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The Flying Saucer and the Round Table

by Enos Green

138 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0189; ISBN 1-55395-826-8; US$18.50, C$23.00, EUR15.00, £10.40

A dramatic tale of how the ambition and greed of a select few people can have powerful and long-lasting negative results while goodness can also prevail in spite of temptations and pressures to go against one's convictions.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book The original book was going to be a documentary on the negative influence of the Military Industrial Complex on American society where 50% of the nation's wealth for the past 53 odd years has been going to less then 7% of the population. All the other necessary factors of a viable infrastructure depleted over this period: public education, health care, housing, mass transit, environmental degradation etc. However, I was strongly advised against this endeavor and instead chose to fictionalize the story. I want to illustrate the impact on society of the above endeavors on the people involved and the varied reactions of these people. This is the thrust of the book. The proof of this "pudding" is seen in the following reaction of a reviewer. Reviews "Dear Enos; Thank you for your skepticism of Government and your faith in Mankind." William Conlin "...a dramatic tale of how the ambition and greed of a select few people can have powerful and long-lasting negative results while goodness can also prevail in spite of temptations and pressures to go against one's convictions. Kathleen Sutherland, Master's Degree in English/Creative Writing

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About the Author Enos Green is a born, bred, and battered native New Yorker who loved, enjoyed, and relished living in the city for most of his life. He's been true to NYC with temporary interruptions during WW2. He was a Sonarman in the U.S. Navy in the North Atlantic serving in convoys, hunter killer groups, anti-submarine warfare, and some additional world travels of his own volition. Enos has been a member of the Center for Defense Information, comprised of retired military men from all branches of service that oppose "overkill" and unnecessary weapons systems that are to the detriment of the infrastructure of American society. Enos is also a volunteer member of the Vanderbilt YMCA where he was a Swimming instructor, and gave exercise classes to people with back problems.

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Sample Excerpts

Chapter 5 of 19 chapters

The Divorce

To Tom Enright the atmosphere in the car seemed extremely highly charged. After ten years of married life with Helen he knew her moods well. Tonight, she was seething. He had enjoyed the evening. The food was excellent. The wife and staff of Admiral Benier worked very well together and the Admiral's parties were always first rate. Tom would have been content to keep the good mood he was in but he realized full well that whatever was bugging Helen would explode momentarily but hopefully not while he was driving, if he could help it.

"A pretty good evening wasn't it?" he asked exploringly.

"For you maybe," she muttered.

"Well, you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

She glared at Tom, threw her head back and blurted, "The whole parade is passing you by and you don't even know it. How can you be so blind?"

"Why? What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

"Bob Johnson was in your graduating class at the Academy, wasn't he?"

"Yes," he replied.

"You were in the top ten percent of the class and Johnson was in the bottom twenty-five percent, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me, oh great stone face, how come he is now Commander Johnson and you still have your two and a half stripes, Lt. Commander? You head the systems group, he reports to you, and he gets the promotion while you plod along with your feet in the mud."

Again the toss of the head, the raised hands and the flushed face, as much from her fourth martini as the pentup anger now coming to the fore.

Tom sighed. Thank God their house was half a block away. He stopped the car, pressed the automatic door button and drove the car slowly into it's spot. As they entered the vestibule and started to remove their coats Helen brushed his helping hands aside, stormed into the living room, threw her mink coat on the couch, spun around, a clenched fist digging into her side, glaring at Tom. "Answer me," she screamed. "I was mortified. There was Mrs. Johnson, a frump, a nothing, smiling benignly at my friends, implying God knows what about you, and I can only stand there dumbfounded. How could you let this happen?" She turned and walked wobbly toward the bar.

Tom knew it would not help if he asked her to pass on the drink and, feeling a need himself, asked Helen to pour him a scotch.

"Pour your own," she muttered spilling some of her martini as she stirred it.

Tom poured himself a healthy double on the rocks, took a good swig and seated himself on a stool.

"Say something, say anything, just don't sit there like a suffering martyr," she said. The drink seemed to have taken the edge off her anger momentarily.

"Benier put my name and his recommendation through for my promotion and it was returned, refused. He went before the Board and appealed but two of the reviewing officers refused to grant the appeal."

"Why did they turn you down?" she asked still somewhat pacified by the fresh drink.

"There are men up the line that don't want to hear the truth. They want the study to justify the building program and that's it. We don't need the Trident program. We can modify some of the existing Poseidon subs with the Trident missile capability at a small fraction of the cost of the Trident program. We don't need any more overkill!" A slow anger was building in Tom but Helen, in her own angry mood, could not see it coming.

"Everybody is playing the game," she said. "Why do you have to be the odd ball? What's more important, your rank and our financial security or your blessed integrity, whatever the hell that is? What's so bad about telling them what they all want to hear?"

"I can't do that," he said in a hoarse whisper. "The money for this overkill is public money. We are cutting lunch programs for needy kids in our schools. The one third of our country ill housed, ill fed, and ill-clothed that we had in the thirties is still with us and growing. Our educational system is decades behind the Russians. We are taking the money that could correct these decaying conditions to line the pockets of a new aristocracy, a bloated, viscous American aristocracy. If there was a need to do this for our country's defense, I would do it, but it's not! These overkill weapons programs are criminal." Tom's clenched fist pounded on the surface of the bar. Glass tinkled and Helen's martini spilled over.

The vehemence and rising anger in Tom startled Helen but his meaning missed her. She saw promotions, wealth, executive positions in the defense industries, passing them by. She shrugged, and her hand struck her glass, sending the drink flying and breaking the glass on the floor. Tom reached to steady her as she stood up but she pushed his hands aside.

"Don't bother over me," she said. She went drunkenly up the stairs to the bedroom.

Tom removed his tie, started unbuttoning his shirt and walked into the den, now serving often as his bedroom.

The next morning, Helen had made up her mind. She had not told Tom about her pregnancy. She was not really certain whether she wanted the baby or not under the present conditions of their marriage. After the events of the past week and last night, she was now sure what her future plans were and they were not going to be with a loser.

Tom once had all the characteristics of a winner. He was physical, a defensive line backer on the Academy football team, and a member of the Greco Roman wrestling team. A fierce contender on the field or mat, yet he was so gentle with her. He made her feel so secure and so well loved. She never felt threatened or was caused any physical discomfort or pain in his physical bantering or love making. His team and classmates held him in very high regard. He had been in the top ten percent of his graduating class. Promotions had come rapidly. He served with distinction in all his assignments, whether at sea, school, or Pentagon desk. Why did they ever have to put him in that damned Trident study group? She had been happy and content with his progress up until then. Here were all the corporate heads that were to build the Trident, all of Enright's superior Officers, except for that asshole Admiral Benier, all talking and acting as if the Trident program were already in effect. And here was her husband, the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke, holding back the impending flood.

No need for the Trident. Modify the Poseidon for the larger missile. Improve speed and performance capabilities and the same objectives could be met at a small fraction of the cost of the Trident program. God, what a fool! He will be crushed like a calf in a stampede. His career in the Navy is finished.

These were some of the thoughts that went through Helen's mind as she lay on her gynecologist's table. Her mind drifting in and out of consciousness. They had both wanted a baby, but she would be damned if she would have his child now. He had put himself into a blind alley with his stubborn intransigence. Passed over twice for promotion. His Naval career certainly at an end and nowhere to go in the Industries serving the Navy. How could she have been so easily fooled by him?"

"All done now," The smiling face of her doctor looked down on her. "Just rest for a little while longer and Nurse Fagan will see you to your car and drive you home."

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Catalogue Information

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