When a major oil company needs to expand their operations, they set their sights on the Caspian Sea. Plague and the possibility of nuclear terrorism follows. This is an unfinished novel.
Tag: <span>Armand Charest</span>
Matthew Bainbridge stomped to the poolside chaise longue, sat down clumsily and with a deep, exasperated, silent roar laid the crutches aside. He hoisted his plaster-sculptured leg and placed it, cautiously, onto the end of the recliner. The attentive waiter brought a cool drink and, sitting back, Bainbridge relaxed with a sigh of rejuvenation. All was well in the world once again, he reflected. The happy sounds of the frolickers floated around him as his mind drifted back to recent events in his life. He shifted his leg, very gingerly, to relieve the pain. Drowsing a bit as the sun beamed down, radiating peace and serenity, he mused, “Summer, did you really exist? Where did you disappear?”
My dad, Armand Gabriel Charest, was a US Army veteran of World War II. I knew this growing up as he would talk a lot about his Army adventures. We even attended a reunion of his 41st Division in 1971. He always expressed pride in being a soldier and pride in his role during WWII. But there were things about his army service I didn’t know until he wrote his memoirs in 2002.
Then there were some things about his Army service I didn’t know until after he passed, which left questions for which I’ll probably never have answers.