Only partially aware, but still part of what has been going on, Henk van Doornspijk the Younger was slowly remembering how he came to be called Admiral in the first place. Before he bought the cap with the birdshit on the bill, he had his wife sew the embroidered silver stars on his Navy blue Ike-jacket that he wanted to wear when he rode the new Golden Eagle Harley Davidson in the Amsterdam Memorial Day Parade. Henk had always been too old or too young to serve in the military. He was sure he had missed something, but wasn’t sure what it might have been. Way too young for the War to End All Wars and way too old to serve in the Second War to End All Wars, he had also spent the Korean conflict, the Vietnam War, the First and Second Gulf Wars, Iraq and Afghanistan occupations loudly complaining about taxes and government mismanagement.
Nope, none of that.
The Admiral thing had started when he told somebody the story of how his grandfather had driven a prairie schooner West in the early 19th century. When the fleet of prairie schooners headed West by going North up the river from St. Louis, the lead wagon was proudly flying the Dutch tri-colors off the stern with Henk van Doornspijk, the Elder yelling orders from the bow. It didn’t take long for the rest of the wagons with typical Dutch humor to award him and his loud mouth the misplaced title of “Admiral”. It had become his favorite nick-name and by right of inheritance, a cherished and usable label/title.
Taking charge again, Admiral Henk said,
“We need a detailed plan of action; locations, time line, distances of separation, strategic options, and all that tactical logistical stuff. Isn’t that what you are supposed to doing?”