In last week’s episode, David joined the team. In this week’s episode, David meets his boss, and begins learning his new duties…
The mission brief wrapped up after about forty-five minutes, and all the participants hurried off to attend to their duties. David was left standing alone, jump bag slung over one shoulder, when the man with the unruly gray hair approached him, hand extended in greeting.
“Mr. Wilson?”
“Yes,” replied David, accepting the man’s handshake.
“I’m Josef Ranell, the quartermaster for the St. Paul, and you’re going to be working for me now.”
Recognition dawned on David. This was the same man the Rabban had video conferenced regarding his position as steward. “It’s nice to meet you in person, sir.”
“Follow me. I’ll get you settled in.”
The two walked outside to where a light cargo truck was waiting with the engine running. As they approached, the driver hopped out and handed a clipboard to Ranell, who then turned to David and said, “Watch carefully what I do now. This is going to be one of your duties.”
They all climbed up the bumper and into the back of the cargo truck. The driver held a flashlight while Ranell compared the truck’s contents to the cargo manifest. The contents were primarily foodstuffs, including flour, sugar, eggs, milk, and a wide assortment of meats, fresh fruits, and vegetables. In addition to these was a large supply of paper goods. Ranell held up a package and showed it to David. “You’ve got to make sure that the toilet paper is the fast-dissolving kind. It’s not really a problem here in America, but once you get in country, the wrong kind of toilet paper will clog up the sanitation system… and then you’ll have to clean that out.”
David gravely nodded his understanding in the back of the dimly lit truck and wondered for the millionth time just what kind of job he had gotten himself into this time.
After the inspection was complete, David, Ranell, and the driver crowded onto the truck’s bench seat, and they drove to the gravel pad where the St. Paul was moored to the ground by her ACLS. They made their way down an access road, passing from cockpit to tail until they reached the turn-off from the graveled path that brought them to her open cargo ramp. Bright lights shone on the airship’s ivory skin, making her seem to glow in the darkness, and David was again awed by the sheer size of the massive aircraft.
The driver pulled the truck around until its rear bumper was pointed toward the cargo bay. He rolled down his window so he could hear instructions shouted to him from a crewman dressed in a dark flight suit with white reflector strips glowing somewhat reddishly from the reflection of the truck’s taillights. The crewman waved illuminated paddles to guide the truck back to where a lightweight aluminum roller-conveyor was being lowered into place.
Once in position, all three men got out of the front seat and again climbed into the back with the cargo truck. Ranell exchanged a few words with the man in the flight suit and then turned his attention back to David and the driver. “Frozen goods first. We’ve got to get the freezers filled before the other items block the access to the doors.” With that, David and the driver began lifting items off of pallets and sliding them along the roller-belt to the team waiting inside.
It took a little less than an hour for the team to load the truck’s contents onto the St. Paul. When the work was complete, both the crew members working inside the aircraft climbed down the ramp and stood, chatting pleasantly with Ranell. When David approached, the bigger of the two men, a burly figure with an enormous bushy mustache, introduced himself with a slow drawl. “You must be the new guy. Howdy, I’m Ricky Thibido, but everyone just calls me Scooter.” He extended his hand.
David’s first impression was that the man’s deeply lined eyes radiated calmness and compassion, as if they had witnessed too much suffering. David shook his hand. “David Wilson.”
“Welcome to the crew of the St. Paul,” Thibido continued with a distinctive drawl. “This here’s my apprentice, Fernando.”
A young, handsome man stepped forward, and with a quick grin, he said, “Fernando Bernal,” and shook David’s hand as well.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Mucho gusto.”
“Apprentice?” David asked no one in particular. He was just surprised by the term.
“Yah.” Thibido turned his head to look at Bernal and then back to David. It seemed he was in no rush to explain. “‘Round here, you don’t go nowhere by y’sef. They got all us Response Team members broke down into teams of two. They built it into every aspect of our operations. They even call us ‘duets’ to drive the point home. We s’posed to be like musicians reading each other’s minds, and actin’ in unison and all that. They always pair some ‘ole boy like me with a new guy like Fernando to teach him the ropes. That’s why he’s my apprentice.”
Fernando just laughed at the older man’s comment. “Somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble, señor.” His words came tumbling out so rapidly that they ran together.
“Well,” Thibido continued as if he had not been interrupted, “we’ll catch up with you boys in Africa. We got us a plane to catch.”
As the two Response Team members began to climb into the truck that brought David and Ranell out to the St. Paul, Thibido looked back over his shoulder and called out, “Hey Wilson, don’t let Doc there muddle your head up with all his graphs, and charts, and such.” He chortled as he pulled the truck door closed and hung his head and arm out the window. “If you do get him talkin’, you’d better pack a lunch because you’re gonna be there a while. That old boy surely loves the sound of his own voice!” He waved his hand as the truck drove away, and both David and Ranell waved back.
Ranell and David were left alone except for the muffled sounds of unseen workers deep inside the St. Paul’s cargo bay and the distant crunch of the ground crew walking on the gravel landing pad. The night took on an eerie sense of quiet and stillness that stood out in stark contrast to the hectic events of the day.
“Shall we go aboard?” Ranell asked politely.
David nodded his head, picked up his jump bag from off the ground, and followed.
They made their way underneath the St. Paul’s envelope, along the outside of the gondola, to a point just behind the cockpit, where the passenger staircase was lowered to the ground. Their feet made clanking sounds on the thin, all-weather aluminum treads, and David kept one hand on the handrail for balance.
David was surprised by how tiny the St. Paul’s interior seemed compared to the vast bulk of the ship overhead. The main cabin consisted of six swiveling chairs arranged around a central table. Behind four of the swiveling chairs were large computer display screens with a worktable tucked neatly into a retractable drawer below. The main cabin was separated by an open doorway which revealed a flight deck with two more swiveling chairs and additional monitors and control stations. David could see all the way to the cockpit, where the pilot and co-pilot seats were located. There was a chrome Mack truck bulldog mascot affixed to the cockpit dashboard. The open floor plan stood in stark contrast to the compartmentalization and locked doors of commercial jet aircraft.
David’s next impression was of the many large windows opening all around the main cabin and cockpit. A substantial premium was placed on visibility and the ability to see from all directions while on board. Ranell led David through a narrow doorway centered at the rear of the cabin and opened it into a long, narrow hallway. About halfway down, Ranell opened one of the side doors and motioned David into a compact, spare room with two three-drawer bureaus built into the white fiberglass wall. There was a small table against one side of the room with two small wall-mounted computer screens and a pair of narrow bunk beds with sheets and blankets tucked neatly into hospital corners over tiny pillows.
“You can use one of the bunks for storage for now since we’ll be flying with a minimal crew. But once we get the full team aboard, you’ll have to double up.”
“OK.” David almost said, “Hooah” out of long habit, but he remembered the Rattle’s warning and caught himself.
“Look,” Ranell continued, “you don’t have to change your clothes tonight, but tomorrow morning make sure you wear your flight suit. That’s the duty uniform aboard the St. Paul.”
“OK.” David nodded.
“Once you get settled in here, come aft and meet me in the galley. I have a few things to discuss with you. Do you drink tea?”
“Sure.”
It took David less than five minutes to stow his jump bag’s contents into the three drawers and a tiny closet that was tucked away cleverly in one corner. The tight sleeping quarters reminded him of some of the military barracks he’d stayed in. Just like home. He made his way out the door and further back down the hallway to where the galley door stood open. Ranell was behind a serving counter that somewhat resembled a bar. He opened the door of a microwave oven with two steaming cups inside. He offered one to David. It smelled pleasantly of lemon and honey.
“Let’s get down to brass tacks,” Ranell said, coming straight to the point in a communication style that David understood and appreciated. “I know why you were fired from the Tyropoeon Valley Center.”
David flushed. I wondered when this would come up. Still, the abruptness of the statement caught him off guard, and he began to stammer an excuse: “Sir, that night was a… it was...”
Ranell cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Stop right there.” His voice was firm but not angry. “I don’t care what happened in the past. Every member of my team has been a convict or criminal or hooligan at some point, including me. If it weren’t for roughnecks, I wouldn’t even have a team. You understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m not sure you do, Mr. Wilson. You’re not getting away with anything by coming aboard the St. Paul. You’ve got serious consequences to face, and you’re not getting out of that. All we’ve done is to delay your judgment until you get back to the United States, OK?”
“OK.”
“But listen, for now you work for me, and I’ve only got one question for you.”
“What’s that?” David looked down at the floor, feeling chastened.
Ranell’s tone softened. “Mr. Wilson, no one knows the Rabban better than I do, and how much of a whirlwind it can be to work with him. You went from being fired one minute to being a critical element for getting permission to launch this entire mission in the next minute. It’s a wonder your head’s not spinning off your shoulders.”
David didn’t know what to say. He felt relief that someone was talking to him for a change, instead of just at him. But it made him feel vulnerable too. Prior to this conversation, David had merely relied on his military training to obey whatever arbitrary orders were directed his way, but now it appeared that his own opinions and feeling were of some consequence, at least to Ranell. The realization left him a bit speechless, so he said nothing.
“I read your book too, at least parts of it.”
David flushed anew. The contents of that book were so personal that he felt an overwhelming need to dismiss it, to gain some sort of control or distance from this conversation. “That’s just something I wrote a couple of years ago… it’s not very good…”
“I didn’t say it was good.” Ranell grinned, blew some steam away from the rim of his cup, and took a sip. “It’s definitely my least favorite style of writing. But it is remarkable in a way, and I can see why the Rabban selected you for this job.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, Mr. Wilson.” Ranell’s tone took on a rather academic tenor. “Because almost nobody ever takes the time to write out their world view. Whether your story is good or not doesn’t matter. What is remarkable is that you attempted it at all. That’s why you were selected to serve aboard the St. Paul.”
Ranell allowed a pause to build in the conversation. He took his time setting the teacup down on the galley table. Then he looked David in the eye and said, “That brings us back to my question.”
“What is it?”
“I know why you’re here, Mr. Wilson. My question is, do you want to be here?”
“Come again?”
“Do you want to be here? Do you want to be flying halfway around the world to help flood victims in Tanzania? Do you even want to be a part of this crew?” Ranell asked again with emphasis.
There was a long silence. David hadn’t considered any of this before, but Ranell was right. From the time he was fired until this moment, David had just been reacting. He thought about his ex-wife, he thought of his friends and family back in Corvallis: Do they even know where I am? David thought about his plans to be an AGR instructor for the RTI and how the DUI ruined those plans. He didn’t really own anything, and he didn’t really have anything to lose. But he never considered any of this a choice. It was now clear to him that he didn’t have to do it at all. This wasn’t the military; he could quit right now and drive off in his old, rusted Toyota, and nobody could stop him.
“Yes, sir. I want to be here.” But there was no conviction in his words.
There was another pause in their conversation. Ranell frowned. “Well, I’ll accept that at face value.” Before David could respond, Ranell’s frown disappeared, replaced by the no-nonsense expression that David was rapidly becoming familiar with. “For this mission I’m giving you a clean slate, Mr. Wilson. I intend to treat you like a man, as long as you act like a man. You’ll step lively when I give you instructions, and you’ll pay attention when I try to teach you something. Do you think you can do that for me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Did he just say ‘step lively,’ David? Lieutenant Rodriguez mocked him most mercilessly when he was being reprimanded and forced to remain silent. Could he be any more patronizing?
“Good, because as far as you’re concerned, I make the rules aboard this ship, and if you can’t abide them, I’ll have you off her. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Is he serious? This old Christian fool is just overlooking your ‘sin’ of a DUI because he has his own deadline to meet. Hypocrite. I’ll bet if it wasn’t for his precious mission he would shun you as an unwashed thug.
“OK. Go get some rack time. We sail at dawn.”