Earlier this summer, Joe Kines and I were out at Fort Bliss installing a couple of VOIP switches for internal and external communication. Joe was on the payroll at Alabama, but really he wasn’t doing anything there, so he was willing to make some extra money. Saban didn’t want him around because he’s a control freak and Joe had some pull with the locals because he could speak southern and total white trash if need be, so the Alabama people really loved him.
The installation paid for by the government allotted us almost 400 hours for a 200 hour job. After a few weeks we were way ahead of schedule, and Joe said he had another gig to make us some more money for the next couple of weeks before we had to go back to Fort Bliss and finish up.
The Fort Bliss hierarchy had assigned a man, Private Edwards, to watch over us. This was military sensitive communications we were working on, and they needed someone to watch over us in case we were Communists or Muslims or French.
So, Edwards followed Kines and I out to our second job, which was another government job denoting how many illegal aliens came over the border in a small, shallow section of the Rio Grande. When we had checked into Fort Bliss, they had given Kines a license to kill. I thought that was an English James Bond myth, but the dude checking us in was an Alabama fan, and had given Kines all kinds of perks, including an apartment that was just way above the place the stuck me. It must have been for visiting generals or something.
Anyway, the area we were watching was about five hundred yards wide. There were two cliffs on either side, and the river ran shallow and not too fast, so people could literally walk across with not problem, unless there was a storm. Our mission was to spend a week there and count the number of people that crossed the river and came into the United States.
Well, Kines is a defensive specialist. He had Edwards and me really pumped up. We were behind some kind of brush with a cactus and some desert looking plants. We all had night vision goggles.
Within ten minutes some dude comes crawling out of the river.
Kines whispers, “Edwards, do you see any other people coming behind him.”
Edwards answers, “No, sir.”
Kines pulls out a slingshot and pegs the illegal in the head. He dropped. Kines runs up and pounds a rock on his head and says, “This dude is not getting past me.”
We all three drug the man to the river and dump him in. He washes downstream rapidly.
This scene repeated itself about three times until the middle of the night when about ten guys came running out of the river. Kines put down his slingshot and pulled out some kind of automatic weapon and just started shooting. All ten of those guys were down within twenty seconds. Again, we threw the bodies in the river and watched them float away.
These scenes repeated themselves for six days. We slept in shifts, but Kines always woke up to make the kill.
As day seven grew to a close, we had 296 under our belt. Another eight or so illegals came over the ridge. Kines gunned them down again. Our time allotment was about up and we now had a total of 304 illegals that had come over this one stretch of the Rio Grand. As we were starting to dump this last group in the river, the one that Kines was lifting up had faked being hit. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and was going to stab Kines, but Edwards was quick on his feet and dove at the illegal, knocking him on the ground. Kines and I both dove on him and beat him to holy hell.
Kines was indebted to Edwards because Edwards saved his life.
We drove back to El Pasa, bought a case of beer, and drank it on a mountain overlooking the Rio Grand.
Kines said to Edwards, “Son, I’d like to thank you for saving my live. You are truly an asset to this country.”
I chimed in, “Kines you’re a great man, but Edwards here is just as great because he so selflessly saved your live. He truly has a higher calling.”
We finished the beer and slept that night on the hill outside El Paso.
The next day we went back to Bliss and finished up our job. The money was good. The day we left, we said goodbye to Edwards as we drove toward I10 to begin the journey home.
Kines said he was sick of Alabama. “Those people are fucking retarted up there. There’s nothing else to say. They’re fucking retarted. Paul Finebaum? Retarted. Gene Stallings? Retarded. They’re all retarted. I think Saban will kill himself if he can’t do better than that bowl game in Shreveport next year. That Mum dude? Retarted. Phyllis? The bitch tried to Rohypnol my ass one night. That whole place is retarded. I hope I can coach again someplace one day. Your school, Deathburger, would be a good place. I don’t know, maybe I’m too old.”
We drove in silence for the rest of the day. At 4:00PM, we pulled in to a Luby’s close to Hulen Mall and had an early dinner.
Kines is a good man, and I hope he does end up as the defensive coordinator at Texas A&M. He deserves it.