Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) Read online

  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 SIX

  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 glanced 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 Sergeant 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 actio
ns, 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.

  “Son, you’ve been put in for the Bronze Star with Combat ‘V’. You’re an official war hero,” he said with a smile.

  Feeling elated to a point of almost shedding tears, and incapable of doing much more, I returned a blank stare.

  “I envy your courage,” he said as he nodded his head in my direction.

  Tied to the bed, filled with emotion, and now with a mouth much drier than it was prior to his speech, I couldn’t speak. I glanced toward the side of the bed at the pitcher of water sitting on the table.

  “Get these restraints off of my Marine,” he bellowed over his shoulder as he reached for the pitcher of water.

  The two nurses immediately came to the side of the bed and removed the restraints from my arms and legs. After pouring glass of water and handing me the cup, I took a slow drink, realizing as I did so, it would take time for me to fully recover from my wounds. Aching from head to toe, but unwilling to admit it, I shifted my eyes to the Lieutenant Colonel and cleared my throat.

  “My Marines. They’re all accounted for? No KIA?” I asked.

  “That is affirmative. Your actions saved the entire platoon,” he said with a nod.

  Thank God.

  I exhaled what little breath remained in my lungs and tried to sit up, only to learn the pain in my hip was much greater than I realized.

  “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” I asked.

  “Granted,” he said, his mouth curling into a slight smirk as he spoke.

  “With all due respect, I don’t want – nor do I need – a medal of valor, Sir. I need someone to get me out of here. I don’t belong here. I need to get a ride on a transport back to Fallujah and command my men through that operation,” I said.

  He chuckled and glanced at the Major. As he shifted his eyes in my direction, he continued. “Your commanding officer advised me of your gung-ho hard-charging attitude, and I, we, hell the United States Marine Corps appreciates your willingness and desire to fight, but you’re going to be given a medical discharge after what you’ve been through. They’ll be shipping you stateside.”

  Stateside?

  Home?

  You’re shipping me home?

  Emotionally, I collapsed. I felt like he had plunged a knife into my chest. Going home would mean no longer being a Marine, and I couldn’t fathom the idea. My heart sank. The mere thought of leaving, especially after seeing the level of fighting we were exposed to in Fallujah made me feel useless, weak, and as if I was letting down the men I had risked my very life to defend. There wasn’t another man on earth who would give the level of devotion to my platoon that I had. Under anyone else’s command, there would certainly be lives lost, and I couldn’t allow that to happen. Going home was not an option.

  Not if I was alive and able to fight.

  I fought against the pain and did my best to sit upright. I fixed my eyes on the Lieutenant Colonel. “I need to get back to my platoon. I don’t want discharged, Sir. I can’t be. The two-seven needs combat experienced Marines who have proven themselves. I’ve never been one to beg for anything, but I’m begging you, Sir. Send me back into combat.”

  His mouth formed into a full-blown grin as he broke my gaze and turned toward the Major. “Three years into this war, and Staff Sergeant Jacob’s got two Purple Hearts, a Bronze Star with Combat ‘V’, and a ride home on a bird. And all he can think about is the welfare of his Marines and how to get back into battle.”

  He cleared his throat. “You remind me of someone, Staff Sergeant. My grandfather, who fought for our beloved Corps in the Battle of Bataan in World War II. Crazy bastard begged to be sent back into battle twice after having being wounded, just like you. Marines like you aren’t trained, Jacob, they’re born. Born and raised by men who I can’t help but admire. I tell you what. You get yourself cleared medically and mentally, and I’ll get you back to your war.”

  As much as it wasn’t what I should have done from a medical standpoint, and as contrary as I was sure it would be to the doctor’s best wishes, I gritted my teeth, moved my legs to the side of the bed, and allowed them to fall to the floor.

  As the doctor began to protest, I pulled against the hoses of the I.V., giving myself a little more room.

  The Major raised his hands toward the doctor.

  “Let him be,” he said sternly.

  As I stood on my rubbery legs, I cupped my hands and pressed them to the outside center of my thighs, and stood erect.

  Marines differed from the other branches of the armed forces, with the exception of the Navy. Marines did not salute officers indoors while not under arms or ‘on duty’. As I wasn’t wearing my uniform or on duty, a salute wasn’t proper protocol.

  But standing at attention was.

  I fully realized he had no expectation of me standing at attention and acknowledging his order. I didn’t do it for me, or to show off, prove anything, or gain his approval. I did it as a matter of respect, and because as a Marine, I felt I had to.

  “Make myself mentally fit and physically capable. Aye-aye, Sir,” I said as I clenched my jaw muscles and fought back the tears.

  Both he and the Major stood erect.

  “As you were, Staff Sergeant,” he said.

  I exhaled, did my best to perform an about face maneuver, and collapsed onto the bed.

  That afternoon as I slept out of sheer exhaustion, I dreamt of raising a child.

  A son.

  One with the same moral values that were instilled in me by my father.

  And I slept more peacefully than I had in longer than I cared to try and remember.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Early Winter 2005, Wichita, Kansas, USA

  She asked, and because she did, I had to tell her the truth. One thing I had never done – and never would do – was tell a lie. My concerns were whether or not she would be able to accept the truth as being what was in our best interest as a couple.

  “You can’t. They’ve got to let you out. Alec, you’ve been shot to pieces. You have pieces of metal inside of you. You were…” She paused and began to cry.

  I reached for her shoulder and pulled her against me. “Babe, don’t cry.”

  She sobbed for a moment, caught her breath, and leaned away from me. With her face filled with a combination of concern and fear, and her eyes still dripping droplets of hope down her cheeks, she continued.

  “You were in the hospital for two months, Alec. Two months. You’ve been…you’ve been shot over and over. I asked Steve. And I’ve looked on the internet. I know. You can get discharged. Have they offered you a release?” she asked as she wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  Steve, my best friend since childhood, was a trauma surgeon at the local hospital, and an excellent source of information and support for her. Since my first deployment, she had used him as a sounding board for her concerns, always receiving well thought out replies and opinions. A wealth of knowledge and a very sensible man in general, I trusted him with not only my life, but Suzanne’s. Truthfully, if it wasn’t for him, I suspected Suzanne may have given up on me many years in the past.

  “Let’s have a seat,” I said.

  She raised her hands to her face and nodded her head as she rubbed her fingertips against her eyes. I realized she probably felt embarrassed for crying, as it was something she never did, but I didn’t view her as weak for doing so. As easy as it was for me to want to return to the war, it was impossible for me to fully understand why I had the desire to continue to fight. My beliefs on the matter were mine and mine alone, and came from nothing other than a self-performed diagnosis of myself.

  “You can barely walk,” she said as she sat down on the couch.

  I sat down
in the chair across from her. “I ran three back to back six minute miles this morning.”

  “You have a limp,” she said.

  I chuckled. “Marine Corps swagger.”

  “Alec…” she said sarcastically, her voice trailing off as she shook her head.

  I nodded my head in acknowledgement of her sarcastic tone. “My hip hurts a little, but it’s much better than it was. And my heel is tender, but it’s getting better too.”

  “So you’re justifying it? Going back? Can you get out? Have you asked?” she asked.

  I pressed the palms of my hands together and held them in front of my chest for a moment as I studied her. She was a beautiful woman, and not only in her appearance. She had remained by my side through four years of me fighting in the war, and she had done so, for the most part, alone.

  Suzanne was one of the strongest people I had ever met. Her ability to accept what most would be incapable of even considering was instrumental to our success as a military couple. I realized I had to tell her the truth, but explaining how I felt would be difficult – if even possible. I folded my cupped hands open, lowered my face into my hands, and sat for a moment, breathing into the palms of my hands. After a moment’s thought, I slid my hands from my face, and gazed across the room at her.

  “Let me try to explain,” I said.

  She wiped what little remnants of tears remained on her cheeks. “I’m listening.”

  “While I was in Germany, two officers came to let me know I was going to be pinned with a medal for valor in the Second Battle of Fallujah. They told me I could get a medical discharge…”

  “Take it,” she blurted excitedly.

  I raised my hand as I cleared my throat. “Hear me out.”

  With wide eyes, she nodded her head eagerly.

  Damn, I hate to do this to you.

  “I begged them to let me stay. I talked to the doctors, and I lied to the psychiatrist to get a clean psych-eval. He granted it, declared me fit for service, and I denied the discharge. I’m sorry, Suzanne, but I’m going back,” I said.

  She sat, far less emotional than I expected her to be, and glared at me. After what seemed to be an hour, but was probably a matter of thirty seconds, she stood, turned away, and began to cry.