“How are you holding up, Son?” the officer asked.
“Ready to get back to it,” Shaw was quick to reply. Weber grinned and nodded as he walked around the bed.
“You always are,” he said affectionately. “I brought you some things. I know the guys wanted to video chat with you.” Weber held up the laptop bag. “Honestly though, I didn’t know you would be awake. You weren’t when I called in this morning,” Weber finished.
As a captain in the 2nd Marine Raider Battalion, Shaw served as the Team Commander of a fourteen-man Marine Special Operations Team (MSOT). A master sergeant served as Team Chief and assisted him with team operations. The team was split into two identical squads, called Tactical Elements, each led by a Staff Sergeant as the Element Leader. As commander of his MSOT, intelligence gathering, mission planning, preparation and training, logistics, and mission execution demanded his full attention.
He could receive a name from up the chain of command, obtain the intel from local sources needed to locate the target, recon the area, prepare a plan of attack, coordinate support forces, and accomplish the mission with the utmost diligence and expertise. There was nothing he would rather be doing. Every choice held real time consequences, whether good or bad, and produced life-altering results. You couldn’t get that with a desk job, not in the military, and not anywhere else. The operation tempo was fast, and Shaw liked it that way. It meant less time twiddling his thumbs and more time dirt napping those who sought to destroy the United States and her allies.
“Your boys have been pushing me to put you up for a commendation for what you did for Corporal Reyes,” Weber said. Shaw’s eyes widened.
“Did he make it? Is he okay?” Shaw hurriedly asked as he recalled the Marine. The general’s smile widened as he took in Shaw’s concern.
“Yes, Captain. He’s fine. He’s still in Afghanistan with the rest of the team.” Shaw issued a sigh of relief. Reyes’ injuries must not have been nearly as severe as his own if he was recuperating in a field hospital. “About this commendation,” Weber continued.
“It’s just a piece of metal,” Shaw interjected. The major general smirked.
“I told them you’d say that,” he said. Shaw grinned as his mentor gazed out the window. The Marine captain looked down at his hands, rough, cut, and peeling, as he felt a wave of sorrow enter the room. May must have felt it too. She offered Shaw a sympathetic half-smile before leaving.
“What is it, sir?” Shaw asked. The older officer sighed and turned to face him. His hard eyes grew soft, and he found it difficult to break the news to his captain.
“You’re a good Marine,” he started, “always have been.” Shaw had a hunch where this was going and broke eye contact. “I remember the first time we met all those years ago.” Shaw would make it easy for him. “You were fresh out of training and on your first deployment … ”
“Sir,” Shaw said before a big sigh, “I understand.” He wouldn’t dare show Weber the emotions that assaulted his spirit. Deep down he knew he was more than a Marine, but he couldn’t fight the pain and anger swirling inside. On September 11, 2001, he had enlisted, third in line at the recruitment office. He was nearly halfway through his first semester at Duke University when he watched the towers fall. His parents had protested heavily, claiming he was throwing away his full-tuition scholarship, but he didn’t listen. Duty drove him forward.
His grandfather had served as a Marine machine gunner in World War II, so Shaw hadn’t struggled with which branch to join. He had obtained a Force Recon contract with the Marine Corps, meaning he would head right to the heart of the action after receiving the highest quality combat training the Marine Corps could provide.
“I pushed to get you an instructor position, but even the commandant said nineteen years were enough. I’m sorry, Son,” Major General Weber said. Shaw nodded his acceptance and stared at his feet, feet he could move. He was grateful for that, but he remained silent. “You’ll have the Navy Cross. I promise.”
“Sir, I don’t … ” But Weber cut him off.
“Not for you, Captain, but for my sake,” he said. He snapped to attention and rigidly saluted the man in the bed. It wasn’t a salute to return, and Shaw knew he couldn’t ask for a greater sign of respect than that. Shaw had never seen him in that state, so full of remorse and sadness.
“I’ll see you around, sir,” Shaw said.
“Aye, Son,” he responded, “you will, and I’ll tell Caroline you’re back stateside.” Shaw smirked; she was the last person he wanted to see after the way they had left things, and he doubted she would even bother to make the trip. Weber returned a knowing grin, tucked his cover under his arm, and left the room.
As the door closed, Shaw directed his gaze back out the window as he tried to decipher the mix of emotions whirling inside him.
2
Camp Leatherneck, Helmand Province, Afghanistan
Staff Sergeant John Wyatt brushed his fingers along the wall as he walked down the bland corridor. He held a ruggedness about him, but with his short, tousled blonde hair, tan complexion, and lively blue eyes, he looked like he belonged on the beaches of California instead of in the mountains of Afghanistan. He wore a light gray jacket and woodland camo-patterned, combat pants. The famous Raider skull, embroidered on a red diamond against a blue background surrounded by the five white stars of the Southern Cross, adorned his sleeve. The patch alone drew revered glances from the individuals he passed in the hallway.
As a Marine Corps Critical Skills Operator, he undertook the most difficult and dangerous missions ordered by the Marine Corps and the United States Special Operations Command. MARSOC was a newer force, founded in 2006, tasked with direct-action, special reconnaissance, foreign internal defense, counterterrorism, and information operations. They were proudly dubbed Raiders after the famous Marine strike units of World War II’s brutal Pacific Campaign.
Wyatt glanced down at the gold pin in the palm of his other hand. Its bright finish glinted in the florescent lighting. He liked the design. An eagle, with its wings outstretched, gripped the hilt of a stiletto dagger that extended upward through a five-starred shield fastened over the raptor’s chest. Spiritus Invictus inscribed on the top of the pin stood as a testament to the spirit of the Marine Raiders. Wyatt honestly thought it looked more impressive than the eagle and trident of the SEALs. A smug smile donned his face at the thought.
The Raider knocked on the door, more as an alert than asking permission, and walked in. Reyes sat in his bed with an iPad in his lap.
“Hey babe, I got to go,” Reyes quickly said. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Call me later, okay?” came Sara’s reply.
“I will. I can’t wait to meet our little man.” Wyatt heard Reyes’ wife giggle and watched Reyes’ smile. They were good people, and he thought Reyes was going to make a great father. Reyes ended the call and lowered the tablet to glance at Wyatt.
“Got something for you,” Wyatt said and motioned for Reyes to hold out his hand. He did as desired and received the pin.
“Well, look at that,” he said with a grin.
“You earned it, and with Shaw out, I wanted to make sure you got it,” Wyatt responded. Reyes didn’t know if being rendered unconscious by a grenade meant he earned his place on the team, but he wasn’t about to refuse the gesture. He normally would have received the pin after graduation from the Individual Training Course (ITC), but Shaw ran things a bit differently. Reyes understood now as he rubbed his thumb over the pin. He had earned it in combat, and the feeling was all the sweeter. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” Wyatt added.
“Better than the eagle and trident, that’s for sure,” Reyes answered.
“I think so.” Wyatt paused, scratched his neck, and continued, “So, listen, York and I were wondering if we could use your tablet to talk to Shaw.”
“Yeah of course,” Reyes replied. “You guys want to call him in here?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Reyes
cracked a smile.
“No problem.” Wyatt grinned and briefly exited the room. Within a matter of seconds, the door burst open, and York threw his arms wide as he beheld Reyes. Wyatt reentered behind him. Wyatt was tall, six-foot-two, but York was even taller. If Wyatt was built like a Mustang stallion, lean and strong, then York, in comparison, resembled a grizzly bear, huge and impressive, with a temper to match.
Of Scandinavian descent, York had thrown himself fully into his Viking ancestry, even to the point of pursuing special permission from the Corps to be recognized religiously as a Norse pagan, which was granted after several meetings with the company chaplain. He kept the sides and back of his head shaved but the top long and braided. He even braided parts of his beard and often donned blue or white war paint before a mission. At first, it had been a bit strange for the rest of the team. Master Sergeant Beasley, Shaw’s right hand, still didn’t approve, but the rest of the team had grown quite fond of York’s theatrics. The Raider even carried a custom, Half Face Blades tomahawk with a Viking-style head into battle, and it had saved his life on two occasions. They all agreed that there was not a more fearsome Marine in the entire Corps.
“You’re not dead yet?” York teased as he neared Reyes. Reyes cracked a grin, but true to his nature, he replied without joke or jest.
“Just had a checkup with the Doc this morning, he says I’m fine.”
“I imagine so, it’s been a few weeks,” York replied, a bit unenthused with Reyes’ humorless response. Wyatt simply smiled at the exchange.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” Wyatt said. He took the outstretched iPad and input Shaw’s phone number for a FaceTime chat. The Raider looked at his reflection as it rang. The tablet continued to chirp, and Wyatt glanced Reyes’ way.
“Maybe General Weber hasn’t visited yet,” Reyes stated. Wyatt returned his attention to the screen, and Shaw’s smiling face materialized.
“Hey, Boss!” Wyatt greeted cheerfully. Relief swept over him like the tingling from a large gulp of liquor. He quickly turned and adjusted the tablet to include everyone.
“Hey guys,” Shaw greeted. “Reyes, it’s good to see you in one piece.”
“Not as good as it is to see you, sir,” the corporal replied. “I owe you my life,” he said seriously. Shaw forced a smile; it was an uncomfortable thing to hear.
“You look rough,” Wyatt said. York’s large fist playfully slammed into Wyatt’s shoulder.
“You’d look worse if you’d just taken a bunch of rounds of seven-six-two,” he joked.
“Yeah, six-feet-under worse,” Reyes added. Shaw managed a smile, but Wyatt knew him well enough to see past it. Pain lurked behind his eyes. Not physical, but something deeper.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. The others looked at Wyatt and then back at Shaw. Apparently, they had missed something. Shaw scratched his bearded cheek and averted his gaze through the window. He bit his bottom lip as he turned to regard them. Wyatt immediately shook his head in disbelief.
“No,” he protested, trying to convince himself that what Shaw was about to say was not what he feared to hear. Shaw nodded slowly and deliberately.
“Weber just told me,” he said. “I’m out.” York, stunned, ran his hands over his braided hair and scratched the back of his head before tugging on his neck with both hands. Reyes, wide-eyed in disbelief, just stared at him.
“But,” Reyes started, but Wyatt interrupted him.
“What will you do?” Wyatt asked.
“I hadn’t had much time to think about it. I haven’t been a civilian in nearly twenty years, and I was just a kid then,” Shaw said. The room was silent. Shaw was the greatest Marine any of them knew and the most brilliant. Their team wouldn’t be the same without him.
“When is your time up?” York asked. Shaw shrugged, then instantly regretted it as it irritated his shoulder wound. Wyatt recognized the look on Shaw’s face, a hidden sadness. Shaw looked at their faces and felt his heart sink upon the realization that he would never deploy with them again. He longed for nothing more than to be reunited with them.
“Could be six months. If I fight it, then longer,” Shaw answered.
“You going to fight it?” Wyatt asked.
“I don’t know yet.” Silence spread uncomfortably between them. Neither one had known the other prior to military life. The knowledge that Shaw would become a veteran didn’t feel right for Wyatt. Never before had they experienced such a disconnection.
“Must have been hard,” Wyatt said.
“Harder for Weber, I think,” Shaw replied. In 2003, Major General Weber, a colonel at the time, had handpicked Shaw to participate in MCSOCOM Detachment One, a pilot program to assess the value of United States Marine Corps special operations as a permanent addition to SOCOM. Shaw was barely out of recon training when Weber came calling. After additional training with the Navy, he was deployed to Fallujah, attached to Naval Special Warfare Group One. After Det One was disbanded in March of 2006, Shaw would go on to become one of the first Raiders when the Marine Corps established MARSOC later that same year.
“Hard on all of us,” Wyatt remarked. “What did the doctor say?” Shaw sighed.
“That I was lucky; that my recovery should be taking three times as long as it is and that I should have needed a colostomy bag but don’t. Should be discharged in a few weeks,” Shaw replied. “Have they replaced me yet?”
“They put Captain Neeman in command for now, not sure if it’s permanent.” Shaw bounced his head as he considered the man taking over his team, no not his, the Corps’ team. He knew Captain Gary Neeman. Neeman had come to MARSOC straight out of Officer Candidacy School in Quantico. He was a few years younger than Shaw, but he was a straight shooter and a good leader.
“Not a bad choice,” he said.
“He’s not you,” Wyatt countered. He admired Shaw more than the man could possibly know. From the first time Wyatt met him, he recognized Shaw as a man he could follow. It was the simple things, like making sure his men had enough socks, hygiene supplies, and good reading material. He didn’t even need to mention the man’s tactical brilliance. He made sure every fight was won before it started, and if things went haywire, it was Shaw that patched it up, risking life and limb to save his men. Reyes had experienced that dedication firsthand.
Thinking back to their most recent conflict, Wyatt had never experienced such anger and terror as when he was attempting to patch up Shaw’s gut. Despite the officer-enlisted divide, Shaw and Wyatt had grown to become best friends, and frankly, after serving under Shaw for nearly eight years, he hated the thought of serving under someone else.
Unlike Shaw, Wyatt hadn’t joined the Marines out of a great sense of patriotism, and it wasn’t in the Marines where Wyatt had killed his first man. When he was seventeen, two men had broken into Wyatt’s house. His older brother, having just signed a Ranger contract with the Army, met the intruders head on, but they gunned him down. The shots had awakened Wyatt, and his mother’s blood-curdling scream dumped a load of adrenaline into his veins.
After loading his hunting shotgun with slugs, Wyatt rushed down the stairs and witnessed his battered and bleeding mother crawling down the hallway toward him. One of the intruders rounded the corner into the hallway from the living room and froze when he beheld Wyatt and his weapon. Finding a deep resolve within his being he didn’t know existed, Wyatt aimed and fired at the intruder before the man could raise his pistol.
The slug tore through the center of the man’s chest, killing him instantly. As Wyatt cocked the pump action, he heard the front, screen door slap against the frame. Wyatt rushed through the living room and barreled into the front yard. His blood boiled in rage. The second intruder had made it onto the street, but Wyatt aimed and shot the fleeing man through the back at over one hundred meters. The police had said it was an impossible shot.
The city of Leesburg, Virginia didn’t press charges given the circumstances, but Wyatt would never forget the endless hospital nig
hts holding his mother’s hand until she finally died from the swelling in her brain; his father hadn’t been there. For years, his mother had pleaded with his father to leave the State Department and find something so he could be with them, but he had refused, claiming his work was more important than her desires. He always issued the promise of “one day,” but the days came and went. He was absent their funerals, and it was as if the man had fallen off the face of the earth. Wyatt hadn’t heard a word from his father in years, and he figured he had died somewhere, wherever that somewhere was. That or he was living a double life and had another family in that same somewhere.
Alone, Wyatt turned to the Corps for the sole reason that they would ship him to basic training the soonest. He forged his father’s signature on the parental consent affidavit and shipped out to basic at Parris Island right after high school graduation. He didn’t care what he did or where he did it, but his marksmanship skills landed him in Scout Sniper training. The transition to MARSOC years later only made sense. He joined the military to escape his pain and found a brotherhood in the Corps that he never imagined.
“Did we lose anyone?” Shaw asked with difficulty. Wyatt shook his head.
“No, just the four commandos in the lead Humvee and Lieutenant al-Sabir and the other guy in your vehicle.”
“Al-Attar,” Shaw interjected. Wyatt nodded.
“Yeah, al-Attar,” the Marine sniper repeated. He knew how important it was for Shaw to remember the names of those that had died under his command. Although those commandos weren’t directly under his authority, they often looked to him for leadership and guidance. Shaw exhaled heavily and thought of al-Sabir’s children. He had met them once, and he remembered al-Sabir’s words to him before he died. He knew it was meant as a joke, but now, he would do his best to help them somehow.
“What are you guys up to?” Shaw asked after the moment of brief silence.
“We’re just hanging around now. Nothing is really going on at the moment. Neeman mentioned something about a short op out of Camp Lemonnier in Djibouti. Something’s going down in Yemen,” Wyatt answered. “But we shouldn’t be out there too long.” Shaw’s gaze drifted off the screen. “You got to go?” Wyatt asked.
Saber Down Page 2
