a pair of Aces in the
hole.]

215
And, why didn’t anyone ever tell the true story of the Cuban missile crisis? Russia was
tired of having US Jupiter missiles in Turkey so it moved nuclear missiles in to Cuba to
counter the perceived threat. JFK agreed to remove the missiles from Turkey in ex-
change for Russia removing the missiles from Cuba. What, they didn’t teach that in your
history class? Then I’ll bet that they didn’t teach you that on the day before the US stood
down its Jupiter missiles in Turkey, a Polaris submarine surfaced off the coast of Tur-
key, the Captain of the submarine got in a raft and was transported to shore where he
stood before the Commander of the Jupiter base and saluted the man and said some-
thing like, “Sir, you are relieved.” JFK didn’t give up anything, but Nikita got what he
wanted. Sort of. In fact all that was accomplished was the changing of the guard from
Jupiter missiles to Polaris missiles.

“The first SM-78 squadrons became fully operational in Italy and Turkey in June and
November 1961, respectively. After a few months, control of the Jupiter squadrons was
turned over to Italian/Turkish troops. In total, 30 missiles were deployed to Italy, and 15
to Turkey.”

“The SM-78 did not stay in service very long. In January 1963 the USA announced to
withdraw all Jupiter’s from Italy and Turkey, and by July that year, the last missile had
been removed. The US Navy’s deployment of the UGM-27A Polaris SLBM (Submarine
Launched Ballistic Missile) had made land-based IRBMs redundant. In June 1963, im-
mediately prior to retirement, the SM-78 had been redesignated as PGM-19A.”

You still trust the Presidents, right? Idiot! George W. Bush said there were weapons of
mass destruction in Iraq, too. Didn’t he? And FDR didn’t know anything about Pearl
Harbor until it happened.

Today, gunboat diplomacy seems like a phrase from some antiquated imperial past
(despite our thirteen aircraft carrier strike groups that travel the world making “friendly”
house calls from time to time). But if you stop thinking about literal gunboats and try to
imagine how we carry out “armed diplomacy” – and, as we all know, under the Bush
administration the Pentagon has taken over much that might once have been labeled
“diplomacy” – then you can begin to conjure up our own twenty-first century version of
gunboat diplomacy. But first, you have to consider exactly what the “platforms” are upon
which we “export force,” upon which we mount our “cannons.”

As the Pentagon planned it, and as we knew via leaks to the press soon after the war,
newly “liberated” Iraq, once “sovereignty” had been restored, was to have only a lightly
armed military force of some 40,000 men and no air force. The other part of this equa-
tion, the given (if unspoken) part, was that some sort of significant long-term American
military protection of the country would have to be put in place. That size Iraqi military in
one of the most heavily armed regions of the planet was like an insurance policy that we
would “have” to stay. And we’ve proceeded accordingly, emplacing our “little diplomats”
right at a future hub of the global energy superhighway.

216
Gunboat Diplomacy has been likened to a screwdriver used to torque a particular
screw, not a hammer used to drive home a point. As such it will continue to be an im-
portant term in the vocabulary of diplomacy during the 1990’s. The challenges that face
both political and military leaders are twofold. The first and most important is the opti-
mum employment of naval forces when practicing gunboat diplomacy. The second is
designing and maintaining a force structure to support the practice to the maximum de-
gree possible while taking into account other competing missions. The concept is not
obsolete, but does require refining in response to changes in both the diplomatic calcu-
lus and the technological environment.

The use of maritime power represented above fits the definition of Gunboat Diplomacy
as defined by Sir James Cable in his thought provoking work, Gunboat Diplomacy 1919-
1979. He provides the following definition:

“Gunboat Diplomacy is the use or threat of limited naval force, otherwise than as an act
of war, in order to secure advantage, or to avert loss, either in the furtherance of an in-
ternational dispute or else against foreign nationals within the territory or the jurisdiction
of their own state.”

The United States of America began using Gunboat Diplomacy when President Thomas
Jefferson sent American forces to deal with the Barbary Pirates. And will someone ex-
plain why the US needs 13 aircraft carriers? It may be hard to envision an aircraft carrier
as a gunboat, but that’s what it is, only bigger. So, Derek practiced a little gunboat di-
plomacy of his own. Except his ‘gunboat’ was a TLAM-N and a bluff to use it. Sauce for
the goose, Mr. Saavik?

“As I said, we want the status quo,” Derek replied, “Nothing more and nothing less. And
Utopia declines to provide foreign aid to the United States.”

“The United States is the richest nation on the earth, Mr. Olsen, what do you mean by
that?” the President asked.

“Utopia has more gold than you have in Ft. Knox, Mr. President,” Derek smirked.

“But you are a totally dependent nation,” the President point out.

“Dependent upon whom, Mr. President?” Derek twisted the dagger. “We’ve done well
buying from Israel.”

“And stealing from us,” the President reminded him.

“I would prefer to use the term borrow, Mr. President,” Derek’s eyes twinkled. “We can
return the warheads immediately, if that is your wish. They can be there in a little over
an hour.”

217
“Well of course we want the missiles and warheads back… Did you say an hour?” the
President asked befuddled.

“Everything ready to launch, DJ?” Derek asked.

“Yes sir, Dad, just give the word,” DJ responded right on cue.

“Why don’t you hang on to them in case some else attacks you?” the President sug-
gested.

“Stand down, DJ,” Derek said.

“Yes sir,” DJ replied. DJ left the room before he burst out laughing. “Where?” he won-
dered, “Do they get these guys from?”

From that moment on the USA and Utopia became the best of allies and there was
nothing that was too good for the ‘folks down by South America’. And this turned out to
be a good thing for the United States. With a nuclear ally so close to South America the
US was able to persuade the Argentineans and many others that the US was still their
best market for beef and life’s little essentials. Never mind that it was 3,200 miles from
the island nation to Buenos Aires and their Block II TLAM-A only had a range of 1,500
miles. You see, the term ‘long-range’ is relative and the Argentineans didn’t know what
type of missile the Utopians had used. So, why take a chance?

The frosting on the cake was the amnesty granted by the President of the United States
to all residents of Utopia for ‘all sins real or imagined’. Derek took advantage of the situ-
ation and sent Damon back to Atlanta to receive some much-needed treatment at
Emory University Hospital. And, while the Utopians couldn’t keep everyone at bay, the
United States became very secure in its southern border.

It seems that Utopia had two sides to its personality. The side you see, like the moon for
example, and the side you don’t. Don’t they call that the Dark Side of the Moon? No,
there aren’t any Pink Floyd fans here. I was referring to home, as in Roswell, NM. The
phase “dark side of the Moon” usually refers to the side of the Moon that we cannot see
from Earth. The Moon takes about 29 days to orbit the Earth. It takes almost the same
amount of time to make one rotation on its axis. That is why we always see the same
side of the Moon from Earth. This part of the Moon is not really the “dark side”, however,
it is more accurately the “far side”. The side of the Moon we do not see from Earth gets
just as much sunlight on it as the side we do see. In truth, the only dark side of the
Moon is the side that is pointed away from the Sun at any given time.

Those scientists who wrote that proposal about abrupt climate changes got several
things wrong; do you suppose that they just were alarmists? Or, did WW III do some-
thing to the climate that only made the Gulfstream stop and start right back up? Be-
cause in 2044, that’s exactly what it did. Everyone wanted a piece of Utopia after that.
So Derek, being a practical man of 70 years, sold it and divided the money into 4 equal

218
shares. One for each of his children and one for him and Mary. Of course before they
could return to the US, they had to turn all 74 of the cruise missiles and GLAM W84 and
TLAM W80 warheads back over to the government of the United States. They didn’t get
to keep the Abrams and Apaches and but kept all of their other equipment. They didn’t
have any use for 8 patrol boats in the middle of America so they sold those to the new
owners of the island.

You have been paying attention to the numbers, right? You’d better because the US
government made certain that they got all 74 of their warheads back and they repur-
chased the 74 missiles that went with them. They certainly couldn’t have a bunch of re-
formed killers out in the middle of New Mexico armed with cruise missiles and W80
warheads. Unfortunately when the corporation sold Utopia, it had a chilling effect on the
society and just as Orwell had predicted, the society collapsed.

But there was a nucleus of friends who remained together. The nucleus included Ritchie
and Norma’s sons and their families, Derek Spencer Olsen, Jr. (DJ aka Paladin) and his
family, Brenda’s son and daughter-in-law and their family and Clarence’s grandson,
Clarence Rawlings III and his family. It wasn’t quite perfect because the Olsen in the
bunch wasn’t named Gary and the Ronald in the bunch had a new last name (Black),
but 1 out of 3 isn’t bad. This was better than The Three Amigos and Paladin because 1)
Paladin was one of The Three Amigos; and 2) they had 3 computer whizzes instead of
one.

Derek and Mary returned to Iowa and who knows where Damon’s kids ended up? There
was a competency hearing and they ended up being their father’s conservator so prob-
ably Atlanta. Elizabeth and her husband went back to his hometown of Laredo and
Joshua and his wife settled in Des Moines, Iowa. DJ and his nucleus of friends pooled
some of that money and bought a section or two of land over east of Lubbock, Texas.
Why Lubbock, you might ask? Lubbock, Texas is 1431 miles (2303 km) (1244 nautical
miles) from Washington, DC, as the crow flies. Which might work about perfect, de-
pending upon what business they got into. And Derek gave his eldest son all of his fa-
ther’s weapons and Paladin’s too.

Because of the energy crisis that related to the micro ice age that had started and
stopped, the 20 million gallons of diesel fuel and the 20 million gallons of JP5 were
worth their weight in gold, so to speak. It was cheaper to build new tanks and load the
fuel aboard a tanker and haul it to the US than to sell it and try to replace it. A barrel of
oil is 42 US gallons. The largest ship ever built held 4.1 million barrels of crude. That’s
172.2 million gallons of oil. DJ sure didn’t need that big of a tanker, he just needed
something that held about 1 million barrels of finished product. One ship, one trip and
they’d have enough fuel to last for the rest of their lives and into the afterlife.

There were those minor complications as in the government didn’t want them having
Abrams tanks or any Apache helicopters, so the government was forced to buy them
back. They put the Israeli 25mm canons back on the boats before they sold them and
ended up with 8 ‘surplus’ M230’s. I wonder what happened to them. They went in the

219
same containers that held all of their other toys. Like those Harpoon missiles and some
Israeli antitank missiles that could even blow through reactive armor and the newer ‘Af-
fordable Missiles’ and the multiple Patriot PAC-3 anti-aircraft/anti-missile batteries. It
took a fair sized container ship and one medium sized tanker just to get all of the ‘stuff’
to Texas.

220
 Have Gun Will Travel – Part II – Chapter 40 – Home on the Range

Old Ronald would have been in Heaven being back in Texas, he was a native, you
know. Lived in Texas from Day 1 until he was 10 days old and then they moved to Cali-
fornia. They were in Crosby County Texas and the exact location isn’t important, I’ve
said too much already. Shouldn’t be hard to find the place, though, just look for that
10,000’ airstrip out in the middle of nowhere. And, just to the east side of that airport, I
expect, you’ll find a mobile home park populated with a bunch of spanking new manu-
factured housing, the best that money can buy. Don’t go looking for any missile silo
however, because they picked some property that didn’t have one.

DJ sort of fancied the shelter that his grandpa built in Las Vegas and built a new one
according to the specs he could dig out of that story. They ended up with a nice little
community there east of Lubbock. They had concrete hangars for their helicopters and
Gulfstreams and underneath the gigantic hangar going down about 10 or 20 stories
were their supplies. The population of Utopia had been right around 300, give or take.
and they had enough food for 300 people for 20 years, remember? Or, enough food for
one man for 6,000 years if you’d prefer. There were only The Three Amigos and the 3
computer geeks and the families, altogether, about 30 people.

What is a western survival story that only has cowboys but no Indians? The Apaches all
moved to Arizona so DJ started looking around for some new Indian buddies. The prob-
lem was they couldn’t find a whole lot of Indians in Texas. In 1986 the Alabama-
Coushatta Reservation was the home to 510 people. The reservation land consisted of
4,766 acres, of which 3,071 was held in trust by the state of Texas and 1,280 was man-
aged directly by the inhabitants. Income was generated through the operation of a tour-
ist complex that includes a gift shop, restaurant, museums, campgrounds, and fishing
facilities. The Tigua Indians, a pueblo tribe with historic claims to most of the land in the
El Paso area, lost their homelands in the nineteenth century, when state and federal au-
thorities took legal possession of the land. In 1968 the group gained formal recognition
from both the federal and state government. Most of the tribe’s ninety-seven-acre reser-
vation is in the city limits of El Paso and Ysleta in El Paso County. Like the Alabama-
Coushattas the Tiguas rely on tourism to generate revenues. Some residences are lo-
cated on the reservation, but most of the Indians do not live there. In 1985 the Texas
Band of Traditional Kickapoo received federal recognition as a distinct American Indian
group. Along with the recognition came federal and state economic assistance to its
members. The state designated 125.4 acres on the Rio Grande close to Eagle Pass as
reservation lands. Most of this land is used by for residences and community institu-
tions. Strike One.

Hat in hand, DJ got on the Gulfstream VI and had the pilots take him over to Arizona to
see the former Utopian Apaches. The Apaches had a Presidential Pardon and a new
Reservation and they didn’t want to fight anyone or to do anything more than enjoy liv-
ing on the new reservation. Strike Two. He returned to Lubbock very disappointed.

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“Where are we going to find some Indians who are unhappy with the government?” DJ
asked Bob.

“Did you try California?” Bob suggested. “The state succeeded in imposing a 25% tax
on those tribes that own the casinos. The US Supreme Court finally ruled on the case
and the Indians lost.”

“I’ll fly to California and talk to them,” DJ replied, sure he’d found the answer.

The tribes had appealed the Supreme Court ruling and asked for a rehearing on the
case and weren’t interested. Strike Three? Hardly. It seems that there were several
tribes in California that had been fighting the federal government for years for recogni-
tion. These people were angry with everyone and the frustration only made their anger
worse. Costanoan Indian’s had been fussing ever since California had passed ‘An Act
for the Government and Protection of Indians’ on April 22, 1850, 200 hundred years be-
fore. They referred to it as the Indian Slavery Act of 1850. And within the ranks of that
group was a militancy that DJ took advantage of.

Raymond Littletree aka Ray Little was that man in charge and DJ asked him how he’d
like to move to Texas a do a little ranching. DJ filled his head with tales about how his
grandfather and some friends had succeeded in getting a new Reservation for the
Apaches in Arizona during the time of the government unrest when Condi Rice and then
Rudi Giuliani had been running things. The next thing you know, DJ had his Indians.
There had been a little inflation in the intervening years and you couldn’t move a family
for $5,000 anymore. It came closer to $25,000 a family, but it was only money and
money wasn’t a problem. The banks in the Cayman Islands were in the best of form and
rather than move all of their billions back to the States and risk getting taxed on them,
they left their money, or most of it, down in the Caribbean.

As a country, the US had changed and those Democrats had been in power for quite a
while. There was National Health Care and Social Security and even a Government
Sales Tax to pay for it all. Between the federal sales tax and the state sales tax, the
sales tax ran anywhere from 15% in the sticks to 22% in New York City. The Democrats
had finally adopted the Canadian Plan when they got in bed with the Canadians and
Mexicans to survive that micro ice age. The income tax rate had sort of slipped up too
as the Democrats had tried to tax the wealthy.

How, you may ask, did they manage to get 27 Tomahawks with their W80 warheads
and that other ordinance into the country? It was a question of timing more than any-
thing else. Pouch: Also called air pouch or diplomatic pouch. Used as a noun to refer to
the mailbag by which communications and other materials are conveyed to and from
posts. Pouches enjoy diplomatic protection and thus are exempted from customs
search. They may travel by air or by sea, depending on bulk. Pouches may be unclassi-
fied (moving on their own like mail) or classified (moving under the care of a US De-
partment of State employee known as a Diplomatic Courier). The word can also be
used as a verb, i.e., “to pouch.” Utopia put Diplomatic Pouch seals on all of those con-

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tainers and lied about their contents. All of the materials were destined for the Utopian
Embassy in Lubbock, Texas. Real nice of the US to provide guards.

When DJ had everything organized and safely tucked away, Derek sent a letter to the
US Department of State and the President announcing the close of the Utopian society
and the end of their diplomatic relations. Utopia was no more. To handle the sales tax
issue, the Utopian Texans opened a mail-order survival supplies business. They had to
do something with all of that food before it went bad. All of their subsequent purchases
were for resale and thus exempt from tax. And, following the Korean example, they kept
2 sets of books, one that told the real story and another for those government auditors.

The unpleasant fact of American existence was that in 2048 the taxman was your Ene-
my; also the ATF because all guns were outlawed. And then there was FEMA because
the US was still trying to get over that micro ice age. As the American Navy got old and
rusty, it wasn’t replaced. Then there was that ‘Peace Dividend’ that cut the active duty
military to 5 Divisions. Mid-21st Century America was much like mid to late 20th Century
Europe after the big one, only worse. Russia’s merger with the EU had made the Eura-
sians the dominant force in the world. In a word or two, America had become a Socialist
Democracy.

Back in the Lubbock, Texas area, that new spread over east of the city was prospering.
They were selling their survival supplies at a tremendous rate because food was hard to
come by and the surviving Americans had learned to be prepared. The 27 Tomahawks
were encased in concrete bunkers completely encircling the 1,280 acres. Layer after
layer of defenses backed up the Tomahawks; who says you can only use a Harpoon
missile against a ship? And those illegal rifles and handguns were all safely tucked
away in the armory, waiting for the day when they could be put to use again. It was a
struggle, of that you can be sure. They had to rebuild the herd of Tennessee Walking
horses and mules and get a herd of cattle going. Not a big herd, they only had 1,280
acres, but a herd of cattle and hogs and a flock of chickens.

They called the ranch Utopia, by the way. It was a little slice of American history all
tucked away there east of Lubbock, Texas. They replaced their aging fleet of aircraft
with the latest models, Gulfstream IX’s (G950) and the latest generation of Sikorsky and
Bell helicopters. The shooting range had to be indoors because you couldn’t have any
pesky neighbors hearing gunshots and calling the law. The latest generation of the
Hummer would run on about anything and a turbine engine powered it. And, for a nomi-
nal fee, one could get the armored version, a factory option. So they did to the tune of 2
per family, or more.

“The reason we left California and joined up with you folks was to get recognition for our
tribe,” Ray told DJ. “We’ve been here for about 2 years and all we’ve been doing is
ranching. When are you going to keep your promise?”

“I suppose we could start this year,” DJ replied, “We have everything adjusted and we’re
good to go.”

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“What do you mean by adjusted?” Ray asked.

“We had to unload that old food and replace it, Ray,” DJ responded. “Plus we had to
service all of our military equipment. It was getting old and exceeding its shelf life, so to
speak. All of that is accomplished so we can get out there and stir the soup. Where
would you like to begin?”

“We tried every legal remedy in existence,” Ray said, “How about a military option?”

“Right, Ray, we’ll declare war on the United States,” DJ smirked.

“In a manner of speaking, why the hell not?” Ray came back with fire in his eyes. “The
American Army has been reduced to nothing but a bunch of supply clerks keeping track
of their inventory of obsolete arms and ordnance. And, they sure in the hell couldn’t use
the Navy, if they had one, in the middle of northern Texas.”

Lubbock, Texas is just below the panhandle, nearly straight south of Amarillo and about
straight west of Dallas-Ft. Worth or maybe a little north. It was Comanche and Kiowa
country, to be exact. And we all know what a bunch of ‘Indian Lovers’ the Olsen family
had always been. It was an unlikely alliance, the Kiowa and Comanches and the Cos-
tanoan Indians, but DJ made it work because they all had a common enemy, the gov-
ernment of the United States. And, between you and me, my grandson didn’t much care
for what the country had become. He was rapidly becoming re-Americanized, what with
cheating on his taxes and all.

Word got around among members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) especially
up north where there was still a lot of snow and some of the Sioux jumped in their
pickups with their .30-30 rifles and headed for Texas. There was talk about stealing the
country back from the white men who had stolen it from them. The only Kiowa’s and
Comanche’s who had joined up were some of a vocal minority. However, each of the 4
tribes represented had an axe to grind, whether it be lack of recognition or any of a doz-
en issues, they were ready to take on the US government. All from that tiny 2 square
mile plot of land east of Lubbock, Texas.

With the computers back on line and the information flowing from all around the world
into the computer room in the fancy new shelter, Bob, Don and Paul were able to get
the latest intelligence estimates and military plans for the countries around the world
and feed them to DJ. They had a bit of a problem getting their satellite feeds back up so
they bought a satellite and ground station from the Christian Radio/TV Network who
owned it. The satellite didn’t care where the ground station was located, so they’d dis-
mantled the ground station and moved it to the ranch as well. And then the information
began to flow.

It wouldn’t be fair to describe what follows as a revolution. It was more of a Civil War.
Although the direct causes of the Civil War were different from those of the American

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Revolution, they were both caused by the differences in politics, economies, and social
structures between each region. Rebellion in each of the wars was caused by people
feeling that their government didn’t represent their own interests. One of the causes of
the American Revolution was the growing gap between the social structures of the col-
onies and Britain. Britain had a strict social structure where it was almost impossible to
get an opportunity to rise into a higher class. The aristocrats of Britain looked down on
the simplistic ways of the American colonists, who valued self-reliance, equality, and
opportunity. The colonies also had many differences between themselves. Even before
the American Revolution, the lifestyles of the colonies were distinct from region to re-
gion. One of the main causes of these differences was the institution of slavery. In the
southern states, social structure was generally rigid, while in the North, the industrial
revolution was taking place, creating opportunities for almost any hard-working Ameri-
can man to raise his social status.

TIME OUT! Have you read Henry Kissinger’s article in the November 8, 2004 issue of
Newsweek? “As these lines are being written, the election process is still in full swing.
But this week, barring another deadlocked outcome, the campaign that has mesmerized
America will be over. What will remain are the challenges that gave rise to this occa-
sionally frenzied battle and the responsibility of dealing with them. No president has
faced an agenda of comparable scope. This is not hyperbole; it is the hand history has
dealt this generation. Never before has it been necessary to conduct a war with neither
front lines nor geographic definition and, at the same time, to rebuild fundamental prin-
ciples of world order to replace the traditional ones which went up in the smoke of the
World Trade Center and the Pentagon.”

I read the article for the first time today, January 12, 2005. I suggest you find it and read
it; it will make the more subtle points of this tale more understandable. I’m not a
Newsweek fan, but the article was very interesting. Especially if you think this entire sto-
ry is a little too fantastic.

© 2011, Gary D. Ott

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