HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Oorah,” I grunted.

  He slapped his hand against my shoulder. “Drinking gas and shittin’ fire. You’re one gung ho son-of-a-bitch, Jacob. Wish I had a dozen more just like you.”

  Considering the living hell we were going into, I wished he did too.

  Two days into the operation, and it was already described as the bloodiest battle of the three-year war. Marine commanders were calling it the heaviest urban combat in Marine Corps history. All I cared about was that the forty men under my command were returned home alive and in one piece.

  Our convoy was approaching an unoccupied intersection in the southern region of the city. The eerily quiet section of street had concerned me, but as we were almost to our destination, I was preparing to exhale a sigh of relief.

  The earth beneath us exploded.

  The bomb blast sent the Humvee in front of us ten feet straight into the air. The vehicle I was in, the third vehicle, drove into the void of earth the bomb had left, and the airborne vehicle landed on the hood of ours, crushing it completely.

  Deafened by the explosion, I was able to feel the sounds and voices around me, but not quite capable of hearing or comprehending them fully. Realizing if I didn’t make quick decisions and maintain my composure as a non-commissioned officer that I would lose every Marine in my command, I swung the door of the Humvee open and surveyed the damage.

  The four men in the damaged Humvee were all alive, but wounded. The blast appeared to be remotely set, and not detonated by pressure, which – at least in this circumstance – was good. As fate would have it, the person with the remote switch detonated the bomb a fraction of a second too late, hitting the rear of the vehicle with the brunt of the blast, dislodging the rear axle, but causing minimal damage to the occupants. If it would have been a pressure device, the front tires would have caused the explosion.

  Someone was watching us.

  A quick head count assured me that although all of the Marines in the bombed vehicle were wounded, they would live if provided medical attention.

  “Blast was late, it was remote. They can see us,” I shouted. “Take cover beside the vehicles”

  The intersection had rubble from bombed-out buildings on our right side, and still erect but heavily damaged buildings on our left. There was no doubt the buildings to our left were where the enemy was watching us from, and to protect ourselves, we needed to take cover behind our vehicles.

  As the wounded Marines were dragged to cover, we began to riddle the buildings with machine gun fire and grenades.

  “Todelli! Take your team across the street and see if you can get a visual,” I shouted as I turned and glanced toward him.

  He was covered in blood, but appeared to be willing to follow the commands I had given. As he turned to command his men, I shouted at him again.

  “Todelli, are you hit?” I asked.

  “Everyone’s hit, Jacob. Shit, you’re hit,” he shouted in return as he waved his free hand toward me.

  My head was throbbing, my ears ringing, and my heart was beating at a rapid rate. My hearing was slowly returning, and the dull drone between my ears was almost as deafening as the bomb blast. I shifted my eyes down along the front of my blouse, only to see that I was covered in blood from head to toe.

  Filled with adrenaline, and numb to whatever pain I may have felt in its absence, I waved my hand to the other side of the street. Todelli and his fire team ran across the street and began to patrol along the side of the damaged buildings.

  As I watched them work their way toward the corner of the intersection, a second bomb blast shook the ground beneath my feet with so much force it dropped me to my knees.

  God fucking damn it, I’m not ready to die.

  Not yet.

  As I attempted to stand, I glanced over each shoulder. It appeared that my entire platoon of Marines was almost all injured by shrapnel, and all of the vehicles in the convoy were damaged to the point of being useless. Our only way out of the mess we were in was to fight, and I would be damned to hell if they were going to continue to detonate bombs at will without one hell of a fight from me and my platoon.

  Still on my knees, I stared down at the ground. Incapable of standing on my feet, but confused as to why, a short study of my uniform provided the answer. My left leg was crimson colored and my hip had a piece of steel in it the size of a deck of cards. The exposed piece of steel burned into my fingers and the palm of my hand as I gripped it between them and pulled against it. As the pain reached a peak, I released my grip and stared down at the piece of shrapnel.

  Half way there, Jacob.

  I gritted my teeth and gripped it in my hand again. The smell of burning flesh rose into my nostrils as I clenched my jaw and pulled with all my might. As it finally came free from my trousers, I released my grip, exhaled, and collapsed onto the ground.

  I peered up into the morning sky, realizing my left leg was incapable of functioning. I shifted my eyes toward the abandoned civilian vehicles on the other side of the street and gripped my M4 tightly in my right hand.

  I don’t ask for much, but I’m asking for a little assistance right now. I’m crawling across the street, and I’m protecting my Marines. Any help you can give me would be appreciated.

  “Call in a medevac, and get these men treated by our Corpsman. I’m going to find these sons-a-bitches,” I shouted toward Cunningham.

  I turned toward the burned-out Toyota truck and began to crawl across the open street, dragging my damaged leg behind me. Using my elbows and one knee, I crawled the thirty feet against the pain, leaving a trail of blood behind me. As I reached the corner of the truck, movement in the open window of a bomb-blasted building across the intersection caught my eye. The building, facing the intersection, was at a ninety-degree angle of the convoy, and almost completely out of sight of the Marines taking cover behind the Humvees.

  Excited to have found the insurgents, but not so foolish to let them know I had done so, I signaled to the Marines of second squad to come across the street and assist in taking out the enemy.

  As soon as the first Marine stepped from behind the cover of the Humvee, he was shot. I watched in horror as the second Marine, directly behind the first, was shot as he tried to pull his fallen comrade to safety.

  You motherfuckers.

  I gave the signal to hold tight and turned toward the building. I had a straight line of sight to the window, but apparently the enemy had been focused on what he was able to see of our vehicles and hadn’t seen me crawl across the street. I watched as three men with rifles sat and waited for another opportunity to shoot at my men. So far, they hadn’t noticed me.

  Realizing I could probably get one or possibly two shots off before giving away my position, I crawled toward the front of the vehicle, hiding the majority of my torso underneath the front of the truck.

  With my chest, shoulders, and head exposed, I flattened myself into a prone position and took aim at the man on the far right.

  Going home in a wheelchair is better than going home in a box. You can do this, Jacob.

  One shot, one kill.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  The man slumped out of sight, obviously killed instantly by the impact of the bullet.

  Two more, but you better be quick.

  As I took aim at the second man, he and the third began looking frantically to determine where the first shot had come from. Now shooting toward the convoy, but causing damage to nothing but the vehicles, their silhouettes were clear in the open window of the building.

  Squeeze, Jacob. Don’t pull, squeeze.

  I squeezed the trigger.

  The second man fell out of sight.

  The Marines taking cover behind the convoy began to cheer and scream. Out of my peripheral I saw one of them point in my direction.

  And I wasn’t the only one who saw it.

  Fuck.

  While the sniper in the window began to take aim at me, the sound of approaching Humvees shook the ground
beneath me. As the approaching convoy came to a halt, the whizzing sound of a bullet and a puff of dust bursting from the street beside me told me the shot he had taken was off by no more than a few inches.

  There was no doubt he was choosing to shoot me over shooting the arriving Marines.

  As I heard them loading the wounded Marines into the convoy, I took aim at the one remaining threat.

  “Jacob, hold tight. I’m sending two men to get you,” I heard a voice shout.

  I lifted my left hand in the air and clenched my fist.

  If they tried to cross the street, he’d cut them down one by one.

  “Do not approach. That is a fucking order,” I shouted as I closed my left eye and attempted to gain sight of my target.

  The shrill impact of the bullet into the hood of the truck I was using for cover startled me, and the following pressure in my left leg assured me that although the steel hood may have slowed the path of the bullet, I had been hit.

  Son-of-a-fucking-bitch.

  As the bullet burned into my flesh, I knew I had to act fast if I was going to kill him before he killed me. I tightened my jaw and steadied my rifle.

  “Tandy, Rickman, get him out of there before he gets himself killed,” I heard someone shout from the direction of the convoy.

  “I gave a fucking order, and I’ll see to it that you are god damned court-martialed if you cross that fucking street,” I shouted over my shoulder.

  “Get my fucking Marines medevac’d. You can drag my corpse out of here after I shoot this prick,” I said through my teeth.

  The impact of another bullet into my upper back pressed me into the ground, but I could tell it wasn’t a through shot, probably either a ricochet or a deep surface wound.

  You. Mother. Fucker.

  I felt like a piece of Swiss cheese. I could no longer hear anything. Either from the massive amount of adrenaline I was producing, from being shot repeatedly, or from the loss of blood, I had gone completely deaf, but the warmth of my own blood pooling beneath me made my loss of hearing seem inconsequential. As I saw a few of the vehicles pull away out of my peripheral, I exhaled the remaining breath in my lungs. It didn’t matter if he shot me again or not, I fully realized I had only a few minutes to live either way.

  You either put me here to die, or to administer your will.

  I don’t know which it is, but all I need is one more shot.

  A bullet slammed against the heel of my boot. It felt like I had been hit in the foot by a sledgehammer. Out of time, completely out of energy, and almost out of blood, I regained my line of sight, exhaled, and squeezed the trigger just as he was preparing to take another shot at me.

  As I watched his body collapse over the edge of the window opening, everything around me slowly disappeared.

  And the sweet smell of Suzanne’s perfume engulfed me.

  Chapter Two Hundred Forty-Four

  Late Winter 2004, Landstuhl regional Medical Center, Landstuhl, Germany

  Incapable of moving anything but my head, I shifted my eyes around the room. Everywhere I looked, white. White walls, white floors, white curtains, and white medical equipment surrounded me. I had been in and out of consciousness for days, and was well aware a reasonable amount of time had passed since sustaining my injuries.

  Somewhat convinced I was paralyzed, but sedated to a point of near delirium, I tilted my head from left to right and gazed down along the edge of the bed. After blinking my eyes a few times and allowing them to come into focus, I realized my arms and legs were secured to the bed with restraints.

  What the fuck is going on?

  I pulled against the restraints, but my movement was something the medical staff was obviously trying to prevent. Shifting my body from side to side caused tremendous pain in my hip and lower back, and twisting my unrestrained torso was all I was really capable of doing.

  I pressed my tongue against the roof of my dry mouth and pried my chapped lips apart.

  “Nurse?” I murmured.

  The distant sounds of monitors and an occasional muffled moan were all I could hear. I attempted to swallow and tilted my head back slightly.

  “Nurse! Nurse! I need a fucking nurse!” I weakly shouted as I fought against the restraints.

  Within a few seconds several members of the medical staff were in front of me, all speaking at once.

  “Stop. Everybody stop. I can’t fucking understand a word you’re saying. Who’s the senior…” I paused, realizing they weren’t Marines, but Army doctors and nurses.

  “Who’s in charge?” I asked.

  A doctor and what appeared to be two nurses stood at the foot of the bed and returned stares of disbelief.

  “I’m Doctor Nguyen. I’m the doctor assigned to you,” the doctor said.

  “Alright. Why am I restrained? I’m not a prisoner, am I?” I asked.

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest, inhaled a shallow breath, and shifted his eyes toward the nurse on his left. She returned a glance of uncertainty.

  The tone of my voice changed to one of concern.

  “Am I?” I asked.

  The thought of being charged with crimes against the Geneva Convention began to run through my mind, but as close as I was able to recall, everything I did was according to policy, procedure, my standing orders, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I asked at the same time the doctor raised his hand to speak.

  “No,” he responded. “You are not a prisoner, and that is not why you have been restrained.”

  The two nurses that flanked him looked at me with concerned eyes as he continued.

  “You sustained multiple severe injuries,” he said with a nod of his head. “A concussion, lacerations, puncture wounds, a broken jaw, and four gunshot wounds were the most severe wounds.”

  “You had been treated at the Combat Support Hospital in Baghdad, Iraq, and flown here for…”

  “Where’s here?” Where the fuck am I? Where are my men?” I asked, interrupting him as he spoke.

  I gazed into the corridor and watched as two doctors rushed a bloody body down the hallway. As I shifted my focus back to the doctor, I knew one thing, and one thing only. If I wasn’t being charged with a crime, I needed to get the fuck out of there and get back to my Marines. As I pulled against the restraints I noticed the audible signal of my heart rate increase on the monitor. I alternated glances between the nurses and the doctor as I waited for a response.

  “Mr. Jacob, I’m trying to explain, please settle down and listen…”

  “Staff Sergeant. I’m Staff Sergeant Jacob. Mr. Jacob is my father, and where are my Marines?” I asked.

  “Staff Sergeant Jacob. I will have you sedated if you don’t settle down,” the doctor said.

  I relaxed onto the bed and did my best to remain calm. “I’m calm. I have questions, and I expect fucking answers. Where am I, and where are my men? Are any of them here?”

  “You are in Landstuhl, Germany at the Landstuhl Regional Medical Center. I have no information regarding your men, Marines, their whereabouts, or their medical condition,” he said.

  Confused, groggy, weak, and not wanting, but needing to find out about my Marines, having them remove my restraints, and allowing me to return to combat was my priority. As my mind fumbled with ideas of ways to coerce them to release me, the doctor continued.

  “You attacked your nurse on several occasions. That was our reason behind the restraints. Now that you’re conscious and coherent, if you’ll promise to comply with our medical recommendations and requirements, I will have the restraints removed,” he said.

  As I did my best to nod my head, two Marines in dress blues, both officers, walked past the partition. A few seconds later, they stepped into the opening and stared. The silver and gold oak leaves on their uniforms informed me that they were a Lieutenant Colonel and Major.

  And I needed to stand at attention when they entered the room.

  “Staff Sergea
nt Jacob,” the Lieutenant Colonel said as he entered the makeshift room.

  “Sir,” I responded with authority. “If you can give the order to have these restraints removed, I’ll stand at attention, Sir.”

  “As you were, Staff Sergeant,” he said, relieving me of the requirement to stand at attention.

  Personally being visited in the hospital by a Lieutenant Colonel and a Marine Major was something only a handful of Marines could claim. Knowing for certain that something was wrong – and terribly wrong – to prompt them to fly halfway around the world to pay me a visit, I silently waited for them to advise me of their reason for the visit.

  “How are you feeling,” the Lieutenant Colonel asked as he approached the foot of the bed.

  “Rested and ready to return to combat, Sir,” I barked in response.

  He glanced at the Major and coughed a light laugh.

  “Quite a mess your platoon stepped into in Fallujah,” he said.

  “Yes, Sir. I was only protecting my Marines, Sir. That’s all it was,” I responded.

  He reached toward the Major with an open hand, and the Major handed him a piece of paper. As he unfolded it, my heart raced at the thought of what crimes they were going to charge me with.

  “I’m not going to bore you with all of this, Staff Sergeant Jacob, but I’ll hit the highlights,” he paused and inhaled a shallow breath.

  “Without hesitation and with complete disregard for his own safety, Staff Sergeant Jacob, while acting as a Platoon Sergeant during the Second Battle of Fallujah, exposed himself to enemy fire while commanding his fellow Marines to maintain a position of safety. After giving the order to provide medical attention to Marines in his command, he advised First Squad Leader Todelli to carry out a flanking maneuver, distracting the enemy as he crawled across an open street further exposing himself to enemy fire. After sustaining life threatening injuries in the deadly blast of an IED which completely disabled his convoy, Staff Sergeant Jacob positioned himself behind the cover of an abandoned vehicle and single handedly eliminated the three snipers who had been accredited with the death of no less than nine US Marines prior to his platoon’s arrival. In doing so, Staff Sergeant Jacob sustained four gunshot wounds, a broken jaw, multiple lacerations, and shrapnel wounds. His actions, however, preserved the lives of his entire platoon. By his undaunted courage, bold fighting spirit, and unwavering devotion to duty in the face of almost certain death, Staff Sergeant Jacob reflected great credit upon himself and upheld the highest traditions of the United States Marine Corps.” He paused and lowered the sheet of paper.