by C. G. Cooper
BRIAN: Can I get you anything, Staff Sergeant?
CAL: Call me Cal. What do I call you?
BRIAN: Brian Ramirez.
CAL: You said you were in Iraq. Who were you with?
BRIAN: I was with you jarheads. I was a corpsman with 1/2. You were with 3/8, right?
CAL: Yeah. How about I just call you Doc.
BRIAN: No problem. Takes me back to the days with my platoon. You dumb grunts can never remember anyone’s real name. You need anything?
CAL: I’m good. Thanks, Doc.
Brian nodded and left the room.
Cal was surprised to find himself in the care of a Navy Corpsman. Not that he cared. He just wanted to get out of the hospital.
Chapter 3
Outskirts of Nashville, TN
DANTE (screaming into his cell phone): What do you mean that motherfucker’s still alive? I pumped that boy full of lead!
He listened as the speaker on the other end of the conversation relayed more information.
DANTE: Well you tell that bitch she better keep an eye on things and tell me as soon as that fucker gets released!
Dante stared down at his phone, seething. How the hell had everything gone so wrong? A week ago he’d had a crew of promising members and a highly profitable business. Now he was left with a crew full of worthless bitches.
To make matters worse, the media and the police had picked up on the bloody attack and now Dante was on the run. Never in the same place two nights in a row. He’d done it before down in Louisiana, but this was different. He felt like the whole world was looking for him.
Maybe it was time to head back to New Orleans? No. He had to stay in Nashville and finish what he’d started. If he went back, his credibility would be shot. He’d worked too hard to let everything go bad. He had too much raw talent. He had too much to lose.
No. He had to finish things with this damn Marine.
Damn Marine! How the hell could they have known that Shorty was about to attack a Marine hero?
It was plastered all over the news about how the returning Navy Cross winner and his fiancé had been brutally attacked. Local authorities and veterans groups were in an uproar. Roving bands of retired military and their supporters walked the downtown streets just waiting for provocation.
The Marine veteran had turned into a folk legend in a matter of days. Stories varied as to the exact chain of events (the police were being unusually tight-lipped), but what no one could deny was that this former Staff Sergeant had somehow, in self defense, killed three men, blinded a fourth and wounded the only one to escape: Dante West.
What seemed like a simple initiation had now turned into a complete nightmare for Dante and his crew. A week before, his hookers could peddle their wares, his pushers could sell their drugs and his boys could walk the streets sporting their colors. Now the police had identified the once silent gang and had them on the run. Shorty had helped their efforts by squealing like a pig and unloaded anything and everything he knew about Dante and N.O.N.
Other than Dante, the blinded Shorty was the only other gang member to survive Cal Stokes’ wrath. Shorty had been taken to the hospital, where he’d been pronounced healthy save the loss of two eyes. He remained under the supervision of the police and hospital staff.
Under very basic interrogation, Shorty had divulged the entire plan for the night’s attack, including why the couple was picked and who N.O.N. and its members were.
Shorty had outed Dante and his entire crew. It was a total disaster for Dante, who’d spent the time since his move to Nashville carefully choosing new recruits and keeping his base of operations under the radar from the local police and other rival gangs.
Now N.O.N. was national news and he was feeling the pressure from his rivals. Hell, the media had even taken to making fun of the gang’s name. Enough was enough. It was time for Dante to take back control. He hadn’t worked so hard to let it fall so fast.
He would push the envelope and show that damn Marine how bad things could really get.
Chapter 4
Vanderbilt University Hospital, Nashville, TN
It had been two days since Cal had regained consciousness. He focused on exceeding his doctor’s expectations so he could get out of the hospital.
His only companion, and now friend, was Brian Ramirez. Over the preceding two days Brian filled Cal in on what was being televised about the investigation into the attack.
CAL: So you’re telling me they know who led the attack and they still don’t have him in jail?
BRIAN: Yeah. This guy Dante West is the leader of this little transplanted gang. They say he’s a pretty mean sonofabitch. Came up here from New Orleans after Katrina. They interviewed some of his extended family down south and they were all pretty tight-lipped. I think they’re afraid of him coming after them. Cops say he was into drugs and running with local gangs by the time he was twelve. Has a long record, including attempted murder and battery.
CAL: If they know who he is why can’t they find him?
BRIAN: The cops I’ve seen on TV say he’s hit the streets. They’ve got a huge manhunt out for him. Word is the military vets on the police force can’t wait to find him and hope he’ll go down fighting. Nobody likes the way things went down with your girl.
CAL (absently): Yeah.
Part of Cal hoped he would be the one to find the piece of shit. To put a couple rounds into his gut and watch him die might make his despair a little more palatable.
BRIAN: So what do you wanna do today?
CAL: What are you--my nanny now?
BRIAN: Let’s just say the hospital staff has decided no one else has the patience to deal with a grumpy Marine.
In fact, Cal knew the real reason Brian was now his constant companion. Brian had requested the crap duty of babysitting him. He’d even heard a heated conversation between Brian and one of the head nurses the previous night. Apparently it was the end of Brian’s shift and the head nurse had pushed him to go home.
BRIAN (half-yelling): If you’re so worried about me why don’t you go get me a cup of coffee and let me do my job?
HEAD NURSE (calming): Brian, you know we can’t pay you for the overtime. Hospital policy is pretty strict these days.
BRIAN: I don’t give a shit about the pay. I’ll clock out but don’t tell Staff Sergeant Stokes about it. He’s one of my Marines and I’ll be damned if he sits here all alone after losing his fiancé. Hell, didn’t you hear that even his parents are already dead?
The head nurse had relented and Brian strolled into Cal’s room as if the altercation had never occurred. Cal decided to play along and didn’t mention overhearing. Sometimes it was good to have a swabby corpsman on your side.
CAL: Let’s get some of this rehab out of the way. I’ve gotta get the hell out of this place.
BRIAN: Don’t forget what the doctor said. You’ve gotta take it easy for a while.
CAL: Yeah, yeah. Look, I’ve been through this shit before and I’m really getting sick of the crappy hospital food. I’d rather be eating MREs right now.
BRIAN (chuckling): My ass. Okay, Marine. Let me get a wheelchair and we’ll head down to physical therapy.
As Brian left to retrieve the wheelchair, Cal started to pull himself up and out from under the covers. He was still in intense pain. Hell, taking a couple shots was never a vacation. Luckily that dumbshit gang-banger had missed anything vital. Apparently the EMTs and ER staff had patched him up pretty quickly. It also hadn’t hurt that he had been shot at point blank range. Better than taking a round at 100 yards.
By the time Brian returned, Cal had managed to work up a sweat but had slipped his legs over the side of the bed and was in the process of putting on his hospital slippers.
Rehab was going to be a real bitch.
Chapter 5
Headquarters Marine Corps, Navy Annex, Washington, DC
The Marine Captain had some time between phone calls so he decided to peruse the day’s news. He did a quick
scan of the day’s top stories on The Drudge Report. Capt. Andrews (Andy to his friends) was trying to kill time on an otherwise boring day. He paused a quarter of the way down:
Navy Cross Marine Loses Fiancé in Bloody Gang Attack, Hero Kills Four with Bare Hands
Despite the recent conflicts overseas there still weren’t many living Marines wearing the nation’s second highest award for gallantry in battle. He knew two personally.
The Captain clicked on the article link and started reading:
In a rare act of restraint, Nashville police have somehow kept a recent bloody attack out of the local and national spotlight. What was initially reported as a mugging gone wrong now seems to be much more.
This publication initially reported that an unidentified man and woman were mugged on Second Avenue in downtown Nashville. The man has been identified as former Marine Staff Sergeant Calvin Stokes. Through our contacts in the military establishment it has been confirmed that SSgt Stokes was honorably discharged from the Marine Corps earlier this year. Even more interesting is that SSgt Stokes is a bonafide hero, having received the Navy Cross for gallantry on the battlefield in Afghanistan.
Our next segment will have the award citation in its entirety. Our sources have been able to tell us that SSgt Stokes was awarded the Navy Cross for saving the majority of his platoon after being ambushed. Still unconfirmed is whether SSgt Stokes also killed twenty enemy combatants during the firefight.
What we can tell you about this most recent attack in Downtown Nashville is that SSgt Stokes’s fiancé, Jessica Warren of Franklin, TN, was killed along with four members of the local gang N.O.N.. Still unconfirmed is the status of a fifth man who was apparently blinded during the downtown battle.
Police confirmed that SSgt Stokes is the man responsible for killing the four men, blinding the fifth and wounding a sixth. The method of wounding is still unconfirmed, but initial reports from eye witnesses point toward SSgt Stokes using his hands and a knife for the majority of the attack.
SSgt Stokes is currently being held in the intensive care ward of Vanderbilt University Hospital. He is said to be in stable condition.
We do know that local police and the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation (TBI) are searching for Dante West, the alleged leader and founder of N.O.N.
All this begs the question: “What happened in that alley?”
This publication is still sifting through various eye witness accounts and speculation. If you have any additional information on the attack please contact us through our website or 24-hour hotline.
ANDY (muttering in disbelief): Shit.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed information.
ANDY: Vanderbilt University Hospital in Nashville, Tennessee, please.
Chapter 6
Vanderbilt University Hospital, Nashville, TN
The phone next to his bed rang. Cal picked it up and answered by habit.
CAL: Stokes.
BRIAN: Hey, Cal. You’ve got a call from Headquarters Marine Corps. Some Captain says he know you. You want me to tell him you’re out for a stroll?
CAL: He mention what his name was?
BRIAN: Yeah. Captain Andrews.
CAL: You can patch him through.
Capt. Andrews had actually been Cal’s platoon commander on his last two tours in Afghanistan. Capt. Andrews had then been First Lieutenant Andrews and one of the Marines Cal had saved in that damned ambush. Andrews had reciprocated on their next tour by carrying a badly wounded Stokes, then a Sergeant, out of another firefight. For that action, and for saving a bunch of Marines and Afghan soldiers, Capt. Andrews had later also been awarded a Navy Cross.
The phone clicked through and Cal heard the voice of his former platoon commander.
ANDY: You there, Stokes?
CAL: Hey, Captain. Didn’t know they had you riding a desk at Headquarters. You playing butler for the Commandant?
ANDY: Very funny, Stokes. No, they’ve got me sitting here waiting to take a platoon at Eighth and I. And didn’t I tell you not to call me sir or Captain? We’ve been through too much for that, brother. Call me Andy.
Capt. Andrews’s real name was Bartholemew G. Andrews. For obvious reason he didn’t want to be called Bartholemew or the even more heinous Bart. As a result, all his friends shortened his last name and just called him Andy.
CAL: Hard for me to turn that switch off…Andy.
ANDY: Just heard about what happened to Jess. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Cal. If I’d known sooner I would’ve flown out. Anything I can do?
CAL: You think you can get the Commandant to get me out of this hospital?
ANDY: What kinda shape you in?”
CAL: Not too bad. Up and walking. Don’t really need to be here.
ANDY: If you’re still anything like you were a couple years ago that probably means you’re pretty beat up. Weren’t you the dumbass that snuck out of that hospital in Germany and tried to stowaway in that C-130 on its way back to Afghanistan dressed like a Navy nurse?
CAL: You know why I did that, Andy. I had to get back to my Marines.
ANDY: I know, I know. I just want to make sure you take care of yourself. According to the papers, you got into some real shit.
CAL: Thanks, sir. I just want to get as far away from this place as I can.
ANDY: You talk to the police yet?
CAL: Yeah, they sent in some former Army guy. He was all right. Asked me some basic questions and didn’t press too much. If anything it looks like the cops here in Nashville take care of the military.
ANDY: Yeah, that’s what I’d heard too. Anybody giving you a hard time?
CAL: Had some random calls from reporters, but I’ve got a pretty good former corpsman that screens the calls for me.
ANDY: He the guy I just talked to?
CAL: Yeah. Pretty good dude. Speaking of which, could you do me a favor and do a little digging on him?
ANDY: I thought you said he was a good guy?
CAL: It’s not that. You know me, never hurts to have a little extra intel.
ANDY: No problem. One of the perks of being close to the puzzle palace is that I can get the scoop on almost anyone. What’s the doc’s name?
Cal told him what he knew about Brian, which wasn’t much.
ANDY: Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.
The line went dead and Cal hung up as well. Cal mulled over the conversation.
So Capt. Andrews was at Headquarters Marine Corps. Large probability that they got him to make that move kicking and screaming. The good Captain might not look like much, around five foot nine inches, but he was a helluva shot and knew how to take care of his Marines. Most people thought he was a candyass when they first met him because he looked barely twenty one, but the man was a natural leader. Under the surface lurked a coldly calculating mind not unlike Cal’s. Maybe that’s why they’d gotten along.
+ + +
He could still remember the first day when, as a Corporal, Stokes had met then Second Lieutenant Andrews. At the time Cal was serving on the much-loved twenty four hour duty on a prime Friday night in July. He’d been sitting at the duty desk counting down the minutes to midnight. Cal had a list of junior officers that were supposed to report in to the battalion from the Infantry Officers Course by 23:59. All of the four reported in at various times during the day except one: a 2ndLt. Bartholomew Andrews. That was an interesting first name. Probably some Naval Academy weenie.
The Gunny (Gunnery Sergeant) assigned as the duty officer was a real prick and wanted to be woken up as soon as each officer reported in. It didn’t have to be that way, but this particular Gunny got a kick out of giving young officers grief when they reported in.
Cal knew why too. The prick Gunny had been dumped by two Company Commanders for doing a shitty job as Company Gunny. Now he was assigned to the S-3 shop as some assistant to the assistant’s assistant. Basically the Battalion staff was biding its time until they could dump the Gunny on another Battali
on or get him kicked out of the Corps. The Gunny loved to abuse any power granted to him by the Marine Corps, even the limited power of the OOD (officer of the day).
Cpl. Stokes had already seen the Gunny give the other three Second Lieutenants grief over stupid admin stuff. He’d even watched a poor officer get humiliated because he’d left one of the copies of his written orders in his car. The Gunny had the poor guy sprinting back to his car believing that if the orders weren’t back in under two minutes the Battalion Commander would be called in to deal with him. That had given the Gunny a real good laugh. Prick.