Shot at Redemption

by Ken W. Smith

  As he sat, he saw his accuser, Kathleen Amejian, and her high-priced lawyer at the prosecutor’s table. They sat next to a female JAG lawyer.

  The bailiff, a bulky Navy Master Chief, stood up and said, “All rise.”

  The JAG judge, Colonel Tyler Matthews, walked in, sat down, and looked inside a plain manila folder. He put the folder down.

  He banged his gavel, “Call in the jury.”

  “All stand,” ordered the MP.

  A Marine General led the procession of twelve military officers. Nine men and three women from Special Operations commands around the world. They took their seats without looking at Jay. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Jay couldn’t figure them out.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” the judge asked.

  Jay felt his stomach knot tighten and his palms sweat.

  “Yes, we have your honor,” the Marine general said.

  “On the count of war crimes, what do you find?”

  Jay flashed back to Dubai and the crash of Matthew Goddard’s helicopter. The search for his friends Gia and Antonio, Michael Goddard dying in Gia’s arms, and the shootout in the Pakistani Cave. This verdict was the moment Jay’s entire career was hanging on. Fourteen years of hard-fought service could go down the drain. But even worse, he was looking at spending the rest of his life in jail or even death row. He hoped his defense would be enough to save his bacon. He was about to find out.

  The jury foreman opened a small envelope and read, “Not guilty.”

  A wave of relief swept through Jay’s body. He heard a moan from Natalie and two cheers from McCoy and Gunny Mack. But they weren’t done yet.

  “On the count of dereliction of duty, what do you find?”

  “Not guilty.”

  Not guilty on both charges. After six months in a military jail, he was a free man.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Thank you for your service to this court. You are now dismissed. Chief Petty Officer, Mendes, you are also dismissed.”

  Jay watched the jury leave, shook Pete’s hand, and turn to embrace Natalie.”

  Before he had a chance to leave the defense table, a woman walked into the courtroom, “Chief Petty Officer, Mendes?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Rear Admiral Brown requests your presence and Lieutenant Commander Medici’s presence in his office.”

  The woman turned and left the courtroom.

  Jay turned to look at Pete, who shrugged his shoulders, “Pete, do you know what this is about?”

  “No. It’s a mystery to me.”

  “Jay, is everything all right?” Natalie said as Jay embraced her outside the courtroom. “What could the Admiral want?”

  “I don’t know, but it isn’t good. Why don’t you go back to the barracks, and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

  “No way, I’m waiting for you. No matter what the Admiral tells you, you’re a hero in my eyes.”

  * * *

  Jay and Pete entered the Admiral’s office, saluted, and stood at attention in front of his desk.

  “Gentlemen, at ease. Chief Mendes, congratulations on your acquittal. You have shown courage and honor during your entire career in the U.S. Navy. However, I have three letters on my desk, and I must make a decision. The first letter is a recommendation for a Navy Cross, the second-highest medal in the U.S. Military. It is to recognize your courage and bravery during the battle of Mosul and your efforts to rescue over thirty Iraqi civilians in a thirty-day period. This award will be presented to you by the Secretary of the Navy upon my approval.

  The second letter on my desk is a recommendation from the Medical Evaluation Board. Due to your post-traumatic stress and the shrapnel embedded in your neck, they recommend a medical discharge. You do not have to accept the recommendation, and you can choose to remain in an operational unit. However, if the shrapnel moves, you could be paralyzed or worse. You might endanger your fellow sailors and your own well-being.

  The third letter is the one that I do not want to sign. It is a referral to the Navy SEAL review board related to the dereliction of duty charge. If the board finds you disobeyed orders, they can remove your TRIDENT, and you will no longer be able to serve as a Navy SEAL. You will be reassigned to a non-combat unit. Needless to say, I will withdraw the Navy Cross recommendation. Do you have any questions?”

  The Admiral’s words shook Jay’s conscience. He was a proud and honorable sailor and did not want to accept a medical discharge. But if he did retire, he wanted to retire as a SEAL. The thought of facing the review board and losing his TRIDENT was beyond terrifying. The Admiral was right. If he returned to active duty, the shrapnel could kill him and endanger his squadmates.

  “Sir, what about the Infinity Squad? Will it continue to operate?”

  “No, I am afraid without General Andrew’s leadership, the Infinity Squad and other HRTs are being disbanded. If you decide to finish out your current enlistment, you will return to your operating team.”

  “Sir, may I have a minute to review my options with Lieutenant Commander Medici?”

  “Of course, Mendes. You can use the conference room outside my office. Take your time.”

  Jay saluted and walked out of the office and into the small conference room. Pete closed the door behind them.

  “Pete, what do I do? I don’t want to retire. I’m too young. Plus, I love being a SEAL.”

  “But what about the shrapnel? Didn’t you tell me you’re having numbness in your arm?”

  “Yea, but it might never move. I can deal with the pain and numbness.”

  “But if it does move, it will paralyze you. Make you a quadriplegic. That’s no way to live.”

  “Being a SEAL is the only job I’ve ever had. I don’t know what else to do. I can’t go back to being a fisherman or working in some lame office job.”

  “Jay, if you stay on active duty, you will have to face the review board. The transcripts of the trial will be enough evidence for them to find you negligent. They don’t have to prove anything within a reasonable doubt. If even one board member has something against you, you will lose everything. The Navy could give you a general or even dishonorable discharge. It will ruin the rest of your life.”

  “Damn, this is not a decision I want to make. But, it seems my only option is to accept the medical discharge. Will I receive benefits?”

  “Yes. You will receive a disability payment for the rest of your life plus full VA healthcare and other benefits.”

  “Okay, let’s go see the Admiral.”

  Jay and Pete returned to the Admiral’s office.

  “Admiral, I will reluctantly accept the medical discharge, as long as I can retire as a SEAL.”

  The Admiral signed the Navy Cross recommendation and the medical discharge papers. Then he ripped up the review board recommendation.

  “Mendes, It is an honor to tell you how much the United States Navy appreciates your service. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  Jay walked down the corridor back towards the courtroom. Shocked and dismayed, he couldn’t even think about what life would be like outside the Navy. How was he going to make a living? Would Natalie still want him?

  “What do you want to do now?” Pete asked outside the Admiral’s office.

  “I want to see Natalie, then get wasted,” Jay said. “But I don’t know where to go. I’ve been in a jail cell for the past six months.”

  As Jay returned to the lobby outside the courtroom, Natalie ran up to him and jumped into his arms. He caught her petite body and hugged her close. She kissed him until his lips were sore. He placed her down and said, “Let me thank these guys.”

  Gunny Mack shook his hand and embraced him. McCoy wrapped his mammoth arm around his shoulder and escorted him out of the building.

  As they turned to leave, Pete handed him a small khaki bag and said,

  “Here’s your duffle bag. You’ll have to change into civvies. That’s the rule
in Bahrain, no uniforms off base. Why don’t we meet at Rocky’s Cafe at the Ramee Hotel? It’s right across the street from the base, and they have homebrew and the best cheeseburgers this side of Dubai.”

  “Sounds great,” Jay said.

  Pete reached into his pocket and handed Jay a rectangular plastic key. “I got you a room. It’s the least I could do.”

  “You did everything. You got me off, Pete. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

  “No, you and your friends got you off. Now have some fun, and I’ll meet you at five. I have some retirement paperwork to process.”

  Jay looked around to get one last look at Kathleen, but she was gone. She put him through hell, but he had won. At least for now. Something told him she wasn’t done.

  Chapter 12

  Twenty-four hours later, Jay walked out of the hospital with part of his head shaved and wrapped in a white bandage. McCoy waited for Jay outside the emergency room entrance in a beat-up black Chevy Suburban. Marty sat in the back seat.

  “Where are we going?” Jay asked. Nobody answered. They drove in silence for ten minutes until they reached Woods Hole one block from the ferry. McCoy turned into the parking lot of a three-story Victorian building. A coffee shop occupied the bottom floor. A small sign in front of the parking space read, Reserved for Maravista Security.

  McCoy opened a plain white door on the side of the building. The stairs led directly up to the second floor. He unlocked the door and walked into an apartment almost void of furniture. A square card table and four chairs sat alone in the middle of the floor. A black handgun sat in the center of the table. Jay noticed a steel circular staircase going to a loft above.

  “You’re scaring me,’ Jay said. “What is going on? Is this a safe house?”

  “Be quiet and sit down,” McCoy said. “You were once the top SEAL in the entire Navy. You never fucked up, and we never lost a single hostage until Pakistan. You didn’t kill Matthew Goddard, but you took the fall for us. I’ve been waiting for a year to thank you.”

  “But now you’re going to kill me?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The gun on the table. The empty apartment. You’re going to make it look like I committed suicide.”

  “Man, Sal hit you too hard,” Marty said. “We don’t want to kill you. We want to help you. Discuss a business proposal.”

  Jay looked at Marty and McCoy. Then looked at the gun. It all fell into place.

  McCoy sat down and put his hand on Jay’s shoulder, “We want to offer you a partnership in our new company, Maravista Security. This apartment will be the headquarters. The loft will be your office. The gun is yours. We’re giving you a shot at redemption.”

  * * *

  The fire roared all around him, running up the walls and across the ceiling. The flames danced with a life of their own. Reaching out with tentacles of heat, then retracting back. The smoke poured from the tips of the fire, blurring his vision, creating shadows and images that played with his soul. The heat was overwhelming, even inside the fire suit. The sweat poured down his forehead into his eyes and mouth. The temptation to pull off his face mask and wipe the sweat from his brow was overwhelming. A fatal mistake if he tried.

  Jay fought back the fear building in the back of the brain. The little voices were saying, ‘This is it. Your times up. You’ve rescued your last hostage and saved your last life. It’s easier to die than to fight back. Give up.’ But Jay fought back. He suppressed the voices and anxieties. He thought of the torture he endured during his BUDS training—the drill instructors urging him to give up. Just ring the bell, they said, and ease your pain. You don’t have to endure this hell any longer.

  Jay trained the hose on the fire in front of him and released the valve. A wall of water attacked the fire. He sprayed a wide, arcing pattern in all directions. The thick black smoke turned to white steam, scalding him alive if he wasn’t wearing the fire suit. Then the flames retreated, and the heat diminished. Jay worked his way into the kitchen until he found a pile of rags. He sprayed the pile for over a minute until the kitchen floor filled with water. It kept rising. He tried to escape, but the heavy suit prevented him from swimming. Water seeped into the suit, filling up until it reached his neck, then his chin. It inched up until it poured into his mouth. He screamed for help.

  * * *

  Jay bolted upright. His screams were echoing off the empty walls. Sweat poured down his forehead, soaking the inflatable mattress he slept on. He looked around to find himself in the living room of the empty apartment.

  He crawled to his feet and stared at the Baretta. It was one option. One way to stop the nightmares and cold sweats. A way to stop the pain and embarrassment tormenting him. One squeeze, and it was over. He had pulled triggers thousands of times. No, millions, since BUDS training. Most of the bullets launched into harmless targets. Plywood dummies made to resemble real threats. But many shots found their home into flesh and blood. Extinguishing the lives of men he never knew and hoped he would never meet in the afterworld.

  Jay sat down on the folding chair and stared at the gun. Picking it up, he admired the smooth cold steel and workmanship. Jay learned to love and respect firearms. They were a simple tool to complete a task. Guns saved his life and the lives of his buddies countless times. Harmless one moment, deadly another. One simple pull. A few ounces of pressure, and they transformed into an instrument of death. But the gun didn’t fire on its own.

  Jay released the magazine and let it fall to the table. It was empty. He cocked back the chamber and found it open too. No bullets. No death. Clean and simple.

  He stood up from the chair and walked into the tiny bathroom with a simple white sink, toilet, and tiny shower stall without a curtain. Above the sink, he looked into a small, unframed mirror. The sight was horrific. A ragged, tangled beard framed his pale face, and hollow bloodshot eyes stared back at him. Jay stared at the image without recognizing the person. He stood back so he could see the rest of his torso. Once hard as a rock, his stomach was loose and flabby. Scars crisscrossed his chest—reminders of hard-fought battles. His arms were thin, and his muscles soft. How could Marty and Brian think this person could be their business partner?

  Jay reached back and pulled the bandage off his head, dropping it on the floor. He looked around the bathroom and found a small closet. Inside was a single towel, a razor blade, and a pair of scissors. He picked up the scissors and began the transformation.

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, a new man emerged from the bathroom. With a shaved face and head, he looked like a different person. He found his duffle bag and pulled on his favorite USN t-shirt, a pair of shorts, socks, and running shoes. He pulled a dark-blue USS America cap onto his head to cover his stitches. Then he ran down the stairs and out into the brisk morning air.

  Jay took a deep breath. He felt like a new man. He ran down the narrow street towards the Martha’s Vineyard ferry terminal, then followed a painted path through the vast parking lot. The Shining Sea Bikeway followed a former rail line. In the eighteen hundreds, it transported tourists from Boston to Cape Cod, weaving through woods for about a mile. Then the trees gave way to the spectacular ocean view of Vineyard Sound.

  Jay stopped at the intersection of Surf Drive to catch his breath and take in the view. He remembered coming to the beach when he was a small boy. A hurricane washed away large chunks of the bikeway and street. He remembered seeing the ruins of oceanfront cottages scattered across the rocky shore. One small house even sat on the opposite side of Oyster Pond beached on an ancient stone wall.

  The early-morning ocean was as smooth as glass. Jay watched loons gliding a few feet over the water, searching for their morning meal while Osprey chicks called out from nests overlooking the beach.

  Jay crawled down the large granite blocks separating the bikeway from the beach. He pulled off his hat and shirt, removed his running shoes. and waded into the clear, cool water. The water stung his wound, but Jay knew th
e saltwater had healing power. He swam out far enough to clear the breakwater then swam parallel along Shore Drive. Jay swam until he reached the breakwater at the opening of Falmouth Harbor. He touched one of the granite blocks, performed a flip turn, and pushed off back to complete his circuit. He returned to the beach, tired but refreshed.

  Jay sat on the beach to dry off. He thought about Olivia and their romance. She was a sweet kid, and he loved her, but she was better off on the west coast. Anyways, Jay needed to get his shit together before he tried another relationship. He lay back in the sand and began to drift off to sleep. Then he heard the sound of screeching tires and a loud metallic bang.

  Someone screamed, “Hey, you asshole, watch where you’re going!” Jay jumped up and ran towards the bike path to see what was going on.

  He saw a slim, red-haired woman lying on the ground next to a crumpled bicycle. An older white-haired woman sat in her gray Mercedes convertible, staring ahead in a state of shock.

  Jay ran over to the woman on the ground. She wore a skin-tight yellow spandex biking shirt, black shorts, and bike shoes. Jay saw blood on one of her knees but didn’t notice any other injuries.

  “Are you alright?” he said. “What happened.”

  “The bitch didn’t stop. There’s a crosswalk there for a reason, and the bike path traffic has the right of way.”

  “Do you want me to call the police?” Jay turned to look back at the lady in the car, but she was gone. “Well, I guess you could report a hit and run.”

  “What? Did she leave? That’s great. Now, what am I going to do.”

  Jay pulled the bike from between her legs and placed it on the ground next to the bike path. The woman tried to stand but screamed out in pain when she tried to put weight on her leg.

  “Do you know what time it is?” she asked.

  “No,” Jay said. “I don’t have a watch.”

  “Can you reach into the handlebar bag on my bike? My cell phone is there. I’ll call my son to pick me up.”