Prologue

Ch 1

It was only 8pm in Southern California, but he had already gone to bed for the night. (need to decide on unit/MOS for character, add more narrative to this chapter)

He thought about seeing how many pieces he could break into by throwing it against the wall, and then he thought about how much he paid for it just the other day. Two days old, and it had all the bells and whistles that he would never use. He decided to answer it, if for no other reason than to see who had the balls to call him at that hour. He was hoping for a wrong number so he could vent a little, maybe teach some punk teenager a few new words to impress his friends with.

It was Mark, his brother, and he was obviously lit up like a Christmas tree. Hadn’t spoken to him for about 10 yrs, though they exchanged Christmas cards every year with the fake cheer of relatives that preferred to ignore each other’s existence. “Yo.Andrew! I made it! Forty years old! God damn if‘n that don‘t feel good!!”

“Yeah, that’s nice Mark. You made it as of, oh about 24 hours ago, if my memory is correct. Your present from Afghanistan is the mail, I swear” It wasn’t, and now that he thought about it, he wondered what he could give him and say it was from his recent trip to Afghanistan.

“No man, I mean I made it! I didn’t think I ever would, you know, after Dad, and then Mathew. They both died on their 40th birthday, and I made it!” Loud music could be heard in the background - it sounded like something from an 80’s hair band.

“Uh huh. Ok, that’s great Mark. Look, I’m still out of whack from the flight home and all the disembarkation crap. Why did you call me at (squinting at the dial of the cheap-o alarm clock) damn-near 3am? Refresh my memory if you would please? I think the last time we spoke was when Mathew died - sorry I couldn’t be there for the funeral.” He didn’t mean to sound indifferent, but he really was tired, and not in the mood to talk to someone who was highly intoxicated, even if it was his brother.

“I know, sorry Andy. I’m just a little tanked, and I thought you might be interested in the fact that I’m the first person in our family that hasn’t committed suicide on his 40th birthday.”

“Mom’s still kickin’, and she’s well into her 60’s” he said in an off-hand manner.

“I meant the men you shit-for-brains. Besides, Mom’s been lost ever since Mathew died. Are you still sending her the monthly allowance we agreed on?” Mark was sincerely hoping Andrew had kept up his half of the payments, especially since he had stopped sending their mother money a little more than a year ago.

“Yes, I am. I have it as an auto-deduct from my paycheck twice a month. It’s a wonderful thing, you should try it sometime” he said as a yawn over took the last part of his sentence.

“Auto-deduct? Why would I do that?”

No, not auto-deduct, I meant a steady paycheck. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow after I get up. It’s been a long day, ya’know?”

“Ok Andy. I know it’s late, or early for you, but I just wanted you to know that I made it. Oh, and welcome back”




Gunnery Sergeant Andrew Richter saw the Lance Corporal running towards him, waving. It wasn’t the usual way a Lance Corporal attempted to get the attention of a Marine Gunnery Sergeant, and it irked this veteran of nearly 14 years. With the hot Southern California sun beating down, he removed his hat and swiped the back of his hand across his brow. Gunny Richter straightened to his full 6 foot 4 inch height and squared his considerable shoulders in preparation of the verbal assault he was about to unleash on this Lance Corporal.

“Gunny Richter! Gunny Richter!” came bursting out of the Lance Corporal’s mouth as he skidded to a stop on the loose gravel of the firing range.

“Son, you better have one hell of an excuse for this behavior! What unit are you with?” boomed Gunny Richter.

“Gunny, I’m with Head Quarters Company, and Colonel Davis and Sgt. Major Simchek want to see you in the Colonels office ASAP. I was sent to find you, and make sure you came directly to the office”

“Why? What’s the deal?”

“I don’t know Gunny. I just know the Sgt Major didn’t look happy”

“Alright. I better get cleaned up if I’m gonna be standing tall in front of the Colonel”

“With all due respect Gunny, the Sgt Major said he didn’t care if you were in your skivvies, you were to report directly”

“Shit” He removed his camouflage utility cover and ran his hand through his closely cropped coal black hair. He tried to remember what he might have done since his return to have pissed off both the Colonel and the Sgt Major. He could think of nothing; not even when he was out in town celebrating the units’ return was there any problem. Maybe it was something that happened while in country, probably involving one of his young Marines. They could be a rowdy bunch; Marine Force Recon takes a certain type of individual, and that type tended to be a little boisterous.

“Well, lead the way, Lance Corporal.”

“Aye aye Gunny.”

Upon arriving at the Colonels’ office Gunny Richter knocked on the open door.

“Gunny, come in. At ease - have a seat”

He looked around at those in attendence; there was the Colonel, Sgt Major Brennen, and the base Chaplain, Captain“Aye-aye sir, thank you. May I ask what this is about?”

“Do you have a brother named Karl?”

“Yes sir”

"I was afraid of that. This is for you." The Colonel handed a sheet of paper over, a grim look on his face.

Reaching for it, he immediately noticed it was from the Red Cross, and began with the words "We regret to inform you..." His brother was dead. The letter said it was a self inflicted gun shot wound - he committed suicide. It hit him like a canon shot in the stomach. He felt he was suffocating, and began to slump towards the floor. The Sgt Major and the Chaplain were both there to support him and guide him towards a chair.

"This can't be true - I just spoke to him 2 days ago, and he was fine!"

Looking around the room, the Colonel was aware of the concern on the faces of those watching the usually hard nosed veteran of countless fire-fights, someone who had buried more than a few of his fellow Marines, as he began to weep. "Gunny, I've already authorized leave for you to do what you need to regarding this matter. If two weeks isn't enough, call me and I will authorize as much as you need"

The walk back to his quarters was a blur. He remembered passing a fresh young leutenent and not saluting him. That drew some flustered anger from the shave-tail, but it ended quickly when he saw the look on Gunny's face. The other staff NCO's had gathered in the barracks to offer their condolences. These were the only people he considered family after leaving home shortly after his 18th birthday, yet they could not ease the pain he felt. His mother was the only true family he had left, and she had retreated into her own little world after the death of her oldest child, her favorite. It would be up to him to make sure arrangements were made for his brothers funeral - the new widow certainly wouldn't be able to between bottles of gin.

His brother Karl had married the Prom Queen, a perfect match for the captain of the football team. Ufortunately, they both had reached their life's peak in their high school years. Karl had more than a few run-ins with the law, mostly as a result of bar fights and drunk driving. He worked in contruction when he could. His wife Althea worked in the local beauty salon. She had always thought of herself as a Southern Belle, destined to to marry a successful southern gentleman and sit on the front porch of her plantation home sipping mint juleps. The only thing that actually happened was the part about drinking mint juleps. She had them with lunch, dinner, and after dinner into the wee hours of the morning. It wouldn't be long until they were breakfast fare as well.

Gunny Richter quietly packed for the long flight to Virginia. He would fly out of San Diego with a stop in Denver before arriving at Dulles airport, just outside of Washington, DC. It had been many years since he had been back and he wasn't looking forward to it, especially under these circumstances. He would travel in his Dress Blue "C" uniform, with the khaki shirt and dress blue pants with the red "blood" stripe down the side. As he dressed, he reflected on the ribbons he had earned. There were the campaign ribbons indicating service in Southwest Asia - the first Gulf War, as well as one for service in Afghanistan and the ongoing campaign in Iraq. Others included his "Good Cookie" ribbon with two stars indicating that he had two sets 3-year periods where he had not been busted for anything. If not for a certain incident there would be an additional star. No matter, Chesty Puller had always said that any real Marine gets busted once. At the top of his four rows of ribbons was one indicating he had won the Silver Star.

The Silver Star was won in Operation Desert Storm when he was a Lance Corporal with a Scout/Sniper platoon. At the time he was the observer for a two man sniper team behind enemy lines. The air campaign had begun, but the land forces had not been committed yet. They were discovered by a young Iraqi boy herding goats nearby. They chose not to shoot the boy - he was maybe 9 years old - with full knowledge that he would report what he saw and the Iraqi Army would send troops to investigate. As soon as the boy bolted for his home, they picked up their gear and ran the other way, toward allied lines. They had gone almost 6 miles when they saw two Iraqi 5-ton trucks stop on a road the had to cross, nearly a mile from their position. The forty-plus Iraqi soldiers fanned out and began walking in their direction. Although they had not been spotted, they knew it was only a matter of time before they were. It was a mutual decision to start taking out as many as they could while they still had the advantage of surprise. The sniper, Sgt. Hambrook, opened up on the center of the Iraqi line. His first shot was a hit, but it was low, striking the soldier in the leg. Richter gave corrected windage to Sgt. Hambrook and the next shot took out the second soldier shortly after the sound of the first shot was heard by the Iraqis. By the fourth shot, and fourth Iraqi hit, they had figured out where the snipers were hiding. A mortar was set up while the majority of Iraqi soldiers began to advance in earnest. Some tried to aviod the accurate fire of the Marines and run back to the trucks. Those that did were shot by their own officers. The first mortar rounds landed well short of their position, but they were able to zero in quicker than theMarines had anticipated. They next round landed close enough to throw dirt in their faces. On the third round Sgt. Hambrook was wounded from shrapnel. Richter grabbed the rifle and took over, taking out the mortar team before concentrating his efforts on the advancing Iraqis. He took out a baker's dozen before a lone A-10 Warthog noticed the Iraqi trucks and came down for a straffing run. In one pass the A-10 blew up both trucks and the resulting explosion took out the officers standing nearby. With the officers dead or wounded, the remain Iraqis turned around, eager to get away from the Marines and their deadly fire. For Richter, it wasn't over yet. He still had 20 miles of enemy territory to cover before he reached allied lines. He patched up Sgt. Hambrook as best could and hefted him into a fireman's carry for the long trip home. That had been his "Baptism of fire", the first time he had been in combat. Of the many fire fights he had been a part of since then, that was the one that stood out the most.

He put the memory out of his mind and continued the practiced motion of packing for the two week trip. The memories of his father who committed suicide when Andrew was still a young boy, and his oldest brother Michael, who had committed suicide just a few years ago. And now Mark, who had committed suicide just two days ago. All on their 40th birthday. Andrew Richter's 40th birthday was still 4 years away, but he still wondered what would become of him at 40.

The flight to Dulles International Airport was uneventfull except for an annoying woman sitting next to him on the longest leg of the flight. She had the dubious gift of gab, and continued to try to talk to him even after he put on the cheap head phones to isten to the inflight movie. The movie was rated G, and after 15 minutes he decided that the "G" stood for "Garbage". But it was better than listening to the lady in the center seat talk about what an ass her first husband was, and how demented her second husband was, or how much of a dead-beat her third husband was, etc. She said her name was Sarah, but he didn't volunteer his name - he had no desire to be ex-husband number four. Not that he was at all interested; she was a good 15 years older than he was, and looked closer to 30 yrs older. Even a year in Afghanistan wouldn't make her look pretty.

Arriving at Dulles International Airport, he made it to the car rental area and was able to secure the only available vehicle left after the arrival of the holiday travellers - a nearly new Ford Expedition - not the best vehicle to drive the nearly 70 miles to Front Royal, Virginia but at least it was comfortable. Things had changed in the years since he had been back. No longer was Dulles out in the middle of nowhere; now, housing developments and business parks employing the booming "technology sector" had sprung up like neo-modern monuments to the Almighty Internet, something he could not grasp. At the time, growing up in rural Virginia was not the best place to learn about cutting edge technology.

New highways were one benefit of all the growth in the area and it made the trip go much faster than it had in the past. He opted for the older, slower, and more scenic Highway 55. In just over an hour, he was rolling into town, noticing just how little had changed. Some stores had changed names, but all in all, it was still the same. He stopped in at one of the newer businesses in town - a combination gas station and mini-mart, to top off the gas tank and get something to drink. Going inside to pay (they still weren't equipped with pay-at-the-pump technoloogy), from behind the register he heard "Andy? Is that you?" only it sounded more like "Aiyndee? Is dat-chew?" Sitting there in a dirty Apple Festival t-shirt from some years ago, with suspenders arcing over a considerable beer belly, was his old high school football buddy, Kenny Taliaferro. The years had not been kind to him, or he had not been kind to the years he was given, Andy couldn't tell which.

"Dayum Andy! It's good to see you! What'chu been doin' with yerself all these years? You ain't changed a bit! You playin' football somewhere?" Kenny never was very good at noticing the obvious.

"Well Kenny, let's see. I joined the Marines about a week after graduation, and haven't looked back since."

"Is that what that outfit is? I was wondering about that. So you're what? A general?"

"No, I'm just a lowly Gunnery Sergeant."

"After all these years? When you gonna make general?"

"Probably never, Ken. The highest I can get is Sergeant Major."

"Really? Why's that? Are you in some sort of trouble or somethin'?"

"No Kenny. It's a long story, but in essence, the Generals get all the press, but it's the Gunny's and Sgt. Majors that do all the real work. I like where I'm at, and I plan to stay here." The diploma from American University was proof he could've become an officer many years ago had he accepted the invitation.

Not really listening or understanding, Kenny said "Well, shee-it. Either way, it's damn good to see ya! You in town for the funeral? I heard about your brother, my condolences. Funny thing is that I was talkin' to 'im just the other day and he seemed like he was in such good spirits. Sad to see him go like that. He had just got his 'self a good construction job too."

"Well, I guess things weren't as rosey as he painted them. How was he getting along with his ex-wife? I know there was always trouble with her; either child support or something about the boyfriend of the moment."

"Yeah, he always did have problems with keeping current on the child support. But he always gave what he could, ya know? Trouble was that he had a good job at the time of the divorce, and then lost it cuz she was such a bitch to him afterwards. He'd been working part-time at best the last few years, and it was taking a toll on him; you could see it in his eyes.