Grissom's Law

THE LONG RIDE HOME

A Novel By:

DAVE STURGES

Published by Dave Sturges at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2010 Dave Sturges

CHAPTER ONE

Jeb Grissom was a quiet boy, almost a loner. Oh, he had friends, good ones too, but having been raised as an only child on a ranch outside the small town of Grifton, Montana, he enjoyed his time alone, craved it even. Jeb’s parents were both killed in a plane crash when he was eleven and his aunt Clarice, who moved into the old ranch house after the funeral, became his legal guardian.

The ranch of thirteen-hundred plus acres would be Jeb’s when he turned twenty-one, but for now, his Aunt Clarice and Toby, an Indian ranch hand, took care of the place and paid the bills by raising a few cattle. Clarice was nice enough, loving and all, but Jeb never really warmed up to her the way an orphan might to a surrogate mother. He felt more like an obligation to her than a surrogate son. Toby, on the other hand, claimed to be a retired Apache warrior and enthralled Jeb with his stories of the old west and tales of his many acts of bravery in the face of overwhelming odds. Fact is, Toby was only fifteen years older than Jeb but had been a trusted employee of his parents since just after Jeb was born. Jeb and Toby were very close and it was Toby who tried to talk Jeb out of going into the Army.

As a senior in high school, Jeb was a big strong boy at just over six feet and a handsome lad too. He excelled in sports and was a four-year letterman in three of them; wrestling, football and baseball. Academia was certainly not his forte, but he managed to get by. He was certainly bright enough, just lacking motivation or interest. He was more contemplative, reflective, thoughtful and quiet. He shunned the devil-be-damned, hell-raising of his athletic counterparts and, because of this lack of participation in the adolescent wild life, was perceived by most as somewhat of a dark knight. As the usual, unanimous pick for team captain, the other boys obviously respected him but, as with all quiet and serious men, were fearful of the unknown. Girls were drawn to him but most could not cope with the silent uncertainty.

There was one girl though, one who dared to break through that rough exterior in hopes of finding the knight in shining armor that would scoop her up on his trusty steed and gallop off into the sunset, every young girl’s dream. Her name was Jenny Rogers and she was a blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty. They dated heavily throughout Jeb’s senior year and even discussed marriage.

In the fall of 1964, Jeb was drafted into the Army. Jenny was heartbroken, her big wedding plans seemingly dashed. Jeb soon resigned himself to his two year commitment and consoled Jenny by promising to marry her as soon as he was discharged, a big wedding with all the trimmings. On October 23rd, Jenny, Toby and Clarice put Jeb on the Greyhound bus that regularly stopped at Sally’s Café on Main Street. Everybody passed out the hugs, laughed, cried and generally repeated a scene that was happening daily at bus depots across the country. The Vietnam War was in full swing. Families were deeply worried and rightfully so. American losses were climbing as the anti-war sentiment spread like wildfire across the college campuses of America. The protests and marches were on the evening news literally every night.

Nonetheless, Jeb resolved to do his patriotic duty. He didn’t clutter his mind with thoughts concerning America's involvement in an unpopular war. He didn’t worry about the right and the wrong of it and refused to dwell on the danger or the prospect of dying. Young and naïve, he would not be thought a coward nor would he shrink from his duty by running off to Canada. He would approach the Army the same way he approached life in general with energy and enthusiasm, viewing each new turn as an adventure. The Army would be a great new adventure indeed.

On the long bus ride to Fort Ord, CA, Jeb drifted in and out of consciousness imagining what it would be like and how he might excel as he was always want to do. How soon would he win a promotion? Would he eventually see any real action or be stuck behind a desk in some dreary behind-the-lines post? Little did he know that the war would change his life forever just as it had for every reluctant hero who managed to cheat the Grim Reaper and return home alive.

Boot camp was boot camp, painfully degrading, shamelessly inane and absurdly juvenile to any intelligent man. To Jeb, the physical demands were nothing. It hadn’t been long since he’d done two-a-days for spring football practice so he was in great physical shape and could hang with the best of ‘em. When it came time for the boot camp graduation ceremony, Aunt Clarice was too sick to travel but she was more than happy to pay Toby’s freight and Jeb was glad to see him there. The two of them reminisced after the Saturday ceremony, had a nice dinner and Jeb spent the night with Toby on the extra bed in his modest hotel room. The next day, they saw the few sights of Monterey and Jeb dropped Toby at the Monterey airport for his early afternoon flight home.

Monday morning, right after muster, Jeb was called in by the Officer of the Day. He trotted across the green, as the central exercise yard was called, to the Admin Building thinking he was about to get his marching orders. At the Duty Officer’s door, Jeb stood at attention and rapped three times. A gruff voice from behind the door shouted, Enter! Jeb opened the door, marched in a couple of steps, closed the door behind him, marched another three steps, did a right face and, with two additional paces, clicked to attention in front of the desk. Sir, PFC Grissom reporting as ordered, he said.

Stand easy and state your business! was the crisp reply.

Jeb moved his feet farther apart and clasped his hands behind his back, the Army at ease position. Sir, I don’t know my business. Sir, Sarge just said to get my miserable butt over here a-sap. Jeb was surprised and a little perplexed that the man was not aware of his visit.

The officer rummaged through the papers on his desk and eventually looked up, Oh yeah, Colonel James wants to see you. Go on down the hall to the last door on the right.

Sir, yes sir! Jeb replied as he snapped to attention. An abrupt about face, two paces, left face, three more paces and Jeb was out the door and heading down the hallway.

This was all seeming quite ominous to Jeb. What on earth would a Colonel want with me? he mused. What could I have done? What possible sin could I have committed? Reaching the door, Jeb doffed his cap and prepared to execute the same formal entry. He drew himself up at the door, knocked the obligatory three times and, after hearing the word enter from beyond, opened the door and started to go in. Before he could even begin the ritual, the man at the desk said, Grissom, get your ass over here and sit. I’ve got a proposition for you.

Jeb, sensing that any semblance of military protocol had just gone out the window, walked over to the desk and took a seat. He marveled at the man confronting him. He was a monster at over six-foot-six and, Jeb guessed, well over 250 pounds. He was a white man but dark as an Aborigine, sun-baked and crusty-looking. As Jeb took his seat, he couldn’t help himself from uttering the required, Sir, yes sir!

The man at the desk looked up, Forget that crap and listen to me. You have managed, heaven knows how, to achieve the highest score any recruit has ever attained in this boot camp and I am here to make you an offer.

Taken aback, Jeb nevertheless managed to respond, OK, sir, I’m listening,

Well, the US Army would like to offer you immediate admittance into Ranger school at Fort Bragg, NC. Normally, you have to prove yourself in the regular Army, but in wartime the rules seem to change daily. It’s completely voluntary but based on your scores and perceived potential, the Army would like to have you give the Rangers a try right now. What do you say?

Jeb was stunned. He had no idea he had been viewed as anything other than a normal recruit. He’d never even gotten an attaboy let alone any formal recognition, plaque or anything. He was a little confused and really didn’t know how to respond. Maybe they mistook him for some other hot shot. Finally he volunteered, Sir, it sounds like quite an honor but I really don’t know anything about the Rangers. What do they do?

Son, the Rangers are the most elite unit in the military. They are truly a special fighting force. They're highly trained in everything from weapons to counter-intelligence. They can make a bomb from whatever they have and can diffuse the most sophisticated bomb the enemy has. You’ll learn how to exist in any environment for any length of time, how to navigate by the stars and how to operate any weapon ever made. In time of war, which is now of course, the Rangers are the eyes and ears of the regular Army venturing, quite often, behind enemy lines to gather intelligence and guide in air strikes. It takes a special breed of cat to do this job and your superiors seem to think you’re that kind of guy. What do you say?

After a few seconds of reflection, What will it cost me, sir, Jeb posed almost apologetically, what’s the catch? He was sure there had to be some strings attached. He remembered Toby’s admonition, Never volunteer for anything – period! You’ll live longer!

Col. James, leaning forward, immediately responded, practically bellowing, Listen you arrogant little prick! I’ve just offered you one of the most prestigious appointments the Army has to offer and all you can say is, 'What’ll it cost me!' Hell, a lot of soldiers would kill for this opportunity!

Humbled by the unexpected emotional response from the big man, Jeb’s automatic and instinctive reply was a quick, Sir, yes sir!

Leaning back in his chair again, obviously trying to collect himself, the Colonel just stared intently at Jeb while rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Eventually, he began to speak, much more controlled than before, Son, you’re already on the hook for two years and maybe longer at the discretion of the Army. The Ranger school is sixty-one days of intensive training and very expensive. If you don’t wash out, by the end we will have invested a great deal of money in you. So, to get in you’ll have to sign on for an additional two years for a total of four, which you will serve whether you wash out or not. So, I’ll ask you one more time, what do you think?

Not to be intimidated, although he certainly was, Jeb returned the favor and stared back at the Colonel for what seemed like an eternity. Neither man spoke. Finally and with as much bravado as he could summon, How long do I have to decide, sir?

The Colonel, without taking his eyes off Jeb, slowly raised his left arm, pulled the sleeve back with his right hand as if looking at his watch, but not, said, Soldier, I’ll give you thirty more seconds. It’s time to shit or get off the pot.

Jeb felt like he was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. If he didn’t take the offer, there would probably be recriminations of some sort for shunning such a great deal he thought. On the other hand, the additional time would really only be a little over a year he rationalized, since the training lasted almost a year with travel time, leaves and such. And, maybe by then the war would be over and he could just cruise until discharge. In the end, Jeb concluded he really had no choice at all and that his response was somewhat preordained. OK, he muttered almost under his breath.

OK what? countered the Colonel.

OK, sir! Jeb shot back without thinking,

No, you dipstick, I mean is that a ‘yes’? Are you ready to give this a try? the Colonel asked again.

Yes, sir; I guess so, sir. You’ve made it sound so appealing. Jeb was prone to harmless sarcasm, innuendo and, oftentimes, just couldn’t help himself. This was one of those times. When he was in school, his quick wit and dry humor was perceived as an asset but as with many things in life and if used at the wrong time, could be quite costly.

As the Incredible Hulk slowly began to stand, Well then, done! The die is cast. You’ll have your orders as soon as I can get them ready. Your airborne qualification class, Jump School, started today so we gotta hurry. Sorry, but there'll be no trip home for you so, good luck, soldier! One word of advice though, better leave your smart mouth behind! Those Black Hats (what the Ranger instructors were called at Fort Benning) won’t appreciate it one little bit and you won’t like the consequences, trust me. They will smoke your ass! With that, he thrust a huge paw across the desk for an obvious farewell handshake.

Jeb stood up, grabbed and shook the offering, then snapped to attention and delivered the best salute he could manage, given the somewhat uncomfortable circumstances. The Colonel quickly returned the gesture with his own version of a salute that was not very military at all, sloppy, half-hearted. Jeb immediately wheeled around and left.

* * *

In the barracks that afternoon, Jeb laid in his rack, hands behind his head, and stared at the bottom of the upper bunk. My God, what have I done? he thought. Well, no do-over’s in the Army. As the Colonel said, the die was cast and he better get his head around it. As always, Jeb was determined to look at it as a new adventure and attack the challenge with vigor. He would lay there, alone with his thoughts, until he felt good about things, then charge ahead.

Jump School, also at Benning, was three-weeks long and a prerequisite for Ranger School. The Ranger School was based at Fort Benning but consisted of specialized training in three different locations. Phase one, called the Benning Phase, was conducted in Camp Rogers and Camp Darby, both at Fort Benning and was mostly physical assessment. Phase two, the Mountain Phase, was at Camp Merrill near Dahlonega, GA and consisted of mountaineering and reconnaissance. Phase three, the Florida Phase, was at Camp James E. Rudder on Eglin Air Force Base, FL. It was by far the most difficult involving jungle warfare in a rain forest and swamp environment with venomous snakes, other reptiles and biting insects. The failure rate in the arduous sixty-one day program was over fifty-percent.

As Jeb was drifting in that no-man’s land between consciousness and sleep, the reverberating cadence of hard-soled boots on the wooden floor jarred him into awareness. When the neatly pressed pants of the Drill Sergeant came into view through the adjacent bunks, he sprang to his feet, quickly moved to the end of the bunk and snapped to attention, eyes fixed on the far wall. It was instinctive, reactive and strictly according to Army protocol. Evidently, if you look directly at a Drill Sergeant, his head will explode or something equally disgusting will happen. It didn’t make a lot of sense to Jeb, but he wasn’t about to question the wisdom of the Army, especially now.

The Drill Sergeant stopped abruptly when he reached Jeb, thrust out his right hand and said, Here is your orders boy. You ship out in an hour.

Jeb took the package and returned his hand to his side never moving his gaze from the wall, not relaxing a muscle.

Rumor has it, the Sergeant continued, you’re going to Ranger school at Benning.

Sir, yes sir! Jeb answered.

The Sergeant stepped around directly in front of Jeb, stuck his nose right in Jeb’s face and literally shouted, Don’t you disappoint me! Don’t even think about making me look bad, boy! If you fuck this up, I will personally hunt you down and ruin your day! Do you get my drift?

Sir, yes sir! Jeb barked at the far wall.

Then something surprising happened. The Sergeant stepped back, relaxed, stuck out his hand and said, Good luck, son. He almost sounded human but Jeb knew that was impossible. Drill Sergeants are mechanical, or bionic, or satanical creatures of some kind, anything but human. They have no conscience, no compassion, no understanding and little relation to the human species. The Army must search far and wide to find the most heartless bastards they can just to fill the job of Drill Sergeant. Therefore, tentatively Jeb turned his eyes slightly downward looking straight in the face of evil, smiled ever so slightly, shook the man's hand and said simply, Thank you, sir.

The Sergeant nodded, turned and briskly walked toward the barrack’s door. Over his shoulder he shouted, Be down on the green with all your gear and ready to go at exactly 1500 hours! Then he disappeared.

Down on the green with nothing more than his Army issue duffel bag, Jeb waited nervously. He had no idea how he was getting to Fort Benning or what to expect in the way of transportation. He hated the thought of riding a bus all the way from California to Georgia. Soon, an old military jeep rattled up in front of him and stopped. The chipper young driver turned to Jeb and said, Are you Grissom?

Yes I am, Jeb replied.

Well, throw your gear in the back and get your butt in here. I’m your chauffer, the young man said, ending with a grin from ear to ear.

Jeb quickly complied. The young soldier shoved the jeep in gear and off they went. Where are we headed? Jeb yelled over the sound of the wind in the WWII vintage convertible.

I’m delivering you to the airport! was the quick reply.

Then what? asked Jeb almost at the top of his lungs.

Then, my job is done! the driver replied with another big grin.

Jeb folded his arms and sat back, foregoing any more attempts at conversation. So, the adventure begins, he thought. What a day. What a hell-of-a goddamn day!

* * *

It had taken Jeb nearly 24 hours to make the journey from Fort Ord to Fort Benning. The first leg was a helicopter ride from Monterey to Travis Air Force Base approximately forty-miles west of Sacramento, CA. At Travis, Jeb was stuck for over eight hours before catching a Lockheed C-130 Hercules military transport to Lawson Field at Fort Benning via several stops along the way. He had slept little and was running on the adrenalin spurred from embarking on his new adventure.

They arrived at Lawson Field in the early morning hours the following day, Jeb and a hodgepodge of other midnight travelers, all military of varying ranks and all flying under protest. The C-130 is pure transportation with absolutely no amenities and, to the men's dismay, no flight attendants! When they finally disembarked, they grabbed their gear and walked into the terminal single file.

Inside the terminal, one of the flight ops guys directed him to the front door where, when he emerged, he was pleased to find a much newer vehicle waiting for him. It was still a jeep and not a limo befitting his fantasized stature and rank, but nevertheless