by C. G. Cooper
“You no talk to no one. You stay here,” the Arab replied sternly. His arm twitched as he poked his knife toward Stokes.
Stokes paused again assessing the situation.
“You don’t want to do this. There are women and children on board,” said Stokes, in a voice loud enough for the other passengers to hear. The comment quieted the crowd. They listened. “I’m sure if you turn the plane around we can figure some way to work this whole thing out.”
There were more whispers as the gathered men and women watched the confrontation.
Instead of answering him, the terrorist turned and said something to his companion in Arabic. The man nodded and yelled to the only other visible terrorist in the corridor. He looked to be guarding the cockpit door. The man walked to the back of the plane and pushed past his associates. He was wielding a knife as well. It was one of the people Stokes had seen getting searched at the Dulles security checkpoint and then outside the gate. Stokes’s eyes widened a hair at the realization.
“What is the problem?” the man asked.
His English was accented, but much better than the thugs guarding the passengers.
Stokes answered, “I told your friend here that I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
The man smiled evilly, yet almost congenially. “You may talk to the one in charge right now.”
“Good. Take me to him.”
The man spread his arms open and looked from side to side.
“Even an infidel such as yourself must know that Allah is all around us. Speak to him now if you wish.”
A look of dread crossed the Marine’s face for a split second. He glared at the man with open hostility.
“No?” said the terrorist. “What is it you Americans say? Cat got your tongue?”
He snickered at his own joke and the two other men laughed even though it didn’t look like they understood what they were laughing at. Stokes stood motionless, except for the clenching and unclenching of his fists.
A hand reached out from behind and grabbed Stokes by the arm. He whipped his head around and saw a pudgy and balding businessman trying to get his attention.
“What?” Stokes asked gruffly, his face a mask of fury.
“Please…please don’t get them angry, sir. I have a wife at home and a baby on the way.”
Stokes’s face softened as he realized the panic he was causing.
“I’m sorry. Of course.” He turned back to the hijacker. “You win this round.”
Instead of answering, the grinning terrorist spit in Stokes’s face. The Marine didn’t flinch. It looked like every ounce of his self-control was trying to keep him from leaping on his enemy. His body trembled with rage.
The man took a step closer to Stokes, and in a voice loud enough for all the other captives to hear said, “If this cowboy or any other try to disrupt our operation, we will first dispatch you and then kill your women and children. This will be your one and only warning.” He poked Stokes in the chest with his knife. A small tinge of red seeped out and started to spread onto the white polo shirt. “Do we understand each other, cowboy?”
After a moment’s pause, Stokes nodded just perceptibly. His jaw was clenched with tension.
The man smiled, said something in Arabic to his comrades and walked back to his position at the front of the aircraft.
Stokes wiped his face with his sleeve, then about faced and moved to find his wife.
+++
9:12am
Col. Stokes held his wife as he tried to calm her. Everyone’s nerves seemed to be unraveling. With each twitch the hijackers made, the entire crowd seemed to flinch. All except for Stokes. Between whispers to his wife, he kept his eyes glued toward the front of the aircraft.
Children’s cries were now added to the silent sobs of the women and some of the men. The space was starting to smell. It was obvious that one or more of the hostages had expelled their bladders.
Stokes noticed a woman squatting down, talking into her cell phone.
He took one of his arms from around his wife and reached into his pocket. Flicking open his cell phone, he checked it for a signal. He had two bars of signal strength.
“Honey, let me try and make a call,” he whispered.
She nodded and let him go. Following the other passenger’s lead, he bent down to keep from being seen by the hijackers. Scrolling through his contacts he found what he was looking for. It was the phone number for Travis Haden, his nephew, and Vice President at Stokes’s company, Stokes Security International (SSI).
Travis picked up on the first ring.
“Uncle Calvin?”
“Travis, I don’t have much time. I…”
“Are you watching the news right now?”
Stokes paused in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“They just flew two planes into the World Trade Center in New York. You were right. Those fucking terrorists figured it out.”
“Shit,” Stokes ran a hand through his hair and glanced around. “Now listen, Travis. I need to call Cal and I don’t have much time.”
“What’s going on…?”
“Listen. Your aunt and I are on American Airlines Flight 77 going from Dulles to Los Angeles. Our plane’s been hijacked.”
“Holy shit, Uncle Ca…”
“I’m sorry, but you need to listen. Call everyone you know at the agencies. Tell them what’s going on. They may not know about this flight too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve gotta go. You hold down the fort for me, okay?”
“I will.”
Stokes ended the call then scrolled to find his son’s phone number. He pressed the call button, but he’d lost his signal. “Dammit,” he hissed.
Before he could try again, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Stokes stood up. The gentleman trying to get his attention looked to be in his late fifties with a slight potbelly and disheveled hair. Unlike the rest of the passengers, he didn’t look scared. He looked angry.
“I heard what you said up there,” he said to Stokes in a hushed tone. It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement.
“Yeah. What do you need?”
“You a Marine?”
Stokes nodded.
“I thought so.” The man stuck out his hand and shook the hand Stokes offered back. “Sergeant Nathaniel Glouse, USMC, 1970 to 1975.”
Stokes’s smile was genuine in return. “Colonel Calvin Stokes. Please to meet you Sergeant Glouse.”
“So what’s the plan, Colonel?”
Stokes pulled his fellow Marine closer and whispered so only he could hear.
“I got word that two airplanes were just flown into the World Trade Center. I think this one may be targeting something as well.”
Sgt. Glouse’s eyes narrowed. “Well I’ll be fucking damned. I’m on my way to San Diego to see my granddaughter graduate from boot camp. You tellin’ me we won’t make it?” His eyes glazed for a second, then hardened once again.
“I don’t know,” Stokes answered honestly.
“Well shit, Colonel. I’ll be damned if I sit here and take it. I didn’t survive three tours in that Vietnamese shit hole to die like this.”
Stokes looked into the man’s eyes.
“Give me a second to try and call my son. Do you need to call anyone?”
The man shook his head. “My wife’s dead and my kids don’t like me much. Only my granddaughter talks to me, but I don’t think her drill instructors would allow a phone call. Besides, if what you say really happened, I’ll bet they’ve got that place on lock down.”
“You’re probably right.”
Stokes tried calling Cal again, but still couldn’t get the call to go through.
+++
9:25am
Sgt Glouse had managed to find two more men that were willing to go along with Stoke’s plan. They huddled together, grimly ironing out the final details. It might not be much, but they all felt they had to do something.
Col. Stokes had tried
calling his son every couple minutes. He still couldn’t connect.
“Okay, so like I said, I’ll take point, Sgt. Glouse is right behind, and Larry and Rick bring up the rear. Now remember, the key is to get to the cockpit as quick as we can. Anybody got any questions?”
They all looked at their appointed leader and shook their heads. Sgt. Glouse cracked his knuckles and was the only one to respond.
“Semper Fi, Mac.”
“Semper Fi,” responded Stokes. “Let me tell my wife what’s going on and try to make one more call.”
He shuffled through the crowd and found his wife. She was leaning against the side of one of the chairs, crying softly as she admired the picture of her son from her wallet. Mrs. Stokes looked up as he approached.
“Calvin?”
He’d already told her about the World Trade Center. Without him telling her, she’d known what that meant for them. Her eyes were red and puffy as she reached for his hand.
“Hey, honey. How are you holding up?” he asked softly.
She motioned to her swollen eyes. “Guess I won’t be going to the ball looking like this.”
“You look beautiful.” He kissed her passionately. All the tension and angst seemed wrapped in that one kiss. They released each other, and she looked up at him.
“Was that goodbye?”
“You know it wasn’t. One way or another, I’ll see you soon.”
He extracted the gold cross she always wore around her neck. It had been a wedding present from her mother.
“Have you tried calling Cal again?” she asked.
“I keep trying, but there’s no signal. I’ll try one more time.”
He pulled out his phone once again, and redialed his son’s number. Miraculously, the call went through. He held the phone to his ear, a glimmer of hope in his eye.
The call went to voicemail. He cursed silently as he listened to Cal’s voice on the message. Looking at his wife, Stokes took a deep breath, then began.
“Son, it’s Dad. I don’t have long. Your Mom and I are on American Airlines Flight 77. Our plane has been hijacked. Travis knows the details. Before I forget, please get word to the granddaughter of Sergeant Nathaniel Glouse. She’s about to become a Hollywood Marine at Boot Camp in San Diego. Her grandpa is on this flight and wanted to let her know that he loves her very much, and not to take shit from anyone.”
He paused to gather his thoughts. His eyes watered as he stared as his sobbing wife.
“Son, most importantly, I wanted to tell you how proud I am of the man you’ve become. You’ll go on to do great things. Just remember what I’ve always taught you. No matter what you do, take care of the people around you. Be fair and loyal. Find a beautiful woman and marry her. Love like there’s no tomorrow. Be passionate about what you do. Don’t ever compromise your integrity. Your mother and I love you more than you will ever know, son. We’ll always be with you. Godspeed.”
He ended the call and embraced his wife. Any semblance of control had left her. She was crying uncontrollably now. The passengers who had caught parts of his message were also weeping.
A hand grabbed Stokes by the shoulder.
He turned around to find Sgt. Glouse waiting.
“It’s time, Colonel.”
Stokes nodded. He gave his wife one more soft kiss.
“I love you,” he said to her, and stroked the side of her face.
Without saying another word, he turned and made his way to the front of the group. His three accomplices were following right behind. Almost reaching the front of the pack, he turned to his fellow Marine.
“Godspeed, Sergeant.” His eyes were sharply determined and full of pride.
“Semper Fi, sir.”
The two men shook hands, and turned to face their enemy.
With a blood-curling battle cry, the two Marines charged.
+++++
The Facts: At 9:37am EST, on September 11th, 2001, American Airline Flight 77 crashed into the western side of the Pentagon. 59 passengers and crew perished in the suicide attack, along with 125 personnel working inside the Pentagon. Their story will never be forgotten.
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Thanks for reading God-Speed, a Corps Justice Short Story. If you liked the story, please take a minute and write a review on Amazon. Also, please consider sharing this book with your friends via email and social media.
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Keep up with the Corps Justice Series at http://www.CorpsJustice.com.
Here are all the books in the series:
Back to War (Book 1)
Council of Patriots (Book 2)
Prime Asset: Episode 1 (Book 3)
Prime Asset: Episode 2 (Book 3)
Prime Asset: Episode 3 (Book 3)
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