The Camp Ch 04 Gunny Rob

As always, many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

I took my seat on the airplane heading home and looked out the window as the airplane clawed its way into the sky. Finally, after 30 years, I was going home for good. I felt that I owed it to myself and my wife, Lisa. I pulled out the Zippo lighter I had carried with me all those years -- a present from my wife, inscribed, "To my beloved husband, Alan. Congratulations, Marine." That's me, by the way -- Alan Roberts. Gunnery Sergeant Alan Roberts, or "Gunny Rob" to those I chose to let get close to me over the years.

After today, there would be one addition to that moniker -- "Retired." I had spent over 30 years in uniform, a uniform now festooned with ribbons and badges that would mean nothing to anyone but me. A little more than ten of those years were spent in the Reserves. I could literally say I had been there, done that, got all the t-shirts.

I was already in uniform when Lisa and I married so long ago. I literally met her on the side of the road one day after work. I was a mechanic at a large auto dealership in Coeur d'Alene, Idaho and was driving home when I saw her car on the side of the road. She had her hood up and I could see steam rising from her engine.

I did what people here often do when they see people in need -- I pulled over and offered to help. It didn't hurt that she was pleasing to the eye. One look and I knew what the problem was -- her fan belt broke. An easy fix. I ran to the auto parts place just up the road and came back with the belt and some coolant to replace what she had lost. I had her car running in no time at all.

"Thank you so much," she said. "I have to get back to Spokane and I thought I'd never make it. Is there anything I can do to repay you?"

"Just get home safe," I said.

"No, please, let me repay you," she pleaded. "Maybe I could treat you to dinner. Do you like Red Lobster?" What the hell, I thought.

"I love Red Lobster," I said. She smiled and wrote her name and number down on a piece of paper.

"Good," she said. "How about Friday night at 7:00?"

"Sounds good to me," I said. We met that Friday night and have been together ever since. After dating for eight months, I popped the question and we got married. That was in 1987 and I've been a happy man ever since.

She moved into my house in north Idaho, even though it added over 30 miles to her commute. She was a teacher at an elementary school in Spokane Valley, just across the state line. We discussed buying something closer to her work, but I liked my house and especially liked the fact that it was free and clear and sat on five acres of wooded land just off Highway 95 north of Coeur d'Alene. The place was originally built by my parents years ago and they left it to me in their will, along with a fairly nice inheritance. My hope was that one day I would pass the house on down to one of my children.

Lisa knew that my Reserve duty required me to be gone one weekend a month and two weeks every year for drill. She never complained and the checks, small as they were, usually got put into my IRA. Our first child, Renee, was born about a year and a half after we got married.

In 1990, a cruel dictator named Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait and my unit got called into active duty. A little more than a year later, we returned to a warm welcome and our son, Carl, was born a year after that.

Then 9/11 happened and all of our lives changed. I was given an opportunity to go into active duty and I accepted. From that point on, we moved back and forth between Camp Pendleton, California and Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Lisa got certified to teach in both states so she had a job no matter where we went.

I ended up spending three tours in Iraq and three more in Afghanistan -- a little more than six years total. On top of that, I was sent to Okinawa for a year-long tour four times. Each time, Lisa and the kids would move back to our home in Idaho and she ended up working at the same school in Spokane Valley.

She never complained, God bless her soul. But I knew it had taken a toll on her and the kids and I felt bad. Ten anniversaries missed, and ten sets of birthdays and Christmases missed is never good for any family. When this tour came up, I promised her it would be my last. Now pushing 56 years of age, I felt that running around in the hot desert dodging bullets was a game for younger men. I had done my duty and it was time to go home.

You're probably thinking that after 30 years or more, I should have retired at a much higher rank, and you'd be right. In some ways, I was your typical Marine. I never chased after wild women, but I did like to drink with my fellow Marines and my adherence to the concept of

Semper Fidelis

-- Always Faithful -- caused me to get in trouble more than once when I stood up to support my comrades with my physical prowess and my willingness to engage in a bit of hand-to-hand combat. As a result, I lost two promotions.

But I didn't complain or whine. Hell, I liked being a Gunnery Sergeant. "Gunny" was the man everyone went to for everything, be it advise or tactics. I took damn good care of my Marines -- officers and enlisted men alike -- and they respected me for it. That alone meant more to me than all the medals and ribbons on my chest.

I thought back to the retirement party the guys threw for me. We had a good time, swapping sea stories and telling salty jokes. Lt. Col. Reston, our battalion commander, came by to wish me well. I had known him for a long time -- he was one of the officers who busted me years ago. I didn't hold it against him and we became good friends. He shook my hand after he gave me a commendation for my service.

"The Corps not gonna be the same without you, Gunny," he said, smiling. I smiled back.

"Thanks for saying so, Colonel," I said. "But I think it's in pretty good hands." One of the troops, Lance Corporal Dawson, a big black kid from Georgia, came over with some of his friends and handed me something wrapped in brown paper.

"Just a little something to remember us by, Gunny Rob," he said, smiling. I removed the paper and smiled when I saw what was inside. It was a hand-carved wooden hand with the middle finger extended. It reminded me of the many times I had flipped someone off in jest, something I often did. The Marines who knew me -- even the officers -- understood it was just the way I was and they never took offense. I turned the carving over and saw that he had carved a Marine Corps emblem on the back of the hand along with our unit designation.

"Did you make this yourself, Dawson?" I asked. He smiled and nodded his head.

"Sure did, Gunny," he said, beaming with pride.

"Damn good job," I said. "I'll treasure this for the rest of my life. Thanks." We shook hands as the other Marines around us whooped and hollered. I looked up at Staff Sergeant Joel Henson, the young man taking my place as Company Gunny.

"You take damn good care of these Marines, Joel," I told him as we shook hands.

"I will, Gunny, promise," he said, smiling.

"Good. Cause if you don't, I'm gonna come back and kick your ass," I said, laughing. That prompted another round of laughter and whoops.

"Henson's a good man, Gunny Rob," said Capt. Michaels, our company commander. "Of course, no one could ever really fill your shoes. Take care of yourself, Gunny. It's been an honor serving with you." We shook hands and said our goodbyes before the driver came in to let me know that all my gear was loaded up and ready to be transported to the airport.

I felt the plane begin to descend and my mind came back to the present. I looked down and saw Spokane, Washington, come into view. I could make out the river and the falls and could clearly see Riverfront Park and the landmark Pavilion, built for Expo '74. I had taken Lisa and the kids there many times over the years to enjoy the summer sun.

Soon, the plane landed and we all got off. I grabbed my seabag and my clothing bag and headed for the exit, hoping to see Lisa. I had emailed her and texted her with the flight details so she would know when to pick me up. Normally, she would be there hours before my plane landed just in case I got there early.

But she wasn't there. This was odd, I thought, so I texted her again: "At the airport. Where RU?" When I got no response, I called her cell phone but it went straight to voicemail. I began to get worried and called the house, but got the answering machine. God, I said quietly, please let her be safe. I called her parents, but they said they hadn't heard from her either.

"Do you need us to come pick you up?" her mother asked.

"Not yet," I said. "Maybe she's stuck in traffic. I'll give it some time and call if I can't arrange for another ride. There's no sense in you guys coming all this way and then all the way to Athol. But if you do hear from her, please have her call me."

"I will, Alan," she said before hanging up. My thoughts were interrupted by a man's voice.

"Need a lift, Gunny?" the man asked. I looked and saw a tall, well-built man in khakis loading a suitcase into a white SUV.

"Well, I thought my wife would be here by now," I said.

"Where are you headed?" he asked.

"Idaho, between Athol and Bayview off the 95," I told him.

"No problem," he said. "I'm going right by there, be happy to give you a lift." What the hell, I thought. Sure beat paying cab fare.

"Thanks," I said. "Appreciate it. Please, let me at least pay for your gas." He shook his head.

"Nah, don't worry about it," he said. "Company credit card takes care of it. Go ahead and load up." I tossed my seabag and my clothing bag into the SUV and climbed in.

"Home on leave?" he asked after he got in.

"Home for good," I said. "Thirty days terminal leave, then officially retired after 30 years."

"That's a long time," he said. "Name's John Sykes, by the way," he added, extending his hand.

"Alan Roberts," I said, shaking his hand.

"Where you coming in from?" he asked.

"Unit just got back from Afghanistan, flew out from Camp Lejeune," I told him.

"You've had quite a long day then," he said.

"You can say that again," I said. I pulled out my phone and sent Lisa another message: "Got ride, don't bother. CU at home."

"So, what are your plans?" he asked after we got on the road.

"Not much," I said. "Fishing, hunting, chasing the wife around the bedroom, you know." He chuckled at that.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "Spent twenty five years in the Army. Retired as a Lieutenant Colonel. Trust me, retirement isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"What do you do now?" I asked.

"I run a camp for men up in north Idaho," he said.

"Really?" I asked. "I've lived in Idaho all my life, never knew of any camp for men. When did that go in?"

"It's been there for about ten years now," he said. "No offense, but I'd be very surprised if you heard about it. We put it in Idaho specifically to keep it away from prying eyes."

"What kind of a camp is it?" I asked.

"It's a camp designed to help men deal with certain... personal situations," he said.

"Oh?" I asked. "What kind of situations?"

"Well, let me put it this way," he said. "You've obviously seen combat. Ever have a soldier or a Marine get a 'Dear John' letter from home?"

"More than once," I said.

"Then you know what it does to a man to learn his wife has been cheating on him," he said.

"Only too well," I said.

"We help men get through problems like that," he said. "The only difference is most of these men have never had the benefit of military training like you and I have. Hell, a lot of the men who come to my camp are damn near scared of their own shadow."

"Damn," I said. "So how do you help them?"

"Well, we build them up, physically," he said. "Then we work on their mental and emotional state and provide whatever legal services we can to get them through whatever they're facing."

"That sounds like a lot," I said. "How long do they stay at this camp of yours?"

"The normal course is three months long," he said. "It's very intense, much like your recruit training."

"Sounds like it," I said.

"Ever spend time as a drill instructor?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. "I did a successful tour at Parris Island, South Carolina." I went there as a Sergeant and was promoted to Staff Sergeant when I finished.

"Then you know the kind of techniques we use," he said. I was impressed with what this man was saying and became curious to see this camp. "In fact, I've been given the green light to bring in a new senior instructor, someone to ride herd on the other instructors, greet the new students, oversee the curriculum, that sort of thing. Sounds interesting?"

"I have to admit, it does," I said. "I somehow get the feeling we didn't meet by accident." He smiled.

"You're quite astute, Alan," he said. "I won't lie to you. You're too good a man for that. The company's had its eye on you for a while now."

"Me?" I asked. "Why me?"

"Well, for starters, you're local to the area, a recent combat veteran with a stellar record, other than a few bar brawls," he said with a smile. "Silver Star, Bronze Star, Meritorious Service Award, four Purple Hearts, Combat Action Ribbon, Navy Achievement Medal, Navy Commendation Medal, Navy-Marine Corps Medal, Good Conduct Medal -- despite the bar brawls. You're exactly what our program needs. Hell, Gunny, you're exactly what our students need."

"And you say your company has had its eye on me?" I asked, concerned.

"Yes," he said. "We've just been waiting for you to turn in your retirement package. It's a job tailor-made for a man like you. Pay and benefits are much better than what you had in the Corps and you'd only answer to me."

"Sounds interesting," I said. "But I detect a 'but' in your statement." He nodded his head.

"And you'd be right," he said, handing me a manila envelope sitting on the seat next to him. "There's just one problem you need to deal with first. Go ahead, take a look." I opened the folder and saw a neatly typed-out report detailing the activities of one Lisa Roberts -- my wife -- and a man named Elroy McEnroe, the principal of the school where she works.

My heart sank as I read the report. According to this, Lisa had been involved with this man, sexually, for more than 20 years, meeting with him frequently while I was gone. The photos were even worse, and showed her engaging in sex acts with this man. I saw a DVD in the envelope and dreaded thinking what it held.

"How did you get this?" I asked.

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence, Alan," he said. "The company decided to vet you after I expressed an interest in recruiting you for this position. Part of that vetting included your married life, for obvious reasons. I take it you had no idea this was going on." I shook my head, my mind blown at what was before me.

"No, I didn't," I said. "How do you know this has been going on for 25 years?"

"The investigators we use are top-notch," he said. "And they have the latest surveillance equipment. If there's something to be found, they'll find it. They determined that from conversations between your wife and Mr. McEnroe. It's obvious your wife went out of her way to hide this from you all these years." That explained all the time she spent there while I was overseas. That also meant she had spent half of the last 20 years with Elroy. Damn! I suddenly had a horrible thought.

"What about the kids?" I asked.

"That's the one piece of good news in all this," he said. "They're both yours."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Like I said, our investigators are the best," he said. "They got DNA samples from both your children and compared it to the DNA the military has on file for you. They all matched."

"I get the feeling you knew she wouldn't be there to pick me up at the airport," I said. He nodded his head.

"That's right," he said. "According to the investigators, they often meet after school lets out, but one day a week, she drives him to your house where they do the deed. Then she takes him back where he picks up his car and goes home. They've been following that routine since you've been gone. And tonight's the night they usually drive to your place."

"Damn," I said. "That's a 70 mile round trip just for a piece of ass. How could she do this?" I asked. John shrugged his shoulders.

"It happens, you know," he said. "Long deployments, time away from home and family. You come back from a war, changed in ways you don't even realize. It can put a strain on the best of marriages. The question now is, what are you going to do about it?"

"If all this is true, I have no choice but to divorce her," I said. John nodded his head in approval.

"Yes, I agree," he said. "What about him?"

"Good question," I said. "I'd like to skin him alive, but I don't want to go to jail. I'll think of something."

"All of the information you need is in the report," John said. "He's married and has two children with his wife. Who, by the way, doesn't know about his affair with Lisa."

"You swear to me this information is correct?" I asked. He nodded his head.

"Absolutely," he said. "If I had any doubt about any of it, I wouldn't have shown it to you. I really am sorry, Gunny. You're a good man and you don't deserve this."

"Who does?" I asked.

"Good point," John said. We reached the turnoff to my place and John turned onto the narrow paved road. We reached the entry to my driveway a few minutes later and turned in. "You really are out in the sticks," he said as he maneuvered his way down the driveway and stopped in front of my house. "Nice place you have here," he said.

"Thanks," I said. "My parents built this place with their bare hands. I had hoped Lisa and I could retire here. Guess it'll be just me, at least for now." John turned to look at me.

"Listen, Alan," he said, handing me a card. "Call me when you can, come on over to the camp. We can talk about this if you want. We even have counselors who can help you deal with this if you feel the need. I'll introduce you to the guys and give you the nickel tour and explain a bit more about what we do. I think it'll help you make up your mind. Feel free to wear your uniform if you want. I'm serious about the job, but this needs to be taken care of," he added, pointing to the manila envelope. I nodded my head in understanding.

"Thanks, John," I said. "For the ride, the offer, everything. I will take care of this, I promise you. I'll be in touch." We shook hands and I got out of the SUV, grabbing my seabag and clothing bag. He turned around and drove off as I headed to the front door.

I carried my stuff to the master bedroom and put everything away, my mind still in shock from what John had to say. I noticed the place was neat as a pin, the way Lisa always liked it. She may be a cheating slut, I thought, but at least she kept the house clean.

After I put everything away, I changed out of my uniform, putting on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I grabbed the manila folder and headed back downstairs. I needed to see what else was in this report.

I pulled out the DVD and slipped it in the player. I turned on the television and started the DVD. I saw Lisa and Elroy in what looked like a motel room. After they kissed, he began taking her clothes off. As I watched, he stripped her bra off and began kissing and sucking on her breasts, causing her to moan. He worked his way down, pulling her skirt off, then working her pantyhose and panties off. She had already kicked off her shoes, making it easier for him to remove the rest of her clothing.