On the Freedom Trail #4

Chapter 1
Land Ho!

Location: USS George Washington, Atlantic Ocean
Date: 20MAR21
Time: 1100 hours

Welcome back on board, soldier!

Our time on the USS George Washington, the United States Navy’s premier nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, is coming to an end. Today’s the day we dock in Boston! We’ve been on the ship for three days, making our way up the Atlantic coast from the Caribbean. This massive ship is as big as it is slow. We’re lumbering through the ocean at a top speed of about twenty-six knots—that’s only thirty miles per hour.

Now that we’re getting close to Boston Harbor, here’s a quick debrief to get you caught up to speed.

After we battled long and hard against the Thrice-Cursed Pirate Sea Wolf and his vicious crew, the Cutthroats, the Pawtriots and I were finally able to get some much-needed R&R—that’s Army-talk for “rest and relaxation.”

And trust me, after our last mission, it was much needed.

Our fight against the pirates was dangerous and full of peril, but the Pawtriots banded together and never lost hope.

We even added two more Pawtriots to our ranks: twin beagles named Jag and Jet. Jag is in the Navy. He’s a by-the-book hard-liner who never breaks the rules, except for that one time when he commandeered a ship to save my tail and his sister’s, too. Jet, his sister, is a hard-charging Coast Guard dog who is more than willing to bend the rules. They received special exemptions to help the Pawtriots on all future missions. They’re both welcome additions to the Pawtriots’ ranks!

All this downtime aboard the USS George Washington has really let us bond as a unit. Aside from the occasional argument between Brick and Franny, things are going great.

I’ve even been able to do roll call every morning at 0630 sharp to make sure everyone is present and accounted for.

After roll call, I lead the Pawtriots in PT. That’s Army-talk for “physical training.” To keep us fit while on board this ship, we do a lot of exercises, sprints, and, of course, paw-ups! We’re going to need to be in tip-top shape for our long march down to Washington, DC. Once we dock in Boston, we have a seven-hundred-klick trek. Klick is Army-talk for “kilometer.”

Our plan is to hitch as many rides as we can, but the Pawtriots need to be prepared for anything because sometimes even the best-laid plans can go wrong. When I was in the Army, our platoon sergeant always had a plan for when things went wrong. A good leader always prepares for the worst but hopes for the best.
 
Location: Boston Harbor
Time: 1300 hours

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. I watch as sailors race across the deck with smiles stretched across their faces. I realize that we’re not the only ones who are excited to get off this ship.

I look out at Boston Harbor. I see a beautiful city filled with glass-and-steel buildings that pierce the sky. The docks are full of cheering families waving American flags. They’re ready to welcome home loved ones who have been far from home for a very long time.

I gathered all the Pawtriots on deck, so we could soak in this powerful moment together as a unit. I know the people aren’t waving and cheering for the Pawtriots, but, in a way, it almost seems like they are, and that makes me feel good inside. It makes me feel proud to be an American.

We all wait with eager anticipation as the massive ship slows down and carefully begins to dock.

“Have any of you ever been to Boston?” asks Jag.

“Negative,” I say as the rest of the Pawtriots, except Jet, shake their heads side to side, signaling “no.”

“I’ve been here a bunch of times,” says Jet. “I love the food here, and I know a ton of great spots to eat. And this city is full of history, too.”

“Like what?” Brick asks.

“The American Revolution began just a short eleven miles northwest of here, in Lexington, Massachusetts, on April nineteenth, 1775,” says Jet. “You should know that. Aren’t you British?”

“Oi! Of course I know that. I’m just a little fuzzy on the details,” Brick says.

“Ssso,” Smithers begins, “Bossston wasss crucial during the War of Independence. The colonialsss and the Britisssh fought hard to sssecure thisss ssstrategic ssstronghold.”

Smithers continues retelling a bit of history and I begin drifting off a bit, remembering when my old Army handler, Kris, used to tell me all her favorite moments of American history. She loved the American Revolution and reciting stories from it, such as the Battle of Bunker Hill in 1775, when the American colonial troops were vastly outnumbered by British troops. Kris told me it was a fierce battle that happened right here in Boston!

I snap out of my daydream and turn to Smithers. “I didn’t know you were such a history buff, Smithers!”

“Why, I sssuppossse I am!” says Smithers.

“Oi! Enough with these old-timey stories. I’m hungry! Take me to the food, Jet!” Brick says, and everyone laughs. I’m glad to see my unit in good spirits before we make our long trek back home. A happy unit is a motivated unit. And we’re going to need all the motivation we can get.

I turn to the group. “Listen up, Pawtriots. I wish we had more time to explore this city. I love history and good food, but we’re on a mission to get back home . . . and quickly. Morgan and Sawyer are back at the TOC and we’re their reinforcements. Are you all tracking?” I say.

“Tracking,” all of the Pawtriots say in unison.

“Good. The ship is about to finish docking in Boston Harbor. In a few minutes we’ll be getting off. Once we’re on dry land, we’ll get some hot chow in our bellies and then head south.”
 
Location: Docks, Boston Harbor
Time: 1400 hours

“Oi! Rico, what’s going on? I’m starving here, and you said we’d be off the ship an hour ago,” Brick hollers.

“At ease, Brick. It shouldn’t be much longer,” I say.

“Tell that to my stomach,” Brick fires back.

I don’t know what the holdup is, but the sailors haven’t let anyone off the ship. I’m beginning to think something might be wrong, but I don’t want to worry my unit if I don’t know all the details myself.

“Just try to relax,” I tell Brick.

I let my mind wander as I stare off at Boston Harbor. Then my daze is suddenly interrupted. I look up and see a seagull flying right toward me.

I quickly step back as the seagull practically crashes at my feet. She’s exhausted, so I help her to her feet and notice a folded-up piece of paper in her beak.

“Are you Sergeant Rico?” she asks, handing the paper to me.

“Yes ma’am,” I say.

“I’ve got an urgent Situation Report from your Pawtriot friends at the TOC,” she says. “I haven’t stopped flying since they gave it to me.”

I unfold the message as the rest of the Pawtriots gather around me while the seagull catches her breath.

“It’s from Morgan and Sawyer,” I say.

“Who are they?” asks Jet.

“They’re our rabbit and ferret friends in Washington, DC. I left them in charge of the TOC when we left for our mission in Texas,” I say.

“Do you have anything to report back to your friends at the TOC?” she asks.

“Tell them help is on the way,” I say as I salute the seagull and watch her fly away.

I don’t know what to make of the mysterious symbol. All I know is that Mr. Mocoso and his nasty Doberman pinschers, Hans and Heinz, are plotting something evil at our home base. I thought after we stopped them the first time that they would have learned their lesson. Clearly, I was wrong. Some people and their pooches just never know when they’ve been conquered. I hold up the SitRep and point at the strange symbol so the Pawtriots can see.

“Does anyone recognize this?” I ask the unit. I watch as all the Pawtriots look at the symbol.
As I continue to hold up the piece of paper, Smithers slithers forward and wraps around my body to get a closer look.

“Asss a matter of fact, I sssuppossse I do know that sssymbol,” Smithers says.

“What does it mean?” I ask.

“It meansss we’re in far more trouble than previousssly sssussspected,” Smithers says. “It’sss the mark of the Red Handsss. They’re an evil bunch of criminalsss with three hundred yearsss of experience to boot.”

“We’ve battled far worse,” says Franny.

Franny’s right. We battled the Beast, a massive crocodile down in the sewers of Washington, DC; the Eight-Legged Killer, a nuclear spider in an abandoned mine shaft in Texas; and even the Kraken, a gigantic and ferocious squid living in a blue lagoon inside the island’s Crystal Caves. Every mission the Pawtriots have set out to accomplish has had its series of challenges. I know this mission will be no different.

“Smithers, what else can you tell us about the Red Hands?” I ask.

“Sssecrecy isss their modusss operandi. That’sss Latin for ‘mode of operation.’ The Red Handsss have been ssstealing treasssure for centuriesss. They usssed to have horsssesss and wooden ssshipsss. Now they have fancy tanksss and helicoptersss. They ussse their ssstolen treasssure for evil. And you can bet your tail that they’ll have sssomething sssinissster planned for usss once we return to the TOC,” says Smithers.

“Failure isn’t an option. Our friends are in serious trouble,” says Penny.

“The Pawtriots don’t back down from a fight. Hooah?” I ask.

“Hooah!” shout the Pawtriots.

Our simple mission might have gotten a little more complex, but that doesn’t change a thing. Once we get off this ship, we’ll head straight to the TOC in Washington, DC.