by C. G. Cooper
“Moral Imperative”
Book 7 of the Corps Justice Series
Copyright © 2014 Corps Justice. All Rights Reserved
Author: C. G. Cooper
Editor: Karen Rought
(http://www.CorpsJustice.com)
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations and events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.
Any unauthorized reproduction of this work is strictly prohibited.
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Warning: This story is intended for mature audiences and contains profanity and violence.
Dedications
To my loyal group of Novels Live warriors, thanks for your help in crafting this novel.
To our amazing troops serving all over the world, thank you for your bravery and service.
Semper Fidelis
Corps Justice Oath by Col. Calvin Stokes, Sr. (USMC, Ret.)
1. We will protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.
2. We will protect the weak and punish the wicked.
3. When the laws of this nation hinder the completion of these duties, our moral compass will guide us to see the mission through.
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Si Vis Pacem, Para Iustitiam: In order to have peace, you must first have justice.
Table of Contents
Corps Justice Oath
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Mosul, Iraq
12:15pm, August 8th
Mikhail al-Mawsil could barely feel the beating. As his body involuntarily shook from the repeated stings of the lash, strikes from the rifle and kicks from a boot, his eyes remained glued to the altar in front of him. His senses seemed heightened. Focused.
Since he could remember, the Church of St. Thomas, one of the few Christian places of worship in his ancestral home, had been a safe haven. Even during the years of the revolution and the murderous round-ups of that tyrant Saddam Hussein, his people had flocked to the church. They were safe under the loving eyes of God.
Now it was defiled. It was a symbol he knew. The Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIS) had long wanted the city, and now they had it. Initially, it was thought that all the militants desired was control of the strategic Mosul Dam, but that was only the start. Soon they’d resorted to what had seemed to be random acts of terror. But al-Mawsil, who knew the face of such men from his days in the Iraqi security forces, knew this was a calculated act. A message.
His eyes remained locked on the altar where two boys sat. Eyes swollen from crying, the eldest of the two had his mouth split from where he’d been punched after defending his companion. They were his sons. His oldest, Yazen, had just turned twelve and wanted to be a soccer player when he grew up. The younger, Dalir, was only five, but he had a spirit much larger than his tiny frame. From the day he was born, the doctors said he would not live to see the next month, and yet, with the blessing of God, Dalir lived and thrived, chasing his older brother through the alleys of the city.
Without his wife, the two boys and God were all Mikhail had left. Somehow they’d made ends meet when the Americans left, and with God’s help, his small family would never give up.
But now they had him. He’d heard of other Christians being captured, and he supposed they’d found out about him because of his background. His time serving his country once again haunting him, condemning him. He couldn’t get away from it no matter how hard he tried. All he’d wanted was a country to be proud of, a land his children could grow old in. That’s why he’d volunteered for service.
But it had not gone well after the Americans withdrew. Corruption ran rampant and the old ways soon seeped into his command. Cronyism and nepotism led to the outright dismissal of half of his unit. He’d left to care for his children.
He loved them deeply, and wished to spare them pain.
Again, the thump of a boot assailed his ribs, this time shaking his thoughts, probably cracking a rib.
“That is enough,” came a voice from above.
He was panting now, trying to take what breaths he could. There was blood in his mouth, metallic and foreboding.
“End this now. We must go. Start with the children.”
“Nooo!” cried Mikhail, receiving another kick in response.
Someone grabbed his hair and lifted his head. He looked straight at his boys as more men grabbed his sons and forced them onto their stomachs.
“Be brave, my sons! Be brave! God is with you!”
His finals words were drowned out by the firing of weapons, the bodies of his beautiful children bouncing from the blows. A cry came from the depths of his soul at the sight of his lifeless boys. Pure anguish. His heart broken. Never again would he chase Yazen across the soccer field and pretend he couldn’t stop him. Never again would he tickle the ever giggling Dalir until he begged him to stop. Never again…
And then it was gone. A peace he hadn’t felt since childhood flooded his body. He remembered it with stark clarity. It was when he’d almost died after falling down the well in his grandfather’s village. He’d been down there for days. Freezing. Almost drowned. He knew what it was.
“Now you see what happens to heathens that deny the caliph,” said the man standing above him. The others grunted their agreement.
Mikhail looked up at the man, his eyes bright with wonder, filled with tears. “God is the only One who may judge. Your judgment is coming.”
Mikhail al-Maswil closed his eyes and never felt the bullet that entered his skull.
Chapter 2
The University of Virginia
Charlottesville, Virginia
10:37am, August 10th
As was her right as Midshipman Battalion Commander, MIDN 1/C Diane Mayer sat in the front row of Maury Hall’s auditorium. Sitting next to her were the Naval ROTC Commanding Officer and his entire staff. This wasn’t a typical drill week, as school wasn’t in session yet. What they were doing was prepping for Orientation Week, or O-Week as the student midshipmen called it. O-Week was the unit’s mini boot camp for the incoming fourth class. Before they started the rigors of the University of Virginia, the incoming first years had to prove themselves to their NROTC peers and the unit staff. Anyone found wanting could have their scholarship pulled.
Most of the other meetings before had been about schedules and proper conduct. As the student CO of the unit, it was MIDN Mayer’s job to ensure her staff was ready. There would be long hours, but the hope was that they could properly indoctrinate the future officers into their family.
The student and active duty staff was trying something different this year. Instead of the usual
lessons on leadership, they’d brought in a string of leaders who the CO, Captain Rollins (USN), had selected based on input from his subordinates. So far the leadership conference had gone off without a hitch. It had been an interesting collection of characters, most of whom had been to war and knew the perils of dysfunctional leaders. The practical lessons were relevant and well thought out.
But this last guy was different. Younger than the rest, probably in his mid-thirties, and much better looking than the old-timers before him, Cal Stokes kept MIDN Mayer’s attention. It wasn’t just that he was handsome; it was something in his eyes. A firm conviction that told her he knew exactly what he wanted and went after it with every ounce of his soul.
His demeanor was casual, yet formal. Wearing a pair of stylish faded jeans and a distressed sport coat over a black t-shirt, Stokes told them what he thought a good leader looked like. They were all things Mayer had heard before, but he said it in such a way that made the otherwise skeptical young woman an instant believer.
“You can’t try to be a leader; you just have to do it. I’m sure you’ve heard it a million times: actions speak louder than words. Show your troops you’re right there with them, that you’ll give them everything you’ve got, and in time, you’ll earn their trust,” said Stokes.
Someone behind Mayer raised their hand. Normally this wasn’t allowed in the middle of a talk, but Stokes had made it a point to tell them they should ask questions whenever they had them. Again, another small thing MIDN Mayer appreciated in an otherwise stringent group of males.
“Mr. Stokes, how do you know when you’ve earned their trust?” asked MIDN 3/C Gundry, one of Mayer’s new squad leaders.
Stokes chuckled. “Well, it’s not like they give you a badge or anything. You’ll just know.”
“Can you give us an example, sir?”
“Sure. Let’s see. Oh, here’s one. One of my best friends, a Marine officer and my former platoon commander, said he knew he’d earned at least a bit of his Marines’ trust when he returned from a long night of setting up his perimeter defenses. Someone had set up his poncho, laid out his sleeping mat, and left him his favorite MRE, all without a word from him. He told me from that day on he could breathe a little easier. It sounds cheesy and simple, but it’s the truth. Any other questions?”
Stokes had taken more questions than any guest speaker Mayer could remember. He’d answered honestly and without a hint of condescension.
The CO had passed the word, like he always did, to remain courteous and refrain from asking questions that could be considered controversial. They were still students, after all.
But MIDN Mayer had done a little digging on Calvin Stokes, Jr. and was prepared to use a touch of her well-earned capital to step into the gray area.
Mayer raised her hand. Stokes pointed at her.
“Sir, is it true that your cousin, Travis Haden, is the president’s chief of staff?”
Stokes’s eyes hardened for a split second, calming just as quickly. I’ve got you, she thought.
“He is,” answered Stokes.
“And does that also make you a friend of President Brandon Zimmer?”
Stokes smiled. “I’d love to know where this line of questioning is going, Midshipman…”
“Mayer, sir. Midshipman Mayer.”
“Midshipman Mayer, while I don’t usually tell complete strangers about my personal relationships, I think everyone in this room knows how to keep their mouths shut.”
Mayer could feel the CO’s eyes on her. She was sure to get an ass-chewing later.
“Yes, Miss Mayer. I am proud to say the president is a friend.”
For a moment Mayer was surprised that he’d answered truthfully.
“Does anyone else have any—” Capt. Rollins started to ask.
Mayer spoke up again. “Mr. Stokes, if the president is a close friend, could you please tell us why he hasn’t taken direct action against ISIS in Iraq?”
There was silence in the auditorium, and she was sure everyone was staring at her. She didn’t care. What could they do to her?
“You don’t have to answer that, Mr. Stokes,” said the CO, obviously flustered.
Again, Stokes smiled. “It’s fine. You remind me a lot of myself, Miss Mayer. Not afraid to ask the tough questions?”
She nodded her head, defiant.
“That’s good. Just be careful. Every once in a while having a mouth like ours gets us bit in the ass.”
Mayer flushed. She was sure he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded, but she wondered what it would be like to have him…
“I’ll tell you that I asked my close friend the same question. Not that I know what’s going to happen, but here’s what I will say. ISIS’s time is coming.”
+++
There was a reception for the guest speakers after the leadership conference ended. Cal mingled with the midshipmen, genuinely surprised by their interest in him. He felt sorry for the retired admiral sitting in the corner, left alone by the student staff and trying to keep busy eating his slice of cake. He’d given a halfway decent talk, but something about his tone hadn’t caught on with the audience.
Cal was just finishing with one kid when that girl, what was her name, Mayer, had the balls to step up and join the conversation. He’d seen the CO take her off to the side and give her a talking to. Apparently the aviator didn’t like his flock straying off course.
Cal didn’t care. It had surprised him. But what else was new?
“Midshipman Mayer, so nice of you to join us,” said Cal, noticing the way some of the others rolled their eyes or looked the other way when she stepped up.
“Thank you, Mr. Stokes,” said MIDN Mayer.
“Please, call me Cal.”
“I’m not sure I should.”
Cal shrugged. “What’s on your mind, Mayer?”
“I’d like to apologize for what happened upstairs. I hope you don’t think I was trying to put you on the spot.”
“Oh?”
Some of the others laughed. Mayer’s face stayed politely stern.
“It’s just that…” She looked around, probably wanting to see if the CO was within earshot. “We don’t get the chance to get to the heart of things sometimes. I hope you don’t think I’m a total bitch.”
The last word must’ve come out without thinking, because she covered her mouth as soon as she’d said it.
Cal laughed and looked at her. She had beautiful eyes. Blue with a hint of yellow. Her hair was pulled back in a military bun so he couldn’t tell if her light brown hair was long or short. He swore he could smell her perfume, or was it her shampoo?
“Don’t worry about it. I have a problem with keeping my mouth shut too.”
Mayer blushed and they both smiled at each other.
Jeez. If I was only ten years younger.
Chapter 3
Charlottesville, Virginia
7:27pm, August 10th
It was two-dollar pitcher night at The Biltmore, and Diane Mayer needed it. She’d gotten a thorough ass-chewing from Capt. Rollins after the reception. Maybe a couple drinks would lessen the sting.
That’s why she was walking into the bar, alone. She wanted to be amongst the normal college students and forget about ROTC. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to do seeing as how PT was at 6am the next day, but Diane needed to blow off some steam. It had been a long day.
There were plenty of familiar faces that nodded to her or waved as she made her way upstairs. It was packed. Unusual for the summer. She wanted to go to the farthest bar and find a spot where she could drink and sulk.
Making her way around a clump of giggling sorority sisters, she bumped into a guy just taking a seat at the bar.
“Sorry,” she murmured, still moving.
“Well, look who it is.”
Diane turned, not really in the mood to be hit on from some drunk meathead. She was prepared to give the guy her best disarming smile, the one that said thanks but no thanks, but that never
happened. Standing in front of her with a mischievous grin on his face was Cal Stokes.
“Oh, hi,” she managed to say.
“Oh hi to you too. Hey guys, this is the midshipman I was telling you about,” he said to his friends.
One, a massive black guy with a perfect flat top, stepped up with an easy smile. “I’ve gotta shake the hand of the girl that made Cal Stokes speechless.”
Diane shook his hand shyly, not really knowing what to say. She noticed Stokes giving his friend a dirty look.
“The name’s Trent. Willy Trent.”
“Diane Mayer, Mr. Trent.”
“Please call me Willy. Cal you already know. This pint-sized Mexican is Gaucho,” Diane shook hands with the short Latino who had an interesting dual strand of braided beard hanging off his chin, “and this guy over here is Daniel.” Diane only got a soft smile and a nod from the guy with the blond ponytail.
“Mr. Stokes, I’d like to once again apologize for—”
“Are we back to the mister business? Come on. We’re in civvies. Call me Cal.”
Diane could feel her heart thumping faster. She wasn’t used to being unnerved. “Can I buy you a drink as a peace offering…Cal?”
Cal’s eyebrow rose. “Are you old enough?”
She almost turned on her heal and stomped off but resisted the urge. “I’m twenty-eight.”
His faced scrunched in confusion. “Really? How’d that happen?” asked Cal.
“Easy. I was born and then I had twenty-eight birthdays.” Diane smiled sweetly as Cal’s friends lost it, Willy most of all, his bellowing laugh making half the room turn.
“Ask a stupid question, get a smart ass answer,” said Willy, one hand slapping Cal on the back, knocking him into the bar.
To Diane’s surprise, Cal colored. Was he angry or just embarrassed?
“Now I’m the one who’s sorry. How about I buy you a drink, Miss Mayer?” asked Cal. Something in his brown eyes…
“My name’s Diane.”
Cal nodded and made room for her at the bar.