Warrior Chronicles 1: Warrior's Scar

by Shawn Jones

  As the Marine checked his ID, Cort was listening to Angela elicit the exact response he had predicted from her mother. “I know, Mom….It’s his job, he has to miss dinner. No he did not plan it. Mom, he has to go. Yes, I am still coming, but I will be another half hour. Yes, I heard about the train crash. Yes, it is horrible. See you in a few minutes.” As she hung up the phone, Angela turned to her husband and handed him a ten dollar bill from her purse. “Prick. How is it that you hate my mother, but you know her better than I do?” Cort pocketed his winnings and turned back to the Marine.

  “Have a safe trip sir. You can drive right up on the tarmac, but don’t get behind the plane. The jet wash would throw your car around like a rag doll.” The corporal’s voice was still too young to have the hardcore sound of a true leatherneck, but Cort still wouldn’t have bet against the young man in a brawl. The Marines were the best-trained fighters in the world. Even the young ones.

  “Mom said that CNN is reporting over five hundred dead. I thought you said less than two hundred.” Angela told her husband.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time the news knew more than the government did. Probably bystanders. Ben said it happened at Union Station. There had to be quite a few people there. As he pulled up to the F-15 trainer, guardsmen opened their doors for them, and one handed Cort a flight suit, as the other took his grip from Angela. Cort had long since learned to keep a bag with clothes and a laptop nearby all the time. Angela came around the car and zipped him up, brushing her hand across her favorite part of his anatomy as she pulled the zipper up. The nearest guardsman (being a woman, maybe it should have been guardsperson) pretended not to notice, although she did wink at her male counterpart as she saw the sign of obvious affection. Cort pulled his wife to him, kissed her, and turned to climb up the ladder into the back seat of the plane. The pilot was already in the plane, and as soon as the Hummer and the Viper pulled clear, he powered up the jet and closed the Canopy. Cort adjusted the harness and heard the pilot receive clearance to take off from Tulsa International Airport.

  “Mr. Addison, I’m Captain Williams. Have you been in a fifteen before sir?” the pilot asked as he gained speed moving down the runway.

  “Never a fifteen, but I have been in fighters before, Captain. I promise not to soil myself. Let’s get to Denver. I’m Cort.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Cort heard, or rather felt, the landing gear retract the pilot spoke again. “Mr. Addison, may I ask what is going on, sir? I got a call to get here and get warmed up, and then I was told I would be landing a civilian in a blizzard. Didn’t even get to file a proper flight plan. Kind of unusual, sir.”

  “Unfortunately,” Cort responded, “I don’t know much either. A train crash in Denver is all I can tell you. On the other hand, if you get me there in one piece, you will have both mine and my wife’s undying gratitude, and if you don’t, I suspect the FAA will clear you of wrongdoing.”

  “Well, sir, I’ve never had a civilian passenger myself, and I ain’t gonna lose my first one, y’dig?” Cort already liked the captain. “Must be someone big was on that train, though sir. I don’t know if you are aware or not, but the entire military jumped two def-con levels. And Homeland Security has raised the alert status to the top. Can you tell me who it was?”

  Cort Addison had always had one problem with secrets. Sometimes people didn’t have a need to know, but they did have a right to know. This pilot was risking his life to land Addison at an airport that had been closed down due to a blizzard. That gave him the right to know. “Captain, if you reveal what I am about to tell you to anyone, you will spend a good portion of the remainder of your life in prison, but you have a right to know that your NCA has changed.” One of the many acronyms applied to the President of the United States (POTUS) was NCA, or National Command Authority. Cort didn’t see it, but he knew the look on the pilot’s face. Captain Williams had heard the rumor, but he hadn’t believed it. Now he did. It made sense. “Well, sir. That’s the rumor that has been floating around the hanger for a half hour. I will not, however, have the opportunity to confirm that to anyone before we land, and I suspect that by that time it will be well known.”

  “I suspect you are right, Captain. Once we get to Denver, I doubt you will be allowed to leave anytime soon.” Cort was making a decision already. “I have family there, Captain, if you would like, you can spend the holiday with us, if you don’t get the chance to get back home.”

  “Thanks for the offer, sir, but it just so happens that I have a, uh, friend in Denver myself.” Cort smiled at what he knew was coming next. “I suspect, sir, that I will be able to find something to do.”

  “I am sure you will, Captain. I most certainly am sure you will.” Cort chuckled, and settled in for a nap. One thing he had learned a long time ago was how to sleep, anytime, anywhere. “Wake me up when we get there.”

  “Will do, sir.”

  --

  As she pulled into her parents’ driveway, Angela wondered where Cort was, and if he was okay. He was probably crossing into the storm by now. She had to worry every time he was gone, but she would never get used to it. She worried, and the people around her paid for it. She wondered if Cort would quit when she gave him the next surprise. She doubted it. At the moment however, Cort was fine. He was just crossing the Colorado-Kansas border, and was approaching the edge of the snowstorm that had buried most of the eastern slope of the Rockies in over three feet of snow.

  Her dad met her at the car, a look of shock on his face. He had been talking to a neighbor about the train crash when he saw the Viper pull up to the gate. He knew it was Angela, because she had punched her code into the automatic gate. Saying goodbye to his friend, he turned to his daughter. “Where did this come from?” He asked as he walked around the car.

  “I bought it for Cort, Daddy. He was going to take you for a ride in it, but work got him first. How mad is Mom?” She asked.

  “It just gave her even more fuel, not to mention she can’t use the latest reincarnation of the ‘dreg of society’ speech she always has for him. Tell me something, honey. Why does Cort put up with it? I know I wouldn’t.” Neither of them saw Diane come out of the house.

  “You would not put up with...” Diane said as she walked outside. Seeing the car stopped her mid-sentence. Speechless was definitely a new feeling for her. “Nice car, Sweetie, why did he buy it for you?” Diane asked after gathering her composure, certain Cort had offended her daughter and bought the car to make amends.

  “Actually, he caught me with another man and I bought it for him, so he wouldn’t leave me. It was a black guy from work.” Angela said with a totally sincere look. Ted had to stifle a laugh. Diane was simply shocked. “Mom, I bought it for him. It was a surprise. He just walked out to the garage one day, expecting to get in the truck, and it was blocked in by this.” she pointed at the Viper.

  “So what does he do for you?” Diane asked.

  If only you knew, Angela thought. “You mean besides the house, my car, and the money?”

  “If it’s so much money, why do you have to work?” Diane asked.

  Watching them spar, Ted knew not to get involved. He would only get dirty looks from them both, and most of time Angela won, anyway.

  It was clear to Angela that her mother was not going to let it go. “I do not have to work. I want to work, Mom. I like it. I want—” She was cut off again.

  “Then get a hobby.”

  “I do not want a hobby, Mother.”

  Uh oh, Ted thought. Angela only used ‘mother’ when she was getting angry. “Besides, it gives me money to spend without him being able to find out about it. Plus he never knows how much I spend. It’s a neat system, you should try it sometime.”

  “I don’t care if your father knows how much I spend on him.”

  Ted decided to take control now, lest dinner be ruined. “That’s because you don’t ever spend money on me, dear,” he said tugging his daughter’s arm to take her inside. But it was
too late; he could feel the tenseness in her body. Angela was about to erupt. She also, as anyone who knew her was well aware, had a true Irish temperament. Diane, on her worst day couldn’t hold a candle to her daughter’s temper.

  Before Diane could respond to her husband’s quip, her daughter took the next shot. “Mother, why do you invite us over for dinner if you all you have in mind is belittling my husband? You bitch and bitch and bitch at him, then complain because he avoids you like the plague. Well, he, no I take that back, we both avoid you to keep from offending Dad. Do you have any idea the nasty things I do to your son-in-law just to get him to come here with me?”

  “Why would visiting me alienate your father?” Diane asked. She was not going to comment on her daughter’s vulgarity.

  “Because every time you start on him, Cort can laugh it off, knowing he will get really good sex from me as a reward for putting up with you.”

  Even Ted was a little uncomfortable now, but Diane looked like she had swallowed a cow puck. Angela was not going to drop it.

  “That’s right, Mother, I bribe my husband with sex to get him to put up with you. In fact I gave him a blowjob to get him to be home on time tonight. I sucked his cock. I swallowed, too. And if you ever talked to me like this in front of the man whose cock I just sucked, he would offend Dad, because he would jump so far down your throat that we would need a rope to get him out.” Seeing her mother still couldn’t respond, Angela continued. “You know, if you really dislike him so much, just shut your fucking mouth. The shock of your silence would send him into a coronary, and you would finally be rid of him. Goodnight.” Angela closed by turning toward the car and walking away.

  Ted stopped her. “Honey, please. She doesn’t mean it. Besides, I made you fajitas.”

  Diane started to cry. “I’m sorry, honey. It’s just that… Oh I just want...” She couldn’t continue, and just sat down, burying her head in her hands.

  “Mom, I am sorry, but whether you approve of it or not, Cortland is my husband. We’ve been married a long time, you need to let it go.” Angela paused, knowing her mother never would. “Forget it, how are you feeling?” Angela sat beside her mother on the steps and they held hands.

  “So-so, the doctor says there is not much radiation damage. The new treatment seems to be working. They use lasers to guide the radiation straight to the bad tissue, and the healthy tissue around it is untouched. I get a bad sunburn on the skin, but it’s okay. I use cream on it.” Diane regarded her daughter with something like awe. “Where on Earth did you get that mouth?”

  Diane Johnson had been fighting breast cancer for over a year. No one, not even Angela knew how hard it had hit Cort. Having lost his own mother to cancer, it was incredibly painful to watch Angela go through what he had gone through years before. He actually avoided Diane because he didn’t want to fight with her, knowing the battle she was already fighting. Diane’s biggest confusion about it all was that her original oncologist had disappeared just days after her original diagnosis. Despite the best efforts of the Tulsa Police, there were still no clues to his whereabouts. Cort knew though. He was not about to let Angela suffer the way he had when his own mother died. Cort knew all about suffering. His wife wouldn’t if he could do anything about it. As a result of Dr. Schultz’s disappearance, Diane had given in to her daughter and found an oncologist who was regarded much more highly.

  As they finally sat down to her dad’s famous fajitas, Angela’s mind kept wandering back to her husband. Ted was watching FOX News, even though Diane thought CNN did a better job, and finally halfway through dinner, Angela was able to talk to her parents about what she already knew. ‘Fox on the Day’ interrupted the coverage from their Denver affiliate to cut to a press conference in Washington, where a White House spokesperson announced that the President had been confirmed dead in the wreckage at Denver’s Union Station. The former Vice-President had taken the oath of office and was secure at an undisclosed location. America had a new President, and it was up to Angela’s husband to do something about it.

  Denver, Co

  “How was your flight?” Benjamin Natsumo asked Cort as the larger man stepped out of the Hummer that had driven him to downtown Denver as soon as the flight had landed in heavy snow. Addison had noticed even Capt. Williams seemed a little nervous as the fighter descended through the storm. On the drive over, he had called his sister’s house and left a message saying he was in town because of the tragedy, and that he was going to crash her Thanksgiving dinner. A few minutes after he left the message, his niece Jessica had arrived home, listened to the voice mail, and then erased it, deciding to surprise her mom with the news. Then she went in and logged onto Facebook so she could talk to her boyfriend Josh. The sixteen year old didn’t even know about the train wreck her uncle Cort had mentioned. Nor did she know there was a new President, but her life was going to change even more than that of her fellow citizens.

  “Not bad, I slept through most of it. What do you have so far?”

  Ben Natsumo was a short, wiry man of Japanese-American descent. His diminutive size and quiet demeanor made one wonder if he was a master of some ancient form of Japanese martial arts. In reality, he was simply a special investigator with the Office of Homeland Security. He had a master’s degree in physics and a doctorate in computer sciences. He knew no martial arts, and had only qualified with his standard issue 9mm because he felt like it completed the persona. He had never fired it in the line of duty, and because he knew he probably couldn’t in a ‘situation’, he did not even keep it loaded. After all, a loaded gun was more danger than protection if you weren’t willing to use it. Ben knew he wasn’t. He did have excellent organizational skills though. He had been handpicked by Tom Rich less than a week after Rich had taken his oath of office just before the Super Bowl in 2003.

  Within six months of working on the WTC/Pentagon attacks, Natsumo had made a name for himself by finding three different Al Qaeda leaders. The big one had been the man that gave the United States a trail of breadcrumbs that led to Osama Bin Laden’s actual location. The terrorist lieutenant who had planned a ferry bombing in San Francisco was working in a quick stop that had a few dirty movies behind the counter for $16.95 apiece. An Islamic fundamentalist that had turned the United States on its collective ear was selling porno, booze, and lottery tickets down the street from a K-Mart. Once Bin Laden was killed, Ben Natsumo was assured his place in history, as well as his pick of futures. He chose to be a roving special investigator. In reality, he was the roving special investigator. There were others with the title, but in practice, they were his assistants. His long term goal was to get back into science, but he did enjoy the excitement of his current assignment.

  “I thought you said a hundred and eighty-something dead.” Cort inquired of his long time friend.

  “One-hundred and eighty-six plus crew on the train. Almost a thousand in the station. No survivors so far. Total destruction. There were a few injured around the building, but no one inside. This is the worst thing since New York.” Ben was as somber as Addison had ever seen him. “I guess you noticed the press army outside.”

  “Yeah, but I think the boys with the guns are sufficiently pissed as to be able to keep them in their places.” Addison observed.

  “Yes. Shoot to kill. No one in, no one out, except emergency workers. One guy from the Denver Post has already been taken into custody for sneaking in. They carried him out in cuffs and leg irons. He had a nasty bruise on his forehead too. Amazing how the butt of an M-16 looks tattooed on a man’s head. The Marines will hold him long enough to keep him from providing any copy at all to his boss. I’ve got four hundred on duty now. Dogs and locals backing them up. Transport Safety is checking out what’s left of the train now. Nothing yet.”

  As they entered the remains of the building, Addison noticed caution tape around the areas that still were too unstable or too hot to approach. Rescue workers were pouring over building plans trying to find the safest way to enter the pa
rts of the building that were still unsafe. Addison was taken aback by the destruction. The very serious Marines, who eyed everyone as a potential threat, had cordoned off the area. Outside the ring of Marines, there were hundreds of reservists, policemen and sheriff’s officers forming a second larger ring of security. No vehicles were allowed inside beyond the Marines, who were doing their duty even though they desperately wanted to help look for survivors. But they were Marines, and they would protect these people regardless, dead or alive. All that still didn’t prepare him for what he saw inside. He had seen the station before. The way it had looked hours before. What he saw now was nothing more than a huge pile of smoldering debris wedged between shattered rock and twisted steel. Among the debris were hundreds of numbered yellow markers. They denoted the location of bodies that had not yet been bagged or removed from the site. Several photographers were capturing the carnage on film and video. Cort despised them for some reason. He knew that someone would use the film to figure this out, but something seemed inherently wrong with the job they were doing, necessary though it was.