The Trinity Musketeers

Copperfox

Copperfox

Well-known member
Drafting notes to self:

I've had this real-world-based novel conceived as a series for years. In the planning stage, I ended up crowding more plotlines together than I could realistically juggle in one linear series. The biggest other narrative that I ended up not using was a Navy-related story based on my submarine service days. As a stand-alone book, I would call it "TRIM, DRAIN, AND CLEANSE" (title based on actual seagoing terminology).

At my age, it's better to get one story, condensed, actually out in front of readers, than end my earthly life with multiple tales unfinished. The one most important to me is the story of three protagonists who all represent aspects of my life; therefore, with my familiar sagas well in hand, I now undertake the story which has counterparts of Athos, Porthos and Aramis.
 
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"THE TRINITY
MUSKETEERS"


\\\\\\\ Preface: "Beginning Two-Thirds Through"

I can't get around the fact that I _don't_ have a well-organized outline for this. Therefore, _you_ are going to be witnesses to my getting plot elements organized, _and_ to my matching the ages of characters with historical events.

(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((

I don't have space at my house for neat archives. THIS has to BE my archive space.
EVEN MORE than with "Spacebullies," anyone following me will get an inside look at the creative process in action.
I might not have time to catch every typo occasioned by my confounded arthritic fingers.

++++++++++++++

EMPHASIZE GEOGRAPHY FIRST!!!!!!

The Absaroka (Crow) people have their main reservation at the middle of Montana south border. Among largest reservations. HQ is Crow Agency, where Tribal Exec Branch meets \\ Billings, MT is 10 miles northwest of the Rez. // Trader Francois Larocque met with Crow braves in summer 1805 /// Fort Laramie Treaty of 1851 defined Crow Rez, a generation before Custer's death (something nasty Lakota guy gloats over)

Hay, corn, barley & pinto beans are grown in Wyoming. Hero's name is Issakar Bean Bringer, from an ancestor who blunted a tribal famine. A conspicuous troublemaker OF COURSE will call him "Bean COUNTER." As a spiritual musketeer, he's "Athos."

==== Issakar === was born === on 8 September === 1958, === to be sure === he couldn't === have served === in Vietnam.

U.S. Embassy to N.Z. in Wellington ==== Consulate in Auckland; Issakar there in 1982 as a new lance corporal === Locals call him "Bainbridge" for the sake of the phonetics. === Later, after exonerated & freed, Issakar changes surname >TO< Bainbridge.

Rongomamau like Jujitsu \\ Only leave to Montana, '85, marries Julie Kraglin, ===They have sons Red Moon, April '86; Creek Walker; June '88.
Sept '92, is when Dobie Tate hit on Julie, picked a fight w/ Issakar & lost but survived...... BRIEFLY. The _Lakota_ goon, Holden Rust, (who said "Bean Counter") was treacherously killed before awakening by his _covert_ boss Tim Cordy who was a services facilitator at Crow Rez offices.

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TADROS {=Theodore} MESEHA is heavy-set enough to be called "Porthos." He's also the one who never weds, but does well as a paramedic in Uncasville, north of New London. After an early relationship fails (irony of saving cold-hearted girl who STILL isn't grateful), moves to New Britain, advances to HARTFORD COUNTY emergency services. That's where he'll be when meeting Issakar.



<<< CANNOT reference Arab Spring, it happens later than I thought, but Meseha family left Egypt after WW2

Ex-Muslim Salman Rushdie can come up in 1989, _within_ story chronology. MUST denounce the Islamist pretense that Muslims would "understand" Christians killing a detractor {Copperfox's actual experience!}

GUSTAVE MARCELIN is the top supporting character. God once shielded him from an armed Voodoo fanatic. Gustave left Algeria with son RAOUL after wife Madeleine left them. Earned credentials in Free Methodist Church; moved to New London. Volunteer chaplain to sub sailors; thus >HE< will meet the "Trim-D-C" protagonist if anyone does. Ditto meeting Connie Hazeltine.




Hispanic Aramis-equivalent will also live in Submarine Base region. where his browsing _EARLY_ internet actually _opens_ the story. His name is Noel Fidencio.

He has a career as a very early software designer. He's around when web rings are invented, so HAS TO HAVE BEEN BORN in the neighborhood of 1976. His bossy wife, whom "Athos & Porthos" detect cheating, is named Juanita.



If I get past the first- projected volume, I'll have the first three heroes plus Noel meet my D'Artagnan counterpart, PIERRE KIEU, a Vietnamese-American baker who owns his combined Christian bookstore & shop..... and who _just_ might get slandered as a bigot after cultists demanded he sell _their_ books. (They pretend he wouldn't even let them >be< there.)

Their cult might mix astrology with a Nibiru fixation. (Think of the disaster movie "When Worlds Collide.") This refers to an actual dopey craze; an actual acquaintance of mine from Illinois. When I wouldn't buy it, she ended our friendship. Her loss.
 
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IT'S BEEN MY CUSTOM TO WRITE SELF-REMINDING DRAFT NOTES RIGHT IN MY STORY POSTS AS I WENT ALONG, AND ERASING THOSE WHEN I NO LONGER NEEDED THEM. HERE, HOWEVER, AT THE START OF A NEW SERIAL, I'LL TRY TO GET BY WITH WHAT I'VE PACKED INTO _ONE_ SETUP; REFER BACK TO IT AS NEEDED, AND TRY TO RESEARCH ANY MORE FACT-CHECKS (THIS BEING A REAL-WORLD -BASED NOVEL) ON THE FLY, WITHOUT CLUTTERING THE STORY-SPACE.)

WE LEARN BY DOING. ON WITH THE SHOW!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

>>>> The Trinity Musketeers, Chapter One: A Deep Dive By Dial-Up
(A year will be inserted here once I settle all the chronology)


Tsssssh, fup fup, ding, buzz, tap tap, hiss dazzzzz, beep, tssssssh, hmmm, ding, buzzz.

Web rings were the latest innovation in the young world of the internet. One ring specialized in crime reports. Noel Fidencio, himself a programmer building his proficiency with web rings, was intrigued by this existing ring's content.

"OCT. 9, 1992: Issakar Bean Bringer, age 34, former U.S. Marine corporal with overseas experience, was found guilty of second-degree murder in the death of Dobie Tate, and first-degree murder in the death of Holden Rust. Mister Tate was an off-reservation friend of Lakota tribesman Rust. Corporal Bean Bringer's ex-wife, born Julie Kraglin, has two sons: Red Moon son of Bean Bringer, age six, and Creek Walker son of Bean Bringer, age four.

Both deaths resulted from an altercation on Montana's Crow Indian Reservation, set off by an unproven accusation that Mister Rust and Mister Tate had both had improper relations with Julie, close together in time. Corporal Bean Bringer, experienced in diplomatic security, fought the alleged seducers outside the Crow Rez administrative building. Mister Tate, the first man slain, has been alleged by other Crow tribespeople to have swung at Bean Bringer with a sledgehammer.


FLASHBACK TO THE EVENT, CROW RESERVATION, SUNDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 6, 1992:

"Hey, Issy-Hissy-Kissy-Kiddy-Kart Bean-Counter," scoffed Holden, "how was your choir singing this morning? Were you the best soprano?"

Issakar paused short of entering the general store. "Rust, we both know that if I say anything, you'll say it proves you got to me; and if I don't say anything, you'll say this proves you got to me. So let your shadow Dobie decide which works better." He tilted his head toward the store entrance.

Dobie Tate leaned out the door, flashing the most scornful grin he could produce. "You spotted me, Beanbag! Guess I stand out for not stinking like you! Maybe next weekend, Julie will agree to do a smell test between us."

"Thanks, she prefers oxygen."

"I bet she also prefers a real man."

"Let us know if you become one."

The storekeeper didn't like any trouble around his store, but he realized that these clods weren't going to accept being ignored. "You boys don't understand who you're picking a fight with."

"Sure we do," Holden scoffed. "An Absaroka who tried to talk the Marine Corps into teaching him how to be a man. But he made sure to go in after Vietnam was all over."

Issakar adjusted his feet into a better stance. "I was too young then. But I did what my hands found to do."

"Yeah, I recognize the Bible quote. Another substitute for manhood. But at least you found some tribals in Australia, yeah? That Wrong-Way dance?"

"Rongomamau, practiced by the Maori, South Island, New Zealand. Like Jujitsu. That was during my consulate security tour."

Holden gave a nod. "Fellow tribals. Okay, then you did one thing right. But you still allowed white men to emasculate you. Only the Absaroka permitted white men to make you accept their translation of your group name. We Lakota respect the Kiowa, Cheyenne and Pawnee more than you; they kept their own identities. If Julie Kraglin had married even a lousy Pawnee, I'd figure she didn't need me to introduce her to--"

Holden Rust thought he had Issakar's attention sufficiently diverted. He didn't. Issakar knew when to react without even having to look behind him. Dobie Tate was body-slammed before he knew he'd been detected. Dismayed but still fueled by malice, Holden tried to grab the Crow brave's belt knife. He failed, and found himself scrubbing the ground with his face. "It can stop here, with nobody dead," Issakar told him.

Dobie ran past the Marine veteran. Holden regained his feet with no intent of making peace or or backing off. Readying a locking-blade knife, he wildly swung..... but most onlookers had their attention drawn to Dobie's movement, thus took little notice of what Holden did. A Rongomamau move both disarmed Holden and slammed him onto his face.

Many actions happen faster than a description can be typed. The prostrate Holden became a less immediate threat as soon as Dobie Tate reappeared-- grasping a medium-sized sledgehammer which he had swiped from the store's tool section. Having just secured Holden Rust's knife, he let his own weapon fall so as to act swiftly. Dobie screamed with hysterical rage, with nothing in his head but killing what was supposed to be a Crow tribe weakling. His over-arm swing of the hammer missed, but Holden's clasp knife didn't. Dobie's bowels hit the ground before the rest of him did; and when he arrived in eternity, the Almighty was not impressed by his excuses.

Holden Rust being alive and not critically hurt, Issakar let others render aid to him and looked around.

"Holden tried to kill me in front of witnesses. You also can see that I didn't hurt him further once he was out of action. Dobie attacked too fast for me to have that option. His death is his own fault."

"No, no, no!" the store owner broke in. "Bean Bringer's trained skill meant he could have easily disarmed a man with a blunt weapon that could have been grabbed! He wanted to kill Dobie!"




In his own present time, Noel Fidencio kept reading the web ring. He found that one Tim Cordy, a reservation services facilitator, had been a professed friend of the men Issakar fought, but had treacherously finished off Holden Rust later with Issakar's dropped knife. Inefficient action by tribal police had muddled the narrative, and Issakar took the fall. Julie, the pathologically faithless wife, divorced Issakar in absentia to marry Tim. Only when she was dying of cancer did Julie confess before witnesses that she had cheated, lied, and helped to frame her innocent husband. Tim got life in maximum security with no possibility of parole. Julie lived long enough for the liberated Issakar to reach her bedside and tell her he forgave her; so she died in peace, knowing that Jesus also forgave her.

(Yes, it did mean something that the gospel of Jesus had met wide acceptance among the Crow Indians.)

Red Moon and Creek Walker were reunited with their father, who easily forgave them also for being tricked. As part of making a new start, Issakar changed his last name to Bainbridge-- an alias he had used for convenience among the Maori tribesmen in Auckland on South Island, because he hadn't known how to translate the words "Bean" and "Bringer" into Maori.

Since then, Issakar had traded on his experiences to establish credentials as a private detective.

So, Noel realized, Issakar Bainbridge with his boys was out there now, a free man. May God grant that I can meet him someday.
 
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8 SEPTEMBER 1985 (DIRECTLY NARRATED BY THE AUTHOR, NOT BEING WEB-SEARCHED BY NOEL FIDENCIO):

The fire station in Uncasville, Connecticut, had never seen a younger emergency medical technician than Tadros Meseha, nor a more heavyset one. The barrel-bodied Egyptian-American looked baby-faced, but stayed on task like a veteran.

Brenda Skeller needed all of it. Hauled out of her boyfriend's crashed car, she lay on her back with her mangled right leg elevated. It was elevated in the only way Tadros had been able to manage quickly enough: he sat with his feet extended before him, so her critically injured limb rested on the E.M.T.'s left leg. His tourniquet was holding, scarcely any blood escaping from the wound. But now he was stuck in place. He looked at the not-seriously- hurt track-and-field jock who had been driving drunk.

"Dave! Will you get your ___ over here? I can't treat her face wound from this position!"

"Fruffshuff, ack!" When characters in a movie are supposed to vomit, the actors always cough; but vomiting is a liquid gush, dry heaves optional, not a cough-- just as a sneeze never is vocalized as "AH-CHOO!"

Once done upchucking, Dave Adamiak decided (not as any joke) that he would do better leaving his gastric puddle behind by rolling instead of trying to walk. Shifting direction twice with help from his left arm, he managed such fabulous athleticism as to avoid jolting the girlfriend who was hanging onto life with an E.M.T.'s borrowed hands. Figuring out which of his hands was less dirty, Dave pressed the heel of that hand against the gash on Brenda's face. This was better than nothing, and allowed Tadros to concentrate on the main injury.

The fire department's paramedic truck soon pulled up. The resident paramedic, Mrs. Alicia Foreman, had been on an equally urgent call on the far side of Uncasville, along Connecticut's Thames River (not with a hard 'T' like the river in England). Addressing Tadros as "Ted," she didn't brush him aside like some some amateur; she did expertly appraise his care of Brenda, and took in Dave's intoxicated condition.

"This dweeb is going to get suspended at the very least. If Brenda here had been killed, I would call it first degree murder." Next, Alicia frowned at Brenda, whose history of chasing Exciting Bad Boys was known as far as Montville. Tadros, by contrast, was known for being rejected as "boring" by snobbish girls-- Brenda not least of these.

Three days later, Brenda unexpectedly telephoned the Coptic Christian (whose faith was one of his boring features in her estimation), thanked him for saving her life, and actually went so far as to say, "You are the best man I know." This naturally didn't prevent her from acting as eager support for Dave Adamiak at his court date, and driving him to secluded parking spots where she could raise his spirits more vigorously.

On a later occasion, she went so far as to chide the boyfriend who was without vehicle privileges till after Christmas, about how poorly he compared with Tadros' unselfish love. Then she kept right on dating and preferring Dave. Some acquaintances conjectured that she lacked self-esteem and thought she didn't deserve so good a man as Tadros. Relatives, and wiser friends, understood that the opposite was true: Brenda was choosing to believe that she was so special, she would succeed in taming Dave where all other girls failed.

Every time she told Tadros, "I like you as a friend," Tadros had the insight to grasp that this really meant, "You mean less to me than dog poop."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Through time and space, we now rejoin our explorer of the dial-up internet.

"Burn up the preacher, burn up the preacher!" Juanita Fidencio's voice cackled from the living room. Disney Corporation's blatantly anti-Christian movie "Dragonslayer," which gleefully portrayed Christians both as pushy arrogant fanatics, and as utterly helpless and useless against evil, had become available secondhand at a nearby videotape rental store a year ago. Now Noel's wife couldn't get enough of it. After replaying the ending where Christians try to pretend that their imaginary deity brought Vermithrax down when it was really the heroic pagan wizard's doing, Juanita yelled into her husband's office:

"Hey, you lazy ________, quit playing games and get my ________ supper on the table!!"

The sole breadwinner in this childless household replied, "I already did make supper, it's on the table!"

"But I told you I decided I don't like guacamole anymore," she shot back. (They both knew that she had not told him any such thing.) "I'm going out to get a real supper someplace! While I'm gone, help out for once and rewind the movie!"

So away Senora Fidencio drove, as on many evenings, in the car Noel had paid for, telling herself how oppressed she was by male chauvinists.
 
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Chapter Two: ALL THE CREW AT THE RENDEZVOUS SAY, TALK WITH AN EGYPTIAN


CENTRAL CONNECTICUT, SUMMER OF 1994:

Tadros Meseha, now a full-fledged paramedic, had found an enjoyable substitute for a conventional social life. He was volunteering at the Connecticut Rendezvous, absorbing this continent's history. White and black performers, clad in period attire, demonstrated frontier skills, including live musket shots on a safe target range. Numerous Native American tribes were colorfully represented, wearing their own traditional attire. Some performed colorful dances, and manned booths offering traditional crafts. Both groups offered their own traditional foods, with cooking demonstrations as appropriate.

Issakar Bainbridge was at the Crow nation's booth. He wore his Marine dress uniform, in honor of all Natives who had cast their lot with a country that welcomed them into military service. Creek Walker and Red Moon, meanwhile, sported Absaroka/Crow regalia, and managed to speak phrases in their ancestral tongue to visitors.

The Coptic gentleman didn't know the Bainbridge family, but had gone to a library (this still was too early in history for the internet to be a universal resource) and perused archives of many tribes.

"Mister Bainbridge, pleased to meet you and your sons. I've looked up a lot of tribal genealogies; I understand that grown men's adult names were derived from brave deeds or unusual events. But one Absaroka name puzzled me. Are you descended from a man called Bean Bringer?"

Issakar grinned. "Yes, my sons and I are. 'Bainbridge' is phonetically derived from 'Bean Bringer'."

"All right, then, what was the original name's origin?"

"A historic situation, and a worthy deed which arose from it. Back before the Civil War, before the Absaroka Reservation was officially established, a harsh winter brought famine. Beans were a staple protein source for my people; not that we didn't eat meat, but stored beans keep good a long time, and were a crucial backup resource when the hunting was poor.

"One young man, whose family had managed to store up a large food reserve, learned that some other Absaroka miles away were going hungry. My ancestor-- yes, that's who I mean-- knew that his camp's horses were not in good shape. With his father's approval, he loaded a drag-litter with well-tied sacks of beans, enough to keep everyone at the other camp alive for three or four days. His father had him add a parcel of dry tinder and kindling for a fire. With a terrific sustained exertion, he hauled the sledge by foot for a distance of at least thirty miles (a straight line was impossible for a dragged load in that terrain). When he reached his destination, he found that other Absaroka had come there, also needing food. The youth unloaded his cargo, then told everyone that he would be back the same day, and started home at once.

"All this time, he had reduced weight by bearing no weapon but a knife. The sun was already setting when he reached home. Hearing the updated situation, his father told him: 'What we can spare them further is less than what you took the first time; so as for weight, you can allow yourself to take a spear instead, for better protection against wolves. And stay there overnight'."

"The boy went forth again. Wolves were about, but could sense that he would not be easy prey. Reaching the other camp, he unloaded the additional beans, then found a place to sleep. No one objected to this; in fact, the head man at this camp offered the lad his oldest unattached daughter. She was decent-looking enough; more importantly, she was healthy, smart, and a good worker. By all accounts, they got along well. That girl was to become an ancestor to my boys and me."

Tadros nodded. "I see it now. His act of bringing food to fellow tribespeople, under hazardous conditions, was definitely close enough to a warrior's exploits, that it made for a worthy manhood name to give him."

"Yep. Do you mind giving me a phone number for your home? The boys and I would like to get to know you better."

"Gladly. I have no children, and might never have any; so if someone felt like treating me as an adoptive uncle, I probably wouldn't object."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Right about five years ago it was, here in Connecticut. You may remember Salman Rushdie, who renounced Islam and wrote a book titled 'The Satanic Verses.' A Connecticut-based imam openly stated that Rushdie deserved to be killed, as per a fatwa. He deserved an Oscar for playing word games."

"Meaning what?" asked Walter, a Crow tribesman and archivist from the festival who had joined the Bainbridges and Mister Meseha at the firepit.

It had been easy persuading Tadros to stay overnight at the campground where the Bainbridges had rented a spot. The paramedic, much less accustomed to roughing it, had the self-respect not to act wimpy. He simply answered Walter: "The imam tried to get Americans into his corner. He said, 'You Christians would equally want to punish anyone who insulted your Christ, so you should commend my call for justice.' But most Americans-- especially Navy personnel at the submarine base-- were smart enough to recognize the truth. What the Islamist really meant was: 'We're okay with you Christians killing Jews, Hindus, Buddhists or atheists, but you're still not allowed to contradict US on any subject'."

This Christian gathering-- including the Coptic believer who had seen the hostility of Egyptian Muslims-- could easily agree on scorning that imam's hypocrisy. Thus, the conversation soon returned to Native American history, and Walter took his turn.

"Issakar, there was a situation with our own tribe, one generation back before the first Bean Bringer. Some of my direct ancestors waged war against the Flatheads in Montana; that's right, Crows were assaulting another tribe which had accepted being called by the English translation of their collective name. The hypocrisy must have made God Himself wince."

Issakar let out a sigh. "For sure, for sure, it isn't only one ethnicity that needs His redeeming grace."
 
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CHAPTER THREE: A Case of Haiti Speech


FEBRUARY 1987: "Two friends of mine will be joining us this evening," Chaplain-Lieutenant Flynn Creach told the sailors and civilian employees from the Submarine Base. "This will be the first time they meet each other." Religious Program Specialist Third Class Connie Hazeltine was taking notes for the Navigators meeting; as was her custom, she was the only military servicewoman present who wasn't in uniform. She was always prim and military while on regular duty, but at these meetings she always let her long, straight brown hair hang free, and her dress was as low-cut and high-hemmed as the chaplain (a faithful married man who had earned his wife's trust) was prepared to tolerate.

"Miaslig Sevasnian is an Air Force sergeant, visiting here from Dover Base in Delaware. Gustave is a Free Methodist missionary, with experience on the field in Algeria, where many Arabs still speak French. He was accompanied by his wife Madeleine and their son Raoul. Madeleine left them for a smooth-talking Arab; her gross infidelity left her no custody rights. Father and son soon left Algeria. Right now, Raoul is visiting with his maternal grandparents, who have disowned Madeleine; thus Raoul is likely to feel that he can vent to them."

Of the two visitors, Gustave arrived first. As soon as he felt he had a courteous audience, he began the story he had prepared in his mind.

"Madeleine brought oppression on herself by believing a girl-chaser's flattery. I know enough now that I can say the creep's deception qualifies as Taqiyya. Easy enough to condemn the system which made an institution of spousal abuse from the very start. But a church which didn't give a free ride to self-indulgent narcissists got to me with full doctrine. Then the lights came on. Madeleine's problem wasn't simply living with strict rules; what she needed was to learn the right rules. I know the right rules now, and if God wills it, someday I can teach her."

Connie had never been enthusiastic for being instructed by men, unless acting teachable helped her career. "Mister Marcelin, what are those rules?"

Gustave looked as if he had just heard exactly what he had been hoping to hear at the Navigators meeting. "Rules which Yahweh chose to emphasize, exactly because they spoke to Israel's daily life. You can't get any more daily than eating. What Israelites ate, they also brought as burnt offerings. Yahweh gave them focus, and focus never ceased to be necessary."

Flynn Creach lightly tapped the brakes. "Excuse me, Mister Marcelin, but I may be guessing correctly where this is going. Are you saying that the kosher dietary laws never were superseded? Neither by passage of time beyond Yeshua's resurrection, nor by His gospel being carried to the Goyim?"

Miaslig Sivasnian's arrival to join the session delayed the answer the chaplain would have given. But when the Air Force noncom heard what had begun to be discussed, he said: "Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, I'm afraid I know just what Gustave is getting at. Gustave, were you or were you not just about to say that no animal sacrifice could ever have been acceptable to God if the worshiper didn't bring an animal of approved species?"

"Of course it couldn't! Yahweh never changes, so His rules never change."

"If so," the Armenian-American replied, "you must maintain that, since either sheep or goats were the only animals He would allow to be eaten at Pesakh, cooking for the ritual any animal other than a lamb or a kid would be sacrilege, even if it were an animal otherwise clean to eat?"

"Of course it would," Gustave harrumphed. "The Lord cannot contradict Himself."

"But will He condemn people for not serving up an animal which He Himself chose to make unavailable to them? Did Inuit villages have sheep or goats?"

"That's passive-aggressive!"

Lieutenant Creach reclaimed the helm. "Gustave, you're evading Miaslig's question. Could God have insisted on condemning remote nations for not possessing livestock which He deliberately prevented them from possessing?"

Gustave's pigment was too dark to turn red with a temper tantrum, but his voice made up for it. "All of you are carnal and unspiritual!"

Flynn Creach came to his feet, shedding all unhelpful tact. "In the name of Jesus, I command any unclean spirit in this room to reveal itself!"

No horror-movie effects ensued, but the air grew palpably colder. Connie quietly but rapidly stood up and headed for the next room.

Gustave's voice became just a little unnatural-- enough so that the use of a third-person pronoun said enough. "He invited me in before he left Algeria. He wanted the world to make him his own rabbi; he gave me just enough consent that I had my entry."

"But I say by the Holy Spirit that Brother Gustave doesn't want you anymore. You have overplayed your hand." The chaplain sensed Miaslig and the others in the room silently supporting him in prayer. Now addressing the compromised missionary: "Gustave, no demon is allowed to erase human free will altogether. You can still revoke the unwitting invitation you gave to this evil spirit. God awaits your choice to submit to Him in spirit and in truth!"

"Yes, yes, I submit to Yahweh as He truly is! I reject this and any other deceitful spirit! I will accept correction!"

The chill in the house retreated like a loser hating to admit defeat. When Connie Hazeltine rejoined them, she looked glad that she had skipped their successful exorcism.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What does the word 'excursion' mean for a bubblehead?"

"It means a change of depth, Chief: rising or diving."

"When we come to periscope depth at night, why does the control room switch to red lights?"

"Because light can go out through the scope as well as come in. But of all colors of light, red is the least noticeable in darkness. Having only red light inside control means the smallest risk of surface targets counter-detecting us."

"So far, so good," said Joe Greenridge. "Now for something more inboard. What's the difference between drain pumps and trim pumps?"

The seaman apprentice gained confidence. "The pumps are mechanically identical. They have different primary jobs, but each can do the other one's function. Trim pumps normally shift seawater between trim tanks fore and aft, assisting our depth excursions. Drain pumps collect waste water from the heads, to be expelled from the boat. If the trim pumps go offline, drain pumps can take over controlling ownship's angle. If the drain pumps fail, trim pumps can take over expelling waste water. In either case, auxiliary machinist mates eventually purge contaminants from tanks and pumps. Once back at home pier, we cleanse the system fully."

"Next, what's the difference between a Caution tag and a Danger tag?"

"Caution tag means there's a risk of damage to equipment. Danger tag means a risk of damage to personnel."

"Very good, Emerson. Go ahead and take your turn in the rack." With their Los Angeles-class attack submarine at the pier, these two men were part of the current shift, which had just enough men aboard to get the boat underway in an emergency. Any "non-qual" in the onboard shift was expected to allocate as much time as possible to checking off the list of proficiency requirements.

Greenridge sat in thought for a minute before heading to the goat locker (chiefs' quarters). He would find himself with an uninvited bunkmate: the recollection of a day when Chaplain Creach had used the trim-and-drain relationship as a metaphor for the need to reject sin......
 
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Eight days later, in a village on the Haiti side of Hispaniola, a voodoo priest was holding a late-night ceremony in the light of a bonfire. Previously-drugged villagers shuffled around the campsite, in the psychedelic trance which was the reality behind zombie myths. The priest's robotized subjects were victims rather than monsters, but Papa Squellette cared only for his own importance.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: A MINISTER I KNOW DID IN FACT HAVE AN ADVENTURE MUCH LIKE WHAT YOU ARE ABOUT TO READ.

A man as dark-skinned as the voodoo master, but spiritually worlds removed from a setting which embodied the very worst brand of paganism, strode fearlessly toward the bonfire. All of Squellette's followers, be they robotized or not, stepped out of the missionary's way.

"Bone-tossing fool, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus! None of these people rightfully owe you the obedience you have extorted from them. By the power of the Holy Spirit, I command you to release them!"

Squellette cursed fiercely in Creole French, then tossed sand into the fire: sand over which he had earlier spoken hateful incantations. Colored smoke rose, moving against the breeze-- but hit an unseen wall before it could touch Gustave.

"Fool, you have lost already. Submit yourself to the true God, before His patience ends!"

The necromancer shrieked in fury, drew a machete and ran straight at Gustave-- three paces, before he struck an unseen barrier. A second attempt only dropped him onto his hindquarters, his blade falling into the bonfire. Gustave crouched, grasped the voodoo lord's ankles, then dragged him away from fire, steel and zombies. The drug-driven zombies all sat down wherever they were..... and stopped being zombies.

The people who had not been drugged in the first place were quicker to realize what had happened. One, the eldest woman in the gathering, struggled to stand, and rasped: "Man of the light, your God is mightier than our gods. We want to follow your God!"

Raoul Marcelin was to be overjoyed upon hearing that his father had learned how to admit himself in the wrong.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"You can't fool me, you________! I know all about Navy wives having spare husbands for when the legal husband's on deployment!"

Back in Groton, Connecticut, Joe Greenridge had not learned humility. In their unit of the row-housing north of the submarine base, he was essentially gaslighting his wife of eleven years.

Mary kept control. Joe had never yet struck her except on the two past occasions when she had swung first. She was not going to give him any justification for possibly escalating to worse aggression. He went on:

"I suppose you think cheating is okay, don't you?"

His absurdity strengthened her own ability to stay calm. "My saying that I haven't cheated is nowhere near being support for those who do."

Joe marched out, setting his course for the familiar bar straight up the north-south road which led to the submarine base downriver. He was tonight's designated driver for his own shipmates. It was true that many wives cheated; the primary difference for the all-male crew on his Los Angeles- class boat was that they did their cheating in foreign ports. On the other hand, Christian husbands in the crew served as each other's accountability partners on deployment, making for good relationships at home.
 
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After another of Chaplain Creach's Navigator Fellowship studies, Connie Hazeltine drove east, to an exotic-dancer club outside Mystic Seaport. Very modest clothing now, jeans and a hoodie. She was there neither as a missionary, nor as an auditioner. Watching one performance after another, she considered what messages or articles or speeches she might compose.

Connie the professed Christian, Connie the potential wife and mother, Connie the petty officer, Connie the late bloomer who had not become seriously beautiful till age sixteen, and Connie the emancipated daughter with multiple courses to sail, all held a conference at their club table. No consensus was reached.... but a nudge was provided when they\she overheard two offstage dancers chatting. Both women were sharing resentment against religious fanatics who hated every non-conformist.

Was this a sign? All five Connie Hazeltines, except the prim petty officer, became almost certain that they could achieve a reputation for boldness and sharp intellect if they began sanctimoniously condemning "hate speech."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next time the petty-officer version of Connie was at her desk in the base chapel, she enjoyed the opportunity to sit in on a visit to the Lieutenant's office by Gustave and Raoul Marcelin, the former lately back from Haiti. Father and son had a little fun speaking Creole French as distinct from regular French. Connie vaguely pretended that she understood the differences. She had a casual date coming the next evening, with Penn Guilford, a Coast Guard E-6 (i.e. first-class petty officer), close enough in rank so no fraternizing issues were likely.

The tavern where they dined was not the one Joe Greenfield frequented. It had no live entertainment (which lowered the owner's expenses, and thus the prices for the very good food on the menu). But a sound system played a well-chosen song selection at moderate volume.

"Don't come a-hangin' around my door, don't wanna see your face no more!
I don't need your war machines, I don't need your ghetto scenes!"

Penn snarled some impolite words; then, more politely: "Not the first Canadians to snipe at the United States. My Uncle Jeffrey served with the Marines in Vietnam; came home with no thumb on his right hand. He can invite anyone to guess who had the real war machine in Vietnam. I know a Russian-American family over in Pennsylvania. Their son Boris joined a high school debate team, in a district full of Communist sympathizers. The moral truth of the Vietnam War was made a county-wide debate subject. Boris welcomed the underdog status by arguing against the Communists.

"The pro-Communist side was overconfident; they thought that Jane Fonda was a winning card for them. But Boris exploded their case by citing history no one else had bothered to look up. What we call Vietnam had originally been three kingdoms: Tonkin, Annam and Cochin. Tonkin was what became North Vietnam after the French were expelled, and it attacked the other two. This demolished the popular lie that 'Vietnam needed to be all one country.' Most of the local teachers resented being proven wrong, but a tomboyish local girl named Becky, who had been guilty of disrespecting Boris, saw the light, asked his forgiveness-- and now they're going steady."

Connie absorbed this with no substantial comment. While she knew better than to approve of Communism, she wasn't thrilled by stories of girls meekly apologizing to boys. Connie's own habit, if she gave clear offense to a male, was to minimize it as much as she could get away with.
 
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Chapter Four: MUSKETEERS AS DETECTIVES

"You stuck a serving fork into my throat and laughed at me; \ The dinner guests applauded while they ate. \ You stole the album copyright and mocked me on TV, \ While I was cancelling the concert date."

The upstate vineyard, south of Lake Ontario, sitting on a northwest line from the Big Apple, had its own band shell for entertainment. The song of anger, titled Copyright and Copywrong, was being sung by its composer Cord Brainerd, leader of the band Punkyard Dogs. Just as the guitarists were launching into the sixteen- measure middle passage, their amps cut out.

The Punkyard Dogs had only been touring at a level above taverns for two years, but they all had good instincts. As if the sound shutoff had been a planned surprise, the silenced guitarists both pointed at the bass player and the drummer. The latter two men smoothly began a duet of their own, while Cord strutted stage left, heading for where the engineers were hastily troubleshooting the amplifiers. Before going back onstage, the singer-composer shouted into the ear of a venue security man: "Somebody ____ed up the speakers!" A roadie handed Cord a backup microphone with a separate signal connection, just in case the voice feed had also been sabotaged. Cord resumed singing with his rhythm section for accompaniment, and retained his all-is-well manner when the guitarists resumed playing.

Cord's habit was to name his bandmates just before the final song of a performance, but he decided to do it earlier, enhancing the charade of normalcy. The audience bought it. At concert's end, as all five performers were signing autographs, the concert emcee went to speak to the vineyard owner about the likely vandalism.

Meanwhile, a denim-clad fiftyish woman (still with a decent figure, but smart enough not to push her luck by exposing more) waited for the opportunity to speak with Cord. "Mister Brainerd, I have a nephew in Connecticut who's friends with an expert at surveying computer networks. If my nephew talks to Mister Fidencio, that's the computer specialist, Mister Fidencio is sure to be interested in tracking any trail the vandals might have left lingering on the new dial-up lines. And he has a friend who's a licensed private eye."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Noel was destined to have one other piece of emotional work before calling Issakar about the rock band's case. He was hiking around the perimeter of a large park with some of his old college friends when a beautiful girl, not clad revealingly but obviously at least an eight for body shape, ran toward him. Recognizing her instantly, Noel snapped to his classmates: "Be my witnesses that I don't hit on her!"

"Mister Fidencio!" the girl cried out. "It's me, Janie Barrett!" Not slowing, Janie ran right into what would have been her target's embrace if he had not kept his arms at his sides. She did the embracing for them both, covered him with kisses, then stopped the kissing so that his embarrassment wouldn't ruin her act of gratitude. Relaxing but not breaking her hold on him, she declared matter-of -factly to the others: "I owe this man my life. It was four years ago. He stopped me from committing suicide."

One of Noel's friends gestured toward the nearest park benches. "Let's hear the whole story. Mister Mathematics here never told us."

Janie gave her hero the gift of not crowding against him when they all sat.

"It was four years ago. I was thirteen-and-change, and wanted to be twenty. Got into the wrong crowd. Older boys. They got me drunk, then suddenly realized what my being a minor could mean for them. So they ran away and hoped I would forget who gave me the booze. I was near a grocery store-- blocks away from where Mister Fidencio lived. I stole a bag of apples, then came out again--" here she allowed herself to kiss Noel one more time, this one brief but on the mouth. "He saw me hitchhiking, and decided he'd better pick me up before I got arrested or worse. He asked me where I lived; it was on the other side of the river from where we were and from where he lived. I managed to give him vague directions, back across the river. Lucky he knew my neighborhood. I told him to stop soon after we crossed the bridge, and I got out.

"God must've told him this wasn't right; and he listened to God. He got out and followed me; saw that I wasn't walking to any house, I was headed straight for the river. He ran after me and stopped me. Then I started crying; so he picked me up, carried me back to his car, and told me he wasn't letting me out of his sight until I was safe. At last I managed to guide him to a friend's house.

"Mister Fidencio walked with me to the door. When my friend opened, he said to her, 'Do you know this girl? I picked her up hitchhiking, and she said she had a friend here.' Yeah, I remember his exact words. My friend thanked him, hauled me inside, and got his phone number. Next day my Mom called him to say her own thanks. Mister Fidencio told her about his church, gave the pastor's name, then asked would it be all right if he drove me to a service next Sunday. Mom said yes, and he did take me there for worship.

"The pastor was friendly, and he didn't say anything I had any reason to get mad about; but I decided-- stupid me! --that I didn't want to make a commitment. So I never spoke to Mister Fidencio again." Janie looked at Noel again, fingers touching his right cheek. "Well, now I'm just months from turning eighteen. Is there any chance we could get together after I'm legal?"

The least-discreet of Noel's friends exclaimed: "Go for it, Noel! We all know that Juanita cheats on you; just divorce her, you have evidence. Then propose to Janie here one day after her eighteenth birthday."

Noel drew a deep breath before saying, "Janie, I wouldn't be doing you a favor if I exposed you to made-up charges of being a homewrecker. If God doesn't create fail-safe conditions for us to get together with no trapdoors under our feet, I'll wish you all the best with a guy who isn't jinxed."
 
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Noel wrapping up his cordial interaction with Janie gave Issakar time to come join him. The Crow brave got to meet the girl, and said to her: "There's every chance you can find a man as good as Noel is; not many so good, but some exist, and some of those are single. I know you don't want to undercut Noel's case when he's ready to jettison a worthless wife. When my wife divorced me, it was lies about me that helped her shaft me in court."

After Janie took her leave, Issakar led Noel in the opposite direction. The older man quietly switched to speaking Spanish, alternating with a few key words in Absaroka and Maori. He had taught these to Tadros even before their befriending Noel made it possible for them to style themselves as "Musketeers." Alexandre Dumas' Athos, Porthos and Aramis had understood operational security.

This was the substance of what Issakar told Noel:

"I cast my fishing line-- lots of long-distance calls-- into the management of the latest Connecticut Rendezvous; they remember my boys and me working our booth. I didn't ask them to do anything risky, and I didn't tell them what I was really looking for. No one could see anything suspicious in our discussion of a shared interest. I hope that these broad conversations about merchant concessions and entertainment booking will have a ripple effect, generating indirect leads."

"Like, you cross-reference which bands or solo singers are beating out which competitors for concert slots. Not all artists or their agents have discovered the worldwide web yet; but a few programmers I know have their stated favorite styles or local bands, which in turn indicate what local bands they'll keep track of." Here Issakar clapped Noel on the shoulder. "Like that Three Stooges movie: 'Step by step, inch by inch'."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Tadros Meseha had expected the tour of Mystic Seaport, east of the Thames-with-a- TH-as -in-"think" River, to be his foremost off-duty adventure this month. Now, he was grateful that only his clothes were scorched, not his flesh.

"God must really like you a lot," the senior firefighter told Paramedic Meseha. "Passing by, then running right in before the responsible personnel got here. Not only brave, but smart: yelled for other tenants to get out, checked for backdraft hazard, went in staying low."

The fire-scene investigator now spoke of her clue-finding to Tadros Meseha, who was listening with one ear while stabilizing the burn victim from the affected apartment. "It wasn't the impulsive act of a pyromaniac, or he would have set the fire downstairs." The woman and several men were on the upper floor of the two- story apartment building, though not inside the destroyed unit.

The Egyptian-American paramedic nodded to the investigator. "So the firebug must have had a nasty personal grudge, or something to gain."

Tadros remained here long enough to overhear when a lady from a ground-level unit spoke to the investigator and a city policeman about the casualty, who proved to be a programmer like Noel.

"Roland Heston, no relation to the actor, had ideas for improving speed of transmission. Some guy, I don't know the name, used to talk to him about it. The guy would say things like, ' Human knowledge belongs to the whole human race.' Roland shut that down: told him that every Communist regime talked the same way, but they really meant 'belongs to the Marxist collective.' Once he tried what he figured was an unbeatable zinger: told how the actress Hedy Lamarr invented something with radio, that helped America win World War Two, and didn't ask to be paid. But Roland shot right back by saying that once the crisis was over, Miss Lamarr went ahead and claimed private patents for her later inventions."

Tadros never heard how the crime investigation turned out, but he told Noel and Issakar about it. They understood-- and Noel resolved that he would use every feasible precaution to protect any inventions he might come up with.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

NOW TO REVIEW WHERE JOE GREENRIDGE HAS BEEN.

Yep, I'm doing this in 2026. \\\\

Joe drove Connie to an arts-and-crafts festival in downtown New London. Later they toured the accessible wing of a rural monastery; Joe brought some trail mix to share with his date. Once back in the car, Connie initiated some kissing, and hinted that further interaction just might be possible, provided she retained sole authority over it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Although being a submarine veteran called Joe is all I have in common with Joe Greenridge, the DESCRIPTION OF PERSONAL INTERACTION here is virtually identical with my real-world experience. For instance, the actual Annie Constantine did kiss me, did attend an arts-and -crafts event with me, did intentionally lead me on, did visit a monastery with me, etc.
 
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INSERT PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT before continuing Trinity Musketeers:

Six months ago, the most noble Evening Star was disheartened by NOT receiving feedback on his new storytelling. People were SEEING what he wrote (which was also happening with my stories), but they couldn't COMMENT because they weren't full members.

Well, our Dancing Lawn leadership, notably EveningStar, took steps to facilitate TWO-WAY contact between authors and readers. Here's what any newbie needs to do: SCROLL TO THE TOP of the forum's introductory page, select "Enter The Wardrobe," then look at "Welcome New Members." A link has been placed there to guide you.

WE NOW RESUME THE STORY WHICH COMES CLOSE TO BEING AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF COPPERFOX.

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THE RESTART IS OCCURRING IN MID-AUGUST OF 2026.

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vvvvv ooooo mmm
 
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