Winter 2

Chapter Two    

"But Dad, there's something I wanted to tell you, though not over the air 'cause of the snoopers. It's really good news. Our whole constabulary has been offered jobs by the Displaced Persons Authority in Algiers to help supervise the British camp outside Tobruk.

"So that's where Di has gone!" exclaimed Gordon, smiling. "And that's where you're headed."

"DPA figured since our men had worked together they'd hire us as a team. One of our guys who has been keeping up with climate changes for years worked it out in advance as soon as he saw which way the chips would fall. They want us to come down and join their guys with whatever of our equipment we can bring. Everyone's on his own, but they sent us rail passes that include our bikes. All the heavy stuff is there already, and the women and small children. We're going to bivouac with the DPA at the army museum where they keep the relics of Rommel's and Monty's armies from WW II, which is still fenced. It's been in the hands of their National Guard for years. Now they've been telling our people the old barracks have been repaired and converted to family housing. They are almost ready for us now. We're going to live and work right out of them."

"D'you know what they're like?"

"Di showed them to me as if she was just panning the local scenery, then dipped her phone over the one we'll be in. It's three stories high, concrete block with small windows and well inside the fence." 

His father whistled. "You're landing on your feet again! And of course, Tobruk's on the railroad, if I remember. Across the railroad is a highway, then the sand dunes and the beach. How did you say you fell into that one?"

"One of our deputies who had actually been down there as a sort of premature task force heard about the riots in Marseilles and got hold of his contact again. DPA jumped at the idea of acquiring a whole department of trained personnel as a functioning unit with a command structure and years of field experience."

“And how about the town? Is there still a military base as well as a museum?" asked Gordon.

Dan was reassuring. "Yes. They're next to each other. You have to go through the base to get to the museum and there's only one way into the base. It's gated and guarded. The base perimeter fence is patrolled twenty-four seven. I think it's going to be headquarters and living quarters for the Guard as well as DPA law enforcement."  They both understood the need for security given the floods of refugees from the north and the mountains. Logistics were already nightmarish: totally insufficient housing, transport, food, water, and sewage.

The children had been listening in the doorway to their bedroom, and the older boy, Nicky, a serious fourteen year old, addressed his father. "Dad, Tobruk sounds like some sort of prison. I mean, living in barracks inside an old army base, guards day and night? For real? Will we be allowed out?" 

Quietly his father answered him, 'Nicky, you may not want to go beyond the fence when you know what's out there. You saw those vigilantes we passed on the way down. If there'd been fewer families in our caravan d'you think they would have let us go by without trying something? They surely knew someone in such a large group would be armed. And those guys were tame compared to what's going to be prowling around outside the fence in Tobruk.

"So we're going to a war zone?" the boy asked.

"From what I can find out probably something like that though those kinds of people will be outnumbered. There will be officers like me keeping the peace." His father looked him straight in the eyes, nodding his head slightly. "The hard thing is going to be getting there. I've a feeling we have a difficult road ahead unless we're lucky enough to be allowed on the train when it gets to Tobruk.”

“Why wouldn't we?' asked Tom, his other son. "'We have passes."

"I imagine, so do hundreds of others," answered his father. "And even if we get on, will they let the bikes on too? If they don't, how will we get around at the other end? We just don't know. You saw how it was for your mom with all those people milling around when she was trying to get from the train depot to the Fort and held her phone above her head. But you heard her. Didn't she sound relieved that we'd be getting a safe place to live?"

His sons both nodded while Nicky looked quickly from his father to his grand dad. The adults wore expressions that gave nothing away. 

"Let's go in and have a bite to eat" urged Gordon breaking the silence. Your lot must be hungry and there's delicious smoked salmon and mashed potatoes and carrot and chard waiting for us. The stove's roaring and it'll only take ten minutes for dinner to be ready." The old man shepherded the family toward the dining room knowing that the fresh food would be a treat for them all.

There was not much to stand between a full belly and a bed for the saddle-sore, weary children and they were out cold before the dishes were washed. Father and son would have a little time to share.

EDITOR'S NOTE:  Chapter Three will be published:  January 24, 2014; Chapter Four: January 31, 2014

Michael James-Mined in England. There thrown on the wheel for impress of first hands.

Turned and shaped in Berkeley.

Fired and painted by students of Tamalpais district which he left in 1993. 

Writes essays, stories, and poetry.