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  A Corps Justice Short Story

  Copyright © 2013 Corps Justice. All Rights Reserved

  Author: C. G. Cooper

  Editor: Karen Rought

  (http://www.CorpsJustice.com)

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations and exact events are all products of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events or real persons are completely coincidental.

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  Warning: This story is intended for mature audiences and contains profanity and violence.

  Dedications

  To my amazing wife, who listens to all my crazy ideas. I love you, K, and couldn’t do it without you!

  To my entire family and amazing group of friends that have supported me so unconditionally. You guys are awesome.

  To those who lost loved ones on 9-11. I pray that you live life to the fullest.

  Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, South Carolina

  2:33am, October 4th, 2001

  The Marine recruit sat in the open-stalled bathroom shining his black combat boots. They were close to a mirror shine as he buffed the surface with a well used white t-shirt. The young man stared at the boot in hand, his eyes glazing slightly.

  “Hey, Stokes,” came a voice from the bathroom doorway, “you were up five minutes ago.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” said Recruit Calvin Stokes, Jr., as he wiped his eyes quickly.

  “You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Shut up and give me a second.”

  Recruit Stokes took his time gathering his perfectly shined boots and gear. Standing in front of the mirror, he ran a calloused hand through his non-existent hair. It would grow in a bit before graduation. He gave himself a once over and pulled down his precision creased utility blouse. Grabbing his M-16 rifle and helmet from where he’d stowed them against the wall, Stokes made his way back to his bunk and put away his gear and dress boots.

  “Took you long enough,” said the short recruit that Stokes was relieving on watch.

  “Whatever, man.”

  His shift now complete, the recruit shook his head and went to catch what sleep he could.

  Recruit Stokes marched smartly up and down the squad bay. His footfalls echoed loudly enough that several of his fellow platoon members woke up and gave him angry glares in the dim light. Stokes ignored them.

  4:27am

  Recruit Stokes hadn’t even turned the lights on yet, but most of the platoon was already prepping for the day. Beds were quickly made to Marine Corps standards. They’d only been on The Island for close to three weeks, but they all knew the drill. The ones that hadn’t picked it up quickly were already gone.

  In the aftermath of 9/11, Marine recruit training had gone into overdrive. The Marine Corps knew there would soon be a need for more warriors to fill the ranks of Marine units from infantry battalions to supply depots. The United States was at war and the Marines would be ready.

  Recruit Stokes was suited up for the morning. Now wearing a set of physical training (PT) gear, Stokes’s lean frame waited expectantly next to the overhead light switch. He liked being on the last watch, as it afforded him the opportunity to be ready before his peers.

  Seconds before 4:30am, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Adams stepped to the door. He was also wearing the properly proscribed green on green PT outfit.

  “How are we looking, Stokes?” His voice was gravelly from the daily prodding of his platoon.

  “Good to go, Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Adams.”

  SSgt Adams looked Recruit Stokes up and down.

  “Make sure no one falls behind.”

  It was well known that Stokes was the most fit of all his platoon mates, and probably of the entire company. After scoring a perfect 300 on the initial physical fitness test (PFT), SSgt Adams had assigned Stokes to bring up the rear in all PT running formations and company hikes. Recruit Stokes hated being in back and took his wrath out on the weaker individuals who hadn’t come to Boot Camp physically prepared. He’d been known to shove them out of formation when the DIs weren’t looking.

  Recruit Stokes flipped on the light switch and the glaring halogen lights blazed maliciously. Those recruits not already standing in front of their racks hopped to their feet as SSgt Adams screamed commands to the slowest. Stokes trotted over and took up his position next to his running mate, Recruit Manderly. Manderly stared straight ahead.

  SSgt Adams stood at the end of the squad bay frowning at his charges.

  “Alright you little sucks,” he growled, “you ready for a little motivating Marine Corps PT run in the rain?!”

  “SIR, YES, SIR!” the platoon barked.

  “Very well then. Fall in!”

  It wasn’t like it had been the first couple mornings. They were starting to look like a cohesive unit. Forming into a column of twos, within seconds they were ready to depart.

  “Forward, march!” yelled SSgt Adams.

  The platoon made its way out into the torrential downpour.

  5:51am

  They were back in the barracks after a brisk four mile run. Only four recruits had fallen back this time. Stokes practically dragged two of them back after SSgt Adams made a final pass by the barracks. It was an old trick used to weed out the weakest. Run by the spot you think is the finish line and watch them drop like flies. Mind games. Only a block past the barracks, SSgt Adams had looped back around and headed for the squad bay.

  The recruits were in varying levels of disarray as they took hasty showers and put on their ironed cammies. Stokes was tying his boots when Recruit Manderly, a tall, stocky Texan with a heavy southern drawl, nudged him.

  “What?” asked Stokes, a look of annoyance instantly marring his face.

  “You didn’t have to do that to Klintock.”

  “What are you talking about?” Stokes snarled.

  “I’m talking about how you shoved him into that puddle.”

  Stokes chuckled. “He deserved it. It’s not my fault the fat fuck couldn’t keep up.”

  Manderly’s eyes narrowed.

  “You know, you should be careful who you piss off around here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means we’re in this together, and you better start watching our backs or you’ll have to start watching yours.”

  “Is that a threat?” The two recruits stood face to face. Their platoon mates looked on quietly, eagerly.

  “All I’m saying, Stokes, is that you better get with the fucking program.”

  “Whatever. I don’t care what you think. I’m graduating and going overseas.”

  “And you don’t think some of us will be going with you?” said Manderly with a look of amusement.

  “Not where I’m going. No one else in this place will make it to Force Recon.”

  Manderly coughed out a laugh. “Who says they’ll take you?”

  Stokes’s scowled. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  “Never mind. You keep looking after yourself, Recon Ron. Just don’t break a leg because none of us will be around to help you to sick bay.”

  Manderly walked to join the other recruits amidst hushed whispers. The gauntlet had been thrown. Everyone was sick of Recruit Stokes’s attitude. He’d aced every challenge Boot Camp had thrown at him, but that wasn’t the problem. To a man, no one trusted him. He was a loner.

  Stokes finished getting ready for the day by checking his shave. Staring in the mirror while no one was looking, his eyes dulled for a split second. Clenching his jaw, he shouldered his rifle and moved to the front of the formation.

  6:41am

  “Sgt Ignacio, why don’t you go put a fire under our platoon�
�s ass. I’m gonna finish my coffee and then we’ll come join you,” said GySgt Vasquez, the platoon’s senior drill instructor.

  “Aye, aye, Gunny.”

  Sgt Ignacio excused himself and moved off to terrorize his platoon.

  “Iggy’s all right,” Vasquez noted.

  “Yeah, I think so. We may make a lifer out of him yet, Gunny,” said SSgt Adams.

  “Any problems with the run this morning?”

  “Not really. The usual stragglers, but they’re getting stronger.”

  “Are we gonna be ready for the field meet?”

  Adams shrugged. “I wish I knew, Gunny. Usually we have at least ten weeks to get these kids in shape. Why are we doing it so early with this series?”

  “Word from the Sergeant Major is that the Commanding General wants to boost morale.”

  SSgt Adams snorted. “Does he really think a field meet will make us feel better about our country being attacked? You know what would make me feel better? Give me a fucking rifle, a platoon and a flight to Afghanistan.”

  Vasquez nodded. “You’ll have your shot. As far as the field meet, maybe the CG’s right. Could be we need something to distract the recruits and get them working together. We got any ringers other than that Stokes kid?”

  Adams rolled his eyes. Vasquez paused from sipping his coffee.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure about Stokes, Gunny.”

  “What are you talking about? The kid’s killin’ it.”

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it yet. Just a feeling, Gunny.”

  “Well you better put your finger on it soon, Staff Sergeant. I wanna win that field meet.”

  “Aye, aye, Gunny.”

  GySgt Vasquez stood and picked up his campaign cover. “Looks like Iggy’s got the platoon ready. Let’s go make some Marines.”

  The two Marines stepped off together, fingers already pointing out their latest targets.

  5:49pm

  “I’m punching out, sir. You need me for anything before I go?” asked GySgt Vasquez.

  1stLt. Hornby looked up from his paperwork. “Funny you should ask, Gunny. Do you have a minute?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He took a seat in the metal chair across from his platoon commander.

  “I wanted to ask you about Recruit Stokes.”

  “Recruit Calvin Stokes, Jr.?”

  “Yeah. What’s his deal?”

  “How do you mean, sir?”

  “Well, I got an interesting call from the Colonel’s office today. Looks like someone’s been trying to put in a call to Stokes.”

  “Did they say what it was about?”

  “They wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t hear anything about it, sir.” The look on his face made plain that GySgt Vasquez was not enthused about that fact.

  “The Colonel’s office sent a runner over to get Stokes, but apparently he didn’t go.”

  Vasquez scratched a scab on the back of his hand. His tanned face started to color.

  “I’ll take care of it, sir.”

  5:58pm

  “Get on your feet, Stokes.”

  Recruit Stokes hadn’t seen Drill Instructor GySgt Vasquez enter the squad bay. He hopped to his feet and stood at attention.

  “Follow me, recruit.”

  GySgt Vasquez marched to his office, followed closely by Recruit Stokes. The other recruits stared as they passed, and more than one snickered inwardly.

  Once in the senior drill instructor’s office, Vasquez closed the door. Stokes stood at attention in front of his desk and waited for the Gunny to maneuver to the other side.

  “You have something to tell me, Recruit Stokes?”

  “Sir, no, sir.”

  “Why do I have a feeling you’re lying to me, Stokes?”

  The recruit’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

  “This recruit isn’t lying to Senior Drill Instructor Gunnery Sergeant Vasquez.”

  “So why is it I didn’t hear about the runner that came over earlier today?”

  Stokes hesitated.

  “Speak up, recruit!”

  “There was a phone call for this recruit, sir.”

  “And why didn’t you think to let your drill instructors know about it?”

  Recruit Stokes couldn’t find the words to reply. GySgt Vasquez huffed.

  “Let me put it another way, recruit. Who was the phone call from and why did you not tell us about it?”

  Stokes swallowed and answered. “The phone call was from this recruit’s cousin and none of the platoon staff was in the squad bay when the runner came, Gunnery Sergeant.”

  Vasquez shook his head in disgust.

  “Strike one, recruit. Now you want to tell me why you didn’t feel it was necessary to answer a phone call when it came from the Colonel’s office?”

  Recruit Stokes winced. “This recruit had nothing to say to his cousin, sir.”

  “So you think it’s your job to decide what phone calls you will and will not take?”

  “I…”

  “Shut your mouth, recruit! I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. I’m going to get to the bottom of this, Recruit Stokes. And if I find out that you’re so much as taking a crap before telling one of your drill instructors, I’ll drum you out of here.”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  “Now get the hell out of my office!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!”

  Recruit Stokes did a hasty about face and left the room.

  6:25pm

  “Corporal Enders.”

  “Hey, Corporal, this is Gunny Vasquez from Golf Company Second Platoon.”

  “Evening, Gunny. How can I help you?”

  “Is the Sergeant Major still in his office?”

  “He is, Gunny. Would you like me to patch you through?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “One moment, Gunny.”

  GySgt Vasquez waited with a notepad and pen as the young Marine transferred the call.

  “Sergeant Major Kent.”

  “Sergeant Major, this is Gunnery Sergeant Vasquez.”

  “What’s up, Jose?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you Sergeant Major.”

  “Hell, Jose. You’ve known me for a long time. You know my door’s always open. How are Georgia and kids doing? Your oldest is turning ten soon isn’t he?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. Thank you for remembering.”

  “He gonna go out for base football team?”

  “I’m still trying to convince Georgia, Sergeant Major.”

  SgtMaj. Kent laughed. “I had to do the same thing with Janet. She wanted Bobby to play tennis so he wouldn’t get hurt. I’m sorry, I know you didn’t call to talk about the kids. What’s going on? Are your recruits okay?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. I…one of my recruits apparently got a call through the Colonel’s office today. I was wondering if you knew anything about it.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t heard. You said apparently. I’m assuming you’re just now finding out about the call?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. I found out from Lieutenant Hornby. He said a runner came over looking for one of my recruits because there was a call at the Colonel’s office for him.”

  “Hmmm. What’s the recruit’s name?”

  “Recruit Stokes, Calvin, Sergeant Major.”

  “Did you say Calvin Stokes?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major.”

  “Why do I know that name?”

  “I don’t know, Sergeant Major.”

  “Can this wait until tomorrow? Janet’s throwing a dinner party, and I’m already late.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major. Sorry to throw this in your lap.”

  “Not at all, Jose. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Major.”

  5:47am, October 5th, 2001

  The three drill instructors ran into the squad bay at the sound of the commotion. Their heels clicked on the linoleum floor as they quickly assesse
d the situation.

  “What in God’s name is going on out here?” screamed SSgt Adams.

  The recruits were crowded around something. They froze as the Marines approached.

  “Get your nasty bodies up against your racks!” yelled Sgt. Ignacio.

  When the crowd dispersed, they found four recruits tangled on the floor, each in varying levels of disarray.

  “God dammit,” GySgt Vasquez murmured. His two drill instructors took the cue and screamed orders as they pulled the young men off the ground.

  Recruit Stokes was the last to rise. He had a bloody nose and a split lip. There was also a welt growing just above his hairline. The others looked much better off.

  “Who wants to tell me what the hell is going on here?” GySgt Vasquez asked through clenched teeth.

  No one answered.

  “You, Recruit Manderly, tell me what happened.”

  Recruit Manderly paused.

  “Speak!” SSgt Adams screamed.

  “Th…this recruit saw Recruit Stokes attack another recruit. This recruit then tried to break it up.”

  All eyes shifted to Recruit Stokes. The cut on his lip was dripping dark red blood onto the squad bay floor. Through it all, Stokes stood at attention and kept his gaze focused straight ahead.

  “Recruit Stokes. Why is it that you felt the need to attack one of your fellow recruits?” asked GySgt Vasquez.

  Stokes didn’t answer.

  “Your Senior Drill Instructor asked you a question, recruit,” said Sgt Ignacio.

  Still Stokes didn’t respond. That’s when all hell broke loose. No one can understand the wrath of a screaming Marine drill instructor until it’s right in their face. Spit flew and fingers pointed as the Marines directed their ire at the bloodied recruit. The rest of platoon watched with wide eyes as the normally composed Marines lost all semblance of compassion.

  Not once did they touch Recruit Stokes, but their raised voices seemed capable of knocking him over. It lasted for a full five minutes until GySgt Vasquez motioned his assistants to stop. The molten quiet pulsated in the charged room. No one said a word until Vasquez pointed one finger in Stokes’s face and said, “Follow me.”