Fifty yards away, an old side-wheeler steamboat, the Bell Memphis, bobbed against her moorings. Anchor lines painted bright red in the shape of an anchor decorated the side right under her name. I would have loved to have taken a ride, but the train station was in sight right here; this was far enough. “Hey Sarge, that big boat remind you of any other boats in your past?” ‘Sarge,’ I knew what he was talking about. Jim only called me that to needle me or remind me when there had been a time code names were a necessity. “Shut up Eric,” I said half-heartedly, throwing a rock at his head…

              Endless Times series, Volume Two: Murphys Diggins, page 33



              Oh yea, this one has a true back-story alright. This will be hard to believe, but Jim and I were once on the wrong side of the law. Can you even conceive that? Anyway, there was a space-in-time where using our real names became a tad hazardous. Therefore, we used code names, and since I always seemed to be the one in charge, Sarge was a natural choice. Jim, being the flaming red-haired wild-man he was, personified Leif Erikson, aka Erik the Red. We had two other part-time gang members. One always wore a cowboy hat and became Cowboy. The other earned his name; he fell into the water on an icy before-dawn excursion raiding luxury yachts. Understandably, he became Flipper. His morning was spoiled when he came up with a sock-hat over his eyes, whining about being cold. The big baby, it was barely below freezing out, plus he dropped his booty and wouldn’t dive down to retrieve it. Ah, the good old days.