The Fulcrum Read online

  “No sir, I’m not. Unless of course I’m to understand that being educated and able to speak a few languages and having lost my dad at the hands of terrorists makes me a loose cannon.”

  Nelson shifted slightly in his chair. He was beginning to understand why this recruit caused such a din at the recruitment center. The man was hyperintelligent and confident — the latter, though, not improper.

  “It also says here you are proficient in Tai chi and Krav Maga. An odd combination of martial arts, given their opposite philosophies. Care to explain all that?”

  “I can if you wish, sir. But I have a date at seven, in Newtown,” Rex said again.

  “Then I suggest you make it a brief explanation, recruit.” Col. Nelson’s demeanor switched from kind probing to firm demand.

  Rex sighed. Where to begin? With the martial arts, he supposed. “Ever since I was in about the fifth grade, when some of my schoolmates started giving me a hard time about being teacher’s pet because my dad taught in the same school, I’ve been disciplining myself to be slow to anger. My dad told me to just walk away. When that stopped working and the bigger kids started getting physical, Dad enrolled me in Tai chi classes, so I’d be able to defend myself if I couldn’t defuse the situation.”

  What he didn’t tell the colonel was that it had been more than just himself. He saw the bullies move on to other kids when they could no longer get to him, so he began protecting the most vulnerable. Later, his own drive to be the best he could be at anything he took up led him to Krav Maga, at which he was now an expert.

  Nelson didn’t pursue the question, though. “Tell me about the languages. How did that come about?”

  “My mother’s parents were German. She was born here only shortly after my grandparents immigrated, so she grew up bilingual, and she taught us German. I guess I have a talent for languages, because I’m more fluent than my brother or sister were. When I got to high school, there was a great language department, so I took one language each year.”

  “One year of high school language doesn’t make you fluent. Are you certain you aren’t exaggerating?”

  “Yes, sir. One year’s not enough, you’re right. But I like to learn new languages and once I start I put in extra time. I keep on learning and practicing every day until I’m fluent. When I was an undergraduate, they didn’t believe me, either. So, when I entered the linguistics program, they tested me. In fact, I tested out for several semester hours of credit. I’m told I have no accent, either, or rather that I speak like a native of whatever region my teachers were from.” Rex stated it with no arrogance or boasting. Just simple facts.

  “I guess that’s rare.” Nelson nodded. “You said you were more fluent in German than your brother or sister were. Did they lose their ability to speak German?”

  “Along with their lives,” Rex said flatly. “At the same time as my mother and father, in a terrorist attack on a Spanish train station on March 11, 2004.”

  The colonel reacted with horror. “My god, man, you lost your entire family at once?”

  “Yes, sir. My girlfriend and I survived because we’d gone for coffee.”

  “I’m sorry about your loss.”

  “Not your fault, sir.” Rex had schooled himself to show no emotion when he told people about the lot of his family, after enduring countless interview attempts from news media when he’d finally come home from Spain with the ashes of his mother and sister. It was the wrong affect for a psychologist, though, and Rex knew it the minute the doctor’s face changed.

  “Mr. Dalton, is your desire to join the infantry perhaps fueled by revenge?”

  “Of course, it is,” he snapped. “Let me tell you something. I prepared myself for a life in the Foreign Service. But on that day, I saw that no amount of conventional diplomacy could deal with cowards like the al Qaeda terrorists who blew up a train full of civilians. The only diplomatic strategy with them, as far as I am concerned, should come from the business end of a gun.”

  Nelson nodded. “I see you’re very angry.”

  “Damn straight. I’m angry. But I control my anger — learned that a long time ago, as I have explained before. If not, those sergeants in the recruitment office would be in medical care right now, and your office would not be as neatly arranged as it is now.”

  “How do you do it?” Nelson asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Control so much anger.”

  “You have mentioned the difference between the philosophies of Tai chi and Krav Maga. So, when I’m confronted, I always try the Tai chi approach first. The best fight is the one you never get into. Then, if that fails, I resort to the Krav Maga approach, finishing a fight as quickly and aggressively as possible.

  “Between me and the terrorists, the Tai chi stage is over. We’re now in the Krav Maga stage.

  “I’m not crazy, and I’m not out of control. Now will you please let me join the Marines and fight for my country and the memory of my family?” Rex had not raised his voice, nor was his color high. His blood pressure was even, as was his pulse.

  Nelson wrote something on a pad on his desk. Then he said, “Mr. Dalton, assuming you pass the physical, and I have no doubt you will, welcome to the Marines.”

  6

  MCRD Parris Island, February 16, 2005

  REX HAD REPORTED back to MEPS, Brooklyn by noon on February 15th, after a tense hour with Jessie. She hadn’t wanted to meet him for breakfast, but when he told her it was that or never, she arrived at the café where he’d asked her to meet him.

  “I don’t have much time, Jessie. I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I need you to do me one last favor. If you can’t, I’ll understand, and I’ll get a lawyer to do it.” He watched her face turn pale and hurried to reassure her. “I’m not going to do anything stupid,” he said. “But I report for my physical today, and if I pass, which I’m sure I will, I’ll report to start basic. So, I need to give you power of attorney to handle the closing and sell everything before that. You can hire an estate sale place if you want. I won’t ask you to do all the work yourself. And then just dump everything in my bank account and convert that to Certificates of Deposit. I won’t be needing the money. Oh, and you said you liked some of Mom’s things. Feel free to take anything you want. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

  Jessie was listening to him with growing disbelief evident in her expression. She finally exploded. “You didn’t mean to be insensitive? You… you ass! You’re just going to waltz off into the Marines and you want me to stay here and clean up your mess for you? Who the hell do you think you are?”

  “Jess, I’m sorry.”

  “Yes, you are,” she snapped. “I’ll do it, only because I respected your parents. But as soon as I’m done, we’re done. I told you last night I wouldn’t wait for you.”

  “I never expected you to, Jess. And again, I’m sorry.” He’d considered giving her the ring, finally. Not to ask her to marry him, but as a token of his affection. Now he reconsidered. She was likely to throw it in his face. Instead, he handed her a key. “This is to the front door. Everything you’ll need is on the kitchen counter. Power of attorney, all keys and garage door openers, my real estate agent’s card, my bank account number. Everything I could think of. If you need to, you can consult my family’s lawyer for help, and let him charge his fees to the estate.”

  “That’s it, then? That’s all you have to say to me?” Now tears were coursing down her cheeks.

  “No, Jess, that isn’t all. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. You know I love you. But I’m not good for you. Not with all this hatred inside. You deserve better than me. I want you to have a good life, and not always be worrying about where I’ve been deployed or what’s happening to me. I want you to find happiness. Forget me.”

  “Rex!” she cried, as he stood, leaving a couple of bills on the table for their breakfast.

  “Goodbye, Jess,” he said. He dropped a kiss on her head and walked away without looking back.

  H
ours later, he sat in the counselor’s office and reiterated his demand to be assigned to the infantry.

  “But your scores,” the counselor protested. “They’re off the charts. And your background is perfect for the Signal Corps. Won’t you reconsider?”

  “Will I be allowed to carry a rifle and shoot terrorists?” he asked.

  “Well, no…”

  “Then please assign me to infantry. Or I’ll rescind my commitment to the Marines and go Army instead.” Rex knew that until he took the oath, he had not fully enlisted, and could do as he’d threatened.

  “What a waste,” the counselor muttered sadly.

  “Excuse me?” Rex asked.

  “All that talent, to be cannon fodder,” the counselor said. “It’s a waste.”

  “You assume I’m stupid enough to get myself killed before I take out my share of terrorists.”

  “And you just proved my assumption. Sign here and get out of my sight.”

  Rex didn’t take it personally. The counselor was wrong, but only Rex could prove it, by staying alive. And he fully intended to. But if he didn’t, it didn’t much matter. He had only one thing to live for now, and that was defending his country and avenging his family.

  However, he had thirteen weeks of training to get through before he’d be ready for assignment. The nearly twelve months of depression and drinking he’d allowed himself before suddenly pulling himself together had taken their toll. Though he’d passed the physical, he knew he wasn’t in the best shape of his life. That would be corrected in the first four weeks of his training.

  In a twist of luck, his timing coincided with a previously-scheduled swearing-in ceremony. Because he hadn’t been able to rehearse it with them, though, he was given a card bearing the Oath of Enlistment to memorize quickly, and a teleprompter was set up behind the officer who conducted the ceremony. He wondered if the others were nervous, as one or two of them shuffled from foot to foot while waiting for the ceremony to begin. He stood perfectly still, at parade rest as he’d practiced on his own. They waited a few minutes, and then a colonel Rex hadn’t met before stepped from the side of the room and behind a podium. The others stood at attention, so Rex did as well.

  The officer said a few words and then instructed the group to raise their right hands. Together they recited the Oath: "I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God."

  It was almost an anticlimax when, with the other recruits, he left immediately after the swearing-in ceremony for the Parris Island MCRD. There, the three other men and two women he’d traveled with joined two dozen or so other recruits at Recruit Receiving, where they received fashionable haircuts and clothing, the finest in toiletries, and letter writing supplies. Everything he needed, except for the letter writing supplies. He had no one to write to. He was also told to make a phone call home, but he declined. He had no one to call.

  The next few days were filled with full medical and dental screenings and the Initial Strength Test. The latter was to determine whether they were in shape to begin training. It was here that the confident young men and women who’d taken an oath of courage learned they’d need it right away. The strength test consisted of a one-and-a-half-mile run, sit-ups, and pull-ups. One of the recruits who’d been on the bus with Rex remarked that if they could do all that, why would they need basic training. Rex decided the boy was not someone with whom to become best friends.

  To his surprise, he wasn’t among the oldest of the recruits, though he was older than most by a few years. Rumor had it that the older men were as well-educated as he, with degrees or careers in sciences, medicine, or, to his delight, history. He and another history major were assigned to the same squad, and Rex hoped they would become friends, though he wasn’t here to make friends. At least it would relieve any boredom he had time for to be able to discuss his passion with someone else.

  Rumor also had it that their education combined with a good performance in basic might mean they’d graduate as E-2 privates first class, or even E-3 Lance Corporals. It didn’t really matter to Rex, but his new friend Frank confided he wanted to advance as quickly as possible. He had a plan for after his enlistment that he expected would pay better than any teaching job, even a full professorship at a prestigious university. But he refused to tell Rex what it was.

  Rex reveled in the first four weeks of Basic, learning weapons handling from experts and completing the Confidence Course, which not only helped him regain his previous fitness level, but was almost like playing on giant playground equipment. He had no fear to overcome, so while it was hard work, the Confidence Course was great fun for him.

  7

  MCRD Parris Island, March 11, 2005

  ON MARCH 11TH, Rex woke with a sad memory but a sense of purpose. He was halfway through Phase One of Basic Training. Though he’d done his best to blend in and not outshine the other recruits in his squad, his DI seemed to have it in for him. The slightest misstep during drills earned him a ‘drop and give me a hundred’.

  He stoically endured the screaming, spittle-laced tirades two inches from his face when he forgot and addressed the DI as ‘sir’, a habit ingrained in him by his upbringing, but considered a mortal insult by a non-commissioned officer. Before he’d finished Week 2, he’d learned to regret talking to his recruiter the way he had, when his DI slipped and mentioned Hatch’s name.

  Today was the first anniversary of his parents’ and siblings’ horrific deaths. A lesser man, the one Rex had been a few months ago, might have marked the anniversary by getting drunk and sleeping the awful reminder away.

  Rex had effectively eliminated that option by joining the Marines. But today was also an unofficial test of the progress his squad had made in close combat skills. They would each spar against one of the DI’s or the instructor, and Rex had managed to conceal his expertise very well while still exceling at the hand-to-hand combat skills training. It wasn’t his intention to show up the DI or the martial arts instructor. The Tai chi approach. But he didn’t intend to let DI Stringer get in a sucker-punch, either, if he was Rex’s opponent. And he had the gut feeling somehow, he was going to face Stringer.

  By eight a.m., the sixty-eight recruits making up MCRD 1st Battalion Bravo platoon were in the gym, Rex among them. He’d eaten only a light breakfast, and like the others was wearing his green PT shorts and undershirt. Spring came early to Parris Island. It would be a pleasant seventy degrees outside, with a brisk breeze from the north. In the gym, the temperature would soon climb to eighty or higher. Marines didn’t need air conditioning. But some were already sweating.

  DI Stringer was yelling instructions. Three matches at once would take place. He, the second DI, and the instructor would each take on one recruit for a maximum ten-minute bout. Recruits were to demonstrate adequate hand-to-hand combat. Points would be awarded for offensive moves, defensive moves, take-downs and avoidance of take-down. Any recruit being taken to the ground would lose their match and any points scored before that. Non-lethal moves only, but anything short of lethal was permitted.

  When he finished shouting, seventy-two recruits comprising Charlie platoon filed in and took their seats as observers, while their Drill Instructors and hand-to-hand combat instructor judged Bravo platoon’s match. The roles would be reversed in the afternoon.

  The first three recruits heard their names called in alphabetical order. Rex calculated quickly after that. As luck would have it, he’d come up in the third set of matches, and as expected his ‘favorite’ DI would be his opponent. He could expect dirty moves, he reckoned. He had to suppress a feral grin.

  It turned out that the ten-minute matches usually took less than five. Not one of the first six recruits won a poi
nt, as each was taken down inside three minutes by their respective opponent. But the schedule was kept. After all, each of the three instructors would be taking on at least twenty-two recruits. They needed to rest between bouts. Rex was glad Stringer would be fresh. That way, there’d be no question surrounding his victory. Defensive moves only, he admonished himself. He’d go with the Tai chi and other defensive moves he’d learned here. There was no need for the overwhelming offense of Krav Maga.

  When his name was called, Rex stepped eagerly onto the mat to face DI Stringer. “One question, please. The rules against striking a superior are suspended for this, am I right?”

  The DI smirked. “Don’t you worry about that. Yes, they’re suspended. But you won’t be striking a superior. Just get in the ring, so I can kick your smart ass.”

  “Just so long as we’re clear about the legal aspects, I’m happy,” Rex replied. He stepped over the tape marking the ring on the mat. The bell sounded, and he took a defensive stance. His focus narrowed to his opponent and his moves. The recruits shouting encouragement in the background, the sound of blows from the mats to either side, the heat, and the sticky, humid stink of the gym all faded. His opponent lunged.

  Rex sidestepped and grabbed DI Stringer’s arm, outstretched in a jab that missed Rex completely. He rotated with the momentum and flung the DI out of the ring, then stepped back. Stringer caught his balance before falling and whirled, anger evident in his expression. This time he approached more cautiously, stalking Rex around the ring, Rex retreating, defending.

  “Stand and fight, recruit! That’s an order.”

  Rex shrugged and stopped backing away. “Okay, have it your way then.”

  Stringer rushed him again, but at the last moment, as Rex brought his arms up in a defensive move, he grabbed Rex by one wrist and pulled him in. In a flash, Rex made a fist, grabbed it with his other hand and flung himself back, breaking Stringer’s hold on his arm. Stringer looked surprised. “You’ve been holding out on us, boy,” he snarled.