Paul McKellips - Jericho 3

“WAR DAMN EAGLE, WAR DAMN EAGLE,” chants erupted as the camera panned up from the broken fuselage of the P-51 Mustang to the smiling face of Bo Jackson who waved to the fans on the field. Neo returned to his perch, and 87,451 fans cheered the incredible show they thought was fully scripted.

Kazi and Camp watched the death grip talons of a 6-year-old Golden Eagle pluck the WARBIRD out of the air and smash it to the turf. Kazi dropped his remote control, flipped the goggles over his head and sprinted for his rental car in the parking lot.

Camp saw the executive navy blue suit and yellow power tie running like frightened prey. Camp’s legs started running before his mind gave him permission to chase.

Camp chased Kazi in and out of rows of parked cars. Kazi reached into his pocket, pulled out the rental car key fob and pushed “unlock” from 20 feet away. Headlights blinked as Kazi pulled the door open.

Camp went airborne over the trunk of an adjacent Mazda. His hands slammed Kazi’s head into the doorjamb of the front door as his body pinned Kazi’s against the Ford Taurus rental. Camp pulled Kazi out of the car and down to the cement in the parking lot of Jordan-Hare Stadium and started to beat his face with relentless punches. Kazi had no upper body strength and couldn’t fight back.

“You piece of shit, you’re a disgrace to Islam… you’re not half the man of Omid.”

Alabama State Troopers caught up and pulled Camp off of Kazi whose face was bloody, battered and swollen. Camp kept swinging as the Troopers restrained him and cuffed Kazi.

“Who are you?” Kazi demanded as blood trickled from his nose and the corner of his lip.

“A friend of Omid.”

“I do not know an Omid,” Kazi said as the Troopers started to move him.

“Colonel Farid Amir… Iranian Revolutionary Guard,” Camp yelled.

“Farid?”

“He was a great man, Kazi… and you are a piece of shit!”

The Alabama State Troopers started to hand Kazi over to the FBI agents who arrived at the scene.

“Do NOT read him Miranda rights… he has no rights! He’s an enemy combatant,” Camp screamed.

None of them saw Auburn beat New Mexico State University in the Homecoming game.

Washington Dulles International Airport

Virginia

Camp made the 750-mile drive along Interstate 85 and 95 up from Auburn, through Atlanta, Charlotte, Durham and Richmond and along the 495 to the Dulles toll road exit. He arrived at international baggage claim just minutes after Leslie Raines cleared customs.

A long embrace and several tender kisses later, Raines and Camp were in the Defender 90 heading to Camp’s townhouse in Old Town Alexandria. Raines took note when Camp decided not to go north on 495 toward her apartment in Frederick, Maryland.

“Did the sailor forget that I live north in Maryland?”

Camp just smiled and kept driving up Interstate 66 toward Arlington and then cut over on the George Washington Parkway past Reagan National Airport.

Camp opened two bottles of wine as soon as they got inside his townhouse, a bottle of Pinot Gris for Raines and an old vine red zinfandel for himself. After the long international flight, Raines hopped in Camp’s shower and emerged with wet hair and wearing one of his large button-down white dress shirts and nothing else.

“You look tired, Camp.”

“I’m fine. Went to see a college football game, and I’m a bit exhausted, but thrilled — no energized — to see you, Les.”

Camp pulled her close on the couch and kissed her for what seemed like an eternity. The world seemed less crazy when he held Leslie Raines in his arms.

“Have you called your parents since you’ve been back?”

Camp sighed and confessed.

“No. Mom and Dad don’t know I’m back yet. I’ll call them tomorrow morning… when we wake up.”

Raines set her glass of wine down on the coffee table and excused herself.

“No need to change on my account. I think you’re looking pretty hot ‘as is’ colonel,” Camp yelled as Raines went back into Camp’s bedroom and rifled through her bag. She pulled out two candles left over from her long bath in Lyon, lit them and placed one on each night table. Then she returned to the couch and handed Camp a DVD.

“You need to watch this,” Raines said.

“Now? I’m sitting next to the half-dressed woman of my dreams, getting her loaded and delusional with wine, and now I have to watch a DVD?”

Raines kissed him again and caressed his face.

“Yes… now.”

Camp feigned protest for another minute or two, but he knew Raines would have her way. It was no point arguing with this woman. He flipped the TV over to AV-1 and the frozen image of his dad, Seabury Campbell, was fixed on the screen with the word PLAY beneath his image.

“My dad? Is he sitting in the milking barn?”

“Push PLAY, Camp.”

Camp’s iPhone started vibrating on the couch next to him. He picked it up and took a look. He had received a text message from Eileen at Lightner Farms in Gettysburg.

HEY THERE… ARE YOU STATESIDE?

“It’s Eileen,” he whispered to Raines, “…let me answer quickly.”

JUST GOT BACK ON FRIDAY… EXHAUSTED… WILL COME SEE YOU SOON. LOVE YOU!

“Push PLAY, sailor, or I’m going to clobber you over the head,” Raines said. “No more interruptions.”

Camp pushed the button and grabbed his wine glass. The DVD began.

“Hello son… this is your daddy… Seabury Campbell, Senior… that makes you Junior… well, I’m not sure how to start this so, here goes… I’ve got some bad news… the doctors say I have Alzheimer’s… your mom thinks they’re probably right, so does Leslie… by the way, son, between us two men… you’re a fool if you let that one get away… mom’s already been telling the doctors that Leslie’s her daughter-in-law so, don’t make her a liar, okay? I’m an old man, Junior… the good news is that this disease hit me late… the bad news… they say it’ll take me faster… Leslie wanted me to make this damned video so I said yes… God only knows when you’ll get back from Vietnam to see this.”

Camp’s face fell blank as Raines grabbed his hand.

“I’m a proud old Scotsman, Junior… I don’t like to share my emotions with anyone, not even your mother… but Alzheimer’s gives you a gift that a sudden heart attack can’t give… it gives you a few more moments where you can think straight and say all the things you want said.”

Raines reached over and leaned her head on Camp's shoulder. She had seen the DVD a hundred times before.

“I am so proud of you, Junior… I love you with all my heart… I know, I was tough on you, pushing you, and pushing you… Son, I was trying to push you to greatness and you got there… I love you, boy… I love your sisters, and they have fine husbands and have given me wonderful grandchildren… but oh, sweet Mother of God how I love my boy… I’ve never told you this son, and hopefully you won’t see this until I’m dead, gone and fertilizing the beans, but… you’re my hero. Every night that you were working those 20-hour shifts, trying to save the lives of young soldiers, I stayed awake with you, too, every minute of the day. Ruth called your XO, that Colonel Ferguson, every other damn day. We knew your hours, we knew what you were doing… I was so proud of you. Do you remember those nights when you thought you couldn’t move another inch, when the rockets and mortars came flying in, the IEDs kept blowing your buddies up? That’s when I prayed for you the most, boy. That’s when God gave you the strength to work another shift, another day, do another surgery. That strength from God was His answer to my prayers. You are my hero, son… I have never met a man with more courage or more strength. I am not worthy to be called your daddy…”