By What is Sure to Follow Read online

  “How come it takes so long?” said Luke, now curious. “When my mom goes to the store it takes...urn...maybe an hour. And that’s if she’s got a lot to do.”

  “Well,” smiled Johan, “because Dad has to catch up on all the latest happenings at the general store–which includes everything from discussing the latest farm prices to examining the new tractors down at Jones Machinery.”

  “I can’t imagine life that simple,” said Luke, sounding slightly sad as he spoke.

  “Heck. Old Jonsey has all the latest tractors, threshers and the like. My dad says you can’t find better anywhere.” Johan was trying to counter Luke’s comment, but somewhere in the words something was lost. “My mom,” he continued without pausing, “spends her time at the general store picking up supplies to last us through the next month, and she also looks over the new fabrics, yarns and stuff for her sewing.”

  Luke was beginning to see that another world existed, one he knew nothing about. A simpler life.

  Johan was silent for a while. He looked far away, Luke thought. It gave Luke time to reflect on what he had heard. Then he spoke. “Sounds real nice back there,” said Luke honestly. “A lot different from the way I grew up, though. I grew up in town. We were always going to the store for something. What did you do, Johan, in town I mean?”

  “Us kids mostly played games with the other kids who came into town. If we were lucky, we would get a soda over at the pharmacy,” Johan said excitedly. Luke noticed Johan’s cheeks had flushed red with excitement. Turning to look at Luke, he admitted, “It’s not nearly as exciting as being in the Marine Corps.” But to Luke it sounded like Johan found it very exciting.

  Luke chuckled and nodded his understanding, but remained otherwise silent, afraid he might say something to insult his friend. Luke couldn’t begin to imagine that kind of life.

  “I joined the Marines,” Johan said, interrupting Luke’s thoughts, “because I liked the uniform and wanted to see the world.” But Luke thought really Johan had joined because his father had been a Marine. Luke nodded as he remembered that Johan had said his dad had fought on Guadalcanal.

  Johan told Luke that the Veteran’s Day parade in Atwood was one of the biggest events of the entire year. “After the real big parade,” he said animatedly, “there’s a barbecue and everyone for miles around comes–maybe 5,000 people show up.” He paused to let the impact of the scene sink in. Seeing the twinkle form in Luke’s eyes, he continued, “My grandfather and father always march in the parade. They wear all their WWI and WWII medals. Grandad’s medals cover the whole left side of his coat!”

  It was evident to Luke how much Johan was caught up in the story. Every sentence was filled with love for his family and hometown.

  “One year my father even drove our new, big green John Deer tractor in the parade.” True admiration was evident in his voice as Johan spoke. Luke found himself captivated by the story.

  As he continued to talk, Johan said, “It’s now my turn to stand up for freedom.”

  Luke almost smiled, ready to crack a joke, until he realized that Johan was deadly serious. Luke didn’t know that people like Johan existed in real life. Somehow finding this out about Johan made Luke feel good.

  Later that night before he went to bed, Luke pondered their conversation; he decided Johan was the most gung-ho person in the platoon–and also the most down-to earth.

  Luke learned that most of the guys felt the same way Johan did. For the most part they came from working class families like him– so they had a common thread holding them together, other than just the Corps. Everyone took their job of being a Marine very seriously.

  ****

  “During the advanced hand-to-hand combat training exercises you will perform here, you will learn the deadly science of killing,” said the war hardened instructor as he studied the group in front of him. “I’m not speaking of just doing away with your enemy shit either,” he said loudly, his hands now on his hips, “but doing it quicker than an ant’s shit can hit the ground! You will also learn to do it with as little effort as possible, and doing it very quietly. You got me?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” came the deafening reply.

  In boot camp Luke had learned how to defend himself; here he was about to learn how to penetrate those defenses and kill the opponent anyway. The skills of the assassin were about to become second nature to the eager students of Luke’s unit.

  Some, who had the aptitude, learned Vietnamese; Luke found himself in this group. He attended special classes daily to master the basics of the language. Once he was in Vietnam, they assured him, he would learn the language more in depth.

  None of the emerging Recons knew what to expect after they graduated. All assumed that they would be assigned to a Recon unit heading for Vietnam. On the last day orders were posted. It came as a big shock that only about half had orders directing them to report to a command in Vietnam. The others, some going to Germany and elsewhere in Europe, weren’t too happy. The few that were assigned Stateside duty looked the saddest of all.

  Luke smiled as he studied the list. He was one of the lucky ones as he saw it; he was assigned to First Force Reconnaissance Company already in Vietnam–or “in-country” as it was called. Studying the list further, Luke’s smile widened: Johan and Waldo were assigned the same unit.

  Waldo’s real name was Ralph W. Washington. The “W” stood for Waldo, as in Ralph Waldo Emerson, he had told Luke.

  “I joined the Marines straight from the lower west side of Chicago, where I more or less grew up on the streets,” Luke remembered Waldo saying the first night they talked. Studying him over time, Luke concluded that Waldo was the most dangerous person in the company–even though he was only 5'7" and almost skinny. Luke watched as Waldo took what the Marines taught him and combined it with his street fighting background. The result was “one bad-ass dude,” as Waldo liked to call himself. From what Luke learned about Waldo’s childhood neighborhood, it was as if he had already been in Marine boot camp, or maybe even a war zone, since childhood. Even in elementary school, Waldo had said, it wasn’t unusual for knifings to occur.

  “At night, bro, if someone walks down the street in my neighborhood alone,” Waldo pointed out, “shit, chances are the dude will end up the worse for it–maybe even dead meat. You can’t never let down your guard. My best friend did when we was kids– we was fourteen. And now he lives in a wheel chair, bro.”

  “What happened?” asked Luke.

  After a lengthy pause, Waldo related the story.

  “It was a rainy night. My friend, he took a short cut through an alley to get to a movie theater to meet me. He was late. So he forgot. Well, he ran smack into a rival gang that was busy holdin’ war council in the alley. Bad move, dude. Before Jimmy could get outa there, they surrounded him and they started pickin’ on him, struttin’ around him and threatenin’ him, you know, like big shits, jivin’ him. There was twelve of ’em, he didn’t stand a chance, man.”

  Luke could tell that it was hard for Waldo to continue. After a moment’s pause, Waldo cleared his throat and said in a strained voice, “He tried to run, but they jumped him and started stomping hisass.”

  Luke heard every gory detail from Waldo’s nightmare as to how they made sport of his friend, Jimmy, nearly killing him in the deserted alley. Johan stopped writing as Waldo’s voice got shriller. He put his tablet down and listened spellbound to Waldo’s story.

  “When they was through–you know hitting, kicking, stabbing and beating him with chains, clubs and pieces of pipe–they left him for dead. And they all peed on him while they laughed. Then they split.” Waldo was devastated as he retold the story. It took him a while to continue. “Sometime during the night the cops found him and took him to the St. Luke’s hospital–hell, man, they didn’t even know if he’d live or die.”

  Luke saw a single tear run down Waldo’s face as spoke. Quickly he wiped it away. As Luke and Johan listened, they heard that Waldo’s friend had suffered a maj
or concussion, tremendous loss of blood from knife wounds and multiple broken bones. As Waldo put it, “He was a mess.”

  “It was the next day before the doctors gave him any chance at all to live,” Waldo said, sounding hollow and lifeless. Someone had taken a metal pipe to his legs, repeatedly and savagely smashing them beginning at his feet and working up to his waist.

  “His legs was broken so many times the doctors lost count and his skin didn’t look like human legs. The doctors said he’d never walk again.

  “To the cops it was just another street gang fight,” Waldo said with a sneer. “They wasn’t going to do anything about it.” This sort of thing happened all the time in Chicago, Luke learned as he listened. The difference was that most of the time the victim was either killed or not hurt as badly.

  “I didn’t even find out about it until the next night.” Waldo’s voice cracked as he spoke. “I didn’t know what happened to him. He just didn’t show up for the movie.” Luke noticed Waldo’s hands tremble as he spoke; his voice got shakier as he continued. “When I found out who did it,” Waldo said, “I swore I’d nail their punk asses. I told Jimmy I’d get even for him.”

  Luke saw a determined look form in Waldo’s eyes and sweat glistened on Waldo’s dark face. The tension in his voice bespoke the fervor he felt. “Then I started to plan my revenge. At first all I did was find out everything I could ’bout who’d done it. I was only fourteen. They had guys in the gang that were four to six years older than me.

  “A bulletin board in a local super market caught my eye one day. An ad for a martial arts school was there. It wasn’t too far from my school and the cost was something I could pay. It was just the thing I needed for my revenge.”

  Without telling any of his friends at the time, Waldo admitted to Luke and Johan, who now had completely given up writing his letter, why he had joined the school. He learned quicker than most; he was driven by his vendetta. Constant practice of all the intricate routines night after night made his movement second nature.

  “Within a year I was a brown belt and by the time I was seventeen I had my first degree black belt,” Waldo said with pride showing on his face. “Then I decided to kick ass.” Luke noticed that every muscle in Waldo’s body was tense as he spoke.

  Luke and Johan sat quietly, studying Waldo as he spoke, never interrupting him as he told his story. Luke was spellbound by the intricate details of the plot, and the emotions flowing from Waldo.

  “I knew better than to face the entire gang at once,” Waldo explained. “So I followed them and chose the times and places very carefully. I decided to handout “justice” to the peon fuckers first and work my way up to the prick head they called their leader.”

  Waldo’s brand of justice had no remorse, feeling, nor compassion, Luke noticed as Waldo spoke. To Waldo it was simple– get even for what they had done to Jimmy. With that in mind he spent months trailing his victims, waiting for the right moment to strike. It took nearly eight months for Waldo to work his way up to the gang leader. The only weapons he used were his body and a switch blade knife–which Luke decided were more than enough. With each pursuit Waldo got more courageous. Of the first eleven victims, all required major medical treatment as a result of his encounter–two died on the operating table.

  Luke was surprised little by the story Waldo told–this was the Waldo he had grown to know. There was no doubt in Luke’s mind, even before Waldo began his story, that Waldo was a dangerous person. Luke had seen two confrontations that Waldo had had with a couple of redneck Marines in the platoon. It was obvious Waldo didn’t want to fight, but when the fights started, Waldo finished them quickly, with no mercy. Both Marines required medical attention the next morning for having “fallen down.”

  Listening to Waldo continue his story, Luke became fascinated. Waldo paused as he shifted position. With a glance at Luke, he proceeded. “I figured the gang leader would be scared shitless after that. I guessed he probably wouldn’t be alone and exposed very often. It was several weeks before I finally decided to go for him and shag his ass. It wasn’t the perfect chance, but what the hell, bro. I was tired of waiting. I wanted a little less open area, but when I saw my chance, I grabbed it.” Luke noticed that every muscle in Waldo’s body was again rigid as he spoke.

  As he squared off against his rugged, final adversary, Waldo told them, he was out weighted by a good forty pounds, and the leader was at least six inches taller. Waldo told them he didn’t hesitate; several of the other gang members had been bigger than him. At least the leader was alone.

  “I decided to make an example of this scum fucker,” Waldo told them in a rush of air. His voice got louder as he started to speak. “Then I tore into him.” In great detail Waldo told how he had spun around as he delivered his first smashing blow, using his heel to pulverize his enemy’s left shoulder–dislocating it and causing the attached arm to hang uselessly by the leader’s side. Next, a kicking blow from his left foot caught the leader in the face, causing blood to spurt out from his ruined nose. And so it went; Waldo continually toyed with him: first knocking him down then allowing him to get up before delivering another numbing blow.

  “Just when I finished with the slime, the cops showed up.”

  A disgusted look clouded Waldo’s sweaty face. “Shit. The cops had guns aimed at me–so I just stood there while they cuffed me. The police treated me as though I was the criminal. Can you believe that shit?”

  Johan shook his head but otherwise remained silent. Luke remained still.

  “I spent the night in jail–juvenile hall because I was still seventeen. Even though there was no witnesses, the police pressed charges ’cause the gang leader was still in a coma,” said Waldo softly as he looked down like he was cleaning his finger nails. “When they found out I had a black belt in Karate, I was charged with assault with a deadly weapon. Had the fucker died they told me it would have been much worse,” he said letting the sentence die as he wrinkled his cheek with disgust.

  “On the day I went to court I didn’t know what to expect,” Waldo said.

  “Didn’t the police know who the victim was and what had happened?” said Johan.

  “Hey, bro. They didn’t care. All the other things they had on him didn’t count. He wasn’t on trial, I was.”

  “Sounds rotten to me,” offered Johan. Waldo nodded.

  The public defender assigned to him didn’t know how the judge would rule, Waldo explained. “It was my first offense; the court could show leniency. But my attorney said only time would tell. He entered a plea of guilty because I’d been caught in the act,” Waldo said, sounding sad as he spoke. “About all I got to do was tell my story to the judge. It’s because of the judge that I’m here.” After all the facts were presented to the court, including Waldo’s confession and explanation as to why he did it, the judge had made an unusual ruling, Waldo explained.

  “The judge said I could either spend three years in state correctional facilities as an adult or enlist in the Marines for an equal amount of time. The choice was up to me. Shit man, what would you do?”

  “I hear you,” said Luke. “You didn’t have much choice did you?”

  “None, bro. So here I am.”

  “They didn’t make you go for Recon did they?” asked Johan, still unsure of what had happened.

  “Naw. I volunteered,” he said with a grin. Then they all grinned.

  “That was the best decision this dude ever made,” Waldo said to Luke and Johan. Waldo’s smile broadened as he stared at his new friends. Filling the soundless void, Luke lit a cigarette. It was a relaxing silence; they all leaned back against the wall of their barracks and sat without talking in the cool evening breeze.

  4

  WHITE CLOUDS FLOATED IN THE BEAUTIFUL, azure blue morning sky, typical for Southern California in early summer. Its beauty was not seen by the newly graduated Recon Marines as they rushed in their final preparations to leave, heading for their first duty stations. Within hours the oppre
ssive summer heat would begin to take its toll.

  A strange, confused feeling of expectation and loss also hung in the air. All the Recons felt it, even Luke.

  He was surprised to feel such strong emotions in himself.

  He felt closer to this group of people than he had ever felt to team members of any track or gymnastics team, or any other bunch of guys he’d known. He couldn’t come to grips with exactly how he felt. This time, he noticed, the feelings weren’t as suffocating as they had been in the past. He didn’t know why; he still felt uncomfortable, but at least he could handle it. Luke busied himself with the last minute details of getting ready to depart, hoping the feelings would pass. As he studied the men in front of him, he noted that of the original fifty candidates that began Recon training with him in his training company, only twelve made it to this final day. He took a deep breath and exhaled, proud of the fact he was one of them.

  A small amount of this emotion had existed during graduation from boot camp, Luke reflected, but he remembered it had quickly passed. He hoped it would be the same this time. It wasn’t. No matter how hard he tried to put a wall between him and his feelings, they kept coming back–even stronger.

  He was scared. His skin began to itch, a sure sign a rash was forming on his stomach–something that always happened at times like this. His hands felt clammy. He worked at suppressing the panic he felt. Now finally ready to leave, he spent long, extra moments checking his uniform, making sure that his belt buckle was straight, that his creases lined up properly and that his leggings were correct. Slowly he regained control.

  Somehow this group of guys had gotten through to a place even he didn’t go. He didn’t know what to think. He felt vulnerable. Down deep was a solace he couldn’t begin to comprehend. The gates to where his emotions reign were opening. There was nothing he could do to stop them. At that instant he knew he was just along for the ride, a spectator in what was about to unfold. His green uniform, now drenched with nervous perspiration, hung limply on his wide shoulders. Beads of sweat glistened on his pallid face.