Gearhead Projects, #1

As an avid off-roader, I have a lot of specialized equipment for recovering my truck when my ambitions over-reach my truck's capabilities. For starters, there is the winch mounted on the front. It has a capacity of 12,000 pounds, even though my truck only weighs a little over a third of that. So far, I have yet to actually need the winch to recover myself. It has been used, however, to recover a tourist's stranded SUV at the beach, and to pull my wife's car back to solid ground when she got it stuck in the back yard. It is also frequently used to remove unwanted bushes and fallen trees.

The second-most important recovery tool I have is my Hi-Lift® jack. Mine is the 60-inch X-Treme® version, which comes with accessories to expand its usefulness. I've had mine for six years, spanning four different trucks. Properly maintained, they will last forever. The trouble with it, unfortunately, lies in its ungainly dimensions. It weighs a little over 30 pounds. It's easy enough to just toss it in the bed of the truck when I know I'll need it, but I would prefer to have it with me at all times. To do so, I need it up off of the floor of the truck bed, so it doesn't rob me of usable cargo space.

Just by eyeballing it, the jack appears to be as wide as the top of the wheel well. Mounting it there will satisfy the requirement of having it out of the main cargo area. A solid mounting system is important, to make sure the jack stays put and to discourage theft.

This is the intended mounting position. With the handle facing outboard, the jack can be mounted closer to the wall of the bed. Facing the base of the jack forward ensures that the storage box will still be accessible.

There are numerous options for mounting an off-road jack available online, but be prepared to pay a premium price for them. This handful of hardware cost less than $10.00 at Tractor Supply, and it should be all I need. There are two 1/2"-13 x 4" carriage bolts, two 5/8" fender washers, two 1/2" fender washers, two 1/2" lock washers, four 1/2"-13 hex nuts, two 1/2" x 5/8" steel spacers, and two 1/2"-13 wingnuts.

I begin to lay out the location of the holes that will need to be drilled for the mount. Using soapstone and a speed square, I draw a line four inches from the wall of the bed along the top of the wheel well. Laying the jack along the line, I select the holes in the beam of the jack that I want the bolts to go through and mark the line through them. The further apart, the more supported the length of the jack will be. Too close, and the long end of the jack will vibrate with every bump in the road, eventually tearing the mount out, in the worst case scenario. Setting the jack aside, I use the square to find the center of the marks.

Since my Toyota Tacoma's bed is made of a composite material, a spade-bit drill will do the trick. The holes must be drilled slowly, as I don't want to blow out the bottom side of the bed.

With the holes drilled, I am ready to begin the assembly. The 5/8" fender washer goes on the carriage bolt, and the bolt is inserted through the bottom of the hole. The 1/2" fender washer, lock washer, and a nut go on from the top, tightening the nut until the bolt is secure. The fender washers will spread the load of the weight of the jack, to avoid cracking the composite.

The spacers go on over the first nut, then another nut is tightened down on top of it. This is the completed mounting system; all that's missing is the jack and the wingnuts to hold it tightly to the mount.

The jack is now secure on its mount. If a more secure method of retention is necessary, I can use a flat washer, lock washer, and another nut in place of the wingnuts. If that's not enough, I can find a small locking lug nut and drill it out and tap it with 12"-13 threads. For now, though, the wingnuts will hold the jack securely in place, and my truck is better-prepared for whatever the world can throw at it.

Introducing: Alicia Englestone

Part Four in the Introducing Series

Alicia is the administrator for Reflex Engineering, Incorporated in the Four Corners region. She is tasked with overseeing the activities of John Smith and other agents in the area. Her daily responsibilities include creating aliases and purchasing airline tickets, as well as coordinating any false documents that are needed for a mission. Alicia makes her first appearance in The Erie Incident, assigning John Smith to his first official mission as a Clandestine Retrieval Specialist.

Alicia was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois. The firstborn child of a single mother, she has both a younger brother and a younger sister. Her ethnicity is a mixture of Caucasian and Hispanic. She was raised by her mother and her grandmother in an upscale apartment in the Edgewater area. A growth spurt saw her grow to five-foot-seven in eighth grade, eventually reaching six feet tall by the time she stopped growing. Naturally, she excelled at basketball and volleyball in school sports.

After graduating high school in 2002, she joined the U.S. Air Force. Following Basic Training, she was trained as an In-Flight Refueling Specialist and spent the remainder of her first enlistment at Joint Base Lewis/McChord, with a deployment to Iraq. After re-enlisting in Iraq, Alicia was accepted to train to be a Military Training Instructor. She spent two years training airmen at Lackland Air Base in Texas, before getting reassigned to Luke Air Force Base at the conclusion of her tour of duty.

Alicia knew from a young age that she was attracted to the same sex, but her conservative upbringing suppressed her natural attraction, and she dated boys in high school. Once she was on her own in the military, however, she was free to follow her heart. Although she served during the 'Don't Ask; Don't Tell' years, she made no outward attempt to disguise who she was. After a co-worker outed her following an altercation, she was denied re-enlistment for a third tour. She was allowed to finish out her contract, and was awarded an honorable discharge after eight years.

Following her separation from the Air Force, Alicia stayed in the Phoenix area. She finished college at Arizona State, graduating with a degree in Human Resources. In 2011, after a series of unfulfilling jobs, she got a call from her mother that her grandmother had passed away. As she was sitting in the airport bar prior to her flight, she met Gerald Brooks, the founder and CEO of Reflex Engineering, Incorporated. After a lengthy chat, Alicia became the first employee of Reflex Engineering outside of North Carolina. With each new mission, the demands on her skills increased. She came through each time, cementing her position with the young company.

First Chapters: "Favor For a Favor"

Favor For a Favor

A POG novel

By Tim Williams

POG (pōg) Acronym for 'Personnel Other than Grunt.' Used by

members of the infantry to identify and to marginalize the

contributions of non-infantry Military Occupational Specialties.

   Chapter 1

Most of the morning dew had evaporated by the time I rolled out of bed. The sun had cleared the eastward mountains by a little after seven in the morning, over my house in the foothills north of the Buffalo Park area. It was a small place, but I didn't need a ton of room. With as much time as I spent gone, the last thing I needed was a yard to maintain when I was home. Not that there was any grass to mow, but the scrubby bushes that did grow in the high desert required occasional pruning to ensure they didn’t take over.

    I had bought the place two years earlier as a burned out shell. Even in that condition, it was the most expensive house I had ever bought at the time. After I finished the renovation, I could have sold it for three times what I paid. But even with my nomadic lifestyle, it was nice just to have a place to call my own.

    One of the best things about the location of the house was that I could get to I-40 in less than half an hour. I didn't fly anywhere. I wasn’t afraid of flying; I just liked to have my truck wherever I went. I could get to anywhere in the lower forty-eight states in two or three days.

    My interest in Flagstaff stemmed from the time I had spent driving semi trucks. The company that I drove for was headquartered in Phoenix. Any load headed northeast, which most of mine were, had to go through Flagstaff. I liked the views there, and that it snowed most winters. To the casual traveler, it was a good place to stop for gas and grab lunch. But with each trip through, I found something else to like about the area, and eventually decided to buy a house there. I just couldn't believe how much it cost to buy a house there.

    It had been almost a month since the last time I had hit the road when my phone rang around noon. It was my friend Jason from the Marines. I hadn't heard from him since my last day at Cherry Point, other than the sporadic email conversation. It was the only way we really stayed in touch. He refused to have anything to do with social media, and neither one of us was that big on talking on the phone.

    "What's going on, stranger?" I asked.

    Noon for me would have been two in the afternoon for him, which seemed like an odd time for him to call.

    "Same shit, different day, you know?" he said. "How long has it been since you came up this way?"

    I had been stationed at Cherry Point with him for a little more than half of my military career. Not the most exciting place, but the beaches were nice in the summer. It was where I had learned to surf.

    "It's been a couple of years now," I told him. "Not since I picked up that load from the Moen plant when I was doing the trucker thing. But you were out of the country, I think."

    "Dude," he said, "you need to make another trip up here. It sucks now. Everyone is either gone somewhere else, or too busy with their families to raise any hell anymore. I'm bored to death."

    "Not much of a sales pitch you got there," I said.  "Why don't you take a vacation somewhere, and I'll meet you there?"

    "Because this place will still suck when I get back,” he said. “I need you to come and help me jumpstart a little excitement around here. Get some new blood in the group."

    'The group' referred to the dozen or so of us that used to hang out together. From the sound of it, he was the last man standing. Personally, I couldn't believe he was still in the area. I thought he would have been sent somewhere else by then.

    "You know I'm not the best at making new friends," I told him.

    "Then we'll get along great with the enemies of our new enemies," he countered, "Now get your ass packed and get going. Next time I call you, I don't want to hear anything but Eastbound and Down playing on your stereo."

    That last bit was obviously meant as a trucker joke, even though I actually did have that song on my iPod. There was no way he could have known that, though. Still, I decided to humor him. I was starting to get cabin fever, anyway.

    "OK, what's today... Tuesday?” I said, thinking out loud.  “I can be there by this time Thursday afternoon. But you better have a place ready for me to crash as soon as I get there.”

    My personal record for the I-40 run was a little over 53 hours, when I had left Twentynine Palms, returning to Cherry Point a decade prior. I only stopped for gas and a quick nap here and there. I figured that with the headstart from leaving out of Flagstaff, I should be able to cut it down to inside of 48 hours.

    "The earlier you get here, the more sleep you can get,” he said. “But, you know, Thursday night is Ladies' Night at Roper's. I’m gonna need a wingman."

    Roper's was a country and western nightclub a few miles out of town. I had outgrown closing down bars in my late twenties, but apparently Jason was still going strong.

    "Alright, man, you're the boss,” I said. “Let me get off this phone and throw some clothes and stuff in a bag. See you Thursday,"

    "You got it, brother,” he said. “Out."

    Leave it to one of the least Gung-ho Marines I had ever known to use two-way radio lingo on the phone. Jason was the guy who always seemed like the most likely to be a defendant at a court martial, without having ever actually been in trouble with the authorities, military or civilian. He was the master of the gray area. When the Marines cracked down on visible tattoos, he was the guy taking leave the week before the new policy took effect so he could get sleeves done on both arms and get them documented so they'd be grandfathered in. When they started trying to take housing allowance away from single NCO's, he answered by marrying a stripper. So instead of collecting the housing allowance at the single rate, they had to pay him the family rate. Any time there was word of a new policy, Jason was thinking of a way to skirt around it. The brass hated him, but there was never anything they could do about it. He always did his best to be legitimately untouchable.

    I went down the hall to my bedroom and grabbed my overnight bag. Between the Marines and trucking, I had learned to fit enough clothes and hygiene gear into an overnight bag to last a week.

    I had never been a really flashy dresser. In fact, I tried to be as low-key as possible. I wore relaxed-fit blue jeans and plain gray t-shirts. My biggest requirement for clothes was that they had to be comfortable. I wasn’t big on jewelry or name brand logos. I didn't want anything about my appearance to stand out or be remembered.

    I straightened up the few things I had out, grabbed my keys, and locked the door behind me. One of  the nice things about living in the middle of nowhere was that nobody asked a lot of questions when I didn't come around for weeks or sometimes months on end. I told the few neighbors I had actually met that I was a traveling consultant for an internet marketing firm. It sounded generic and boring enough that nobody ever asked any questions.

    Most of the neighbors were pretty private, themselves. The first one I met introduced himself as a retired Air Force Colonel. He and his wife spent as much time gone as I did, traveling the country in their motorhome. Another one was a city official, though I didn’t pay attention when he told me which department he ran. For the most part, we all mutually ignored each other's comings and goings.

    Before I started the truck, I checked my independent shipping app for any shipments going my way that would fit in my truck. I had gotten lucky doing that in the past, and it covered the cost of food and gas for the trip. Other times, I had come up completely empty.

    Luck was on my side that time. There was a riding lawnmower, weedeater, and a generator that needed to get from Winslow to Knoxville, which were both on my route. I entered my bid for about a hundred dollars over what I figured gas would cost, and hit the road. I hadn't even made it to town before the notification came across that my bid had won. Apparently, it was an urgent shipment.

    I stopped for gas in Flagstaff and entered the shipper's address into my GPS. I grabbed a case of bottled water and a few bags of gummy worms from inside the truck stop, and pointed the truck east. There was nothing in particular about gummy worms that I could identify that would explain why I liked them so much, but they were my favorite candy and just about my only real indulgence.

    My truck was in pretty good shape for its age. It was nothing too fancy. It was a Toyota Pickup from the early nineties, before they came up with the Tacoma nameplate. The extended cab area behind the front seats didn’t even have a seat; just a shelf. Its only real advantage over the regular cab was that I could recline my seats. Mine was a four-wheel drive model, with a set of all-terrain tires that looked bigger than they actually were on such a small truck. The paint was fading on all of the horizontal surfaces, but the engine still ran like new. It wasn't much to look at, but there was nothing in the world I would’ve traded it for.

 

Introducing: Stephanie Sweeney

Stephanie Sweeney is introduced in Favor For a Favor, as a past object of John Smith's desire. For most of his mid-twenties, John wanted nothing more than to be with her, but she never quite felt the same way. It took him getting permanently assigned to a Marine Aviation Logistics Squadron in Yuma, Arizona for him to finally let her go.

Born ten months to the day after John Smith, Stephanie was a year behind him in school. While he joined the Marines right after graduation, she got a softball scholarship to the University of North Carolina. They didn't actually meet until after she had earned a Bachelor Degree in journalism.

Stephanie never met her biological father, but she kept his last name. Her mother, Janice, married Tom Willis, a corporal in the Marine Corps, when Stephanie was two years old. Tom's MOS in the Marines meant that he would only ever work on EA-6B Prowler aircraft, and the only Prowlers in the Marine Corps were at Cherry Point, meaning he would have to spend his entire career there.

Growing up as a military brat, Stephanie learned to maintain only a small circle of friends, as most of her friends were constantly moving when their parents changed duty stations. When she was twelve, Tom got orders to recruiting duty in Minneapolis, Minnesota. In the process of trying to fit in and make friends, Stephanie picked up a bit of the local accent, enabling her to almost perfectly mimic a Canadian accent.

The Willises moved back to the Cherry Point area after Tom finished his tour of recruiting duty, just before Stephanie turned sixteen. It was during her senior year of high school that she first crossed paths with John Smith. He was a newly-promoted PFC in the Marines, and she was working at a fast-food joint off-base. Their eyes met briefly, and John couldn't help but smile, causing Stephanie to blush, but neither thought they would ever meet again.

It would be four more years before they saw each other again. John was bound for Iwakuni, Japan, and Stephanie earned her softball scholarship. It was during her junior year of college that John met Tom for the first time. They were both deployed to Saudi Arabia in support of the initial invasion of Iraq. Tom was a newly-promoted Master Sergeant, and John was a Corporal in charge of two other Marines. Though their interactions were limited, John thought Tom was an asshole. To Tom, John was just another young NCO who needed guidance and supervision to perform to his potential.

After Saudi Arabia, John went back to Japan for a rotation with the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit (MEU), where he spent most of Stephanie's senior year of college. After he had spent more than half of a two-year period deployed, John's squadron assigned him to a desk job to take him out of the rotation for a few months. It was during that time that he met Stephanie for the first time. He was smitten by her personality, but she was too focused on trying to land a job in her field of study to give any time to a relationship. Figuring that patience was the key to winning her hand, John stepped back and gave Stephanie her space.

For almost five years, John avoided relationships so that he would be single when Stephanie decided she was ready for him. The moment never came, and John got orders to Yuma. He eventually tied her off, but she was always in the back of his mind. In Favor For a Favor, Jeff Davis only has to mention her name and threaten her well-being to get John to work for him.

Strong-willed and quick-witted, Stephanie never has to play the part of the damsel in distress. She sees her own worth, without having to try to impress anybody. Her only weakness is her habit of falling for the wrong guys, which John hopes to help her overcome.

Introducing: Jason Kyriakopoulos

 Part Two in the Introducing Series

Jason is John Smith's best friend from the Marine Corps, and the closest thing John ever had to a brother. Where John prefers to observe a situation and make an informed decision before proceeding, Jason throws caution to the wind and dives in, sometimes recklessly. From his excessive tattoos, long hair, and ever-present beard stubble, he isn't the average person's idea of a moral confidant. But John never hesitates to ask Jason's opinion of anything. 

Jason grew up in Palisade, Colorado, a small town just east of Grand Junction. His father left his mother to raise him alone when he was four. His mother, Winona High Bear, was a journalist at the Daily Sentinel of Grand Junction. Starting when Jason was ten years old, she would go out of town on assignment, leaving him with her brother, Jason's Uncle Takoda. Uncle Takoda was a carpenter, framing and roofing houses all over Western Colorado. As Jason got older, he worked with his uncle, learning the construction trade.

Jason's father, Gregorio Kyriakopoulos, was the son of Greek immigrants who came to America after World War II. He was a hard worker from birth, attending Tulane University on a football scholarship. While earning his Civil Engineering degree, he was picked by the Denver Broncos in the 1972 NFL Draft. While he never actually played in a game, he was with the team for two seasons. After his football career was over, he stayed in Colorado, working as a Public Utilities foreman.

Jason was born in 1978, in Grand Junction. When his father left, his mother moved to Palisade, where the cost of living wasn't quite as high. Due to his mixed ethnic background, Jason was never fully accepted by either side, but found friendship with other mixed children. Despite a relatively high IQ, Jason struggled in school, to the point that he had to make up credits in summer school following his senior year in order to graduate.

Rather than turn to drugs or crime, Jason found an outlet for his frustration in rodeo bareback bronco riding. He followed a regional rodeo circuit for two years after high school, usually winning just enough in one show to travel to and enter the next one. Gradually, he began to build a fan base. After a strong showing in Cheyenne, he was approached by a major sponsor, but the deal fell through, following a disappointing outcome in Topeka.

He did odd jobs in Topeka, sleeping in his car and trying to put back enough money to get back on the rodeo circuit. One day, as he ate at a roadside diner, he struck up a conversation with the local Marine recruiter. The recruiter was fascinated by Jason's tales of rodeo life, and only pitched the idea of a military career when Jason specifically asked him about it. He stopped by the office after work that day to take the practice ASVAB, impressing the recruiters with his technical knowledge. While his clerical abilities would preclude him from most administrative MOS categories, he was eligible to do just about anything else he chose.

Looking around at Topeka and watching his likelihood of getting back into bronco riding fade, Jason began leaning more toward the idea of joining the Marines. As he ate lunch at the same diner the next day, he overheard his waitress talking to her landlord on the phone. She was in danger of losing her apartment. Without thinking twice, Jason gave her the money he had been saving to get back to the rodeo circuit, and went to see the Marine recruiter.

After signing up and completing the enlistment physical examination, he was put on a flight to San Diego, where he attended boot camp. Military life came naturally to Jason, where every recruit was treated the same, regardless of race or religion. He excelled at the physical requirements, and needed only minimal help with marksmanship and uniform regulations. Having grown up as a social outcast, the Marine Corps camaraderie was a genuine treat for Jason, and he adopted it wholeheartedly. He firmly believed that every Marine was his brother, and began addressing them as such, regardless of whether they were male or female.

Jason first met John Smith in Pensacola, Florida, in November of 1999. John was on his final week of the training course there, bound for Cherry Point, NC after that. By the time Jason's class graduated from the course at Pensacola, John was halfway done with the follow-on course at Cherry Point. After John graduated and was sent to Iwakuni, Japan, Jason graduated and was assigned to the Logistics Squadron at Cherry Point. When John was assigned to the same unit upon completion of his overseas tour, the two of them actually worked together for the first time. They would remain just casual acquaintances until the following year, when they both deployed to Yuma, Arizona in support of a Harrier squadron's weapons training mission. From there, they became friends, each challenging the other to be a better Marine so they would be chosen for more training missions together. 

Just after his promotion to Staff Sergeant, Jason was medically retired from the Marines, following a training accident that left him with nerve damage resulting in sunlight hypersensitivity in his eyes. Not one to let a bad situation stop him, Jason bought a stake in a local food trailer business, using the money to launch his own chain of hot dog stands. When we meet Jason in Favor For a Favor, he is doing well for himself, following his second divorce. 

Jason's story doesn't end with the conclusion of Favor For a Favor. He will be a part of John Smith's story for ages to come.

Review: 'The White Donkey'

 "I hope you find what you're looking for..."

I never really followed the Terminal Lance comics while I was in the Marines. Being a Sergeant when it came out, it seemed to me like following it would give the impression that I wanted to be a Lance Corporal again. Once I left the Marines, though, it was a different story. Maximilian Uriarte paints life in the Marine Corps with a brutally honest brush, showing how the chain of command looks from the bottom up. When I heard about this book, The White Donkey, I knew I would have to read it.

The White Donkey tells the story of a young Marine named Abe's first deployment to Iraq, in 2007. The story begins with pre-deployment training at his home station, followed by a Mojave Viper exercise in Twentynine Palms, California, then a couple of weeks of leave, and finally, the actual deployment and the subsequent homecoming. Anyone who has served in the military knows the drill, and I thought the book would be predictable in that aspect, but I was wrong. The book surpassed my expectations in every category.

Reading a graphic novel, to me, should be like watching a movie. Unlike the screenwriter of a movie, however, the author of a graphic novel must supply the sound. The first thing I noticed about this book was that the onomatopoeia was spot-on. Uriarte accurately captured the sounds of everything, from the drone of a HMMWV engine, to the almost ever-present automatic weapons fire in the distance, even the sound of an entire battalion coming to the position of attention. The tone and feel of the story was also exactly how I remembered Iraq. The air-conditioned sleeping quarters and the plethora of food choices in the DFACs felt out-of-place, compared with what I had expected of a war zone.

Without giving too much of the story away, it's hard to accurately describe the feelings portrayed in the book. The part dealing with returning from the deployment, though, was what resonated the deepest for me. Contrary to popular belief, the military doesn't just dump its members back on their doorsteps after serving in a combat zone. There is a process to the reintegration. There are meetings, there are checklists to fill out, there are questionnaires to answer. However, as shown in the book, the Marines returning from the deployment don't want to deal with the process. They want to get home and take their leave, and escape the unit as quickly as possible. After months on end of being around the same people, they want to get away. They want to be left alone to decompress and deal with the experience in their own ways.

Unfortunately, for many, that means relying on alcohol or other drugs to cope. The support system that the military offers is ignored, because nobody wants to be "That Guy." That Guy who couldn't handle it. That Guy who wimped out and talked to the chaplain. There is a stigma associated with asking for help. This is your rifle, this is your pack, this is your equipment, this is your responsibility. Even in a team environment, personal responsibility is stressed, and nobody wants to be the weak link who can't pull his own weight.

Even without having personally gone through the sequence of events portrayed, The White Donkey is easy to relate to. It's impossible not to relate to, really. I was a POG in the Air Wing. I only spent two months in Iraq, and never went outside the wire. In reality, the only thing I have in common with the characters in the story is the "U.S. MARINES" on the left side of the uniform I wore. But, regardless of the individual experiences in-theater, I think everyone who has deployed can relate to the homecoming process. How everyone thanks you, and you feel guilty because you don't think you did anything. How you get sick of hearing the same questions over and over, but you try to be polite about it. How you can't relate to people your own age, because you've been to a part of the world they've only heard about on the news.

I would recommend this book to anybody. Veteran or not, regardless of your position on war or the military in general, regardless of whether you read for recreation or not, I think everyone can get something from this book. Maximilian Uriarte has done a hell of a job with The White Donkey, and deserves the success it has found. I can't wait for the movie, which will undoubtedly be coming. Just don't let M. Night Shyalaman anywhere near it...

  

Sunday Funday #1: OBX

The far Northeastern corner of North Carolina is occupied by Carova Beach. To most of the tourists who flock to North Carolina's Outer Banks, it is known for the wild horses that reside there. Several businesses offer Wild Horse Tours, driving specially-equipped pickups, SUVs, and even Humvees up and down the beach. The cost of two tickets will fill the fuel tanks, and several tours can be made on a single tank, so these businesses are almost pure profit. A much more economical way to see the horses is to just drive yourself.

Just north of the town of Corolla on NC Hwy 12, the pavement ends and the beach takes over. Four-Wheel Drive is required, and the highway runs an additional twelve miles on the sand to the Virginia state line. It's recommended for vehicles with street tires to air down (let about half of the air out of the tires, down to about 12-15 psi), although trucks and SUVs with larger tires are usually fine at street pressure. It is also recommended to carry a shovel and at least a flat board to spread the weight of your vehicle's jack in case you get bogged down.

Mile Marker 24 is the last marker before the state line, which is visible (the vertical pilings) in the distance. With twelve miles of beach -and the deterrent effect of needing the skills to drive on the sand without getting stuck- there is always plenty of wide-open space on Carova Beach, as opposed to the elbow-to-elbow crowds on other beaches. It's possible to park on the beach and have a hundred yards between you and the next vehicle.

For us, it's about a three-hour drive to Corolla, so we try to leave pretty early in the morning. We also prefer to go on Sundays, when most of the weekend crowd is leaving to go home. We can go to the beach, spend a few hours in the sun (the water doesn't really warm up until June), and hit a gift shop or two on the way back to Nags Head. There are a few restaurants on the sound-side of the island with great sunset views for dinner. 

Having the ocean nearby is one of the best parts about living in Eastern North Carolina. After my time in the military was over, I thought about moving back to Ohio or Alabama, but I like it better right here, in the middle. My wife's family is from the area, while mine is split between two states, so this allows us to be near her family and equidistant from each side of mine. If you ever come out to the Outer Banks, you might see me on the beach.

Of course, if you do find yourself stuck in the loose sand, it won't be long before someone comes along with a tow strap to give you a helping hand, as this Ohio native found out the hard way.

Introducing: John Smith

This is intended as the first of several 'Introducing:' posts; each focusing on a different character from my books. Although I have dabbled in Science Fiction, most of my writing is Action/Thriller fiction. These books follow the adventures of John Smith, a Marine Corps veteran of the Global War on Terrorism.

Like me, John Smith was a POG (Personnel Other than Grunt), serving in a combat support MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) rather than direct infantry combat. The idea came to me after my time in the Marine Corps had come to an end. Out of boredom, I joined the Army Reserve. I realized that two things happened whenever I told a soldier I used to be in the Marines. First, he or she automatically assumed I had been a Grunt and had aspired to be a Scout Sniper or MarSOC Raider, which I never did. I had toyed with the idea of transferring to EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) or Counterintelligence, but I lacked the motivation to complete the necessary paperwork. Second, he or she would feel the need to justify to me why he or she had joined the Army instead of the Marines. It was never for me to judge who should have joined which branch, but I always listened politely, anyway.

Since his separation from the Marines, John Smith has had similar experiences. He's a fairly big guy, six feet tall and over two hundred pounds, so people automatically assume he was some kind of Special Forces badass when they find out that he was a Marine. For simplicity's sake, I gave John my old MOS: 6541, Aviation Ordnance Systems Technician. Instead of humping a fifty-pound MOLLE pack across the desert in Iraq and Afghanistan and getting shot at, he never had to leave the FOB (Forward Operating Base) to accomplish his mission. All he had to do was interpret the munitions requests from the aircraft squadrons, draw the components from storage, supervise the assembly of the munitions, and deliver them to the squadrons.

Some POGs feel inadequate for not being in the infantry, and lie about what they actually do in the military to feel better about themselves, but John Smith proudly claims the title of POG. However, "POG" is the military equivalent of the "N" bomb. John calls himself a POG, and he doesn't get offended when another Marine calls him a POG, but he doesn't tolerate any civilian using the word.

Aside from the military's influence on his life, John came of age in the late nineties, when Office Space and Fight Club came out. His mindset on his place in society was molded by repeated viewings of those movies. Office Space taught him that his life didn't have to revolve around his job; that the two could exist on separate planes. Fight Club taught him not to be a lemming; to forge his own path. As a result, he became a trusted NCO in his unit by impressing his supervisors with his knowledge, skills, and abilities, rather than by doing everything he was told to do and kissing ass. In his personal life, he found balance and happiness alone before he tried to find it in relationships.

It's John's inward focus and self-reliance that the founder of Reflex Engineering, Incorporated saw in him during the events of Favor For a Favor. His determination to succeed on his own terms has lead him to become resourceful, like a modern-day MacGyver. Unlike MacGyver, though, John has no reservations about killing the enemy when all lesser means of resolution have failed. John Smith is a character very close to my heart, and I hope to keep telling his stories for years to come.

Lords of the House

Whatever value a cat can add to a human life, my wife and I have it, times five. My dad was always a cat person, and I think I got it from him. I got my first cat, Jack, when I was 25 and on my first marriage.

Jack was a kitten when my ex-wife and I adopted him. He got his name because he liked to climb onto my shoulder, like a pirate's monkey, so we named him after Captain Barbossa's monkey in Pirates of the Caribbean. He is the only one of our pride of house lions whose birthday I know, so every March 25th, we celebrate all of the kitties getting a year older. He is one of the best companion cats I've ever seen, and he automatically loves everybody.  

I got Diane to keep Jack company after my ex-wife and I divorced. She kept Jack's first companion, a calico named Roxy. Diane came from the Carteret County Humane Society, in Newport, North Carolina. They were calling her Whitney, which I didn't feel was any name to call a cat. I needed something that would go well with Jack, and one of my friends suggested Jill. Not having any toddlers in my house, I wanted something a little more grown-up sounding. So, she got named after the Mellencamp song. She wasn't the most social cat for the first few years I had her, but she took to my wife like they were old friends when we started dating. Diane will always remind me when it's time to feed the kitties. She treats it like her job, sitting by the bowls and meowing at me every time I walk by.

My wife and I found Abby in a cornfield beside her mother's house in the summer of 2012. She was just a tiny kitten, too young to be away from her mother, but somebody had thrown her out because she had a gunky eye and a respiratory infection. We spent a small fortune at the vet, getting her well, and she has grown into the beautiful cat in the photo above. She has imprinted herself on me, and doesn't like anybody else to pet her. She even hisses at my wife. She's my secondary alarm clock, coming into the bedroom every morning and lying down on my chest to wake me up for cuddles. Abby is also the spitting image of my Dad's cat, Cassie, who was by his side for 14 years. Cassie hated any woman who tried to come into my Dad's life, just like Abby does with me.

Bug came from a trailer park about 40 miles away. The lady who had her said she also had snakes in the trailer, and didn't want anything bad to happen to the kitten. For the first three days, we called her 'Little Kitty', which we just shortened to Lily. As she grew up, she started burrowing into the covers on the bed, earning the nickname 'Cuddle Bug.' She did it so much that we eventually just started calling her Bug. She is the most talkative cat in our family.

We found this cat living outside, and brought him inside when we realized he was neutered and declawed. Since he had survived so long without having any claws to defend himself, we named him MacGyver. He loves to give kisses and sleep on the body pillow on the bed. We call him and Jack brothers, and they actually look like they could be.

Cleaning litter boxes for five cats gets to be a chore, and they go through a lot of food, but we love our kitties and there's nothing we wouldn't do for them. They have such dynamic personalities, not to mention that little thing they do where they run through the house as fast as they can. There is also the occasional wrestling match, and their cardboard box antics to watch.

#SHELFIE

During my time in the Marines, I spent more than my share of time waiting for a flight to somewhere or other. Most military air terminals have a shelf unit full of paperback books, well-worn and sometimes missing pages. I enjoyed picking up a book with no expectations and just seeing where the story went. It wasn't like I had much else to do.

It was on one of these shelves that I first discovered Brad Meltzer. The Book of Lies pulled me in and kept me turning the pages so well that I bought The Book of Fate at my destination. I liked how his writing told a story and built a puzzle at the same time.

Executive Power by Vince Flynn caught my eye on a trip to the grocery store. The realism in the story, the way that consequences were considered before decisions were made, added to the genuine feel of the story. Mr Flynn did his research well, and I was disheartened to hear of his passing a few years ago.

Arctic Drift by Clive Cussler was one I picked up after reading Treasure of Khan during my trip home from Afghanistan. It was a good story, with the science to back up the actions. An author should write what he or she knows, and Clive Cussler knows the ocean.

One of my favorite movies, Shooter, was based on the novel Point of Impact by Stephen Hunter, so I bought Night of Thunder because it has the same protagonist. The story revolves around a NASCAR race, which I've never really been into, but the book was good, regardless. Bob Lee Swagger was older, but still a force to be reckoned with.

Mark Greaney's The Gray Man inspired my protagonist, John Smith, with the ability of the character to assimilate into whatever surroundings he finds himself in. His character also tries to get out of sticky situations without bloodshed, but doesn't have time for regrets when he is pushed into killing to survive.

I first heard of the character John Kelley/John Clark from Without Remorse in the film adaptation of The Sum of All Fears. I wished there would have been more scenes with him in the movie, because he didn't seem to care if he caused an international incident in the course of doing his job. His entire background story in this book satisfied that craving, and the hyperbaric chamber scene was pure badass. I read the whole book over the span of three days, during my last week in Afghanistan.

I enjoy reading The Oatmeal comics, so it was a natural choice for me to buy Matthew Inman's book, 5 Very Good Reasons to Punch a Dolphin in the Mouth.

I have a MacGyver complex, which is why I own a book on tying knots. There are some applications where a shoelace bow will not work, and knowing the right knot for the job is important.

Absinthe and Flamethrowers by William Gurstelle is the ultimate how-to book for having fun without getting arrested. It tells how to make your own gunpowder and rocket fuel, how to throw knives, and several other things that make a person feel alive inside.

I've been a fan of The Punisher since I was a kid, and the Marvel MAX run written by Garth Ennis is the best storyline I've ever read. While each book in the ten-part series is its own story, the narrative flows all the way through. There are also stand-alone Punisher books, too.

Alan Moore's The Killing Joke is one of the best Batman stories ever written. I bought it because I had read somewhere that Christopher Nolan gave it to Heath Ledger for inspiration to play the Joker.

The drywall book and the Haynes manual for my Tacoma are only there because they don't fit on any other shelf, but they both see their fair share of use. I have a house to remodel, and I don't like paying anyone to do anything on my truck that I'm capable of doing for myself.