Dear Diary: It’s Me, Jessica: Chapter 12 (Book 3)

By the author of Dear Diary: It’s Me, Jessica; The Second Year

In case you missed the last chapter, you can find it here.

Dear Diary,

It’s me, Jessica.

The plan was for Jack and Carlos to sneak into the base, crawl under the communications vehicles, place an oil- and transmission-fluid-filled Mason jar next to the gas tank, unscrew the mason jar, and put an oil-soaked rag into it. Then, using cigarettes Jack saved for trade, stick the cigarette to the side of the jar with a piece of chewed gum, with one end underneath the edge of the rag. Jack removed the filter from the end of the cigarette and put a wooden match into the cigarette with the match head just sticking out.

When it was in place, he would use a Bic to light the other end. The cigarette would slowly burn to the other end with the match head. The match head would ignite and light the rag. The mason jar of oil and transmission fluid would explode setting the vehicle on fire. The inside tires of the vehicles were still dry, and they might also catch fire. And if the fuel tanks exploded, the vehicles would definitely be destroyed. Carlos and Jack synchronized their watches to light their cigarettes at the same time.

There were a whole lot of things that had to go just right. I think that was the real reason why I was so nervous.

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There was a flash of light from one end of the DRASH tent, but it was not lightning. Through the one floodlight, I could see a shadow moving. Someone had left the tent and was walking toward us. The brightness of the floodlight behind whoever it was kept their face in the shadow. They walked up to the back of the APC, stepped around, and disappeared into the APC’s shadow. A moment later, lightning lit up the base again like a strobe light.

The person was standing with their back to us, in what I could only call a world-famous position.

He was peeing.

In the brief light of the lighting, I could see he was wearing a woodland-like camouflage rain poncho with something bulky under it on his back. Then he disappeared back into the shadows as the lightning passed. This time I did not count the flash to report. The solider was only about a dozen feet from where I was crouched behind a tree. I was holding my breath.

He suddenly reappeared as he rounded the back of the APC and went back into the floodlight.

The strobe lighting effect illuminated the base, particularly the area in between the two near communications vehicles.

And Carlos is in mid-crouching run. He disappeared into the darkness as the lightning passed.

The soldier stopped and stood still as if questioning what he just saw. He pulled off the poncho and fumbled with the thing across his back. In the silhouette, it looked like a rifle of some kind.

I did not think. I just did.

The sound of the rolling thunder covered the sounds of my run on the wet road. He just got the rifle in front of him and took a step when I gave him a jab with the butt end of my rifle stock to the back of his head. He went down in a heap, dropping the rifle.

Two others who saw me run out of the treeline and drop the solider ran up behind me and without a word, they grabbed each arm and dragged the solider back into the dark side of the APC where he relived himself. I took the odd-looking rifle off the ground, tossed it under the APC, and ran back into the treeline just as the report of the thunder passed.

We waited to see if anyone came out of the tent to investigate. No one did.

Seconds passed agonizingly slowly when a figure stepped out of the communications vehicle’s shadow and into the floodlight. I could not help but jump. The figure was running right for us. I was hoping it was Carlos, but I shouldered my rifle anyway. Through the pouring rain, I could barely hear him say,

“It’s me! Carlos!” as he ran into the treeline.

One of the others lit a small red flashlight on the ground, just enough for those of us next to Carlos to see.

“Is Jack back?” Carlos asked.

“No. We have not seen him since the two of you went in.”

“He took the far side communications vehicles. He may have gone to the other treeline with the guys over there.”

“Did you see the soldier?” I asked him.

“Soldier?”

I quickly explained the soldier relieving himself, the lighting, what I saw, and what we did.

“Whoa. No. Did not see that. Was busy trying to be invisible and setting our little bombs. Thanks,” Carlos said to me and the others around us.

“Are they set?”

“Yep.” He glanced down at his watch, pressing the button to illuminate the face. “I started the stopwatch when I lit the first cigarette. Jack says the burn rate should be about five minutes. He trimmed the second cigarette so they should ignite about the same time, give or take a minute.”

“Where did he learn this cigarette trick?”

“He said he has a book about World War II operatives and the spies and saboteurs of the OSS, which would later become the CIA. In it, they used a cigarette and book of matches to set fire to a box car in a train shipment carrying supplies for the Nazis. It was some fifteen miles down the track when the box car caught fire, and the artillery rounds exploded, derailing the train.”

“The Nazis did not take the cigarettes and matches?”

“Back then, cigarettes were the norm, practically a wartime human right. The Red Cross even included them in care packages for American POWs. Nazis never thought something so simple could work as a fuse to firebomb their own train.”

Carlos looked at his watch again.

“Any time now.”

We all looked between the trees at the base as the rain continued. The storm was right on top of us as the lightning increased. The time between the flash and report was only two or three seconds. I almost needed earplugs – the thunder was that loud now.

We could not hear it over the rain and thunder but we saw it. A bright yellow-and-orange flash illuminated the underside of the communications vehicle, engulfing it in flames. A few seconds later, the same thing happened under the other vehicle. It was hard to tell, but I thought I heard shouts of alarm.

Then there was an explosion on the other side of the DRASH tent. This time we could hear it over the rain and lightning. One of the communications vehicles’ fuel tanks must have exploded.

“Okay, lets go!” Carlos ordered.

Entry two

The next day, the storm had passed by morning. Jack and Carlos did another daylight RECON mission. They were not gone long.

“They are gone. They left behind the burnt-out communications vehicles and what was left of the DRASH tent. All four gas tanks exploded. One was on its side. I think that one had a full tank when it went off. They took everything else with them. Jessica, could you hump it up to HAM Guy to pass the word to City HAM Guy?”

I looked up at the top of the hill where HAM Guy was set up and sighed,

“On it.”

We had not seen HAM Guy yet that morning, so I traded some hard candy for a loaf of lard and goat cheese bread to bring to him for a late breakfast.

The hump up the hill was not bad. The storm brought much cooler, more comfortable weather.

I topped the hill to find HAM Guy sitting in a camp chair at the folding table behind the radio equipment with headphones on. He looked up and took off the headphones.

“Was the mission successful?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Jack and Carlos just got back from a RECON. All four communications vehicles were destroyed, and the command tent was wrecked. The APCs, drones, drone carrier, and support vehicles are gone. Guess they went back to where the aerostat is. No one hurt.”

“Good. I figured as much. Been scanning once the storm moved off. Have not heard a thing.”

I pulled the lard and goat cheese bread out of my pack, wrapped in an old but clean dish towel, and handed it to him.

“Thought you might like late breakfast or early lunch.”

“Oh, Jessica, you are such a thoughtful young lady.” He tore a chunk off. “Still warm, yum!”

“Jack asked if you could pass the word to City HAM Guy.”

He nodded, swallowed the bread, and said, If I know City HAM Guy, he will be up and listening around noon. I have been thinking of ways to return a message to him, like he did me, assuming the aerostat has communications gear. Speaking of . . .”

HAM Guy put the bread down on the table, stood up and looked through a pair of binoculars toward the West.

“Yep. It’s back.”

“The aerostat?”

“Yes. It wasn’t there this morning. They must have pulled it down before the storm came in. I did the same with my antennas and gear. Did not want to get fried by a lightning strike up here.”

“Now that the drones are gone, are you planning on taking all your gear down and heading back home? Rae and I would like to go home for clean clothes and sleep in our own beds.” I asked hopefully.

“I-” HAM Guy stopped and looked down at the headphones. The static was gone and something was coming through. He quickly put the headphones on and listened.

“Morse code,” he said intently. “Eight dead . . . three wounded . . . drone command and control center . . . destroyed . . . bridge not secured . . . request reserves . . . over.”

About 1stMarineJarHead

1^stMarineJarHead is not only a former Marine but also a former EMT-B, Wilderness EMT (courtesy of NOLS), and volunteer firefighter.

He currently resides in the great white (i.e. snowy) Northeast with his wife and dogs. He raises chickens, rabbits, goats, occasionally hogs, cows and sometimes ducks. He grows various veggies and has a weird fondness for rutabagas. He enjoys reading, writing, cooking from scratch, making charcuterie, target shooting, and is currently expanding his woodworking skills.