I Just wanted to take a moment and thank all of those who faithfully read and commented on my drivel here during Jackie O’Shea Week. What started out as an exercise for improving my writing abilities has certainly evolved into a story of its own. I apologize for the rawness of it, while am humbled by your encouragement and support. The following posts constitute only the first chapter in the story of Jackie O’Shea.

Jackie O’Shea- Space Cowboy
Jackie O’Shea- Barkeep
Jackie O’Shea- Prospect
Jackie O’shea- Space Cowboy (again)
Jackie O’Shea- Dream Boy
Jackie O’Shea- Drop Out
Jackie O’Shea- Recipient
Jackie O’Shea- Barfly
Jackie O’Shea- Guardian Angels
Jackie O’Shea- Wanted
Jackie O’Shea- Soul Searcher
Jackie O’Shea- Soul Finder
Jackie O’Shea- Informant
Jackie O’Shea- Rescue Hero
Jackie O’Shea- DEP

More to follow. Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 2354 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (9) | Permalink
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He woke up an hour before the alarm went off, feeling refreshed. He was looking forward to joining the Army in a few hours, no longer worried, or second guessing, or nervous. Jackie O’Shea felt clarity, a sense of purpose that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He rolled onto his left side and kissed her exposed right shoulder. “I’ve got to get going babe, I’ll give you a call later,” he whispered.

“Good luck soldier boy,” Trish mumbled, still half asleep.

Jackie had called her earlier in the week and asked if he might meet her for dinner in the city Thursday night. She readily agreed having not seen him since the previous week in Montauk just before Jackie had nearly burnt himself to a crisp rescuing her neighbors from a burning house in the midst of a snowstorm. Trish had wanted desperately to rush out to the Hamptons to wrap her arms around him and make sure that he was OK, but Jackie insisted that he was fine and would call as soon as he could arrange another day off to visit her in the Big Apple, if she was agreeable. She was.

Jackie had a difficult time giving Mr. Buckley his two week notice informing his fatherly boss that he had decided to join the Army. Mr. Buckley was very understanding and told Jackie that if things didn’t work out, he’d always have a job at the Irish Pub and Grill. After asking for Thursday off, Jackie hugged the old man, thanked him for his patience and advice and set to work behind the bar for the first of his final shifts. He had decided that even if First Sergeant McGowan was unable to get him the aviation job, he was still signing up.

He hailed a cab to take him to the Brooklyn MEPS, a feat made easy by the early morning hour, it was just after 4:00 o’clock. Along the way, Jackie thought about his evening with Trish the previous night. She had met him at Penn Station and adamantly refused to go out to dinner with him. Instead, she insisted he allow her to cook him a meal while he entertained her with tales of rushing into burning buildings to save the sick and the elderly and added, “after dinner you could do me a huge favor by slaying a dragon that has taken up residence on the roof of my building.” Her smiling eyes damn near brought him to his knees, he accepted her invite, though apologizing for forgetting to pack his sword.

Jackie was impressed with Trish’s culinary skills as she prepared a meal of veal scaloppini, tortellini in cream sauce with diced pancetta. Jackie offered to help, cutting the onion, tomato, and mushroom for the salad. Trish was impressed with his handling of a chef’s knife. “I’ve decided to join the Army,” he blurted while dicing tomatoes.

“I kind of figured,” she replied. “Will you leave right away? Or will we have some time together to make memories for you to long for?”

That was a question he intended to have answered in a couple of hours. The thought of “making memories” with Trish excited him. She wasn’t like other women he had dated, she didn’t try to change him or judge him, at least not to his face.

“That’ll be $17.57 Mac,” the cabbie said leaning over the driver’s seat.

It took much longer than he had expected to finally sit down once again with the guidance counselor, a title Jackie found amusing recalling his high school days. Then again, he was essentially doing the same job as his high school guidance counselor had, though he didn’t remember the Army or the military mentioned as a possible career choice seven years ago. After verifying that all the information provided the previous week was still accurate and speaking with a doctor ensuring that nothing had changed in his health status since he was last probed, poked, and prodded, Jackie O’Shea was sent to the friendly counselor’s office.

Master Sergeant Nichols was sitting at his desk, the computer screen already filled with Jackie O’Shea’s data, “Have a seat Mr. O’Shea,” the counselor said without looking up from the monitor.

Jackie was worried that this was going to get ugly. “Good morning sergeant,” he said hoping to sound pleasant and respectful rather than disdainful.

“How does a medium helicopter repairman job sound?” Nichols asked getting right to the point.

Surprised, Jackie said that it sounded pretty good. He had been instructed by First Sergeant McGowan the day prior to call him if the guidance counselor gave him any difficulties. “If Master Sergeant Nichols starts giving you any shit, politely ask to use his phone to call First Sergeant McGowan, and when he offers to call for you, respectfully decline the offer as you were told to call First Sergeant McGowan on his personal cell phone,” the seasoned NCO stated.

Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go that route, Jackie asked what exactly a “medium helicopter repairman” was. Master Sergeant Nichols continued typing on the keyboard as he talked about the job and the training that Jackie could expect to receive. Then he went into the specific details of the enlistment contract that Jackie O’Shea was about to sign, a binding agreement between he and the United States Army. As Nichols was talking, Jackie, with pen in hand, was reading over the agreement, printed on white paper, carbon copied on pink paper, eight pages in length.

“What have we got here Nichols?” Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi asked as he walked into the counselor’s office.

Master Sergeant Nichols stopped what he was doing, looked up and answered, “Good morning sergeant major, Mr. O’Shea was just about to sign his contract.”

Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi felt the blood in his veins begin to boil at Master Sergeant Nichols’ failure to show the proper respect for a senior noncommissioned officer, especially a command sergeant major. It is customary for anyone junior to stand up when the senior enters the office, at least on the occassion of the first time said senior enters said office that day. “The sonofabitch didn’t even make an effort to get on his feet,” Marconi thought to himself. “I ought to tie a knot in his ass right in front of the kid, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything except making me look like my ego needed stroking.”

“Good. We can always use a few more good men in our formations,” the sergeant major said placing his hand on Jackie’s shoulder. “Is Master Sergeant Nichols taking care of you son?”

“Yes sir.”

“First bit of advice young man, never call a noncommissioned officer ‘sir,’ Marconi offered, his hand still on Jackie’s shoulder. “NCOs work for a gottdamned living so address them by their appropriate rank which you don’t yet know. Nichols here is a Master Sergeant, that’s an enlisted grade of eight, I am a command sergeant major, an enlisted grade of nine, you following me?” Jackie nodded. “Now, officers we call sir, as often as we can fit it into a sentence,” the sly sergeant major said wondering if the sonofabitch Nichols caught the hint. “Let me take a look at your contract Mr. O’Shea.”

“Yes si…sergeant major,” Jackie corrected himself and handed the stack of yellow and pink papers to the senior noncommissioned officer.

“Aviation huh? Medium helicopter repairman, great job. I loved every chance I got to fly in the old Hueys back in my day. You happy with this O’Shea?” Ray Marconi asked.

“Yes sergeant major, aviation is exactly what I was hoping to get,” Jackie replied.

“Let me see his packet Nichols,” Command Sergeant Major Marconi ordered, noticing something missing in the contract that he had expected to be in there. Looking at Jackie O’Shea’s enlistment packet, an abundance of documents that were required for any young man or woman to join the military, including a birth certificate, high school diploma, social security card, security questionnaire, college transcripts, etc. “I see you were born in Norfolk, Virginia.”

“Yes si…sergeant major, my dad was in the Navy, stationed out of Norfolk back then,” Jackie replied, oddly feeling a sense of pride in his father he’d not felt before.

“Your dad was a Senior Chief, enlisted grade eight, just like Nichols here,” Marconi said. “How’s he feel about you joining the Army instead of Navy?”

“He’s OK with it,” Jackie lied.

“Good,” the sergeant major said and suddenly turned his attention to Master Sergeant Nichols. “Nichols, why doesn’t this contract reflect Mr. O’Shea’s proper rank upon accession? His packet lists ‘82 college credit hours’ which if memory serves me, entitles him to enter the Army at the rank of Private First Class.” Turning momentarily to Jackie he added, “Enlisted grade three.”

“I noticed that too sergeant major, but there weren’t any transcripts in the packet so…” Nichols started to explain.

“Mr. O’Shea, did you provide your recruiter,” pausing to look at the enlistment packet, the sergeant major continued, “Staff Sergeant Lewis, enlisted grade six by the way, with a certified copy of your college transcripts from,” looking again at the packet, “Syracuse University?”

“Yes I did sergeant major, it took two weeks to have the official copy mailed directly to Chris, I mean Staff Sergeant Lewis,” Jackie answered.

“And did you explain that to Master Sergeant Nichols this morning Mr. O’Shea?” an angered Marconi asked.

“No sergeant major, the subject never came up.”

Command Sergeant Major Raymond Marconi of Flatbush, Brooklyn had a case of the ass. “Stand up Nichols.” It was time to restore some order and discipline to this sonofabitch. “You mind telling me whatinthehell is going on here?”

“Sergeant Major,” Nichols now standing started but stopped abruptly as the palm of Command Sergeant Major Marconi suddenly appeared a half inch from his face.

Ray Marconi dropped Jackie’s packet and contract on the counselor’s desk while staring intently at something in the corner behind the Master Sergeant Nichols. He walked behind the still standing Nichols, never taking his eyes off of whatever had captured his attention, bent over momentarily and came up with a blue official looking sheet of paper in his right hand. “Mr. O’Shea, is this your college transcripts from Syracuse University?” he asked Jackie.

“Yes it is.”

“Mr. O’Shea, would you mind terribly stepping out of the room for a few minutes, maybe grabbing a cup of coffee in the break room please?” Marconi asked with all the restraint he could muster.

As soon as Jackie had left the room, Command Sergeant Major Marconi, still standing behind Master Sergeant Nichols leaned closer to his left ear and said as evenly as possible with his boiling blood, “You miserable piece of shit. How dare you dishonor my recruiting battalion and my Army with your petty, childish, bullshit! God only knows how many kids you have screwed over during your tenure here but rest assured Nichols, God and I are gonna have a sit down and when we’re finished, I’m gonna fry your ass you bastard.”

“Now, here is what is going to happen, while I stand behind you and watch, Mr. O’Shea will come back in here and you will apologize for being a waste of your daddy’s sperm, then you will proceed to print out a new contract for Mr. O’Shea, complete with all the entitlements he is eligible. You understand me Nichols?” Ray Marconi asked through clenched teeth.

“Yes CSM.”

“You’re a disgrace to the gottdamn uniform Nichols.”

Two hours later, Jack O’Shea stood, flanked by the American Flag, in the rear of an austere room with a lush red carpet, a copy of the Constitution of the United States hanging on the wall in front of him, General George Washingtion’s portrait hanging on the wall to his left, and President George W.Bush’s photograph on the wall opposite. With his right hand raised, facing a tall, serious looking Army Major, whose right hand was also raised, Jackie O’Shea suddenly felt the hair on his neck stand up. “Repeat after me Mr. O’Shea,” the officer of the United States Army said.

“I, Jack O’Shea, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”

His heart swelled with pride as he swallowed hard to rid his throat from the lump that had suddenly parked there.

“Congratulations Mr. O’Shea,” Major Anderson said offering his hand. Jackie took it, and that of Command Sergeant Major Marconi’s, First Sergeant McGowan’s, and Staff Sergeant Lewis’. All showed up to witness his taking the oath of enlistment into the United States Army.

“Jackie, let’s get some lunch and that beer I owe you, my treat,” Chris Lewis said to him as they walked out of the MEPS.

“You two don’t mind if an ugly old first sergeant and a young handsome sergeant major join you, do you?” CSM Marconi asked walking behind them, 1SG McGowan to his left.

Two minutes later, Jackie called Trish to tell her that he had joined the Army. She noted how happy he sounded and was sincerely pleased for him. He excitedly told her that the Army had indeed given him two weeks to create some memories before shipping out, she promised to do her best to assist with that creation. Ray Marconi called his brother-in-law, regretting to inform him that he needed to hire a new bartender. Mark McGowan called his driver, Staff Sergeant Hamilton, telling him that he’d be a little late as he was grabbing lunch with the CSM and their newest DEP, Mr. O’Shea, and for Hamilton to wait for him at the car.

“Chris,” Jackie asked as they sat around the table at La Terraza Restaurant on 6th Avenue, a favorite of Ray Marconi’s, “what the hell is a ‘DEP?’”

“You are a DEP, Jackie.” Chris Lewis answered. “When anyone enlists in the Army but hasn’t yet shipped out, they are in what we call the Delayed Entry Program, and since we have to assign a title to everyone in, or almost in, the Army, you’re title is ‘DEP.’”

“Enlisted grade zero Mr. O’Shea,” Command Sergeant Major Marconi added with a smile.

Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0614 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (9) | Permalink
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After pulling into the driveway that Jackie had shoveled earlier in the day, though he was hard pressed to notice it now, they both got out of Mark McGowan’s car, shook hands and Jackie said he’d call in a few days, with a decision either way. Jackie was walking to the door, noticing that the light he had left on was out again thinking another power outage, when First Sergeant McGowan yelled, “Holy shit! Call 911” and ran across the snow covered street to a house that was visibly an inferno.

Jackie O’Shea turned to see what was happening, immediately pulled out his cell phone and called in the fire, and then ran himself to the far side of the house where a man was trying desperately to climb out of a bedroom window while flames were shooting out above his head. Jackie grabbed the man’s shirt collar and pulled him over the window sill allowing him to fall to the snow, ready to roll him around should he need to put out any flames.

“Are there any others?” he asked the young man, shouting to be heard over the roar of the fire. The singed and frightened man nodded frantically and pointed to the upstairs window.

Jackie ran to the front door of the house. Walking in through the open door, he immediately fell to his knees unable to breathe any air at all as the dark house was filled with thick acrid smoke. After a moment, he caught his breath and noticed something moving at the top of the stairs. He crawled up the stairs like a snake, his shirt pulled up over his mouth, and just as he neared the top saw an elderly woman lying on the landing, desperate to breathe, unable to move.

With flames rolling across the ceiling like waves in the ocean, his lungs burning and eyes stinging, Jackie stretched his arm as far as he could, grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her to him. When she was close enough, he was able to pick her up and run down the steps and out the front door into the cold, fresh air. As she coughed and gagged, Jackie asked if there were any others inside.

“Yes, basement,” was all she could get out before succumbing to a fit of coughing.

Jackie O’Shea jumped to his feet, turned towards the house and began to find his way to the basement when a strong hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He hadn’t noticed the fire trucks now lined up on the street, red lights flashing and sirens blaring. He told the fireman about a possible third person in the basement and that Mark McGowan had rushed in to help before him and he hasn’t seen him since.

Jackie was sitting by the ambulance, wrapped in a wool blanket when he saw First Sergeant Mark McGowan walking from the now violently burning house, carrying an elderly man in his arms. Three firemen rushed to help him.

Mark sat next to Jackie, his clothes smoking from near combustion, his face black with soot and his hair singed from flames. “You OK Jack?” he asked as if they were at a baseball game, slapping his hand on Jackie’s knee, watching the firemen battle the blaze.

Jackie O’Shea was amazed at the first sergeant’s composure. “Yeah, I’m OK, you?”

“I’m good,” he replied and asked for Jack to hand him a bottle of water. “Is that bar still opened?”

“I don’t know, but come across the street, I’ve got beer and some Irish in the kitchen.”

And the two men, blankets still on their shoulders, trekked across the snow covered street to get a drink.

Sitting in Tirsh’s living room, each with a cold bottle of Budweiser, red lights flashing across the interior walls through the big bay window and candles providing the only light as the power had indeed gone out again, Jackie asked Mark if he wanted him to re-light the fireplace. After a brief pause, both men burst into laughter at the absurd notion.

“Damn Mark, you handled that shit well,” Jackie admiringly said.

“Just did what needed to be done, and so did you Jack.”

A few more minutes of silence and Jackie O’Shea said, “I’m ready to become a soldier Mark, just tell me when and where.” He suddenly felt a great burden lift from his shoulders.

Sgt Hook out.

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“Bud draft please,” Jackie asked the bartender as he slid onto a barstool. He was the only customer sitting at the bar while just two of the dozen or so tables were occupied. “Slow night with all the snow huh?” Jackie offered as the bartender set the frosty cold mug of beer in front of him.

Yeah, we had a pretty good lunch rush when the snow stopped there for awhile, but looks like this is gonna keep up through the night.

The juke box played a Joe Satriani tune while Jackie watched the muted television over the bar, chuckling at some weather babe pointing out the obvious, it was snowing out. He looked around the pub, admiring the motif with what looked like authentic Irish artifacts hanging on the dark green walls. “Homey,” he thought to himself.

“Mr. O’Shea?” First Sergeant Mark McGowan asked as he took off his snow dusted Army issued black trench coat and extended his hand.

“Yeah, how’d you guess?” Jackie asked smiling and taking the soldier’s offered hand firmly.

“Why don’t we get a table?” McGowan asked and turned to the bartender, “I’ll have one of those and get him another. Is the kitchen open tonight?”

“Yes sir, anything off the dinner menu,” the bartender replied.

“I’ll take a bowl of your chili, they have the best chili in all of Long Island here Mr. O’Shea, you want some?”

“No thanks and if you don’t stop calling me ‘Mr. O’Shea,’ I’m leaving,” Jackie stated.

“OK, one bowl of chili and what the hell, bring a pitcher of beer, we’ll be over here, that good with you Jack?” the soldier asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Jack, call me Mark,” Mark McGowan said very deadpan, pausing to look the young man straight in the eye. “OK?”

“Yes, s… you got it Mark,” he said.

“Jack, I want to begin with an apology. From what I’ve been able to put together, we really screwed the pooch on this. I reviewed your qualification records and to be honest, there really isn’t any reason we couldn’t have pulled you an aviation job. I can’t make you a pilot, but something in aviation is certainly feasible,” Mark paused as the waitress brought the pitcher of beer and two frosted mugs.

“I have to be honest though Jack, I’m not able to get you any kind of cash bonus nor can I promise an assignment in Hawaii. Guaranteed assignments…”

“What are you talking about?” Jackie asked, somewhat confused.

“Wasn’t the reason you walked out of the MEPS last week because you wanted, and weren’t offered, one- an aviation job, two- a cash bonus, and three- a guaranteed assignment to Hawaii?” Mark asked suddenly feeling as if he hadn’t been given accurate information.

“You can do that?? Guarantee Hawaii?” Jackie asked incredulously. “Look, all I asked for was a job in aviation that would offer me a chance to fly helicopters, I don’t know anything about a cash bonus or Hawaii, but I do know that the jerk who was pushing some scout job wouldn’t even listen to what I had to say.”

“19 Delta, cavalry scout, that’s what I was before switching over to recruiting,” the first sergeant offered. “Jack, I’m afraid I owe you an even bigger apology. Somebody handed me a line of shit to try and make you look bad, or them good.”

“Hamilton,” Jack blurted.

Mark McGowan looked at Jack for what seemed like a long, silent moment before asking, “Why do you say that Jack?”

Jack told him about the phone conversation he had with the station commander a few days ago and could see that First Sergeant McGowan was becoming visibly angry as he listened to Jackie’s count of what transpired. So much so that he hardly touched his chili. Then he asked Jackie to start from the beginning, the moment he first met with his recruiter. Jack did.

“Did Staff Sergeant Lewis ever promise you an aviation job or a cash bonus or anything like that?”

“No, Chris was really straight up with me. He told me that my scores were very good and that I had a good shot at getting the job I wanted, but there just was no way for him to know what was available. He did say that with my college I could come in as a ‘first class’ instead of a private,” Jackie explained.

“How many college credits do you have Jack?” McGowan asked.

“I dropped out of Syracuse University after my junior year with 82 semester hours.”

“Lewis is correct, you qualify to join as a Private First Class which equates to more money in your paycheck.”

After an awkward pause and a pull from his beer, the first sergeant went out on a limb and asked, “Jack, what would it take to get you into my Army?”

“An aviation job, a cash bonus, and an assignment to Hawaii,” Jackie answered smiling broadly. Then more seriously said, “Just the aviation job Mark, but Hamilton told me that he’d make sure I could never join ‘his Army.’”

“Hamilton will no longer be working for me starting tomorrow morning Jack. What say we get you back to the MEPS, it won’t take all day like last time since you’ve completed everything, and if I can’t pull that aviation job for you, you won’t hear from me or any of my recruiters again?”

“I don’t know Mark, can I think on it?” Jackie asked.

“No problem Jack, just call me when you’re ready,” Mark told him, handing him a business card.

“C’mon I’ll give you a lift home,” the first sergeant said, pulling a $20.00 bill from his wallet and dropping it on the table.

Sgt Hook out.

Editor’s Note: If you’re just joining in on the Jackie O’Shea series, you can catch up in an organized fashion here.

Posted by Hook @ 0335 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (7) | Permalink
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This isn’t the next installment in the Jackie O’Shea series, but rather an attempt at getting things somewhat organized for the gentle reader. As Timmer correctly points out, following the story is a bit awkward so in chronological order, starting from the top and working your way down, you should be able to get caught up.

Jackie O’Shea- Space Cowboy
Jackie O’Shea- Barkeep
Jackie O’Shea- Prospect
Jackie O’shea- Space Cowboy (again)
Jackie O’Shea- Dream Boy
Jackie O’Shea- Drop Out
Jackie O’Shea- Recipient
Jackie O’Shea- Barfly
Jackie O’Shea- Guardian Angels
Jackie O’Shea- Wanted
Jackie O’Shea- Soul Searcher
Jackie O’Shea- Soul Finder

Hope that helps. Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0226 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (1) | Permalink
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Jackie sat on Trish’s very comfortable sofa, watching the snow starting to fall again outside the big bay windows, a very delicious glass of merlot in his hand, reflecting on the day’s events. He had just dropped Trish at the station, barely in time for her train back to the city. As much as she hated it, she had to be back for work in the morning, but graciously allowed Jackie to stay in the house as long as he wished. He took her up on the offer, knowing he had some serious thinking to do.

The snow had stopped falling while they ate their lunch, and the sun came out making it a beautiful day despite the several inches of snow on the ground. After a long, relaxed meal and stimulating conversation, the couple hopped in a cab and went out to the Montauk Point Lighthouse where they took in the picturesque oceanfront, laughed at one another’s jokes, and listened to every word each said. Jackie O’Shea had enjoyed a wonderful afternoon with Trish Monroe.

Just as he tossed another log into the fireplace, the lights went out. Checking to make sure he hadn’t somehow blown a fuse, with a quick look across and down the street, Jackie determined that the entire neighborhood was without power. “Too much snow on the power lines I’ll bet,” he reasoned. By the light of the fireplace, he made his way around the room lighting several colored and scented candles then refilled his wine glass. He was glad to have eaten dinner earlier after putting Trish on her train. The Westlake Clam & Chowder House had a reputation for making the best Manhattan Style Clam Chowder on the east coast, and Jackie was not disappointed.

His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone, thinking it Trish he quickly answered it, “Hello.”

“Mr. O’Shea?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Yes, who is this?”

“Mr. O’Shea, my name is McGowan, First Sergeant McGowan, I’m Staff Sergeant Lewis’ first sergeant and I wanted…”

“Look sir, I don’t…” Jackie cut him off, then was interrupted himself.

“Mr. O’Shea, please let me speak. It has come to my attention that we, the Army in general, and my staff in particular, have failed you miserably and I would appreciate it if you gave me a few moments of your time if for nothing more than to apologize properly,” the first sergeant proffered with all sincerity.

“Go ahead,” Jackie reluctantly said.

“Mr. O’Shea, I’d like to meet with you this evening if at all possible?”

“I’m in Montauk and the power is…just came back on. Well, how long will it take you to get here Mr. McGowan?” Jackie asked.

“I can be there in say 40 minutes,” 1SG McGowan quickly answered.

“Why don’t we meet at O’Murphy’s Pub on Edgemere in an hour then,” Jackie offered.

“I know the place, I’ll be there at 9:30 Mr. O’Shea. And thank you, I recognize that you don’t have to do this,” and the phone went dead.

Jackie folded his phone and put it on the coffee table, took another sip of wine, shrugged and said, “Let’s see where this “magic carpet ride” takes you Jackie O’Shea.”

After freshening up, blowing out the candles and spreading out the coals in the fireplace, Jackie headed out the door for the 15 minute walk to O’Murphy’s.

Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 1054 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (7) | Permalink
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The train pulled into Southampton at 10:18, delayed because of the heavy snow. Her heart was racing with anticipation that Jackie O’Shea had received her message and was waiting at the station. She collected her things, fixed her blouse and primped her hair before stepping off the train into the cold night, eerily quieted from the falling snow. She pulled her jacket collar tight around her neck and walked along the open, but covered, waiting area. No Jackie.

“Damnit!” she said aloud. Climbing back aboard the train after she heard the “all aboard” call from the conductor whose black wool coat was dusted with white snow, Trish felt a wave of disappointment sweep over her as she made her way back to her seat. The loud rush of air releasing the brakes was followed by the jerking forward of the train causing Trish to fall towards the rear of the car into the arms of Jackie O’Shea.

Her heart again racing and her face flushed, Trish looked into his gray blue eyes and said, “Where the hell have you been dream boy?”

“Wandering aimlessly in the snow. How ‘bout you pretty lady?”

The train finally got into gear, chugging along rhythmically allowing Trish and Jackie to take their seats.

“I brought wine,” Jackie said holding up a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and two glasses.

Trish, sitting next to Jackie O’Shea, took his free hand in both of hers, looked into his eyes and said, “I want to thank you for getting me home last week. I was a bit drunk and honestly don’t remember much after falling asleep listening to the melody of your beautiful voice regale me with tales of pirates and maidens and chivalry.”

“But I was talking about how I had dropped out of college…”

She placed her finger on his lips, cutting off his thought. “You regaled me sir, and made sure I was tucked into my castle safe and sound before quietly slipping off to battle more windmills, making the kingdom a safer place.”

Jackie O’Shea was speechless.

Trish Monroe was falling.

He stared into her blue eyes. She into his. They kissed. A wineglass dropped to the floor and shattered. They continued to kiss.

Jackie woke up early, finding his way around the kitchen enough to make a pot of coffee. Looking out at the falling snow, he decided to clear the walkway and driveway as soon as he finished his cup of coffee. “If I can find a shovel,” he thought.

An hour and a half later, Jackie O’Shea walked back into the Montauk house, soaking wet and chilled to the bone, having successfully found a shovel he managed to clear the walkway and driveway but the persistent fall of snow made his hard work all for naught. Trish Monroe was waiting for him in the living room, sitting on the large, blue sofa, sipping a hot cup of tea, wearing only a warm, pink terrycloth robe. “You’re still here?” she asked jokingly.

“Any coffee left? I’m frozen,” Jackie said as he shed his wet coat and boots.

“I’ll get you some,” Trish said, setting down her cup, making her way to the kitchen, unaware of Jackie’s stare as he watched her long, shapely legs slip out of the opening of her robe and her long blonde hair falling to her shoulders as she walked.

“If you don’t mind I’m gonna grab a hot shower,” Jackie said snapping out of his trance.

“Sure, clean towels are on the rack,” Trish yelled from the kitchen.

Seven minutes later, Jackie O’Shea felt Trish slide up behind him in the steamy shower, wrapping her arms around him, feeling her breasts push against his back. “I’ve got your coffee dream boy.”

They grabbed some lunch at Dave’s Grill on Flamingo Road, surprised it was open with all the snow. “So, do you have to head back dream boy?” Trish finally asked, somewhat apprehensively, afraid of what she knew the answer would be.

“Nope. The boss gave me three days off to do some soul searching.”

“And how’s that working out for you so far?”

“Famously,” he said just before taking another bite of his smoked turkey sandwich.

Sgt Hook out.

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Feeling the effects of the five beers and two Jameson’s, Jackie decided to walk the mile and a half home in the chilly winter evening. Not five minutes into his trek did it start to snow. “Perfect,” he grumbled to himself.

Three minutes later, Jackie saw the flashing of red and blue lights as a Southampton Town Police cruiser pulled up along side him. Stopping in his tracks, his hands stuffed in his pockets trying to keep warm, he turned to face the police car, awash in the colorful flashing lights. “Perfect,” he thought to himself.

“Yes officer,” Jackie said suddenly feeling the buzz from all he had drank earlier.

“You OK Jack?” John Thornton asked.

“Oh, yeah John,” he answered recognizing the officer. “I’m all right, just walking home.”

“You want a lift? Supposed to get real nasty tonight,” the 28 year old police officer offered.

“No thanks John, I’ve got a lot on my mind and the cold air will help clear my head. Thanks though,” Jackie replied.

Leaning over and placing his left hand on the cruiser’s passenger door, Jackie asked, “Hey John, how long have you been a cop?”

“Police officer Jackie, and just over four years. Why?”

“You like it? I mean, what made you decide to become a co… police officer?” Jackie continued the questioning.

“Cause I suck at tending bar,” John Thornton answered jokingly. “You’re serious aren’t you? I joined the police force because I really felt that I should do something worthwhile, give back to my community somehow. I know, sounds kinda corny but here I am, one of Southampton’s finest. You sure you don’t want a lift Jackie?”

“No, thanks John, I’m good. Thanks.” Jackie said and tapped the door twice before returning his frozen hand to his pocket and resuming his long, cold walk home.

Twenty minutes later, Jackie O’Shea walked into his apartment, covered with snow and chilled to the bone. He poured himself a glass of Jameson’s to help warm himself and pushed the flashing red button on his answering machine.

Jackie, Jack, c’mon space cowboy, pick up. Listen, I’m sorry about earlier, I didn’t mean to… beep. He pushed the next button.

Jackie, please give me a call, I’m at the pub. beep.

Jackie…beep. Next button again.

Hello? Jackie, it’s Trish, I um, well, I’m coming out to Southampton tonight, actually Montauk, but was wondering if, well I’ll be passing through Southampton and you left before I could thank you for getting me home safely, and beep.

“Shit.” Jackie said feeling his blood pumping a little faster.

Sorry, I’ll be on the 8:15 train stopping at the Southampton Station at 10:02, hope to see you, but if not I’ll continue on to Montauk. beep.

He looked at his watch, 9:30. He had just enough time to shower and call a cab.

Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0003 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (7) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Jackie O'Shea

Francis Scott Buckley spent most of his time at the Pub, but when he was home he could often be found in his den/office going over the books, worrying about his business venture. He could’ve just as easily lived off of his FDNY pension had he been content to do so, but he had always wanted to open his own Irish Pub and after losing Marilyn to cancer he felt obliged to take the risk and pursue their once shared dream. Now he often found himself wondering if he hadn’t acted impulsively.

The 52 year old widower poured himself a second glass of Johnny Walker Red and picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Ray, it’s Francis, you got a minute?” Buckley asked.

“As I live and breathe, Francis Buckley! How long has it been Frank, two, three years? How’s that beauty salon you opened doing out there in the Hamptons?” his brother-in-law asked.

“It’s a pub Raymond and it’s doing just fine, thank you. How about you? Still peeling potatoes and burning coffee for the Army?”

Raymond Marconi had joined the United States Army in 1975 at age 17 with his parent’s permission. When he left his home in Flatbush, Brooklyn to be a cook for the Army, he never dreamed he’d return 27 years later as the Command Sergeant Major of the New York City Recruiting Battalion.

Private First Class Marconi was a pretty good soldier and a damned good cook barely missing service in Vietnam which at the time was a disappointment. After four years of sweating in an Army kitchen, Sergeant Marconi decided to take a break from the heat and volunteered for recruiting duty. Command Sergeant Major Marconi never made it back to the kitchen.

“How are you Frank? And how is Patti?” the old soldier asked with all sincerity.

“I am well Ray and Patti is her own woman now. Marilyn would be proud of her. How are things in the big city? How is your bride Nancy doing?”

“We are just fine, ready to retire in a couple of years, thanks for asking. I’m assuming that this isn’t a call to find out how things are in Flatbush after not hearing from you for two years Francis, what can I do for you?” the savvy old soldier inquired.

“Ray, one of my employees, a great kid who really saved my crazy ass by keeping the Pub afloat, went to join the Army last week but left without signing up.”

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘left without signing up?’ Was he qualified to join but didn’t?” CSM Marconi asked.

“Yes, he was qualified to join, in fact his recruiter said that he had pretty high scores and Jack, that’s the kid, was under the impression that he was very qualified to sign up. Something happened at the processing station…”

“The MEPS,” his brother in law interjected.

“Yes, the MEPS, the way Jack explained it, he passed the physical and everything and spent hours with a counselor trying to find a job but claims he was given the run around and in the end just wasn’t satisfied with what he was being offered, so he left.”

“QNE,” CSM Marconi stated.

“What?” the retired fire fighter asked.

“Qualified, Not Enlisted,” explained Marconi. “If what you’re saying is accurate Frank, and I have my doubts that you got the whole story, your boy was fully qualified but refused to enlist. Normally we lose applicants at the MEPS because they aren’t qualified, test scores, medical problems, etc. Occasionally, we get one that is qualified but gets scared and doesn’t sign up.”

“Raymond, Jack O’Shea is a stand up guy and he isn’t a kid. He’s 25 years old and his father, though not around much, is a retired Navy Chief after serving almost 30 years. I honestly don’t think ‘my boy’ got scared,” Buckley retorted a little more defensively than he had expected himself to. “All I’m asking Ray is that you look into the matter. He’s a helluva good young man and as much as I’d hate to lose him as an employee, I think he’d be great for the service.”

After a long pause, the restaurant owner added, “Plus, he needs to get out of here and make a life for himself instead of pouring draft beers and fancy drinks for the local blue collars and horny divorcees.”

“OK Francis, I’ll look into it, but only if you promise to keep in touch damnit, we’re family.”

“You’ve got a deal Ray, and I’m sorry for not calling sooner. Why don’t you and Nancy come out for dinner some time? We serve a mean lamb stew on Wednesday nights, my treat.”

“We’ll be there Frank. Good to hear from you,” Command Sergeant Major Marconi said before placing the phone in its cradle, breaking off the connection.

Ray Marconi wrote the name “Jack O’Shea” on a post-it-note then had a second thought. Picking up the phone he dialed the Long Island Recruiting Company first sergeant at his home.

“Hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

“Mark, I’m sorry to call so late, but I need your help with something,” CSM Marconi stated.

“No problem sergeant major, I was just sitting on the couch catching up with the news,” First Sergeant Mark McGowan claimed. Truth was he had dozed off about an hour ago while watching the Fox News Channel. Mark McGowan’s wife had left him five years previously when he was a recruiting station commander in Boston, working extremely long hours and always putting the mission before his family. He never blamed her for taking the kids from him, but he sure did miss them all. “What can I help you with CSM?”

“What do you know about a QNE by the name of Jack O’Shea?”

“O’Shea walked off the floor last week CSM, because he couldn’t get the aviation job he wanted. From what I understand, he was a real ass at the MEPS, demanding an aviation contract with bonus money and station of choice, Hawaii I think it was.”

After a quiet pause, the first sergeant went on, “Why, what’s up?”

Command Sergeant Major Marconi suddenly decided to take a leap of faith and said, “Well, he’s a family member, by marriage, and what you’re telling me just doesn’t add up to what I’m hearing.”

“CSM, we had no idea he was a relative of yours, we…”

“And I don’t want that to be public knowledge first sergeant, you understand?” the sergeant major sternly said cutting his first sergeant off.

“Yes CSM, understood.”

“Good. The reason I’m asking Mark, is that something just doesn’t smell right and I’m wondering if you could look into it for me. I don’t want to put my nose under the proverbial tent, in fact my nephew would be pissed if I did. And if you determine that my nephew is indeed a punk, than so be it, but if it turns out that he isn’t, I’d like to see if we couldn’t salvage him.”

“I’ll give Staff Sergeant Hamilton a call first thing CSM and see what’s going on,” 1SG McGowan replied.

“Hamilton’s the station commander?” Marconi asked but didn’t wait for a reply before continuing, “What I was thinking Mark is that you could take a personal interest in the applicant, get a read for yourself where the breakdown was.”

“Yes CSM,” McGowan replied somewhat annoyed to be told how to do his job.

“Mark, have you seen O’Shea’s qualifications?” the seasoned NCO abruptly asked.

“Yes CSM.”

“And?”

“As I recall CSM, he’s a ‘1A’, top 2% on the ASVAB and overall extremely qualified,” the first sergeant sheepishly answered suddenly realizing perhaps he had dropped the ball on this contract. “I get your meaning CSM, I will personally contact Mr. O’Shea and make this right. I’m terribly sorry CSM, for any…”

“Thank you Mark. You’ll keep me informed on this won’t you?” he asked though it was understood to be an order rather than a question.

“Yes CSM,” the first sergeant replied, feeling his blood beginning to boil. “That gottdamned Hamilton” he thought to himself.

“Good night Mark, again, sorry to have called so late.”

“No problem CSM, I’m glad that you brought it to my attention, I’ll get back with you on this ASAP.”

Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0116 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (9) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Jackie O'Shea

I’ve been asked more than a few times to post additional segments of the Jackie O’Shea saga so this week is hereby declared Jackie O’Shea week here at Sgt Hook. Jackie O’Shea is a ficitonal character who was living on Long Island, New York when terrorists attacked the United States on September 11, 2001. What follows is a series of events in the young man’s life as he comes to grip with the ever mysterious meaning of said life. And he meets quite a few characters along the way. So if you’ve enjoyed Jackie’s journey thus far, this should be a good week. If you haven’t, I’ll try not to keep things exclusively O’Shea, but you can expect at least one segment a day. For those just tuning in, meet Jackie O’shea- Space Cowboy here, and follow the links to get up to speed. Sgt Hook out.

Posted by Hook @ 0002 zulu | Comments & Trackbacks (9) | Permalink
This post is filed under: Jackie O'Shea