Red, White, and Dead

By charles fisher

This novel is loosely based on my family members. It delves into the industrial / military complex conspiracy, and the deadly effect its corruption has had on our nation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Sep 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536505375

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Table of Contents

Red, White, and Dead

Dedicated to the memory of my uncle, WW2 veteran Arlton I. Monty Monsanto, USMC, and all the brave Marines who have given everything they had in defense of our nation. | Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Monty

Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Art

Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Harold and Matty

Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Scotty

Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Aftermath

Red, White, and Dead | An American  Family Tragedy | Epilogue

Dedicated to the memory of my uncle, WW2 veteran Arlton I. Monty Monsanto, USMC, and all the brave Marines who have given everything they had in defense of our nation.

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Red, White, and Dead

An American  Family Tragedy

Monty

Superior Court, J.D. of Fairfield at Bridgeport

Bridgeport, Connecticut

January, 1942

Arlton Monsanto, do you understand the plea bargain you have entered into with the State of Connecticut?

I do, 21 year old Monty Monsanto said, looking down.

And is it your testimony before this court that you agree to enter into this agreement of your own free will?

Yes, Monty said.

Then it is the decision of this court that you, Arlton Monsanto, having pled no contest to one charge of corrupting the morals of a minor and one charge of engaging in sexual activity with an underage female, agree to the following. That you shall, within the next thirty days, enlist in a branch of the armed forces for a period of not less than four years. Should you fail to honor your agreement, or in the event that the military finds you unfit for service, you shall surrender yourself forthwith to this court and shall serve a prison term of not less than four years and not more than ten years. The judge banged his gavel. We are adjourned.

Let’s go before he changes his mind, Attorney Lincoln Bell said. He grabbed Monty by the arm and steered him out of the courtroom. You don’t know how lucky you are.

That’s me, Monty said. Mr. Lucky. I was lied to by a girl, and got arrested.

She’s fourteen, Monty, Bell said. Are you blind? Can’t you tell the difference?

Did you ever see her? She looks older  than me.

Well, she isn’t, and you got her pregnant. Now you’re going into the meat grinder. I hope it was worth it.

It’s okay, Monty shrugged. I would have enlisted anyway. The Japs need to be paid back for what they did to us last month.

Right, Bell sighed. After you get out of the Army, you do some reading and looking around. Then you come tell me who started this war.

I’m not going into the Army, Monty said. I’m joining the Marines.

You really don’t want to come back home, do you, Bell said.

I’ll come back home, Monty nodded. But a lot of Japs won’t. You’ll see.

You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Bell said.

Neither do the Japs, Monty said. Do I at least get paid?

"75% of your pay goes to your fourteen year old girlfriend, who you will marry before you enlist."

Why do I have to marry her? Monty exclaimed.

Because the Marines won’t take you if you don’t. Despite what you think, they stand for honor. That’s a concept you have yet to learn about. Do the right thing, Monty. Either that, or get used to prison food.

Marine Recruiting Station

Bridgeport, Connecticut

January, 1942

I see you got yourself into some trouble, Platoon Sergeant Ron Carrigan said as he leafed through Monty’s file, his crisp khakis gleaming in the afternoon sun. What happened?

I got involved with this girl, who said she was a lot older than she turned out to be. I’m doing the right thing, though. I married her last week.

Do you love her? Carrigan said. Don’t lie.

I....... I’d like to. You know, she gave it up for me. I guess that’s all I was thinking about at the time, like most guys. Now I got a kid coming. I’m supposed to love her and the kid. I’ll try as hard as I can.

All right, that’s an honest answer. Most men think with their dick, he sighed. I did it myself. I’m 28 years old. I’ve been a Marine for ten years. I’m going to ship out soon and join the fight in the Pacific. I’m willing to die for my country. Are you?

Yes, Monty said quickly. I could have joined the Army, but I chose the Marines, because we will take the fight to these Jap bastards.

Congratulations, Carrigan said, pushing a document over to Monty. Sign on the line, Marine. Then pray to God you can earn that title.

United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot

Parris Island, South Carolina

February, 1942

45 year old Gunnery Sergeant Gabriel Hastings marched up and down in front of the new recruits on the concrete, who had just had their heads shaved and were instructed to fall into formation in their newly issued GI underwear, despite the rather cool weather.

I am Senior Drill Instructor Gunnery Sergeant Hastings, he began. You people are shit! he yelled. You are garbage from the slums and immoral cities of this country. You are Spics, Kikes, Micks, Polacks, Krauts, and Wops. You are not Marines, and most of you will not make it through this training. I will send you home in your pink panties to cry to your Mama about how you couldn’t make the grade here because mean, nasty Gunnery Sergeant Hastings picked on you. That’s too bad for you, but it is good for the Marines. We need killers, not girls. You are girls. Who among you has shoved a bayonet into another man’s guts and watched him die? Nobody? Big fucking surprise. You will learn to do that, or shoot a man in the face with your weapon, or you will die in combat. My job is to keep you alive, and make sure the enemy dies.

He’s nuts, Jimmy Reynolds whispered to the boy next to him.

Who said that? Hastings roared. What lowlife scum sucking piece of dog shit said that?

I did, Sergeant, Reynolds said.

Oh, you did, huh? Well now, asshole, let’s see you back it up. First rule is that you will call me Sir. The first and last words out of your rotten mouths when you address me or any other Sergeant will be Sir. Second rule, he said as he came up to Reynolds and knocked him cold with a brutal punch to the head, you will not talk shit to the Drill Instructor. You will be nice to me, he smirked. And I will be nice to you. Until I decide not to, which will be most of the time. You have entered into 6 weeks of Recruit Hell, he said, his hands folded behind his back. You will learn, or you will go home. Dead or alive, he shrugged. Makes no difference to me. Do you want to be Marines? he yelled.

Sir, yes Sir! they yelled.

I don’t believe you, ladies, Hastings yelled. Fall out. Your barracks is behind you. Inspection is in five minutes. Nobody will pass. Get used to it. Move out!

This fucking clown is insane, Gary Parsons said as they went inside the barracks and found their beds, assisted by a young Sergeant in a Drill Instructor’s hat.

Set up your locker and your foot locker, Sergeant Wervey said  with a heavy southern accent.

How? Parsons exclaimed. We don’t know how.

Hey! Monty yelled, grabbing Parsons by the throat and slamming him up against his bunk. Did you hear the other Sergeant? You will address this Sergeant  as Sir. And you had a week in the reception center, where they taught you all this. You have the Marine Recruit Manual. Didn’t you learn anything?

Leggo me, Monsanto, or else, Parsons said.

Monty, all 6’4" and 210 pound of him, drove his fist into Parson’s face, knocking him out.

Or else that, Monty said, and went back to his bunk.

Hastings came in five minutes later, and started up and down the barracks.

Nope, he said, and flipped  Mario Balducci’s footlocker upside down.

You  either, he said to Joel Steinberg. He grabbed Steinberg’s wall locker and pushed it over into the aisle. You better learn fast, Jewboy, he nodded. You’re on the top of Adolph’s list. The Marines go everywhere. You’d be real popular in Germany.

He continued down the barracks and destroyed every footlocker he came to. He finally wound up in front of Monty.

Well now, he smiled. Looks like we got a recruit who paid attention. You want to be a Marine, Monsanto?

Sir, yes Sir! Monty yelled.

Well, you do have a good footlocker, Hastings shrugged. He looked over at Wervey, who nodded. But not good enough. Your socks are out of line. He took Monty’s footlocker and dumped it on the floor. Got something to say about that, Monsanto?

Sir, no Sir! Monty yelled. The Private will try to learn. The Drill Instructor will teach him.

What a bullshitter, Hastings laughed. You other assholes straighten up. Monsanto will report to my office in five minutes.

Ass kisser, Ronnie Bledsoe muttered as he set up his bed. Monty responded by slamming Bledsoe’s head into his bunk. Five minutes later, he reported to Hastings.

Sir, Private Monsanto reporting as ordered, Sir.

Relax. When I call you into my office, the rules are different. You can call me Sergeant. Outside this office, you will shit manners. Siddown, he sighed. You have a little something extra. Any Marines in your family?

No, Sergeant.

Ever kill anybody?

Monty looked away.

I see. Never mind that, then. I need leaders. The Marines need leaders. You are a leader. I can see that in you, and so does Sergeant Wervey. He’s young, the same age as you, but he’s already killed more Japs than the plague. Don’t ask how, because that is above your pay grade. We got a lot of things going on already that nobody knows about. What I want to know from you is if you are interested in being a leader.

I am, Sergeant, Monty said.

Why?

Because I love my country, and I want to kill these dirty Japs who stabbed us in the back. Only the Marines can do that. The Army is going to be busy in Europe.

We could go to Europe too, Hastings said.

No matter to me, Sergeant, Monty shrugged. I can kill Krauts just as good as Japs.

I like your attitude, Hastings said. He took out two armbands with Platoon Sergeant E-6 stripes on them, three up and one down. I am making you the Platoon Commander. You are now an acting Platoon Sergeant. You do not have any authority over a real Marine, but you do have authority over your recruit platoon. And I expect you to exercise that authority and help me make these assholes into Marines.

Yes, Sergeant, Monty said. I won’t let you down.

Monty returned to his bunk, where Bledsoe and Parsons were waiting for him.

Let’s go, tough guy, Parsons said. Outside. Let’s see what you got when you can’t sucker punch somebody.

Sure, Monty shrugged, and headed for the door. The three men squared off in the compound.

Wervey started to go after them, but Hastings stopped him. Let them go, he said. We’ll see what Monsanto can do. If he can’t kick the shit out of these two assholes, he can’t lead men into combat.

Monty, who had learned how to fight in the martial arts schools and streets of Bridgeport,  took Parsons out first. He moved with blinding speed; he dropped down in front of the hapless recruit and drove an uppercut into his groin, lifting him a foot off the ground. Parsons went down in a bawling heap; Monty finished him off with a kick to the head. He turned to Bledsoe, who suddenly didn’t think challenging Monty had been such a hot idea.

Come on, douche bag, Monty said, beckoning with his hand. Throw down, boy.

Bledsoe put up his hands; it was the last thing he would remember doing until he woke up in the infirmary with a broken jaw and a smashed in face. Hastings was standing next to his bed when he came to.

Here’s your discharge, stupid, he said, and tossed some documents onto the night table. You and the other asshole can share a ride home, after they find his nuts. We don’t need pussies like you.

What about Monsanto? Parsons said through clenched teeth held in place by a wire.

What about him? Hastings laughed. You two geniuses challenged him, and you got your asses handed to you. Challenging an acting  non-commissioned officer is an offense subject to company grade punishment. Captain says you go, so you go. The Army will take you if you still want to serve, Hastings shrugged. They’ll take any warm body with a pulse. They’ll draft you anyway, might as well join up. Hoo-rah! he grinned, and left Bledsoe to ponder his future, which would end on Omaha Beach two years later.

United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot

Parris Island, South Carolina

Rifle Training

March, 1942

Gunnery Sergeant Hastings marched up and down in front of the platoon as they examined their newly issued service rifles.

This is your weapon, Hastings said. "You will train with it, you will eat with it, you will sleep with it. You cannot fuck it, so don’t get any ideas. It is the current official training weapon for the Marines. It is the Springfield M1903 bolt action rifle, caliber 30.06, with a five round magazine. You will learn to shoot this weapon, and you will become expert killers. The Japs will learn to fear you.

"Later, you will be issued the M1 Garand, a 30.06 caliber semi-automatic rifle with an eight round clip. Semi-automatic means there is no bolt to crank. Every time you pull the trigger, the rifle fires one shot. The force of the explosion operates the bolt for you. Right now there are not enough to go around, so you will use the Springfield. You will be given time to train with the M1 when they arrive.

On qualification day two weeks from now, you will  shoot at ranges of between 300 to 600 yards, in strings of slow and rapid fire in the offhand, sitting, kneeling and prone positions. Record fire consists of 70 rounds for a maximum score of 350 points.  This level of perfection is seldom achieved. To qualify as an expert rifleman, a Marine has to shoot a score of 306 or better. 290 or better qualifies the Marine as a rifle sharpshooter. The minimum qualifying score of 240 earns the Marine a marksman badge. Below that, the Marine will be unqualified. Do you know what unqualified Marines are called in combat? Killed in action.

That’s encouraging, Steinberg whispered to Balducci.

You will also learn how to shoot the Browning Automatic Rifle and the .45 caliber pistol. Special training for machineguns, flamethrowers, bazookas, and Mortars follows basic training. Every Marine should be able to fire every weapon in the company. We do not want to have to send a letter to your Mama telling her we found your dead dumb ass lying next to a weapon you didn’t learn how to use.

Flamethrower? Monty grinned at Wervey. That has Monsanto written all over it, Sir.

That’s a bad ass weapon, Wervey nodded. Makes you a major target, too. The enemy always tries to take out the flamethrowers and the machinegun crews first. Big tall bastard like you, wearing one of those? he grinned. That’s a telegram to your parents waiting to happen.

Everybody has to die someday, Sir, Monty said. I never worried about when or how.

Don’t make it happen any sooner than it has to, Wervey said. Your job is to kill the Japs, not the other way around. You a good shot, Monsanto?

Well, Sir, to be honest, I’ve never fired a gun in my life. That’s why I like the idea of a flamethrower. You don’t have to be very accurate, he grinned.

That’s true, but once those tanks are empty, you drop the equipment and pick up a rifle.

I’ll learn, Sir, Monty nodded.

And that he did. By the time Record Day rolled around, Monty could shoot bullseyes all day long.

I think we finally found something you’re good at, Private, Hastings smiled as Monty reloaded a new clip.

Sir, yes Sir, Monty said. Suits me just fine, Sir. He finished the day with a score of 328 out of 350, the highest score on the post. He was just as deadly with the .45 and the BAR.

When graduation day came, Hastings walked up to the podium and started to read off names and the rank the recruits had achieved, and the assignment for each man. There were a few Privates First Class, the rest remained as regular Privates. All were assigned to the Infantry. He came to Monty’s name and looked up.

Corporal Arlton Monsanto, he called out. Advanced Weapons School, then Marine Raiders. Congratulations, Corporal, he laughed. Make sure you tell us where to send the body.

Yes, Sir, Monty laughed. I’ll carry my own body bag.

You people are now Marines, Hastings said at the end of the roster. "You have endured six weeks of Hell, but that is nothing compared to what you will endure when we take on the Japanese. They are brutal, dedicated jungle fighters who will fight to the last man. They are more than willing to die for the Emperor, who they consider to be divine. It is your job to make sure they get that chance. If you see a Japanese soldier, he means to kill you. Take him out. And I don’t mean out dancing. You blow his fucking head off.

"Most of you, if not all of you, are going directly into combat. Many of you will not come back. You increase your chances of survival if you work together and pay attention. Pair off, and watch out for your buddy. He is a Marine like you. He will save your life, and you will save his. Make friends at your own peril, because there is a good chance your friends will be killed, and a Marine suffering from grief is a poor soldier. Accept it when it happens, and be glad it wasn’t you.

"You will be on the Japs’ territory, not yours. It is oppressively hot where you are going, often well over 100 degrees. Do not bring a bunch of crap you will have to lug around in the heat. A good Infantryman has his weapon, his ammo, his first aid kit, some K-rations, several pairs of clean socks, some shit paper, and an extra pair of boots tied beneath his backpack.

"Do not bring books, photo albums, extra uniforms, lipstick, extra silk panties, rubbers, chewing gum, candy, dirty magazines, cartons of cigarettes, radios, nylons for the whores you will catch diseases from when you get liberty, food from home, or any of the other shit you Mary Janes think you can’t live without. Dead Marines don’t read books. Worry about the weapon in your hands, not the one in your pants. Don’t carry anything that rattles, shines, or makes noise. Tape your dog tags together. Keep your canteens as full as possible. Nothing gives away a position faster than forty Infantrymen with water sloshing around in their web belts. Carry as much extra ammo as you feel comfortable with. An extra clip for your .45 can save your life, a chocolate bar cannot.

Drink sparingly but often. A mouthful every ten minutes will keep you from having heat sickness. Part of your first aid pack will be salt tablets and some shit they give you to purify water. It tastes like horse piss, but you do not want dysentery, believe you me. Or Malaria, or any of the other creepy crawly shit they have over there. Use your mosquito repellant. If you run out, urine is an excellent bug repellant.

Cripes, Steinberg muttered. I think my mother is calling me.

I would get a small Japanese translation dictionary, they have them at Quartermaster for free. Try to learn some basic Japanese. Above all, listen to your Platoon Sergeant. He will keep you alive. I know mine did. May God Almighty have mercy on your silly asses, he grinned. Dismissed.

United States Marine Corps

Marine Raiders

2nd Separate Battalion, 5th Marines Regiment

April, 1942

Lieutenant Colonel Evans F. Carlson, the commanding officer of the 2nd Separate Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, approached the podium in the field house.

Congratulations, he said. "Thirty two Marines here today have achieved things regular Marines can only dream of. You are the best of the best, and you get to wear the badge of the Marine Raiders. You are the killers elite of the Corp. You have demonstrated abilities far and above that of the average soldier, and you will bring great sadness and death to our enemies.

I am a Christian man, he said, looking down. "I do not believe in senseless murder, torture, or degradation of the enemy, regardless of the way that enemy acts. A Marine is a killer, but he kills with honor on the battlefield and displays compassion for the weak. Do not use your talents to inflict injury or death on civilians. Do not murder prisoners. There are times when taking prisoners may be dangerous, because they may be sappers. Take whatever measures you feel will work. Above all, protect yourselves and the men entrusted to your care.

Every man here will graduate with the rank of Sergeant. You will be assigned to a rifle company in your unit. See your Lieutenant for your assignments. Never forget what you went through here, or what it means to your country that you did so. I am very proud of all of you. Dismissed.

Monty found Lieutenant Pierce. Where am I going, Sir? he said.

You’re going back to Parris Island for extended training, Monsanto. You will be part of our first offensive against the Japanese, in the Solomon Islands. We’ll be making the initiative in August.

We’re in the soup pot now, Monty said to Donnie Largo.

Yeah, Largo said, looking out at the ugly yellow sky. Here we go.

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The Monsanto Home

Trumbull, Connecticut

July, 1942

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He’s shipping out next month, Helen Monsanto sighed as she read the letter. Armand? Did you hear me?

I heard you, Armand said. And don’t call me Armand.

It’s your name, Helen said.

Everybody calls me Monty, just like the boy. Where is he going?

Overseas. The rules forbid him from saying exactly where.

Oh. I guess they’re worried that the Japs are going to invade Trumbull and steal our mail.

He could be going to Europe, you know.

Highly unlikely. I heard there won’t be any combat Marine missions in Europe.

I don’t know why the hell he picked the Marines, Helen sighed. Maybe if he knew how to keep his pants on, he wouldn’t be in the service at all. Grace’s husband didn’t have to go.

He’s married, 30, works in a defense plant, and he just had throat surgery.

Whatever, Helen sighed. I still say that was an incredibly stupid thing Arlton did, fooling around with that girl and getting himself arrested.

Too late for that, Armand said. You play, you pay. He would have joined up anyway. He likes to fight.

With a kid on the way? He could get killed over there. Then what?

He could get killed here too, walking across the street.

Come on, don’t tell me living here is just as dangerous as fighting in a war.

Been downtown at night lately?

That’s different. You don’t have to go downtown at night. You have no say in where the government sends you.

He’ll be fine, Armand sighed. He’s a tough kid, and he’s smart.

Knocking up that girl Jenny wasn’t too smart.

No, I guess it wasn’t. Water over the dam.

He got another promotion, Helen said as she looked at the letter. He’s a Platoon Sergeant now. Whatever that is.

That means he’ll be in charge of about sixty men in a rifle company. His Platoon Leader will be a Second Lieutenant. See that? He’s only been in since February, and he got three promotions already.

He should have joined the Navy. That’s not as dangerous. The Marines are crazy.

And your son isn’t? Armand laughed. It’s perfect for him. He gets to beat people up and kill them legally.

Don’t talk about that, Helen said quickly. "Nobody