A Ten Pound Bag
Chapter 142: Damn the Torpedoes
Copyright© 2020 by Emmeran
Contributing Muse: Tarasandia, 12 May 2021
Editor: nnpdad 19 May 2021
I was basically useless and I think that was a good thing. I needed out of St. Louis anyway. Rulo was plenty for me, thank you just the same. I never heard the story about the two we lost and why they were where they were, when the storm took them. The families simply wanted them buried properly and to leave it all behind. I decided that if that’s what the families desired, than that was what we would do.
Repairing tents became a favorite boredom hobby of the travelling women. In the end, I think they found it a blessing, if you would believe that. Purpose was always the best prevention where henpecking was the issue. You would no sooner be able to stop henpecking than you would be able stop men from strutting around like crowing rooters. I’d observed it with amusement, even at the highest levels of academia and commerce; people were still people.
Jeb’s builder showed up and immediately began assessing the damage. He seemed to be an astute businessman and forward-thinking fellow, so I pitched him on the Marine House. I gave him the full court press of modern ideas, including construction signage and inclusion on our advertisements. We’d call them ‘public notifications’ or some such. I also pitched the idea of our security service to him, offering a reciprocal deal with naming rights included. That was the tipping point. Last boom, he’d had his sites ripped off a number of times and he knew he did need security. We both agreed that another boom was coming.
Timmons readily agreed with me that we could engage idle boat crew in security. They just wanted to get paid and eagerly moonlighted during down times, anyway. This would give us a pool of boatmen to work with and keep them all happy. It was a win/win situation that should at least break even. Additional supervision would be needed. I knew about a US Army regiment standing down, so I didn’t think that would be a problem. RT&T (Rulo Trade & Transport) would happily sign a deal with the Marine House regarding this matter. With that, and unbeknownst to me, I suddenly had the largest security firm west of the Mississippi. Inevitably, I would pick up another large chunk of discarded regimentals from the US Army. The downside was: this put Ft. Dickenson into my future again, sooner than I had hoped.
Well, hell, I’d loved to read stories about David Farragut in my youth, so it was easy for me to mentally put myself high up in the rigging, so I could see the entire strategic action and mentally proclaim: “Damn the torpedoes, four bells please, and full speed ahead.”
Basically, I just had to mentally start moving the pieces strategically again. Security forces provided the Marine House with a service and source of income. I merely lacked a good commander. I would find a way to resolve that issue, even if it took a trip to New Orleans in the summer. It didn’t hurt that militaries worldwide had a reliably bad habit of dismissing excellent leaders, based on political whim wherever they happened to be at the time. It was bizarre behavior, considered on the overall, but it seemed to be accepted tradition.
My job was to recognize the opportunities and capitalize on them. And so I would.
As a group, we shook off the horrible storm and got down to the business of migrating. Aunty made this happen. She came to me that morning with blood still on her apron and told me that I was going to speak again. I needed to speak today.