Chapter 2: Corpsman Up!

A heavily armed and armored Humvee came racing around the Mosque and into the market square, spinning and fishtailing wildly as the driver overcorrected and tried to regain control. I could see the top gunner clinging to the M240 GB coaxial machine gun, as he was tossed about like a rag doll. ‘Mother fucker!’ I cursed to myself, ‘Where did these numb nuts come from?’ It was clear the driver had no tactical driving skills. Maybe he was afraid he was gonna roll it or something (a virtual impossibility, I assure you — I tried) because he stomped his brakes, sliding to a halt in a cloud of dust.

I could hear the gunner screaming at the driver as I jumped up and started barking orders, “Goddammit!” I yelled, “Cover fire! Cover fire! Light those fuckers up! Those RPGs are gonna start popping out like a porcupine!” I ran forward and began firing into the higher windows of the building across from me. I hoped to hell our field of fire would contain them long enough for the fuck-wit to get his shit clear. Because of this dumb ass thing, we call ROE or rules of engagement, we were firmly asked not to fire upon religious centers for fear that it might upset their God or cause the fucking insurgents to piss all over their prayer rugs. And of course, that was where the RPGs started firing from. Once the first shot was fired, all bets were off and the REMFs (rear echelon mother fuckers) could take their ROEs and shove em broadside up their sore little assholes.

By then, however, it was much too late. Once the first rocket grenade struck the ground near the stalled Hummer, half a dozen more were on the way. I was knocked back by the first explosion and everyone ducked when the next six rained absolute Hell onto those poor fuckers in the open. I looked up to see PFC Potts calmly step out from our alleyway and begin lobbing M203 grenades with his launcher, directly onto the circular mezzanine halfway up the Mosque. He was cool as a cucumber as he rained death back down on those sorry, two-face sumbitches and I loved him like a son for it. I turned and looked back out to see the Hummer in flames. It was a hot mess as thick black smoke rose and filled the air above the clearing. I could feel the heat on my face from where I was crouched 20 yards away.

I heard the screaming and spotted the gunner who had miraculously been blown away from the doomed vehicle and lay in the dirt several yards to the left of it. “Corpsman up!” I yelled and turned to find Doc Thomas shoving his way through the huddled marines behind me. I joined him and together we raced out into the open. The entire square erupted as covering fire commenced from every alleyway and entrance to the clearing. I kept my head down and thought only of reaching the gunner as the world above and around me shuddered with small arms fire and heavy machine guns.

It seemed to take hours but we reached the downed Marine and dove to the ground beside him. His entire left leg was detached and lay several feet away. Blood was squirting from the stump and he screamed incoherently as I held him down. Doc Thomas had the stump tied off with a tourniquet in seconds flat and nodded to me. That was my signal to grab his multi-loop and haul ass for cover. We each had a grip on his rescue strap and dragged him as quickly as we could back across the market square. Bullets began punching holes into the ground around us and we managed to kick it into a higher gear. It was a damn miracle that those raghead motherfuckers were such lousy shots. We made it back into the alley unscathed and Doc began treating the horrific amputation with that steadfast determination, shared only by those few heroic bastards who answered the call to become FMF (Fleet Marine Force) Corpsmen.

The ripping tearing shriek of an approaching war bird deafened us all as the jet shot overhead. An instant later a massive explosion shook the mosque and its entire dome collapsed in on itself. I hovered protectively over the corpsman as he began an IV and started pushing plasma back into the leaky bastard at his feet.

“Why the fuck did you leave his goddamned leg out there?” yelled a deep-pitched voice that I knew only too well. Top had decided to grace us with his presence — all hail Sargeant Major Shitwitz! I turned and saw him charging through the ranks of my platoon, bearing down on Doc like the apocalypse. “Get yer yellow ass back out there and get the goddamned leg, Corpsman!” I tried to block his way but he shoved me aside. “Get outta my fuckin’ way Gunny!” He stood over Doc Thomas and screamed at him. “Did you hear me Petty Officer? Go get that fuckin’ leg now!”

“No way Top!” Doc Thomas replied evenly, “I got a man to save here and I’m not risking my ass for a leg he’ll never use.” He spiked another bottle of plasma and handed it to a nearby marine to hold up as he produced a syrette of morphine and stabbed it into the wounded man’s arm.

SgtMaj Shitwitz turned the ugliest shade of purple I had ever seen and grabbed Doc by his shoulder. “You listen here, you cowardly little fuck!” he raged, spit spraying from his mouth with every syllable, “You get your fucking ass back out there and get that fucking leg or I’ll bust your balls to Leavenworth!”

Doc knocked his arm away and screamed back, “They don’t reattach limbs lost in combat, Sergeant Major!” He turned back to his patient and would’ve got his head punched in if I hadn’t stepped forward to grab Top’s arm, spinning him backward.

“At ease Sar Major,” I growled in his face, “Doc’s right and this ain’t the time or place for this bullshit!”

He swung his free fist at me, broadcasting like a little bitch. I twisted away from it while leveraging his other arm backward and placing him soundly on his ass in the dirt. The gunfire and explosions seemed to fade away as I went into combat mode. In combat, you weren’t facing a friend, foe, or enemy. Top was now simply a target. And targets were to be put down.

I felt arms wrench me back and pull me away from the target. It was lying below me with a bloodied nose and mouth. “Gunny! That’s enough!” Sgt. Santos screamed in my ear, while several others helped the Sergeant Major back to his feet.

He jerked his arms free as he faced me (from a distance). “Are you out of your motherfucking mind Gunny?” he screamed spitting blood onto the ground before us, “I’ll have your ass court-martialed right alongside that worthless cunt!”

Well, he was half right.

The next afternoon Lupi arrived with her two girls and my life of quiet, peaceful introspection came to a screeching halt. They hid shyly behind her as she brought them inside and looked away from me as each of them was introduced. Both had thumbs latched firmly in their mouths. Gunner and Libby were beside themselves excited over the mini humans but were undecided about how best to deal with them. They would both sit up alert with their ears cocked and lick their lips eagerly, then stand up and promptly sit once more. The girls had eyes as big as saucers when they first saw the hairy beasts and clung to Lupi’s legs for protection.

Both were dressed identically in colorful animated Oshkosh jumpers and tiny little lace-less shoes. They wore matching backpacks that Lupi relieved them of and hung by my door. As she bent to take their shoes off, I became acutely aware of her very nice ass as it stretched the confines of her denim cut-offs. Her shirt was a creamy threadbare tee that clearly showed the lines and material of her bra. Her skin was tanned to a soft mahogany tone that made my mouth water. When she turned around, I tried not to stare at her voluptuous chest. Instead, I took a sip from my cup of cleavage... ‘Eyes Right, Gunny!’

She knelt behind them after she removed her shoes and pointed towards me, “Didi, Lulu ... this is Mr. Bishop,” she said trying to coax them out of their shells, “can you say hi to him?”

Nope. No way. They only had eyes for Gunner and Libby. Sigh, the story of my life. I couldn’t blame them though. The two mutts were acting like total idiots trying to figure out what to do. It was clear they both desperately wanted to make friends with the girls but they held back with comical uncertainty. I whistled softly once drawing both their attentions instantly. I lowered two fingers to the floor and gave two more soft whistle bursts. Both dogs promptly dropped down and lay stretched out with their heads resting on their paws, working their eyebrows to a full ‘shock and awe’ effect. Their tails thumped the hardwood behind them and they continued licking their chops excitedly. Once in a while one or the other would emit a high-pitched whine.

I gave two more short whistles and they simultaneously rolled onto their backs like synchronized swimmers. Seeing two upside-down rotty ‘grrr’ faces, was just too silly not to giggle at and the twins promptly did so, much to the delight of both canines. Lupi put her hand out before Gunner and was rewarded with an upside-down kiss. Libby tried to scooch her lopsided head over to be included and was treated to a jaw-pat for her efforts.

It took ten whole minutes, a new record. By the time Lupi stood and came over to me with her beautifully tanned, sculpted, and painted bare feet ... Sorry, where was I?

“Thank you so much for allowing me to do this Mr. Bishop...” she started but I raised my hand to cut her off and rose to go to the kitchen.

“Please, just call me Al, Alex, or Bishop,” I said quietly as she followed me into the kitchen. The two six-year-olds were completely engrossed in breaking out every single dog toy from the large bin by the couch and trying to get Gunner and Libby to play with them all. The two Rottweilers were still trying to smell every inch of them and decide which parts needed the most kisses. They were both quite fond of little toes. Who wasn’t? “And please think nothing of it, I am happy to have the girls over whenever,” I added pointing back into the living room where the four were collectively gathered around a pile of stuffed toys and chewys in the middle of the floor, “this is going to be fun to watch.”

It took me a bit but I took her out back, to the shop and showed her where the mower and hedge trimmers were, along with my assorted gardening implements. I used to keep a tidy-looking curbside but it had been neglected recently. I left her to it and returned to find the girls still infatuated with Gunner and Libby’s extensive toy collection. Libby was trying to coax one of the girls into a game of tug-of-war with her Kong Wuba rope, while Gunner just laid on his back and flopped around like an epileptic, grunting and sneezing.

Lupi could not get the mower started and I dared not try with my current condition, so she opted to spend her remaining time digging around in my various garden beds around the house. I went out with the dogs and her girls to get some fresh air and she smiled brightly at the company, even though I felt like a bottom feeder for just watching her do the work. When Didi and Lulu noticed the hot tub, they erupted with joy and cries of “Swimming! Swimming! Mama Swimming!” Lupi looked uncertain but I nodded my head discreetly and assured her that I would stay close by to watch them. She quickly folded under the pressure and agreed.

With twin screeches of joy, they darted off, stripping buck naked as they went. I shook my head as I removed the lid and watched them both climb the steps eagerly, then gingerly climb into the 104-degree water. I showed them how to activate the lights, jets, and the waterfall feature and they were excited beyond words. Gunner and Libby stood on the stairs, side-by-side staring at them guardedly while I went in to retrieve my laptop, towels, and several floating chew toys from the dog bin. Who says babysitting has to be hard? Adapt and overcome!

“Gunnery Sergeant Bishop, how do you plead to the charges read?”

“Guilty as Hell, your Honor.”

I could see the resignation in the full Colonel’s face as he looked over the files before him and stared back at me. Not one person here felt good about any of this ... except for Shitwitz. He gloated about it like Mussolini — having no idea how badly he fucked up his career by doing so.

My CO, a Light Colonel, tried to have me mitigated to NJP (non-judicial punishment) rather than a full court-martial. But Top was having nothing to do with that. He had the pull and I was being hung out to dry. I was too pissed to give a shit either.

The minute we returned from that mission, I was met by PMO (Provost Marshall’s Office or Corps speak for MPs) There were two enlisted and a First Lieutenant who advised me that they had to take me into custody immediately and could I please surrender my firearms. ‘Certainly not to you, cupcake.’ I turned to SGT Reyes and handed him my M4 and 1911. “Watch these for me will you Sam?”

“Sure, thing Gunny! Hey look at the bright side,” he grinned, “no AAR (after-action report) for you!”

I laughed and allowed them to handcuff me before loading me into a white Humvee with the PMO logo on the door.

The court-martial had been in session for several hours and I stood before the panel in full dress, weighed down by more salad (slang for medals) than damn near anyone but Chesty himself. But then he had five Navy Crosses (the second-highest meritorious decoration, just below the Congressional Medal of Honor), whereas I only had one. The unease in the court was so thick you could spread it on toast.

When I was cross-examined by the council she asked me, “Gunny, you admit to grabbing the Sergeant Major and physically wrestling him away from Petty Officer Thomas, is that correct?”

“Yes, Ma’am that is exactly right,” I replied easily.

“And then you threw him to the ground and began pummeling him with your fists.”

“Affirmative.”

“Why?” she asked. ‘How can these college-educated toad stools be so fucking stupid?’

“Why what, Ma’am?”

“Why did you have to get so physical with the Sargeant Major?” she repeated.

I stared at her with a look suggesting she was so dumb that her hair hurt. “Because drawing my .45 and ventilating his brainpan seemed a bit excessive ... Ma’am.”

Finally, the JAG Colonel lost his shit, “Goddammit Gunny. Just plead not guilty and I can dismiss this whole mess! Why are you being so damn stubborn?”

“It’s a matter of honor ... your honor,” I nearly chuckled at my wit.

“Gunnery Sergeant Bishop,” he asked one more time, “what is your plea for these charges?”

“Guilty as Hell Sir.”

He had no choice but to find me guilty and strip me of my rank, busting me back down to Staff Sergeant, docking me one-half months’ pay for six months, ordering me confined to the Brig for five days minus time served (which, ironically was 5 days.) SGM Shitwitz was lowballed from his Senior Enlisted post (Command Sergeant Major) and forced to retire under high-year tenure. I was never so pleased when I found out that Hospital Corpsman Second Class Virgel J. Thomas was awarded the Bronze Star for valor.

By the time Lupi was done, every dirt bed around my house was free of weeds and raked smooth, and ready for fall planting. She also washed all of my windows and raked up the first of many Fall leaves. I had to let her corral her little waterlogged princesses out of the tub and wrap them into towels. By the time they were dressed and ready to go, I had produced another $100 bill which she flatly refused to take this time.

“Alex, that is far too much, please just half of that,” she pleaded. At first, I thought she was feeling guilty for taking advantage of my generosity, but something suggested to me that other motives were at play. So, I acquiesced and went back to my safe.

“Would smaller bills be better for you?” I asked on a hunch.

“Oh yes please!” she replied immediately.

Un huh! So, I came back out and handed her 5 $20 bills. She looked up surprised and I gazed at her with a knowing look that made her blush. “Is that alright?”

She nodded her head gratefully and we set up another time for her to return next week. I watched her go out to the Ford Focus and set to the task of loading the girls into their car seats in the back. I could not make out the driver through the glare and tint of his window, but when they backed out to the street, I could see him through the windshield. He was black and dressed like a hoodlum. I think she said his name was Dante. I watched them pull away. She waved to me while he merely stared with hostile eyes. The twins both waved and I waved back.

Davee called me bright and early the next morning. I could tell he was unusually excited but I knew better than to expect him to get right to the point. Still, his first question caught me a little off guard.

“Are you certain — beyond any reasonable doubt — that you changed every name in the book?”

I found that slightly insulting. “Of course, I did, I even changed up the locations a bit. Why?”