Vieques

Chapter 1 In a rickety old guard shack outside what used to be the Vieques bombing area, a lone Puerto Rican man sat sipping his hot cup of strong coff ee that he carefully prepared for himself before starting his watch. He was listening to a familiar Puerto Rican beat playing over a radio, which he had craftily secured to the counter with a wire hanger. He was drifting into a familiar daze, and was prepared to sit for hours without anything to do. His name was Hector and he had been a guard working for the Navy as a civilian contractor for the last fi ve years. Hector leaned over and grabbed a clip board with the day’s activity and remembered that two Navy F-14’s were scheduled for a live missile target run any time. He was relieved that the President of the United States cancelled his visit to this bombing range two days ago. Th e VIP seating to witness the live F-14 missile run would have been in Hector’s area, and he was happy to get rid of the annoying Secret Service agents that had been poking around everywhere. Hector always hated when big wigs came to visit because of the disruption and extra work that was involved. From past experience he knew that it might get awfully loud, so he reached down for his hearing protection. On his way back up, he saw what appeared to be the sun refl ecting off a shiny projectile heading his way. He quickly dismissed it, thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him due to the sun’s glare. He reached for his mug of coff ee and took another sip. As his eyes came back up he realized that the object he saw was no mirage and was in fact heading his way. Before he could even think to react, the missile hit his guard shack with a force greater than a freight train and then detonated, creating a fi reball that rose one hundred feet into the air. Hector was killed instantly. In the distance, an F-14 pilot nervously called in a missed fi ring. “Air Hawk to base ops, the missile missed the target” the F-14 pilot announced over the radio to an operator at the Naval Station Roosevelt Roads Puerto Rico situated on the east side of the main island. “Air Hawk repeat, did you say the missile missed the target?” questioned the operator. “I repeat, the missile missed and landed grossly off target” announced Reaper. Reaper was the pilot’s call sign, given to him by others because he was like the Grim Reaper, taking his enemies to the beyond. “Do you have the coordinates of where it hit?” barked the operator. “I believe it hit toward the perimeter,” responded Reaper. Th e Commander on watch came over and grabbed the radio from the operator and bellowed out “base ops to Air Hawk, you and your accompaniment return to base immediately!” Reaper knew he was in for a long night of debriefi ng and hoped that his rogue missile did not hurt anyone on the ground. Reaper, whose real name was Jim Warden, was a family man and even though he did his job without fl inching, he would never want an innocent bystander hurt or killed. He could only hope for the best as he returned to base to face the inquisition.