Rex Dalton Thrillers: Books 1-3 (The Rex Dalton Series Boxset Book 1)

by JC Ryan

  “Six,” he said, sidestepping the important part of her sentence. “I enlisted for six years.”

  For once, she was speechless. After a long sixty seconds of silence, she said, “Take me home, Rex.”

  Chapter Five

  Seven hours earlier

  AFTER SETTING UP the date with Jessie, Rex had gone to the nearest Marine recruiting office and stated he wanted to enlist. The recruiter, unused to dealing with self-assured recruits who had made a firm decision, started to ask if Rex had any questions.

  Rex cut him off. “No questions, just tell me where I sign to get started?”

  “Well, there’s an intake form, and then there’ll be tests and evaluations. Then you’ll be given a contingent assignment, and assuming we get it right and you make it through basic training, you’re in.”

  “Let’s do it,” Rex said.

  “You mean now? You don’t want to sleep on it?” the recruiter asked. His fellow recruiter kicked him under the desk. “Okay, here, fill out this questionnaire.”

  Rex took the stack of forms and went to the desk where they directed him. Under languages, he wrote “German, Spanish, French, Italian: fluent/native speaker; Mandarin, Standard Arabic: working knowledge.” He added information in other fields, including his BA and MA and major and his martial arts training. When he was done, he handed the recruiter the pages and sat down where he was directed to.

  Staff Sergeant Lee Bailey swiftly scanned the forms, and his eyes stopped at the unusual number of words in the Languages field. He read it twice. Concealing his surprise with a stoic expression he’d perfected in his eight years in the Marines, he perused the rest. At the Education section, he again read twice. Finally, he looked up at Rex.

  “Is this meant to be a joke?”

  “What, sir?”

  “Fluent in four languages apart from English and working knowledge in two more. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “No sir, the part about the languages is not a joke. As for you being an idiot, sir, I’ve just met you. I haven’t known you long enough to make such a judgment, yet. Sir.”

  “Don’t call me sir. I work for a living,” snapped Bailey, an automatic response. This was the cheekiest recruit he had seen in a long time. He kept his rage under control and said, “Son, wait here.”

  Rex’s voiceless response was, You’re not my dad, so don’t call me son. He mused about it for a little while, and decided the recruiter was probably only five or so years older, but he probably dealt with kids eighteen or nineteen more often than twenty-four-year-olds.

  After a few minutes, during which the red-faced Bailey held a lively whispered conversation with the second recruiter, the latter approached Rex. “Mr. Dalton, I’m Gunnery Sergeant Greg Hatch. You may call me Gunny. You’ve kind of gobsmacked us here. You’re not our usual recruit. Did you intend to apply for Officer Training School?”

  “No, Gunny,” Rex said, omitting the ‘sir’ at the last second. No one could say he wasn’t a fast learner. “I want to join the infantry.”

  Hatch sat back, his lips parting for only a second before he pressed them together. He regarded Rex with undisguised suspicion. “Son,” he said firmly, “it is not a good idea to come into the recruiting center of the US Marines and attempt to play a joke.”

  Rex sat forward and spoke in measured terms. “First, my father is dead at the hands of terrorists, so please stop calling me son. Second, if the Marines don’t want me, I’ll head over to the Army. I’m fit, well-educated, a patriot, and a willing volunteer. You want me in the Marines or not?”

  Now the sergeant’s jaw did drop. Rex supposed no one had spoken to him in that way since he’d made E-5. But he wasn’t a Marine yet. What was the worst they could do? The Army recruiting station was next door. He’d go through all the services if he had to. His mind was set, he was going to be a soldier with a gun in his hands, and he was going to shoot terrorists. The first military outfit that would give him that opportunity was the one he would join.

  Hatch closed his mouth, which then began to twitch. He broke out into a smile. “All right, then. If that’s the way you want to play it. Don’t expect any favors because of your college degrees and language prowess. You’ll suffer with your buddies, hell for candy and barbed wire for jam on your bread.”

  While Hatch was ranting he had looked away and when his gaze returned to Rex’s, he found a pair of dark eyes looking straight through him. Hatch felt a little shiver run down his spine. Something in those eyes radiated danger.

  He cleared his throat. “It’s good you have a working knowledge of Arabic. I’m going to personally see to it that you get a chance to put it to good use.”

  It was Rex’s turn to smile broadly. “I can’t wait.”

  The rest was simple. Rex made his commitment to serve. Gunnery Sergeant Hatch was glad to wash his hands of the impertinent recruit and left. Bailey was left to explain that the next step was the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS) and the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB).

  In the years to come, Rex was going to learn that there was one thing the military loved as much or more than their weapons — their acronyms.

  The ASVAB would largely determine Rex’s assignment. After the aptitude test, he’d have to pass the physical exam and then meet with a counselor and determine a career.

  “I want infantry,” Rex said.

  “Recruit, you belong to the Marines now, and the Marines will decide where to put you, depending on the needs of the Service, job availability and your ASVAB score, as well as physical requirements. What you want comes last.”

  Rex nodded. He’d studied the process, which was readily available online, and he was confident he could wangle his way into the infantry in one way or another. “How soon can I take that test?” he asked.

  “In some kind of a hurry, recruit?”

  “Yes. I close escrow on my house in two weeks. I’d like to report for basic training then,” Rex explained.

  “Let me see what I can do.”

  In a few minutes, he was back. “If you have your own transportation and can get there in two hours, the Brooklyn MEPS can administer the ASVAB this afternoon. You’ll have to go back for the physical, though.”

  “Excellent. What’s the address?” Rex knew he’d have to fly low along congested highways to make it in two hours, and the test itself was supposed to take three. Then to get home in time to pick up Jessie was another two hours, this time during rush hour. He’d be cutting it close, but he’d try to save time on the test. Maybe he could do it in two.

  ***

  AFTER COMPLETING THE ASVAB, Rex assumed he was free to go once he’d made an appointment for the physical. However, when he approached the office where he’d been directed, he got an unpleasant surprise. Before he could leave, someone wanted to talk to him. A Marine psychologist.

  “I have an appointment at seven,” he explained. “And a two-hour drive to get there.”

  “We can’t make an appointment for your physical until you’ve spoken to Col. Nelson.”

  Rex bowed to the inevitable. What he had to tell her tonight would make Jessie break up with him anyway, unless she forced him to make the break. What difference did it make if he was in the doghouse for being late for their date?

  “Very well.”

  Seated in a hard chair in front of a desk in a small office, Rex wondered if the lack of a couch was because it was military. He didn’t ask.

  “Mr. Dalton, you’ve caused quite a stir in the recruitment office today. I’ve been asked to evaluate your mental fitness to be a Marine.”

  For the first time that day, Rex was surprised. What had he done to make them question his sanity?

  “My mental fitness, sir?”

  “It isn’t every day we get a recruit with an advanced degree and fluency in several languages demanding an infantry position. You mentioned your father had died at the hands of terrorists. The combination led one of your recruiters to believe yo
u might be a loose cannon. Are you?”

  “No sir, I’m not. Unless of course I’m to understand that being educated and able to speak a few languages and having lost my dad at the hands of terrorists makes me a loose cannon.”

  Nelson shifted slightly in his chair. He was beginning to understand why this recruit caused such a din at the recruitment center. The man was hyperintelligent and confident — the latter, though, not improper.

  “It also says here you are proficient in Tai chi and Krav Maga. An odd combination of martial arts, given their opposite philosophies. Care to explain all that?”

  “I can if you wish, sir. But I have a date at seven, in Newtown,” Rex said again.

  “Then I suggest you make it a brief explanation, recruit.” Col. Nelson’s demeanor switched from kind probing to firm demand.

  Rex sighed. Where to begin? With the martial arts, he supposed. “Ever since I was in about the fifth grade, when some of my schoolmates started giving me a hard time about being a teacher’s pet because my dad taught in the same school, I’ve been disciplining myself to be slow to anger. My dad told me to just walk away. When that stopped working and the bigger kids started getting physical, Dad enrolled me in Tai chi classes, so I’d be able to defend myself if I couldn’t defuse the situation.”

  What he didn’t tell the colonel was that it had been more than just himself. He saw the bullies move on to other kids when they could no longer get to him, so he began protecting the most vulnerable. Later, his own drive to be the best he could be at anything he took up led him to Krav Maga, at which he was now an expert.

  Nelson didn’t pursue the question, though. “Tell me about the languages. How did that come about?”

  “My mother’s parents were German. She was born here only shortly after my grandparents immigrated, so she grew up bilingual, and she taught us German. I guess I have a talent for languages, because I’m more fluent than my brother or sister were. When I got to high school, there was a great language department, so I took one language each year.”

  “One year of high school language doesn’t make you fluent. Are you certain you aren’t exaggerating?”

  “Yes, sir. One year’s not enough, you’re right. But I like to learn new languages and once I start I put in extra time. I keep on learning and practicing every day until I’m fluent. When I was an undergraduate, they didn’t believe me, either. So, when I entered the linguistics program, they tested me. In fact, I tested out for several semester hours of credit. I’m told I have no accent, either, or rather that I speak like a native of whatever region my teachers were from.” Rex stated it with no arrogance or boasting. Just simple facts.

  “I guess that’s rare.” Nelson nodded. “You said you were more fluent in German than your brother or sister were. Did they lose their ability to speak German?”

  “Along with their lives,” Rex said flatly. “At the same time as my mother and father, in a terrorist attack on a Spanish train station on March 11, 2004.”

  The colonel reacted with horror. “My god, man, you lost your entire family at once?”

  “Yes, sir. My girlfriend and I survived because we’d gone for coffee.”

  “I’m sorry about your loss.”

  “Not your fault, sir.” Rex had schooled himself to show no emotion when he told people about the lot of his family, after enduring countless interview attempts from news media when he’d finally come home from Spain with the ashes of his mother and sister. It was the wrong affect for a psychologist, though, and Rex knew it the minute the doctor’s face changed.

  “Mr. Dalton, is your desire to join the infantry perhaps fueled by revenge?”

  “Of course, it is,” he snapped. “Let me tell you something. I prepared myself for a life in the Foreign Service. But on that day, I saw that no amount of conventional diplomacy could deal with cowards like the al Qaeda terrorists who blew up a train full of civilians. The only diplomatic strategy with them, as far as I am concerned, should come from the business end of a gun.”

  Nelson nodded. “I see you’re very angry.”

  “Damn straight. I’m angry. But I control my anger — learned that a long time ago, as I have explained before. If not, those sergeants in the recruitment office would be in medical care right now, and your office would not be as neatly arranged as it is now.”

  “How do you do it?” Nelson asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Control so much anger.”

  “You have mentioned the difference between the philosophies of Tai chi and Krav Maga. So, when I’m confronted, I always try the Tai chi approach first. The best fight is the one you never get into. Then, if that fails, I resort to the Krav Maga approach, finishing a fight as quickly and aggressively as possible.

  “Between me and the terrorists, the Tai chi stage is over. We’re now in the Krav Maga stage.

  “I’m not crazy, and I’m not out of control. Now will you please let me join the Marines and fight for my country and the memory of my family?” Rex had not raised his voice, nor was his color high. His blood pressure was even, as was his pulse.

  Nelson wrote something on a pad on his desk. Then he said, “Mr. Dalton, assuming you pass the physical, and I have no doubt you will, welcome to the Marines.”

  Chapter Six

  MCRD Parris Island, February 16, 2005

  REX HAD REPORTED back to MEPS, Brooklyn by noon on February 15th, after a tense hour with Jessie. She hadn’t wanted to meet him for breakfast, but when he told her it was that or never, she arrived at the café where he’d asked her to meet him.

  “I don’t have much time, Jessie. I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I need you to do me one last favor. If you can’t, I’ll understand, and I’ll get a lawyer to do it.” He watched her face turn pale and hurried to reassure her. “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he said. “But I report for my physical today, and if I pass, which I’m sure I will, I’ll report to start basic. So, I need to give you power of attorney to handle the closing and sell everything before that. You can hire an estate sale place if you want. I won’t ask you to do all the work yourself. And then just dump everything in my bank account and convert that to Certificates of Deposit. I won’t be needing the money. Oh, and you said you liked some of Mom’s things. Feel free to take anything you want. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  Jessie was listening to him with growing disbelief evident in her expression. She finally exploded. “You didn’t mean to be insensitive? You… you ass! You’re just going to waltz off into the Marines and you want me to stay here and clean up your mess for you? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Jess, I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, you are,” she snapped. “I’ll do it, only because I respected your parents. But as soon as I’m done, we’re done. I told you last night I wouldn’t wait for you.”

  “I never expected you to, Jess. And again, I’m sorry.” He’d considered giving her the ring, finally. Not to ask her to marry him, but as a token of his affection. Now he reconsidered. She was likely to throw it in his face. Instead, he handed her a key. “This is to the front door. Everything you’ll need is on the kitchen counter. Power of attorney, all keys and garage door openers, my real estate agent’s card, my bank account number. Everything I could think of. If you need to, you can consult my family’s lawyer for help, and let him charge his fees to the estate.”

  “That’s it, then? That’s all you have to say to me?” Now tears were coursing down her cheeks.

  “No, Jess, that isn’t all. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You know I love you. But I’m not good for you. Not with all this hatred inside. You deserve better than me. I want you to have a good life, and not always be worrying about where I’ve been deployed or what’s happening to me. I want you to find happiness. Forget me.”

  “Rex!” she cried, as he stood, leaving a couple of bills on the table for their breakfast.

  “Goodbye, Jess,” he said. He dropped a kiss on her head and walk
ed away without looking back.

  Hours later, he sat in the counselor’s office and reiterated his demand to be assigned to the infantry.

  “But your scores,” the counselor protested. “They’re off the charts. And your background is perfect for the Signal Corps. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “Will I be allowed to carry a rifle and shoot terrorists?” he asked.

  “Well, no…”

  “Then please assign me to infantry. Or I’ll rescind my commitment to the Marines and go Army instead.” Rex knew that until he took the oath, he had not fully enlisted, and could do as he’d threatened.

  “What a waste,” the counselor muttered sadly.

  “Excuse me?” Rex asked.

  “All that talent, to be cannon fodder,” the counselor said. “It’s a waste.”

  “You assume I’m stupid enough to get myself killed before I take out my share of terrorists.”

  “And you just proved my assumption. Sign here and get out of my sight.”

  Rex didn’t take it personally. The counselor was wrong, but only Rex could prove it, by staying alive. And he fully intended to. But if he didn’t, it didn’t much matter. He had only one thing to live for now, and that was defending his country and avenging his family.

  However, he had thirteen weeks of training to get through before he’d be ready for assignment. The nearly twelve months of depression and drinking he’d allowed himself before suddenly pulling himself together had taken their toll. Though he’d passed the physical, he knew he wasn’t in the best shape of his life. That would be corrected in the first four weeks of his training.

  In a twist of luck, his timing coincided with a previously-scheduled swearing-in ceremony. Because he hadn’t been able to rehearse it with them, though, he was given a card bearing the Oath of Enlistment to memorize quickly, and a teleprompter was set up behind the officer who conducted the ceremony. He wondered if the others were nervous, as one or two of them shuffled from foot to foot while waiting for the ceremony to begin. He stood perfectly still, at parade rest as he’d practiced on his own. They waited a few minutes, and then a colonel Rex hadn’t met before stepped from the side of the room and behind a podium. The others stood at attention, so Rex did as well.