The Next Day
That morning, Rambo’s wakeup call was a swift kick.
It was a little before nine a.m.
They’d very nearly thrown him off his camp bed onto the floor.
Ortega was standing overhead and looking down at him. He was handcuffed and was being punched by the two MPs.
Rambo asked if he could put his boxers on at least, and while he got dressed Ortega and the two police officers stared silently at him.
Once he was done they were both taken to the commander’s office.
*
The commanding officer looked up from his papers only when they were in front of him. His name was Decker.
Ortega had heard about him, he was famous.
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“No, sir” Ortega replied.
“And you, son?” Decker said.
“No, sir”
“You’re here because last night an officer was murdered. The very same officer you spent your entire night drinking with”
Neither of them said a word.
“Where were you two last night?”
“We went into two nightspots sir. The first was the Blue Moon and...”
“And you were there together with CO Alvarez?”
“Yes, sir”
Decker tilted his head and his eyes tightened into two paper-thin slits. He looked like a wild boar about to charge.
“Now let me guess, gentlemen. At one point last night when it got late, probably more or less at the same hour he was killed, everyone had headed home?”
Ortega and Rambo gave each other a puzzled look.
“And I bet neither of you have any fucking idea about where he went after that, because you were both so plastered, right?
“We weren't that....” Ortega began.
“Shut the fuck up you piece of shit. You haven’t got alibis just like I haven’t got any witnesses, but let me just...”
“Sir”
“... say that ok, I may not be able to slam your sorry asses into the tank right now, but I wasn’t born yesterday either, and I know you’re Trautman’s men”
“Sir”
Decker closed his eyes not unlike when he was bracing himself for bad news, and then said:
“Talk, soldier”
“After the Blue Moon we went straight to a brothel”
Decker picked up a pile of papers and moved it from one side of his desk to the other dropping it with a loud thud.
Then he stood up, turned around and picked up the baseball bat that was leaning up against the corner of the wall.
Rambo straightened his back automatically becoming an inch taller, but from behind Decker’s back Ortega shook his head violently indicating no in Johnny's direction.
Decker moved up to Ortega and put the bat under his chin lifting it so their eyes met.
“What I’d like to know from you sergeant Ortega, is why the fuck we’re fighting this damn war if good men get killed by the enemy every day, like pigs in a God damn slaughterhouse, yet sometimes, we find a reason to kill our own to”
“Sir, I...”
“You think that I’m a fucking retard, that's what you think You think that Trautman can send his Special Forces here without good purpose, and kill one of my fucking men thinking I won't know what the fuck’s going on. Put your hand on the table, son”
“Sir...”
Rambo was ready to jump like a spring and taut like a bow at the ready. He was ready to take Decker out of the game at his first move. Ortega however, had said no, he’d said NOT to do anything and until he changed his mind giving Rambo some kind of signal, he would follow his team leader’s orders.
Ortega put his left hand on the desk.
Decker brought the bat down and hit Ortega with all his might.
There was a thud and despite wanting to scream, Ortega couldn’t.
The pain was so acute that Ortega was sure Decker had broken all his fingers, even if he hadn't.
Decker turned immediately and hit Rambo, who withstood the blow using a technique he’d mastered in training. He’d taken the punch as Ortega had wanted, but sustained the blow without any serious setbacks,
By doing so, Decker hadn’t even broken a single rib.
A second later however, they were both lying on the floor in pain.
A hand – Ortega thought to himself.
It's only your left hand, and he couldn't even break it.
“Twenty five” said Decker.
“Repeat it, soldier. The both of you” he yelled.
“Twenty five, sir!” said Rambo and Ortega in painful voices.
“Twenty five accidents – said Decker - twenty five in my division this year alone. Most of them went home maimed while the others, the others left behind children, friends, and families you dirty little pieces of shit.”
“Yes, sir” said Ortega.
“Pieces of shit”
Decker moved closer to hit him again only this time he aimed at Rambo's face. Rambo couldn't just let him do it though, so this time he caught the bat on the fly with one hand and once he did he didn’t let go either.
It was then that Decker realized it was all a set up.
Despite being guilty, they’d let him hit them, and once Decker saw what Rambo was capable of, he got shivers down his back.
Rambo let go of the bat.
Decker walked back to his desk and sat down.
“Get out” he screamed.
“You and your friend the dickhead who’s getting a medal of honour. I told you to get the fuck outta here, and tell that son of a bitch Trautman that if he ever kills one of my men again, or even only tries to show his ugly face round here, he’s a fucking dead man. He’d better not think he’s untouchable just because he’s in charge of that damn secret unit, because I swear to God I'll get his sorry ass put six feet under anyhow. Otherwise, I'll do it myself with my own bare hands”
Rambo and Ortega got up.
Ortega was in dire need of a doctor.
“Understand? You tell him. Tell him to watch his back. He may wake up one morning and find a grenade right under his bed. Make sure you tell him assholes”
While they were walking out of the room they heard the bat slam against the wall and heard
Decker start to cry.