Marine Corps Stories: Twelve Bars

The night sky looked like a pool of black ink. Some stars dotted the firmament and provided some semblance of peace for the sergeants, corporal, and two lance corporals in the armored vehicle.

“So, you’re one of those old ‘happy wife, happy life’ Marines, huh?” Sergeant Joe “Spaghetti” Scaglietti asked.

A solemness and clarity entered Sergeant Winslow Bee’s voice.

“Why, yes.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I would keep a broad starving but I might give her barking rights,” Scaglietti said.

“This is my second marriage.”

“Any kids?”

“No.”

Plan on having any?”

“Yes. I want all boys,” Bee said.

The Marines sat in the vehicle waiting on orders to take down a terrorist operative in one of the houses or businesses of Tehran. They looked outside of the bullet and bomb resistant windows.

“I just don’t know,” Scaglietti continued. “I mean I could settle down and start a family. There’s nothing wrong with that. I just think that the relationship should be Aristotelian.”

“Yes, an open and honest one. I can understand that. My wife would be open to it, too. That’s why you should get hitched, man. I’m telling you, you’re going to be in love with someone ‘til the end of all time. And like you said, an open relationship would be optimal to take out that vicious cheating factor,” Bee said.

“Yes, cheating’s a bitch. I’ve never done it personally. You?” Scaglietti asked.

“C’mon, man. You know that I had a few flings in my past. But the past is past.” He switched gears and the subject. “How long do we have to be out here?” Bee asked.

The wind kicked up like a fan whipping up flames.

“We’ve got orders to remain here until Ali Quan shows his ugly mug. We’ll be able to hit him and then high tail it out of this city and make it back to base.”

Scaglietti picked up the topic again. “Yes, cheating is horrific, and base, and low. All you have to do is tell the truth. You say, ‘hey honey, I found a young lady–” he said, interrupted.

“Wait, take out the young. You’ll belittle her.”

“Okay, ‘I found a woman that I think you would like and that we should have a relationship with, the three of us. It should be sexual. Two at time….’”

“That’s about right. And if she finds another man, let it be out in the open instead of both of them skulking around behind your back.”

“But it all begins with self-love. I’ve learned that. You have to be right with yourself in order to properly love someone else.”

“Self-love means that you don’t have to worry about any insecurities or weaknesses. And if any problem arises, you can solve it through the pride you received from having self-esteem,” said Bee.

“Are you studying anything at the night school on base?” Scaglietti asked.

“Mathematics and philosophy.”

“It sounded like it. I just brushed up on my Aristotle and you definitely pinpointed the way that that genius thought.”

“Did you know that there are three proper groups of individuals in philosophy, at least to me?”

“Who are they?”

“The Greeks, the American Founding Fathers, and African-American Blues musicians.”

“Really?” Scaglietti asked.

“Truly. You see the Greeks set the tone. They outlined the basic ideals and formulations to make all of the other arts and sciences spring from a fount of the mind. The Founding Fathers provided a political framework that no nation had ever discovered before: one built on ideas. They set out to craft documents, especially The United States Declaration of Independence that outlines the way that man ought to live as a man. And finally bluesmen and women. Their songs not only lead to Jazz, Rock, R&B, Soul, and Hip Hop, among others, but also offer a way of viewing life in twelve bars.”

“That’s an interesting theory. I can’t knock–”

Then, Ali Quan casually walked out of a restaurant.

“There goes the bastard now,” Bee said. "Let's make sure with this digital scanner." He pointed the device at the man walking away from them. "That's him."

With quick precision, Scaglietti and Bee aimed their rifles directly at Quan.

"I've got him," Bee said in a confident whisper.

Bee sent one round towards his target at the base of his skull and the terrorist dropped like a basket of laundry. The team then searched for any other assailants and checked the body for information and secured the area.

“Now we can get back to base.”

“Indeed,” Scaglietti said.

The Marines, weary and tired, showed no signs of such fatigue. After a long night on patrol, the men of First Marine Division longed for epsom salt and hot showers. Though the salt would be depleted and the showers often cold, they still yearned to gather an ideal that they could win these battles and go home.