Corps Justice Boxed Set: Books 1-3: Back to War, Council of Patriots, Prime Asset
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“Back to War”
“Council of Patriots”
“Prime Asset”
Books 1-3 of The Corps Justice Series
Author: C. G. Cooper
Editor (“Prime Asset”): Karen Rought
Copyright © 2012-2014 Corps Justice. All Rights Reserved
Smashwords Edition
(http://www.CorpsJustice.com)
These are works 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.
Warning: This story is intended for mature audiences and contains profanity and violence.
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Dedications
To my wife Katie for listening to all my crazy ideas. I love you.
In Memory of Lieutenant General Charles G. Cooper, USMC (Ret)
To our troops serving in harm’s way: God Bless and thank you for your service.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Back to War
Council of Patriots
Prime Asset
Formatting Note: Book 1 (“Back To War”) contains formatting that blends screenplay dialogue in with the normal paragraph form. Books 2 & 3 have normal formatting.
Book 1 – Back to War
Chapter 1
Second Avenue, Downtown Nashville, Tennessee
The gang members remained hidden as they watched the young couple from the third story window of the parking garage a block away. The couple was blissfully unaware of the five observers. Why should they worry? They were in the middle of the busy downtown nightlife. Police were present as usual and the crowd flowed smoothly along the packed sidewalks.
The tallest of the gang, a thirty-something black man with a short Mohawk cut and a pencil-thin goatee looked down at his latest recruit.
DANTE: You ready to do this thing?
The young recruit looked no more than fifteen. His hazel green eyes starkly contrasted with his three-inch afro. He wore an oversized t-shirt with the New Orleans Saints logo plastered from front to back. His huge jeans were sagging and obviously way too big for his skinny frame. He looked like the prototype wannabe gangster.
SHORTY: Yeah. I’m ready.
He was visibly nervous but vibrating with excitement. His drug-induced adrenaline kick was in full effect and he was ready to go. This would be his final step prior to being inducted into the small yet growing gang whose roots began in the hoods of New Orleans but were transplanted during Hurricane Katrina to the confines of Nashville.
The young couple they continued to track was chosen for one simple reason: they were white.
Most other gangs chose a less public criminal act for their young recruits. N.O.N. (New Orleans Nashville) had a special reason for choosing the outwardly normal pair. Although typically a subtle crew, their leader, Dante West, believed that the root of all the suffering he and his extended family had endured during the aftermath of Katrina was the fault of the white majority. Sure there had been decent white folks who had helped with food and transportation, but his resentment was bred through the constant bombardment of the race-filled preaching of fellow gang leaders. Shit hadn’t that baddass rapper even said that the President hated black people?
He believed his own gang now thrived because of two things: profitability and hate. Yes, Dante thought, that anger and emotion would help him grow N.O.N. to the size of some of the local Hispanic gangs. Also, Dante’s cunning and expertise would further his expansion of N.O.N. The initiation ritual was the one deviation from his otherwise underground organization.
Dante looked down at his group of four brothers.
DANTE: Now remember what I told you, Shorty takes the first hits. We only jump in if he starts getting his ass kicked.
The other members laughed out loud as Shorty spit out a nervous chuckle.
SHORTY: I ain’t gonna get my ass whooped, Dante. That white boy is gonna get his ass whooped.”
DANTE: I know, I know. You just do this thing right and tonight we’ll get you some pussy and champagne.
Shorty nodded and pulled out the slim tools he’d brought for the night’s work: an eight inch buck knife and a metal mallet he’d picked up at a local hardware store. He took an awkward swing with the mallet and a quick stab with the knife. He was ready.
DANTE: Shorty, remember what we told you. You’re not gonna kill ‘em. Just hurt ‘em both real good so they remember never to fuck with us.
Shorty made a disgusted face like he hated being talked down to.
SHORTY: Shit Dante, I ain’t stupid. Just let me do this thing so I can go get me some.
With that Dante nodded and waved his newest recruit toward the stairwell. They let Shorty get a decent lead and then hit street level themselves. Always within sight, he was easy to spot in his black and gold clothing.
They continued to follow as Shorty closed the distance between himself and the young couple. He could now make out their features. The young man wore a pair of faded but stylish jeans and one of those cowboy plaid looking shirts that were popular. The man looked to be in his twenties, just shy of six feet, and walked with a casual air. He had a medium build. Nothing special. His light brown hair was short and slightly spiked in the front. He looked like a ton of other white boys Shorty saw everyday at school. The young man smiled as he talked to the girl whose hand he was holding.
The girl also had light brown hair that she wore straight and that hung just past her shoulders. She was attractive and looked athletic. She wore jeans and form-fitting pink t-shirt. Again, nothing over the top amazing, just normal.
Shorty gauged the distance between himself, the couple, and the alley Dante had appointed as the jump spot. He was twenty feet from the couple. The man and woman were fifty feet from alley. The time was almost right.
As the couple nearly reached the small alley Shorty quickly closed the distance to the couple. The plan was to quickly grab the girl and pull her into the alley. The boyfriend would, of course, follow and try to get her back. Meanwhile, the rest of Dante’s crew would close in and seal off the end of the alley and shield the scene from potential onlookers. It would sound and look like a normal post-bar brawl that were common on any night in downtown Nashville.
He could see his soon to be gang brothers swiftly approaching. It was time to act.
Shorty closed the remaining distance from the couple, wrapped his right arm around the waist of the young woman and pulled her into the small alley. She screamed to her fiancé.
JESSICA: Cal!
Shorty kept a wary eye on the boyfriend and was surprised to see the young man already following.
Not a problem. His boys would take care of him.
Shorty pulled the now struggling girl farther into the alley and threw her down roughly while simultaneously turning, extracting his weapons, and prepared for the approaching boyfriend.
The young man was five feet away and had a look on his face that Shorty wasn’t expecting. Shorty thought the young man would be scared shitless. Instead, his pursuer looked stone cold determined without the smallest trace of fear. What the fuck? Shorty thought.
As the final foot between them closed Shorty swung at the man with an overhand chop. The young man ignored the mallet and rushed full steam into Shorty. Both men fell to the ground with the new recruit exposed on the bottom.
Shorty quickly felt the man’s hands gripping his head and the man’s
thumbs found his eyes. This motherfucker is gonna take out my eyes! thought a now frantic Shorty.
What Shorty couldn’t know what that the young man had realized the trap, although too late, when he glimpsed the remaining gang members block the opening to the alley. His one chance was a full-on frontal assault. Take out the first man, and then see if he could deal with the rest. In the meantime, hopefully his new fiancée could get away and find help.
The man continued to apply pressure as Shorty dropped both weapons and scrambled to free himself. Too late. The would-be victim ripped out both eyeballs as Shorty wailed and clawed at his now empty eye sockets.
The young man grabbed both weapons and hopped back up to his feet.
One down. Thought Cal. He had seen and done worse on the battlefields of Afghanistan. Then it was for his country and the survival of his Marines, now it was for the well being of his new fiancé. Fuck, he thought.
As he turned to the alley entrance the remaining gang members closed within striking distance. Two moved towards Jessica and Dante and another slowly approached the young man.
DANTE: You shouldn’t have done that to Shorty, boy. Now you’re gonna get something from me.
Dante withdrew a shiny silver handgun from his coat pocket and pointed it at Jessica.
CAL: You point that thing at me mother fucker. You wanna fuck with someone, fuck with me.
DANTE: Ok, boy…
He swiveled the weapon back to the young man.
DANTE: I’ll fuck with you now.
Dante leveled the gun back to his fiancé and fired four shots into her body.
CAL: No!
Cal screamed in defiance and with knife leading ran the five feet and jumped on the gang banger closest to his now immobile fiancé. The knife plunged into the chest of his target just as Cal simultaneously brought the heavy mallet down on top of the man’s head.
As the man fell to the ground Cal planted his feet, pivoted right and backhanded the third gang member with the mallet in the side of the face. He followed the third crew member’s descent and followed the initial mallet blow with a deep knife slash across the man’s neck. Blood shot up like a geyser and immediately coated Cal’s face and chest as he bent over the now dying man.
He turned back towards Dante with a look of total bloodlust and charged. In his mind he knew that unless he took out these last two men, his fiancé would die. That could not happen. How had he survived multiple tours and numerous wounds in the war-torn lands of Afghanistan only to fall prey to these men?
Although his mind raged with bloodlust, his mission remained clear: Kill the enemy.
Closing the short distance to his assailant Dante fired his remaining rounds at the battle raged young man. Six of the eight shots missed wide because Dante was suddenly unnerved by the skill of this supposedly ‘normal’ white boy. The last two shots hit their target only because the final distance was a mere two feet. One round hit the young man in the chest and one in the shoulder.
Still the young man managed to grab hold of Dante and take him to the ground. A blood soaked Cal head-butted Dante two times in the nose before the only other remaining gang member pulled him off.
As he was being pulled back Cal tried to turn and face his newest attacker. Instead he fumbled with the blood drenched weapons and staggered back. With his strength fading and the pain from his two bullet wounds increasing, the young man’s mind started to fog. Focus dammit! he yelled in his head.
He shook his head and turned to see the fourth gang member. What he wouldn’t give to have his pistol right now. Gotta make do, he thought.
Instead, he hefted the now excruciatingly heavy mallet and heaved it at the fourth man. Instead of watching whether the mallet hit its target, Cal followed right behind, knife blade once again leading, and bowled over his target while plunging the blade into the man’s gut.
The man squirmed, screamed and struggled to get away from his attacker. Cal left the gutted gang member and turned to look for Dante. The fearless leader was now half-staggering and half-running towards the opposite end of the alley, glancing over his shoulder as he ran.
Cal suddenly noticed the presence of a quickly growing crowd at the entrance of the alley. He stumbled for a step and fell to his hands and knees.
CAL: Jessica!
He screamed as he crawled towards his fiancé who was now lying in a large pool of blood.
CAL: Jess!
He reached her side and painfully pulled himself so that his face was next to hers. Her eyes were strangely clear as she looked at him. He’d seen people die in war and by the look of her wounds he was sure Jessica was on her way.
CAL (whispering): Hey, baby. It’s gonna be ok.
JESS (smiling and barely audible): Don’t you lie to me, Cal. You know I always know when you lie.
CAL: Ok, Jess, but I’m here with you.
JESS: I love you, Cal. I love…
CAL: Jess? Jess!
Her breathing stopped and her eyes lost their spark. Cal’s world stopped. Nothing mattered anymore. As he faded to blackness his thoughts were of Jessica and war. Two things he needed and could never seem to avoid.
Chapter 2
Images swirled in Cal’s mind. The dry air of the open desert. Bloody comrades screaming for help. Friends, family, enemies… Jessica in a blue gown at the Marine Corps Ball. Jessica walking down the Lawn at the University of Virginia. Jessica crying as he slipped the sparkling engagement ring on her finger. Jessica breathing her last breath. Jessica, Jessica, Jess…
Vanderbilt University Hospital, Intensive Care Unit, Nashville, TN
Cal Stokes slowly opened his swollen eyes. His body felt completely immobilized. What the hell? he wondered.
Slowly and with no small difficulty, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He was obviously in a hospital. The writing on the door still looked like a grayish blob so he decided he’d figure out the particulars later.
He remembered the attack in the alley. He remembered Jess dying. The pain in his heart returned.
When he thought about that last moment with his dead fiancé, he tried to focus on her beautiful face and her tranquil eyes. He’d always felt that her eyes were what really did him in that first night they’d met six years before. Those beautiful eyes would always haunt him.
As he pondered his misery, the door swung open and a young Hispanic looking hospital staff member walked in.
BRIAN: I see you’re awake. How you feeling Staff Sergeant?
Ignoring the question and the comment about his prior military rank, Cal answered with a croak.
CAL: Where am I?
BRIAN: They brought you over here to Vandy after the attack. You were pretty damn beat up. Haven’t seen anything like that since I was in Iraq.
As he talked, the nurse busied himself by taking notes from the machines Cal was hooked up to.
CAL: How long have I been here?
BRIAN: About a week. You were full of holes and in critical condition. You got lucky though. The bullets missed anything vital. No permanent damage, mostly blood loss. By the looks of your other scars, this isn’t the first time you’ve spent in a hospital. The docs wanted to keep you sedated for a bit so your body could heal.
CAL: When can I leave?
BRIAN (chuckling): Just like a Marine. Staff Sergeant, you’re not going anywhere for a few days. Why don’t you kick back and let us pamper you a bit?
As the nurse continued around the room in what looked like a practiced habit of checks and rechecks, Cal wondered how he’d found out about his military service. I guess you can find pretty much anything on the internet these days. I’ve gotta get out of here and talk to Jess’s parents.
BRIAN: Can I get you anything, Staff Sergeant?
CAL: Call me Cal. I left that Marine stuff behind. What do I call you?
BRIAN: My name is Brian Ramirez. Or you can call me nurse-man.
CAL: You said you were in Iraq. Who were you with?
BRIAN: I was with you jar
heads. I was a corpsman with 1/2. You were with 3/8, right?
CAL: Yeah. How about I just call you Doc.
BRIAN: No problem. Takes me back to the days with my platoon. You dumb grunts can never remember anyone’s real name. You need anything?
CAL: I’m good. Thanks, Doc.
Brian nodded and left the room.
Cal was surprised to have a corpsman taking care of him. Maybe he was paired with Brian once they found out he’d been in the Marine Corps. Whatever. He just wanted to get out of the hospital.