Stormwatch Chapter 04

©

2025 Duleigh Lawrence-Townshend. All rights reserved. The author asserts the right to be identified as the author of this story for all portions. All characters are original. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental. This story or any part thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review or commentary.

This is an all new addition to the Stormwatch series. If you haven't read

Stormwatch Chapter 1

,

Stormwatch Chapter 2

, or

Stormwatch Chapter 3

, please take this chance. Chapters one and two are updates to existing chapters with 50% new material in each, and a corrected timeline. Chapters 3 and 4 are all new and hopefully they rekindle the joy of the series.

Chapter 4 is a bit of a departure from the current story line, but it fills in a gap that was missing from the original story and explains the problems that Josh and so many veterans have to face. I both loved and hated every minute of writing this chapter, but many of Josh's issues are taken from real-life issues faced by veterans that I've met over the years.

For comments, questions, or merchandise, please contact the author.

STORMWATCH Chapter 4

Clearing The Air

Josh and Veronica loved to camp back in the woods. It was something that Veronica had only dreamed about, but with Josh, it became a reality. Slowly, they made their own campsite atop the rise on the north end of his property. The scout lean-to became a woodshed, and they made a clean level area with drainage to pitch a nice cabin tent. Together they built a firepit ringed with rocks collected from down in Zoar Valley and built a new picnic table. Josh insisted on putting an umbrella over the table, so he drilled a hole in the middle of the table so he could erect the umbrella.

As they sat eating their first breakfast together at their new campsite, Veronica asked. "Why the umbrella? We're under a thick covering of pine and maple trees; sunlight will not touch this forest floor for a couple of months."

Just then something struck the umbrella, an acorn? Tree branch? Maybe a leaf or a few needles from the tamarack tree above them hit. "It's like this all spring, summer, and fall," said Josh. "Trees rain bits and pieces, not to mention tree sap."

Veronica was feeling especially naughty. As they worked in the woods yesterday, she had gone topless all day, like Josh. "Tell me a story," she said as Josh served her breakfast. Two eggs basted in bacon fat, home fries and bacon. They had a long day of work ahead of them and Josh believed in a big breakfast. They were going to put up a new outhouse here on the hill.

"I don't know any stories. I have to borrow a book every time I go watch Paul and Andi's girls."

"Then tell me about your last year," said Veronica. They sat topless, leaning close to each other.

"Why do you want to know about that? I got out of the hospital, went to Hurlburt Field, went to Korea, went to the hospital, came back and got discharged, then went back into the hospital. Woo hoo. Fun."

"No, I'm serious. You'll occasionally say something like 'this is as bad as my last year.' I want to know."

Josh looked at Veronica and sighed. He didn't want to tell her; he was sure he'd get that pitying look that he had to endure in the hospitals. "Actually, it was closer to two years," said Josh. "After I got banged up and got my call sign Bounce Two Seven, I ended up in Wilford Hall Air Force Hospital getting glued back together before they mailed me home to Hurlburt Field in Florida. That's when shit really fell apart." He thought for a moment, then said, "and came back together, and fell apart, and came back together... I wasn't the Ephie you know. I was in pain all the time, and life kept slapping me down."

"Tell me," she said as she leaned over and gnawed on his bare shoulder.

"Ok, but don't look at me like Marjory Friedman does when I tell you." She knew what he meant by that. Marjory Friedman, their boss's wife, gushes pity over sad stories.

"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

"Ok, but it's mostly boring...

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Technical Sergeant Ephraim J. Gravely rode in silence as his first sergeant, Master Sergeant John Terry, picked Josh up at the Fort Walton Beach Airport. Ephraim, or Josh as he's known to his friends, was still shaking and sweating from the flight. The flight from Wilford Hall Aeromedical Institute was worse than he expected and when he had to change flights at St. Louis, he almost didn't get on the plane. His nerves were jangling, and he felt a panic rise as he neared his gate.

Luckily, he had devised a plan. He stopped at every bar he passed in Lambert-St. Louis International Airport and ordered a gin and tonic. He downed the drink and pressed on to the next airport bar. That way, he was well lubricated when he got on the flight to Fort Walton Beach. It kept most of the horrors away. Not all of them. He also had a travel mug full of ice and he paid far too much for two bottles of water. He didn't know why, possibly because of the dry, dusty life he led for eight months, but having water at hand comforted him.

"When am I going to get my new crew?" asked Josh. He said it mostly for something to say. The first sergeant had nothing to do with assigning gun crews, but Josh felt he had to go back up and to go back up, he needed a crew. He was a damn good gunner, one of the best. He trained and evaluated the best gunners in Special Operations. Guns always work when Josh was on the plane.

"You need to pass a flight physical first big guy," said John, who at five foot six was shorter than most men in the USAF, so almost everyone was 'big guy' to him.

"That's going to be a while Johnny," said Josh. "I busted myself up pretty good. I just wanna go home and lay down on the couch and watch a ball game."

"Well, we will have that dream come true for you in a few minutes," said the first sergeant as he wove through base housing. Being on a flight crew, Josh had a pretty nice apartment in a duplex. He couldn't wait to get home. He missed Yesenia even though she only wrote five letters in the nine months he was gone. She wasn't what you would consider the literate type, but she was affectionate.

They pulled up to his apartment, and there was a staff car waiting. Two men in flight suits stepped out of the staff car. One was his squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Gabriel Marriner, the other was Colonel Ryker Ash, the wing commander of the 57th Special Operations Wing. In his rumpled dress blues, on crutches and wearing an eye patch, Josh looked like a battered survivor. An optometrist had discovered sand burn in his right eye from his final mission and bandaged that eye so it would heal. Josh covered the bandage with a black eye patch because it looked cool.

"Sergeant Gravely, welcome back," said Colonel Ash. "Major Hancock and Captain Jackson are still singing your praises for your actions over Eil Geradi."

Josh saluted, then shook the hands of the commanders. He didn't want to talk about Eil Geradi; he didn't want to talk about what he did there, he just wanted a cold beer and a bath. "We've declassified Eil Geradi?" Eil Geradi was a highly classified Neolithic shithole filled with Houthi terrorists, ISIS terrorists, Al Qaeda terrorists, and Taliban terrorists armed to the teeth with crap that some moron abandoned in Afghanistan. They were shooting up shipping and the new CINC ordered it stopped. Josh and his team shot the living fuck out of Eil Geradi, but someone down there shot back, which started the worst night in Sergeant Gravely's life.

"We thought you might like to know that Eil Geradi doesn't exist anymore," said Colonel Marriner. "Our friends in Minot... let's say they leveled the playing field."

Josh nodded to the colonel. The expression Friends in Minot was a euphemism for B-52 bombers, or any heavy bombers in general. Josh tightened his fists until his fingernails dug into his hands. "Yes sir. Shall..."

"Before we go inside, sergeant, let me be the first to shake your hand," said Colonel Ash. "Master Sergeant Gravely," he said with a grin as they shook hands.

"I made it?" Josh tested for Master Sergeant just before deploying to the gulf region.

"You sure did," said the wing commander, and he handed Josh a letter that informed him of his selection for promotion and his line number. Everyone in the USAF who is promoted past Senior Airman receives a line number which is based on your time in service. Folks who have been in the longest have the lowest number, and after that, so many people per month officially put on their new rank based on their line number. Josh's line number was 3520, which meant he had months to wait before he could wear the Master Sergeant stripes. That didn't stop wise commanders from putting promotion selectees in positions their future rank would demand.

"Thank you sir. God, this helps." Josh almost cried. It's been bad news every day, one day after another, for weeks and weeks. Now, some good news! Josh felt like his life was finally turning around. "Shall we go inside?"

The colonels smiled and nodded, so Josh set his crutches and crutched his way up the driveway. "Nice cars," said Master Sergeant Terry

There was a new Dodge Charger and a new Corvette in the driveway. "I own a 2020 Jeep Renegade and my wife has a 2014 Fusion, but I don't see them anywhere," said Josh.

He walked up to the front door and flung it open wide. He was going to cheerfully announce, "I'm home!" but what he saw froze him solid. There in the living room was his wife, Yesenia, stripped to the waist, big tits and a big pregnant belly. Her once fair skin was covered with tattoos. She was on her knees, sucking the cock of some greasy-looking piece of trash as he sat on Josh's couch. Finally, Josh shrieked, "GET THE FUCK OUT!" He took a crutch and brought it up to throw like a javelin.

It was bedlam. Yesenia was shrieking in Spanish. The guy she was blowing was shouting in Spanish as well. Josh was shouting, "Get out of my house you WHORE! You SLUT!" John Terry pulled the crutch out of Josh's hands so he couldn't kill the screaming pregnant woman. However, the greasy-looking piece of trash got up to run and completely forgot his pants were around his ankles and fell on his face. Josh had another crutch to use, and he brought it up like an axe. "Puta! (Whore)" he shouted.

Josh brought the crutch down like a sledgehammer, but the greasy piece of shit on the floor scrambled out of the way. That's when Colonel Ash and Lieutenant Colonel Marriner grabbed Josh by the arms and hauled him away from the house. Colonel Marriner pushed Josh into the staff car and said, "Calm down. Sergeant Terry and Colonel Ash are dealing with them. I need you Josh. Let's put you up for the night while we straighten this shit out."

"Just let me wound her," begged Josh. "Nothing fatal or debilitating, a few ugly scars here and there. She'll cover them with ugly fucking tattoos anyhow."

They stopped at the base hotel, a facility for personnel that are on base temporarily, or waiting for their housing unit to open. As Josh got his crutches set, his commander grabbed his duffle bag and led him into the hotel. "Get him a nice room for a few days," Colonel Marriner told the desk clerk. The clerk checked Josh's ID card, then ran his debit card.

"This was rejected," said the clerk.

"Here, try this one," and Josh handed the clerk a card that was just for official travel.

"That was rejected too," said the clerk.

"That fucking whore! How did she get access to that card?"

"Put it on my card," said Colonel Marriner. He handed the desk clerk his card and said, "He's going to need a week."

It was obvious Josh was trying not to cry. His entire world was gone. In one month, he was shot out of the air, his crew was injured, his best friend dead, and the incident with Ellie still made him wake up screaming. His body was broken, his crew in shambles, and he had to come home to that horror show. "I can't pay you back sir," said Josh.

"You already have sergeant. Just relax and let me take care of it," said Colonel Marriner as they entered his room. Josh sat down in a chair. He wasn't sure if he should, but nobody stopped him. Colonel Marriner was talking, but Josh didn't hear a word. He watched the commander walk out of the door and someone entered and speaking words that didn't register with Josh.

"Ephraim? Are you with us?"

Josh shook his head and noticed that there was a well-dressed man standing in front of him. "Colonel Ash asked me to do a little work for you. Have you had any sleep?"

"I don't know... I just don't know anything..."

Bob Mosgrove has never seen someone so busted up in his life, and as a divorce attorney, he's seen some seriously shredded people. "Ephraim, when's the last time you ate?"

"I... I don't know..." He looked in a corner of the room and said, "Craig? Did we eat?"

"There's no Craig here, Sergeant Gravely. It's just you and me."

"Craig?" Josh nodded, then turned to Bob. In a small, tired voice, he said, "He doesn't know either." Then Josh closed his eyes and everything went slack.

"Ephraim? Are you ok?" Bob snapped his fingers in front of Josh's face, but there was no response. He pinched Josh here and there, then swore. "Shit!" Bob checked Josh's pulse. It was there, but it was weak and fluttering. Bob Mosgrove was a lawyer. Lawyers don't lose patients. He called 911 and said, "I have a GI returning from combat, he... I don't know, it seemed like he had a psychotic break. Then he lost consciousness and is nonresponsive. Respirating? Yes, shallow breaths, his pulse is 50 and fluttery. Drinking? I don't think so. He was just released from Willford hall. Hurlburt Field, base hotel, room 101...

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Josh opened his eyes and saw the room was full of medical equipment. An EMT was shining a tiny flashlight in his eye. "Follow the light please," and he moved it side to side.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your lawyer called us and said you needed help," said the EMT.

"I don't have a lawyer... I don't have anything..." Josh desperately tried to get back to the pleasant nothing that he was in, but people kept bothering him.

"When is the last time you ate?" asked the EMT.

Josh squinted at his watch, then said, "Seven hours ago."

"What did you eat?"

"Gin."

The EMT sighed and said, "When was the last time you ate solid food?"

"What day is this? The last meal I ate was... Sunday. I had an open face roast chicken sandwich. The nurse wouldn't let me watch the game unless I ate."

"That was two days ago," said the EMT. "Look, sergeant. All this trauma on a diet of gin will kill you."

Josh looked the EMT in the eye and said, "What's the downside of that?"

The EMT turned to Colonel Ash and said, "He should be in a hospital."

"He just got released from a hospital," said the commander.

"That's just my opinion," said the EMT. "Emotional trauma, physical trauma, all on top of a diet of gin..."

"I had it with tonic," insisted Josh. The EMT closed his eyes and pretended he didn't hear that. "It was diet tonic," continued Josh. "I'm trying to lose weight."

"It's not surprising he shut down like that," said the EMT as he packed his bags up.

"Please leave me alone. I'm fine," said Josh, who was desperately trying to go back to sleep.

"Gunner, I need you," said a familiar voice. Josh opened his eyes and saw that it was Major Emory Hancock. His pilot. The young major leaned in close and whispered, "I know what that cunt did to you, but you can't do anything or she'll take everything you own."

"She already did."

"Gunner, do you trust me?"

"You got me home sir... but thanks to Yesenia my levels of gratitude are wavering."

Major Hancock chuckled. "At least your cynicism is still intact. This fellow here he's Bob Mosgrove, he's a lawyer. If you want payback, you go through him."

"I just want my jeep and my credit rating back and that cunt and her spawn out of my life."

"Good, that's a start. Just listen to Bob, he'll steer you straight."

"Yes sir."

"Tonight. O-club. My treat. It's steak and lobster night."

"I don't know," said Josh. "Over at the NCO club it's Spaghetti-O's and garlic toast night. That's the top spread at the Bent Barrel." The Bent Barrel was the nickname of the NCO club.

Major Hancock chuckled and said, "If you want, I can have the chef at the O club warm up a can of Ravioli-O's for you."

"Sold," said Josh, a half-smile creeping up on his face.

"I know I said this before, I'm sorry about Craig, he was a good man and we all miss him. But thank you for saving Ellie. She was the best loadmaster I ever had."

Tears filled Josh's eyes, and he groaned, "Her leg..."

"You saved her life Ephraim," said the Major forcefully. "Don't you ever diminish that. I put you in for a Medal of Honor."

Josh looked at his flight crew commander like he was crazy. "It will never happen, but thank you sir."

"You may be right, but whatever happens, you've earned it as far as we're all concerned." Then the Major gestured to the lawyer who sat down next to Josh.

"Ephraim, my name is Bob Mosgrove."

They shook hands and Josh said, "Call me Josh."

"Ok, Josh. Have you heard of Do Ab?"

Anyone who has flown gunships after 2011 knows about Do Ab. A scout platoon from the 133rd Infantry Regiment, along with 20 Afghan soldiers, were ambushed by an estimated 500 Taliban fighters. Close air support by F-16s, F-15s, F-18s, AH-64s, and AC-130s protected the coalition forces. Then, as night fell, two AC-130s using infrared targeting systems hunted down the retreating Taliban and almost got them all. "Yeah, I know Do Ab," said Josh.

"I was in the first of the one thirty third and the Specters saved my ass," said Bob. "If there's a Specter that needs help, I'm there to give them anything they need. Pro bono."

Josh looked at Bob and tried to make up his mind. He wasn't in a trusting mood. Yeah, he was pissed at Yesenia, but his unit should have been checking up on her to make sure that she didn't get into trouble. He wanted to think that something happened and she couldn't find help from the US Air Force, so she turned to... shit. Josh just realized who was on the couch with his cock down Yesenia's throat. It was Alfonso Romerez, her old boyfriend.

He nodded to Bob and said, "I need help. Lots of help."

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Josh and Bob Musgrove strolled into Fort Walton Beach Chrysler Jeep Chevy. Well, Bob strolled. Josh was on crutches and in his dress blues and was wearing sunglasses. "Can I help you sir?"

"I would like to speak to the sales manager please."

"Regarding what?"

"My Jeep," said Josh. He took off his sunglasses, revealing the eye patch he was wearing. His blues were cleaned, pressed, and Bob insisted he wear all of his badges, wings, and ribbons, even the ones he earned on classified missions that were not supposed to be displayed. 'What are they going to do?' asked Bob Mosgrove. 'Send you back to East Africa?'

This was the first step in getting Josh his life back. Bob hoped it would get Josh his pride and self-esteem back too. Yesenia took all that away, including his jeep, most of his possessions, and his money. Luckily, Josh had done a masterful job at hiding his life savings from her. A hefty percentage of each paycheck went into savings because Josh was planning on buying a farm when he got bored with the Air Force. When he woke up in the base hotel with no home, no food, no car, and no cash, he didn't dream of touching his savings. That was for his farm.