The Return of the Marines Trilogy

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  Just as he reached the captain, he saw Cpl Steptoe stagger out of the alley. The radio operator stumbled and took a knee in the sand.

  Burke immediately realized his mistake. He had gotten a head count, but of the squads. He had neglected to account for the platoon headquarters and for the STA team. He had just seen LCpls Isaac and Hyde of the STA team, but he hadn’t accounted for Steptoe and the lieutenant.

  He took a step to go help Cpl Steptoe when his blood ran cold. Several Somalis burst out of the building closest to the beach and grabbed Cpl Steptoe, yanking the Marine back into the alley. Burke started to raise his weapon, but firing would endanger the Marine as well, so he pulled his weapon back down and started to run. In the back of his mind, he knew he should have support, but instinctively, he just ran. If they got Steptoe out of sight, they would never be able to find him again.

  As he ran, the long legs of the captain passed him, sand flying. The captain had his 9 mm out, waving it in his good hand as he ran.

  It took only seconds, but they closed the gap and flew into the alley, this time, their eyes needing a moment to adjust to the shadows. Another Marine ran alongside of him. Burke glanced to the side to see that of all people, it was PFC McNamara.

  A burst of fire sounded in front of them, and the captain stumbled, but didn’t go down. Two Somalis held Cpl Steptoe between them, while a third was standing, firing back at them as they ran up.

  Captain Svenson fired off two shots, but Burke couldn’t see if he had hit anyone. The Somali gunman seemed ready to break and run, but he fired off another burst. Burke heard the captain grunt, but with an inarticulate war cry, the Marine covered the last 10 meters and physically crashed into the three Somalis and Cpl Steptoe.

  When the captain crashed into the group, they all went down. One Somali had already been hit, but the other two were scrambling to get back up when Burke fired two shots into each one. Both went down immediately.

  Burke pulled Steptoe back, away from the others. The radio operator was dazed, but conscious.

  “Captain, we’ve got him. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he shouted at the prone company commander.

  Capt Svenson didn’t move. Burke moved over and turned the Marine over. Blood pulsed out of his throat. His eyes were open, and they struggled to focus on the platoon sergeant.

  “I guess I did OK, huh?” he asked, the words gurgling as blood fought with air.

  “You sure did, sir. Hang on, we’ll get you back.”

  The captain seemed to shrug as his eyes closed. He breathing became labored.

  “I’ve got him, Staff Sergeant.”

  PFC McNamara leaned over and picked up the lanky Marine, slinging him over his shoulders.

  “OK, get out of here.”

  He motioned back to the beach. He could see other Marines beginning to approach the alley, more cautiously, though, more by-the-book. McNamara reached them, and the other Marines rushed to help him with the company commander. Burke turned to Cpl Steptoe, who was still somewhat dazed.

  “Where’s the lieutenant?” he asked urgently.

  “He didn’t make it,” came the reply. “He got shot back there.”

  “Bullshit! You saw him get killed?”

  “He, he pushed me back, then I heard the rounds hit him. I saw all the blood. I couldn’t go out there to get him.”

  Burke stood up. He looked back to the beach. Sgt Dailey was there at the end of the alley with several Marines. The drone of the LCAC was clearly audible, and he knew they needed to load it and get out of there.

  “Staff sergeant?” came the question over the platoon freq.

  “Pat, get these Marines on that LCAC. Give me 5 minutes, and if I’m not back by then, tell whoever is in charge to get underway.”

  “Where are you going, over?”

  “I’m getting the lieutenant, so you get going. That’s an order.”

  He looked back at Cpl Steptoe.

  “Can you stand?” When the radio operator nodded, he went on, “Go back and join the others.”

  He turned away, then cautiously stepped over the three dead Somalis. Keeping to the shadows, he felt hundreds of eyes on him, and he expected to be jumped at any second.

  As he approached the bend in the alley, he hugged the near side. He could see some blood splatter that reached from beyond the bend, and he heard the low murmur of voices.

  He quietly reached into his buttpack, feeling around for his signaling mirror. He brought it out and oh so carefully pushed it around the edge of the bend, taking in what was on the other side.

  Three armed Somali men stood around the motionless body of Lt Niimoto while a fourth was going through the lieutenant’s pockets. Blood covered the lieutenant’s face.

  Burke looked down at the magazine sticking out of his M4. It was his last mag, and frankly, he didn’t know how many rounds were in it.

  Well, it is what it is, he thought.

  He flipped his M4 off safe. Taking a deep breath, he charged around the corner, firing at the standing men. Two went down immediately before they could register the attacking madman, and the third looked up in panic, raising his own weapon.

  He took aim and pulled the trigger again, only to hear an empty click. He was out of ammo. Closing the gap in only a second, the kicked the man who had been searching the lieutenant’s pockets as he tried to stand and thrust the muzzle of his rifle as hard as he could deep into the other’s throat just as the man fired his rifle, rounds blasting past his ear, deafening him.

  He could feel the muzzle of his M4 hit bone, and the man fell down, clutching his throat. Hands grabbed him from below, knocking him down, and as he fell, he twisted, trying to bring the barrel of his M4 down on the fourth man’s head.

  Instead of hitting him squarely, the rifle seemed to roll over the man’s back, and Burke lost his grip. The M4 went skittering across the alley. Burk hit the ground hard as he fell, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to roll over, but strong hands held him down and started to move up his body, raining blows that thankfully, his body armor absorbed.

  Burke tried to buck the man off, but the Somali was unbearably strong. He evidently realized that his blows were having no effect because the stopped hitting and pinned one of Burke’s arms with his knee as hands sought his throat. Burke looked up into eyes that already registered victory.

  Back at RASP, Burke had been taught hand-to-hand combat, of course. His mind raced as to his options. But while Burke was in great shape, this man was a monster. Panic almost took over when we remembered one of his instructors stressing that no one was defeated until he was cold and dead, that anything could be used as a weapon.

  As the big hands closed around Burke’s throat, and with his left arm trapped, Burke reached over with his right, unclasped his helmet, and with one smooth motion, swung it around, connecting with the side of the Somali’s head. The man faltered, but the pressure he was putting on Burke’s throat didn’t cease. Burke brought his arm back again and swung, connecting once more. The man slumped over for a moment, then looked down at the helmet with wariness. Burke thought he would protect himself, but evidently this was a war of endurance. Would Burke be choked unconscious before he could beat the man into senselessness?

  He brought his arm back one more time as spots began to form in front of his eyes. Putting everything into it, he started to swing. The man on top of him evidently decided that he needed to protect himself as he let go of Burke’s throat to bring up his arms, but it was too late. The helmet connected with a solid crack, and the big man collapsed.

  Burke pushed the man over, mounted him, and began to rain blows down on the man’s head. The helmet was uniquely designed to protect a head, but in this case, it was a deadly weapon. Burke literally crushed the man’s skull, turning it into a blood-splattered mass of mush and brain matter.

  Burke knew the man was dead, but adrenaline kept him going for a few more blows. It wasn’t until he shifted position to get in a better shot and his leg to
uched the body of Lt. Niimoto that he got control of his berserker rage. He put down his battered helmet and slid off the body of the Somali. Down the alley, the other Somali, the one he had hit in the throat, was slowly crawling off. Burke ignored him.

  He lifted the lieutenant’s arm and turned him over. Much to his surprise, bubbles were forming over the platoon commander’s nose. He was still alive! He looked around—he had to get his commander back to the beach.

  A noise in back of him caused him to jump up.

  “Is he still alive?” Cpl Steptoe asked him.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to evacuate.”

  “I know, Staff Sergeant, but me and the lieutenant, we go back a long way, and the more I thought about it, as my head cleared up a bit, the more I wasn’t sure he was dead. And if you were going to see, well, I figured maybe I would help.”

  Burke let that go for the moment.

  “Well, he’s pretty fucked up, and I can see you’re still fucked up. But let’s get going . . . ”

  They were interrupted by shouts coming from further down the alleyway.

  “Oh shit! More company. We don’t need that.”

  He looked around. He stepped up to a door on the right and tried the doorknob. It was locked. He rushed to the next one and tried it. To his surprise, it opened. He looked inside, but it seemed as if no one was home.

  “OK, we need to get the lieutenant in there. But he’s bleeding like a stuck pig, and we can’t advertise that we’re inside.”

  “Use that awning there. It won’t stop the bleeding, but maybe it can sop up enough so we don’t leave a trail,” Steptoe told him, pointing to one of the ubiquitous awnings which graced many of the city’s buildings.

  Burke ripped it down as the voices got closer. They didn’t have much time. He bundled the lieutenant up, regardless of what damage he might be causing, and before the blood could seep through, he rushed the lieutenant into the dark interior of the house. Cpl Steptoe pulled one of the dead Somalis over closer to the door and left him face first there, hoping to cover up or at least disguise and blood they might had left.

  Cpl Steptoe just managed to get inside and the door closed when the voices outside raised in pitch. They had found the scene of the fight, and they sounded none too happy.

  Burke and Steptoe froze, afraid to make a sound. An eon later, the voices proceeded down the alley towards the beach.

  “Now they’re between us and the rest of the company,” Cpl Steptoe whispered.

  “Doesn’t really matter,” Burke told him. “The company shoved off 5 minutes after I took off for the lieutenant. We are well and truly alone now.”

  “Well, fuck,” came the simple reply.

  Burke tried to call into the platoon, but now his radio was not working. Pounding a Somali’s head into a pulp with the helmet was probably not conducive to the electronics, he figured. He looked to Steptoe and the PRC 92 he was still humping, but that had already been turned into a pile of parts, mostly broken parts. It was ironic that in this age of communications, when everyone had a cell phone, they couldn’t speak to anybody.

  They sat silently for awhile, listening for returning voices. Lt Niimoto hung on, soft gurgling noises rising from him at times. Burke tipped him on his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood.

  Eventually, he got up and looked about the house for something he could use as a weapon. He found a few kitchen utensils, but frankly, his K-Bar was much better suited for a fight.

  The small house had a sleeping loft up a ladder in the back. Figuring it was better to be even partially out of sight, he and Steptoe maneuvered the lieutenant up the ladder and laid him on the wooden floor of the loft. Burke tried to clean up the blood which now stained the floor of the main room below, but that was not going to happen.

  As they waited out the afternoon, he was amazed that the lieutenant was still hanging on. The man had a will to live.

  After a few hours, his bladder was screaming for attention, so he crept down the ladder and back into the main room, looking for something in which he could piss. When he heard voices outside, he quickly moved to the door and froze, K-Bar out.

  The voices trailed off, and he started to relax when he heard a door open. A few moments later, it closed, then he could distinctly hear footsteps coming back across the small alley. Another door opened, this one right next door. Someone was checking the homes.

  He considered trying to hold the door closed, but that would undoubtedly bring unwanted attention. He looked around. The room was dark, and it was possible that someone looking in from the daylight outside might not see everything.

  He hugged the wall by the door and waited. The steps approached, and the door swung open, the open door itself blocking Burke from view. The door stopped for a moment, and started to swing back shut when it was suddenly thrust back open and a man rushed forward, looking at the blood stains in the middle of the floor.

  He should have paid attention to what else might be in the room as Burke gave him no chance. He rushed the man, his left arm grabbing the man’s forehead, pulling it back, while the right drove the tip of the K-Bar into the side of his neck, then forced it forward, ripping through flesh, arteries, and veins.

  The man was dead before Burke could lower him to the ground. Cpl Steptoe came down the ladder, and between the two of them, the manhandled the dripping body up to the loft and lay it down beside the lieutenant. There was nothing they could do about the blood, though. It looked like a slaughterhouse.

  Burke realized that if he had been back in the loft when the man had come in, things could have been much worse. That was a mistake alleviated only because he had had to take a piss. For the rest of the afternoon, he sat on the floor by the door, leaving Cpl Steptoe to watch over the lieutenant. Nothing much happened as they sat in silence, watching the flies come and gather to sample the bloody bounty on the floor.

  It wasn’t until he was sitting there that he realized he had been bleeding himself. It might have been a round, it might have been during his fight with the big Somali. But the back of his arm had contributed to the sanguineous mess on the floor.

  As the sun started going down, there was more activity in the alley outside. He heard the call to prayers, then people walking about and talking. People had most likely been in hiding, and now, with the fighting stopped, they came out to take joy in their continued living and to find out what happened.

  Not everyone was joyful, though. A woman’s wailing erupted from down the alley. Burke wondered who her husband or son had been. Had he perhaps even killed him? As a rule, Burke did not think too much about who he may have shot. But sitting on the floor, alone with his thoughts, it seemed a bit different.

  He was almost caught off guard when the door opened once again. A woman with a baby in her arms walked in. She stepped in the blood, looked down at it in horror, and opened her mouth to scream when Burke was able to jump up and clamp his hand over her mouth. His K-Bar was ready to strike, but he couldn’t. He wrestled the woman to the ground as the baby started crying. Holding the knife to the woman’s throat, he put his forefinger over his lips. She nodded her acquiescence, even if obviously frightened out of her wits.

  Cpl Steptoe came down to help, and they ended up tearing a sheet to bind the woman and cover her mouth. The baby kept crying, though, and Burke was worried that that might attract some attention, but he was at a loss at what to do.

  Cpl Steptoe came to the rescue. The woman was bound, hand and foot, and they had put the baby in her lap. Steptoe picked up the baby, the reached over to pull the woman’s robe off her shoulder. Her eyes widened in panic, whether for fear for her baby or for fear of rape, Burke didn’t know. But when Steptoe held the child to her breast and the baby started suckling, she relaxed. He guessed she figured no one would take care of a baby’s feeding if he planned to kill them.

  Despite their situation, Burke had to smile. Cpl Steptoe was a big man, and here he was standing, bent over, holding a t
iny child to a woman’s breast so it could drink. They couldn’t untie the woman’s arms, so he had to stand there for a good ten minutes before the child was satisfied. Then, instead of putting the baby back down, he held the child against his chest. Steptoe’s body armor couldn’t have been comfortable, but the baby soon fell asleep against it.

  They all sat there: Cpl Steptoe, the woman, and Burke, staring at each other, waiting it out. Things got quieter outside. Burke risked opening the door a crack, and only a few lights were on. Together with Steptoe, they brought the lieutenant down to the main room. He was still hanging on, but his breathing was feeble.

  Burke rummaged through a wardrobe, but nothing there would fit over their uniforms and body armor. He had wanted to break up their silhouette so they wouldn’t stand out so much from a distance, but everything was too small. There were men’s clothes in evidence, and that changed Burke’s time schedule. He had planned on moving out well after midnight, but if this woman’s husband was out discussing the day’s events with others, well, he would be coming back. Burke wished he could talk to the woman, so see if maybe her husband was off fishing or something, but even if he could speak Somali, could he trust what she told him?

  So it was dark, but not too terribly late when Burke and Cpl Steptoe slipped out of the house, carrying the lieutenant. They had left the woman alone, figuring that with them gone, she would eventually dislodge or even chew through her gag and call for help.

  Burke had taken Steptoe’s M4 and was leading the way, but his arms were still burdened by Lt Niimoto’s legs. If it came to a fight, he would have to drop the lieutenant before being able to fire.

  They passed several house in which oil lamps burned and voices emanated. They both jumped when a door opened behind them, but whoever it was didn’t look in their direction and merely walked back towards the center of town.

  It actually took only a few minutes to make it to the end of the alley. But this revealed another problem. While the houses in the alley seemed to lack electricity, the beach area did have it, and there were many more lights on there. The docks themselves were also well lit. Burke had toyed with the idea of stealing a boat, but he could see now that this wasn’t going to happen.