Tale of Johnny Ray

This is from a book I am currently reading.
This author knows how to grab a reader on the first page.
I love that approach. Never fails to make me want to keep reading.

Shortly after parking on a shaded crest overlooking the forest, the two of them got high, made love, talked, argued, fought, raged, and finally clawed at one another.
Then Donald Dell took his buck knife to the woman who still bore his name, slashed and stabbed her thirty-three times, and kicked her corpse out of his pickup, leaving an Indian-silver clip stuffed with cash and his membership card in the Iron Priests motorcycle club.
A docket-clearing plea bargain landed him in Folsom Prison on a five to ten for second-degree murder.
There he was free to hang out in the yard with his meth-cooking Aryan Brotherhood bunkmates, take an automotive machanics course he could have taught, accrue good behavior brownie points in the chapel, and bench press until his pectorals threatened to explode.

BAD LOVE
JOHNATHAN KELLERMAN

 

Actually from '93, reprinted in '03.
I found it on Amazon. It is a double book. Devil's Waltz(from '94) and Bad Love('93)
806 pages total.
Got some Harlan Coben too.

 

Ant and I were the only newbies taking the ride that day. In this particular direction anyway.
We rode in the cargo bed of the ten wheeled canvas top truck.
We shared the space with supplies and ammunition of all sorts. M-16 and M-60 seemed to be most plentiful, along with some M-79 40mm grenades.
An abundance of C rations reminded us of all the hot meals we would be missing.
Big bags of rice and flour and cannisters of powdered eggs was a sign that some actual cooking took place.
And the bundles of new sandbags was an indication we would be getting plenty of practice with our new entrenching tools. What the Army calls a shovel.
I found it odd that I had no apprehension about taking this ride into the edge of the jungle. No fear of an ambush.
It occured to me that I hadyet to hear a shot fired, not even from off in the distance. I suppose it didn't seem real yet.
It wasn't until much later that I realized we had been carefully isolated from the guys at Long Binh returning from combat.
The ones with the missing limbs and the thousand yard stares.

"Alright boys, welcome to your new home" announced the PFC*as we arrived at our destination after a bumpy, but otherwise uneventful ride.
The PFC also gave us our first combat assignment, which was to unload the truck.
"Don't take it personal fellas" he tells us. "I coulda had yall load it too, but I didn't want to disturb your last hot meal for a while"
Or maybe forever, was the thought that hung in the air unspoken.
"When yall get done, I'll take you over to see top. Pretty sure yall are going to third platoon. They're out on patrol right now.
Due back in a day or two, depending on what they run in to out there"
After stacking the ammunition down in the ammo bunker and taking the other supplies to their respective storage areas we were led to the command center.
SFC*Muro, from Las Cruces NM was filling the First Sergeant position, normally the job of an E-8. Not uncommon in combat for a soldier of lower rank to rise into an open position.
I would later see a buck sergeant*, normally a squad leader, as a platoon sergeant because he was the highest ranking man alive at the time.

"Good afternoon gentlemen. Glad you could make it. We're still shorthanded around here, but every little bit helps.
Putting you two in third platoon, first squad. They were three men short, so just pick yourselves out two open cots in their bunker.
Take the day to get settled in. We have a little hot chow at 1700.
Starting tomorrow you both go on perimeter guard rotation until your guys get back in.
And I don't suppose I need to tell you not to wander off. We got trip wires out there. All kinds of other unfriendly stuff too"

The PFC led us over to our quarters. A basic infantry platoon consists of four squads of seven to ten men each.
The bunkers were squad size, and separated by at least fifty feet.
This was not done in the interest of cozy living arrangements. It was a matter of survival.
A direct hit from a mortar round could take out everybody in the hole.
Best to not put all your eggs in one basket.
The actual hole was about shoulder depth. Walls constructed of sand bags rose an additional four feet or so.
Wooden poles supported the canvas top which kept the rain out, but not much else.
A makeshift floor appeared to be constructed from pallet boards and the dirt walls were lined with more sandbags.
Not much in the way of personal effects but we determined which bunks were unoccupied and began to settle in.
As Ant threw his duffle bag on his cot he grimaced indicating something wasn't quite right with him.
"What's up bud, you OK?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I think so, but I need to find the latrine pretty quick"
"Oh, OK dude. I'll be here when you get back"




*PFC: Private First Class Pay grade E-3
SFC : Sergeant First Class Pay grade E-7
SGT: Sergeant(slang buck sgt) Pay grade E-5

 

Where the heck is that boy I wondered. Reckon he fell in and the hogs ate him.
Ant could have gotten himself snagged up on a work detail. I decided to go see. Wouldn't hurt to familiarize myself with the camp anyway.
I climbed the steep steps out of the bunker and started up the path toward the command center.
Just a few yards into my journey, a fellow stepped neatly into my path, seemingly out of nowhere.
He offered no apology. Just gave me an insolent stare. Almost a dare.
"Where the hell you think you're going plowboy?" he asked with a sneer.
"Just looking for my buddy is all" I answered, making an effort to keep my voice even.
His nametag identified him as Stanley. He was my height, about six feet, and a little lighter.
Something in his eyes disturbed me. A mocking hostility. He had schoolyard bully written all over him.
Like mine, his sleeves bore no rank, meaning, like me, he was fresh out of training, or discipline problems had hindered his promotions. I suspected the latter.
"Oh, you mean your little dago buttbuddy? I haven't seen him. Maybe the slopes got him already" he retorted.
"Ain't no need for all that now. If you will kindly step aside, I'll just be on my way" I told him, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.
I didn't want any trouble, especially on my first day. But I was becoming increasingly wary of this guy.
"Well aren't you just the polite one. All worried about about your buddy. Well let me fill you in on something.
All that crap they fed you in basic about the buddy system don't mean nothing. Need to worry about yourself and nobody else"
Probably because you don't have any buddies flashed in my mind.
Sensing danger, I had begun focusing on his body language, while keeping my arms at my side and remaining calm.
I picked up on a slight dip in his right shoulder. While keeping my head straight ahead ahead, I followed his right arm with my left eye.
His fingertips were dancing around his bayonet handle, which was unstrapped.
His elbow bent slightly and his hand tensed. He never had the chance to draw it.
I gave him a hard shot to the nose with a straight right jab. I didn't hold back much and felt the cartilage crush like a head of lettuce.
I wanted to inflict immediate pain, distracting him from the weapon. It worked nicely, for his next move was a classic mistake.
Obviously untrained, he apparently forgot he was in a fight, for he brought both hands up to his face, in reaction to the pain, leaving himself defenseless.
I stepped in half a step as I landed one right in the old bread basket. I heard a big whoosh of air as he sprayed me with blood from between his splayed fingers.
He doubled over as he bent at the knees. As he began his descent to all fours I slipped the bayonet from it's scabbard and tossed it a few feet behind me, lest he be tempted to resume the battle.
I resisted the temptation to drop kick the rib cage. Would have been too easy. Besides, he was under control now.
The knife landed at the feet of a young sergeant approaching the scene.
He looked at me. Then he looked down at Stanley who was now begining to vomit.
All the sergeant said was "####"

 

"I swear I never saw speed like that, Top" SGT Jones told SFC Muro.
"I talked to him and he says he don't have any time in the ring. Grew up in the country.
That's obvious from the way he talks, but I still say he's had some kind of training. Maybe even martial arts.
He seems like a nice kid. We know Stanley is trying to get a discharge any way he can. I'm sure he provoked Reed.
If he was trying to pull a knife, Reed was certainly justified"
"That may be the case Rufus, but we could still be dealing with assult here. Stanley is a major screwup and probably had it coming.
But we have to be fair about this. I don't see how we can keep this from the captain.
Are you willing to go to bat for Reed? You are the only witness, but it sounds like you really didn't see that much. Did you even hear what was said?"
Rufus Jones grew up in the housing projects on the south side of Chicago.
He understood street justice and he knew what was happening based on body language.
From fifty feet away, he could see Stanley as the would be intimidator. The confrontation, the in your face stance. Right arm close to the bayonet handle.
But no, he didn't actually hear the conversation. And he didn't see Stanley go for the blade.
But he knew, ######. He just knew.

 

The following is from a staff meeting with Captain Anderson, the company commander and SFC Muro and SGT Jones.
Anderson wrestles with following the UCMJ* and doing the right thing for his unit.
Although it remains unspoken by the three men, he is knowingly putting his own career on the line by circumventing the proper channels.


"This is a serious matter gentlemen. Despite PVT Stanley's record, we can't brush aside the fact that that he was assaulted and was lucky to walk away with a broken nose and a stomach ache.
Not to mention a bruised ego. SGT Jones, I respect your judgement in this matter, but the fact remains you have admitted that Stanley didn't swing at Reed.
You have also admitted that you didn't actually see Stanley attempt to pull the bayonet.
Neither did you hear any of the conversation that supposedly took place.
My first impression of PVT Reed is that of a decent, polite young man.
But I have to take in to account the fact that we have known him less than twenty-four hours.
For all we know, he could be psycho nut-case on a mission to get discharged himself.
I don't personally believe that, but I'm thinking like a lawyer.
Things you would hear if this were make it to a court martial.
Gentlemen, that is the last thing I want.
I don't want the hassle, and I don't want to see somebody like Reed get burned by the system on account of some sorryass like Stanley.
From a commanders point of view, I would hate to lose Reed.
I feel he would be an asset in the field. We need men like him behind a rifle, not in a courtroom.
So this is what I'm going to do. SGT Jones, I want you to have a sit down with Stanley. You're his squadleader.
Don't give him a hard time about this. Show some compassion. I know your feelings about this guy, but put on a little show for me.
Ask him if he wants a little medical leave in Long Binh.
He doesn't deserve it, but I want to keep his mind off of filing a statement on this.
Once he's in Long Binh, maybe 1SG Jenkins can get him shuffled off somewhere for me.
Which is exactly what Stanley wants. I hate giving it to him, but ###### if I do and ###### if I don't.
He's not worth dragging Reed through the mud over.
SFC Muro, start drawing up the paperwork and let's see if we can get Stanley on the next courier jeep coming through"


*UCMJ
Uniform code of military justice

 

Ant walked onto the scene a half a minute after SGT Jones did. He accompanied me to the bunker where I was instructed to wait.
And wait. Probably not more than two hours, but felt like a day. Ant tried to reassure me, telling me I had done nothing wrong.
But I wasn't so sure anymore. All this waiting was allowing doubt to set in. Could I have avoided the situation? Maybe I could have. Maybe not.
What the hell. Don't matter now anyway. It's out of my hands now.

SGT Jones finally arrived at the bunker. Alone. Maybe that's a good sign. I was halfway expecting the MPs to show up with handcuffs.
Sensing my apprehension, he immediately sought to put me at ease.
"Relax soldier, it's over" he tells me.
It's over? What's that supposed to mean? I wondered.
Jones sat down on an unoccupied cot and took off his helmet.
"Ok gentlemen, here's the deal. The captain has decided to make this whole thing go away.
As of ten minutes ago, Stanley is no longer in this unit. He is in a jeep on his way to Long Binh as we speak.
The only remaining people in this unit who are aware of this incident are us three, Captain Anderson and top. It has to stay that way.
The commander has his reasons for doing this and I happen to agree with him.
Stanley was bad for the unit and I'm glad he's gone. I don't know how he made it this far without getting weeded out, but it happens.
Maybe the reality of his situation finally set in, and he got desparate.
This is my second trip over here fellas, and I've seen all kinds. Seen a man blow off his own foot to go home.
Didn't intend to. He thought he was just going to shoot off a toe, but his his aim was bad.
No telling what Stanley might have done later on. I know I wasn't comfortable being out on patrol with him.
Don't have to worry about it now, that's for sure. You men have any questions?"
"No questions, but whatever you said on my behalf, I appreciate it sarge" I answered.
"All I did was tell the truth and the captain made his decision. And I have to say I was pretty #### impressed with you too.
Tell me something Reed. Where you learn that stuff? And don't say it was a lucky punch.
I grew up on Halstead Street, Chicago south side, and I know experience when I see it"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you sarge"
"Try me" he said.
As I started telling him about summers on the farm throwing hay bales and boxing in the barn he was openly skeptical.
Like I was trying to snow him with a dumb hillbilly routine.
But as I told him about Jake and his relationship with Roberto Ruiz his expression changed.
By the time I finished, he seemed genuinely impressed.
"Get enough of you country boys over here, I believe we can win this war" he said with a grin as he left the bunker.