Driver, T. C. Read Online Free PDF

cargo ships in the Persian Gulf. These ships were loaded down with pre-fab cement airfields. One half of a full runway on each ship, now not needed for the war effort. We could have dumped the huge cement blocks into the ocean like the Russians did when they fled Cuba. Or we could deploy them somewhere close. Shipping them back to the States was out of the question. Quite reasonably enough, our military command sold Bush one on the fact that remote airstrips in Africa could be of   'use' to them in the future by just sending in troops to 'brush them off' like home plate. These prefab runways would last for years in the dry desert and this would cost little and serve us better than dumping that much cement.”
      The T.V. News reports, way back in my youth, were completely controlled and one hundred percent phony. I knew this from personal, first had information and knowledge. Now I feared for the state of the world and my young shipmates. They believed what they saw on T.V. news was the truth. History, science facts, Biblical truths, all education in general had become nothing but lies and political propaganda.
    Really nothing has changed much for the last two hundred years. We talked about the French troops in Vietnam and the British troops in Afghanistan during the 1890's. Western men since Roman times have been sent out into the world for a couple of years in their youth to fight, kill, bomb or protect the 'poor dumb bastards' of 'underdeveloped' countries for no apparent reason or gain. No reason to stop now, I guess. Why would each generation do basically the same thing year after year, each   one not knowing why they're doing it or who's in charge. But, here we go again. The fall of America seemed to slow war down very little, or none at all. No, it just made us Americans poor. I talked about the military logistical stupidity of sending large columns of troops into an 'ambush paradise' like Afghanistan. My Great-great Grandfather was shot at from behind the same stupid rock as me, now by his enemy's grandchildren. After a hundred and twenty years, what's the point? What good has it done? Why would so many different leaders of so many different western countries, over a time span of hundreds of years all send troops? To what gain? What purpose? Together they've spent enough money to buy Afghanistan ten times over.
    These types of thoughts depressed my spirit and soul, so I spent more and more time at the ole time hymn sing at the Gospel Cafe. These next four, long months of bombing Africa settled into a constant busy burden, but also into a cold, relaxed rhythm. We on board the Great Ark had not much a care in or for the world. We lived as a world unto ourselves. But somewhere in Africa, a real war, with real huger, terror and death, yes, a real smelly, stinking war was raging.
    Sarah Coe and I both enjoyed spending off duty hours at the ship's Gospel Cafe, often sitting together; meeting by chance; half expecting the other to be there. Our odd glances, smiles and flirtations at officer's mess could not be missed. Sarah, being a young thirty-something, and me an older, over-weight fifty-nine, I didn't consider us a likely fit as a couple. Though, truly I felt like a young man again around her. She coldly brushed aside all of her many suitors. That is, all but me. And yours truly was either too scared or too 'wise' to bite. During this early time of bombing Africa, Sarah, Haley and the four gals at Coe's dinner table left on a shopping trip to Cutter; also called Dubai. Sarah was 'on assignment', doing important business for Daddy, to hear her tell it. I was ashamed at myself for missing her so much, but truly my heart ached for her return. That night at the Gospel Cafe, my spirits were downcast. Sarah was gone. Music was ok, but slow. My young students started talking about President Osoma. They talked about giving Osoma time; a chance to fix things. A young lady named Kishia, who volunteered in Haiti for ten weeks