Wounding the Giant

by

Gary Beck

The arrival of his old friends and mentors, General and Mrs. Griffin, took a big burden off Colonel Hanson. He knew they would help balance the rage and sorrow he was feeling since the death of his son and Lieutenant Davis' son, in the terrorist attack on the Vietnam Day parade, so whatever decisions he made would have a sounding board. Beverly burst into tears when she saw him and held him tightly.

"He was our only grandchild, Sam," she said woefully. "Kyle and you were the children we never had. He'll always be in my prayers."

"I know, Bev. You and Charlie were his family…. I never imagined he would die before me. I always assumed you would take care of him when I got killed. Now…."

"Kyle first told me he wanted to go to Annapolis just like you and me when he was six years old," Griffin said wistfully. "Ten years later he said the same thing, but by then he knew what the Academy was like. He would have made the Corps better."

"Thanks, Charlie. That's a kind thing to say…. I'm glad you're both here."

Beverly, in her usual fashion, immediately took charge. "Before we do anything else, let's get out of here for a while and have some dinner. Then you can tell us everything that happened and what you're planning."

Hanson looked at Griffin for guidance, but he just shrugged. "She's the boss, Sam. You should know that by now."

"I do, Charlie. But there are certain things I don't think she should hear."

"And, why not?" Beverly demanded belligerently. "Do you think I'm too fragile, or untrustworthy?"

"Not at all, Bev," he said. "It's just that some of the things we'll be talking about are illegal. I don't want to make you a criminal."

"I'll make up my own mind, if you please, Sam. I've heard jails are co-ed now and I could probably share a cell with my husband. Besides, you might need an extra gun." She dramatically took out her pistol and pointed it at the wall. "I'm not too old for a little action," and she took up a shooting stance.

Hanson and Griffin laughed at her flamboyant pose.

Lieutenant Danowski knocked, then walked in and instantly froze when he saw the pistol in Beverly's hand. "Is everything alright, sir?"

"Yes, Ski. Relax. Mrs. Griffin was just demonstrating her quick draw technique."

"I see," he said nervously.

Beverly put the pistol away then turned to Danowski. "You were a Sergeant the last time I was here, weren't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"There hasn't been time for you to go to O.C.S. How are you doing?"

"Well, I think, Ma'am. I'm learning on the job. You should ask Colonel Hanson about that, Ma'am."

"I will. And stop calling me Ma'am."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Hanson rescued him from further discomfort. "His performance since his promotion has been outstanding."

Danowski swelled with pride. "Thank you, sir."

"What do you have to report, Ski?"

Danowski looked at Beverly meaningfully.

"It's alright, Ski. You may speak freely in front of Mrs. Griffin. Report."

"Yes, sir."

Danowski took a moment to organize his thoughts. "Police Captain Lonigan confirmed two of his plainclothesmen are on station near Atlantic Avenue and Bergen Street, not too far from the suspected terrorist hideout and they've cleared it with the local precinct. Lieutenant Davis and his unit are a few blocks away and they're waiting until it gets dark to move in, so they won't be noticed. He's in communication with the two cops and said to let him know if you want him to move in earlier. I've been checking on the strike platoon he picked and I told them to get some sack time, alternating shifts."

"Good thinking, Ski."

"Thank you, sir. Captain Muzzetti keeps asking me what's going on and I keep telling him I don't know, but he doesn't believe me."

"I'll talk to him later. Anything else?"

"Yes, sir. Sergeant Wilkins is creating another fuss at the hospital. He insists on being included if we do anything about the boys, even if he has to crawl."

"Who's Wilkins?" Beverly asked.

"He was in charge of the guard detail at our apartment building when it was attacked," Danowski explained. "The rags killed the other guards and were about to finish him off, when Kyle and Tyrone saved him."

"Sounds like my kind of man," Beverly remarked.

Griffin rolled his eyes at Hanson then said, "You always liked them bloodthirsty, dear."

"It's a tough world out there, General," she responded. "Pussies don't last long in a combat zone."

Hanson suppressed his grin. "Tell Wilkins I'll stop by and see him later and he's to stay out of trouble."

"Yes, sir. Will that be all?"

"Yes, Ski."

"Just a minute, Lieutenant."

"Yes, General?"

"Could you hold down the fort here for a bit, while we go out with Colonel Hanson?"

"Yes, sir. As long as I can cell him if there's something really urgent."

Griffin nodded to Hanson. "I won't be gone long, Ski. Cell me whenever you need to."

"Yes, sir." Danowski nodded to them and left.

"He seems like a good kid," Beverly remarked.

"He's not a kid, Bev. He's a Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps, and he fought well the other day when we were attacked."

"You know what I mean, Sam. And don't forget you're not so big that I can't put you over my knee."

"I surrender, Bev."

"Good. Let's get some dinner."

Hanson took them to an Italian restaurant on Second Avenue and 33^rd Street, set off the Avenue in a small plaza. He had passed it dozens of times, but never tried it before. It turned out to be a pleasant looking place and the staff didn't freak out when Hanson requested a table near the door for Tico, Hanson's driver, and his bodyguards, who were armed. The waiters were a little nervous at the sight of automatic weapons, but Beverly found this reassuring.

"If this was a mafia joint," she quipped, "they'd be used to seeing machine guns."

Hanson couldn't help smiling at the irrepressible lady's wit and felt the first glimmer of hope he might be able to endure the loss of his beloved son. The restaurant wasn't crowded, so they had ample privacy and the service was excellent. While they ate, Hanson brought them up to date on everything that happened earlier and what was being planned.

The General considered what he heard carefully. "Do you think it's practical to order a retaliatory strike at an embassy or U.N. Mission? The consequences could be drastic."

"They planned it. Jed and I won't let them get away with murdering our children."

"That's not what I meant, Sam. It could embarrass our government if you're caught."

"Does it embarrass the Saudi's when they get caught attacking us?"

"If you survived the attack, the Beaumont administration would turn you over to the International Court."

"I know that. Jed and I no longer have anything to lose. That's why I didn't want you involved."

"I want to be involved. I feel the loss of Kyle almost as much as you do…. Would you consider waiting until the Bush administration takes over in January?"

"That's two months away, Charlie. Our targets could be far away by then. Besides, how many more lives will be lost if we don't take action promptly?"

"I just want to be sure you know what you're doing, Sam."

"I'm fully aware of what's involved, sir. We'll plan a well-organized surgical strike."

Beverly changed the subject. "Did you make funeral arrangements, Sam?" she asked with a quaver in her voice.

He told them about the plan for the services and burial on Saturday that would take place in Brooklyn.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Beverly asked. "Are you planning a reception afterwards?"

"I don't think so. I'm just managing to hold together as it is. I couldn't deal with being polite to people now."

"We should at least notify your friends and the people who knew Kyle," she insisted.

"Danowski's making up a list for me."

"I'll go over it with him…. Sam. If you plan to attack a mission or embassy, it won't be hitting the beach. It'll be a covert operation. If you can use an old broad for cover, just ask."

"The last time I hit a beach was when I finished Basic after graduation from the Academy. When I took the required amphibious warfare course, I couldn't help thinking about Tarawa and other landings where Marines got slaughtered. I hoped I'd never have to assault a beach."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, Bev. By the way. You're hardly an old broad."

"Why thank you, Sam."

Griffin observed Hanson's Marines at the other table were on their second beer. "Your people are sopping up suds while on duty, Sam."

"They've been going day and night for a while. They earned it, General."

"What about you? Why don't you join me in a beer?"

"I think I will."

"Make it three," Beverly added.

After he ordered, Griffin took out his phone and celled the hotel where they usually stayed.

Before he could book a room, Beverly said, "Why don't we stay at Sam's house tonight."

Griffin looked surprised. "I don't want to intrude…."

"Don't be silly. He'll be glad to put us up. Besides, you boys can plot and scheme all night without being disturbed."

"You're always welcome," Hanson said. "You can have my room and I'll sleep on the couch."

"If it's alright with you," Beverly said with a catch in her voice, "we'll sleep in Kyle's room. We'll feel closer to him."

Tears sprang from Hanson's eyes and it took him a minute to control them, then he nodded assent without speaking.

Hanson looked at his watch. "I've got to get back to hq. Do you want to come with me or go to the apartment?"

"We'll go with you," Beverly answered. "I'll go over the list with Danowski then go to the apartment. You boys can meet me there later."

Hanson called for the check, but Griffin insisted on paying and included the three troopers, who thanked the General for the nice meal and beer. The brief respite from the gloom at headquarters helped revivify Hanson and when they got back, he quickly resumed an acceptable level of functioning. After taking the latest report from Danowski, he assigned him to Beverly. "Give her anything she wants, within reason."

And in a sign of his growing confidence, Danowski quipped: "And if it's not within reason?"

Beverly, hands on hips, glared at him fiercely. "Anything I request is reasonable, Second Lieutenant."

To divert her from Danowski, who didn't know how to deal with her yet, Hanson said,

"Whenever Mrs. Griffin finishes, have her escorted to my apartment."

"I don't need an escort, Sam," she snapped.

He ignored her indignation. "That's an order, Ski."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Captain Alexandra Kent rushed in with an electrifying piece of information. "The girl who didn't suicide told us the bombers launched their attack on the parade from Saks Department store. They went in during the night disguised as part of the cleaning crew. The girl is still freaked out, so we're going slowly and not pressuring her…. Hi, General."

Hanson suppressed a grin at her casualness.

"Hi, Captain," Griffin responded with a straight face.

"May I make a suggestion, sir?" Al asked.

"Go ahead, Al," Hanson said.

"The girl is pretty tired. Unless there's something urgent we have to find out tonight, I recommend we feed her, put her to bed and continue her interrogation in the morning."

"Good idea, Al. Also tell her we have Marines and police guarding her family and they'll be safe. That should reassure her and make your job easier. Well done, Al."

"Thank you, sir. I'll tell gunny Le Beau."

"Is that Cajun bear doing interrogations?" Griffin asked in surprise.

"He's doing a bang-up job as a gentle giant, General," Al answered. "Will that be all, Colonel?"

"Yes, Al," Hanson said.

"How is Al doing?" Griffin asked, once she left. "I know she was a good small unit combat leader, but how is she doing as an officer?"

"Outstanding, sir. She's my executive officer. With your approval, I'd like to promote her to major when Jeb Bush takes over in 2012."

"Is she ready for field grade, Sam?"

"Definitely. She's fulfilled all my expectations."

Just then, Lonigan knocked on the door, interrupting their discussion. "We have an eyewitness who saw the bombers come out of Saks Department store," he announced.

"Al just told me the girl told her they came from Saks, Mike. This confirms it if our prisoner told the interrogators the same thing as the eyewitness. The bombers went into Saks during the night with the cleaning crew."

"Why didn't the F.B.I. catch them in the morning security sweep?" Lonigan demanded.

"That's what you have to find out. By the way, this is General Griffin."

"An honor to meet you, sir."

"This is Captain Lonigan, General."

"Sam speaks very highly of you, Captain."

"Call me Mike, sir."

"Mike has committed to helping us in whatever we do, sir."

Griffin looked at him approvingly. "Glad to have you with us, Mike."

"Thank you, sir."

"Do you want to discuss your plan now, Sam?" Griffin asked.

"With your permission, sir. I'd like to wait until Al, Le Beau and Jed get here. They'll be able to contribute to the discussion."

Griffin nodded approval.

"What about Dr. Carver?" Lonigan asked. "He wanted to be involved."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Mike. He's a civilian."

Griffin signaled Hanson and looked questioningly at Lonigan.

"Mike's been a big help so far, sir. He's ex-airborne."

"If he's that good why didn't he become a Marine?" Griffin asked gruffly.

"Because I passed the intelligence test at the recruiting office, sir," the feisty Irishman responded.

Griffin looked at him balefully and when he didn't flinch, grinned and said, "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be with you.  Though I won't be able to hold my head up in front of my old buddies, if I'm hanged with a bunch of jarheads."

"Don't worry, Mike," Griffin said with an evil grin on his face. "We'll let you go first, so you can show us how an airhead jumps."

Lonigan grinned back and knew he was accepted.

Jed celled and reported his unit was in place and he would be returning to headquarters shortly.

"While we wait for Jed, why don't we go to the hospital next door, General, and I'll introduce you to Wilkins."

"Lead on, Sam."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Outside, the sky had cleared and the earlier rain had rinsed away some of the industrial emissions that prevented the viewing of the stars. The moon was three-quarters full and glowed brilliantly. The sad looking Man in the Moon appeared as he always did, since first observed by man: distressed at the human condition. He didn't seem concerned he had been abandoned after the great human voyages that visited him in the sixties. He hadn't even blinked at the disaster to the Chinese lunar expedition in 2009, which ended in tragedy when their space vehicle exploded shortly after launch. Venus, the second largest object in our celestial sphere, looked down coldly on lovers and the fools who didn't appreciate them. Hanson could see twenty or thirty stars, many more than usual, out of the five thousand or so that should have been visible, but were obscured by urban light and massive air pollution.

"Tell me about Wilkins, Sam."

"He's a real character, Charlie. He comes from upstate New York, some small Appalachian community that's still living in the twentieth century. He's the slowest, sloppiest, slackest marine in the battalion, until the shooting starts. Then he's a fierce fighter who doesn't fear anything. I promoted and busted him several times. It was difficult when I was in disgrace and reduced to Gunnery Sergeant to look out for him, because he was always getting into hot water. If I didn't cover up for him, our previous C.O. would probably have drummed him out of the service."

"He doesn't sound like a good example for new recruits."

"He's like the pre-World War II marines I've read about, who were lazy, shiftless and no account, until war broke out. Then they were the first ones to urge their comrades on when they hit the beach. Wait 'til you meet him and judge for yourself. You always had a soft spot for characters."

When they got to his hospital room, Wilkins was engaged in an eyeball to eyeball confrontation with a short, dark-haired, Hispanic nurse, who wasn't giving an inch.

"I don't care what you think, Sergeant. If I was stupid enough to qualify for the Marines, maybe you could tell me what to do. On this ward, I'm the boss and you take orders."

"Aw, Carmen…."

"That's Ms. Rodriguez to you."

"You said I could call you Carmen earlier," Wilkins said in a plaintive voice.

"That's when you were behaving yourself. Now you're being loco."

"I know what loco means. That's not a nice thing to say," he protested.

"Then don't talk like a loco."

"Aw, Carmen…."

"I told you once already. It's Ms. Rodriguez."

"Aw, Ms. Rodriguez. All I want you to do is help me into a wheelchair, so I can go down the street to Marine headquarters and speak to my Colonel."

"That's why you're loco. You're not going anywhere, until the doctor says you are able to travel.

It certainly won't be tonight."

"Then I'll go by myself," he said sullenly.

"Just try it and I'll put you in restraints."

"Aw, Carmen."

"Don't make me tell you again," she warned.

"Yes, Ms. Rodriguez."

Hanson walked into the room, followed by Griffin. "How is your patient doing, nurse?"

"Colonel," Wilkins yelled. "Get me out of here."

Nurse Rodriguez put her hand over his mouth and hushed him. "He is recovering from three gunshot wounds, none of them life-threatening, but he requires rest in order for them to heal properly. He'd also be a candidate for a lobotomy, if he was ever eligible in the first place."

"Why don't you let me talk to him," Hanson said.

"Why not," she snapped. "Not that it will do any good. He's as loco as that other one," and she pointed to the next bed, where a large lump was scrunched under the covers and producing basso profundo snores.

"Who's that?" Griffin asked.

"It must be Sergeant Carstairs, my favorite mess sergeant," Hanson said.

"What's he doing here?"

"He was wounded during the earlier terrorist attack on the barracks, sir."

"You mean that old war horse dropped his pots and pans again and remembered how to use a rifle?"

"Yes, sir. He's living proof every Marine is a rifleman."

"Knowing him, 80 proof would be more accurate."

"Yes, sir."

Hanson turned to the nurse. "What has he been doing? Except for breaking the sound barrier, he seems peaceful."

"A lot you know," she replied. "He was pawing every nurse who came near him, until they had to issue us flak jackets." Griffin smiled and she turned to him combatively. "You think that's funny?"

"No, Miss. I was just appreciating your description."

"What else has he been doing?" Hanson asked.

"He persuaded a ward aide to give him extra morphine and he bribed one of the cleaning staff to buy him whiskey. The only reason he's not making trouble now is because we gave him an extra sedative, so we could get some rest around here."

"He's a hero, Miss," Griffin said.

"He's a pain in the ass, General," she replied tartly. "You ought to lock him up somewhere until you need him then lock him up again when you don't need him anymore."

Griffin looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you have something against Marines?"

"Yes. My husband was a Marine and I should be used to this gung ho stuff, but I'm not."

"I'll straighten out both of them," Hanson assured her. "They won't make any more trouble."

"Yeah," she said skeptically and stalked out.

Wilkins stared in wonder at Griffin so Hanson introduced him. "Wilkie. This is General Griffin."

"How do, sir. I never met a General before. What did Nurse Carmen mean I was a candidate for a lamotabe?"

"It's lobotomy, Sergeant," Griffin explained. "That's when they drill a hole in your head and remove your brain."

"Don't let them do that to me, General. I need it if I'm going to make Gunnery Sergeant. I told Kyle and Tyrone that I'd make gunny by the time they became officers, so I could serve with them…. I'm sure sorry about them boys, Colonel. They were my friends. Kyle always stuck up for me when other folks poked fun…. Those terrorists almost had me when they attacked the residence and those boys saved my bacon. I was trapped, wounded, running out of ammo and those rags were about to finish me off when the boys joined the fight, guns blazing, like real Marines…. I owe them big time, sir…. They were great kids. I'm gonna miss them….We're not gonna let those ragheads get away with it, are we, sir?" He looked pleadingly at Hanson.

Wilkins was obviously ready to go on all night, so Hanson held up a hand and cut him off. "If I can get a word in, Wilkie."

"Sorry, sir."

"The boys will be buried Saturday. If the doctor says you're able to travel, I'll arrange to have you join us."

"Thank you, sir. I really ‘preciate that….What about getting those rags, sir?"

"I don't want to hear another word about that and I order you to be a good patient and obey your nurse. You can repeat that order to Sergeant Carstairs, whenever he wakes up."

"Aye aye, sir."

"With the General's approval, Wilkie, I'm going to put you in for a silver star."

"Thank you, sir…. I wish Kyle and Tyrone could get one. They deserve it."

"Some of us know that, Sergeant Wilkins," Griffin said, "but we're glad you feel that way. I hope we'll meet again."

"Thank you, General." He awkwardly saluted them as they turned to leave.

When the door closed behind them, Griffin said, "He certainly is a character, Sam."

"I know, sir. But he's a hard-charger and I can forgive him a lot for that. We can never get enough of them in the Corps."