Read Online Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC #7) by Scott Hildreth - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Scott Hildreth
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medevac? How many of your officer brothers died, Sir, in your god damned arms? Shit, Sir, how many times have you even fired your fucking weapon?” I interrupted.
The muscles in his jaw loosened, and he stared back at me blankly, remaining silent.
That’s what I thought.
“I’m not sure I can trust an Iraqi girl to…” he began.
I shook my head from side to side. “ My reputation is on the line, Sir, not yours. Radio the Battalion Commander, Sir . Advise him this girl can lead us to the men who murdered the Marine sniper unit. See what he says. If you don’t want to radio him, don’t. We’ll pull out. But be advised, Sir . My daily report will be accurate, truthful, and detailed. And in it, Sir , I will not only detail the girl’s message to the Terp, but mine to you – including your denial of my request to find the men who murdered the six Marine snipers, Sir .”
He inhaled a long slow breath through his nose, studied me, and eventually exhaled through his mouth. My fuck off glare didn’t change one bit.
“Get me a radio in here,” he shouted to the Corporal guarding the door.
He left the room and spoke on the radio in private. Five minutes later, he returned with a whole new attitude. I stood in the corner of the room facing the door, holding the girl’s hand in mine. With her mouth full of candy, and her mother and father waiting for a response from the Battalion Commander, I shifted my eyes to meet the Lieutenant’s.
His face stern and his eyes fierce, he shifted his gaze toward each Marine in the room. “Be advised, we are to protect this family at any and all costs. Staff Sergeant Jacob, advise the family they will not return to these quarters. Search the premises thoroughly and secure the weapons. After the family gathers their personal effects, escort them out the rear of the residence and to the vehicles. Any effort to detain this family is to be met with deadly force. Staff Sergeant Jacob, that little girl is your responsibility.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” I said.
I turned toward the interpreter. “Tell them what he said. Tell them we’ll protect them, and they’ll more than likely be given a new life in the United States. And tell the father I’m sorry for what he’s gone through, but tell him I’m personally going to make sure I make the men who did this to him pay for what they did.”
As the interpreter began to speak, I gazed down at the girl. Her mouth filled with candy and her eyes filled with hope, she listened intently as he explained what we were going to do.
“Tell them that I appreciate their courage,” I said.
As he explained what I said, the little girl squeezed my hand and smiled. I didn’t speak her language, but I didn’t need to. Her eyes told me all I needed to know. She trusted me.
She trusted me because I placed trust in her.
Two days later, using a map we prepared based on the information we received from the little girl, we captured the insurgents responsible for killing the Marines in a raid of their hideout. Two of the insurgents were killed in the mission, one of which was killed for resisting, but only after he admitted to cutting the tongue out of the mouth of the girl’s father. The remainder of the men were detained, interrogated, and eventually sent to a P.O.W. camp.
No Marines were injured and I was offered a promotion based on my intuitive nature, stellar performance in the field, and quick thinking. The promotion would have all but assured me free passage through the remainder of the war without being harmed.
I denied the promotion.
Because real Marines don’t hump desks.
CHAPTER NINE
Fall 2012, Wichita, Kansas, USA
Twelve years after the war started, and only after the last infantry Marines were shipped out of Afghanistan, I returned to the United States. With a chest full of medals and a soul full of pride, I landed at an airport and was met by no one other than a man trying to sell me cell phone
The muscles in his jaw loosened, and he stared back at me blankly, remaining silent.
That’s what I thought.
“I’m not sure I can trust an Iraqi girl to…” he began.
I shook my head from side to side. “ My reputation is on the line, Sir, not yours. Radio the Battalion Commander, Sir . Advise him this girl can lead us to the men who murdered the Marine sniper unit. See what he says. If you don’t want to radio him, don’t. We’ll pull out. But be advised, Sir . My daily report will be accurate, truthful, and detailed. And in it, Sir , I will not only detail the girl’s message to the Terp, but mine to you – including your denial of my request to find the men who murdered the six Marine snipers, Sir .”
He inhaled a long slow breath through his nose, studied me, and eventually exhaled through his mouth. My fuck off glare didn’t change one bit.
“Get me a radio in here,” he shouted to the Corporal guarding the door.
He left the room and spoke on the radio in private. Five minutes later, he returned with a whole new attitude. I stood in the corner of the room facing the door, holding the girl’s hand in mine. With her mouth full of candy, and her mother and father waiting for a response from the Battalion Commander, I shifted my eyes to meet the Lieutenant’s.
His face stern and his eyes fierce, he shifted his gaze toward each Marine in the room. “Be advised, we are to protect this family at any and all costs. Staff Sergeant Jacob, advise the family they will not return to these quarters. Search the premises thoroughly and secure the weapons. After the family gathers their personal effects, escort them out the rear of the residence and to the vehicles. Any effort to detain this family is to be met with deadly force. Staff Sergeant Jacob, that little girl is your responsibility.”
“Aye-aye, Sir,” I said.
I turned toward the interpreter. “Tell them what he said. Tell them we’ll protect them, and they’ll more than likely be given a new life in the United States. And tell the father I’m sorry for what he’s gone through, but tell him I’m personally going to make sure I make the men who did this to him pay for what they did.”
As the interpreter began to speak, I gazed down at the girl. Her mouth filled with candy and her eyes filled with hope, she listened intently as he explained what we were going to do.
“Tell them that I appreciate their courage,” I said.
As he explained what I said, the little girl squeezed my hand and smiled. I didn’t speak her language, but I didn’t need to. Her eyes told me all I needed to know. She trusted me.
She trusted me because I placed trust in her.
Two days later, using a map we prepared based on the information we received from the little girl, we captured the insurgents responsible for killing the Marines in a raid of their hideout. Two of the insurgents were killed in the mission, one of which was killed for resisting, but only after he admitted to cutting the tongue out of the mouth of the girl’s father. The remainder of the men were detained, interrogated, and eventually sent to a P.O.W. camp.
No Marines were injured and I was offered a promotion based on my intuitive nature, stellar performance in the field, and quick thinking. The promotion would have all but assured me free passage through the remainder of the war without being harmed.
I denied the promotion.
Because real Marines don’t hump desks.
CHAPTER NINE
Fall 2012, Wichita, Kansas, USA
Twelve years after the war started, and only after the last infantry Marines were shipped out of Afghanistan, I returned to the United States. With a chest full of medals and a soul full of pride, I landed at an airport and was met by no one other than a man trying to sell me cell phone
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