It will be the second in the Sam and Jan Jordan Series - the first, Lessons Learned, is on my editors desk. I expect it will be available in four to five weeks. I don't have a cover for We Have A Call - I do have the first chapter - here it is:
Chapter One
I cannot think of single thing that tops being shot at to get your attention. However, getting shot at, like anything else, loses it shock power after too many repetitions. The first few times I was shot at, I was scared silly, couldn't sleep for days, and for a long time I was totally wired, jumping at every out-of-the-ordinary sound.
The next few times I was shot at, I wasn't scared, but I still couldn't sleep and I was wired almost as long as I was the first few times. After that, I was bullet proof. Not physically bullet proof, but rather mentally bullet proof. I was convinced I would never be wounded or killed by a bullet.
I became bullet proof more than thirty years ago, during the first of what subsequently became almost three consecutive tours of duty in Vietnam. Ultimately I was wounded out of Vietnam a couple of weeks short of completing thirty-six months there.
Understand, I wasn't wounded out because I wasn't bullet proof. I was wounded out because I was nearer the impact point of a 122 MM rocket than a man with long-term plans and goals should be. As far as I was concerned my bullet-proofness was still good and I expected it to last a lifetime. Avoiding active war zones for the next thirty years only added to my confidence that I was still bullet proof.
Today I’m fifty three years old, a semi-active journalist, a new and proud husband, and a dedicated member of the New Rakkassans, a little known group that has become the organization of last resort in the resolution of life threatening matters involving war veterans or the families of war veterans.
The New Rakkassans is a global organization, connected by a vast amateur radio network. The organization is headquartered on Signal Mountain, in north Alabama, near the small town of Powers.
Jan, my wife, and I have lived in Powers for almost a year. Actually, we live in our motor home named Big Red which, when we are on Signal Mountain, is parked on the estate of our friends, Buck and Linda Jo Prichard. We share Big Red with William, our floppy eared, long tailed, Doberman, who came with the motor home.
Since Vietnam, I've only been shot at on one occasion. That happened ten months ago, in West Memphis, Arkansas, during the performance of my duties as a member of the New Rakkasan Council. It came as no surprise that I wasn't killed or wounded during the execution of that mission. In fact, the incident just served to remind me that I was once bullet-proof and I’m still bullet proof.
Imagine my surprise when, two weeks ago, I was shot, just moments after I walked out of Fadley’s Drug Store, in the center of Powers. It was a few minutes after noon on an early spring day. There wasn't a vehicle in sight, in either direction. There wasn't even a single pedestrian in sight. As I walked out the door, Mr. Fadley called out, “Thanks, Sam. See you later.” The door closed behind me as I stepped on to the sidewalk and glanced across the street toward the Signal County Sheriff’s Office. That’s when the bullet hit me, slamming me into the brick front of the pharmacy. As I began sliding toward the sidewalk I heard the sound of the shot leaving the rife. As my brain registered the crack of the rifle, I thought that was a hell of a shot if it took the sound that long to catch up with the bullet. Then I wondered if I was dying or possible dead without being aware of it. Maybe there are a few moments after death when you think you’re still alive and I’m in the middle of those few moments, I thought.
That irrational thought went away when I heard screaming and recognized the screamer as Doris Smith, a good friend and the sister of Dan Smith, another good friend, and also the Signal County Sheriff, a fellow Vietnam Vet, and the best man at Jan and my wedding a few months earlier.
I was barely hanging onto the last thread of consciousness when I heard Dan’s boots pounding across the street toward me. Then I heard him, only a few inches from my face, shouting, “Sam, Sam. Dammit, open your eyes Sam. I’m not letting you leave here that easy. SAM. OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES!”
Somehow I managed to get my eyes about half open, looked at Dan’s blurry face and heard him say, “That’s better. That’s better. Don’t close your eyes, Sam. Stay with me. Stay with me.”
In the distance, I heard sirens and recognized the sound of Powers only ambulance, and the number one truck of The Signal Mountain Fire Department.
That’s when I knew that I wasn’t dying, in spite of the fact that I was obviously no longer bullet proof. I let a smile play across my lips and with blatant disregard of Dan’s screams, I closed my eyes.
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