Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.
Low tide: The period between the ebb tide and the succeeding rising tide.
This tale is an espionage fantasy frequently under assault by reality.
The 'hero' of this tale might be considered a Libertarian, though the label means nothing to him. He is not completely sane (by some people's definition of the term).
A List of the Principal Characters is provided at the end of the chapter.
*****
{A little taste of my un-reality, or 'Why mental health professionals avoid me'}
"I'm not paranoid. I do have a pathological hatred of surprises."
That was my well-thought out answer to a female lieutenant Naval Psychiatrist asking me to be introspective about my particular view of the world. It has since become my Motto -- my Creed.
For that session, she had started by asking what I did when I came back to base -- what did I do when I first stepped into my personal quarters? I explained I didn't have a home; I lived "on base", which is to say that I used whatever space was temporarily assigned to me. Okay, what did I do to unwind when I entered my room? I explained to her that I prepped for the next mission. Did I relax? Why would I relax? I was on a military base; I had military stuff to do.
What was so important that it couldn't wait until I'd unwound a bit? Mostly classified stuff I wasn't sure she had the necessary clearance for me to talk to her about. What did I do when I finished these unspeakable acts? She found it hard to believe that there was always more stuff to do. But out in the field was not the place to realize I'd forgotten to make the proper preparations ahead of time.
Did I leave the base? Not if I could help it. Why? Sigh...I repeated that I had stuff to do. Didn't I want a private life? I first made sure she was talking about having a physical relationship with a woman, not drinking with the guys, or engaging in internet masturbation. I then confirmed I had sex with a red-headed woman that I met at a cougar bar three weeks earlier. Yes, I went there specifically to engage in nameless, guilt-free intercourse before going on my latest mission.
Did I find that sort of thing fulfilling? I guessed so. I got what I wanted. What about the woman's feelings? I asked the shrink if she understood the concept behind having a 'One Night Stand'. I never felt the need to create an emotional bond with a random stranger. I could tell that frustrated the psychiatrist.
She tried for an oblique attack on the old refrain. She wanted to know what I would do if I checked into a random hotel room. What would I do to relax and unwind there? Like any rational individual, I responded by requesting the specifics of the hotel and the room -- things like:
What time of day was it? What day was it? Was it close to any major events/holidays that would increase the capacity of the place/ increase foot and road traffic? You needed to know what sounds were out of place if you were reading, watching TV, or sleeping. Yes, I slept that lightly.
How close was my car? How close was a major thoroughfare? Was there a back alley? Did the property look out over uncultivated terrain? Was it sitting on a high point, or in a low point? How many landmarks looked down on the location? All basic tactical stuff.
What floor was I on? Only idiots took rooms on the first two floors. Anything over the fourth meant you could be trapped...by a fire, or an attacking drug gang fueled by machismo and mind-altering substances. Regulation sleeping platforms had enough sheets so you could rappel down from a third or fourth story balcony/window using only the bedding. I could tie a knot faster than she thought possible. I'd practiced. I wouldn't use towels; I might need them later. Besides, the ratio of knot to length was poor.
What was the lay out of the room? Where were the windows? How solid were they? When, if at all, did the sunlight penetrate the room? Why? Shooting into the Sun messed with your aim. Also, if the door was unusable, you needed to know how quickly you could exit an available window.
What were the walls made of? You need to know this so you could predict what kinds of rounds would penetrate and how much residual stopping power those rounds would have. Also, you might need to bash your way into a room on either side of you in case the rear window was too small, or covered.
How close was the room to a fire escape? Not only was that safety-conscious, you need to know from how many directions trouble might come.
How close was the room to an ice machine? Those things attracted people and made noise.
That was when she stopped me and asked me if I felt I was unusual. I had to explain to her that on my last assignment I had to snap a man's arm off and ram said limb into his screaming father's mouth, as the father was ALSO trying to kill me. So I caused him to choke out his last moments of life with son's arm in his throat.
Why did I do something so extreme? My knife was half way across the room, still busy ending someone else's existence, all three of my guns were empty and I needed to kill the son anyway. I tried to explain to her that I had an unusual job that demanded unusual skills, working unusual hours and dealing with unusual enemies.
So yes, I was unusual and had no problem with that. Did I want to be normal, she asked. I 'qualified' her into a philosophical corner on what 'normal' meant. Not having spent a second inside a college didn't mean I was unread, or ignorant. The basics of psychology were just one part of the many skill-sets housed in the repertoire I felt every Hospital corpsman needed.
