Wall Street Ranger
Book 3
By Chris Veeter
Copyright © 2011 Chris Veeter
Smashwords Edition
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Author's Note
I have strived to provide the most accurate portrayal of a wealthy man building a career in the military. You will undoubtedly find mistakes and many of those are intentional and included for dramatic purposes. Also, while I'm by no means a financial wizard, the numbers such as stock prices and values are a matter of historical record. I was as surprised as you will be; getting rich in the 90s was almost easy.
I would like to thank William C. Martell for letting me use him as a character. He's real and he's awesome.
CHAPTER 1
“Merry Christmas!” I shouted as I entered my father’s house.
It didn’t smell like anything I knew from my childhood. The air was thick with smoke and I could smell a multitude of different designer fragrances mingling with the aromas of turkey and frozen hors d’oeuvres.
The entire family was there: every aunt, uncle, and cousin related to me. It was like old times although my mother’s absence was conspicuous. She was always in charge of the kitchen and the new smells only made her passing more painful.
After a moment, the sadness went away. This was a joyful occasion and the party was in full swing. Even though I wasn’t really close to these family members, it felt strangely good to see them again. It was like saying everything’s all right, now let’s move on.
My Christmas was indeed merry. John Novacek was in place in Johannesburg and the board unanimously voted for him as the new CEO of Witwatersrand Gauteng Bank Limited after I injected $250 million to have my shares converted into preferred stock.
On top of that, Ron Kapelos had struck a deal with Paramount Pictures to distribute my movie for both domestic and international markets. In essence, they bought the film for $50 million and agreed to fund a $30 million ad campaign. There was cause for rejoicing.
I shook hands with my father as we exchanged greetings. Soon enough, the other relatives came to the foyer to say hello as I put my coat away. For a brief moment I wondered if they were simply being extra nice because I was now stinking rich.
These dark thoughts went away as soon as the younger children showed up. I didn’t consider myself talented with kids, I didn’t especially like them, never knowing what to say to them, but their presence was soothing. I had had my assistant in New York purchase gifts for all of them, even the older ones. Everything was in a large burlap bag and I felt like Santa Claus.
“Are these Christmas presents?” four-year-old Oliver asked with wide eyes.
“I don’t know, maybe,” I answered while crouching to his level. “When I was coming over, an old man came up to me on the street. He was wearing a red suit with white fur.”
Oliver looked excited. “Did he have a white beard?”
“Uh, let me think. Yeah, I think so. Why, do you know him?”
“It’s Santa Claus!”
All the adults burst out in laughter at his excitement. I finished greeting everyone and handed the bag to my aunt Diana who brought it to the Christmas tree. I followed my father to the kitchen and he gave me a beer.
“It’s good to see you again, son.”
“You too. Winter’s not too bad in Georgia but I wish I could be closer. You should come down to visit sometime.”
“I wish I could but I’m busy.”
“With your charity?” I asked.
“We’ve collected over a million dollars this year.”
“You like it?”
“I love it. The local charitable organizations are doing a lot better, they can focus all their energies on their activities instead of fund-raising, and I think it brings the community together. But what about you? You haven’t found anyone to replace Virginia yet?”
“You know me, a regular Casanova.”
“What?” he said innocently. “It’s not true that chicks dig guys with money?”
“You tell me.”
We both had a chuckle as he checked on his turkey. I finished my beer and got myself another one.
“You really think I should settle down?” I asked.
“No, not if you’re not ready. You shouldn’t get married and start a family just because you’re getting older or because it’s expected of you. That’s a stupid reason, you’d only rush into things and wind up with somebody you can’t stand.”
“Is that why you waited so long to get married?”
“Your mom was worth waiting for. When you meet the right woman for you, you’ll know. Everything will be clear, you won’t even need to ask me for advice. When someone asks for advice about something it’s because they already know they shouldn’t do it.”
“Anyway, it’s not like I’m in a hurry. With the Army, I never know where I’m going to be from one day to the next. It’s better to keep my options open.”
The sound of kids playing and whining coming from the living room became louder and louder. It may have been a festive event but it was also a promise to children that presents were coming. To keep them waiting even longer would simply have been cruel.
“Sounds like some people are in a hurry though,” dad said.
I followed his lead to the living room and within moments the colorfully wrapped gifts were being distributed. My goal hadn’t been to upstage the parents but my assistant had definitely picked out stuff the kids really enjoyed.
There was wrapping paper everywhere but no one cared. The kids were playing with their new toys amid the mess and it reminded me of Christmases when I was that age. I looked forward to this day 364 days a year and it never failed to live up to my hopes.
“Now that the young ones have been satisfied,” I said, “it’s time for the grown-ups.”
No one seemed to understand what I was hinting at. It was even better that way. I pulled out envelopes from inside my jacket and gave one to each of my aunts and uncles. Even my father got one.
“Jesus Christ,” one of my uncles muttered.
I looked at my father as he tore his open. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He was staring at a personal check and he couldn’t believe the amount. I had taken ten million from my personal account and divided it equally between my relatives.
“Are you serious, Sterling?” Diana asked.
“Merry Christmas everyone!”
Uncle Benjamin was so surprised -- and pleased, I hoped -- that he fell backwards into the Christmas tree. We all thought he was being overly dramatic until we noticed the blood.
The first thought that went through my warped mind was that blood was red and that it actually went with the Christmas motif. Maybe the kids wouldn’t be traumatized forever after this, who knows?
Everybody rushed to the aid of Uncle Benjamin. He had brought the tree down with him and reaching him made us look like lumberjacks. Finally, my father managed to move the tree aside while Diana assessed Benjamin’s injuries.
“I’m all right,” he said. “I think I’m all right.”
Diana shook her head. “No you’re not. You’re bleeding all over Harmon’s carpet.”
Benjamin sat up and raised his hand to the back of his head. Pulling it away, it was soaked with blood. He looked behind him and found a broken glass ornament on the floor. I picked it up before the younger kids hurt themselves.
“I think I’m gonna need a Band-Aid,” Benjamin opined.
Since I was still kneeling next to him, I quickly examined the wound, my Ranger training kicking into gear.
“Forget the Band-Aid,” I said. “You’re gonna need stitches.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Let me put it this way: I’d be able to see your brain if you had one,” I offered with a smirk.
“Shit, it’s Christmas Eve, the clinic’s closed. I’ll have to go all the way to Syracuse.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll take you.”
“I can drive myself, thanks.”
“Sure, and then you’ll go into shock and crash into some poor family coming back from midnight mass. I was the last one to arrive so my rental is blocking all the other cars. I don’t mind driving you, really. Come on, let’s go.”
As I helped him up, he understood the decision wasn’t open for debate. My father brought a towel for Benjamin to press against the gash while we got our coats on. A few minutes later, we were on the road in my rented Lincoln.
Uncle Benjamin’s head hurt too much for us to have an interesting conversation on the way to Syracuse. That was fine by me as I enjoyed listening to Christmas music on the radio. It was beginning to be enjoyable again after my Yuletide disasters of the last few years.
We reached CNY Medical Center -- across the street from Crouse Hospital -- around eleven. Contrary to most health-care facilities, they didn’t have an emergency room per se. What they had was a service called PromptCare which handled minor non-life-threatening situations.
We registered and sat down to wait. The pain and all the alcohol he had imbibed kept Benjamin quiet.
“Is it gonna hurt when they do the stitches?” he asked after a while. “You ever had any?”
“I got shot last year, they had to staple it back together. Getting cut open in the first place is the worst part, trust me.”
Before long, I noticed a nurse walking toward us. She was no doubt the triage lady coming over to make sure my uncle had something they could treat locally. They say that Christmas is the time for miracles and this year it didn’t fail.
The nurse was one Stephanie Morris.
She hadn’t changed much except now she was sporting a pageboy hairdo. She was definitely as beautiful as ever. I couldn’t believe I recognized her immediately. She must have made quite an impression on my young mind, I figured. My heart started beating faster and I hated myself for it. Would I ever be able to keep cool in the presence of goddesses?
I wasn’t wearing a uniform this time and I don’t think she recognized me. She was asking Benjamin about his injury when she saw me staring at her. It must have been uncomfortable for her but I wanted to wait until she finished with my uncle to bring up the subject of our acquaintance.
When the preliminary survey was completed, Benjamin was led away to another room where an intern was waiting for him. When Stephanie came back out, she squinted in my direction. She knew she had seen my mug before but couldn’t quite place me.
“Not sure where you’ve seen me before, uh?”
“I do know you, don’t I?” she said as she approached.
“It’s me, Stephanie, Sterling Rynes.”
“Of course, I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”
“Don’t worry, it’s been what, three years?”
“That’s right, since your mother passed on. How have you been holding up?” she asked with obvious sincerity.
“All right, I guess. It was hard at first but you get used to everything. You’re still on the night shift, I see.”
“I pick up overtime here and there, take the other nurses’ shifts whenever I can. It’s not easy two people living on one paycheck.”
“You’re still working while your husband’s attending medical school?”
I phrased it like a question but it was more a statement. Any mention of a man in her life was disheartening. It kept reminding me of the dark days of high school.
“Gus? No, we’re not together anymore. I caught him last April naked with one of his professors. They were both sweating.”
“Maybe they were studying anatomy,” I joked.
“I never found out whether he was banging her for the grades or for the sport. Anyway, we’ve separated.”
“But you said you had another mouth to feed.”
“I have a son now, his name is Calvin.”
“Wow,” is all I could say.
“He’s nine months old.”
“Congratulations, that’s wonderful.”
A couple entered the clinic with a wailing baby in their arms. Stephanie looked over to them and I knew our conversation was coming to an end.
“I’m gonna have to take this.” She sounded disappointed which made me feel better.
“Sure, no problem. Listen, I’m going to be in town all week. Would you like to have dinner sometime? We could catch up on old times?”
She smiled warmly and said, “That’d be great, I’d like that.”
She scribbled a phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to me. She waved goodbye and went to her new patients.
“Merry Christmas to me,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 2
Teenage life in Woodcreek revolves around George’s, a shabby diner on the outskirts of town. Back in the ‘60s and ‘70s, it was the town’s main restaurant. If you had a birthday, first communion, or wedding anniversary, you either went to George’s or all the way to Syracuse.
With the ‘80s, the decade of greed and excess, came the commercial invasion of national chains. Not only was Woodcreek assaulted by fast food joints but also prepackaged family experiences like Friendly’s, Red Lobster, and Applebee’s.
Corporate headquarters all around the country probably held major parties because the population responded well. By 1985, everybody went to these casual dining venues and the owner of George’s, whose name, incidentally, was Larry, was contemplating bankruptcy. No self-respecting adult went there anymore.
Larry saw the writing on the wall and began offering specials for teenagers. Soon enough, it became an afterschool hangout for kids. If you had a date, that’s where you took her. The menu only covered the basics but for a few hours you could feel like a grown-up.
With my non-existent social life of yesteryear, I had always longed to go on a date at George’s. It was one of those fantasies that had never been fulfilled. Sure, I had already eaten there with my friends and the food was nothing to write home about, but the fantasy held.
The phone number Stephanie gave me was in Woodcreek. Following her separation from her husband, she had moved back with her mother who helped her take care of baby Calvin. I called her two days after Christmas and she agreed to accompany me to dinner that evening.
I could have taken her to a number of fancy restaurants. In fact, I even considered the idea of chartering a private jet and flying to New York City to make this date truly memorable. Frankly, how many times in her life would she be whisked away to a metropolis for drinks and dinner?
The reason I decided instead to go to George’s was that I didn’t want to seem too desperate to make an impression. Spending that kind of money was okay for a girl I only wanted to sleep with, preferably on the first date.
Stephanie deserved better. Her agreeing to go out with me was in itself a dream come true. I wanted to live out the complete fantasy by taking her to George’s. When we arrived at the diner, I could see surprise in her eyes.
“Were you expecting something fancier?” I asked.
“No, George’s is fine. I haven’t been here been in so long.”
As usual, the place was filled with teenagers, the new generation. Larry’s wife was our waitress for the evening and she couldn’t hide her surprise when she saw us. We were clearly older than the target demographic. She found us a booth.
“I know I could have found a hundred other places to spend the evening,” I said when we were alone. “But I always wanted to come here with you.”
“Really?”
“Remember when I asked you out to the prom? Well, if I had had more courage I would have done it a year before.”
“Wow, I had no idea. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
“That’s why I needed more courage. Anyway, there’s no use beating myself over it. What’s done is done.”
“I’m sure if there’s anything you lack it’s not courage,” she said. “When I was with your mother she kept telling me how proud she was of you being a soldier. She said she didn’t understand you at first but she started understanding you once she found out how tough it is to become a Ranger.”
As much as I didn’t want to, my eyes began watering. My mother never said anything like that to me. She stopped publicly disapproving my career choice but I was certain she still didn’t agree with it.
“She never said anything,” I said, wiping my eyes.
“She was afraid of you getting hurt but she was happy that you were doing something you enjoyed. Are you still in the Army?”
And with that, the conversation turned to me. She asked me to tell her about my career. And I did, omitting only the classified details. I told her everything from boot camp to being a reconnaissance platoon leader. I kept the business talk for another occasion.
I was up to my stint at the CIA when we got our steaks. Mine was pink in the middle, which meant overcooked, but I wasn’t about to complain. This was George’s, not the Waldorf Astoria. I looked over at Stephanie and she also seemed displeased about her food.
“Yours is overcooked too?” I asked.
“Actually, I asked for well-done. I think this steak’s still breathing.”
I waved the waitress over despite Stephanie’s protests.
“Is there something wrong, hon?” Larry’s wife said.
“The lady’s meat, it’s not quite dead yet. Could you put it in the fire a few more minutes please?”
“Sure,” she said, taking the plate away.
“Really Sterling, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Why, you afraid they’re going to spit in your food?”
“It’s George’s, they already spit in the food.”
I had never in my life returned food because it wasn’t to my liking and it felt good to do it. I felt much more self-confident and that’s what I needed while being around Stephanie. Having done this, I felt like when I was leading men on the battlefield.
“But what about you? We’ve talked about me all evening. What’s your life story?”
She hesitated for a moment and then sipped some water to prolong the silence.
“My story isn’t that interesting. Compared to yours, it’s a footnote on page 193.”
“Come on,” I pried. “Everybody’s story is interesting. You know everything about me and all I know about you is that you’re a nurse and a mother who picked the wrong guy to go to the prom with.”
She smiled but shook her head. “That’s really all there is to know. Tell me what it was like living in Washington.”
And with that, the conversation returned to me. I tried on a few other occasions to learn more about her but she remained reluctant to share anything with me. It didn’t matter for now. It was time to move to Phase 2.
* * *
Winter activities in Woodcreek were not abundant. Skiing was available in the area but there just wasn’t enough snow on the ground yet to make it enjoyable. In the last few days, I had spent several hours on the Internet trying to find out what to do with your date in these circumstances.
The solution couldn’t have been more obvious: skating. The town of Woodcreek maintained an outdoor skating rink from December to March. In the great tradition of Woodcreekian unoriginality, it was called the Woodcreek Skating Rink.
After our mediocre dinner, we drove to the rink. I hadn’t told her anything about where we were going and she smiled when she realized what our destination was. It seemed like the online dating advice sites were right: chicks dig skating.
“What do you think?” I asked. “It’s not too cold for skating, is it?”
“It’s perfect, I love skating.”
As romantic an activity as it is, skating can be a challenge for someone who’s never practiced it. Skating comes in three varieties: hockey, figure skating, and speed skating. Not having a competitive nature, I was never interested in hockey and speed skating. As for figure skating, the less said the better.
I now regretted never having given these sports a try because I was about to embarrass myself with my inability to skate. My parents had taken me to this very rink a few times as a child but I found indoor activities much more interesting. Now I was paying the price.
We rented some skates and I took my sweet time putting them on, anything to delay my inevitable humiliation. There were a few children on the ice with their parents although most of the skaters at this hour were teenagers and young adults like me. The last thing I needed was old high school acquaintances witnessing my clumsiness.
Stephanie was ready before I was and she looked anxious to jump in. She grabbed my hand and tugged.
“Ready?” she cooed. “Let’s go.”
I probably should have selected something else to do this evening, I berated myself. But no, skating was romantic and women are supposed to like when guys make fools out of themselves. Christ, it was the bread-and-butter of romantic comedies so it couldn’t be that far off.
“Maybe we should have an ambulance standing by, just in case.”
“I’m a nurse, remember?”
“Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation might be called for, I’m just saying.”
She cackled and pulled on my hand some more. This time I had to follow. I waddled uncomfortably from the bench to the ice. The air was cold but I wasn’t afraid of my cheeks freezing since my face was burning from nervousness.
I hadn’t gone three feet over the ice before I fell down for the first time. Stephanie was torn between amusement and concern and she was suppressing giggles as she helped me up.
“Take small steps, don’t try to do too much.”
I was unsteady on my legs and I instinctively looped my arm into hers. She didn’t protest and with this method we managed to get halfway around the rink before I lost my balance again.
“Oh no,” I warned.
Because of the way I was holding onto her, the laws of physics made her fall along with me. I was the first to reach the ice and she tumbled on top of me. It definitely wasn’t the worst fall I had ever suffered. She was again laughing at my -- our -- misfortune.
“You all right?”
“I’m the one who should ask you that,” she retorted.
“Maybe I should sit this one out. You’re the graceful one and I’m cramping your style.”
“No. You need to go around completely at least once before taking a break.”
I didn’t argue and I only managed to skate another five feet before I brought the party crashing down once again.
“You’re right,” she said. “You’re really bad at this. How can you jump out of airplanes and march across miles and miles in the middle of the woods and not be able to skate the Woodcreek rink?”
“I don’t know but we might find answers as soon as we crack open the human genome.”
Faced with my sheer incompetence, she led the way off the ice. I removed my skates and got us hot chocolate while she secured a bench for us. When I came back, she even had a blanket to keep us warm.
“I love coming here,” she said after taking her first sip. “It always reminded me of Rockefeller Center, you know, the skating rink outside in the winter.”
“You’ve been there before?”
“I went with my parents when I was six. It was a Sunday afternoon, we’d gone to New York for Christmas shopping. I never went back to the city since but I’ve always remembered that day.”
“A memory is way better than a picture, that’s for sure.”
“Have you traveled much?”
“A little bit, I guess.”
“Like where?” she asked eagerly. “What are some of the places you’ve been?”
“Let’s see, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Arizona, the Carolinas, Washington D.C., Georgia of course since I live there. I’ve been to Canada, Belgium, northern Italy, Kosovo, but I’m not sure that counts. Last year I went to South Africa. That was really the only time I went abroad on vacation, all the other trips were for business.”
“It’s still better than me. I’ve never been anywhere. I’ve always wanted to travel, see the world. Maybe get on a ship and go around the world, stopping in every single country. That would be great. But sometimes when you want something too much you just don’t get it.”
“That’s not true,” I said. “You just have to make plans and see them through.”
“Plans are expensive. And it’s just not me anymore, there’s Calvin to think about. It’s not like I can just pick up and go. These days are over.” She started laughing nervously. “I’m saying this as if I ever did just pick up and go. I never really did anything spontaneous in my life, except marry a dickwad.”
We both started laughing and I almost spilled my beverage. Seeing her joyful was an incredible sight. She had the cutest little dimples and it was so obvious why I had fallen in love with her in high school.
“Are you okay about money? I mean, is there anything you need to make your life easier?”
“Sterling, really...”
“I’m serious, Stephanie. I have money, a lot of money. When God needs a loan, he comes to me, all right? I don’t want to seem inappropriate by offering you this but it would make me so happy to help you out.”
She smiled again but this time in a way that made me think she felt sorry for me, or at least sorry for my question.
I really didn’t want to offend her but what was the point of being so rich if I didn’t assist my friends in need?
“That’s very generous of you, you have no idea how much I appreciate this. But really, I’m fine.”
“If you ever need anything, no matter if it’s a house, a car, a million dollars, or a bus ticket, I want you to call me. Okay? Promise you will.”
“I promise, thank you. But for now I want to talk about what you said earlier.”
“Which part? What I said about my Olympic skating abilities?”
“When you said you wanted to ask me out in high school. You liked me?” she teased. “You had a little Jones for me?”
“A little Jones for you? No. Romeo had a little Jones for Juliet. Napoleon and Josephine, they had a little Jones. What I had was a major Jones, it was the entire Jones family.”
“I can’t believe you never said anything.”
“Frankly, would it have made a difference? I was never Mr. Popularity or anything.”
“Do you know why girls like popular guys like jocks and stuff? It’s because they’re the only ones on display. High school is like a department store. You shop around and you can only buy what’s on display. Most high school kids, and that goes for both guys and girls, most of them go about doing their thing and they never get noticed by the opposite sex. Those who are doing sports and such are basically marketing themselves. That’s why they get all the girls.”
“Are you telling me that if I had played football you would have been my girlfriend?”
“Who knows? I would have known you were on the market though.”
I sighed in exasperation. “High school politics is beyond my comprehension. I’m just glad it’s behind me, way the hell behind me.”
We laughed and drank the last of our hot chocolate. There was an awkward pause and I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed from there. The vibe was right and I didn’t want to ruin it.
I asked, “You want another hot chocolate?”
She looked at me for a good four seconds and she obviously didn’t have hot chocolate on her mind. She leaned over to my side of the bench and moved her mouth to mine. I parted my lips just enough to allow my tongue to titillate hers without going full out Adam & Eve Productions on her. Her cheeks were cold against mine and it was my first time kissing a girl with a scarf, mittens, and earmuffs. Talk about Winter Wonderland!
“How’s that for hot chocolate?” she said with a naughty smirk.
“Package that and you’d make a fortune.”
She kissed me again, this time with more tongue and passion.
“I really wish you had talked to me earlier in high school. You’re an awesome kisser.”
We continued making out as people skated in front of us. We were bound to get stared at but we didn’t care. We were both lost in the moment. We continued kissing for half an hour before any of us said anything.
“Would you like to go someplace else?” I asked.
“I never thought you’d ask. Where do you wanna go? I’m living with my mom so that’s out.”
“I’m staying with my dad.”
Suddenly, a smile overcame her face as if a light bulb had been switched on inside her head.
“I know the perfect place, come on.”
She took my hand and led me back to my car. We drove through Woodcreek for five minutes until she directed me to park behind the Home Depot. I turned off the lights but kept the engine running so we could keep warm.
“Have you ever done it in a car?” she asked.
In my best Dr. Seuss voice I replied, “I’ve never done it in a car, I’ve never done it in a bar. If you’ll let me see your treasure, I’ll make you feel lots of pleasure.”
She burst in laughter and went back to kissing me. We moved to the back seat and proceeded to remove most of our clothes. What followed was intense and magical, tender and unforgettable. It was the culmination of almost a decade of anticipation and I wasn’t disappointed.
“Take the rest of the week off,” I said when we were still panting from exhaustion.
“I can’t, I’m covering for another nurse all week.”
“I want to spend the rest of the holidays with you. I’m going back to Georgia after New Year’s.”
“I’m sorry, I have to work. I don’t know if I’ll be able to see you again.”
“I want to see you again. We’ve had too much fun this evening for us to simply walk away from each other. You can’t deny this.”
“I do want to see you again, Sterling. But we can’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“For now Gus and I are only separated but I’ve already talked with a lawyer about getting a divorce. He says until the papers are signed I shouldn’t get involved with anyone else.”
“What? What’s that got to do with anything? You’re a grown woman, you can do whatever you want.”
“You don’t know Gus, he’s vindictive. As soon as I file for divorce he’s gonna sue for custody of Calvin. My lawyer says he could have a case if I get involved with another man. There’s no way I can lose my baby, Sterling. You have to understand that.”
“Look, I’ll get you the best lawyers, the entire Harvard law school faculty if I have to. Just don’t cut me off, please.”
She put her arms around my neck and rested her head on my chest. This was the consolation prize for my inevitable defeat.
“I can’t take that chance,” she said. “When this is over, we can see about picking up where we left off. Okay?”
I unsteadily nodded but did not speak. I was afraid my voice would break and I didn’t want her to see me cry.
She looked up at me and said, “That’s why I wish you had spoken to me earlier in high school.”
CHAPTER 3
As soon as I was alone with myself I realized something revealing and yet extremely frightening: one evening with Stephanie had been better than my entire relationship with Virginia. Simply being in the same vicinity as her was enough to cover me with goose bumps.
The body has a way of telling you certain things you have to know. For instance, you get thirsty when you are dehydrated or you instinctively know how to throw a ball so that it will land where you want it to. At that moment, my body was letting me know I was in love.
I honestly didn’t expect this right now. My feelings for Stephanie in high school were rushing back when I never thought they would. Looking back, I figured perhaps I had been simply infatuated with her in my younger days, that it had never been love.
After an evening in her company I concluded I was wrong. It had been love all along. And it was love now. There was no denying it, I was hopelessly in love with Stephanie. Having spent an evening getting to know her better, I could see my feelings were true.
So when she told me we couldn’t be together the pain was doubly agonizing. It was like she had given me a taste of paradise and I was now denied entry. I felt like a junkie looking for his next fix. How could life be so cruel? Why was I made to wait over five years to have my wish granted only to have it snatched back at the last moment?
Although I didn’t see Stephanie again during the holidays, I called her twice in a bid to make her change her mind. However, she was adamant. She again said she really wished we could start a relationship but she insisted I couldn’t call her again.
Divorce procedures between two underprivileged people were usually quick and painless but with kids in the equation nothing was certain. If Gus was as vindictive as Stephanie swore he was, he could make her life hell. The only way to do that would be to fight for sole custody of their child.
If he could prove that Stephanie consorted with other men before divorce was officially granted by the court, she could be regarded as an unfit mother. She’d be painted as a tramp and judges hated that. Most of all, it would relieve him from the obligation to pay child support. She’d get Calvin every second weekend and from the way Stephanie talked about her baby she’d go crazy.
I may have been in love with her but I wasn’t selfish. I understood her predicament and I couldn’t allow myself to be the source of her problems. I promised I wouldn’t try to contact her again -- phone records could be used in court -- and she in turn promised to let me know as soon as the divorce papers were signed.
When I went back to Georgia, I tried putting Stephanie out of my mind by engaging in a series of one-night stands with anonymous women. This was never something I was good at but I found it relatively easy now that my heart wasn’t in it.
I went to bars in Columbus, Phenix City, and occasionally Atlanta and made a show of wearing expensive designer clothes and my Rolex. From there, all I had to do was spot single women and offer them pricey champagne. Sometimes 60 to 90 minutes of conversation was mandatory but the night always ended at their place or a hotel room.
It wasn’t my style to brag about my wealth but it was the easiest way for me to get women in bed. Besides, I wasn’t looking for anyone to date so it didn’t matter that they were gold-diggers on the prowl. They were a diversion until Stephanie was available. It kept me from crying myself to sleep every night.
On the business front things were going well. My movie was set to premiere in early July against powerhouse pictures like Scary Movie 2 and AI. The trailer was already playing in movie theaters throughout North America.
When we signed the distribution deal, I ordered Bill Martell to write another script for me. This time, Bill already had an idea about a mystery set in space. A company would launch a hotel module that would be attached to the International Space Station and rich people would get to go. But once in space, a precious mineral sample -- or maybe a virus, it wasn’t decided yet -- would disappear. Who’s the culprit?
Bill delivered the script in February 2001 and again it was phenomenal. Ron Kapelos got moving and before long Al Pacino and Matthew McConaughey were both signed to star in the movie. It would once more be shot on a tight schedule and principal photography was set for August in Vancouver.
There was also good news from John Novacek in South Africa. The board members were happy with his management skills and so were shareholders. The stock had not only regained its loss but it had gained 21% over its value from two years ago.
The secret was once again aggressiveness on Novacek’s part. The problem with any bank on the African continent was dealing with poverty. It was hard convincing peasants to invest their savings in a bank when they barely made a hundred dollars a year.
Novacek’s plan was twofold. First, he launched a publicity campaign to get the people’s trust back in Witwatersrand Gauteng. Then, he made overtures to smaller local banks in the less fortunate African nations. This opened new markets for us while it enhanced the bank’s image by sharing resources with these smaller institutions.
While the business was going well, my military career wasn’t exactly peachy. We never did anything except for exercises and the work was boring. I was starting to get confidence in myself as a reconnaissance platoon leader when I received an envelope in April that would change everything.
The envelope contained my new orders. I was expecting to be transferred out of the regimental reconnaissance platoon but nothing could prepare me for what was in the envelope. I was being transferred out of 3rd Battalion and into 1st Battalion.
Aside from the two years in Washington, I had spent my entire military career at Fort Benning with 3rd Battalion. To be transferred away was like leaving your family. Even worse was the fact that 1st Battalion wasn’t stationed at Fort Benning but at Hunter Army Airfield.
Hunter Army Airfield is located in Savannah, Georgia, 250 miles east of my current residence. That meant moving again and that pissed me off. Obviously, there wasn’t a sensitivity committee at the Pentagon to give two polished shits about where soldiers wanted to be assigned next.
In 1929, some citizens of Savannah realized that aviation was the future and they petitioned the City Council for the development of a municipal airport. Before long, 730 acres of land were bought and by the end of the year the runway was operational.
It wasn’t until May 1940 that the place was named Hunter Municipal Airfield in honor of Lt. Col. Frank O’Driscoll Hunter, a Savannahian World War I ace. The Army Air Corps approved building a base at Hunter and it was officially renamed Savannah Air Base in early 1941.
For the rest of World War II, it became a training area for A-20s, B-10s, B-18s, B-23s, P-38s, and P-40s. With the Army’s Eighth Air Force activated at Savannah Air Base, it was the last staging base for B-17 crews who were on their way to Europe.
In June 1946, the field was returned to the City of Savannah and it once again became a civilian airport. Some buildings became industrial plants while others served as apartment houses. There was even an orphanage located in the former commanding officer’s quarters.
Three years later, the Second Bomb Wing was reactivated at Savannah’s Chatham Air Force Base. However, space was limited over there and the Air Force was thinking about permanently moving someplace else. The City Council couldn’t afford the revenue loss so they sold Hunter to the federal government for $1.
The Department of Defense planned to close the base again in 1964 but two years later they realized that the Army needed a place to train helicopter pilots for the Vietnam War. With the Army Aviation School at Fort Rucker already overcrowded, Hunter Air Force Base was given to the Army for this purpose.
Between 1973 and 1975, Hunter Army Airfield went into caretaker status. When it was reopened it was as a support facility for Fort Stewart’s 24th Infantry Division (Mechanized). Since there was a large runway at Hunter and it was close to Savannah’s port facility and excellent rail and road networks, the 24th Infantry Division became part of the Rapid Deployment Force in 1980.
At the present, Hunter was the home for units of the 3rd Infantry Division (Mechanized), the 3rd Aviation Brigade, 603rd Aviation Support Battalion, the 260th and 559th Quartermaster Battalions, 3rd Battalion 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment (Airborne), the 224th Military Intelligence Battalion (Aerial Exploitation), and the 1st Ranger Battalion.
In addition, it was where Georgia Air National Guard’s 117th Air Control Squadron was headquartered. Hunter Army Airfield also served as Coast Guard Air Station Savannah, the largest helicopter unit in the Coast Guard, providing 24-hour search and rescue coverage of the area.
Because Hunter Army Airfield is administratively in the same military complex as Fort Stewart, I had to report to the latter’s Reception Center upon signing in for duty in late July. I had driven my Ferrari to Savannah because I didn’t want to give it up and quite a few soldiers were impressed as I stopped at the junction of Harmon Avenue, Hase Road, and Soldier Pony Avenue.
Inprocessing required me to present myself to the 3rd ID Replacement Detachment and I had to wait to get my assignment. I was then sent to the Personnel Processing Center where I received boring briefings on the Standards of Conduct and the Victory Standards.
They screened my 201 files to determine processing requirements and then my records were sent to Personnel Management, the folks who would give me my assignment. Finally, I was informed I would be leader of 2nd platoon, Alpha Company, 1st Battalion.
At least, they had assigned me to a combat unit, not some rear echelon job that could be performed by a candy-ass with zero experience in the field. Being platoon leader was an honor and in conformity with my rank and combat experience.
There was a tailor shop in the detachment area and I had my new unit patches sewn on my uniforms before I went to get a haircut at the PX. Most Rangers sport the high and tight emblematic Marine Corps haircut but I looked ridiculous with it so I chose to simply wear my hair neat with no skull showing.
As the barber removed the cape from around my neck, I sensed a presence behind me.
“Jesus Christ! You were ugly as a corporal, don’t think a fuckin’ haircut’s gonna make you a pretty officer.”
The voice was familiar and the good humored insult implied friendship. That was simply impossible since I didn’t know anyone stationed at Hunter Army Airfield. I turned around to see who it was.
Standing before me was my old friend Rubenstein. His hair was freshly trimmed also and he sported the three chevrons of a sergeant. I couldn’t hide my surprise and I went to shake his hand enthusiastically.
However, before I could do so Rubenstein snapped to attention and saluted me. I crudely returned the salute and continued my journey over to him. We finally shook hands.
“Rubenstein? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been with the 1st fuckin’ Battalion for over a year now, right after they gave me a third fuckin’ stripe. What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Just been transferred,” I said, showing him the brand-new 1st Battalion patch on my shoulder. “How is it around here? Good soldiers?”
We walked out of the barbershop and headed for the exit of the Post Exchange.
“It ain’t the fuckin’ 3rd Rangers but it’s not a bad lot. Well, except for my platoon sergeant, he’s a fuckin’ asshole if I ever saw one.”
“It’s really good to see you, man. I’ve missed the old guys since I left the company for OCS.”
“So that uniform is really fuckin’ yours, uh? They really made you a fuckin’ officer.”
“What can I tell you? They must really have a knack for recognizing talent. Tell me about the other guys. What are they up to?”
“Gaudette’s still with the fuckin’ 3rd Rangers but Monkey joined the dark side.”
“He’s a civilian now?” I ventured.
“Worse, he’s a fuckin’ drill sergeant.”
“Ouch, poor kids.”
“This fuckin’ reminds me of my brother,” he said.
“Everything reminds you of your brother, Rubenstein.”
“He’s a fuckin’ genius, shut up. Anyway, when my brother was in boot camp he had this fuckin’ drill instructor, a real fuckin’ hard-ass, mean son of a bitch. There was a rumor that in each one of his fuckin’ classes there was at least one recruit who broke down fuckin’ crying in the middle of inspections.”
“Basically, just an average day at your house.”
“Fuck you, Lieutenant. So this DI was totally fuckin’ sadistic. He made it a point to fuckin’ learn the weakness of each of his recruits. For my brother, it was being called a fuckin’ fag. He just went fuckin’ nuts when you called him a fag.”
“That happens,” I reasoned.
“This one time, they were doing a fuckin’ 10k cross-country march when it started raining, I’m talking storm of the fuckin’ century, Noah was already rounding up fuckin’ critters. It was so bad that some of the fuckin’ recruits broke formation. Before long, the entire platoon was scampering through the fuckin’ woods and the DI had basically no one to control because everyone had fuckin’ run away.”
“Hard to believe but go ahead.”
“I’m telling you, this is all fuckin’ true.”
“Whatever,” I said. “Carry on.”
“As it turns out, my brother’s the only one left with the fuckin’ DI. The storm is so fuckin’ bad that they can’t go back to the base. There’s fuckin’ thunder and lightning and they can’t risk staying in the open. After walking around a bit, they find this fuckin’ cave and they hide inside. So after a while they fuckin’ start talking like regular human beings.”
“Don’t you wish Monkey was here to interrupt you all the time?”
“I’m thinking you took his fuckin’ place in that department.”
I smiled my amusement and he shook his head in disbelief.
“At first,” Rubenstein continued, “the DI tells him he fuckin’ hates thunderstorms, and then he apologizes for being such a real fuckin’ hard-ass. My brother’s thinking this is some fuckin’ test so he goes along with it saying he understands it’s his job. Then -- get this -- the fuckin’ DI actually apologizes for calling him a fag. Again, my brother says he fuckin’ understands.”
We left the building and the sun felt good on my face after the air-conditioning assault I suffered in the PX.
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“They’re getting chummy, you know, fuckin’ bonding. And then the fuckin’ DI says he hates himself for calling him a fag. As he says this, his hand is actually on my brother’s fuckin’ leg but my brother doesn’t say anything. The more they talk, the more the DI fuckin’ touches my brother. Half an hour later, he actually tries to fuckin’ kiss him.”
We both cackled and some officers passing by looked at us in puzzlement.
“So, what did he do?”
“After my brother made him fuckin’ understand he really wasn’t a fag, he agreed not to say anything to anyone about the fuckin’ DI being more into sausage than sushi. But after that, boot camp was a fuckin’ breeze. My brother never had to do another fuckin’ push-up.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh shit, I’m fuckin’ gonna be late. How the fuck do we see each other again? Did they get you your fuckin’ assignment yet?”
“Leader of 2nd platoon, Alpha Company.”
“There’s just no fuckin’ justice. You’re my new fuckin’ boss.”
CHAPTER 4
I was anxious to leave Fort Stewart so I could get situated but there was one last formality. I had to attend a four-hour class on Defensive Driving in the detachment classroom. I was expecting a sexy course on how to perform high-speed chases but it turned out to be simply learning how to avoid bad drivers on the road.
Before I finally left, I signed up for an orientation session at the Education Center scheduled for the following Wednesday. I couldn’t afford not knowing about my new workplace if I was expected to lead my men adequately.
At last, I left the base and drove the 40 miles to Savannah. It was almost five when I got there and I was instantly smitten with the city. It was slightly less populous than Columbus but it still looked like a larger city because it had several suburbs which inflated the metropolitan population to 300,000.
Located at the mouth of the Savannah River on the Atlantic Coast at the South Carolina border, Savannah is known as the Cradle of Georgia. It was the first planned city of America and the architecture is a testament to its Southern charm.
Since the beginning, the economy of Savannah was based on agriculture, more specifically silk and indigo production which were in great demand in England in the 18th century. Then, paper production became the primary source of employment with International Paper remaining the city’s largest employer in the 21st century.
As the South became more industrialized in the 1930s and 1940s, many buildings in the historic district were torn down to favor the creation of parking lots. But after the demolition of Ellis Square’s 1870 City Market, a group of Georgia women created the Historic Savannah Foundation which lobbied for the preservation of historic structures.
Modern buildings like the DeSoto Hilton Hotel, the Hyatt Regency Savannah, and the Drayton Tower seemed out of place in the area but the apparently inevitable mass destruction was prevented, and in the late ‘70s Savannah was virtually reborn thanks to the recycling of downtown buildings, like when the Savannah College of Art and Design opted against a centralized campus in order to continue the preservation trend.
The housing facilities at Hunter Army Airfield are limited to only a limited number of families. Most of the personnel lives off-post in the nearby communities of Garden City and Richmond Hill. Knowing what little soldiers are paid, I doubted these suburbs were upscale.
For a guy who likes to plan ahead, I was rather disappointed in myself for not having secured lodging earlier. I had known of my transfer to Savannah for three months so the logical thing to do would have been to come on a reconnaissance mission.
But Savannah was over five hours away from Columbus and sloth got the better of me. All I did was go on the Internet to see what kind of hotel they had in the area. I figured I would rent a suite at the Foley Inn on Hull Street. It made a lot of sense to live in a hotel.
I had to pass through Chippewa Square to reach the hotel. They didn’t call the area the Historic District for nothing. The streets were lined with magnificent townhouses dating back to Confederate times. One house caught my attention -- or rather, a real estate sign caught my attention.
It was getting late but I produced my cell phone and dialed the advertised number. Fortunately, my call was answered and the Realtor agreed to let me visit the house this evening. I grabbed a bite to eat and met the guy around six.
“You must be looking for a house pretty bad to want to visit it this evening,” he said as he stepped out of his car and walked over to greet me. “Rule of thumb is you don’t visit a place in the evening, has to do with lighting.”
“It was nice of you to come on such short notice,” I replied while shaking his clammy hand.
“No problem, it’s my pleasure.”
His salesman smile was suddenly replaced by an uncomfortable inquiring grin. He noticed my Ferrari and I could see he was making the connection with the Class B uniform I was wearing. Soldiers don’t usually drive Italian sports cars.
“This is you car?”
That was a trick question. If I said no I would be lying but if I replied in the affirmative I would be giving him a license to screw me over on the deal because he would realize I had money to pay just about anything.
“Why don’t we take a look at the house,” I said. “I don’t want to make you waste your evening with me.”
The guy nodded and we climbed the eight steps to the front door. I was immediately struck by how classy it was compared to my house in Columbus. It was well decorated with expensive furniture which complemented the historic setting.
“This townhouse was built in 1854 for one of Savannah’s richest families at the time. With its 2,100 feet, it has everything: dressing room, cable TV, queen-size bed, central heat and air. You’re right in the middle of an upscale business and residential community.”
“I like the view outside,” I offered as I gazed out a window. “It looks somehow familiar.”
“That’s Chippewa Square. You remember the movie Forrest Gump? That’s where they shot the bench scenes. There are three bedrooms on both the garden and parlor level and six functional gas log fireplaces.”
“I heard somewhere that Savannah is the most haunted city in the country. Is that true?”
“It keeps the tourists coming. Are you looking to spend a few weeks of your leave in Savannah?”
“Just been transferred to Hunter. If you can get me a one-year lease, I’ll take it.”
I considered calling in an industrial crane to help my Realtor lift his jaw shut.
* * *
A Ranger company is made up of a headquarters section, a weapons platoon, and three rifle platoons. One such platoon contained forty which meant I was in charge of 39 enlisted men. That was enough to give me butterflies. It was one thing to act heroically in the field but quite another to lead others in doing the same.
As the platoon leader I was ultimately responsible for how my men acted. If the platoon failed in achieving its mission, the guy they would leave out to dry would be me. It was my job to set the example, to establish plans, to issue FRAGOs (fragmentary orders), to supervise the NCOs, to ensure that my men weren’t being asked the impossible, and to make sure they had everything they needed at all times.
Not only did I have to know how to operate every weapon in the platoon, which I already did, but I had to know my men and assume administration duties. I had doubts about the latter but I figured if I could be president of a company making millions of dollars a year, I could do this. The trick was to surround yourself with competent people.
When I reported for my first day on my new job, I had no idea if the people around me would be competent. All I had to go on was the fact that Ranger training was so grueling that weaker elements had to have been weeded out by now. This meant the guys would be skilled but it didn’t guarantee they were going to be likable.
As I stood before Capt. Troy Linklater, the commanding officer of Alpha Company, I was nervous. He was only a few years older than I was and wore the ring of a West Point graduate on his right hand. He was the youngest CO I had ever had and it gave me a taste of what my men would feel upon meeting me.
“Welcome aboard, Rynes,” Capt. Linklater said after we exchanged mandatory salutes. His New England accent was thick.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve been going over your record. Very impressive, you have more decorations than I do. Actually, I believe you have more decorations than most people in the battalion.”
He hadn’t asked a question but he was looking at me as if he was waiting for an answer.
“I go where the Army sends me and I do what the Army orders me to,” I offered.
“That’s the idea, isn’t it? I see that you’ll be eligible for a promotion to captain soon. You’re not after my job, are you?”
“Only if you get killed, sir.”
Linklater laughed heartily and I could tell I would get along well with him.
“I’m confident you’ll do a terrific job with 2nd platoon, they’re good guys. Speaking of good guys, here’s your platoon sergeant.”
A man of around 30 joined us and stood at attention long enough for the captain to salute and order him at ease. The guy was a sergeant first class and he looked somehow familiar.
“Lieutenant Rynes, meet Sergeant First Class Nick Gair, your new second-in-command.”
It was like karma stepping up to my face to deliver a one-two punch. The problem was that karmic revenge usually followed misdeeds and I was at a loss as to what they were. What did I do to deserve this?
“How do you do, Gair?” I pleasantly offered as we shook hands.
“It certainly has been a while,” my platoon sergeant answered.
“You guys know each other?” Linklater asked.
“We went through Ranger School together,” I replied. “We were Rangers buddies.”
“That’s great then, you guys should get along just right.”
Moments later we were dismissed and I was left alone with Gair. Technically, the captain should have been right but I remembered Gair from Ranger School. He had been an asshole back then and I doubted it was possible for these people to improve. Once an asshole always an asshole, I figured. Gair was constantly bragging about himself and his alleged accomplishments in the 82nd Airborne. This alone raised questions.