Brothers In Blood: For Country

Say What, Uncle Sam?

Kevin McNaughton was never a very social person. he preferred to fight someone or walk away from people then talk to them. he hated large groups, listening to idiots. anti-social. violent. Those words had plagued him since his youth. he left the world to rot on its own, vowing to rise above the idiots who ran the it. If asked his political affiliation, the reply usually sent the inquirer scrambling for some kind of comeback. Fascist.
In high school, while studying World War 2, he had found that most of the pillars of fascism held up his own beliefs. ‘Yeah, my country’s democratic. Its the worst way to be, letting morons vote and decide on the fate of the nation. You put too much power in the hands of idiots. Every great ruler in history rose to that rank by force. I support my country on the grounds that I am a natural-born citizen and this is my homeland. i may not always agree with what happens, but hell, who does?’
His time after the Marines was consumed by the mountains. he designed and built his own house, way up in northern Vermont. Time passed for him like the stream that flowed past his back door. Not trying to control, just letting it go by. The animals in the forest were his companions, the trees his secret-holders. No road led up the mountain, just a lightly trod path that followed the water down. Not many people came to visit him. That was the way he liked it.
A separate barn a quarter mile away housed his workshop and his personal gym. He kept himself fit and strong, just in case the need ever came. He strived to always do better then he had done at any previous point. A short distance up the mountain, was the entrance to his cave. That was where they found him.
heavy timbers propped up the granite ceiling. An acetylene lamp sat on top of a pile of rocks and dirt. The thudding of a pick-ax as it sliced through damp earth could be heard as Mac ripped up the floor, vying for another way to access the springs that ran through the rock. Sparks flew as he struck stone again. he straightened up and wiped his forehead. A grin split the dirty face. ‘Just like the War.’ A stack of crates near the wall broke open under the assault of the ax. High density explosives, leftovers from the old days. The military had hired him to get rid of old munitions and he was more then happy to oblige.
In the hole, he stacked mortar shells, old rockets, 150 mm rounds, and regular blasting gelatin. The grenade in his hand almost felt alive when he pulled the pin. He dropped it in the pit and took off running. “Fire in da hole!”
The blast caught him before he made it to the entrance. Daylight blinded him. His body felt like it was caught up in a giant’s hand, flying through the air. He hit the ground hard, rolling over and over before coming to a gentle stop against a tree, a hundred feet from the cave. Dust and debris floated down around Mac. The goofy grin on his face only got bigger when he heard the splashing. His gamble had paid off, and now he had access to water, straight from the ground!
Brushing himself off, Mac stalked back towards the entrance. His mind drifted back to another cave, another time, years before...
Mac watched the smoke clear from the entrance. Kinky, one of the new recruits, hunched near the dark opening. Inside, darkness swallowed up everything. Mac moved in to the opening when Kinky threw himself at him. “Kinky!”
Mac’s voice was drowned out by the burst of automatic weapon’s fire that came from inside the cave. A bullet grazed his head, another passing through his leg. He grabbed Kinky and pulled him away, but it was too late. kinky was dead. Cut down in the prime of life.
The memories gave way once again to reality. The inside of the cave was still cloudy with dust. And one remaining stick of dynamite that had been blown out by the first blast. Mac stuck his head in, and was thrown out again. Down the hill again, rolling over, laughing all the way. He staggered to his feet and looked down the slope. two men with some kind of government uniforms were standing a dozen yards down the mountain. The goofy grin split his face again. The two men were watching with open mouths as he swaggered in their direction. A few beads in his hair, and he could have been Jack Sparrow.
“What can I do for you gentleman?” He slurred his speech, placing his hands on their shoulders for support. His fingers found the familiar straps for shoulder-holsters. These were big boys. “Something wrong, officers?”
One knocked his hand away. “We’re here on government business, Mister McNaughton.” They were impassive and gave no indication of what they wanted.
Mac immediately straightened up. “If that’s the case, then, let’s go to the house. Nothing around here to see.” Red crept into his cheeks as he led the men through the woods. The bridge across the stream proved too narrow for them. Both slipped and fell into the chilly water. He stifled a laugh as they dragged themselves up the bank, soaked to the bone.
‘Try not to drip on the floors, I just washed them yesterday.’ It was one of those things that rang out from Mac’s body when the two men stumbled in. He motioned them to chairs and saw them glance at one another before they started.
“Are you in your right mind, Mister McNaughton?”
The question hung in the air like a vapor. Their cold, calculating eyes moved over him, searching for something that would tell them if he was really the one they wanted. It made him nervous, tense. tense was good. A knife from the block behind him on the counter seemed to leap to his hand. The other slapped hard on the table in front of them. Cold steel stabbed within fractions of his fingers, digging deep in the wood. Four times. And he wasn’t done yet.
Placing his hands firmly on the ground, he walked his feet up the wall until he was braced upside down between the floor and the ceiling. His hands pressed so hard against the floorboards that they creaked. His knees flexed and his arms straightened. It shoved his body upwards, causing him to curl into a ball and collapse on the floor. He rolled to his feet, retrieved the knife and reinserted it in the block.
“A man with any alcohol in his system can’t do that.” Mac’s face was flushed, his ears glowing from the blood that had rushed to them.
One man pulled a disk out of his jacket. “Do you have a computer, Mister McNaughton?” They headed to the study, a glassed-in room at the top of the house with wires running down the windows to concrete vats of water. “Experimental electrical storage units.” Mac opened a panel in the floor and pulled the monitor from its place. Placing it on the desk, it blinked and whirred as it started up. The screen lit up and the disk drive popped open.
seeing the confused look on his visitor’s faces, Mac explained; “Everything I have is on a disk, backed up dozens of times and hidden in a dozen places. I built this computer to be able to take memory from a regular CD, so it needs a CD to do anything. Give me the disk.”
The drawer shut. A government seal was the background, a box asking for identification. Mac typed his own name, and the program started up. On the left side of the screen, a row of buttons appeared. “Click on Observation Umbrella Noble.” A picture of the United Nations flag appeared, a small box on the side showing a close-up of the image of the North American continent. It zoomed in on the relative position of Washington DC. A small, black crosshair had been woven into the design.
“That crosshair is on every United Nations seal in the world. One of our informants tipped us off to its existence after hearing two foreign dignitaries laughing about it. We have no idea who put it there, but who ever did it must have a lot of power in the UN.”
Mac’s eyes grew hard, “The secretary general?”
“A possibility.” The second agent was on his feet and typing something into the computer. “Our representative in New York have reported nothing out of the ordinary, but we received this from our rep in the California UN.” A torn piece of note-paper with barely legible scrawl.
I’m being followed, I know it. their coming for me. the UN has plans against the united states and it has something to do with the European Union and the Asian Confederation and the new dealings with the South American governments. get someone in here to find out more. When I started asking questions about the deals in South America, I had a meeting with two bruisers I’ve seen in the SG’s office laughing and joking. Something’s wrong, and if you bureaucratic idiots don’t act soon, this nation is in serious trouble.
Hogan
“Less then a week after we received this, Representative Hogan disappeared.”
Mac turned away from the screen. he had known Hogan in the war, one of those guys that you couldn’t help but love. An old bird by military standards, almost like a father to the guys he served with. Tears filled his eyes as he remembered all the good times they had shared. Why do the good guys have to die while the jerks survive?
Fight and fire leaped through his blood when he heard what the agent said next; “Mac, they want you to find out what happened to Hogan and what’s going on in the UN. You’re the best man for the job, and its obvious that you have brains to pull this off. Will you come back and serve your country?”
He swung around, the crazy grin he had when the first blast went off reappeared. Tears still stained his face, the desire for action and for vengeance for Hogan shone bright. “You boys forgetting something, though.”
“What would that be?”
Mac straightened up, stretching towards the sky. “I’m a Marine, one man in a squad. One man don’t make his own record in a squad. If I do this, ride out to war for my country, I ride with m’ boys. I won’t work with no one else, but Jack, Scud, Custer, GD, Flash, Mista D, Whip, and Mean Joe. I won’t work unless those boys go with me. Understand?”
The two agents looked at each other, hesitant. “Well... We really wanted you to work with our team on this...”
His face went red, the Irish temper beginning to burn. “You heard me. I work with m’ boys, no one else.”
“Our team has only the best men and women in it, Mister McNaughton. They are all Army Rangers, trained in the highest martial arts forms, given an education at the best military schools in the world. They are the best, Mister McNaughton.”
“Army men? Give me a break, man. A Marine could do twice the job an army man could do. And educated too? They never seen a fight, never had the lives of men resting on their shoulders. They’ve never seen what can happen when someone makes a mistake and the lives it can cost. You boys came to the wrong man if you think I’m gonna work with a bunch of army men. They belong in tanks, driving across the wastes of war game, not using the machines my boys can handle. You’ve heard my terms, gentleman. I don’t work with Army Rangers and I refuse to be responsible for the lives of women.”
He ushered them out the door. “Let me know when you’ve made your decision.” It slammed behind them.
A few minutes later, they knocked. “Already got an answer?”
One pointed up the mountain where Mac had been blasting. “Mister McNaughton, if you don’t comply with the wishes of the United States Government, we will have to report your activities with surplus explosives in the caves.”
“You boys think I care what you say? I won’t work unless my boys are there with me. Go ahead and blow the whistle on me, but I don’t think you will. You both know I won’t be in that prison very long before I’m free again. I may be a loner, but I still have my fingers everywhere.” he shut the door again.
The agent had barely raises his fist to knock again before the door opened. “If you think you can change my mind with more talk, you’ve got another thing comin’.”
“Mister McNaughton, our orders were to acquire your assistance at all costs, no matter what. We were willing to pay any amount of money, grant any privilege, any position in any branch under the Seal of the United States.” He looked to his partner. “We believe we can bring back your squad, Mister McNaughton. If you will work with them, and you have full confidence in their abilities, then we are authorized to see if they are willing to come back together. However...”
Mac’s finger stabbed the air in front of their faces. “No if ands or buts. You get all the boys, or no deal. No crap about what their doing, I’ve stayed in contact with all of them and they all willing to serve their country to the end again if duty calls. Pride in your country can’t be bought, and neither can the bonds of brotherhood. See this?” He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a scar in the shape of an eagle’s head with lightning under it. “Our blood flows in each other’s veins. In the jungle, after the others left, we swore that we would all make it out alive and would stand together for everything. No matter what. Every time one of the boys got married, he had nine guys standing next to him at the altar. We’ve been there for almost everything that meant anything to one of us.” He racked his shotgun before continuing.
“We’ve had the late nights, waiting for Whip’s kid to be born, sitting in the hospital waiting room. We buried GD’s mother, Whip’s brother, sister, his wife, and his son. When Jack went for cancer treatment, we took turns driving him back and forth from chemo. When D had his accident, we held vigil outside his room for the last four days of his five-day hospital stay. When I fought depression and went suicidal, my boys came and took me out in the desert for a month until I was better. That’s loyalty, gentlemen, and its something nothing can break. I work with them, and no one else.”
They left the mountain, and he returned to the cave, fuming at the ignorance and stubbornness of government people. He got the call late that night. “Hey, Mac, its GD! The boys in blue gave me a call today, boy. man, they say you’re like a rock. You did it, Mac! The boys are comin’ back!”
“Heroes never die, do they, GD?”
“No, Mac. Heroes never die.”
“Been run up every dead end street.”
“Chased down every hill.”
“Try to cut one of us out...”
“You’ll get a kick in the teeth.”
“Fasten up your headbelts, ‘cause its time to ride the sky.”
“Its time to be immortal, ‘cause heroes never die!” They both screamed the last sentence to anyone who could hear.
“Mac, I got a call comin’ in. Just let me see who it is, I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, GD.” The phone went silent, then GD’s voice cut in, along with four others.
“Mac, we got Whip on the line, with Mean Joe, Flash and Mista D!”
He heard the gruff voice of Mista D cut in. “I pity the foo who tries ta take us on dis time. Good hearin’ from ya, Brotha Mac.”
“Good hearing your voice again, D. Keepin’ your chain’s bright?”
“Glimmerin’ like stars, Mac. Got three more since last time saw ya.”
“Hey Mac!” Scud’s smooth, melodic voice edged out Mista D. “This rocks, man. Dude, I never heard anything like this before.”
“Where’d they catch you, Scud? Skim, snow, surf, or skate?”
Scud laughed. “They caught me snowin’ Mac. It’s midnight out here.”
Whip snapped off his two-cents, “You always were sleeping on duty weren’t you?
“Only because he was up all night, winning your dough, Whip. Good to hear your voice.”
“Good to hear yours as well, Mac. Still alive, I see.”
“Yep, the blasting hasn’t killed me yet.”
“...Hello, hello, (hola!) I’m in a place called vertigo..”
“Hey there Flash! Seen those pics from the war on TV. Good stuff, man.”
“Thanks Mac, but you guys are just so awesome to take pictures of. If you hadn’t been doing the stuff, there would have been nothing to take pictures of!”
GD yelled through the din, “Alrighty boys! Saddle up for one last ride! You boys come out ta my stead here in New York, and we’ll all meet there in a coupla’ days! Sound good?”
A chorus of “yep’s” echoed through the phone lines. “And don’t forget the beer, GD.”
“I haven’t touched the stuff since Jennie left, Whip. You boys know that. I’ll see you boys in a few! Bye!” A click ended his voice, and Mac hung up the phone.
He nearly ripped the closet door off its hinges when he started packing. The boys were getting back together! jeans and t-shirts flew to his bed and a khaki duffle bag land on his pillow. Four pairs of clothes were definitely clean, the others iffy. Most of them smelled clean, so he shoved them in the bag. From under the bed, Mac pulled his old trunk. The trunk was going too. They might need it, whatever they were doing.
He didn’t wait for morning, he barely waited until the moon has set before his truck was roaring down the switchbacks. Pebbles pinged off boulders, the side mirrors passing within inches of the rock. In the back, the trunk crashed against the sides, cracking the plastic bed lining. He hit main street in the little town that he supposedly lived in, and rolled down his windows. In the middle of the night, he cranked up his stereo like some teenage punk, and cranked his music. Out through night he roared, tearing down the highway at ninety miles an hour. The stars gave him enough light to see by. No need for headlights tonight.
At dawn, he was crossing the border in to Massachusetts. He paid his toll, then charged down the ramp to find some gas. No attendants were around, so he pulled in, and filled his tank. A car pulled in behind him, clanking like it had loose chains holding it together. A young woman, in her early twenties stepped out, huge circles under her eyes. Inside the car were two kids, two boys that looked just out of diapers. They were fast asleep.
“Mornin’ ma’am.” She didn’t reply, just kept pumping gas, and looking nervously over her shoulder, glancing in every direction. “Mornin’ ma’am. Need some help?”
“Not like its any of your business, mister.” She was tired and nervous. Not a good combination for driving.
“Ma’am,” Mac could sense something was wrong. “Ma’am, who are you runnin’ from? Maybe I can help you out.”
She looked at him. “How can you help me? You don’t look like someone who would offer to help without a price.”
“Ma’am, you’re runnin’ from something. Its none of my business what it is, all i want to do is help you out. That’s all.” He looked at her car. “How far are you planning on going, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“Ohio. Why?”
Mac looked at the car again, walking all around it. “Ma’am-”
“My name is Rachel.”
“Alright, Rachel, I’m gonna sell you my truck. It don’t look like much, but it’ll get you there.”
“I don’t have that kind of money...” Rachel was starting to get back in her car.
“I never said I wanted money, ma’am. I just want your car in trade for my truck. You’re kids will fit, and whoever you’re runnin’ from will never find you. They’ll be lookin’ for the car, not my truck. Looks like its been beat up and a little run down on the outside, nobody‘ll even guess you‘re inside.”
She thought about it for a while. cars started passing by, people entering the rat-race for the day. “mister, you don’t even know me. I can’t let you take my car, its falling apart.”
Mac knelt down, next to her door. “Rachel,” his eyes were soft, “I’m gonna buy your car. Take the truck, i’ll sign it over to you, and it’ll be yours. How does ten thousand dollars sound?”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!”
He smiled and stood up. He opened her trunk and took the luggage out and threw it in the back of the truck. “Rachel, what are you doing in my car? Go get in your truck!”
Tears pooled in her eyes as she woke her children. “Mister, i don’t know who you are, but...”
He filled up the tank on the truck, then filled the gas cans in the back. “Ma’am, the money’s in the glove compartment.” he helped her put the kids in the cab. “I got an Uncle who taught me the importance of helping other people. He also taught me the importance of protecting people who need it.” He stopped and looked her in the face, really looking at her for the first time. Mist clouded his vision. “I knew a woman like you, once, Rachel. It was in the war. I was on guard, and she was a reporter for the Times from one city or another. She hadn’t slept well the night before, and she went out of camp to go clean up. Could barely stand. Didn’t offer to help her, could have cared less. She walked out into the forest, and got caught in one of the enemies traps. She died.”
Mac heard the detonation and ran down the trail. When he rounded the corner, last night’s dinner crawled back up his throat. A pretty girl, nice face, nice hair, nice guts splattered all across the green foliage. One of the crueler traps had gotten her, a wire noose had cut her in half then the mine had blown the pieces to eternity. Her face was still pretty much intact, staring at him like only a dead person can. Mac, all 210 pounds of solid man, felt his knees give way as those empty eye lids accused him.
Tears filled his eyes. “Never really got over that.” He shut the door to the truck and handed her the keys. “Now, any chance I get, I make an effort to help people. You’ll forget me, Rachel, I know it. It don’t matter one bit, what happens now, but you’re safe from whoever’s chasing you. Just happy to know that i made a difference.” He switched the license plates, and signed over the truck to her. He smeared mud on the license plate so it would match the truck.
She started to cry, and waited until he had pulled his trunk and the bag out of the bed. “Mister, I don’t even know your name? How can I ever thank you?”
He handed her a slip of paper. “Rachel, just let me know when you get where you’re going. That’s all I need.”
“But what’s your name?”
“My name is Kevin McNaughton. My friends call me Mac.” He grinned, “You can call me Mac, and let me know if you ever need help. My uncle left me a huge amount of money, and he’d be proud if the money went to a good cause. See you around, Rachel!” He walked away, and she drove off, yelling ‘thank you’ until the truck turned a corner and they couldn’t see each other any more.
Mac squeezed his huge frame into the car, listened to it sag and creak. Her keys were still in the ignition. His gear was in the back, and he could feel the suspension giving out already. “Thanks, Uncle Sam!” he pulled out a credit card from the United States government, the agents had given him. The car started up after the third try, belching smoke. Down the street was a used car dealership. An hour later, he pulled out in an old, black F-350. She was better off with something that he knew was reliable then something new, with no guarantee of quality.
Back onto the highway, he roared down the road, his music blasting. Down through Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, down to New York. The truck tore through the residential streets. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping his eyes open. A quick stop at a gas station and a few cans of Monster energy drink rocketed him awake again. He pulled in GD’s driveway and pulled off onto the lawn so the rest of the boys could park.
GD cracked the front door, and Mac ploughed through. They met in a bear hug, crashing to the floor. Mac rolled off, gasping for breath. They both laughed and took Mac’s stuff to one of the guest rooms. Names were written on the doors, according to the individual tastes. Jack would be Mac’s roommate.
“These rooms have to do,” GD clunked down the hallway, “At least until these boys in Blue tell us what we doing.”
They crashed at the kitchen table and GD whipped up something greasy and filling for breakfast. And they talked. For hours, they talked and laughed, remembering boot camp, the good times from the war, the stupid things they had done since Scud’s kid was born. Then, they heard Mista D coming down the street.
His massive H2, candy apple red, with a pimped-out stereo system vibrated with the Beastie Boys song, “Fight for your Right,” shaking windows with the bass cranked to the max. He swung the massive vehicle into the drive and opened the sunroof. It opened six inches before he pushed it all the way open, and stood up. The shaved sides of his head gleamed like the gold chains that hung around his neck. “’Sup brothas!” His gravely voice could barely be distinguished from the blaring music. he crawled out across the roof and swung to the ground from the roof-rack. “We heya ta whoop up some. Now, wheya da rest o’ da crew?”
GD and Mac just stared at him. During the war, D had always been concerned about keeping his gut from getting out of control, always doing sit-ups and crunches whenever there was a spare moment. He must have let his discipline slip in the past since they saw him last, because now it hung in front of his belt-buckle, for the world to see. They couldn’t help but laugh as he walked over to them.
“You look like a black Santa Clause, D.” GD was shaking, trying not to laugh. Mista D was always compact and explosive, like a stick of dynamite, and the idea of him handing little children toys at Christmas time made them all crack.
Mista D looked down at his protruding stomach and sighed. “Guess all dat good eatin’ finally caught up wid me.” He looked up, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a real dwarf now, boys! I short and now I fat too!” He went back to his car and turned it off.
Whip and Scud came in next, just before midnight. They were dead tired from driving all day, and they collapsed in to their beds and went to Slumberland within a few minutes. The rest of them followed suit. The coming dawn brought them around again, stiff and sore, but ready to fight. The two tackled GD when he came to wake them up. Pillows and feathers flew as Mac joined in. Mista D burst through his door, screaming, “What da Hell goin’ down in dis place?” His complaint was silenced by a goose-down pillow that tried to run down his throat.
Mac grabbed a pillow in each hand and swung them like twin axes. They caught Scud in the knees and the chest, knocking him flat. Mista D went down next, nailed by a GD’s massive throw-pillow. Whip tried to throw the mattress at GD and Mac, but he found out the hard way that water-beds are much heavier than conventional mattresses. he sank to his knees under the barrage from all sides.
“What you boys need is some fireworks.”
The voice came out of no where, followed by the thud of something falling to the ground. “Fire in th’ Hole!”
It was incredible, four grown men diving for the exit, and one, short fat one jumping on the object. Mista D’s face as contorted, waiting for the explosion that would rip him apart. Then, he heard laughing. In the doorway, Joe was bent over, roaring. Tears were streaming out of his eyes as he watched Mista D turn red from embarrassment.
“Joe,” D was roaring too, from an entirely different emotion, “Joe, i’ we wasn’t in GD’s crib right now, I’da ripped ya arms off an’ made ya eat ‘em.” He took a step forward, then looked around him. The laughter was infectious, spreading through everyone in the room. Mista D grinned, then tackled the weakened Joe in a friendly bear-hug. “Good seein’ ya gain, playa.”
Mac picked up the M-80 Joe had thrown in. The fuse was gone, the powder removed and replaced with lead for a more dramatic sound. It was Joe’s style, big show for prep, quiet and efficient when the blast came.
In the living room, the phone rang. Scud picked it up, smiling, then growing deathly serious. “Yeah, Custer. We gotcha.... We’ll be right there... Yep, bye.” He hung up the phone and turned to his companions. “Custer’s in kind of a jam and we gotta go help him out.”