Short Stories of a Frustrated Author

  A Routine at Sea Turned to War The USS Guam (LPH-9) cut through the rolling swells of the Caribbean with the steady, purposeful grace of a ship accustomed to the ceaseless motion of the ocean. The deck vibrated faintly beneath the boots of Marines and sailors as they went about their business, performing the thousand small tasks that kept an amphibious assault ship running smoothly. Overhead, the tropical sun burned bright, casting harsh shadows across the deck where a CH-46 Sea Knight sat idle, its rotors still but ready.  The wind was warm, carrying the faint scent of salt and oil, mingling with the ever-present hum of machinery and the rhythmic clangs of boots on the non-skid deck above. Below decks, the ship's routine carried on with an almost monotonous predictability—drills, maintenance, briefings, chow, and the endless monotony of paperwork that came with military life. HM1 Jack “Doc” Malone sat hunched over his desk in the medical bay, flipping through a stack of fo...

  First Morning Aboard – Continued The steady thump of helicopter rotors overhead rattled through the ship’s bulkheads, dragging Malone from the depths of exhausted sleep. He groaned, rubbing his face before rolling out of his rack. The air was thick with the mingling scents of old coffee, machine oil, and the musty tang of a ship that had seen years at sea. A cold shower jolted him fully awake—two minutes under water barely above freezing, Navy luxury at its finest. A quick shave, fresh khakis, and he was squared away. With his cover tucked under his arm, he stepped out into the passageway, navigating the labyrinthine corridors like a man who had yet to memorize the ship’s layout. His first stop was the main enlisted galley. The scent of breakfast—eggs, bacon, and something vaguely resembling coffee—wafted through the passageways as he entered. The controlled chaos of a Navy galley was in full swing. Culinary specialists moved in a well-practiced dance, flipping eggs, slapping bac...

Meet Geoff Fauxworthy Geoff Fauxworthy—yes, pronounced "Jeff" (he’s heard every joke about it, thank you very much)—is a man who has fought his battles and lived to tell the tale, albeit with a wry grin and a well-timed punchline. A recovering alcoholic with years of sobriety under his belt, Geoff takes his recovery with the kind of deadly seriousness usually reserved for bomb squads and brain surgeons. That said, he’s the first to poke fun at himself, often quipping that if humility were a competition, he’d humbly accept first place. A devout Christian with a world view tempered by both faith and hard-won experience, Geoff doesn’t preach—at least, not in the finger-wagging sense. Instead, he leads by example, offering wisdom when asked, support when needed, and the occasional sarcastic remark when the moment demands it. Life hasn’t been easy, but he figures if he can laugh at himself, he’s already ahead of the game. Wherever Geoff goes, he carries himself with a quiet confid...

Welcome to Okinawa The rain poured in torrents as the olive-drab transport bus wheezed to a halt at the gates of Camp Schwab. Petty Officer 3rd Class Jack “Doc” Malone peered through the fogged-up window, his breath condensing in rhythmic clouds. The Marine at the checkpoint gave the bus a cursory glance before waving it through with a halfhearted salute. Jack felt a knot tighten in his stomach. “Welcome to paradise,” muttered the bus driver, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Jack shifted his sea bag on his lap, adjusting the strap to relieve the pressure on his shoulder. This was it. His first assignment with the “few and the proud.” He caught his reflection in the streaked glass. Messy brown hair refused to stay flattened, his jawline carried the shadow of a shave he didn’t have time to finish, and his blue eyes, though sharp, betrayed a hint of apprehension. “Alright, Jack,” he murmured to himself. “They’re just Marines. How bad can it be?” The answer came quicker than he expected. A...