The Return of the Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Then he saw three men push themselves through the crowd up to the gate and spray the courtyard with automatic fire, even though there was no obviously moving target. They started climbing the gate. Gunny tried to get in position for a shot, but that was a long shot for a handgun, especially when made by a piss-poor marksman.

  Over at the gatehouse, LCpl Wynn picked herself up off the ground. Even from this distance, Gunny could see the blood streaming down her face and neck. She calmly walked up to the gate as if she were back at Quantico getting ready to qualify on the range. The three men saw her and started scrambling to get their rifles in position to fire, but Wynn coolly shot all three, one after the other, one shot apiece. The men fell back over the gate into the pressing crowd.. She turned around, holstered her 9 mm, took a few steps back towards the embassy, then fell face first to the ground.

  Gunny had five Marines down. And the president, and the ambassador, and a shitload of secret service agents. In the momentary lull after Wynn’s shots, he jumped up yelling for the Marines near him to follow. Rodriguez, Steptoe, and Ramon jumped up and ran with him. Major Defilice rushed down the red carpet as well.

  Gunny reached down to Van Slyke, but the Marine was pushing himself up. His face was covered in blood and his upper lip seemed to be hanging off. “I’m OK Gunny, I’m OK,” he managed to get out of his mangled face, blood spraying. Gunny kept going to the end of the carpet.

  The closest person to him was Crocker. The right half of Crocker’s face was gone, sheared off. His left eye was open, and looked completely normal, as if nothing had happened. But it would never see again. Crocker was gone.

  Staff Sergeant Child was moving slightly, but he was obviously hurt pretty bad. Blood was soaking his blouse and trousers, and a pool of blood was forming on the courtyard stones. “Rodriguez! Help me here!” Rodriguez started to kneel next to Gunny Mac when LCpl Steptoe pushed him aside.

  “I’ve got this, Gunny.” He reached down and slung Child over his back, exactly as outlined in the Marine Handbook. He could have been demonstrating to a class. He stood up and started back down the red carpet to the embassy entrance.

  Cpl Ashley was lying on her back. She didn’t look obviously hurt. “Take her back, Rodriguez.” Rodriguez grabbed her by the collar and started dragging her. As he dragged her past him, Gunny Mac could see a broad swath of red form under her, as if someone was using a paintbrush to paint the courtyard.

  Major Defilice had gone right up to the president. Lying underneath the secret service agent, his left arm was outspread, and there was some blood on it. Defilice and the Princess rolled the agent off the president, who moaned and tried to sit up.

  “Take it easy sir. We’ve got you.” Defilice got his arms under the president’s shoulders while Ramon picked up his legs. Together they carried the president back.

  Gunny looked around. The agent who had covered the president was quite obviously dead. Ambassador Tankersly lay in a pool of blood, his right arm blown off and lying a few feet from his body. The man who he would later learn was the staff secretary lay on his back wheezing, blood pulsing out between his fingers which were pressed up against his neck. As Gunny moved toward him, the wheezing stopped, and his hand fell away. The pulsing blood slowed to a flow. One hand still clutched the handle of a badly mangled briefcase, broken electronic components falling out of it to lie scattered across the ground.

  Van Slyke came staggering across the courtyard, Wynn over his shoulders. A shot rang out, and Gunny could see another man pushing himself through the crowd to fire into the embassy grounds. Gunny stepped behind the president’s Suburban, then cranked off a few rounds at the man. He didn’t know if he hit him or not, or if he hit someone else in the crowd for that matter, but the firing stopped long enough for Van Slyke to make it to the red carpet. Gunny’s natural instinct was to help him with Wynn, but he stayed at the Suburban and scanned the crowd outside the gate for another shooter.

  Looking back at the embassy, he could see Saad step up to help Van Slyke into the building. Feeling quite vulnerable out there alone, he decided it was time to get back himself. He turned to run and almost fell over the US flag, lying in the blood on the courtyard ground. Looking at Crocker’s body, he mouthed a small apology for abandoning his body, picked up the flag, then sprinted for the entrance. Little Mac waited until he got through before hitting the release to lower the emergency door.

  Chapter 7

  Late Tuesday Morning, US Embassy, New Delhi

  Gunny Mac placed the flag up against the emergency doors and took in the scene. The President of the United States of America was sitting down, back against Post 1, with Major Defilice and PFC Ramon kneeling beside him. A few feet away, Corporal Samantha Ashley lay on her back. PFC Rodriguez was holding her hand in his. Gunny raised a questioning eyebrow. Rodriguez shook his head and looked back down.

  Staff Sergeant Child was also on his back. His breathing was steady, but small bright red bubbles were forming at the corners of his mouth. LCpl Steptoe stood by him, as Child’s skin took on a sickly, gray cast. Saad was sitting on the other side of the passage, hand pressed to his shoulder, an angry look on his face.

  PFC Van Slyke had laid Wynn down next to Child. Mac could see blood in Wynn’s hair, and what looked to be bits of brain matter. But the shallow rise and fall of her chest assured him she was still alive. Blood streamed down Van Slyke’s face. Gunny wondered how he could have taken a shot to the face and be standing alertly, looking toward him for orders. They all were looking toward him now, even the major.

  A sense of weariness crept over him, of hopelessness. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. How could this happen with the president of the freaking United States? Where was the secret service? Who was going to take charge?

  He looked to Major Defilice. “Sir?”

  The major seemed to understand. “I’m an assistant attaché, a logistician by trade, not a line officer. I’m in no one’s chain of command. You’re in charge here. You know what to do. Tell me what you want, and I’ll help. But you’ve got the training for this.”

  Gunny Mac knew the major was right. He had the training. And he had to do two things first. Find out who was where, and destroy the classified. When he had run back down the red carpet, the crowd was still outside the walls. But someone had planned this, and it was only a matter of time before they and/or the crowd took over the embassy grounds.

  Falling into the steps drilled into him over and over was better. Let the routine take over. This was just like a drill. He wheeled to the glass of Post 1.

  “Sergeant McAllister. Hit the Mayday. Then pulse Battalion and let them know what happened. Tell them we need help right now.

  “Rodriguez, go inside Post 1. Get a hold of Post 2 and get a sitrep from them. Let’s find out where everybody is.

  “Major, maybe we should get the president out of the passageway here.” He looked around. “How about the Admin Section’s office? It’s an inside office, no windows.” When the major nodded, he added, “OK, let’s get everybody in the office.“

  Major Defilice and PFC Ramon helped up the groggy president. At least he seemed to be able to walk under his own power—sort of. Steptoe and Saad carried Child, and Gunny helped Van Slyke with Wynn. He glanced at Ashley’s body, but decided to leave it there for the moment. Entering the office, he told Steptoe, Kramer, and Van Slyke to push the desks together and clear them off so they could lay Child and Wynn on them.

  PFC Rodriguez came running in and said, “Gunny! Sergeant McAllister told me to get you. None of her circuits work.”

  Gunny ran back out, and up to Post 1 where Little Mac buzzed him in.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Gunny, I can’t contact anyone. And the pulse doesn’t look like it went out.”

  Gunny Mac looked at the control screens in the booth. The video monitors seemed to work. He picked up the telephone. The line was dead. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and checked the screen. The
“No Network Available” message flashed at the top of the display.

  “What about the land line?” he asked.

  This was a protected communications line connecting the embassy posts. This line did not use transmissions and was buried several feet below the embassy grounds as it ran to between the posts.

  Sergeant McAllister picked it up and pressed the talk button. “I’ve got them Gunny!”

  Gunny grabbed the handset. “Post 2, this is Post 1. Give me a sitrep.”

  He could hear Sergeant Chen’s excited voice coming over the line. “We’re OK Gunny. What the hell happened over there?”

  “Chen, give me a sitrep. Who’s there with you? Are you under attack?”

  “No, we are not under attack. We saw the explosions, but nothing over here. Some secret service agent tried to run over to the embassy, but I think he got shot. He is over in the fishpond right now.”

  “Who’s with you right now? Give me a head count,”

  Gunny told him.

  “Uh, me and Staff Sergeant Harwood are here in the post. Niimoto and Fallgatter are in the garden with the civilians.”

  “OK. Get Niimoto and Fallgatter. Tell them to come here using the service tunnel. Do not let them cross the courtyard. Understand?”

  “Sure Gunny. I’ll get them over,” the sergeant responded.

  Gunny turned to Little Mac and said, “Keep trying to get out a pulse. And let me know if you see movement out there. Oh, and give me the first aid kit.”

  She reached under the counter and handed it to him. He left the post and went back into the Admin Section’s office.

  Major Defilice walked over to the president, who was sitting at the Protocol Officer’s desk. He took off his jacket, tore a large piece from the bottom of his t-shirt, and began to wrap the president’s arm. On his t-shirt, above the torn strip, there was a silk screen saying “Money Can’t Buy You Happiness But it Can Buy You Beer, Drugs, and Women!” Despite the situation, that struck him as pretty funny. All the more so as the most professional Major Defilice was wearing such a shirt under his uniform when the President of the United States was coming. He almost broke out into a laugh despite the circumstances.

  As he walked up, the president looked at him and said, “Sergeant, the major here tells me you are trying to find out what happened. What the hell is happening?”

  “We don’t know yet, Mr. President. We’ve been hit by some sort of attack. We’ve got you back in the embassy, and no one seems to be storming the grounds yet. We need to secure the embassy until the Indian authorities arrive. We have tried to call them as well as pulse Quantico to let them know what’s happening, but we have no comms. Ambassador Tankersly is dead, but the foreign civilians and other Americans are in the consular garden and are OK for now.”

  “No communications? Where is Neal? He has my direct communications with the White House,” the president said as Gunny looked at him blankly. “Ron Neal, my Staff Secretary?”

  “Sir, if that was the man with you and the ambassador, well, he’s dead. And the briefcase he was carrying looked like it took a direct hit.”

  “Ron is dead?” he said, looking stunned, then swallowing hard. “Well, use your backups then. I want the White House, and I want it now.”

  “Gunny, Sergeant McAllister needs to open the emergency doors,” Rodriguez’s voice came in from the passageway.

  “Excuse me sir, but I need to take care of this,” Gunny told the president.

  Gunny handed Major Defilice the first aid kit, turned from the president and went back into the passageway where Rodriguez was holding open the hatch into Post 1. Gunny went inside and up to Little Mac who was looking at the monitor which covered the front of the emergency doors. When Gunny Mac looked for himself, he could see an older woman, covered with blood, who had managed to crawl up the side of the steps and was knocking on the emergency doors. Gunny realized she had been one of the favored few who were allowed to wait in the courtyard for the president’s arrival.

  Gunny looked at the other monitors. He could see the bodies in the courtyard and the mass of people still outside the gates, but no one else seemed to be around the embassy entrance.

  The emergency doors were two tons of reinforced derma steel, impervious to most anything. They were intended to slam shut at the onset of any emergency. Once closed, though, they could not be opened without a code. Gunny Mac was one of five people at the embassy who had that code. He walked up to the console to punch it in, shielding the touchpad with his body so no one could the numbers. Then he almost laughed. What was the use of keeping it secret now?

  The door started inching up. “Rodriguez, help her in.”

  Rodriguez laid down on the deck and reached under the door as it continued its slow process up. “I’ve got you ma’am. Lie down and I’ll get you in.”

  He kept reaching, sliding his head under the door, then started pulling back, half assisting, half dragging the woman under the door and into the embassy. There was a loud crack, and tile chipped on the floor. Gunny, who had taken a step forward, jumped back.

  “Fuck, they’re shooting at us. Slam the door, slam the door!” he shouted. Sergeant McAllister hit the release, and the door slammed shut once again, barely missing the outstretched leg of the woman. She lay on the floor in Rodriguez’s arms. She was about sixty-five years old and heavy set. Gunny had seen her before, but really didn’t know who she was. Her obviously tailored suit was now bedraggled, with a large tear in the shoulder and blood seeping from her face and shoulder gave its cream color a pinkish, tie-dyed look. There were what looked to be globs of blood and flesh sprayed across her skirt. She was pale and breathing heavily, the signs of shock evident on her face.

  She looked up at Gunny, took a breath, and with a seemingly forced bravado, asked. “Are you going to help me up, or what?”

  Gunny snapped out of his daze. “Yes ma’am!”

  He reached down to take her hand, which was cool and clammy, and the woman stood up. She had on a black lacy bra, which was visible through the tear in the shoulder of her suit. Blood was running down her shoulder and over the curve of her breast, which was also exposed, then soaking into that bra. Her face showed every wrinkle of her years, but her chest seemed somehow younger. Maybe it was the bright blood. Gunny wondered why the hell he even noticed that, given the circumstances.

  “Gunny Mac, is there someplace a little more appropriate where I can go?” she asked.

  She knew his name? Not impossible, he thought, but most people at the embassy never addressed him by name, and those who did usually used his full last name, either as “Sergeant McCardle” or “Gunnery Sergeant McCardle.” Gunny Mac thought he sort-of recognized the woman, having seen her at functions, but he could not place the name.

  “Yes, ma’am. Let’s go back to the Admin office. The president is there.”

  “Is he OK?” she aksed.

  “I think so, ma’am. Rodriguez, McAllister, stay here on post. No one comes in. No one,” he said before assisting the woman down the passage to the office.

  “In case you are wondering, I am OK,” she told him.

  The woman looked like she was forcing a stern appearance, but in back of it, her eyes were in somewhat of a daze.

  Gunny looked back. “Uh, right. I’m sorry ma’am. Anyone else with you make it?”

  She softened the look in her eye somewhat, and she almost seemed to break before she gathered herself. “I don’t think so. I think I have a lot of the charge-de-affairs’ blood on my skirt here.”

  They walked into the office. The president was still sitting on the desk, but he looked up, still obviously dazed, but somehow defiant at the same time.

  “Where is my secret service?”

  “I don’t know Mr. President. Some were killed out there, but the others should be here soon, I hope,” Gunny said.

  The woman brushed past Gunny to hold out her hand. “Mr. President, I am Loralee Howard. I’m married to Stan Howard, the charge-de-affa
irs here.”

  Gunny looked at her sharply. Loralee Howard? Stan Howard? Yes, he was the charge-de-affairs, but didn’t she just tell him that she had his blood on her skirt?

  Despite the circumstances, ingrained political behavior kicked in. President Eduardo reached out and took the hand, saying “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Well Mr. President, we are up Shit River right now. I hope you have some sort of Secret Squirrel hotline which is going to get us out of this.”

  The president, still holding and shaking her hand, looked slack-jawed at her.

  Chapter 8

  Late Monday Night, Executive Office Building, Washington, DC

  Vice-President Jennifer Wright was in her office with her chief-of-staff, discussing an upcoming trip to Dallas when she saw the attack live on CNN on the television hanging on her wall. She stopped dead, her mouth falling open. David Spears, her chief, had his back to the wall and kept talking, not noticing her expression.

  “David, look!” she said.

  He turned around and saw the images of bodies on the ground on the screen.

  “What the . . . ?”

  Right then, Special Agent Mel Greene rushed in and said, “Ma’am, we have a situation here. Will you please follow me?”

  He grasped her arm and lifted her to her feet, belying to his phrasing that he was asking her permission rather than giving her an order. Several secret service agents preceded them as they walked down the hall, others watching the intersections. He escorted her down the stairs and through the tunnel to the White House and into the Situation Room, the Marine Guard waving them inside.

  The room was empty except for the duty officer, who stood wringing his hands and looking at the vice-president.

  “The key staff are being informed and instructed to come here. Most of them are home at this late hour,”