Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) (3 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

Fall 2004, Wichita, Kansas, USA

I gripped the sides of the weight bench and pressed the extensions to their limit. After holding my legs straight until my muscles began to fatigue, I bent my knees and lowered the weight to the machine’s stops.

I sat up, wiped the sweat from my face, and stood from the bench. My leg was in as good of shape as it was before I was shot, and there was no doubt in my mind I had recovered 100 percent. Shot twice and determined to be still fit for duty, I felt fortunate to be able to return to a war I was convinced couldn’t be won by either side. As I felt Suzanne’s presence in the room, I turned toward the doorway.

As our eyes met, she spoke. “You’re really going back?”

I stood and buried my face in the towel I held. I couldn’t expect her to believe she was as important to me as she was and also understand my overwhelming need to return, at least not without some kind of an explanation. I pulled the towel away from my face and did my best to reassure her I was doing what was best for everyone, her included.

“Babe, I’m sorry. But until this damned thing is over, I’ll go back. I’ve got to. I don’t have a choice,” I said.

“You
do
have a choice,” she murmured.

I shook my head. “I
don’t
. My men need me. I can’t let them down. I took an oath and gave my word, you can’t expect me to go back on that, you just can’t. The man who never gives up, is always there for those in need, and provides what others can only dream of is the man you fell in love with. For you to ask me to stay here would be to ask me to change who I am. To change who you fell in love with.”

“I can’t change that maple tree out in the yard into an apple tree, and I sure can’t turn myself into a man unwilling to fight and willing to break his word.” I flipped the towel over my shoulder and pointed both of my index fingers toward my chest.

“You fell in love with
this
man. The man that’s going back to fight against the very terrorists who attacked our country and killed innocent civilians. And I’m going back to do my part in making sure they don’t do it again to our children,” I said.

“
Our children
?” she asked, her voice faltering as she spoke. “God, I love you, Alec.”

I nodded my head. “Yes. Our children.”

She smiled and wiped her eyes. “I can’t argue with you. You’re right. I fell in love with the man who never gives up. The man who wouldn’t take
no
for an answer when he asked me out on that first date.”

She paused and dropped her eyes to the floor.

“But I’m scared to death they’re going to kill you,” she said as she shifted her eyes to meet mine.

“My promotion to Sergeant was already in for this spring, so it was a given. After killing that sniper and being shot, I received a meritorious combat promotion, Suzanne. They kicked me up to a Staff Sergeant. I’ll be in charge of over forty men. I won’t really even be fighting any more, just commanding infantry troops. And there’s never going to be anything worse than that fucking mess in Fallujah, so there’s nothing to worry about,” I said, doing my best to not only convince her, but to assure myself there would be far less risk of me being killed in my new position.

“Not even fighting, huh? Nothing to worry about, alright. I’ll keep telling myself that. So, when do you think the war is going to end?” she asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe one more tour?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Really?”

I nodded my head, hoping to convince myself the war was nearly over.

Her mouth curled into a smile. She fought against it for a moment, and eventually shifted her eyes down at the floor. After a few seconds, she lowered her head slightly. Her blonde hair fell beside her face, hanging from her head like strands of straw-colored silk. She raised her hand and flipped her hair over her shoulder, lifting her head – and her gaze – until it met mine.

“You think this will be your last?” she asked as our eyes locked.

“I hope so,” I said.

It wasn’t much of a reassurance, but I really hoped it would end soon. I didn’t see that there could ever be a clear winner in the war we were fighting, but if nothing else we were making a statement. The people we were fighting weren’t the people who mattered, and the people who mattered weren’t anywhere to be found. Continuing at the pace we were would prove nothing and gain very little.

“I just…I can’t imagine…I can’t imagine losing you,” she said.

I shook my head. “Don’t. Don’t imagine it. Imagine me coming home one day for good, and you and I having a family. Imagine that.”

She grinned and nodded her head. “I will.”

The thought of losing Suzanne wasn’t something I was prepared to digest. My only desire, short of making it out of the war alive and in one piece, was to have a family with her and live a new life to the limit of my mental, physical, and spiritual abilities.

I stood and gazed at her, and as I did, realized my desire to have a family with her was deeply etched into my being.

As she began to walk in my direction, no doubt to hold me in her arms, it saddened me slightly to know that my commitment to protect my fellow Marines was etched just a little deeper.

CHAPTER FIVE

Early Winter 2004, Fallujah, Iraq

The Second Battle of Fallujah

I stood and listened to my orders, not wanting to believe we were going back into the very depths of hell that I had barely made it out of alive. Fallujah was not only occupied by insurgents, but had been taken over completely.
Operation Phantom Fury
was being spearheaded by the United States Marine Corps, with the assistance of a handful of Navy SEALS, and a light offering from the United States Army.

“Sixty-five hundred Marines?” I asked, attempting to understand the complexity of the operation.

“That is correct, Staff Sergeant,” he responded.

“And fifteen hundred from the Army?” I asked.

He nodded his head and continued in a stern tone. “Affirmative. Three six-man SEAL teams, a thousand Iraqi troops, and roughly five thousand British troops. You have reservations about going back into that shit storm, I need to know it now.”

I straightened my stance and barked out my response like the devil dog I was. “No, Sir, I’m ready, willing, and capable.”

“Well, Staff Sergeant Jacob, be advised,” he paused and lifted his chin slightly.

“You are one tough son-of-a-bitch, that’s a given. You command your troops well, and make split-second decisions like no other Marine under my command. But. And this is a big but, son. This battle? I can’t guarantee you much, but I can god damned guarantee you this. This son-of-a-bitch will go down in history as
one
of the, if not
the
, worst battle of urban combat in the history of my beloved Marine Corps,” he said.

“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.