Twenty and Back

By Will Beaudoin

Twenty and Back is a journey along timelines and possibilities. When young soldier Will Baldwin is thrown into the dark and secretive world of the Undisclosed Space Program, he is torn apart not only by his mixed race background but by lives being lived in three parallel timelines.

Sent to an isolated military base in Northern Canada, Will is quickly exposed to conflicts between military personnel and the mostly Indigenous townspeople. His background allows him to work with both sides, at least in this timeline. It can be a challenge to be in more than one place at a time.

Based on the experiences and memories of an old Mystic whose only wish is for truth-based wisdom to prevail! Enjoy the journey!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shusia Publishing
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781999250263

Will Beaudoin

Will Beaudoin was born February 24, 1954 in Niagara Falls Ontario, Canada. He is an eleventh generation Canadian. His ancestor Jean Beaudoin was born in Tasdon, France in 1607. He arrived in Canada around 1640. Will’s Great-grandmother, Alexina Marleau and his Great-great-grandmother, Flavie Fournier were both full blood Algonquin from the Ottawa valley area.His Father was born in Quyon, Quebec which still has the last remaining ferry across the Ottawa River. His Mother’s maiden name was Buck and she was born and raised in Bath, Ontario, Canada, about 35 kilometers west of Kingston on the north shore of Lake Ontario. Her ancestors came from the United Empire-Loyalist who fled the United States after the revolution and others from the bayous of Louisiana. His Mother would tell him tales about her ancestors, who, while fleeing from both the Americans and the Indigenous Peoples across Lake Ontario in the winter, made it by the skin of their teeth, with the ice breaking up behind them! Quite a mix!This gives Will a unique outlook on the Canadian story. Having both British and French backgrounds along with the Algonquin connection, make him an unbiased source when writing. He is strongly connected to all his ancestral cultures.Brought up in the tumultuous time of the sixties and seventies, his skeptical and adventurous nature, took him on many daring journeys. He was in the Canadian Military in the early seventies. When he was discharged he worked the nickel mines in Thompson, Manitoba. He married a California beauty queen at twenty-two and lived in the Los Angeles basin for three years developing an understanding of Americans and how they think and work.It was at this time in California that Will went through a life changing event. He was hit by a truck which created a lot of trauma in his physical body. Not being able to pursue his martial arts and physical activities anymore he was drawn to writing.Will had always written poetry and lyrics but never a novel. It took years of starts and stops to finally come to a time in 1990, after the untimely death of his first wife, that he started Stealer of Souls. He finished it in 1993. It was also at this time that his interest in Spirituality was increased. He learned to meditate more effectively and was soon doing readings and teaching Meditation and Spirituality.Will ran his own business in the Holistic Health Field for twenty-four years before retiring. He is now a full time Author and Mystic. His intent is to write exciting fiction novels based on a bit of truth that will not only entertain his readers, but also, hopefully, help them to become a better person.Peace and joy to all!

Book preview

Twenty and Back

Will Beaudoin

Copyright 2021 Will Beaudoin

All rights reserved world-wide.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

E-Book ISBN 978-1-9992502-6-3

Print Book ISBN 978-1-9992502-5-6

Formatting, cover design and publication by:

Shusia Publishing, Midland, Ontario, Canada.

www.shusia.ca

Table of Contents

Chapter One: Arrival

Chapter Two: The Send-Off

Chapter Three: Welcome to Armstrong!

Chapter Four: Mackenzie Lake

Chapter Five: Cupid Strikes!

Chapter Six: Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Chapter Seven: A Walk in the Bush

Chapter Eight: Duality!

Chapter Nine: Awakening

Chapter Ten: Despair

Chapter Eleven: Things Change

Chapter Twelve: Clarity

Chapter Thirteen: Transition

Chapter Fourteen: Crossing Paths

Chapter Fifteen: Justice?

Chapter Sixteen: An Eviction Notice

Chapter Seventeen: Life, Death and the Voyage of Spirit

Chapter Eighteen: Space Force (5842), Bugs (2)

Chapter Nineteen: Vagaries

Chapter Twenty: Murphy’s Law

Chapter Twenty-One: Helpless

About the Author

Chapter One: Arrival

As I sit here remembering my early days in Armstrong, I have become acutely aware of its place in my life. For most of us, there comes a time when we stop being like children and are thrust, usually by one of life’s unrehearsed traumas, into the realm of the adult paradigm. Armstrong represents that time for me.

Let me introduce myself. I am, for the sake of this novel, known as Will Baldwin, or in the context of this story, Corporal William Baldwin, Air Element, Canadian Armed Forces, Logistics Branch. Plus a couple of other guys we will meet later on.

This could have meant many things at this time in the history of The Canadian Armed Forces. For a while, it meant I was an Ammunition Technician. Let me help you to understand what this meant to me.

My upbringing was stressful to say the least. It led to my running away, which led to having to find an escape from what I knew at an early age was dysfunctional and destructive behavior. It was during the sixties that I went through the confusion called puberty and the teenage years. Young men were still being brainwashed into believing war was a glorious and heroic endeavor. Without much else to go on except propaganda, authored by the status quo, I joined the Military and excelled. I was accepted into one of the top trades of the Canadian Military, Ammunition Technician.

My pay level five training started at the same time as the October Crisis in Montreal, Quebec. Our training took place at the largest ammunition depot in Canada at the time, Ste. Therese, eleven miles north of Montreal. This led to a most exciting and dangerous training period, as bomb disposal or E.O.D. calls as they are known in the military, was a daily event for almost a year.

I fell in love with the camaraderie and the adrenaline rush. I was nineteen, blowing things up and getting paid for it. You also did not know what was going to happen from day to day. To say the least, it was an exhilarating trade.

Until my Sergeant at my second posting in CFAD Angus, insisted that I get my DND 404, or in civilian terms, a driver’s license to drive military vehicles. I had a premonition that it was something I should avoid.

I knew I was color blind, but had found ways to work around my disability. Ammunition is color-coded, but different enough not to pose a problem for me. But the cards with the colored dots and numbers did not work out for me. In fact, they led to my medical class eventually being raised to a level where I could not have a technical trade. And my trade was all about technicalities.

I had administration, supply or finance to choose from. Whoopie!

I was pissed, as I was tops in all my courses and excelled in the ammo tech trade. I picked supply and asked to be posted to a specific radar installation in Northern Ontario. I had relatives there and loved to hunt and fish. The lieutenant in charge of my section knew that the military had screwed me over and told me to just ask for a posting to a radar station in Northern Ontario and he would make sure I got my requested posting. So that is what I did.

Yes, I was still young and naive.

So there I was on Highway Seventeen in Northern Ontario, heading to my new posting at C.F.S. Armstrong, otherwise known as the asshole of the north. No relative within 700 miles. Thank you Lieutenant Shithead!

But I was a little wiser. Just a little…

The old gas station attendant at the village of Hurcott had told me that the squiggle on my map, which had no name or designation, to Highway 800, was open. This seemed to cut quite a few miles off my journey if I had followed Highway Seventeen to Highway 800 at Thunder Bay. I had a lot to learn about the Northern mentality when it comes to knowing when a road is open. If a lumber truck can make it, the road is open.

It was another adventure to me. If a lumber truck could make it, my 1962 Mercedes 220B, The Grey Ghost, could make it.

Here is my story as I remember it after years of confusion and deceptions.

∞∞

What the fuck! Will exclaimed to himself as he walked around the Mercedes. Where am I?

The sign was a simple one. Three slats of wood nailed to a tree. It said Yes, you are on the right road. Armstrong 140 miles.

Will had been on this dirt, rock, sand and a few spongy areas that he didn’t want to have to stop on, road, for over two hours. From his map he knew he still had 70 miles to Highway 800. It was eight-thirty at night and the sun still sat high in the sky. This was mid-June and he had never experienced the sun so high in the sky at this time of day before. At least he could see where he was going.

Keep moving, whispered Will to himself.

It was another hour and a half before he reached Highway 800. He pulled into the small gas station at the junction. The road was fine gravel, wide and well kept.

Will nodded to the attendant, a large strong looking man of about 40 dressed in a flannel shirt, baggy jeans and rubber boots. Fill’er up, said Will. He looked up the road at the curve ahead. Highway looks pretty good from here.

The attendant snickered. First time going up to Armstrong?

Yeh, new posting.

Figured as much. The handle of the pump clicked and he got the last few cents in. Road changes about five miles north. He replaced the gas hose and Will handed him five bucks and waited for more information. The attendant turned to walk back to his store.

Wait! said Will. The attendant turned and stared at him. Changes to what?

The attendant pointed up the road he had just come from. More of that. He turned and continued to his store. He disappeared inside, leaving Will standing in silence.

The attendant was true to his word. By eleven-thirty, the sun had set. The complete darkness of the north had settled in. The road was a little better than the road to Highway 800 and Will was able to maintain a reasonable speed… until the moose appeared in his headlights. He was able to stop before hitting the moose, but was so close all Will could see in his headlights were four long legs. The moose moved on and Will proceeded to Armstrong at a much slower speed. It was twelve-thirty in the morning when the gray Mercedes cruised into the small town of Armstrong.

Will had met an administration clerk who had been in Armstrong for a year. That was the length of a tour in a Northern Station on the Pine Tree Radar line. It was isolation, and with that designation carried isolation pay. He had informed Will that the village had a population of approximately 400. Around fifty whites who ran the restaurant, hotel, Hudson Bay store, gas station, CN personnel (It was a main stop on the CN rail line), an OPP detachment of seven, and a nurse who also taught at a small school to Grade Eight. The other 350 residents were indigenous individuals who had lived there all their lives or had been kicked off a reservation nearby. Some of the lifelong residents worked for the Military. The Whitesand council, which represented Armstrong’s First Nations, had been ineffective for a few years now. Quite a mix.

Will had spent a couple of years on Manitoulin Island in Gore Bay. He was a young teenager and his experience with First Nations was one of respect and learning. His best friend was what they would call a half-breed and he also befriended the son of one of the Medicine Men from the Ojibwe Reservation. They taught him about hunting and fishing with respect for the animals and nature. Also, Will’s Great-Grandmother and Great-Great-Grandmother on his father’s side, were both full blood Algonquin from the Ottawa valley. That was most likely why he had been accepted by the indigenous community. This was why he also felt the strong connection to the land and its original Peoples.

Armstrong would teach him the other side of First Nations. The angry, sometimes hopeless side.

As he drove down King Street, Armstrong’s dirt main street, he passed a few small shacks on the left, then a restaurant and hotel. On the right was the OPP station across from the restaurant and the CN station across from the hotel. Further up on the left on the corner of King and fourth was the Hudson Bay Company store. Between, were a few small houses with cabins and shacks dotted about the small hamlet. It was like stepping a hundred years back in time.

Will drove through the sleeping town. He could see the glow of the station’s rad-domes on a large hill about five miles out of town. The now well-kept dirt road turned to pavement a few hundred yards from the main gate. He pulled up to the barrier and waited for the duty MP to come to him.

A short stout corporal approached and spoke to Will in a thick French accent through the open window of the Mercedes.

How can I ‘elp you? asked the MP.

Corporal Will Baldwin, reporting for duty. He handed the MP his transfer papers and waited for him to read them.

"Did you call from T’under Bay?

I took the road from Hurcott, replied Will.

The MP looked slowly from Will’s papers to Will. Did you not get the number to call when you leave from T’under Bay?

No. Will looked at the MP with a quizzical look. I’ve been on leave for two weeks. No one gave me a number or directions. Will noticed the MP’s name badge. Corporal Tremblay, it has been a long drive and I would like to get quartered if possible.

From now on, when you go to T’under Bay you must report here on leaving and call us when you arrive. When you come back you call from T’under Bay when you leave. If you do not call or arrive in four hours, we send out a vehicle to find you. It can be a very lonely drive.

Got it. I wish someone would have informed me.

We ‘ave your quarters ready. I will call the duty NCO and he will get your key and let you in.

Thanks, Corporal.

The duty NCO is Corporal Michaud. He will meet you in front of the barracks. Second building on the left.

The MP raised the barrier and waved Will through.

A tired looking Corporal Ray Michaud met Will in front of the barracks as he pulled up.

Morning. Corporal Michaud swayed a bit as he held a key out to Will. First floor, room four.

Will could smell alcohol. It seemed to rise from Corporal Michaud like a vaporous cloud to assault his nostrils. Are you the duty NCO?

Michaud looked at Will and swayed a bit more. Maybe. What’s it to ya?

Well, where I come from, being drunk on duty gets one arrested.

This is Armstrong.

There was a short silence where Will debated his choices. He decided to just go to bed and talk to Corporal Michaud in the morning.

That it is, Corporal Michaud… that it is. Which way to the mess hall in the morning?

Michaud pointed down the road. On the right. He turned and weaved his way to the inner door of the barracks entrance and disappeared down the hall.

One thing about bases in the Canadian Forces. They all have the same building styles and layouts. He unpacked his few belongings then parked his car in the lot at the main gate. The short walk to the barracks was quiet and a little surreal. He glanced at the bulletin board as he entered and noticed the radar station had a radio station. Many armed forces facilities had volunteer radio stations affiliated with CBC radio. When the volunteers were not on, CBC played. Not a lot of choices in Armstrong. CFAO radio 1440. Will would have to listen in the morning.

He had a double room to himself and that was fine by him. Will unpacked his few belongings, then made his bed and crawled in for a well-deserved rest. It was Friday today and he did not have to report for duty until Monday. He would drop in to the supply section when he got up and introduce himself. Until Monday he could explore his new home for the next year… or so he thought.

Chapter Two: The Send-off

Everyone had to be at their duty stations by eight in the morning. Will was woken at seven by a loud voice on the radio in the next room encouraging everyone to get over their hangovers and get their butts out of bed. The voice reminded everyone that reporting to sick parade with a hangover was considered a self-inflicted wound and you would be arrested and put on charge.

So all of you wimps just suck it up and hit those showers… I was there with you to send The Beast and Animal off last night. So I know your pain… The DJ paused for effect. I thought his delivery was quite good. And I don’t care! Get your ass up and over to the mess hall. This is Ray Michaud your favorite morning guy… I mean your only morning guy, bringing meaning to your morning wretchedness.

Ray Michaud, Will whispered to himself. He was drunk as a skunk this morning at one.

He reached over and tuned his stereo to 1440 and listened, hoping he would pick up a few things about what was happening at the radar station. The first thing he learned was that Corporal Michaud liked country music. The nasal whines, lost loves and truck driving tragedies filled the airwaves. Ray talked mostly about the sending off party of the night before. It seemed the pair called The Beast and The Animal were a well-liked pair of drunks who had finished their year in Armstrong and were leaving for new postings.

Don’t forget folks, the train leaves at eleven fifteen and as many of us as possible should be there for the final send-off. Ray seemed to be holding back tears. Reports coming in say that the pair are resting peacefully and are expected to recover in time to catch the train. Now back to music!

Johnny Cash starting singing Folsom prison blues.

Will decided to get up, shower and head to the mess hall. He was hungry and needed a good breakfast. By the time he found the mess hall it was just past eight and it was almost empty. He grabbed a tray and walked up to the line of hotplates with eggs, pancakes, bacon and sausage.

Good morning soldier. Knobby Clarke. The cook held out a large hand which Will took and shook firmly.

Will Baldwin. Just got in early this morning.

Welcome to Armstrong. The mess hall is open pretty well 24/7. Radar never stops operating.

Will pointed to the scrambled eggs and bacon. Knobby loaded up his plate. Make your toast fresh over there. He pointed to a long table against the wall. Lots of goodies there too. Enjoy.

Knobby disappeared back into the kitchen, yelling orders and making jokes.

Will made some toast, grabbed a couple of pastries and sat down at an empty table. He was just swallowing his first mouthful when the mess hall door burst open and Corporal Michaud, his gaze focused on the half-full hot trays entered in full stride. He walked past Will, noticed him, and stopped.

Baldwin… I didn’t dream you arrived? His eyes were bloodshot with dark rings under them. I’ll be back in a second… He started to walk away then stopped Oh… you don’t mind if I join you?

Will smiled. Not at all.

Knobby! shouted Ray. Got breakfast ready?

Heard your sorry ass come in. Knobby came from the kitchen, a tray with a plate containing a steak, eggs and fried onions with a large mug of coffee on the side was set in front of Ray who lifted it to his face and pulled the aroma of his breakfast into his nostrils.

Another masterpiece, praised Ray. He turned and walked to Will’s table and sat across from him. He closed his eyes and sat in silence for a moment then smiled at Will.

Will nodded. Pray before you eat? he asked.

Pray I won’t puke before I can eat it. Ray shifted his large form on his chair and took a long pull on his coffee. Damn morning show almost kills me some days. Did I introduce myself last night?

Will couldn’t help but chuckle. After our meeting last night, I’m surprised you’re on your feet. And yes, as best you could for the shape you were in.

Ray proceeded to attack his breakfast. He talked with his mouth full. There seem to be two states for me to be in these days. Drunk or hungover. I think I’m conditioned to it. He sat in silence for a moment as if thinking about his last statement, shrugged, then continued his attack on his breakfast. Are you the new Supply Tech?

Yeh… mind if I ask you something?

Shoot.

How do you get away with being drunk on duty?

Ray looked up at Will, half his breakfast having disappeared in record time. We have the duty for a whole week, not just one night. No one can expect a man to stay sober in Armstrong for that long. He smiled at Will. Give it a couple of weeks and you’ll understand. I run the traffic department out of the supply section. We’ll be working together. How about I take you over and introduce you to everyone.

Great, exclaimed Will. I was just going to drop in. Don’t have duty until Monday.

Let’s get going. They stood up and brought their trays to the dirty dish area. They allow me half an hour after my radio show in the morning to eat and get to work. Captain gets a little antsy if I take more.

The radar station had 152 personnel plus 31 spouses and children who lived in a small trailer park just off the southwest corner of the headquarters buildings. The radio station was a small building in the middle of the trailer park. Supply was located across from the Junior Ranks Club at the base of the road leading up to the rad-domes at the top of the hill. Another supply section was located in one of the three rad-domes that held all the spare parts for the radar installation. It took them under two minutes to reach the main supply buildings.

Can I ask you something, Will?

Sure.

Why did you get posted here? Rays body seemed to fall slightly ahead of his legs as he walked, giving him a slightly primate gait. His knuckles looked like they may start dragging. But Will was warming up to this happy go lucky part-time DJ Traffic Tech. He could tell the man was no fool, even as hung-over as he was.

Let’s just say I trusted the wrong Lieutenant. I asked for Falconbridge and ended up here. Will shrugged. Our wonderful Military doesn’t get much right these days. Will quickly filled him in on his being kicked out of all technical trades.

Wow. Ammo Tech. You must be bored shitless now, said Ray.

We’ll see what happens. Will had tried to stay positive, but it was getting more difficult the more he saw and learned about Armstrong.

Here we are, Corporal Baldwin. Ray held the door to supply headquarters open for Will and ceremoniously waved him through.

The office area was the same as most Will had seen. Same metal desk, green filing cabinets and dark green linoleum floors. A Chinese M\Corporal sat updating stock cards while a Sergeant and another Corporal discussed what had arrived on the train the day before.

Ray walked to the stock desk. Tom Yamata, this is Will Baldwin your new flunky. The Sergeant and other Corporal stopped and walked over.

Yamata stood and took Wills hand and shook it vigorously. Glad you’re here. Falling a little behind since Jardine left. You here to work? He knew Will didn’t have to report until Monday. Yamata laughed.

Stan Hearn, said the Corporal as he shook Will’s hand.

Sergeant Kopp. He tried to crush Wills hand when he shook it. Will squeezed back. Warrant Bilkes will fill you in on your duties. He and Corporal Hearn continued their conversation and disappeared into the warehouse.

Sergeant Kopp is not very social, stated Ray. In fact, a little anti-social.

Michaud! A large light-haired Captain sporting a brush-cut had just emerged from his office. He had a baby face but looked more than capable. Great show this morning. Who have we here?

Captain Miller, Corporal Baldwin, introduced Ray.

You’re early, stated Captain Miller. Trying to impress me? He held out his hand and shook Will's.

No, Sir. I met Ray at the mess hall and he was nice enough to bring me over and introduce me to everyone. Will smiled at Ray. Thanks, again.

No problem. Ray walked toward the warehouse entrance. Got shit to move. See you later, Will.

Come into my office, Corporal Baldwin. Captain Miller pointed toward a chair. Have a seat.

Will was comfortable around Officers. As an Ammunition Technician there was a common danger that was shared by NCOs, Senior NCOs and Officers. They had all-ranks clubs and hung together after duty hours. It created a bond like no other trade.

Captain Miller closed the door and sat at his desk. He flipped through a file that Will knew was his. You have had a bit of a bad break, Baldwin. Captain Miller flipped two more pages. Did you know they almost made an exception for you?

What do you mean, Sir? asked Will.

They were going to let you stay in your trade until they noticed your IQ score.

No, Sir, I did not know that. Will was a little confused. What do you mean my IQ score?

You scored high in the areas of perception and logic. Captain Miller read on. Very high. Top of the top half of one percent of the population.

Why would that cause them to raise my medical class? Seems it would be a waste to throw away all that training.

Captain Miller sat back in his chair. Did you also know that you have been cleared past top secret?

Will was starting to get a little nervous. He was just starting his career and wondered how he could be worthy of this much attention.

Sir, what is this about? Will had learned early in his career to ask questions, otherwise you would always be in the dark. Nobody told me anything about this.

And with good reason. The Canadian Armed Forces is implementing a new computer system to take the place of all the paperwork we have to keep track of. It will also facilitate communications between all bases, radar stations and ammunition depots. It is also testing a new early warning system. We have been chosen as the first installation and you have been chosen as the operator for this system. You can understand the secrecy?

Will was stunned. Why wasn’t I informed before now, Sir?

Your file had to go through a number of channels before you got the level five secret designation. That just happened a week ago. Captain Miller slid an operational procedure guide for the Development of Integrated Logistics, or the DEVIL system for short, across his desk to Will.

Will flipped through and was immediately interested. When does this all start, Sir?

I have been told the equipment will arrive within the week. Captain Miller stood up and put his beret on. Any plans for today? He smiled knowing how boring it could be for a new arrival to Armstrong.

Guess I do now, Sir.

Good, I want you to see where you will be working for the next year. They walked toward the front door of supply headquarters. Have you been up the hill yet?

No, Sir, answered Will.

I think you’ll find this interesting.

Captain Miller had the Supply Section’s three-quarter ton truck at his disposal and pointed to the driver’s seat. You know how to drive this?

Yes, Sir, answered Will. But they don’t think I’m good enough, Sir.

I do. Let’s go, ordered Captain Miller as he jumped into the passenger seat. I’ve read your complete file and know exactly what you accomplished during the driver training course. You can drive anything on the station. I’ve cleared it with The Colonel and the ME section.

It was a short drive up the hill to the rad-domes, less than a mile. Will parked at the spot Captain Miller pointed to. He followed The Captain to the side