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Chapter 2

United States Army Joint Base Lewis-McChord

South of Seattle, Washington.

Staff Sergeant Dallas Shannon rested his eyes after the march he did earlier that morning. Starting the day at 4am and hiking six miles with full gear and a rucksack was catching up with him. Forty pounds of gear was nothing to laugh at. In high school he might have found the idea of an early morning march with added weight a challenge to test himself. Now in his late twenties he wondered how he ended up on the opposite side of the country at Fort Lewis in Washington State. He had completed two tours in Afghanistan without a scratch. Everyone found that to be a miracle, with mortars and hundreds of rounds flying into the post daily. His Ranger unit had the intended job of going out to the local villages looking for returning Taliban on the border region. The men spent the majority of their time keeping their heads down and out of sight.

Dallas started to doze off as boredom set in. Just like boot camp and going overseas, the hurry up and wait mentality was starting to set in.

The war in Iraq was over and nobody thought about the boys being sent to Afghanistan for a forgotten war and forgotten terrorist attack. A middle school student during 9-11, Dallas entered military service after high school not because of the memories he had of that day, but for something else, a college education. While he came from a middle class family, their income wasn’t secure since they owned and operated local fitness gyms. While the so-called heath care industry was booming in the form of hospitals and quackery medical institutions, fitness centers came and went due to the public’s lack of interest. Every year around New Years and the early spring months, memberships would peak and the family stashed that money away to hold them over for the rest of the year. Early on they picked up on this trend and planned for it every year. Dallas enjoyed bodybuilding and weight training, but he didn’t want his life to be dictated by seasonal fads. He wasn’t sure what he was going to go to school for, but it would be something outside of running the family business.

As a natural athlete, Dallas passed the physical training test with high scores in everything except for cardio. Being a big guy, his muscle mass burned more oxygen than the normal Joe. After running laps around the track, Dallas was a few seconds away from almost failing the test. While Dallas was being hard on himself there was no comment from the administrators who liked the image of a large muscle-bound meathead in their unit. Dallas was the image of an army of one that the public relations guys could take advantage of over the years.

Not satisfied with the results of his PT test, Dallas took to jogging in the mornings to increase his cardio. Over the years, he had watched other weight lifters die of heart attacks and strokes because they didn’t have a well-rounded workout routine. He understood that their natural gifts might have come from weight lifting. Aside from those psychos who run every day and weigh a buck fifty, who the hell enjoys running? Dallas took the run time of the PT test to be a challenge and made sure to lower that time by minutes and not seconds. His muscle mass shrunk in size and he had more energy throughout the day, not needing naps like he once did. Once he lost a few pounds the special treatment from the officers disappeared and Dallas was left to work towards what he wanted. This was not a concept that was wasted on him. Being a grunt in the Army wasn’t where he wanted to end his military career. Looking into the options he had available, Dallas decided to set his sights on the Ranger Units and made sure to qualify for airborne training.

Once he transferred to another unit, Dallas moved across the country and received his wings. Afterwards, he went to Ranger training and was part of the twenty percent that made it through the program. Ranger training was tough and Dallas knew what to expect. He had done the research and prepared himself mentally for what was ahead. He took his training from bodybuilding and transferred those principles to the life of an Army grunt. With his young age, mental toughness, and natural athletic abilities he was able to work his way into a Ranger Unit and was shipped out to Afghanistan shortly after. He knew that was something to expect, but didn’t know the reality of the world they were being left in. The unit was given specific instructions on what they were to accomplish while in the country. However, that all changed when they found out the mountainside base overlooking a valley was the target of multiple daily RPG, mortar, and sniper attacks. The Taliban wanted to be back in power and were relentless in their attempt to take back their country. A book that was brought by one of the guys two years before was being passed around to all of the new guys coming in. In the story of Khe Sanh, the men saw comparisons between the men who were left on top of a mountain in the jungles of Vietnam and the mountains of Afghanistan. Granted the death toll and the open terrain was different, but the isolated location and lack of supplies and equipment were one and the same.

It was only when new commanding officers and reports demanded from Washington arrived at base did the men try to attempt a visit to nearby villages. The translators, many of them being former Taliban, were not trusted by the men. Dallas saw himself in the middle of a few firefights and he felt like he was battling ninjas who would appear, empty the banana clips of their AK-47, and disappear into the mountains never to be seen again. Frustrated with the war, Dallas was happy to be sent back home and learn how to fight a real war unlike the hide and seek he was experiencing firsthand.

Living in Seattle was the opposite of his deployment. Even with the drought that had been plaguing a region known for its heavy rain and wet forest, the green canvas that surrounded him was exactly what he needed after a tour in the dead terrain known as Tora Bora.

Having been raised in the Midwest, Seattle was closer to what he was accustomed to than the rest of the places he had been stationed. The Texas heat was something he never got used to. The men would make fun of him for being named Dallas and hating the city he was named after. Once he started his Ranger training he felt at home.

Lunch was being served in twenty minutes, forcing Dallas off the bunk and dressing for the mess hall. He would eat the poor quality of calories offered by the military and supplement it with his own stash of protein shakes and amino acids he had to hide from the rest of the guys. He did catch one of the men going through his things and quickly made an example of him.

Nick was the kind of guy who thought he was talented, sneaky, and special. Dallas knew that he was none of these things and made sure Nick knew it. Returning to his bunk after a long run Dallas caught Nick at the side of his bed with a handful of fat burning pills and amino acids. To no surprise Nick thought Dallas was sneaking drugs onto the base and wanted his fair share of the stash. Dallas picked the man up, tossed him on the bed and jammed a dozen fat burner pills into the man’s mouth forcing him to swallow.

I ever catch you going through my stuff again I will end you. The look in Dallas’ eyes forced Nick to keep his mouth shut. Dallas’ meaty hand pressed over Nick’s mouth also helped with the silence.

An hour later a sweaty and hyper Nick was seen shaking and jittery. Unable to sleep for two days Nick went to the infirmary where he was first told to suck it up. When his heart rate jumped beyond two-hundred beats per minute while sitting on the cart, the doctor admitted him and he was reprimanded. Nick never said where he had received the pills, instead saying it was his own doing.

The story about Dallas and Nick traveled and there was a new sense of fear and respect for the man some referred to as a dumb ox.

The chow for lunch was leftovers from breakfast, calorie dense pasta, and sugar loaded fruit. Dallas took the meal and added a few cartons of milk. Life on the base was simple and organized, that was something he enjoyed. Little thinking or planning was needed and all he had to do was fill out some forms for approval on classes and the schedule was set. That night he had a class scheduled for reading topographical maps. It wasn’t needed since he had already passed it and studied that at boot camp. Still he signed up since he had trouble reading the damn things and constantly needed a refresher course to keep up on the subject.

Even after a tour in Afghanistan, Dallas was flirting with the idea of making the military his career. His time was coming up for either leaving or re-enlisting. As a Ranger, many expected him to sign up for a few more years. After all, why continue to take classes and move up the ranks if he was simply going to be discharged and go back to civilian life?

Dallas looked into what he would need for a promotion and where his career would take him. If he was going to stay in there was no reason to continue on as an E5 Sergeant.

Back in the states with the wars overseas coming to a close Dallas was stationed outside of Seattle. The men in his unit were tough like him in their own ways. Each had their own disciplines and hobbies to carry them through their daily monotonous routines.

Many of the men thought Dallas was from Texas given his first name and did double takes once they heard him talk with a flawless mid-western accent.

Budd Abbott, from the mountains of Kentucky, spoke with the southern drawl that many expected to hear from Dallas. While he sported a confederate flag tattoo he surprisingly got along well with the African American members of the unit, of which there were few. Jobs like recon and wilderness survival didn’t appeal to the urban raised men who enlisted. Units like Rangers and Seals were left to the good ol’ boys. If one was to ask at random who would like to volunteer to hike thirty miles, wait for three days to see a target, fire one shot, and hike thirty miles back to the landing zone, for fun, the list would be a small batch of white good ol’ boys.

To Dallas’ surprise, Budd was one of the first to welcome him into the new unit. There was always a time for hazing, but seeing the size of their new member the guys backed off leaving the hazing to a barrage of gay jokes and references to Dallas having a small penis that didn’t match the rest of his body. This was not the first time that Dallas had heard such comments. However, they were never from the women he bedded.

Raised in moonshine country, Budd was socially awkward and made comments that were inappropriate all the time. He had a habit of referring to blacks as niggers simply out of habit and not from some kind of racial superiority complex. It was how he was raised. He also had a habit of referring to anybody who wasn’t white to their offensive slang terms created by his backwoods culture. Arabs were sand niggers, dune coons, and camel jockeys. The Asians were referred to as chinks, slant eyes, and gooks. Anybody south of the border was a wet back, while Indians from southeast Asia were rag heads. Budd once confused a Sikh for a rag head. Dallas tried to correct him by explaining that the Sikh was in fact on their side and hated Muslims more than any American could. Budd responded with they all look the same to me.

Racism was common in the military and even the African Americans joined in. The only time they spoke up about it was when comments were made about people of their skin color or when those terms were used on others such as sand niggers and dune coons, partially because of the word they hate, but because it put them in a category with those they also hated.

Clive Cabey was one of the only African American soldiers in the unit. What set him apart from the rest of the unit wasn’t his skin color, but his background as an immigrant. Born in Trinidad, raised in the Bronx and later going to college in the Midwest, Clive was an enigma in the unit. A tall stocky man he looked like any other man in the unit, but when he spoke his voice grabbed the attention of those around him with a deep tone like that of an Austrian. His accent was thick even though he spent most of his life in the United States. Dallas quickly learned that Clive was highly intelligent with three Bachelor’s degrees and was still in school during his spare time working on a fourth.

Why the hell did you join the Army? Free education? Dallas asked at lunch in the mess hall one day.

9-11. I was raised the Bronx. Nobody messes with my home town. It was easy to see where Clive’s loyalty lay. That day was something he would never forget watching it on a television in a dorm room.

What were you going to school for when it happened? Dallas continued on.

I was going to become a priest. Clive answered like it was something normal that people said all the time.

You doing that when you get out?

In the Greek orthodox religion if one kills another human being they cannot become a priest.

So why didn’t you become an officer? You have the education.

I wanted to blow shit up. So far, if I get out now, I can go back and finish seminary school. If get deployed, and I know that I killed someone then that option is off the table. At the moment, I’m good.

Clive was a strange guy, and Budd had no nickname for him since the accent threw him off. Leaving the mountains of Kentucky opened one’s eyes to the rest of the world.

The next man in the unit was Kelly Hu, a second generation Korean who joined the Army to go to college for free, then decided to work towards special forces. Being fluent in Korean set him apart from many recruits who didn’t speak a foreign language. Unlike the rest of the guys, Kelly was married with a child, a son he made sure had a purely masculine name. He hated how his parents gave him a sexually neutral name. Many of the guys would refer to him as the woman in their group or G.I. Jane. Having grown up hearing similar comments from adolescent boys, Kelly learned to brush off the comments and play along with the homo erotic culture that develops when men are packed together for a long time.

Boot camp can be awkward at first. Many of the men who enlist are not used to dozens of men stripping naked and showering next to one another. After a few weeks, dick jokes start to make the rounds and the culture becomes more graphic after that.

Kelly continued to apply for a transfer to special forces and knew that time was running short. The age range for new recruits was coming to an end for him and if he wasn’t selected this time around his dream would never be realized. Who would have thought hitting thirty years of age could end a man’s dreams? The sad thing was that Clive was offered a path into special forces towards the end of boot camp because of his background and education. This left some resentment between Kelly and Clive. One man is offered the job the other sought after so bad, and turns it down.

The other white boy that Dallas was close to was Ben. A natural athlete, Ben was the kind of guy that made it into the Rangers because people suggested it. Ben went with the motions and followed orders without questions, which in turn made him a great soldier. After boot camp an instructor suggested he try out for airborne, which he did simply because it was mentioned. After that, another instructor said he should try out for Ranger school which he did, simply because it was mentioned. He passed through that and waited for the next suggestion to be brought up, having never made any decisions on his own. When Dallas asked him how he ended up in the Army, Ben said my dad suggested it because my parents couldn’t afford college. And so he signed up.

Ben was the stereotypical good ol’ boy who spent his off time hunting and fishing. Although, hunting was out of the picture these days with no personal firearms allowed on base. On occasion he was able to borrow a rifle from some locals that he knew and bagged an elk one year only to take the liver back to base and the rest was processed for a homeless shelter in the area. Many of the guys were surprised by the skill this man had in hunting and he was the only one to actually kill anything outside of the military bigger than a deer.

Kelly had done a tour in Iraq but was stuck doing police style work in Baghdad which pissed him off. When he was sent home he figured he could put it on his resume when he was discharged and possibly get a law enforcement job.

Budd had been a grunt during his tour in Iraq and claimed to have killed dozens of Iraqis during his year and a half overseas. Not many people gave any credibility to these claims. Most of the guys that saw action and ended up killing people didn’t talk about it afterwards. Dallas wondered if Budd felt disappointed in his lack of real service or if he was a rare exception that not only killed people, but was comfortable with talking about it.

Kelly and Dallas became quick friends with Kelly’s desire to join the Special forces. He tried to learn as much as he could from Dallas about weight training and physical fitness. Some photos were found online of Dallas posing for body building competitions and it only fueled the homo erotic jokes. However, if somebody had an issue with passing their PT test they would go to him for advice or training.

Dallas tried to learn how to relax from Ben who never appeared stressed and went with the flow, which was important in a culture that was known to rush people only to wait in the end.

Clive was the go-to guy everyone came to with questions about everything. It was not uncommon for there to be a discussion about philosophy or religion since one of Clive’s degrees was in Theology. Budd referred it as a degree in bullshit and sometimes Clive agreed just to appease him. Later Clive would add that at least he had a degree while Budd lied his way into the Army by never finishing high school. Recruiters were quick to forge the documents in rural areas to keep their numbers high. Hell, most jobs never asked for a high school diploma and simply went by the application they held.

Early in the morning, the members of the 2nd Ranger Battalion stood in formation ready for their morning PT. The morning dew was still in the air and most of the men were half awake, accustomed to performing their usual routine while still half asleep. Moving out of formation into two rows, they started their march through the base for their cardio. The chants and insults bellowed from their bellies as they worked on their 5 km jog. About half way through the air sirens howled through the base.

Don’t think this gets you out of anything. Keep marching, things aren’t over. The Platoon Sergeant stopped as his men jogged past taking in his orders. The sirens never stopped and after a few minutes even the Sergeant became concerned. He never stopped the training though. They finished their jog and started doing their push-ups and sit-ups in the field. While the men were working, a private ran up to the Sergeant that wasn’t part of the unit. He was a desk jockey that the Sergeant recognized from the office.

Sergeant! the private said, standing at attention.

What do you want? The Sergeant gave him the politest greeting he could muster.

The private handed the Sergeant a note from the office. Hand written it stated that the base was on high alert and for all personal to return to their barracks and await further orders.

Alright, Uncle Sam has given you an unscheduled break from PT. You are to return to your barracks and await further orders.

The men broke from their groups and returned to their bunk areas. Rumors started to spread immediately.

Maybe Saddam bombed us, Budd said.

Stupid. Saddam is dead, Kelly responded

No. That’s Osama. Ben tried to correct.

They’re both dead. Get your facts straight. Clive finally corrected them.

If they are both dead who would dare to fuck with us? Budd said, hinting towards his notion of American superiority.

Who said anything about a bomb anyway? Dallas inquired. He hated when people assumed, since assumptions could get people killed. If you want a list of people who hate us just look at the list of our allies and figure out who is not on it.

Kelly came to the center of the room with his cell phone.

See for yourself.

On the screen was a CNN story about Washington D.C. being leveled by a nuclear detonation. The poor image of a mushroom cloud filled half the screen and the story was almost thirty minutes old.

Bullshit, that’s like The Onion or something, Ben said looking at the screen.

It’s CNN. Check Fox News. You know those guys only post the same shit if it’s true. Budd suggested.

Kelly swiped his finger over the screen and brought up the Fox News page. It was the same story.

Holy shit! Ben said.

Before Kelly knew it, hands were fighting over his phone.

Hey. HEY! Hands off. Kelly put his phone in his pants and went back to his bunk.

In the corner of the room, Dallas continued his PT, pumping out pushups and exhaled with every push.

Dallas, what are you doing? Budd said.

Our capital was bombed and you guys are fighting over a phone. I’m preparing for the war that is ahead. He finished his first set of fifty.

WE’RE GOING TO WAR! Budd hollered. All of the men cheered and yelled as the testosterone could be smelled in the room.

Twenty minutes later the men were sitting at their bunks bored.

When are they going to tell us something?

When they need to.

They probably don’t know who did it.

Man this is like 9-11. I bet it was us. Budd said making reference to his 9-11 conspiracy theory.

Shut up with that shit. Clive hated when Budd talked about it.

9-11 was an inside job. I’m telling you.

You don’t really believe that. Kelly stepped in.

Why do you say that?

You still joined. Kelly answered.

To blow shit up.

By prostituting yourself to the man? Face it you don’t believe half the shit you say.

The men of the 75th Ranger Regiment stood at attention in the field waiting to hear what their orders were. The feedback from the speakers rang through their ears as a general took the podium.

Gentlemen, as you may have heard today our country is under attack. We are still waiting for details, what we know so far is that a nuclear device did go off in Washington D.C. We are still waiting to hear who was killed and what the status of our government is. In the meantime, the base will remain on high alert. Leave for base has been canceled until further notice. At this moment realize that we are at war.

The feedback rang over the speakers again as the general left the podium. The men were dismissed and went back to their barracks for further orders.

Chapter 3

One week later

Flying the C-130 cargo plane into Seattle was nothing out of the norm for Garrett. In fact, it was boring compared to some of the things the Army had him doing. Being a pilot, he had seen much of the world from the air, and was able to experience more of the positive things the Army had to offer. He had flown overseas to Germany, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Afghanistan, and in one case Venezuela, but he wasn’t allowed to talk about that one. Usually these trips went off without a hitch but things were different these days. The United States was at war again and while he still took orders, he was curious who they really came from. The military had decided to take a defensive approach to their thinking since it was still unclear as to who had destroyed D.C. The orders came down and Garrett was on a plane flying to Seattle dropping off supplies. He had been here before and while he liked the landscape he didn’t care for the city itself.

The plane was starting its descent and everything was looking good. The humming sound of the flaps lowering was music to his ears. These days the planes flew themselves for the most part. Sure, he had to flip switches and time everything, but even the timing was left to a computer. He was waiting for the day that the plane’s computer would do the takeoff and landing on its own and he would be in the cockpit for nothing more than a formality. The nose of the plane lifted and the horizon moved down in his vision as the plane glided through the air. Everything was looking good.

Without a warning, the lights on the console and motors of the plane stopped working. Garrett sat up from his seat, shifting his thinking from relaxation to total panic. These were the moments he couldn’t panic though. This was the time that his training had to take over.

We lost power, Garrett said over the intercom and radio. The radio wasn’t working and a second later he noticed the intercom wasn’t either. Hello, he said while flipping switches trying to figure out what caused the power to go out.

The plane was starting to change its pitch, the horizon moving higher in view as the nose dropped. The runway was in view, but at this angle the plane was not going to make it. Garrett gripped the controls and pulled back. The plane shook as the flaps shifted and the force of the wind resistance along with the weight of the plane were placed in his hands.

Garrett was a tall thin man. He didn’t look like a star athlete, but he did play basketball in