The End Page 3

  “Hi, Samantha!”

  “Hi, Sebastian, how are you?” Samantha replied, looking flustered trying to get everything finished. Samantha was a perfectionist and needed everything to look perfect for guests. She stopped for a few seconds to give Sebastian a quick hug and peck on the cheek, though. “Gordon is out in his office finishing up a project. Go ahead on back.”

  “I think I’ll do that”—he looked down to the kids in his arms and raised his eyebrows—“but first I have a couple of monkeys on me that need to see what Uncle Sebastian got them.”

  Both kids squealed, “Presents!”

  He let the kids down and squatted so he could look at them eye to eye, “Go out front and you’ll see two bags on the table out there. The green one is Hunter’s and the pink one is—”

  “Mine!” Haley cried out, already running to the front door. Hunter did not hesitate either and took off.

  Sebastian stood up and approached the kitchen island, “Wow, something smells great! I’m hungry.”

  “I hope you are, we have tons of food and Gordon ran out a bit ago and picked up your favorite tri-tip.”

  “You guys are great, thank you,” Sebastian said, looking at Samantha, happy his brother had found such a wonderful wife. It made him smile when he thought about how much his brother deserved this life, especially after everything he’d been through.

  Samantha had the TV on in the background as she cooked; it was really the only time she could catch up with the news. Her two kids were a full-time job, demanding more than a fair share of her day.

  On the TV, Bill O’Reilly was interviewing the Republican speaker of the house, Brad Conner, and Democratic California representative Shelly Gomez.

  “The president is clearly failing in ensuring our country is safe. Allowing Iran to manufacture nuclear fuel and only slapping their hands will not keep us safe. The Iranian regime cannot be trusted. We need—”

  “—need what, Mr. Speaker, another war?” Representative Gomez shot back.

  “We must keep everything on the table and we need to project strength, not telegraph the fact that he will not use force.”

  “Speaker Conner, you are a proponent of pre-emptive strikes. Do you favor striking Iranian nuclear facilities if we had solid intelligence that they were making nuclear weapons or selling weapons-grade fuel to terrorists?” asked O’Reilly.

  “Bill, Iran is a terrorist state. To answer your question more directly, yes I would.”

  “Ms. Gomez, what say you?” O’Reilly asked quickly.

  “Mr. O’Reilly, we must always keep every option on the table. However, we cannot sidestep diplomacy and we must ensure that we have exhausted all attempts at a peaceful solution.”

  “So you would favor a military strike?” O’Reilly asked her directly.

  “What I am saying is that we should never pigeonhole ourselves into one solution.”

  “It’s a simple yes-or-no question, Ms. Gomez,” O’Reilly shot back.

  “Mr. O’Reilly, diplomacy is more dynamic than a simple yes-or-no answer,” Gomez challenged, looking agitated.

  “I understand that, Ms. Gomez. Let me make the question clearer. If you exhausted all diplomacy and the intelligence stated that Iran would develop a weapon or was prepared to sell weapons-grade fuel to a known terrorist group that would use it as a dirty weapon, or even worse, they were to sell a nuclear weapon, would you support a military strike?”

  “I think you have to define ‘exhausted all diplomacy,’” Rep. Gomez answered.

  “Really? Really? Ms. Gomez, you can’t answer that question?” O’Reilly pushed further, looking a bit disgusted.

  Speaker Conner interrupted. “I can answer the question, Bill. Yes, I would strike them and strike them hard. Bill, Ms. Gomez is aware of the threats, the real threats that our country faces. She is in the briefings, she knows. But what do she and her colleagues do? They vote every time to weaken our defenses or to not fund projects that can harden our defenses.”

  “Mr. Speaker, what is one threat that faces our nation that most Americans are not aware of?” O’Reilly asked, looking to wrap things up.

  “What I fear the most is a rogue nation or terrorist group attacking us with an EMP or an electromagnetic-type weapon. We are not equipped for this; it would destroy our entire power grid. The Iranians, for one, have stated their awareness of this weakness and want to exploit it.”

  “There you go again, Mr. Speaker, spreading fear,” Gomez disdainfully accused.

  “Fear? Ms. Gomez, you have seen the reports regarding this specific threat. Even some in your own party realize the threat and have courageously put forth bills that never made it out of committee. I am now pressing Congressman Markey to put forth the same bill again. I will work hard to ensure the bill at least gets the up or down vote it deserves,” Conner spat back, obviously irritated.

  “Ms. Gomez, you have the last word, please respond to what the Speaker just said.”

  “Mr. O’Reilly, this administration is doing an incredible job at defending our nation. After almost ten years of war, it is time to take care of the homeland by addressing domestic issues. We have everything under control as far as defense. We need to get issues like education and healthcare in the forefront.”

  “Well, I have to leave it there. Ms. Gomez, Speaker Conner, I appreciate your time. Next on the lineup we have retired General McCasey here to talk about the recent terrorist attacks in Paris and London.”

  Samantha grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “Sorry, it’s the only time I can listen to what’s happening. It’s scary out there right now with so many attacks happening overseas, I just feel it’s only a matter of time before it comes here.”

  “Yeah, maybe so; I wouldn’t focus too much on that; I think we’re pretty safe here. As far as the talking heads on TV, I just don’t listen at all. Sounds like a bunch of hot air to me,” Sebastian said.

  “Can I grab you a beer?”

  “I’ll get it, I know where they are. Can I grab you one too?” Sebastian asked, opening the fridge.

  “Why, yes, thank you.”

  “Get one for me too!” Sebastian recognized his brother’s voice. Gordon was grinning ear to ear as he entered the kitchen; he was always thrilled to see his little brother.

  “Gordo!” Sebastian boomed, setting the beers down on the counter. He approached his brother and gave him a big hug. “Great to see you, thanks for the invite.”

  “Of course, little brother. We just wish we saw you more.”

  Gordon turned to Samantha and asked, “Where are the kids?”

  “Outside, playing with the toys Sebastian brought for them.”

  “Tell me what’s up with you?” Gordon asked Sebastian after taking a swig from his beer.

  “I guess I need to ask you that,” Sebastian replied, pointing at Gordon’s fingers. “You know, if it was the ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy that made you leave the Corps, you’re good to go now.”

  “What?” Gordon asked, puzzled for a second by Sebastian’s comments before realizing he still had on the pink fingernail polish from earlier.

  “Kids,” he explained, shrugging off the comment.

  Gordon walked over to the fridge to get the meat for the grill. “Well, Mr. Smartass, how about helping me with this outside?”

  “Roger that.”

  • • •

  “Dinner was great. I’m stuffed,” Sebastian said, leaning back against his chair.

  “I’m glad you liked it. Why don’t I clean up and you boys go enjoy a beer and chat,” Samantha said while stacking plates.

  “Are you sure?” Gordon asked, looking up at her from his chair. Gordon respected Samantha and looked at his relationship and the responsibility of parenting as a true partnership. He never wanted to take her for granted.

  “Yes, I’m sur
e. You boys go be boys. Drink some beers, talk shit, and solve the world’s problems. I can take the kids upstairs to watch a movie.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, baby.”

  “I love you too, sweetie.”

  Sebastian watched their interaction and smiled. When it was time for him to settle down, he wanted exactly what his brother had. Of course that wouldn’t happen for a while since he had another year on his enlistment and life was just too much fun.

  Samantha grabbed the remaining dishes and walked back into the kitchen. The brothers could hear her talking to the kids. After a minute of squealing and cheers from the kids, the house fell silent.

  “Let’s grab those beers and go to the back patio.” Gordon stood up and Sebastian followed him to the fridge before heading outside.

  “Here,” Gordon handed his brother a cold beer and sat down.

  “Thanks. So what you been doing lately?”

  “You know, the usual. Oh, I have been getting to the range more lately.”

  “Good, any new acquisitions?”

  “Yeah, when I was in Idaho I stopped by a gun show and finally bought an M-4 and another Sig.”

  “You were always more of the collector than me, you and Dad were alike that way,” Sebastian commented, then took a drink.

  “So, tell me more about Scout Snipers,” Gordon asked, kicking his feet up on the table.

  “I really want it; I get to try out in a couple of weeks. I’ve been training, so we’ll see.”

  “As long as you’re clear,” Gordon said, looking down at his beer in his hand.

  “What does that mean?” Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Just that.”

  “Listen, don’t project your anger with the Corps onto me,” Sebastian said with a bit of attitude.

  “I’m not projecting anything. I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision. I don’t think you made the right decision by signing up for six years initially. All you had to do was sign up for four, and if you liked it, go for another enlistment,” Gordon admonished.

  Sebastian stared his brother down, frustrated. He loved him so much, but hated when Gordon acted like a parent. He figured that after two combat tours, one in Iraq and another in Afghanistan, his brother would finally treat him with respect. He knew it stemmed from two things, one being that Gordon and Sebastian’s parents had died a few years back. Gordon took it upon himself to fill that role for his much younger brother. The other issue was Gordon’s anger toward the Marine Corps. He felt betrayed after the incident in Fallujah ten years before.

  “Gordo, I know what I’m doing. Scout Snipers are a tight unit, professional and motivated. I wish you would stop second-guessing me. I know you asked me not to join the Marines, but I did. Then you were against me signing for six, but I did that too. I needed to guarantee the job I wanted. You were against me being a TOW gunner and now you’re second-guessing this. I’m a man; I know what I’m doing.” Sebastian sat straight up in his chair and looked his brother directly in the eye.

  “Okay. Okay,” Gordon replied, waving his left hand in the air and rolling his eyes.

  “I’m gonna make a head call.” Sebastian put down his beer and walked inside.

  Gordon rested his head on the back of the chair and looked up at the stars. He thought back to that day in the mosque in Fallujah. In the years immediately after, he’d mentally replayed the incident over and over again. Every time, though, he’d concluded that he’d do it all the same. It frustrated him to no end, the ridicule and hatred he received. The investigation from the NCIS team proved he made the correct decision, but those stories are not interesting and always land on page D9 of the newspaper. Stories of Marines shooting “unarmed and wounded” prisoners, on the other hand, make for headline news and political fodder. He hated the politics most. The entire situation changed how he looked at his country and countrymen. When his time for reenlistment came around, he opted to get out. He could no longer risk his life to defend a country wherein half the citizens either hated him or, only slightly better, thought nothing of him.

  Gordon had joined the Marine Corps right after the attacks on September 11. He dropped out of George Mason University in his third year because he felt it was his generation’s calling to serve, walking away from a full academic scholarship. At the time it felt like the right thing to do, but now things had changed.

  He often questioned why he had sacrificed so much. For what? So people could hate him? So people could take their freedom for granted? For all the lazy asses and all the dumb shits who want to sit around and do nothing? Fuck them, he thought. Never again would he sacrifice himself for anyone but his family and friends. Now his brother was putting himself in harm’s way so those same worthless people could sit back and enjoy their freedoms and abuse their rights.

  Sebastian knew how he felt, but he was never the idealist Gordon once was. Sebastian loved his country, sure, but he was in it more for the adventure. He loved the action. Sebastian felt lucky that people would pay him to blow things up. He never thought much of politics, thinking it was a waste of time. Gordon would love to share his brother’s outlook, but how can our country survive if all we do is look out for ourselves? Ideologically, he was conflicted. Practically, though, until his anger went away, he would not put anyone else before himself or his family.

  Sebastian’s return interrupted Gordon’s train of thought.

  “Here, bro,” Sebastian said, handing over another beer.

  Sitting up and grabbing the beer, Gordon said, “Thank you. Look, I’m sorry if I seemed like I doubted you. I do respect you and I don’t look at you any other way than as a man. You know how I feel about the Corps and everything else. I really don’t want to get into it again. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I know, I know. Listen, I’ll be in good hands. By the way, I forgot to tell you, we just got a new commanding officer,” Sebastian said after drinking some beer. He had a big smile on his face.

  “Who is that?” Gordon was interested.

  “Barone!”

  “Major Barone?” Gordon’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah, but he’s a light bird now.”

  Again, Gordon’s memory flashed back to the time after the Fallujah incident. Major Barone was one of his staunchest defenders. He stood by him while the other brass were ready to offer him up to appease the politicians and media. The press had a field day with the story and was bloodthirsty in its reporting on the shooting. For all intents and purposes, he had been publicly convicted before any investigation had even been completed.

  Comforted by the memory of a loyal friend, Gordon said, “That is great news. He’s a great man. You are definitely in good hands with him.”

  “I knew you’d be happy to hear his name again. I haven’t had the chance to actually meet him, but I hear he loves his snipers. I’m pumped. Now, all I have to do is make the cut.”

  “It really does make me happy that he’s in charge and will be taking you guys back into the mix on your next tour,” Gordon said. He felt relieved that his brother would be in such trustworthy company.

  Gordon was very happy to have that bit of news. Regardless of his brother’s confidence, he would always worry and look after him. Sebastian was his little brother and, as the oldest, he felt a bit responsible for him even if it meant being accused of acting like a parent. Gordon was also concerned because of the increase in terrorist attacks against military installations around the globe. Over the past few months, there had also been an uptick in attacks against civilian targets in Europe. He and Samantha often talked about how strange it was that the terrorists had never attempted those attacks in the United States. With the porous border to the south, he just felt that the U.S. would not always be so lucky. He knew that eventually the terrorists would come back and the next large attack could be so damaging it could bring t
he country to its knees.

  Gordon put aside the thoughts about the harshness of the world and refocused on having a good time with his brother. After a few more beers, some laughs, and a brief trip down memory lane, the brothers said good-bye to one another.

  After walking him to the front door, Gordon gave Sebastian a hug and said, “If you ever need anything, you call me; don’t hesitate. We’re here for you.”

  “I will, Gordo. I love you, brother,” Sebastian always felt bad when he had to leave. He hated good-byes.

  As Sebastian walked down the sidewalk Gordon yelled after him, “Stay frosty, Marine.”

  December 4, 2014

  Fear is pain arising from the anticipation of evil.

  —Aristotle

  San Diego, California

  “This is a CNN News Alert. A series of explosions have gone off in downtown Seattle inside of CenturyLink Field, home of the Seattle Seahawks. The number of casualties is unknown at this moment. We go to our local affiliate, who is reporting from a helicopter above the ballpark.”

  “Oh my God,” Samantha gasped. She placed her hand over her mouth in shock.

  “Mommy, where’s Hunter?” Haley asked.

  “He’s upstairs playing in his room; now please be quiet for a moment,” Samantha said, not looking at Haley.

  “Mommy, Mommy I want juice,” Haley said, tugging on Samantha’s pants.

  “One sec, Haley,” Samantha replied to her daughter.

  “Mommy!” Haley yelled, ignoring her mother’s dismissal.

  “Haley, please honey, one second!” Samantha raised her voice, “Mommy is watching something very, very important.”

  Samantha could not take her eyes off the scenes coming from the television. Columns of smoke were pouring out of the stadium. Sadly, these images were becoming common now.

  Beginning on September 6, there had been ongoing attacks across the country. From car bombs and suicide bombers to gunmen walking into malls, violence had become almost a daily occurrence. From Miami to, now, Seattle, it seemed as though no place in the United States was safe. The president tried to calm the nation the night before with a nationally televised address. He promised he was using every resource available to stop any future attacks.