This story is a fictional account of a period in which the views of patriotic Americans were looked upon with derision and suspicion. Those who served or had served in the country's military forces were abused, discriminated against, and even spit upon. It was difficult for an ex-serviceman to even get a job and those who did were rarely promoted. While the story is completely fictional, actual names, characters, places, and incidents that might coincide with actions, places, people, or events have been changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty or are the product of my imagination and used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The actual processes, however, are based upon the experiences of the author.
Prelude:
Wilson John O'Toole had married while still in college, the light of his life, Mary Joyce Glenncanon was a vivacious shining example of a beautiful woman and wife. They graduated, both at the top of their class. They had only themselves, both of them had lost their parents some years earlier and Mary had no relatives, while Wilson had an uncle, who doted upon Wilson. Uncle Joe O'Toole had never married and lived in a small house in Daly City, a suburb of San Francisco. Upon graduation, the United States Navy, in its infinite wisdom, decided it needed him on a Mine Sweeper off the coast of Viet Nam. He was in Saigon Harbor when their child was born, a bouncing baby boy they named Patrick James O'Toole after their own fathers. His ship was off the coast of Cambodia when he received a radio message from Uncle Joseph O'Toole that Mary Joyce O'Toole had been killed in an automobile accident and he had custody of young Patrick. Wilson had just assumed command of the minesweeper and there was no way he could come running home. His second in command, Lt. Jg Oscar Robbins quietly closed the door of his Captain's stateroom and took over the bridge as the little ship was "fishing" for underwater explosives. It was two days before the crew saw their Captain, he was red-eyed and "looked like hell", but he had cried himself out and was back in command. The Navy and war waits for no man and he had command of a warship, no matter how small it was. There was work to do.
All copyrights are the properties of their respective owners, no monetary gain is being received for this work of fiction.
This story may contain scenes of a graphical nature which may not be legal in your area. If you are under 13 years of age, or material of this nature is illegal in your present location, please leave now. By clicking on any of the links above you are affirming that it is legal for you to view the material in this story; neither you or any family members are an employee of any type of government, law enforcement, or investigative entity; you are not performing any type of research in preparation for any forms of legal action either directly or indirectly affecting the contents of this site; and you are agreeing that the author and this site will not be held responsible for any consequences of you viewing or downloading the story.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental, and no harm or slanderous intent is implied or intentional.
COPYRIGHT © 2012-2013 BY CHARLES BIRD (R.I.P.). ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS AUTHOR'S WORK IS FULLY PROTECTED UNDER THE UNITED STATES COPYRIGHT LAWS © 17 USC §§ 101, 102(a), 302(a). ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLACING OR POSTING THIS STORY ON ANY WEBSITE, OR DISTRIBUTION OF THIS WORK IN ANY WAY (PARTS OR WHOLE) WITHOUT THE EXPLICIT CONSENT OF THE AUTHOR IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. ANY AND ALL COPYRIGHT INFRINGEMENTS WILL BE PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT OF THE LAW. ANY AND ALL COMMERCIAL USE EXCEPTING EDUCATIONAL INSTITUTIONS REQUIRES THE AUTHOR'S WRITTEN CONSENT.