by Ts Alan
“Attention!” Ryan announced, and raised his hand to salute. Everyone stood, even Marisol and David. J.D. still hated being saluted, but he had accepted it. He returned the salute.
The two Navy Seals were purposely missing from the debriefing. J.D., did not want them privy to the action he was going to take after he debriefed Kermit and his team, but mainly he didn’t trust the two Seals and did not know what their agenda was. For all he knew they could have come to assert their military authority and lay claim to the armory or had come for him. For all concerned, J.D. had them escorted to the Garryowen, a bar on an upper floor, to enjoy the amenities of the club, but instructed two sentries be placed outside the doors. For the safety of everyone in the armory he told the two navy warriors that their weapons would be returned upon their departure from the facility.
“Please, be seated… Pardon our lack of amenities,” J.D. addressed the gathering. “But we’re prepping for final pull out of the city. We’ve only stayed this long in hopes of locating some missing women and children, but we were unsuccessful.”
“How many people have you saved?” Kermit asked.
“One hundred and seven, provided the rest of us get out safely. We’re at a critical point. The trap you fell into was set for Stone. I was hoping he’d come to rescue his right hand man. However there’s nothing left to rescue now.”
“Torture and murder, J.D?” Kermit remarked. “That’s not like you.”
If it had been anyone else that had made the comment, J.D. would have grown angry against the inflammatory words and gone off on a tirade, but he kept his composure and presented Kermit with the brutal truth.
“Well, Chief. You see that man sitting there?” J.D. pointed to Peter. “Barlow had his hand in nearly beating my chief warrant officer to death. They cut out his tongue and threw him in a pit to die. This after being forced to watch his own child being raped and sodomized by Stone. Barlow and his partner Stone have kidnapped at least 23 women and children we know of. So if I have offended your morals or some military code of conduct, then so be it. We do whatever it takes, by whatever measures and methods to find out where the kidnapped survivors are located. If it means torturing a few sick fuckers in the process then that is my burden of command. And for the record—we didn’t kill that sick fuck. He got the same treatment as he gave my chief. Now, Kermit, I suggest you make arrangements to return to wherever you came from. Go back to England. It’s better for all of you. That’s—”
J.D. was abruptly interrupted by his daughter. She burst into the room and ran to Ryan for protection. Chief Wiese was fast on her heels.
“Chief, what is the meaning of this interruption?”
Paul snapped to attention.
“Sorry, sir. But she’s fast… and she kicked me, sir, really hard.”
J.D. addressed Caitlin, the hardness of his previous tone melting away in the presence of his daughter.
“Caitlin. Is this true? Did you assault Chief Wiese?”
She clung to Ryan’s legs as she looked at her father with a sad face.
“Yes, dawd.”
Kermit and company was stunned. However, it wasn’t Caitlin’s odd physical features that prompted baffled looks from them; it was that she had called J.D., “dawd.”
“And why did you do this?”
“Cause Cheep Weez won’t let me see monster.”
“Monster? What monster?”
“The monster over there,” she told him, pointing to Max.
“Caitlin. He’s not a monster. I told you, he’s a dog. His name is Max. Don’t you remember the photo? And the chief is right. You can’t see the dog right now.”
She looked up at Ryan. “Elty. Tell dawd to let me see monster.”
“Honey,” Ryan spoke softly to her, “I can’t tell Dad to let you see the dog. Your dad is the boss. Okay? Now you need to go with Chief Wiese.”
She protested. “Not fair. I want to see monster.”
“Caitlin,” J.D. scolded, in a firm, but not too harsh tone. “Is that the proper way to act in front of guests?”
“No, sir,” she answered her father, sorrowfully.
“Okay. Then tell everyone you’re sorry.”
“I’m sawee,” Caitlin spoke remorsefully.
“Now apologize to the chief for kicking him, and promise you won’t ever do it again.”
“I sawee, Cheep Weez. I won’t again. I promise.”
“Dismissed, Private Nichols,” he told her.
She saluted her father as she and Paul left the room.
J.D. stood up and announced, “Meeting adjourned. Major Duncan will make arrangements for your safe return to your pickup point. Good day.”
“That’s it?” David question. “After all this time, we get a fuck-you-very-much? We don’t even get to tell you why we came back?”
“Mister DiMinni. The reason for your return does not concern me. If you’ve come to rescue me then you’re wasting your time. Give Her Majesty my regards, and tell Master Sergeant McDaniels thanks for such great marksmanship,” J.D. remarked about the man who had shot him on the pier.
Marisol cried out, almost bursting in tears as she spoke, distraught over J.D.’s callous and austere demeanor. “How can you be this way? These are your friends. Don’t you care anymore? How can you treat us this way, after all we’ve meant to each other?”
J.D. snapped, “I’m not that man anymore. There’s nothing here for any of you except death and disappointment.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re lying,” she told him.
Coldly he responded, “Lying? You want to see the real me? You want to see who I’ve become? Then I’ll show you. Major,” he addressed Ryan, “Send in Sergeant Schumacher, and have the prisoner sent for.”
Ryan exited, and then re-entered with Sergeant Schumacher.
“Sir, reporting as requested.”
“At ease, Sergeant.”
J.D. moved to the other end of the room and sat on top of the table at the end where his old friend, Sergeant Drukker, was seated.
“Sergeant,” he addressed Peter Schumacher. “Up until an hour ago I thought your incompetent buffoonery was a deliberate act, one to distract me. But I was wrong. Though your heart is in the right place you truly are an incompetent soldier. And for this I am sorry. You will be missed.”
Peter Schumacher was confused. “Sir?”
“Sergeant Schumacher. I hereby grant you an honorable discharge from the 69th Infantry Regiment. Consider yourself a civilian henceforth. Have a good life, Peter.”
“I’m confused, sir.”
“Undoubtedly. You’re a dentist.”
None of J.D.’s old team understood why he had remarked that he was not the same person as they had once known. Though they had seen a harder side of him earlier, he still maintained his unique sarcastic sense of humor.
“Yes, sir. A damn good one, too, sir.”
“Yes. You’ve proven that. But let me put this to you bluntly. As a warfighter you suck. You’re just not soldier material, and it’s not for a lack of trying. I understand why you volunteered for service, but I should have kicked you back to civilian long ago, so I’m doing it now. So when you leave in the morning you leave as a dentist. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry I was a disappointment to you, sir, but I’m—”
Sergeant Schumacher stopped short in his sentence when he saw his son brought into the room with his arms tied behind his back.
Ryan whispered in J.D.’s ear, and then showed him a small walkie-talkie.
“Sir?” the sergeant asked. “What is going on? Why have you arrested my son?”
J.D explained. “For months command has suspected a spy. That spy, we thought, was you.”
The sergeant was still confused. “What, Colonel? I don’t understand. What does this have to do with P
eter?”
J.D. clarified. “Since January, Stone and his men have caused this armory to suffer unacceptable losses on mission, too many times for it to be random. Nine of our men and women are dead. I knew we had a leak, but I wasn’t sure whom. I thought it was you. That’s why I told you who we were holding captive in the basement. You were the only non-command personnel who knew. Not even the sentries were told who they were guarding. I truly hoped Stone would come for him. That’s why I set a trap outside the armory. But he didn’t… I guess loyalty means nothing to him.”
“Are you saying, sir, that you truly think I’m a spy.”
“Not anymore. Today I found out who the spy is. It’s your son.”
“My son! That’s impossible. Why—why would my son do this? Where is your proof?”
J.D. pulled out the interrogation room audio recorder from his pant leg. He played it for him. In a raspy, pained and hysterical tone Barlow repeated, “Old King Cole, Old King Cole. Merry Old Soul, Merry Old Soul—Hail to the king. The king is coming. The king is coming. Hail to the king, old soul.”
“Colonel, I don’t understand. What do the rants of that man have to do with my son?”
“That was Barlow’s voice. ‘Hail to the King!’ That’s exactly what your son said the day he returned to you. Remember? ‘To a great man. Hail to the king!’ He’s the spy. He’s the betrayer!” J.D. pointed an angry finger at the young lad.
“It can’t be. It just can’t be. You’re mistaken. Barlow, Barlow lied. It’s not true!” Sergeant Schumacher declared, but what his son had toasted that day echoed in his mind.
“It is true.” J.D. said plainly to the elder. “What reason would Barlow have to point the finger in the wrong direction? He wouldn’t even give up Stone, not even to save his own life. I truly thought it was you.”
J.D. now turned to the younger Schumacher.
“Everything pointed to your father. You set him up perfectly. That was until Barlow started his outburst, then it struck me.” J.D. turned from them both and walked back to the table. He unsheathed one of his Gurkha kukri blades that hung over his chair back. He stepped back to the young Schumacher and looked directly at him.
“What I don’t understand,” J.D. spoke, as he glared into the young man’s eyes. “What I don’t understand is why. Why turn on your own father?” He stepped back from the boy. “Little Peter suddenly appearing on our doorstep. The only child to ever escape Stone’s house of horrors. Four months of enduring such torture, but never could tell us from where he escaped. Psychogenic amnesia, isn’t that what the doc said? Brought on by extreme emotional, physical, and psychological trauma. What shit!
Such a happy reunion that day. Remember that day, Peter?” he addressed the boy. “What was it you said that day at the celebration party?” J.D. asked rhetorically, as he held out his hand to Major Duncan. Ryan placed the walkie-talkie in J.D.’s hand.
“You remember. When you raised your glass and made that toast. ‘Thank you all for giving me back my life.’ You raised your glass and toasted, ‘To a great man. Hail to the king!’ Giving your father a big and loving smile. What an odd thing to say I thought. ‘Hail to the king.’ You weren’t saluting your father; you were giving us all warning, weren’t you? All this time, Stone’s little spy.”
“No, no, Colonel. This can’t be true,” Peter Senior pleaded. “There’s got to be a different explanation. Peter—Peter, tell, tell me he’s wrong.”
The boy said nothing as his dad begged for a reason that could satisfy a father’s aching heart.
His father kept pleading, “Peter, please tell him he’s wrong.”
J.D. spoke:
“‘Peter, Peter pumpkin eater
Had a child but couldn’t save it.
Peter learned to talk and tell.
In hopes of sending another to hell.’
Stone’s little poem is clear now. Two Peters. Father and son.”
“It’s your fault, father,” the adolescent child coldly responded. “You let go. You let go of my hand. You let go of my hand.” His voice grew angrier and colder the more he spoke. “You were supposed to protect me! I waited for you to come. I waited for you to save me from those men. The things they did to me! You don’t have any idea. You were supposed to protect me!”
“Forgive me. Please, please forgive me. One minute you were there and the next you were gone. They took you so fast… I couldn’t find you. So, I sought out the place of the light. The place we were headed to. I thought someone could help. I couldn’t save you by myself. I sought out the light. Please forgive me. Please!”
“They did things to me,” the young man began to cry. “They did things to me and I hate you for it. I hate all of you for it. But Edward saved me, protected me from the others; showed me that it was all of your faults. He promised if I helped him, he would punish all of you. Wait ’til he comes. He’ll kill you all! Then I’ll be happy. Happy to see you all die!”
Tears began to flow from Sergeant Schumacher’s eyes. His son had betrayed him.
J.D. held up the object that was in his hand revealing it to everyone in the room. It was a walkie-talkie. He turned back to the boy.
“It was you. That night we went to the fire,” J.D. said. “Your father told me he had an uneasy feeling… You came to see your father off. It wasn’t what you said; it was how you said it—like you knew it would be the last time you’d see him. I’ve been so blind. All these clues and I looked in the wrong direction.”
J.D. handed the walkie-talkie to Peter Senior. “Not one of ours,” he told him. He continued to address senior, confronting him on his cowardice. “That was the night I thought you were the leak. You just disappeared that night. Then later turned up here, not a scratch on you, telling everyone I was dead. You ran. I thought you set me up. But you were right, you were just afraid.”
He drew close to Peter Junior, placed the blade against his jugular, and spoke softly in the youth’s ear; his voice never rising above a fierce, frigid whisper. “Good people died because of you—” And then revealed a secret that only he and Doctor France knew, “My unborn child and woman died because of you. For this, I’m going to gut you alive and hang you on the perimeter fence next to Barlow so your entrails hang around your feet.”
He stepped back, away from his prisoner. “Peter Schumacher Junior. In accordance with the articles of the 69th Infantry Regiment and as the commanding officer, I have it within my power to find you guilty of aiding and abetting the enemy and 13 acts of conspiracy to commit murder. I therefore sentence you to death, to be carried out immediately.”
J.D. turned back to his friends. There was a cold hate in his eyes.
“You will all bear witness,” he told them, pointing the Gurkha to everyone sitting at the table. “You will all see how I deal with traitors.”
“J.D., are you serious?” Sergeant Drukker asked with surprise. You’re not really going to gut him, are you? Chief,” he addressed Kermit. “That’s not right. He should be taken out and shot.”
J.D. turned back to Drukker and gave him an intense glare of contempt.
Kermit did not agree either with the method that he believed the boy’s death sentence was to be carried out, though he did whole-heartedly agree with J.D.’s guilty verdict and death sentence. What J.D. was about to do was not a sanctioned military method of execution—but then again, J.D. did not have to conform to any of the old ways of the military. J.D. Nichols was the commander of these men and they appeared to be loyal to him. Although Kermit disagreed, he was not going to interfere with his authority.
“Stand down, son” he told Drukker, putting a hand to his arm. “It’s not our place.”
However, before J.D. could turn back to the boy to enact his revenge, three shots rang out. Young Peter slumped to the floor, his hands still tied behind him. Schumacher Senior fell to his knees in anguish. His pistol dropped
from his hand, he muttered over his sorrowful tears, “He was my son. The shame is mine. My responsibility to punish.”
A guard rushed in. J.D. returned to his chair and picked up his other weapons and his hat from off the table. He looked at Chief Dunne and ordered, “Take out the trash and secure it to the south gate. I want Stone to see his failure.” J.D. walked to the door without any further acknowledgment to his guests. As he approached the exit, Paul and two other soldiers ran into the room. J.D. spoke softly to Paul. “Escort the sergeant back to his room. He’s honorably discharged. Inform Sergeant Hanson there’ll be one civilian on the convoy.”
J.D. bent over and picked up the hand-held radio that had been dropped. The last word he spoke was, kommen, as he left the room. Max immediately followed him.
There was a moment of silence as the body of Peter’s young son was removed under the direction of Chief Warrant Officer Dunne. When the task had been completed, and all had departed, a burst of outrage erupted.
“Now, son.” Kermit addressed Ryan. “You want tell us what the hell is going on around here?!”
“It’s simple, Chief Brown. We’re at war.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a shit about your internal issues or how you deal with them,” David told Ryan. “But as for the people who helped save your ass, you know, us, you should do us the courtesy of at least explaining how our friend went from being an occasional insensitive jerk to an outright callous asshole, and how he ended upon adopting a transmute daughter.”
Ryan didn’t like his remark about J.D.’s character and let him know so. “I’d be very careful what you say around here, DiMinni,” Ryan warned. “Our commander has a fearless devotion to duty and a great steadfast allegiance to this city. And no one has ever disagreed with his command decisions! He’s earned the respect and praise of the people. We are all loyal to the colonel. He’s personally saved my ass more times than you have. As for that child, that little girl is the commander’s flesh and blood and my godchild.”
