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Conquering Heroes
Rick McElroy
Copyright Page The Copyright for all material herein completed by Richard McElroy remains with Richard McElroy. You may not copy, modify, publish, transmit, transfer or sell, reproduce, create derivative works from, distribute, perform, display, or in any way exploit any of the content, in whole or in part, save as hereinafter provided. This novel is complete fiction by the writer and none of the characters are real. To the fullest extent permissible by law Richard McElroy hereby excludes liability for the truth or accuracy of any information provided herein.
Dedication Page This novel is dedicated to all veterans past, present, and future and their families for dedicated service to the United States of America. I appreciate the patience and understanding of my children while completing this story. Thanks Rick, Ash, John, Casey, Kevin, and Michayla. I am including a special thanks to the Blackwater Literary Society, my writers group. Thanks Rose Marie, Chuck, Chanda, and Jim, without you this would not be possible.
Preface
The lucky ones never return from war. They have given their lives to their brothers, sisters, even to their country, willing, or not so willing, all as heroes. Their honor is sheltered and solidified in the splendor of sacrifice. Those who return from service to country carry the hurt, scars, burdens, addictions, and hidden memories, living their lives amidst accusations, politics, and aging recollections. They come home to spitting, defiant citizenry bearing signs that read, “Sailors Keep off the Grass”, “No Military Welcome”, and “Baby Killers.”
Those who make it back, hold a torch for those who gave it all, never letting anyone disregard the ultimate sacrifice. The legacies carry coffins and shoulder burdens of death, horror, insane terror, and unceasing nightmares as they feel the love for their fallen comrades. See those solemn lone warriors, lining parade routes, bearded, worn, tattered, and saluting those who gave it all.
After the carnage, confusion, terror, boredom, and destruction these trodden veterans shuffle throughout the remainder of their lives, remembering the honor, the oath, and the brotherhood of serving a cause greater than life itself. This is the price of liberty. No one returns home unscathed. Wounds from chemical agents, asbestos poisoning, cancer, loss of limbs, eyes, hearing, and incomprehensible mental illnesses that only veterans of war understand, plague the returned. Someone once said, “Kill em all and let God sort it out.” After God sorts things out, maybe there’s a little instant left for the living heroes, the ones who made it home. Never forget.
Chapter One Naval Recruit Training Center Great Lakes Illinois January Nineteen Hundred Sixty-Five
I want to join the United States Navy and see the world, to serve my country, with honor, and fight the enemies of this great nation. I want to become a navigator, and be able to locate where I am by the stars. I want to pay for college, and become an officer, the hard way, through the ranks. I want to help my mother, with cold hard cash. I want action, adventure, intrigue, and girls, lots of them, in bikinis, naked or clothed, it doesn’t matter. After high school graduation, from Counterview High, a crusty, chain smoking, Chief Machinist Mate recruiter who looks really cool in his beard and dress whites assists me in joining the Navy. He shows me great pictures of exotic ports filled with bikini clad girls, parties, yachts, and the American flag fluttering in the breeze. After getting me drunk at the local Men’s Club, I sign the papers. I didn’t have to get drunk to sign. I just go along for the free beer, liquor, and topless dancers.
I’m standing nut to butt with a bunch of other guys, in just underpants, at an Armed Forces Examining and Entrance Station (AFEES) processing center waiting for induction physicals with our paperwork under our right arms. I’m pretty short so my head rests on the middle of the guys back in front of me and the guy behind me has his man stuff against the middle of my back. So far this Navy stuff sucks.
Everyone walks to a bench, attached to the floor, in unison, left -right, left and sits down. I watch people next to me enter a door marked Medical, one at a time. One man comes out and one goes in. Some of the guys on the bench with me have boners and are trying to cover them up. Some aren’t trying so hard to cover them up. A man in a white lab coat walks over and tells everyone that an erection resulting from a temperature change is normal. He tells them to relax and it will go away. Some do. Others don’t care and they remain vertically challenged in the cool stark corridor. I never get one while here. I’m grateful for that.
With my paperwork in hand, my turn arrives and I walk through the door. In the room is a man dressed like a doctor in a white lab coat. He has a stethoscope hanging on his neck. Another guy in Navy jeans and a blue shirt is assisting him. In front of a crooked metal desk were two yellow footprints painted on the floor. They were spaced perfectly for two feet to stand on. The doctor told me to stand on the footprints ... (buy the book and read the rest of the story)
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