The Saga Continues Ch. 04

Part 21 - Doing The Dirty

Though she was getting into her upper thirties, Kelly Carnes was still a very attractive blonde woman, with a shapely body toned by exercise. She also could feel her biological clock ticking, and she desperately wanted a baby. Her husband, a dentist with the biggest practice in Town and a lot of money in the bank, was shooting blanks.

Kelly thought of this as she lay naked on one of the guest room beds in Thomas P. Cook's large home, once owned by the late Henry R. Wargrave. She was watching the 18-year-old boy strip naked. He was 6'2" tall, lean, muscular, and he was the County High School varsity football starting quarterback. He'd shown extreme confidence and bravado as he and Kelly had flirted on a number of occasions of meeting at the mall, and when he'd asked her out on a date, she suggested he come with her to this location.

For himself, Thomas P. Cook was in his own bedroom. He had his pretty Latina maid Dolores lying on the bed, and he was fingering her pussy as he deeply kissed her mouth, exploring her throat with his tongue. The girl was moaning as Cook manipulated her pussy with his fingers, scraping the upper wall of her vagina to stimulate her G-spot.

Kelly Carnes had no qualms about cheating on her husband with an eighteen year old stud, especially a young man with an ass like this young man, who was called Jake. As he turned around to face her, she took in the sight of his cock. It was large, long and thick, at least eight inches of raw male power, ready to fuck her. Hanging low underneath were his big balls, full of potent, virile sperm, ready and eager to fertilize Kelly's waiting egg.

The boy climbed onto the bed with Kelly. She had taken his virginity some months before, and had taught him the sexual techniques she liked for her young lovers to use. Jake had been a quick study, and was soon expert in eating pussy and fucking a woman's brains out. Parents of Jake's female classmates were not happy about that, as Jake had been dipping his meat into their fresh young pussies, as well.

"Ohhhhh!" Kelly gasped as her young stud eased between her spread legs, pushed them up and further back, and slid his tongue over her swollen labes. As his tongue slid deeper and deeper with each long lick, flames of pleasure spread over the hot blonde's loins and up her back...

Meanwhile, Thomas P. Cook was watching the beautiful Latina woman give him head, her full lips sliding up and down his taut cockshaft. He relaxed as he enjoyed the wetness and the warmth of the woman's mouth, and he let himself dream of what Kelly and that teen stud were doing.

And what they were doing was deeply kissing as the boy slid his fat cockhead up and down Kelly's swollen labes, teasing her as he undulated his ass. Unable to take much more, Kelly reached down between them and guided his teen cockhead into her slit

"Ohhhhhhh..." she moaned as she was penetrated, feeling the boy's big, thick cock drive into her, spreading her vaginal walls apart as he sank in with relentless power.

"Oh yeah, baby..." the boy grunted as he got nuts-deep into the hot blonde. "Gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna fuck your brains out, then come in you and knock you up!"

"Oh yeah, do it... knock me up! Put a bun in my oven!" Kelly said, enjoying using the filthy words as she pushed her hips up to meet every powerful downward thrust of her young lover's hard ass. He began driving into her with vicious, short thrusts, stabbing his meat into her again and again and again, feeling her respond, then feeling her body begin working up to an intense orgasm around his invading prick.

He did not last long, as Kelly's clenching cunt was too much for him. He pushed deep into her, and his big cock fired streams of cum into Kelly's burning pussy. Kelly did not mind that; it got the edge off the boy, and after she fellated him to throbbing hardness again, he'd last a lot longer the second time... and the third...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A couple of hours later, Thomas P. Cook and Kelly Carnes were sitting in the office in the side house, the office that was once Henry R. Wargrave's seat of considerable power. Kelly was still full of Jake's teen sperm. The wetness felt good to her, and she hoped that it would result in a baby.

"So," Kelly said as she sipped her wine, "old Mr. Davis died. Does he have any property that you can go after?"

"No." said Cook. "He lived in one of Edward Steele's apartments. Didn't have a lot. Plus, the executor of his will was none other than Commander Donald Troy, who probated the will yesterday."

"Damn." said Carnes. "With the Iron Crowbar involved, not much you can do."

"True." said Cook. "But there's not much to do, anyway."

"I heard you were working on something with John Hardwood." said Kelly. "What's that about?"

"You must've been mistaken in what you heard." said Cook, almost angrily. "And whatever you did hear, it might be a very good idea if you don't remember it. I'm not working on anything with John Hardwood. Nothing at all."

"If you say so." said Kelly. She didn't realize how close to death she was... Cook's plans with Hardwood were of the highest secrecy. The slightest leak of them would be fatal to their plans... plans that they wanted to be fatal to the Iron Crowbar.

"Why don't you head on home before you drink too much wine and can't drive." said Cook. It was not a request nor a suggestion. Kelly got the hint, wondering what the big deal was with Hardwood and whatever they were scheming, and wondering why Cook had gotten so bitchy when she brought it up.

Part 22 - Family and Funerals

On Friday, November 10th, I took Jim out to the field just southwest of BOW Enterprises to see an awesome display. Todd and Teresa, many BOW Enterprises employees, and a good number of other Townspeople were also on hand, behind the area cordoned off by the TCPD. Chief Moynahan was there, also.

When I'd called the Army about funeral arrangements for Mr. Davis, they's asked if there were any fields where the 82d Airborne's Chorus and Funeral Team could jump into, as they needed to jump every three months to maintain jump status, and a few of them needed to do so. I'd said there were plenty of farm fields as well as large tracts of empty land owned by BOW Enterprises and other companies. They'd contacted BOW Enterprises, whose CEO said the company would help in any way it could.

The day before, the leader of the group, an Army Captain, had come to Police Headquarters, where the Chief and I talked to him about coordination with Police for the jump. As I was taking him down the hall to the exit, he'd asked, perhaps jokingly, if I wanted to jump with them. Now any Paratrooper would say 'Hell, yes!' to that, and I was about to. And then my bubble was burst, and my hopes dashed.

"There is no way in hell you are jumping out of an airplane, Commander!" came Cindy Ross's voice. She was right behind us. "Captain," she said to the Army Captain, "this man had surgery for a broken back just half a year ago. I will personally put him in one of these jail cells if he tries to jump out of bed too fast, much less out of one of your airplanes."

"Sorry to hear about your back, sir." said the Army Captain. "But she's right."

"Well, I wasn't going to let a little thing like that stop me from jumping." I said forlornly. The Army Captain chuckled, knowing exactly how I felt. I glared back at Cindy. She glared right back at me.

Now in present time, I was just wistfully watching. And I saw the planes coming out of the southern sky.

"Look, Jim!" I said, seeing the C-130s. "There's the planes they're going to jump out of!" Jim watched with great interest.

As the C-130s came up, small dark objects, those being human beings, dropped out the side doors, seemingly attached by thick strings or ropes. Then the top of the ropes suddenly burst out into billowing parachutes filling with air. One after another, the Paratroopers jumped out, then began descending to the earth at 22 feet per second.

"Wow!" said Jim as he watched. The first Paratroopers landed on the ground, executing dynamic parachute landing falls (PLFs). The parachutes above them seemed to collapse as the air came out from under them. They collected their parachutes, stuffed them into bags, and ran to the collection point, which was not far from us. This was done by all the Paratroopers as they reached the ground.

Of course I went over with Jim and talked with the Paratroopers for a moment, then my Officers escorted them out and to their hotel.

"Did you like that, Jim?" Teresa asked as we talked to her and Todd.

"Yeah!" said Jim. "That was neat!"

I wondered if my son would remember meeting Mr. Davis or watching the Paratroopers jump; after all, Jim was three years old. But he would. He would describe Mr. Davis in his old uniform, and the arrangement of the chairs in the hospital room, and he would describe seeing the C-130s and the jump from them, his first but not his last experience with Airborne jumps.

He would tell me all this on a day in the far-flung future... on the soil of the Alabama side of Ft. Benning, where an extremely proud father would pin a Parachutist Badge onto the uniform of his son, West Point Cadet James David Troy...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, November 11th. It was appropriate, I thought, that Mr. Davis's funeral was on Veterans Day. The day before had been sunny for the parachute jump, but clouds came in overnight. It wasn't raining nor threatening to, but it seemed to be just the mood for this sad occasion.

The funeral was going to be at the Fairgrounds, not on the abutment that Mrs. Veasley's funeral pyre had laid in rest upon, but in front of it, on the grass. Chaplain Calvin, our Protestant Chaplain, was going to preside along with the Airborne Chaplain from the military unit.

Airborne Chaplains are awesome; I've never met one that I didn't like. I remembered the one at Ft. Benning when I went through Airborne School. He'd said "Jesus ascended into the clouds, and said He'd return the same way. What does that mean? Airborne all the way!" No, my father would not have been amused, but I loved it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Deputy Strait was there, as was Sheriff Sorrells from Coltrane County. Captain Cindy Ross came up to him, and said "Deputy Strait, there's some people I'd like you to meet." He went with her to a group of people. As he approached them, Deputy Strait realized that they all looked like him!

"Deputy Strait," said a middle-aged woman, the matriarch of the group, introducing herself, then saying "my father and your grandfather were brothers. My father served in the War with Mr. Davis."

"Well, I declare!" gasped Strait. "How in the world did you hear about that? And find me?"

"Well," said a man about Strait's age, nephew of the middle-aged woman and father to a couple of the children, his own last name being 'Strait', "we got a call from your Police Commander Troy, telling us about Mr. Davis, and about you. His wife arranged our flights and booking accommodations..."

Strait looked at Cindy, who just smiled. "That's my Commander Troy." she said quietly. She left Deputy Strait to get to know the family he'd never met...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a somber but impressive funeral. The flag-draped casket was brought to the catafalque by the pallbearers from the 82d Airborne Division. Laura and I were in the front row seats with several of the old people from the Veasley Community Center; they'd asked us to be part of Mr. Davis's family, as he had no living relatives left. Deputy Strait was also invited to sit with us.

At the end, a seven-gun-salute would be fired, the sounds echoing over the River, the bugler would play 'Taps', the American Flag would be crisply folded and then presented to... me. It would become part of a display behind a glass wall in City Hall, along with Mr. Davis's medals and pictures of him with his unit.

But just before that, the 82d Airborne Division Chorus sang Mr. Davis's favorite song for us, the most hauntingly beautiful rendition of it that I had ever heard or would ever hear:

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored

He had loosed the fateful lightening of His terrible swift sword

His Truth is marching on.

-

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

His Truth is marching on.

-

I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps

I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps

His day is marching on.

-

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

His Truth is marching on.

-

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me

As He died to make men holy let us die to make men free

While God is marching on.

-

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

Glory, glory, hallelujah

His Truth is marching on.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued.