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Back in my quarters, that Black Saturday night was apocalyptic: tremors rattled the building; the storm raged with thunder and lightning; ash mixed with rain continued to plummet the base. I lay, sleepless on my bunk, as my roommate jumped out of his cot in the throes of a panic attack. He jittered about the room, moaning and praying. I was worried myself . . . Continue Reading

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In: Nonfiction, Our Better Angels, Way Back When
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The commander’s desk rattled; his military knick-knacks crashed to the floor.  I watched, fascinated, as a crack widened on the opposite wall and the parking lot undulated outside the ground-level window . . . Continue Reading