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    A Fine Gray Rain
    A Fine Gray Rain
    A Fine Gray Rain
    Ebook460 pages6 hours

    A Fine Gray Rain

    By Robert Reynolds

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    About this ebook

    In June 1991, the Philippines' Mount Pinatubo erupted after more than five centuries, decimating the U.S. Air Force's Clark Air Base, the Navy's Subic Bay Naval Base and the surrounding countryside.  A Fine Gray Rain tells a true account of that catastrophic event and the months leading up to it at Clark Air Base, a virtual paradise.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Reynolds
    Release dateFeb 21, 2021
    ISBN9781365068706
    A Fine Gray Rain
    Author

    Robert Reynolds

    Based in Calgary, Robert is an emerging author who spends his days working in the oil and gas industry but has been a big fan of the spy thriller genre ever since his childhood when he read one of his grandfather's original James Bond paperbacks from the late 50's. He is married with a young daughter and when he's not day dreaming about dangerous adventures in exotic locales he enjoys running and other outdoor pursuits.

    Read more from Robert Reynolds

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      Book preview

      A Fine Gray Rain - Robert Reynolds

      Prologue

      The Klaxon wailed us instantly awake.  By the time I made it to the door troops were already racing down the hallway.  But it wasn’t just Air Force personnel who were holed up in the base hotel.  Some of us civilians were designated as members of the Mission Essential team and with the unpredictability of the mountain, the base leaders had wisely directed us to check into the building, too.  No one wanted to be stuck alone somewhere out on the base if the mountain blew.  Now with the Klaxon blaring wildly, everyone was making a mad scramble to get out of the building.

      George and Lynn came flying out of their rooms almost simultaneously and sprinted down the hall at breakneck speed, their bug-out bags swinging wildly off their shoulders.  Doors were opening and slamming at an alarming rate as occupants in Chambers Hall reacted to the deafening alarm sounding above our heads. I caught a break in the pandemonium and fell in stride behind George.  Thundering footsteps pounded the carpet as everyone raced for an exit.  We’d been warned not to use the elevators in fear the power might go off and we’d be stuck halfway down, so we headed for a bank of exit stairs at the far end of the building. 

      George was running interference like an offensive lineman and I was right behind him.  Lynn was somewhere with us, a step or two back.  It looked a running of the bulls as we sprinted down the narrow corridor.  I didn’t try to look back because of all the chaos in front. 

      George’s ample gym bag swung wide striking a pedestal ashtray and sending it spinning, then toppling as it splayed its contents across the hallway floor.  At the last instant, I hurdled the toppling ashtray without breaking stride, and then we were through the doors and taking the stairs two, three, four at a time.  I crashed into a wall on the landing like a pinball, pushed off and pivoted down the next set of steps.  The stairs vibrated under the weight of all of us trying to escape.  Tires squealed as cars sped from the parking lot, heading for a safety zone across the base.  The siren wailed on into the night.

      We didn’t know it at the time, but we were embarking on an historic adventure.

      Part One  An Assignment to Paradise 

      Chapter 1    

      My orders for transfer to the Philippines had finally come through.  I had wanted an assignment that would remind me of my years in Vietnam and the Philippines was always at the top of my request list.  I was not in the military now, but I worked in a civilian capacity for the Post Exchange system, getting my start in Saigon some twenty-years before.  Before that, I had served 27-months active duty in Da Nang, about 500-miles north of Saigon.  Upon leaving service, I had returned to Vietnam as a civilian in September ’69, eventually hiring on with the Post Exchange.  I remained in Vietnam until June 1973, returning home as America’s military presence came to a close, thus lessening a need for Post Exchange personnel.  Even with more than six years in the tropics under my belt, I still hadn’t had my fill of that part of the world.  There had always been a yearning for that temperate climate and the excitement of working overseas.  Now, at age 46 I was about to embark on another adventure in the tropics.  I was excited for that and happy to be putting my job at the Army and Air Force Exchange Service (AAFES) Headquarters behind.  I would be going to Clark Air Base, at the time the largest American military base outside the USA.  Twenty thousand Americans lived on or near Clark, including military retirees and their families, who lived off base.

      I was both surprised and elated a few months before when the boss came to me one morning and said, What do you think about a tour in the Philippines, Reynolds?

      I can leave this afternoon!  I had said.  I’d been hoping for that assignment for a long time.  I had always wanted to go somewhere similar to Vietnam and the Philippines, the P.I., was about as close as a person could get to such a scenario.

      Seriously, do you want it?  Before you commit yourself you might want to talk it over with your family.

      We’ve discussed this possibility already, I had replied, excited now and thoughts racing through my head.  Yes, I want it.

      BEFORE LEAVING, I TOOK my family up home to Michigan.  I didn’t know how long I would be in the Philippines nor when I would get a chance to come home again.  I suspected it would be a while.

      We spent a sunny day with the kids as they swam in the cool, gentle river that runs through the City Park and mom fixed us a nice supper when we got home.  A small television was playing quietly in a corner of the room, broadcasting the evening news.

      We’re glad you kids got a chance to come home, mom said as she puttered about between the kitchen stove and the dining room table.  I don’t believe she ever got used to me being away from home for long periods.  I’d gone off to Vietnam with the Navy in ’66, served my initial tour and extended twice, coming home for a month’s leave twice.  I liked the tropics and the exhilaration of living in a foreign land, so I went back over as a civilian in the autumn of ’69.  That kept me away another three-years and my only contact with home was via letters and the rare occasion I could get a phone call through an operator in Thailand.  I married overseas to a lovely Vietnamese girl and when we finally came home it was only briefly, then we headed off to Oklahoma.  It seemed that I was always a long way from home.

      How long will you be gone? dad asked.  He’d served in the Civilian Conservation Corps coming up from the southern part of the state.  That’s how he and mom met.  They had married and settled in this small town on the banks of the Cedar River, so I believe they understood my desire to explore other parts of the world.  Dad was quiet and rarely questioned my intentions.  Both of them were that way, so I knew that dad was serious when he asked.

      I can’t be sure, I said, gazing out the window into the pleasant Michigan afternoon.  Two or three years if I can.  It’s the assignment I’ve been wanting.

      I’m not sure my parents fully understood what I did.  I was the only one in our immediate family to serve in the military and I found that many didn’t quite grasp what the PX was all about and my relation to it.  We were the retail, food and services providers on military installations.  In the Philippines, I would oversee our safety and security program.

      My greatest concentration would be to our facilities at Clark Air Base where we had a large Main Store, a Four Seasons store with lawn and garden, full-scale cafeteria, several smaller food branches, retail convenience type stores, gas station with service bays, Equipment and Facilities warehouse, dairy and ice plant, bakery, area distribution warehouse and a variety of service operations to serve the Air Force community.  We also had stores at Camp John Hay in the mountains of Central Luzon, Wallace Air Station along the island’s northwestern coast, Camp O’Donnell north of Clark and a store at the U.S. Embassy compound in Manila.  Stores in Bangkok, Thailand and Andersen AFB on Guam rounded out my responsibilities.  I was looking forward to it.

      What do you think about going so far away? mom turned to my wife Hoang and asked.  Vietnam was directly west of the Philippines across the South China Sea—a mere 700 miles or so. 

      Our kids were eating quietly and I doubt if they were paying much attention.  They were always well behaved when they visited their grandparents.  I was proud of them for that.  In response to mom’s question, Hoang smiled and shrugged.

      I think it will be fine.

      I hope it’s not dangerous, mom said. 

      She had said to me before I returned to Vietnam twenty-years before, I won’t tell you what to do, but I will give you my opinion and I’d rather you didn’t go.   Fair enough, I had said, but I liked that excitement and couldn’t see me coming back to what I suspected would be a mundane job for me—whatever it might turn out to be.  But it’s something I want. 

      I looked at mom and assured her. 

      It’s nothing like Vietnam except for the weather, I replied with a smile.  I look at it as a long vacation.

      It was then the word Philippines caught my attention and I glanced over at the television to see an image of immense devastation.  Buildings had collapsed and giant slabs of earth had ripped free from mountainsides and slid into green valleys.  Distraught people wrung their hands and wept.

      At 4:26 p.m. Monday afternoon in the central mountains of Luzon Island in the Philippines, a 7.7 earthquake struck, lasting for about 45 seconds, the voice said.  The most damage occurred in the mountain city of Baguio, about five hours north of Manila. The tremor was felt as far south as the American occupied Clark Air Base.

      We sat quietly, eyes glued to the set as stark images of Baguio’s Hyatt Terraces Plaza hotel flashed across the screen.  The building had collapsed like a series of dominoes.  According to the newscast, several dozen were believed to have died within the structure, but it was too early to tell.  The Nevada Hotel, directly across the street from an American controlled recreation installation, Camp John Hay, had also collapsed upon itself, as if some powerful force had simply removed the bottom floors of the building.  Other major buildings within the city had been destroyed and lay in ruin. 

      Dagupan, Agoo and other towns near the area have also suffered major damage, the voice said.

      Oh my!  How tragic for those people, mom said.  I had never been to the Philippines, but I knew it to be a place of almost routine misfortune, having read of devastating typhoons, mudslides, floods and fire over the years.  Is that near where you’ll be going?

      They mentioned Clark Air Base, I said, a bit stunned.  My office is there.  But according to the report the base didn’t sustain much damage.  I had no idea where Clark was in relation to Baguio nor that we had facilities at Camp John Hay.  I would learn of that a few weeks later.  The broadcast ended too soon.  I wanted to know more.

      I sat for a few moments thinking about what we had just seen—the report had come and passed so quickly.  Oddly, I felt that I should have been there—at Clark; that being there to help was a part of my job.  I also felt that fate had cut me a few weeks short of this dreadful event.  Memories flashed back to Vietnam.  Those years had created a desire to be where things were happening.  Had this devastating act of nature occurred a few weeks later, I would have been there.  In a sense, I felt cheated missing out on it. 

      Chapter 2

      A month before the devastating quake struck Baguio, George Shaffer received an unexpected call from AAFES Headquarters.  George was doing a covert camera surveillance operation and his first thoughts were the operation had been compromised—that someone had found his cameras or spotted him outside the building during the night.  George was in his hotel room outside Fort Polk, Louisiana when the call came through.

      Please hold for the Chief, the voice on the other end said.  Half-expecting admonishment, George’s heart beat faster, wondering what he had done that would warrant a call from the top dog.  The head of the Loss Prevention Directorate had plenty of other responsibilities and wasn’t known for calling field personnel for idle chitchat.  A dozen thoughts ran through George’s head; manufactured scenarios of what might have gone wrong.  There was always a risk these operations would be compromised and explanations made necessary.  It seemed a lifetime before the boss came on the line.

      Good morning, George, Mr. Cafferty said.  How are you doing?

      Well, sir, I’m tired, George hesitated.  I was up installing last night.

      They chatted about the operation for a few minutes and then Bill Cafferty said, Are you interested in going to the Far East?

      It wasn’t at all what George had expected.  He thought for a moment while he tried to make sense of it, then asked, Where on the East Coast would that be?  His home base was in Oklahoma now and he had only come to the Southwest a year earlier.

      A muted chuckle came from the other end.

      No, George.  It’s the Far East.  The Philippines.  A slot’s opened up and your name came up as a candidate.  I have to fill the slot by September and need to know if you’re interested.

      George contemplated for a few seconds, trying to buy some time.  The offer had come unexpectedly—as these offers often did. 

      Do you mind if I think about it overnight and get back to you tomorrow?  It’s a big decision.  I’d like to talk it over with my family.

      There was an awkward silence and then, Sure thing George, call me tomorrow morning.  Then the line went dead. 

      George was both surprised and stunned.  He was relieved there had been no problem with his surveillance operation, but the offer had come so unexpectedly he’d not had clear thoughts.  It would be a lateral transfer with no promotion, but it was an opportunity to get back into loss prevention management.  Plus, overseas assignments generally resulted in a greater opportunity to save money as they often provided on base lodging, commissary and medical privileges.  Having worked overseas also looked favorable on a person’s résumé for future promotions. 

      However, an assignment in the Far East had not crossed his mind.  The Philippines was halfway around the world and he knew very little about it.  He sat quietly by the phone pondering the gravity of his decision.  Outside his room, a maid pushed her cart along the deserted hallway. 

      Shortly, George recalled his current supervisor had been assigned to the Philippines.  Who better to seek advice from?  He ran his finger down a list of contacts and then dialed up the number. 

      I’ve been offered an assignment to the Philippines, George explained, still uncertain.  The phone weighed heavily in his hand.  I told Bill Cafferty I’d think it over and call back with my decision in the morning.

      You did what?

      I said I’d let him know.

      Are you nuts?  You don’t tell the boss you’ll think it over!  You say yes, sir!  I’m already packed!

      It’s that good?

      You won’t be disappointed, I can tell you that much.  If you don’t take it, there are plenty of others who will jump at the chance.

      They want me there by September.

      George, if the job’s there, take it.  You’ll enjoy catching thieves and dodging the NPA.  That’s the New People’s Army.  The country’s militant Communist group.

      Are you trying to encourage me or discourage me? George smirked.

      Take it any way you like. 

      The line went quiet for a moment.  Then, One more thing, George.  This may be most important of all.  A young, single guy like you will probably come back with a Filipina wife.

      That ain’t gonna happen, George laughed, skeptically.  It was one more thing he hadn’t considered about an overseas transfer.  Then, more seriously he added, Besides, I have a girlfriend in Oklahoma City. 

      Oh?  We’ll see.  But you’d better call back and let Bill know you’ll take the job before he decides to offer it to someone else.

      George hung up and immediately dialed his parents.

      It’s a good opportunity for me, he told his dad. 

      George’s father, a retired Army Sergeant First Class listened quietly and then said, It’s your life, son.  You should do what you want to do.    

      That place is very far away.  Be sure he’s making the right decision, he heard his mother’s muffled voice in the background say.

      George’s dad chimed in once more.

      I can tell you it’s very hot and humid there, much like Thailand when I was there in the 70’s.  And there’s poverty beyond explanation.  You can expect a culture shock.

      They chatted a while longer exchanging information and concerns. 

      Son, your mother and I will support you in whatever decision you make.  We’ll worry about you, but you’re a big boy and can take care of yourself. 

      George listened attentively, wondering if his grandfather had given the same advice to his father.  He could almost hear his grandfather’s words being spoken. 

      Live your life, son.  It’s yours to do whatever you want.  We’ll be here for you.

      In that moment, his mind was made up. 

      I love you both, George said, rather melancholy in that they could not be present to share in his decision.  It would be a long time before he’d see his parents again.

      George checked his watch.  Two hours had passed since he had taken the original call.  A lot of emotions had come and gone, but his decision was made and it was firm. His call to headquarters went through quickly. 

      Hello, George.  I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.

      It seemed to George that he had been on the phone all day.

      Your offer caught me off guard, sir.  I wasn’t expecting it and I certainly wasn’t expecting the Philippines.  I needed time to think, George said.  The words came fast and he had to catch himself and slow down.  I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow to call. If the offer is still there, I accept. 

      You’re making a good career move, George.

      George let out a sigh of relief now that it was over.

      I’ll get right to the point.  You’ll be working for Bob Reynolds.  He’ll get in a month before you and begin setting up his program.  We have some issues there and that’s partly why we’re making changes.  I want you and Bob to get our program straightened out.

      Thank you for the opportunity, sir, George said.

      It’s a challenge, but you’ll do fine over there and I expect to hear great things about you.  You’ll need to be there in early September.  I know it’s coming up fast. We’ll get your orders cut soon so you can prepare to go.  And George, good luck with your surveillance operation.

      He hung up the phone and sat wondering what he had committed to.  Since leaving home to begin his management career he had already moved twice; Fort Dix, New Jersey and Fort Sill, Oklahoma.  But, he was still Stateside. 

      The impending move was to a faraway land with unique customs.  When he missed his family he could not simply board a plane and be home in three hours—an entire continent and the vast Pacific Ocean would separate them.  To compound matters, he knew nothing about the Philippines and its people.  He was already beginning to think of it not simply as a career move, but as an adventure.  Little did he know what waited on the other side of the globe.  But for now, he had a surveillance operation to finish up. 

      Chapter 3

      A LITTLE MORE THAN a month after George’s acceptance of his new assignment, I flew into Honolulu for a brief stopover at our regional headquarters.  Negotiations between the governments of the United States and the Philippines over the renewal of the lease of Clark Air Base had begun and the Air Force was not allowing dependents to come until base housing was available.  Hoang and our son Nicholas would follow me over later.  I had last set foot on Hawaiian soil in 1973 when Hoang and I were on our way from Vietnam to America.  Even then it was only a brief layover as we changed planes.  Now, I was grateful to have a few days on the island and wished that Hoang were with me.  Island breezes fluttered the palms and myriad flowering trees that lined the highway.  Off to my right glimpses of the Pacific Ocean broke the scenery. 

      My taxi dropped me off at a tall office building on Ala Moana Avenue, our Pacific Region Headquarters.  I hauled my luggage over to the elevator, checked the menu board and went up to the Loss Prevention Office.

      Mr. Widner’s not here, the secretary said, surprised when I walked in.  He went to the airport to pick you up.

      I looked for a familiar face, but didn’t see anyone, so I flagged down a cab and came on over.

      He must have missed you, she said.

      Yes, he must have, I smiled.  I should have been easy to spot, wearing a canary yellow tee shirt, khaki shorts and athletic shoes.  I was dressed more for a vacation than I was for work.

      Have you been to Hawaii before?

      Only passing through on my way back from Vietnam and I never left the airport, I said.  I glanced past her and out the window onto the Honolulu skyline.  For some odd reason the Theme from Hawaii 5-0 ventured through my head.  

      I hope you get more of a chance to see our beautiful island this time, she said.  I had spoken to her on the phone at times, but only now realized how Hawaiian the secretary was.  You can wait in his office if you like. 

      This is fine, I said, taking a seat in the outer office.

      Shortly Bob Widner came in.

      Where were you?  I was there to greet you as you came off plane and you weren’t there, he blustered.  I had worked with Bob ten years before and was familiar with his unpredictable ways. 

      I came off the plane with the rest of the folks, I said.  My shirt’s pretty hard to miss.  Maybe you were distracted by all the pretty Wahines who were passing out leis.  I then realized I still wore the flowery garland a copper tanned young woman had placed about my neck as I deplaned and stepped inside the terminal.  The gentle fragrance of plumeria wafted about my head. 

      That’s a possibility, he replied.  You’ve met my secretary?

      I nodded that I had.

      Well, come in my office, Bob said. 

      We spent the next several minutes talking about my flight in, happenings back at headquarters, and we spoke of what I could expect when I got to the Philippines.  I took out a small notepad and jotted down his words.

      We slowed to a crawl for a large pothole that was filled with muddy water.  I remembered Al’s comment about seeing water "everywhere."

      No point in any one taking a bath, the driver said, and then we were through it and he sped up and we bumped along again.

      You wouldn’t know it, but the Abacan River flows beyond the wall, Tsgt Jagielski said.  We were passing the Mactan Housing area—the Hill.  The wall was constructed of concrete blocks and except for the gold-lined mountaintops that were barely visible beyond the top of the wall, it was as if the Philippines ended at that gray concrete barrier.

      We had come out onto paved streets in a more heavily built up part of the base—housing areas, DOD schools.  We cruised along at a better, smoother pace now. 

      We have radar up there, he said, pointing to the top of a small hill inside the wall.  A red light flashed intermittently atop the hill.  The driver pulled onto a narrow lane that led up the incline.  It was not a tall hill, but from that height I could see beyond the wall into the dark jungle that led into the mountains.  Here and there the light from a farmer’s shack glowed in the night. 

      Do you think you’ll like it here? Katrina’s husband, Tsgt Jagielski asked.  He was outgoing and friendly, much like his wife; my secretary.

      I like it already, I said. 

      How long have you been in-country? the driver asked.  He’d been mostly silent until now. 

      Got into Manila Sunday evening.

      That’s not very long.

      I nodded and replied, I feel like I’ve already been here. 

      Chapter 4

      FILIPINO MUSIC PLAYING over the intercom wafted from ceiling speakers in the upper hallway.  In my short time there I had already discovered that Filipinos had an affinity to pretty ballads and what we call Adult Contemporary—easy listening.  A beautiful, melodic Tagalog song was playing now and I stuck my head into the Services Office and asked, What’s the name of this and who’s the singer?

      One of the clerks got up and came into the hallway to listen.

      "Narito ako umiibig, Laging tulala at ligalig, Heto na naman at halos de mapakali..."[1]

      Oh!  That’s Regine Velasquez.  She’s very popular.  The Barbra Streisand of the Philippines, many say.  I would learn later that as a small child Velasquez’s father had taken her chest deep into the ocean to practice singing and to build up her lungs.  Her father’s theory had worked.  She had one of the most beautiful, wide-ranging voices that I had ever heard. 

      And the song?

      "It’s Narito Ako.  Do you like it?"

      I did not understand a single word of the song, but it was a hauntingly beautiful melody.  Tagalog, for me, is one of those wonderful languages that resonate infectiously in its own right, like French and Spanish.  I went in my office and made a note of the title.

      FRIDAYS, I SOON LEARNED, meant that many of the PHAX staff brought in local dishes they had prepared.  They sold it inexpensively in the break room and I doubt if they broke even on their expenses.  They were pleased when I came downstairs and bought a few lumpia rolls and pancit noodles to sample. 

      Do you like Filipino food? one of them asked.

      I don’t know yet.  This is the first that I’ve tried.

      The Lumpia was quite similar to Vietnamese chao gio so I figured it would become a staple of my local diet. 

      Delicious! I said.

      Everyone likes lumpia.  It sells quickly so you must come early.  From then on someone would send word upstairs whenever lumpia was on the Friday menu. 

      BY THE END OF THE SECOND week I was pretty much settled in—at least to my job.  I was still housed on the top floor of Chambers Hall, but the view of the mountains was calming.  I looked out over the acacia canopy to the ridge of rolling mountains.  Most evenings, soft white clouds lay among the mountaintops and the setting sun seemed to line them in gold piping.  I could not imagine a more serene picture.

      Keith was preparing to leave and George was due in in the next several weeks.  I had not met George, but I had talked with him on the phone a few times and we had corresponded via email.  He seemed anxious to make the move and I was anxious for him to come.  There were some things I wanted to do with the security staff and I felt it best that he be here so we could get started.  Store security would report directly to him.

      Do you know Mr. Shaffer? Tess asked.  She had married our Burger King Manager, Paul Stenseth, shortly before I arrived in country.  Always cheerful and pleasant, it was a joy to have her in the office, as her steady personality offset the volatility of some of the others.

      Never met him, I answered.  But I’ve heard only good things about him.  If not, I’m sure you’ll straighten him out.

      Prior to my arrival a reward program had been instituted to pay informants for information leading to criminal activity such as merchandise diversion and theft.  The base radio station invited me to do a brief sound bite which they would air locally on FEN Radio—Far East Network Philippines; a division of American Forces Network.  I’d had nothing to do with setting up the program, but I had inherited it.  I brushed up on the reward program and went over to the base radio station. It was a short audio piece and we finished up in twenty-minutes.

      I’ll edit it and give you a listen, then put it out on the air within the next week or so, the sergeant said, between airing records. 

      Let me know beforehand so I can record it and send a copy back to my region office, I said. 

      I’ll do you even better.  I’ll make a copy of the final edit.  Stop by next week.

      Bob Widner called the next day.  He called every few days, so it wasn’t unexpected when the phone rang and Katrina spoke up telling me he was on the line. 

      Can you talk in private? he asked.

      Sure.  Let me close the door.  I did and noticed heads turn toward my office.  It wasn’t often that I went behind closed doors.  In fact, it may have been the first time I’d done so since arriving. 

      What do you think about keeping Keith there a while longer? Bob said in his serious voice. 

      Why has this come up? I asked.

      The base commander has talked with our folks at headquarters.  He thinks it might be best to delay Shaffer’s transfer and keep Keith on.  Something about not having both you and George being new and having to learn how things work in the Philippines. I’ve been asked by HQ for your opinion.

      I hesitated a moment then said, George and I will do fine.  It’s not like I’ve not been in a similar situation.  Bob and I had talked before about our Vietnam experiences. Along with my service time in Da Nang, I had returned as a civilian to work in Vietnam for almost another three-and-a-half years—most of it in PX security.  I knew what it was like to work within a different culture and with people who were often unbelievably poor—and thus willing to take greater risks.  Admittedly, it was very different from working stateside, or even in Europe, for that matter.  I wanted this challenge.  The Philippines had always been at the top of my assignment wish list.  I had no doubt that I could to the job, even with someone who would be almost as new in country as me.

      I’ve no problem with Keith, but I feel we should go forward as planned, I said. What I want to do here we can do with a clean slate.  My recommendation is they send George as planned.

      He thanked me and hung up.  A few days later I received a quick email advising that the original plan would be adhered to. 

      With that settled, Keith prepared to leave for his follow-on assignment.

      Try to get everything caught up so George can ease into the job, I said.  I was a believer in each person finishing what he was responsible for.  Beyond that, I didn’t expect Keith to take on any last minute work, either.  He needed to get his family ready for their move.  If anything pressing came in I’d turn it over to Art or I’d do it myself.

      Soon word came through our guard force channels they intended to give Keith a going away party.  It was a nice gesture.

      It will be on Saturday morning at the picnic area on the way to Mabalacat, Butch said. Butch was a serious man, but he seemed to enjoy that a party would take place.  The guards will stop by for the party as soon as they come off duty.

      Most of the Negrito guards and a handful of

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