A good decision is based on knowledge, not on numbers.
—Plato
San Diego, California
The banging on the front door startled him awake. Whoever was on the other end was in need of his attention urgently. Gordon ran downstairs as fast as his feet would take him. He unlocked and flung the door open to find Max standing in front of him sweating and breathing hard.
“What’s going on?” Gordon asked, concerned.
“We had a few people attempt to break into the clubhouse and steal food,” Max said.
“Did you catch them?” Gordon asked. He was now putting his boots on in the foyer.
Still unable to catch his breath, Max answered, “Yeah, we got them.”
Gordon stood up, grabbed his jacket and shoulder holster, and stepped outside.
“You all right?” Gordon asked, looking at Max, who was leaning against the front of the house.
“Yeah, I’ll be all right.”
Gordon looked at Max and thought to himself that he still looked chubby. Even with all the food rationing, Max looked like he wasn’t losing weight. Gordon didn’t give anymore thought to it.
“You ready? Let’s go,” Gordon said.
“Gordon, that’s not it.”
“What do you mean?”
• • •
When Gordon reached the end of the street he saw the flames. The clubhouse was aglow with twenty-foot flames. A dozen people had gathered and were running buckets of water to put out the intensely hot flames shooting out of the clubhouse.
Eric ran up to Gordon and asked, “What the hell?”
Gordon just stared at the clubhouse.
“What happened?” Eric asked again.
“Some assholes broke into the clubhouse to steal food. When they were confronted there was a fight and somehow a lantern was turned over. The place went up in no time.”
“Oh my God,” Eric gasped.
The flames illuminated the sky with an orange glow. More people began to show up; many just stood and watched in horror at what food rations they had go up in flames.
Gordon could see one of his sentries talking to a few people who were sitting on the ground. He knew those must the people who attempted to break in.
He began to march over to the suspects with a defined purpose in his step. When he reached the first one, a middle-aged man, Gordon reached down, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him off the ground. He pushed him against a tree and began to choke him.
“What the fuck were you thinking? Who do you think you are?” Gordon yelled at the man. The man could not defend himself because his hands were tied behind his back.
The man just gargled as he attempted to speak. Gordon pressed the man’s body against the tree with even greater force. Gordon was in a rage. He reached down to grab his pistol but was stopped when Eric came up behind him.
“Gordon, that’s enough!”
Eric’s voice brought Gordon back from his rage. He let go of the man, who then fell to the ground coughing and hacking.
“Who was on post here tonight?”
“Him right there,” Max said, pointing to a man in his twenties who was standing a few feet away.
“Gordon, I’m sorry but—”
“What happened, where were you?” Gordon snapped at him.
“I haven’t been feeling well, like diarrhea, and I wanted to go home to use the bathroom. I thought this would be safe for ten minutes or so,” the man said. He was nervous and ashamed.
“Whatever,” Gordon said looking away, disgusted. He then gave his attention to the four others who had been detained. He didn’t recognize a single person. After years of living in the community and even after having closer contact with his neighbors since the attacks, Gordon still did not know all his neighbors.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked them.
A man in his mid-fifties with white hair answered, “We’re hungry, we have run out of food, and what we’re getting daily from the rations isn’t enough.”
“There’s not enough food at all,” the woman next to him said.
“We’re starving, Gordon, we need more food,” another woman quipped.
“I understand that the food rations are smaller than before, but you just can’t break—”
“I have two children and they are hungry. What do I say to them?” the fourth person, a man, quickly asked, interrupting Gordon.
“Listen, I understand; but this is everyone’s food, not just yours,” Gordon responded pointedly.
“When are we going to get more food?” the first man asked.
“We need more food!” the woman next to the man said with emotion in her voice. She started to cry.
Gordon knew it was futile for him to even have this back and forth. He didn’t know what to do with them, but he knew now he couldn’t trust them.
“Look at what you have done!” Gordon exclaimed, pointing to the remnants of the clubhouse. Gordon knew it was a waste of time to even attempt to put it out, it was a total loss.
“We’re sorry, we didn’t mean for this to happen,” the elderly man said.
“Intentions are nothing. You’ve now left us with nothing except what you have in your own homes!” Gordon screamed at the man. He was so disgusted he couldn’t look at them any longer. He turned around and approached Eric.
“What are we going to do with them?” Eric asked.
“They don’t belong here anymore. They leave tonight.”
Eric nodded.
Overhearing what Gordon had told Eric, the man with two children screamed, “You can’t do that!”
Gordon turned around and answered the man by saying, “Decisions have consequences.” Gordon then turned back to Eric and said, “Make it happen.”
All of the detainees began to cry out and beg not to be thrown out of the community.
Gordon ignored their pleas and walked off.
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
“General, what you’re proposing is treason,” Houston said with a concerned tone.
“I like the president, but I don’t believe killing millions of people without the full knowledge of who attacked us is the correct plan of action. He constantly has emotional outbursts and doesn’t seem to be in command of all his faculties. I don’t believe he has the moral authority to lead,” Griswald answered with passion.
“I just don’t know,” Houston said. He rested his arms on his legs and put his head in his hands.
“The information we’re getting from the Aussies isn’t conclusive. They’ve been told by one of the terrorists that they were trained in Iran, but they don’t know where the missiles or the nuclear warheads came from.”
“Why won’t you tell the president that intel? You seem worried that he’ll nuke everyone but if you tell him we have evidence it was Iran like you say, then he’ll just respond to them.”
“You’re right, he’ll respond and he’ll kill millions of innocent Iranians.”
“But they just killed millions of our people and even more millions will die. I don’t understand the fucking problem.” Houston was upset with Griswald and frustrated by the conversation.
“That’s just it, he’ll nuke them. Will he just nuke Tehran or will he nuke all the cities? Where will he stop, how big of a nuke? Once we unleash this type of weapon, where will it lead?”
“Are you kidding me right now? That type of weapon has already been unleashed against us. What is your problem with doing something?” Houston shot back.
“There has to be a different way, one that doesn’t up the ante and kill more people,” Griswald said. He was also getting frustrated with the conversation. He was now regretting that he had opened up to Houston about this.
“Gris, I disagree with you one thousand percent. We have an obligation to protect this nation, or what’s left of it. We have a job to do. If our president says jump, we answer, how high?”
“So you are not with me on this?”
“I’m afraid not. Who else follows your line of thinking?”
“I have six others who agree that we need to take more time and look at other options of retaliation, plus they have expressed desire to replace Conner.”
“Well, you can count me out. I cannot go along with this. If we know that Iran was a party to this attack then we need to strike them now and the fact you’re talking about overthrowing President Conner is crazy.” Houston stood up. “This conversation is over.”
“Where are you going?” Griswald asked him as Houston stepped by him to go to the door.
“Gris, I need to inform the president of this situation. You are a good man but you are making a bad decision here,” Houston said, standing next to the door.
Griswald stood up just then and walked up to Houston.
“I’m really sorry to hear that, but I understand. You are a loyal and trustworthy officer.”
“Sorry Gris,” Houston said, then turned around. He reached for the door handle but was stopped by Griswald, who put him in a stranglehold.
Houston attempted to break free of the choke hold, but Griswald’s tall stature and strength prevented it. Griswald took Houston to the floor and began to apply greater pressure to the hold. Houston was kicking and punching but his resistance was futile. Griswald had a solid hold on him.
“I’m really sorry. I truly am,” Griswald said softly to Houston as he applied more pressure.
Houston continued to kick and punch, but his attempts to pry Griswald’s arms from around his neck would not work. The struggle seemed to last forever, but in reality Houston’s body went limp within twenty seconds. Griswald did not relent even after Houston’s body became lifeless. He wanted to ensure that he killed him, not just knocked him out. Griswald held him in this deadly embrace for another thirty seconds before dropping him to the cold hard concrete floor. Griswald checked for a pulse but found nothing. He was now fully committed to his plan to stop the president, even if it meant killing for it.
USS Makin Island, Pacific Ocean
“Hey Tomlinson, come here,” Sebastian called out. He was just finishing his dinner when he saw Tomlinson walk into the mess hall.
Tomlinson nodded and proceeded over to his table.
“So what’s up with this slop,” Tomlinson remarked, tossing his tray onto the table.
“You should feel fortunate that you have something to eat,” Sebastian reminded him.
“Not another pep talk, okay?” Tomlinson quipped back.
“I’m just saying, there are people in our country starving now.”
“Well, they can have this shit,” he said as he pushed food around on his tray with his fork.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Sebastian said, looking around at the other tables to see who was in the mess hall or who might be listening. With the ship having to feed twice as many Marines as usual the mess hall was full and loud.
Looking down at his food in disgust Tomlinson answered, “What about?”
Sebastian leaned in close and whispered, “What do you think about all of this?”
“What do you mean?” he said, looking up at Sebastian
“I mean this whole mutiny thing, now that it’s been a week plus and the raid on DG, all of it. What do you think?”
“I’m cool with it, it makes sense. Let’s get back to Cali and take care of everyone’s family.”
“I was cool with it too until Diego Garcia. I mean, what’s next; we’re going to attack Hawaii? I’m not feeling too comfortable about it all.”
“I trust the colonel, so I’ve got his back. Why you asking, anyway?”
Sebastian looked around again before answering. “As soon as we hit California soil, I’m gone.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t like this anymore. If our country is gone, then I don’t want part of all of this.” Sebastian gestured with his arms, pointing to everything around him.
“You’re fucking crazy, Corporal Van Zandt. I always knew you were,” Tomlinson responded. He shook his head and went back to picking at his food.
“I’m serious, shithead, this isn’t a joke. I’m asking you if you want to come with me.”
“No way, man. If you want to take off and go UA that’s your choice. My family lives back east and I don’t much like them anyways. The Corps is my family, so I won’t be going with you. Hey, I’m not hungry so I’m going to take off,” Tomlinson stood up, grabbed his tray, and left.
Sebastian watched as he walked away. He then caught Gunny looking at him from an adjacent table. Gunny was just staring at him. Sebastian looked at him briefly, nodded, and broke his gaze. He picked up his tray and started to head for the exit when Gunny called out.
“Corporal Van Zandt, you gotta minute?”
“Ah, yeah,” Sebastian answered nervously.
“Sit down, Corporal,” Gunny said, motioning toward the seat across from him.
Sebastian took a seat. “Yes, Gunny?”
“You okay, Corporal?”
“Yeah, Gunny, I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. It looked like you and your spotter were having a lover’s quarrel over there.” Gunny was talking with food in his mouth.
“Ah, no, Gunny, we are five by five, all good.”
“This new mission should make you happy. Now you get to go home and check on your big brother,” Gunny said, taking another fork full of food and stuffing it into his mouth.
“Yes, Gunny, going back to California is exactly what I wanted.”
Gunny stopped chewing and looked at Sebastian. He stared into his eyes. Sebastian forced himself not to look away.
“You sure you’re all right, Corporal?”
Sebastian paused. He wondered if he should open up to Gunny about his reservations about what took place on Diego Garcia and his uneasiness with the direction the new mission might be going.
“Gunny, I’m fine. Just tired.”
Gunny Smith stared again for a few seconds, then said, “Okay, Corporal, that’s all. Go hit the rack and get some shut eye.”
Sebastian said goodbye and got up. His instincts told him Gunny knew something was up. Sebastian walked quickly for the exit, praying that Gunny wouldn’t call him back.
San Diego, California
Dan had gathered all the men from the scavenger teams in the central park. He was excited that Gordon had listened to him and was going to act on it.
As Gordon stood in front of them, he thought that every day he sent them out into harm’s way. This new mission would be different. They needed to have a plan; they needed to train and be prepared for this. He could not risk sending them into this situation unready. He wasn’t dealing with highly trained Marines, he was dealing with attorneys, accountants, shop owners, sales people, realtors; many of them had never picked up a gun before the attacks, much less trained for close-quarters battle.
“Here is the situation. Dan located what appears to be some type of operating base of the Villistas. They have occupied the Lowes on Mira Mesa Boulevard and I-15. Now, we don’t have much more information than that. We know they have cars going in and out. More than likely they have stores of food and other supplies there which we need desperately now. We need this to go well, gentlemen. With what happened last night we need this.”
All eyes and ears were on Gordon. They all knew the gravity of the situation. They weren’t just scavenging; this was to be an assault.
“I know this mission could result in us having armed conflict with these Villistas, and by what we’ve all found on the roads; these people are not nice. However, this is the world we now live in. If we don’t do something soon to find a large cache of food, then our nice little community will soon turn on itself. I’m not ordering you all to go, I am asking. If we conduct this raid there is a chance that some of us will not come back. What I am asking now is for you to think about it. After today’s runs I want us all to meet up again here, and you tell me if you’re in or not. For those that are in, we will begin to train. I will personally go to their location and recon the area. I will not send you into something unless I feel we can accomplish it. Does anyone have any questions?”
Jerrod raised his hand and asked, “If this mission becomes a green light, when do you estimate we’ll go in?”
“I plan on going out there today with three teams to start the recon. I would like to conduct this raid in three days. That should give us enough time to get a feel for the lay of the land and to train. Anyone else have any questions?”
“What happens if we don’t volunteer for this mission?” a member of one of the teams asked.
“Nothing; I don’t want you unless you’re fully committed. I appreciate what you all do now and it’s risky, but what I’m asking now is for you all to become soldiers.”
“You can sign me up for anything. I’m in!” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.
Gordon looked back and saw his good friend Jimmy.
Gordon smiled and responded to Jimmy, “Good, because you and I are going out there today.”
“Well, the truck is fueled up and ready,” Jimmy said. He walked up to Gordon and gave him a big hug.
“Good to see you buddy, really good to see you,” Gordon replied.
“I’m ready to get back in the saddle, as they say.”
“Does anyone else have any questions?” Gordon asked again.
He paused to see if anyone did, but their silence provided the answer he was looking for.
“Okay, good. I need a team to volunteer to go with us,” he said to the group.
Jerrod raised his hand. “Count me and Eric in.”
“Sounds good. Dan you’re coming too, get your team ready. Everyone else, go out there and do your runs today. We’ll meet up afterwards.”
All the men got up and left the room.
Gordon turned to Jimmy and said, “Damn glad to see you.”
“Same here, buddy; sorry I took so long,” Jimmy said.
“No problem at all, you needed the time,” Gordon replied.
“After last night, I thought you could use the help.”
“You’re right. I need you out there with me today.”
“I missed what’s happening,” Jimmy queried.
“I’ll fill you in on the way there.”
Gordon briefed the teams on how the recon would go. He wanted Dan to lead them there. Once on site, he would split the teams up so they could go set up and gather information from all sides of the Villistas location.
With everyone knowing their responsibilities, the three teams headed out. All were nervous but all were equally determined to provide for their people no matter the personal cost to them.
The drive took them south along Interstate 15, which had become a graveyard for cars and a migration route for starving San Diegans. As they approached the exit Gordon could see the smoke plumes coming from the vicinity of the Lowes. He wondered what they were burning.
Dan put his arm out the window and pointed to the exit for Mercy Road. He wanted to approach the Villista hideout carefully. They drove down Mercy Road and took a left onto Black Mountain Road and headed south. As they drew closer he saw more and more Villistas graffiti spray painted on the sides of buildings, houses, and retaining walls. They definitely were in the Villista territory now.
With Dan’s vehicle in the lead, Gordon and Jimmy were second, followed by Eric and Jerrod. They had slowed their speed considerably; to Gordon it felt like they were barely crawling up the hill.
“Why is he going so slow?” Gordon asked, curious as to why they were going unusually slowly.
“I don’t know why, we’re still a good mile from our destination,” Jimmy said to Gordon’s question.
They were slowly weaving around abandoned cars. The smoke plumes were getting closer and closer. Gordon noticed he hadn’t seen anyone walking since they turned onto Black Mountain Road. The whole area made him feel uneasy. Gordon was beginning to have a sense of déjà vu from Fallujah. Up ahead he saw movement; some people were standing on a pedestrian. Gordon leaned forward as if getting a few inches closer to the windshield would help him see better.
“What are they—?” he asked but was interrupted when Dan’s car veered off the road and sped off.
“What the fuck?” Gordon yelled as he watched Dan’s car accelerate down Longridge Road.
When he put his attention back to the people on the bridge he knew then they were Villistas and that they had been led into an ambush.
“Turn around now!” he yelled at Jimmy.
But before Jimmy could make the turn, a rocket-propelled grenade exploded in front of them on the street. The explosion threw asphalt and debris onto the truck. Gordon couldn’t see anything. The shock of the explosion made Jimmy hit the accelerator. Blinded by the blast and smoke, Jimmy jerked the truck hard to the left and hit the median curb.
“Go, go, go!” Gordon yelled.
Gunfire began to rain down on them. Gordon could hear the bings and bangs of the truck being hit. Jimmy hit the accelerator again and jumped the curb. Crossing over to the northbound lane was difficult but they cleared the median. As he made the turn to head north, another rocket hit the bed of the truck. The force of the blast threw Gordon and Jimmy into the dash of the truck.
“It won’t move, the truck won’t move!” Jimmy screamed in anger.
“Get out! We have to make a run for it!” Gordon opened the door and stepped out with his M-4 ready. He placed it in his shoulder as soon as both feet met the pavement, turned, and immediately started to fire upon the people on the bridge.
“Jimmy, let’s fucking go!” Gordon commanded, not looking away from the targets he was engaging.
“My door won’t open!” Jimmy cried out in a panic.
Gunfire was now coming from both sides of the street and the bridge. Gordon managed to get a few shots off before he felt the sharp burning pain in his side.
“Damn it!” he screamed in pain. “They shot me!”
He turned to locate the shooters on his left in the houses but he could not see anyone. All he could hear was the cracking of gunfire and whizzing of bullets as they passed by him.
“Jimmy, come on!”
Jimmy stopped his futile attempt to open the driver’s door and crawled across the bench seat and came out the passenger side. Jimmy had a pistol in his hand and immediately started to shoot at the people on the bridge.
“Where is Jerrod?” Jimmy asked while shooting.
“Go take cover behind the truck!” Gordon commanded, not answering Jimmy’s question.
The slide on Jimmy’s pistol locked to the rear. “Damn it! I’m out of bullets!”
Gordon, using his left hand, reached in his pocket and handed Jimmy another fully loaded magazine. Jimmy took it and reloaded quickly. Gordon had managed, even though wounded, to hit a few of the Villistas. The gunfire was coming from everywhere now; Gordon didn’t know who to engage because there were so many.
“Jimmy, I’ll cover you. Run!”
Jimmy listened this time and started to run north down the street, away from the gunfire.
Gordon saw more men on the bridge. Reinforcements were arriving.
With all the confusion, he had lost track of where Eric and Jerrod had gone. He slowly started to walk backward, still shooting as he went. Feeling the warm blood flowing down his side was not a welcoming sign. The pain was also increasing in intensity. Reaching in his cargo pocket he grabbed another rifle magazine and pulled it out. The second bullet hitting him made him drop it. The impact felt like someone had smacked him with a bat. His left arm went limp.
Gordon started to think to himself, Is this it? Is this how I go out? What about my family?
More determined than before, he tactically transitioned to his pistol. His rifle lay slung to his chest. Taking aim, he managed to shoot a couple more Villistas.
Like the 7th Cavalry, Jerrod and Eric came across the median about twenty feet in front of him. Eric was hanging outside of the car with his rifle taking shots. Jerrod turned the wheel hard left and accelerated just as another rocket came screaming in from the bridge and smashed into Jerrod’s car. The rear of the car exploded, throwing Eric from the car before it flipped over onto its hood.
Gordon could see Jerrod was still in the car. He started to make his way to the car, but bullets rained down around him. Determined, Gordon pressed forward in an attempt to reach Jerrod. As he marched toward Jerrod he emptied his pistol. Gordon thrust the pistol under his armpit and pressed the magazine release. The empty magazine dropped to the ground with a clang. As he reached for another magazine, the third and final impact did its job. The force of the shot took him to the ground. It struck him just below the collar bone.
As he laid on the hard pavement the trauma from the three shots was taking a toll. His vision began to get blurry and vertigo set in. Looking to his left he saw Jerrod; his now dead body was crushed under the weight of the car. Gordon could not see Eric through the heavy black smoke coming from Jerrod’s burning car. The gunfire now seemed distant as his thoughts drifted to his wife Samantha and then to his two children. He thought about how he would miss them, their little laughs, and their sweet and gentle hugs. Gordon tried to move, but the weakness from the blood loss prevented it. Feeling what he called the darkness, he struggled to stay awake. Now the sounds around him seemed to go away. All he could hear was his shallow breathing. More thoughts came of his children. He loved them so much; he longed to be in his family’s arms. He longed to kiss and hold his wife. As his breathing became shallower; the tears began to fall down the sides of his face. Visions of his family without him took over and he knew the darkness was coming. If he could just keep thinking about them, the darkness wouldn’t come. Gordon managed to bring his right arm to his neck. Grabbing the chain he had around it, he pulled the necklace out from underneath his shirt. Attached to the chain was a sterling silver compass. Samantha had given this to him years ago when they were dating. When she gave it to him, she told him that it would always show him the way home. Holding it tightly, he openly cried. Transporting himself there, he could see her like she was then, her long blond hair and pouty lips, the doe eyes and sweet smell. Tears ran down his cheeks as he felt the darkness coming over him. As he slipped away he muttered softly, “I love you.”
Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado
Conner was covered in dripping sweat as he fumbled with his keys to his room. His new routine of running at the gym was paying off; he was leaning up and relieving some stress. While the office of president came with huge responsibilities it offered many luxuries that most did not have anymore. So before each daily run, Conner would say a small prayer acknowledging his gratefulness for his and Julia’s safety.
Passing his bedroom, he saw Julia sitting on the edge of the bed. Her seclusion had become commonplace since the death of their son, but something seemed different. He stopped what he was doing and went into room.
“Hi sweetie, is everything okay?”
She turned to him and said, “Brad, please sit next to me.”
She had a gentleness in her voice that he had not heard in a long time. He missed her and did not hesitate when he heard that long missed tone.
“Of course.”
She grabbed his hand, turned, and faced him.
“Brad, I know we have been through a lot together, I know you personally have a huge responsibility. I love you and respect you. You didn’t choose this but you have stood up and taken charge like the man I know you are. I’m so proud of you. You are a good man, a good husband, and a good father. I know that over the past couple of weeks I’ve been very distant. I hope you forgive me for that. I know that it must have been hard for you, too, and that you haven’t had the chance to truly mourn because you’ve been called upon to lead our country.”
Conner just held his wife’s hand tight and looked at her. The more she talked the more tears started to well up in her eyes. He had wanted to interject his thoughts, but this was the most she had talked to him since Bobby’s death. He let her continue uninterrupted.
“Brad, I know you love me and I know you want the best for me.”
Conner nodded.
“Brad, we are good people, we are good, decent people; we are loving parents, or I should say we were. With everything that has happened, from Bobby’s death to the attacks. We have to start over.”
Julia paused. Tears flowed down her cheeks; she looked down and wiped her cheeks. Conner reached over and placed his hand on her cheek and raised her head so he could look at her.
“I love you too. I have missed you so much. I am so sorry that I couldn’t save our son.”
“Stop, please. I don’t want to revisit that. Bobby’s death wasn’t your fault. Others are to blame and I know you will deal with them in time.”
“I will, I promise you.”
“Brad,” Julia said softly, breaking her gaze again and looking down.
“Yes, sweetheart. What is it?”
“I want us to have another baby,” she said, lifting her head and looking at him.
Conner was shocked; he would have never guessed this is what she had been thinking about. He did not answer. She kept looking at him for an answer, but he kept silent.
“Brad, did you hear me? I want us to try to have another baby.”
“I heard you, Julia. Don’t you think it might be a bit early?”
“No, I don’t. I have thought about this for almost two weeks. Our country has suffered a horrible attack, millions will die, our son is dead, and we must rebuild our country. We, more than anyone, should be having babies. We have all the resources to ensure a baby will survive.”
“Julia, sorry to interrupt, but shouldn’t we take some time before we contemplate this?”
“No, Brad. I want to have another baby.” Julia was now getting upset.
Conner decided to be cautious about the next thing he said. He knew how fragile she was and the last thing he wanted was for her to relapse. He thought about the idea. He did love babies and children and they did have the resources.
Julia kept staring at Conner, her eyes red from crying. Looking into her begging eyes, he could not resist her. All he wanted was to make her happy.
“Julia, I agree; let’s have a baby.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
She quickly hugged him tightly. She kissed him on the cheek, then the lips. She pulled away from the kiss to look at him and say, “I love you Brad, thank you.”
“I love you too, Julia.”
She kissed him, again this time more passionately. She stopped only to say, “There’s no better time to start trying then right now.” She reached over and brought him closer to her, they both laid back on the bed.
After saying yes to Julia, Brad felt better about his answer. Having another child would give them a family again. The new baby could never replace Bobby, but Julia deserved to be happy and he would do anything to make her so.
San Diego, California
Nelson ran to the door as fast as his legs could take him. The banging and yelling at the front door portended something of great concern.
He unlocked the door and flung it open to find Jimmy and two people he did not know wearing uniforms carrying a bloodied stretcher. They proceeded into the house without a word and headed straight for the dining table. Nelson thought to himself how convenient no one else was home at the time to witness this.
As he followed the men, he peppered them with questions. No one would answer him. He could not see who was on the stretcher but the fact that Gordon was not carrying it and wasn’t in the room gave him enough info to guess that the bloodied person on the stretcher was his good friend.
“Jimmy, what happened?” he asked.
“We were ambushed.”
Once the three made it to the dining room, they pushed everything off the table onto the floor and placed the stretcher on the table.
Nelson rushed to Gordon’s side and immediately placed his hand on his neck to confirm if he was still alive. Finding a faint pulse, he began to do what came normal for him as an EMT.
“Does anyone know how many times he was shot?” Nelson asked.
“No, it was so loud and so many bullets were whizzing by. I wasn’t focused on him. I’m sorry,” Jimmy said. The other two did not say a word; they just stood there staring at Nelson.
Nelson saw the wound in Gordon’s left arm. He then ripped open Gordon’s shirt and saw the wound in his upper chest.
“Go get me some fresh bandages!” Nelson commanded.
“Where?” Jimmy asked.
“Just go into the kitchen and get me a clean towel. Don’t grab the ones on the counter.”
Jimmy rushed off.
“It’s going to be okay, my friend,” Nelson said to Gordon.
Nelson rolled Gordon over onto his side to see if the bullet had exited. He was pleased to find that it had.
Needing to thoroughly examine Gordon, Nelson ordered the two men to help him strip Gordon of his boots and other clothing.
Fortunately, Nelson located all the wounds. The wound in his chest looked bad but the main issue was the blood loss and potential infection. They could handle the infection with antibiotics, but if he needed blood he would have to find out if someone had Gordon’s blood type.
“Jimmy, do you know Gordon’s blood type?”
“No,” Jimmy answered.
“Here’s the situation. I think these wounds can be mended but Gordon needs blood. We obviously don’t have any in our supplies but we can give him some when we find someone who is a match. We need to do this quickly.”
“What do you want us to do?” Jimmy asked.
“I need you to go find Samantha.”
“Okay, I’m gone,” Jimmy said and raced off.
“You two are like sticks in the mud. I need one of you to go to the clinic and get some antibiotics, bandages, tape, gloves—just bring me a trauma kit.”
“I’d go but I don’t know where the clinic is located,” one of the men answered.
“Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Sergeant Holloway and this is Lance Corporal Fowler. We rescued your men.”
“I’m Nelson. Now whoever is going to make the run, here is how you get to our clinic. Exit the front door, turn right, and go to Calle Cristo. Turn left, and on the right is our large clubhouse—or was our clubhouse. The house two doors down is our clinic. Just tell the guard that I sent you and that the meds and bandages are for Gordon.”
“Okay,” Sergeant Holloway answered. “Lance Corporal Fowler, stay here and do whatever the man asks.” Fowler nodded and replied, “Yes, sergeant.”
Holloway took off at top speed.
“What can I do?” Fowler asked.
“You can help by telling me what happened,” Nelson said.
“We were on patrol to the west when we heard the gunfire. We have been in the area doing reconnaissance on the Villista Cartel.”
“Cartel?” Nelson asked.
“Yes, sir, that is what we’re calling them. They are an offshoot of the Tijuana Cartel that has now crossed over and is operating in San Diego County. We believe they are using the name Villista to help draw support from the local Hispanic community.”
“What’s up with the name ‘Villista,’ by the way?” Nelson asked while he wiped the blood off of Gordon.
“Sir, it—”
Looking up, Nelson said, “Hey, Marine, no need to call me ‘sir,’ okay?”
“Ah, okay. Sorry, just trying to be respectful, Doctor.”
“By the way, I’m not a doctor; I’m a paramedic; that’s all.”
“Ah, okay.”
“So, Villista?”
“Yes, the Villista name comes from the early twentieth century, when Pancho Villa and his revolutionary guard were at war with the United States. We believe that the Tijuana Cartel is taking advantage of the situation and attempting to secure a foothold here.”
“So how did you happen upon Gordon and Jimmy?”
“We heard the gunfight from about a click away. When we arrived, we saw your friend here get shot in the chest and fall. We opened fire on the Villistas with our .50 cal. We took most of them out. Then out of nowhere came the man who was just here and he told us we needed to help his friend here.”
“So you saw no one else?”
“We saw another one of your guys and he was dead, I don’t know who he was.”
Just then, Gordon started to move his head back and forth. Gordon briefly opened his eyes but just as quick as he opened them they were closed.
“Hey, buddy. You’re going to be okay,” Nelson calmly said to him.
Gordon just nodded slowly and attempted to say something but his voice was unintelligible.
“You have nothing to worry about, I haven’t started drinking yet,” Nelson said with a grin. Nelson’s humor and cool temperament were always available, no matter the situation.
The front door burst open, Samantha came running in. Seeing Nelson in the dining room standing over Gordon, she wasted no time and ran to him.
“Oh my God!” she said, grabbing Gordon’s hand.
Gordon opened his eyes and looked at her.
She leaned over and kissed him several times on his face.
“Oh, baby, what happened?” she said caressing his face.
He kept looking at her but the fatigue from the loss of blood made it difficult to stay conscious. His eyes closed again as he slipped back into the darkness.
Nelson interrupted and asked, “Samantha, what is Gordon’s blood type?”
“Ah, what?” she responded with a question. Her focus was on Gordon.
“What is Gordon’s blood type?” he asked again.
“Oh, ah; he’s B positive.”
“Great, thank you.”
Pulling Jimmy aside, he explained the situation. Nelson needed Jimmy to literally go door to door to find someone who had either B positive or O negative blood. There was no time to waste, as the blood loss would eventually kill Gordon.
Jimmy took off.
“Will he make it?” Samantha asked, turning to Nelson.
“Samantha, you’ve known me for a long time and you know I don’t bullshit around when it come to things like this. I feel that he will make it but our window is closing. He’s lost a lot of blood and if we don’t get him some, he will die. Jimmy is out finding someone who is a compatible donor now.”
Samantha was a very emotional woman, and typically something like this would have caused her to start crying, but she needed to be strong. She looked Nelson right in the eyes and told him, “Do what you have to, do not let my husband die. Do you hear me? Do whatever you need to.”
“I will, Samantha, I promise you. I will.”