FEBRUARY 25, 1968
* * * * *
It had been sixteen years since Bob had looked upon this face. Sixteen bitter years! Neither one forgiving the other for what each had done (or not done, as the case might be). And, now, it was too late.
Any chance for mutual reconciliation had ended with Ash Phillips' death over a year earlier.
All of this flashed through the general's mind in the second or two before his father's black-and-white image began to speak.
"Hello, son. From my point of view, it's January 1, 1963. But, if you're viewing this, it means two things. That I've shuffled off this mortal coil; and, that the Golden Dagger-axe I posthumously donated to the Smithsonian has been revealed as a fake. Both having to come to pass before the law firm I randomly selected is to release this to you."
"The reason for my chicanery is simple. I anticipated that, sooner or later, either you, the Commies, or the Melissae would once again try to lay hands on the Hsia Jie-ji. So, after Jiro Watanabe smuggled it to me, I had a duplicate made. A gold-plated, blessed iron duplicate!"
"It's the latter I had squirrled away, in Switzerland. While a Tien Kou internuncio, from the Apostolic Delegation in Washington, delivered the real one to a certain Buddhist temple in Hue City, South Vietnam. Where it will hopefully stay for the rest of all time! Because, like I told you once before, son. That accursed thing brings nothing but misfortune to whoever owns it!"
"Bearing that in mind, I thank you for hearing me out. And, I hope you've fared well, in my absence."
Whereupon, the image of Ash Phillips moved his index finger across his throat to signal for the cutting off the videotape camera. Which was, in turn, immediately followed by static. So, Bob hit the "off" switch on the remote.
Later that day, he had an unexpected visitor: Captain Harold Buckler, Junior. United State Naval Air Corps.
"Hal!" exclaimed the general as he pumped the younger man's hand: "It's good to see you. Are you on leave from 'Nam?"
"Yeah. I've been undergoing training on the Douglas Skyhawks, down at Pensacola. Not bad! Still, I'm going to miss my propeller-driven Sky Raider. It made me feel like I imagine Dad must've felt, in his old Hawker Hurricane, during the Blitz."
"Does your Uncle Josh know you're in town?"
Captain Buckler nodded, adding:
"I went to see him, first, because I needed his advice on a certain matter. You see, one of the chopper pilots I fly escort for RT'd me from Saigon with some bad news. Concerning your daughter."
Bob Phillips' posture immediately stiffened.
"This was confirmed by one of the recondo units attached to our Marines at Hue. She was...the Viet Cong, they...."
There was no need to finish. The younger man's eyes said it all. Whereas, Bob's mind's eye instantly flew back to the last time he had spoken to his father, face-to-face.
"I hope you never live long enough to see the high price you paid for this victory."
Snapping out of this reverie, Bob looked at the reel of videotape still on top of his desk, and swore to himself.
"You self-righteous, hypocritical, paranoid bastard!"
To Be Concluded
Giantess World
Chapter End Notes:
*RT: radiotelephone.