Poetic Justice

by Ray Floyd

Overview

Brad Peterson is a highly trained Special Forces operative with less than a month of military service left. He is looking forward to a bright future in the civilian sector.

But when his last mission in Afghanistan goes horribly wrong, Brad is injured and his best friend dies. Back in the United States and recuperating from his injuries, he soon immerses himself in gambling and alcohol, in an effort to erase the guilt he feels over his best friend's death.

Only after he finds himself in jail following a bar fight, he sees the light, and creates the Peterson Foundation. Aided by an ex-Special Forces team, the foundation takes on an evil warlord in Africa as well as pirates in the Indian Ocean.

With his life hanging in the balance, can Brad find redemption in the war-torn Dark Continent?

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9784824127426
Publisher:	Next Chapter
Publication date:	03/03/2022
Series:	Justice , #1
Pages:	274
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.75(d)

Read an Excerpt

Poetic Justice

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By Ray Floyd

Partridge Africa

Copyright © 2016 Ray Floyd
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4828-2620-3

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CHAPTER 1

I opened my eyes slowly, only to find that all I could see was a strange, white mist. There was a gentle shuddering accompanied by an oddly comforting noise that almost sounded like a train rumbling on its tracks. My vision gradually started to clear, and I glanced around the small-enclosed space.

It was then that I realized I was lying on a narrow stretcher in the stark hold of a U.S. army helicopter.

As the effects of the morphine slowly began to dissipate, my memory began to return to me. We were on a mission in a remote area of northern Afghanistan to rescue two journalists captured by the Taliban. For the last week, they had been paraded around on footage sent to Al Jazeera, showing them wearing black hoods with hands tied behind their backs. As usual, their captors were wearing balaclavas and brandishing wicked looking scimitars, while their hapless victims knelt on the dirt floor in front of them. Of course, they were also demanding the release of several high-ranking Taliban prisoners held by America and her allies. When were they going to learn, America does not negotiate with terrorists.

My team and I had just finished a routine mission near Kabul when we got the word that their exact location had been identified, and we were the Army Ranger team assigned to infiltrate the enemy camp and extract them.

Everything had gone according to plan; all the enemy combatants had been neutralized without alerting the people sleeping in the nearby village. It was during our exfiltration that suddenly everything had gone wrong.

A flare had suddenly exploded above us, lighting up the surrounding landscape with an eerie glow. The sound of machine gun fire followed by green streaks of tracer rounds filled the night air. I was bringing up the rear of our little procession and miraculously was not hit by the opening salvo. I hit the ground immediately and rolled to my left behind a large boulder. I fired a couple of quick bursts with my M-16 and watched the red tracer rounds hit a large rocky outcrop where the gunfire seemed to originate from. Using my throat microphone, I communicated with the extraction team that we were taking fire and needed air support immediately. Just as I heard the unmistakable sound of rotors from the approaching helicopter gun-ships, there was a large flash from the rocky outcrop followed by an explosion from behind me. I felt the heat wash over me and a burning sensation in my left leg, and then everything went black as I lost consciousness.

As I struggled to sit up in the narrow cot, a familiar voice told me to lay back and relax. Sergeant Mike Andrews was our section medic and had been down on the ground with us.

"Sergeant, what the hell happened?' I asked him.

"Huge screw up Major." He replied. "They seemed to know we were coming and set up an ambush on our route out of the valley."

I was struggling to come to grips with what he had just said, when he continued.

"Seems like they fired an RPG-7 at one of the approaching choppers, but aimed a bit low and hit the top of the shelf behind us. Hell of an explosion but luckily not too much damage, mostly light shrapnel wounds."

I glanced down at my bandaged left leg and he nodded.

"Yup, they got you too."

He reached down and grabbed a helmet with a large dent in the side.

"You're one lucky guy, Major; a large piece of shrapnel hit your helmet. It knocked you out and gave you one hell of a concussion, nothing too serious though."

He went on to explain how the Apache gunship had quickly taken care of the ambush party. The injured had been loaded onto two Black-hawk helicopters, and we were now only about thirty minutes out from our home base and proper medical treatment.

"So no serious injuries on our side then?" I asked, the hope showing through in my voice.

He glanced away and I saw a shadow cross his eyes as he did so. I felt a tightness in my chest, as I demanded, "Tell me sergeant!"

"Sorry Major, but Sergeant Buckman didn't make it."

He knew, as did everyone in our unit, how close Sergeant Fred Buckman and I were. We were like brothers, having done our initial Ranger training together at Fort Benning, Georgia. We had pushed each other to make it through what can only be described as hell on earth. Because I had a degree, I went on to officer training while he did a non-commissioned officers course.

We had lost track of each other for a while, but both of us had eventually ended up in 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger regiment. I had immediately requested that he be assigned to my squad, and we'd been together ever since.

The kicker was, we both had only about three weeks left in the military and were looking forward to civilian life. We had both been offered consulting jobs at a large multinational security company, at roughly three times what we were earning now.

I could hardly breathe, as I realized none of that mattered anymore, my best friend was gone forever. Worst of all, I was the one that got to tell his beautiful wife Tanya, that Matt and Alicia would never see their Daddy again.

"Sergeant, tell me exactly what happened." I said, my breath still coming in gasps.

He hesitated, then said, "Near as I can tell, after the RPG exploded we looked back and saw you fall. Sergeant Buckman told us to stay under cover and ran back to help you. It was around that time that the first Apache opened up on the outcrop and all hell let loose! Once the dust cleared, I saw Sergeant Buckman lying in the ravine off to the right of the path. There was no more enemy fire so I ran over to help him."

He hesitated again, before continuing, "He was on his stomach so I turned him over. Looked like he'd taken an AK round to the throat, just above his body armor. There was nothing I could do for him, he was already gone."

I felt the tiny cabin swirling around me as I realised that my best friend had died trying to save me. Here I was, still alive and he was gone forever.

CHAPTER 2

Immediately upon our arrival at the airbase, they tried to get me into surgery.

"I'm not going anywhere until I let Tanya know what happened." I insisted.

I would rather have her hear the news from me than some unknown army chaplain. They carried me into the ops-room where I steeled myself and picked up the sat-phone. It was almost midnight back in Georgia, and the phone rang for a while before she answered in a sleepy voice, "Tanya, hello."

I hesitated for a second before saying, "Hi Tanya, it's Brad, I'm calling from Afghanistan."

Silence, then I heard her voice catch as she said, "How bad is it Brad?"

"I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but Fred's gone."

No hysterics, no screaming or crying. She was an incredibly strong woman; one of the reasons Fred had loved her so much.

She choked back a sob as she asked, "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I can't give you any details right now, all I can tell you is it was quick, he didn't suffer at all." Small comfort, I knew. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"And you, are you ok?"

"Just a minor leg wound and a concussion, I'll be fine."

"You know what I mean." She knew better than anyone how close the two of us were. So like her to be concerned about me while she must be going through hell herself.

"Right now it still feels like a bad nightmare, it hasn't really sunk in yet."

"I know what you mean Brad. Listen, I'm going to phone my parents now and ask them to come over. I'm going to need their help in the morning when I tell the kids."

"I'll come and see you as soon as I get back. Stay strong."

"Bye Brad, see you soon."

I disconnected the call and various emotions washed over me as I did. I felt absolutely exhausted as they carried me off to the base hospital.

* * *

Five days later, I landed at Lawson Army Airfield at Fort Benning. They had removed two pieces of shrapnel from my right thigh, one of which was close to the femoral artery. Seems like my luck was still holding. According to the doctors, I probably would have bled out if the artery had been severed. Although the leg was tightly bandaged and quite stiff, I was able to walk with the aid of crutches. The headaches from the concussion were also a thing of the past.

My father, Brigadier-General Phillip Peterson (retired), had been on hand to meet me when I arrived at Andrews Air force base the previous day. Before his retirement, he was assigned to the Pentagon and lived in a brownstone in Georgetown. I had spent the night with my parents with my mother fussing over me as if I were mortally wounded.

After having endured a thorough de-briefing in Afghanistan, I had to repeat all the details of what had happened to my father. Although he was no longer in the military, he had retained his top-secret security classification, so I was not breaking any laws in doing so.

He had met Fred on many occasions and was distraught to hear of his death at the hands of the Taliban.

After checking in with my commanding officer and hearing that I'd been granted a week's leave, a private drove me over to the Single officers Quarters where I was currently staying.

I took a long, steaming-hot shower and after dressing, walked down to where my car was parked. After removing the cover, I inspected the gleaming red, 1969 Ford Mustang convertible.

She truly was a classic and one of the few indulgences I had allowed myself. After reconnecting the battery, I drove off base to a nearby suburb where many of the personnel with families lived.

As I pulled into the driveway, I felt so much sorrow it was almost overwhelming. This was Fred and Tanya's home. I had spent so many weekends here barbequing and relaxing next to the pool out back, that it felt like my second home.

With no small amount of trepidation, I rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, I had called ahead and Tanya was expecting me.

She gave me a brave smile then hugged me tightly for a few seconds. I could see she was trying hard to keep it together. We went through to the living room and sat next to each other on the couch.

"Can I get you something to drink?" She asked.

Although it was only two in the afternoon, I had a yearning for a stiff drink.

"I'll have a whiskey if you have any?" Both Fred and I had shared a passion for a good single-malt Scottish whiskey.

"I think there's still some Glennfiddich left from the last time you were over." She replied.

She poured a generous amount in two glasses and added a touch of water, no ice.

"Just the way you like it." She said, handing me the glass.

"So how are holding up?" I asked.

"Just taking it one day at a time."

"And the kids?"

"Alicia's still too young to truly understand, but Matt's really taking it hard. You know how he idolized his dad."

Alicia had just turned three and Matt was six.

"If there's anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Thanks Brad, I seem to have it all under control. The kids are over at my parents while I finalize the funeral arrangements." Fred was to be buried in two days' time at a nearby cemetery with full Military Honors.

"Oh, if you could arrange the pallbearers, I'd really appreciate it."

"No problem, I'll take care of it." Besides myself, I would choose five of his closest friends from our unit.

We chatted for another half an hour before I said goodbye. As she hugged me again at the door, she whispered in my ear, "Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened, there was nothing you could have done to help him."

Little did she know, I totally blamed myself for his death. Not only had he died trying to help me, but we both should have been out of the army two years ago.

We had nearly finished our ten years in the army when my Commanding Officer, Colonel Waters had approached me. At the time, I was a Captain. He had asked me to sign on for two more years and guaranteed me that I would make Major if I did. I agreed, and persuaded Fred to do the same. As far as I was concerned, I'd asked him to sign his death warrant by doing so.

CHAPTER 3

It was a warm, sunny day as the coffin was gently lowered into the ground. Tanya had received the folded American flag, the honor guard had fired the twenty-one-gun salute, and the lone piper had played the last post.

I heard the thunder from the west as four F-18 Eagle fighter jets approached. One of them suddenly peeled away and the remaining three thundered overhead in the Missing Man formation.

One thing had to be said about the Military, they knew how to say goodbye to their fallen heroes.

Back at base, we all gathered at the NCO's mess to give Fred a proper send-off in true Ranger tradition. There were plenty of toasts and after a couple of hours, I felt a little light-headed from all the alcohol I'd consumed. I was never a big drinker but it felt good to numb the pain a little.

Tanya came over to say goodbye and I asked if she needed a ride home.

"All sorted, my dad's taking me home." She said.

She gave me a worried look, "I don't think you should be driving anyway."

I protested, "I'm fine."

She gave me a light kiss on the cheek and I watched as she went over to her dad. They left a few minutes later and I suddenly felt the need to be alone.

I walked back to my quarters hoping that the night air would clear my mind a little. My leg was healing nicely and I was able to walk without the aid of a crutch. Once in my room, I flopped onto my bed and before long, I was out cold.

I woke around three in the morning in a cold sweat. The nightmares were becoming more frequent and more intense. I dreamt that Fred and I were in a helicopter that had been hit by enemy fire. As he fell out the open door, I managed to grab his wrist. He looked up at me, pleading with his eyes to not let go. Suddenly blood started pouring out his neck from a gaping wound. Try as I might, I was unable to pull him to the safety of the chopper. He was slipping from my grasp and finally fell away screaming into the darkness. That's when I had awakened with a jolt.

Every night since he'd died it had been the same. I was in situation where I couldn't save my best friend.

I knew I should probably see a therapist or something, but my mind and ego told me that would be a sign of weakness.

* * *

The next day I was driving over to the base hospital to have the stitches removed in my leg when my cell started ringing.

It was Colonel Waters. He said there were two civilian gentlemen in his office and they needed to speak to me urgently.

I immediately did a u-turn and headed back towards the base administration buildings.

I entered the CO's office a few minutes later and fired off a snappy salute.

The two men introduced themselves as attorneys from the Canadian law firm of Henley, Walters & Smith. I wondered what the heck they wanted with a U.S. Army Ranger. They asked if there was someplace private to talk, so I led them to the officer's break-room, which was unoccupied at this time of the morning. Once we were all seated in comfortable chairs around a large coffee table, they gave me the startling news that was to drastically change my life.

First, they gave me the sad news that my aunt and uncle had died in a tragic plane crash in the wilds of Alaska. Well, it would have been sad, if I knew what the hell they were talking about. As I informed them, both my parents had no siblings, so how could I possibly have an aunt and uncle. Then the next bombshell! Apparently, someone named Robert Channing from Alberta Canada was my father's brother. As I politely pointed out, if this was true, wouldn't they have the same last name?

Not necessarily, they replied, Robert Peterson had legally changed his name to Robert Channing when he got married, many years ago.

All this had supposedly happened long before I was even born. My head was swimming with so many questions, I didn't know which to ask first.

The bottom line, they said, with the Channing's having no heirs, and me being the oldest son of my father, the entire Channing fortune had been left to me. Still unable to wrap my head around what they had told me, I asked what they meant by fortune.

They explained that, following detailed instructions in the will, they had sold off all of the Channing's assets and had a check for me in the amount of a little over sixteen billion U.S. dollars.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Poetic Justice by Ray Floyd. Copyright © 2016 Ray Floyd. Excerpted by permission of Partridge Africa.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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