Marine Corps Stories: No Curses

The enemy lobbed a grenade at the two Marines, Corporal Jamison Dodge and Dwight Feely. Sergeant Dejure Winnington covered the explosive with his Kevlar and sapi plate. The blast did not reach the two other Marines.

Winnington took the greater part of the blast, but the shock left him deaf in his right ear, with shrapnel embedded in his left arm, and his face severely scarred, but alive. Once he’d shaken the dust from his uniform, he staggered away with the help of Dodge and Feely, specks of blood like rubies covered his left sleeve.

After his surgery and recovery, Winnington went back to his command. He had a bit of a shrug, but otherwise he seemed to prevail. There was also a slight ringing in the ear that still worked. Only the doctors knew about it because he stayed mum when it came to discussion of his injuries with anyone else.

“You’re getting a goddamn Navy Cross!” Feely said.

“Whoa, Dwight! He doesn’t curse, remember,” Dodge replied.

“Oh shit, I mean okay.”

Winnington just smiled. “Just imagine a Marine who doesn’t drink, doesn’t chase women, has been faithful to his wife for five years, and doesn’t curse. That’s just me.”

“My Combat Action Ribbon is going to be like a real piece of chest candy compared to what you’re going to put up for, Dejure,” Dwight said.

“Yes. Your CAR is going to look kind of shabby. The both of you.”

The three Marines laughed. Sergeant Major Kory Heyer came into the room. Jamison and Feely shot to their feet like rockets. Winnington struggled to his feet.

“No, you stay seated, Winnington,” Heyer said. “Attention on deck!”

The Marines remained on their feet like their seats were ablaze. Commanding Officer Lieutenant Colonel Garland Stowe walked up to Winnington.

“Hi, son. You’re being put up for the Medal of Honor. You’ll get to meet the president and have all rights and privileges afforded to you. You’ve made the Corps proud, and the country proud. Good on you, son.” Stowe shook Winnington’s hand like a pilot recognizing a passenger who aided the lives of fellow passengers.

“Carry on, gents,” Stowe said walking to his office.

Winnington just breathed. The rest of the Marines rushed over to his side.

“God—” Feely started, and then redirected his address. “I’d take you out for some beers and to chase some skirts, but I know you’re not cool with either.”

“Make sure you congratulate Sergeant Winnington,” Heyer said.

“Aye, Sar’ent Major,” the corporals chimed.

“That’s right,” Winnington said with a grin.

“Now, you’ll never have to buy a beer, because everyone will know that kind of lifestyle isn’t in you. They’re going to have to respect that,” Dodge said.

Winnington still suffered from his injuries. They went down to the bone despite multiple surgeries. His face was like scorched terrain. His arm throbbed in pain even though he had a pharmacy of prescription drugs at his disposal.

“You’ll be medically retired, and you’ll get paid on top of that with your MOH,” Feely said.

“MOH? You’re just going to name the initials? It's a Medal of Honor,” Dodge said.

“My apologies,” Feely said.

“You’re getting to a point where we’re going to have to institute a cash bucket for every time you slip up,” Dodge said.

Winnington laughed.

“The next thing jumping out of here you’ll be able to hop on,” Dodge said.

“You’ll be the first Marine in Saudi Arabia to receive the nation’s highest honor for military members. You’ll be home with your wife.”

“I think I’ll pull a John Basilone,” Winnington said.

“Didn’t he get gunned down in the field?”

“Yes. But I live for the Corps. I’m all about it.”