Chapter Fourteen
Stone
The months seemed to fly by. My life became a whirl of days spent training on the shooting range and hours in the gym practicing martial arts and hand-to-hand combat. We weren’t authorized to leave the base at Camp Pendleton—even though we weren’t recruits anymore—so I spent a lot of time in the gym. Muscle had started to build in my arms and chest, and I’d put on around fifteen pounds in weight even though I still didn’t possess an ounce of fat.
Isaiah was here too, though he’d been placed into a different group from me, so we could only really talk when we hit the mess hall together. I shared a room with three other guys, and it turned out that one of them, Billy Nash, was going to the same MOS as me, so it made sense that we became buds.
The School of Infantry turned out to be a special place for me. I’d been shooting since I was five years old, and my dad had me hitting bullseyes from the get-go, so it wasn’t a surprise when I qualified in the top one percent of the class.
I got a thrill out of seeing admiration light up the eyes of the instructors and their secret smiles when I broke a record for the most bullets hitting a bullseye in succession. A rumor began to circulate that my superiors were placing bets on me, which I thought was a crock of shit until I spotted one of them deftly handing over a bill to my commanding officer after I’d shot at ten moving cutouts and hit every single one directly in the heart.
Guns were my thing, which wasn’t surprising when you considered I’d grown up among firearms that were highly illegal and not readily available to the average Joe. I could load up like an arms expert and wasn’t nervous handling the more obscure hardware that the rest of my brethren struggled to get comfortable with.
Maybe it was because I was mechanically minded. In my head, I could see all a gun’s components and how they worked together, down to every switch, screw, and spring. Whenever I fired off a shot, I imagined the movement inside the weapon mapped out in my head, which I think made it easy for me compared to the other men.
I was putting my rifle away after target practice when my sergeant stuck his head around the door. “Lieutenant Grecco wants to see you in his office, Stone. Stat.”
I lifted my eyes from the rifle cabinet and winced slightly. “What I do, Sarge?”
Sarge paused. “He wants to discuss your MOS.”
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
He pulled his head back and looked down his nose at me. “Do I look like your friendly local town crier, Stone? I don’t fucking know. Get your ass to see your lieutenant and find out.”
“Yes, Sir.” I saluted the sergeant, waiting for him to leave. After checking my rifle in, I caught a ride with one of the vehicles going back to the main base.
I sat back, my gut jumping nervously about my impending meeting.
The only time someone would need to discuss my Military Occupational Specialty was if something had gone FUBAR, though it wasn’t like I’d applied to be a fucking jet fighter. Motor mechanics was a straightforward specialty. They liked their recruits to have some kind of experience, but I was overqualified, seeing as I already had my ASE certification.
If something had happened and I’d fucked up, all of this would’ve been for nothing. I could still go home and do everything I said I would, but could I still protect the club?
What kind of prez would I be without any decent military training? Especially when some sort of threat seemed to crawl out of the woodwork to threaten the club every damned day. There was also Elise to think of. I wanted to be a husband who could protect my wife and kids. It wouldn’t sit right with me if they were sitting ducks.
Within twenty minutes, I walked up the steps to the building where my LT had his office. Taking a deep breath to tamp down the butterflies swarming in my stomach, I rapped on the door to the Lieutenant’s office.
After waiting for his call, I entered and saluted. “Reporting as requested, Sir.”
Grecco sat behind his desk, reading notes from a file. Take a seat, Private,” he ordered, eyes never wavering from the paperwork.
I obeyed, sitting in the chair directly in front of him, waiting with bated breath while he finished reading his report. Grecco didn’t get very involved in our everyday training, though I’d heard he had his finger on the pulse and didn’t miss any shit that went on. He was about five-ten, stocky, muscled, olive-skinned, and black-haired. He seemed like a decent man, though I’d heard he’d wipe the floor with anyone who fucked up.
It seemed like an hour had passed before he finally put the thick file on his desk. Curious black eyes slid to mine as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. Steepling his fingers, he studied me and asked, “Why do you wanna be a mechanic, Private Stone?”
My heart sank at his question. Why would he ask me that, unless something had gone wrong with my MOS application? “It’s in my blood, Sir. I like engines… well, anything mechanical. I’m fascinated by knowing how they work. My dad gave me his old rusty motorbike when I was sixteen and told me I could keep it if I fixed it up. It came easy to me ‘cause I had it up and running within two weeks. It would’ve been sooner if I didn’t have to wait for parts.”
He nodded thoughtfully, digesting my words. “Next question. Where did you learn to shoot?”
I couldn’t stop my grin. “My dad again. He’s an old-school believer in his Second Amendment right.”
“Ahh.” The lieutenant nodded. “A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.”
“My dad’s a great believer in our right to bear arms,” I explained. “But he’s also a great believer in knowing how to bear them properly so innocent people don’t accidentally get their heads shot off. He put a gun in my hand when I was just a kid, but he also made sure I knew the damage they could do. When I was about six, I told him I wanted to go hunting, so off we went.” I smiled at the memory. “Don’t know if you’ve ever been to Wyoming, Sir. If you have, you’ll know there are more elks than people. Managed to take one down on my first day.”
“Good shooting for a six-year-old boy,” he muttered, lounging back in his chair while he gestured at me to continue. “What happened?”
“It’s a story, Sir,” I warned him.
He shrugged. “You’ve got permission to speak freely, Marine.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Raising a hand, I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, my mind returning to the day I shot that damned elk. “I was so proud of myself until Dad took my hand, led me over to it, and made me watch it bleed out while it moaned and writhed in pain. Suddenly, I wasn’t so mature anymore. To this day, I remember the way it felt to snuff out the life of something of such beauty. Don’t mind admitting I cried for days ‘cause I was a sensitive boy, and I felt things deeply. The next morning, my mom asked Pop why he took me out to kill something when he knew how it would affect me. He said, ‘Connie, my boy needs to understand what can happen whenever he points a gun at a livin’ thing. It’s not a game; it’s life or death. John liked the idea of killing, so he needed to see the brutality and savagery of it too. Now, whenever he points a weapon at a person, he’ll remember that elk and the consequences of pulling that trigger. Every man who owns guns needs to treat them with the respect they deserve, John’s no different.’” I shrugged, smiling wryly. “I’ve never pointed a gun at a living thing since. Instead, I built targets, and I shot them. Then I built harder ones and even harder ones and kept on shooting at ‘em until I never missed. It became second nature to feel the air around me and work out how it would affect the bullet’s trajectory, ‘cause, even as a boy, I loved all kinds of guns. I loved shooting but hated killing.”
The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “So, you’re against killing?”
“No, Sir,” I replied. “I’m against killing indiscriminately.”
“Would you shoot a man who threatened you or your brothers in arms? Even your country?” Grecco asked his tone low.
Without hesitation, I answered, “I’m a Marine, Sir. It comes with the territory. Yes, I could most definitely kill a man for those reasons.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes studying me intently. “I’m not blowing smoke up your ass here, Private, but it’s no secret that you’re a crack shot. Word’s gotten around, and people are sitting up and taking notice of you.” He flipped open the file he’d just been reading, took out a sheet of paper, and handed it to me.
With a furrowed forehead, I took the paper from him and began to read. The second I realized what the words were, I grinned. “I got my MOS?”
“You did, Private Stone,” he confirmed. “But before you accept it, I think you need a little perspective.”
“Sir?” I inquired confusedly.
He took the file from his desk and held it up. “Been looking at your application, Stone, and I’m a little confused. You’ve already got your ASE certification. Am I right?”
“Yes, Sir. I got it when I was eighteen. I love cars and bikes,” I told him. “I love workin’ out how to fix ‘em. I”ve been doin’ it since I was a kid.”
A quizzical expression fell over Grecco’s face. “So why do you wanna learn how to fix trucks when you can already fix the damned trucks?”
“I’m not here to learn about trucks, Sir,” I explained. “I’m here to keep ‘em running while I learn how to be a good soldier.”
The lieutenant held my stare. “Do you think you’ll learn that under the hood of a vehicle?” His elbows hit the desk again, and he leaned forward. “Your scores on the range are outstanding, Stone. I hate seeing gifted men waste their potential. If you really want trucks, I’ll sign off on your MOS, but first, I want you to really think about the reasons you enlisted and why the hell you’re playing it so damned safe.”
Sitting back in my chair, I bit back a smile at Grecco’s praise.
I had a plan, a fixed idea about what I wanted from the military, but maybe the lieutenant had a point. I knew motors inside out. There wasn’t much more the Marines could teach me unless I wanted to work on planes or ships—which honestly, didn’t appeal to me whatso—fuckin’—ever. A question stabbed at my mind—was I coasting? Did I want to join the Marines with the best of intentions but, somewhere along the way, become complacent about what I needed from it?
Grecco was right; what I didn’t know about engines you could write on the back of a postage stamp. Shouldn’t I have been trying to learn new skills instead of regurgitating the ones I already had?
My reasons for enlisting were complex, but my main aim was to learn how to think like a soldier. Being a motorcycle club president wasn’t easy. I needed to command respect if I wanted to make a bunch of hard, volatile men follow me blindly. There was no doubt their deference would be more forthcoming if my military career involved learning tactics and handling weapons instead of tinkering with engines.
The brothers of the Speed Demons stood for brotherhood, love, and loyalty, but on the other hand, give ‘em a bare-knuckle fight, shootouts, and blowing shit up, and they were happy as pigs in shit.
I was pulled from my thoughts as Grecco’s commanding voice asked, “So what do you think, Stone?”
My eyes hit his. “I’m tempted, Sir, but it’s a far cry from my original plans. I thought I had everything figured out until five minutes ago. Now, admittedly, I’m a little confused, but it’s not a straight-out no. Maybe I need to take time to think over my options.”
He nodded slowly, studying me. “Do you want to speak to somebody? Get some advice? Maybe run it past your family?”
I felt a tiny stab of relief at the notion of running everything past Dad. My back snapped straight. “Requesting authorization to make a phone call, Sir.”
“Granted,” Grecco replied, nodding toward the rotary telephone on his desk. “I’ll give you ten minutes.” He rose to his feet and grabbed the file before walking around the desk and heading toward the door. “Tell anyone I let you use my phone, and you’ll be cleaning toilet bowls with your own toothbrush for the next week. Got it?”
“Yes, Sir,” I said with a grin.
“Press zero to get an outside line,” Lieutenant muttered, strolling out and closing the door gently behind him.
Chewing the shit out of my lip, I picked up the telephone receiver while contemplating the words I needed for Dad. I didn’t think I needed to sell him the idea, which was why he was probably the best person to ask for advice. He’d bust my chops, give me the pros and cons, then tell me to make my mind up either way and stop being a pussy.
What he wouldn’t do was try to influence my choice.
With thoughts still whirring, I dialed the telephone number home, hoping to all the gods that Dad would be home, and waited. After a short wait, the call clicked in, and my shoulders relaxed with relief as I heard Dad bark, “Who is it?”
“Pop,” I murmured. “It’s me.”
He paused briefly before cursing under his breath. “Boy. If you’ve got yourself in some Marine-type shit, you can wallow in it solo. I’ll tell those rat fucker MPs to throw the goddamned key away. Then, when you finally show your ugly face, I’ll make it even uglier. Why the fuck are you calling this phone when I know for a damned fact you’re not allowed to call any fucker while you’re at the School of Infantry?”
“Dad, it’s okay,” I reassured him. “My lieutenant gave me permission. I’m using his phone. He told me to make the call.”
“Are you sucking his cock, boy?” Dad demanded.
My mouth gaped. “Whoa, Dad—”
“Always had my suspicions,” Dad interjected. “I said to your ma, I said, Queenie, there’s somethin’ different about my boy. Bet he likes takin’ it up the ass.” He cleared his throat. “Not that I care, ya little bastard. A hole’s a hole. Back in ‘Nam, I had a bud who liked takin’ it up the shitter. Never bothered me.”
Looking to the heavens, I sighed. “Dad. I’m not gay. I’ve gotta girlfriend, remember?”
“Are you sure? Maybe you like both,” he suggested.
I let out an angry growl. “For fuck’s sake, Pop. I’m not gay.”
“Shame.” Dad sniffed. “It might’ve made ya more interestin’.” He barked a laugh. “So, tell me, if you’re not in shit and you’re not gay, why the fuck you callin’ me from the SOI when I know for a fact it’s a big ol’ no-no. You must’ve sucked someone’s cock.”
Scraping a hand down my face, I gathered my thoughts. “My lieutenant just called me in for a meet. He’s impressed with my shooting scores and asked me to consider changing my MOS.”
Dad hesitated briefly before asking, “What were your scores?”
I ran through them, telling him the story about the officers taking bets on me.
He busted out laughing. “What do you expect, Son? You could hit a bullseye before you could read. I didn’t raise you with a weapon in your hand so you could go into the military and get yourself killed. Preparing you for this shit was my job, boy, and you know I ain’t no shirker.”
I bit back my first retort. My dad was a lazy fucker who had the boys running around after his ass ninety percent of the time. He was the biggest goddamned shirker I knew. But instead of telling him so, I changed the subject. “The fact is, Dad, my lieutenant wants me to change my MOS.”
“Not a shocker, Son,” he murmured, all humor suddenly gone. “You’re a natural rifleman. Not many men I know can pick up a gun, point it, and know instinctively where the bullet will land. When you handle a weapon, it becomes an extension of your body. It’s no surprise that your instructors see your ability; I saw it when you were seven years old.” He cleared his throat, probably because saying nice things burned his gullet. “So then, you weird little bastard, what you gonna do?”
“I dunno,” I replied, my tone a little lost. “It’s come outta nowhere. One minute, I’m happily settled on a quiet enlistment in auto repairs; the next minute, my lieutenant throws me a curveball. It’s a lot to think about, but I admit, it’s flattering that the officers like what I can do.” I paused briefly before asking the question on the tip of my tongue, “What do you think I should do, Pop?”
Silence reigned for a good minute while Dad considered my words. Eventually, he said something that made me stop in my tracks: “Son, knowing what you know now, think about the next three years with your head under the hood of a car. What does it make you feel?”
Without even thinking about it, I said one word, “Bored.”
“Right,” he muttered. “Now, think about the next three years while you learn about the most sophisticated weapons systems in the world and how to utilize ‘em. Think about traveling and training alongside scouts and snipers. Think about killin’, ‘cause, Son, they won’t train you to be a machine and not expect you to blow heads off. And there’s somethin’ else, John, and you gotta take it into account. There’s talk on the news about troubles between Kuwait and Iraq. If it all kicks off, you’ll be sent to the Middle East quicker than I can take a piss. The good ol’ U.S of A likes its oil, and anybody who gets in the way of it will get themselves in some shit. Now, tell me again, what does it make you feel?”
“Nervous but excited,” I admitted.
Dad chuckled softly. “We have a winner.”
“Fuck.” I raised a hand to rub my chin. “Leesy’s gonna kill me.”
“Probably, though Saddam Hussein will probably get ya first. Remember though, there’s one more person who’s gonna hit the damned roof, and frankly, Son, I’d take Saddam over her any day of the fuckin’ week.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “Ma.”
Dad cackled. “She’ll hunt you down, boy, and I’ll go with her just so I can watch her take a rolling pin to ya. You know nothin’ riles me up like your ma when she’s on the warpath. It’s how I got her pregnant with you. We had a fight one night, and she gave me a black eye. I got that damned hard that I thought my dick was gonna punch through denim. I fucked her so good that she—”
“Stop!” I gagged. “Jesus, Dad, my ears are bleeding.”
He cackled again before muttering, “Leave your ma to me. If it’s what you really want, you gotta do it. Believe me, what ifs will haunt ya, John. It’s okay to have regrets, ‘cause at least having regrets means you did somethin’ outta the ordinary.”
I smiled. Sometimes, Bandit Stone was as wise as he was crazy. “What do you really think, Dad? In your gut?”
“I think I want you safe, Son,” he replied, his voice softer than I’d heard for years. “But I also think you’re capable of keeping yourself safe, even when the chips are down. I’ve been where you are, John. I felt the same excitement that’s filling your lungs right now. I get it, and I want it for ya, but I’m also a dad, and the thought of my only child going somewhere dangerous makes me wanna hurl. Still, I want you to experience everything life throws at ya, and you won’t do that while your mind’s preoccupied with engines, getting wed, and having babies.”
“I’ve been thinking about somethin’ else,” I confessed. “I’d like to learn about weapons for the club, Dad. If I go into the Infantry, they’ll teach me tactical shit as well as weaponry. I’ve got big boots to fill one day, and I think doin’ this will give me the confidence to lead.” It was a big admission because I was conveying my deepest insecurity.
“Maybe,” Dad said thoughtfully. “But there’s still a lot I can teach you about running the club. The key is don’t back down. If anyone gets outta line, you make an example of ‘em. Give those boys an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”
My chest tightened at Dad’s words. If only life were that simple. “You can’t teach me confidence, Dad. That’s gotta come from me. I think doing this will prove my abilities beyond reproach.”
“You don’t need to prove shit to anyone, Son,” Dad protested.
“I do, Dad,” I argued gently, my heart twisting as a realization hit me in the chest. “I think I have to prove it to myself.”
Dad let out another chuckle, before saying what I already knew in my heart, even before I picked up the phone and dialed his number, “I think you already have the answer, John.”
He was right; I did, except now, I had to tell the girl I loved that every plan we’d dreamed up and every promise I’d made her was about to be blown sky high. Being a Marine mechanic wasn’t entirely safe, but being a Marine Infantry soldier was downright dangerous, especially when conflict was on the horizon.
For the first time, I felt a pang of discomfort because, yet again, I was about to move the goalposts of our relationship and do something I knew would affect my girl’s peace of mind.
A heavy weight settled in my gut as one question kept flicking through my psyche.
How much more would my girl take?