Chapter 2

Green Zone, Baghdad Hospital, Iraq

O’Brien had become the product of confusion, grief, stress, isolation, and medication. His anger had not been dampened by the various pain pills, IVs, and other chemistries that the medical corps had put into O’Brien’s body.

“Son you do not understand the legal gravity of your actions.”

“Lieutenant, I am not your son. One more time and I will rip your throat out. Repeat the question..., sir.”

The army JAG Lieutenant was silenced into shock. He knew the Marine had been severely wounded and had supposedly, by himself, fought his way out of Fallujah. So he re-considered.

“Marine, you could be charged with assault and battery...”

“I don’t give a fuck. That fuckin air dale tried to kill me. Get the fuck out of my face until I have a lawyer.” O’Brien rose out of his bed to the extreme concern of the corpsman and to the lesser concern of the two Marine guards. “And one more thing, asshole. No one ever read me my rights, ... sir. Did you JAG jerk-offs ever hear of UCMJ article 31? I sure the fuck have. And I’m just a stupid grunt. And since you have violated my rights, I think that gives me the right to kill you.” O’Brien looked at the senior guard, “is that right corporal? Can’t I kill someone that has taken away my rights?”

The guard did not reply, but his face did break into a smile. The Army JAG Lieutenant was so consumed with doubt and fear that he gathered up his documents and left without further comment.

After the JAG representative left, the senior marine guard started laughing. “Geezzzus Christ, Marine. You fucking crazy or what?”

“Maybe so, but I got nothing to lose anymore. About half of my platoon is dead. My best friend may be a cripple, and the doctors tell me I’m too fucked up to be here but command will not allow me to be moved and are keeping me here, so I’ll probably die or be fucked up for life.”

“Yeah, man. Listening to that fuck-face lawyer and you putting it that way, I smell nothing but a pile of total dog-shit from your command. If there is someone I can talk to for you, let me know.”

“Actually there is someone, corporal. Got something to write with? ... Ok, it’s Medina County, Texas. Sheriff’s Lieutenant Harrison Jenkins. Tell him what you know and where I am. He may know some high-end legal people, I dunno.”

“You got it, man.”

Walter Reed Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland Late Spring 2004

“How many more surgeries, Mac?”

“Dunno, dude. The orthopedic assholes say one or two then I’m ready for re-hab. What about you?”

“Nada, dude. They’ve been cutting on me because of infections. No other reason then to install fuckin tubes. I’ve been doing minor motion re-hab. The serious stuff is supposed to start in a day or two.”

“Any more JAG problems?”

“Nah, Mac. Not any more than yours. I can’t believe after all of that legal shit that they now want to put a medal on us. Is our command stupid or what?”

“Who the fuck knows, Opie. I’ll never see the FMF again, so fuck it all. Just gonna do my re-hab until they send me home. Have you heard anything more about those two civie kids?”

“Nada, dude. And people got really fuckin paranoid and strange when I asked if they are ok. So I just left it alone. Not our problem anymore.”

“It’s not, Opie. But they were good kids, and the platoon is worried that the big-heads and power-mongers will fuck with them.”

“I dunno, Mac. Those kids really had it together for 17 or 18 year-old civilians. They didn’t act like regular kids. I’m thinkin they come from rich or powerful stock. I’m not worried about them.”

“That would explain a lot of the weird shit going on.”

But you know what really pisses me the fuck off, Mac? Not being able to go to Sergeant Jay’s or Corporal Carr’s funerals. I’m never gonna forget them and what they taught us. They’re inside of me for fuckin forever.”

Mac paused with that distant gaze. “I know, Opie. Slash and Carr and Sergeant Jay. They’re inside of me too.”

McKenzie and O’Brien talked about fishing and cars until three officers walked into the area and, without a word, grabbed the handles and pushed their wheelchairs to an isolated corner window that over-looked a garden. One officer remained standing while the other two sat on the adjacent bench. Mac and O’Brien said nothing and revealed nothing by facial expression.

The army major started, “Marines, we are with CENT COM. We would like to talk.” Neither Mac nor O’Brien replied, as there was no implicit question. O’Brien mentally settled in for yet another ‘Let the Officers Fuck With the Junior Enlisted Because They Can and May Help Advance Their Career’ session.

The Marine captain piped in with, “Marines respond to the query.”

O’Brien quickly went into his PTSD angry mode and beat Mac to the metaphorical punch with, “Non-fuckin sequitur, sir. There was no fuckin question. You have now perjured yourself and attempted criminal manipulation. Which means, sir, that we are in the presence of a dishonorable and untrustworthy officer. Which further means that we cannot have any more conversation without a lawyer. If the captain does not leave, do I have the major’s permission to kill him for denial and violation of my legal rights, sir?”

Mac was about to fall out of the wheel chair with laughter until the standing officer, an Army captain, with jump wings and an airborne tab, inexplicably grabbed the handles to Mac’s wheel chair and jerked him around. Mac emitted a loud “SHIT!” when the centripetal force resultant sudden change in inertia extered pressure on his wounded leg. O’Brien, filled with rage and engorged with ‘fight or flight’ adrenaline at the thought of his friend’s discomfort, stood up, pulled the captain away from Mac and wrapped his large hand around his lower throat.

“Captain, you’re about to die ... but I cannot decide if I want to do this slow and painful, or to quickly dispose of you...” The Marine officer started to get up, at least until O’Brien slammed him back down into the bench with his other hand. O’Brien turned to the major while the captain was slowly choking, “Give me a reason, major, and you will be the next to die. Just don’t give a flying fuck, anymore ... Mac, I say we kill all of them. Why the fuck not? They choose to violate their oaths, they lie to us, they assault us, and they treat honorable troops with contempt and disrespect.”

McKenzie’s PTSD was more subtle, but he was easily influenced by his friend’s outbursts of anger and his depressive reaction to feeling abandoned. Mac’s evil leer was unsettling to the officer. “I agree, Opie. Let’s kill all of them. We’ve got nothing else to lose.”

The three officers now differed only in their level of panic. The airborne captain being choked had pissed on himself and the other two officers were shaking and sweating. Mac’s appearance of equanimity was deeply disturbing, unusual in itself as he was no longer even-tempered and reserved. He knew they had crossed the line, but as O’Brien indicated, they’ve nothing else to lose. Mac was also a big man, but the sense of his size was even more so to the typical American WASP. The evil expressions and controlled composure of a large black man was terrifying to the simple bourgeois minds of these white insular officers. Mac smiled, then suddenly grabbed the major by the throat and slowly increased the pressure around his lower trachea. When the Major started to flail about, Mac center-punched the major with his large fist until he stopped moving. The third officer stayed on the bench, frozen with fear and panic.

O’Brien continued to increase pressure on the captain’s throat until he realized that he was starting to lose control of his muscles and may be close to passing out. As O’Brien’s vision decreased to a very small circle, he wondered if he was perhaps not as recovered he had thought.

While this little drama was playing out in a quiet corner of a large and impersonal army medical center, and largely ignored, an Army Lieutenant Colonel had been watching and listening, with initial concern, since she saw the three officers shanghai the two Marines, but it was now mostly scientific interest. To her medical mind, the most surprising thing was not that these two marines had decided to murder three officers, but that the two wounded Marines were able to perform these physical acts.

“Hello boys. I’m Lieutenant Colonel Julie Seymour. I am a psychiatrist, but I am also a physician. You boys could seriously damage your wounds with this level of exertion and activity.” Col Seymour took out her phone and entered a code. In less than a minute, several corpsman/medics and two guards arrived at the scene.

As O’Brien started to pass out, two army medics lowered him back into his wheelchair. Another medic and the Psychiatrist gently pushed Mac back down into his wheel chair, causing him to release his crushing grip on the major’s throat. The two choked-out officers crumpled to the deck. Seymour ordered the security guards, “Get the Provost Marshal ASAP and detain these three officers. I’m guessing that assault and kidnapping would be the charges.”

The psychiatrist pulled out her stethoscope to listen to Mac’s chest while ordering the senior medic to get O’Brien’s vitals. She asked the senior medic to remain and dismissed the others. “Do you boys know those officers?”

McKenzie was the first to become coherent. “No ma’am. They grabbed our wheel chairs and took us here and starting fucking with us. Ma’am, we been through a lot of weird legal shit, so anytime unknown people start asking questions and fucking with us, we don’t react good. We’re pretty much at the end. We just do not care. We do not understand why our command is fucking with us and lying about their orders to our platoon. Nothing makes sense. We did our best in Iraq, and now everybody is hammering us.”

Julie Seymour was trying to remember the details of their files. As senior staff psychiatrist, she made it her habit and duty to read all incoming files with combat trauma. She was looking for the obvious problems until her staff was able to screen all combat-wounded patients. “What is your name, Marine?”

“Lance Corporal McKenzie, ma’am.”

“And your friend?”

“Lance Corporal O’Brien, ma’am.”

Are there any other members of your unit here?”

“Yes, ma’am. But they were separated from us after we had been here for about three or four days. So we don’t know where they are anymore.”

Seymour entered several codes into her phone then quietly waited for her phone to ring. “Good afternoon, sir. We have legal and medical issues that need to be addressed, and we need to do a p-iso on at least two patients ASAP ... Yes, sir. They are with me now ... No, sir, I would not recommend that. JAG is not their friend at this point ... Yes, sir. That would be me. I had them arrested. They physically abducted two patients in wheel chairs and assaulted one of the patients ... No, sir. I witnessed the complete incident. The two Marines were defending themselves.” LtCol Seymour paused to give a conspiratorial glance at Mac. “ ... Yes, sir, we’ll wait ... thank you, sir.”

“Boys, we are going to re-locate you to another room. We will put you two together ... No more killing people unless it is really called for, okay?”

O’Brien was recovered, listening, and answered “We’ll call the colonel first before we kill anybody, ma’am ... Cool, Mac. We’re gonna be together.”

O’Brien was the first to notice an older man, tall and thin, wearing a white smock and a stethescope, with a head of short, grey hairs. He was observing the group with an experienced and educated gaze. O’Brien did not rate the man as a threat, but he did point him out to Mac using barely noticeable gestures. Mac glanced at the man but said nothing and gave an almost imperceptabe shrug to O’Brien.

General Stinson knew he had been identified, so he approached the group. “So what do we have Julie?”