Chapter 1: Roomful Of Enemies

Too weak to move without help, an attendant was dispatched to push Jack's wheelchair into the conference room. The attendant was ordered to wait outside. Present were an uncomfortable looking colonel who plainly showed he would prefer to be elsewhere, a sharp faced, stern looking woman of dubious gender, Karla Von Krupp, and a shark faced man in a dark gray suit that cost more than a mere sergeant made in six months. "This is not a formal hearing so no legal representation will be necessary at this point."

"Who the hell are you?" Jack demanded of the well-dressed stranger.

"Your worst nightmare if I choose to be," the stranger answered. "The name is James Lytle. Mister James Lytle to you, sergeant. You are here to answer questions and convince me why you shouldn't have your discharge changed to dishonorable for cowardice in the face of the enemy." He bent down until his nose was six inches from Jack's face. "Do you understand me, Sergeant?" he hissed.

Jack's body reacted to the perceived threat the way it was trained to. With no conscious effort of his own Sergeant Jack Daniels' right hand shot straight up, twelve inches. Right thumb and middle finger locked on the man's larynx and began to crush. The woman stepped forward, drew back her right fist in a well practiced motion and was thrown against the wall as a hard looking man dressed in an Italian tailored silk suit stepped through the door, took one look and back handed the woman. Jack Daniels' hand lost the death grip as its small burst of energy faded. He fell out of his wheelchair to land on the floor in a sprawled heap.

"Just what in hell is going on here, may I ask?" the newcomer demanded of the colonel who had stood by and watched it all in horrified fascination. "I just now learned about this highly illegal meeting quite by accident and came as fast as I could. It looks like I didn't get here a minute too soon. What are you trying to do Mister? Are you trying to kill this man?"

"This goes way beyond your need to know, Mister McReady, way, way beyond your need to know." The colonel had trouble meeting the angry newcomer's eyes.

"Oh yes, all the way up to the White House, I'll bet," Gordon McReady snorted derisively.

"For once in your crusading life, Mister McReady, you are right on the money. In fact orders came down from the Oval office to authorize this investigation," the colonel smirked. "If you were not this man's attorney of record we would have concluded this business and been shed of the whole mess."

"Now why is my level of incredulity and bilge rising all at once?" Gordon McReady squatted down and checked out his unconscious client. James Lytle stood back and glared at the newcomer. He stared his hatred at the unconscious man on the floor.

"Stand up here and look at me when I speak to you, Mister," the colonel ordered.

Attorney at law Gordon N. McReady stood and gave way before he did something that could get him arrested. He regained control of his anger and looked back at the army officer with contempt, turned and quickly opened the door to the room beyond. "Get some medical help in here ASAP. Your patient needs it right now, chop-chop."

"Mister McReady, the man Sergeant Daniels just assaulted is the personal aide and troubleshooter for Senator Creel. Surely even you know the good senator is our president's first choice to replace him in the elections two years from now. As I said, this goes way beyond your need to know."

"I now see why I was brought in early and informed I would be needed to act as defense counsel for a man who has yet to be charged of any crime. You people knew a defense attorney would be needed to add credibility to a kangaroo proceeding to stop a potential embarrassment to that spineless idiot in the White House from occurring. You were forced to notify me by law, so you did and then tried to mushroom me."

He continued, "However, I believe you made a big mistake when you tried to side track me after notification. I am Ex JAG and know the military legal system inside and out. In addition, I am not in awe of the so-called political powers that be and I will not permit this man to be used as a political football for that drunken thief the RNC has chosen to replace the idiot we have in DC at present masquerading as a real president. I'll confer with my client when he is able and we'll go from there."

He stared hard at the colonel, "Here's an item I know you aren't aware of. I got to know this man well in Iraq and again in Afghanistan. He and his teams went into places a full regiment would fear to go and usually came out mission accomplished. He personally wrote a letter to the Joint Chiefs and sent a cc to the Pentagon complaining about Senator Creel's business ties to defense contractors in the Middle East. I believe I now know what this whole brouhaha is about."

Gordon McReady stopped, collected his thoughts and then continued, "That's what this whole thing is all about, isn't it? That letter is what is behind this vendetta." The colonel looked blankly back at the lieutenant. He knew nothing about any letter. All he knew was important people wanted something. And, what important people wanted he would do his best to supply.

Then was the second beginning of the close relationship forged between the lawyer and the combat veteran. As if by magic, the case against ex-First Sergeant "Whiskey" Jack

Daniels was erased as if it had never been. Logbooks were altered and Senator Creel's personal assistant returned to Washington with a damaged voice box.

With unusual efficiency for a bureaucracy, ex-Master Sergeant Jack Daniels was awarded a one hundred percent permanent disability pension, plus a maintenance allowance.

Gordon McReady considered an expose to the news media and decided to wait.

Jack's friend Gordon L. McReady, attorney at law, met an embittered Jack Daniels as the final papers that awarded him his disability pension were processed. The military doctors were regretful as they reevaluated his case and again agreed he would never walk unaided again. They expressed doubts he would ever walk with or without braces and crutches.

"Ready for a ride to the Salt Lake Medical Center, Sport?" a male nurse asked him. "I got a special van outside so you can have a nice ride to your new home. I wonder why they brought you to the Cheyenne VA to process you out of the Army." Jack stared uncomprehending at a horizon only he could see.

That episode in the conference room in Cheyenne seemed to have caused further damage to both his mind and his spinal cord.

For the following six months Jack had lain quiet in the VA Medical Center bed in a private room. He stared blank eyed at the television set on the wall. If I can ever get the strength to move I'm going to yank that damned TV off the wall and stick it up that fat assed bitch's ass. The 'fat assed bitch', a nurse's aide, sat in the chair beside the paralyzed man and watched her favorite soap. "The World Of Angel O'Dell."

"Oh god, this is just so moving," she said to herself as Angel, the heroine sat indecisively in a chair and showed as many panty-clad crotch shots as the law allowed while she tried in desperation to decide between her two lovers. After six months of back and forth sex she still couldn't decide if she liked rough over tender.

Jack hoped in vain she would have a threesome with her two lovers, just to offer a change from the daily soap opera fare.

"Oh god, this is so moving," she repeated.

Bowel moving, paralyzed and now a civilian, John R. Daniels, told her mentally.

Frustrated almost beyond all endurance he strained. His face contorted with effort as, for the first time in over six months, a raspy sound came from deep in his throat. "T-t-turn ... th-that ... d-d-dammed thing d-d-down." He grunted and mumbled, "Sh-sh-oh god."

He stopped struggling and lapsed into unconsciousness. Before he passed out, his last thought was one of hatred toward soaps and the women who watched them. She, the nurse's aide, did not notice the grunting sounds or the small twitching movements her patient had made. More important things were happening on the television

Ex- First Sergeant John R "Whiskey Jack" Daniels awoke a short time later in a world of hurt. His back hurt, his legs ached and he was thirsty. He tried to shift in bed and barely moved. Oh man, I hurt, he thought to himself. A grunting noise came from his throat as he made another effort to stretch and shift his body. This time he succeeded and moved just a little after great effort.

All at once he realized, I moved! "I sure as hell moved," he croaked. The strain exhausted him and he relaxed. Exultation flowed through his being in a stream of life giving energy. He marveled at the miracle of moving his body. "Well, how about that?" he muttered to himself, his voice no longer sounded quite so froggy.

At noon, 'the fat assed bitch' entered his room and reached for the remote on the nightstand by the bed where she had left it. It was not there anymore. "Don't you touch this remote or I'll shove it up your fat butt," Jack threatened, his voice still had a slight rasp. "Get me a drink of water," he commanded. "I'm thirsty as hell."

The nurse's aide looked at him, her mouth made a silent "Oh" sound; then she ran out screaming.

"What the hell?" he rasped and returned his attention to Pat Sajak and Vanna White as the next contestant was introduced.

The evening news had just begun to show on the television when a nurse, a regular RN, rushed into the room. Without a word she turned and hurried away to summon a doctor. Jack was so deeply engrossed in the television news program, he didn't notice.

"Who removed the IV from this man's arm?" a doctor demanded as he came into the room.

"I did," Jack told him in a hoarse, almost normal voice. "I'm thirsty and would like a drink."

"Welcome back to Planet Earth from wherever you've been hiding," the amazed doctor told him. "Well, let's see what we shall see here."

The third day after his "recovery" began with torture as physical therapists pushed, probed, prodded and massaged flaccid muscles and joints that had lain dormant for eighteen months. One physical therapist, a muscular, yet attractive red head, in particular caught Jack Daniels' eye and his interest.

As she worked his knee joints and made his elbows bend and begin to work again, Jack devoured her face with his eyes. He realized there could never be anything on his side of any relationship but wishful fantasy, but oh how he wished and fantasized.