Just asking for a little courtesy.’ «‘Courtesy?’ the leader scoffed. He stood up, towering over Arthur, clearly intending to intimidate. «‘You want courtesy? Maybe you should show some respect to your betters.’ He then did something utterly unexpected and wantonly cruel.
As Arthur tried to step around him, the teen deliberately stuck out his foot, tripping the old man, while simultaneously giving him a hard shove on the shoulder. «‘Watch it, old man!’ he snarled, as Arthur, his balance lost, stumbled precariously off the high curb, his cane flying from his grasp, and landed heavily, but thankfully upright, in the path of oncoming traffic. Horns blared furiously.
A car swerved violently to avoid him. Arthur, his heart hammering, scrambled back towards the curb, his old reflexes surprisingly sharp. The teenagers just roared with laughter, pointing, finding the near tragedy hilarious.
«‘Look at him dance!’ one shouted. «‘Maybe he learned that in the war!’ They high-fived each other, then, seeing a few angry glares from other pedestrians who had witnessed the event, they sauntered off down a nearby alleyway, still chuckling, leaving Arthur shaken and humiliated on the edge of the busy street. A kind woman rushed forward to help Arthur retrieve his cane and ensure he was all right.
«‘Those dreadful boys!’ she exclaimed. «‘Are you hurt, dear?’ Arthur, though his hip ached from the stumble and his dignity was severely bruised, managed a shaky smile. «‘Just startled, ma’am.
Thank you for your kindness.’ He brushed himself off, his hands trembling slightly. The casual cruelty, the utter lack of respect, cut deeper than any physical ache. He had faced enemy soldiers who showed more honour than those boys.
He picked up his cane, the laughter of the departing teens still echoing in his ears. He decided against the eclair. His appetite was gone.
He just wanted to go home. But as he turned to leave, something stopped him. Not just the pain in his hip, but a deeper, older instinct.
He was a Marine. Marines didn’t just walk away from an unprovoked assault, not even at ninety. He wouldn’t confront them himself.
His fighting days were long over. But there were other ways. He knew the neighbourhood.
He knew the alley they’d disappeared into led to a dead end, a small enclosed courtyard behind a derelict warehouse, a favourite hangout for local troublemakers. He also remembered something else. The local Marine Corps recruiting station was only two blocks away, and the gunnery sergeant in charge, a young, hard-as-nails Marine named Gunny Miller, had a particular soft spot for old vets from his beloved Corps, especially White Putty and Korean War era.
Hank had met him once at a VFW event. He fumbled for his old simple cell phone. He didn’t have Gunny Miller’s direct number, but he had the main recruiting station line.
He dialed, his fingers surprisingly steady now, a cold resolve settling in. Marine Corps Recruiting, Sergeant Peterson speaking. How can I help you? Sergeant Peterson? Arthur said, his voice low but clear.
This is Master Gunnery Sergeant Arthur Green, retired. I need to speak with Gunny Miller. It’s a matter of immediate concern regarding disrespect shown to the uniform and an assault on an elderly Marine.
Location. Alleyway behind the old packing plant, corner of Elm and Third. There was a brief pause, then Sergeant Peterson’s voice suddenly sharper, more alert.
Master Gunny, stand by. Connecting you to Gunny Miller now. The phone clicked, and then Gunny Miller’s voice, rough and direct, came on the line.
Gunny Miller? Who’s this? Gunny, it’s Arthur Green, Master Gunnery Sergeant, retired. Master Gunny Green, sir. What can I do for you? The respect in Miller’s voice was instantaneous and absolute.
Arthur quickly, factually recounted what had just happened. The blocked sidewalk, the insults, the deliberate shove into traffic, the teenagers currently holed up in the dead-end alley. He didn’t embellish, didn’t ask for retribution, just stated the facts.
They disrespected the Corps, Gunny, Arthur finished quietly, and they put one of its own in harm’s way for a cheap laugh. There was a moment of dead silence on the other end. Then Gunny Miller spoke, his voice like ice.
Master Gunny, are you injured, sir? Shaken, a bit bruised, but functional, Gunny. Understood. Elm and Third, you said.
The alley behind the packing plant. How many of them? Four or five, young. Mid-teens, I’d guess.
Consider it handled, Master Gunny, Gunny Miller said, his voice now tight with a controlled fury that Arthur recognised well. You stay clear of that alley. We’ll… Counsel them.
Marine Corps style. The line went dead. Arthur knew what Marine Corps-style counselling likely entailed, especially when delivered by a motivated Gunny and his young, eager recruits.