The Cadet Chapter 8, a ncis fanfic

Chapter 8

June 24, 1982

Eielson Air Force Base, Fairbanks, Alaska

Mark Golan was so excited. Ben Eielson Junior High had given him the afternoon off so he could see Colonel Thomas "Finn" Sawyer's "fini flight", his last flight before retiring from the United States Air Force, from the backyard of the Golan family's house at here at Eielson. Mark had complained bitterly that he wasn't allowed to attend the ceremony at the airfield, but Dad had insisted on it, promising that he and the good Colonel would be coming by to visit as soon as the flight was over.

After that, Mark knew, there would be a big reception for Colonel Sawyer, a dance sponsored by Ben Eielson Junior & Senior High School in his honor and attended by everyone who was anyone at Eielson AFB. Mark had gotten himself into quite a pickle… he'd gotten tricked into asking two girls to the dance. It was complicated. Mark was very popular at school, and it seemed that was the source of the trouble- some of the guys he was friends with were in on it. Mark knew they were.

But that was for later, and Mark knew Dad could help him resolve the problem. He'd explained some details of it to Dad before he left this morning, and Dad had promised "We'll talk about it," with a wry smile on his face. Great. So Dad thought Mark's problem was funny, too.

Someone poked Mark in the back with what felt like one of Mom's rolling pins. Mark turned around, glaring at Ben Borneman, son of the commander of the 82nd Maintenance Wing. The black-haired youth grinned impishly and poked Mark again, this time in the chest.

"Mom's not gonna like it if she finds you using her kitchen stuff for that," Mark said reproachfully.

"She told me to come in and get you," Ben countered. "I'm doing what I was told."

"Oh, good job, small wonder why my Dad flies the bombers and your dad just fixes 'em."

"Try going one day without my dad's shops keeping everything running. Just try it."

"So proud to be a glorified grease monkey."

"That's 'grease monkey's brat' to you," Ben countered.

"This is why nobody likes you."

"Boys!" Laura Golan said, opening the glass sliding door on the back porch. "What's taking so long? King 6 is taking off any minute."

"Aw, Mom," Mark said. "Ben just told me he wants to ask a boy to the dance. He's got real problems, Mom. I'm trying to get him to get his head right."

Mom laughed. "Mark, I think I'm beginning to see how you got yourself into that fix you're in at school."

"Hey! Dad told you about that?"

"In passing. You're quite a charmer, Mark, but you better be a gentleman tonight. I expect both of those girls to each have a wonderful time, or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else this grease monkey is gonna beat you up," Ben said gleefully, poking Mark some more.

The roar of jet engines interrupted Mark's reply. The two boys suddenly dashed outside, eager to see the boss of the 157th Bomb Wing in the air for the last time. Mark knew Major Richard Harland from the 10th Bomb Squadron was the command pilot for this flight. He also knew Harland had a terrible record for recklessness and suicidally stupid bravado. Dad hated him and if Harland had just been in the 97th Bomb Squadron- and thus under Lieutenant Colonel Mark Golan Sr.'s command- he would have been kicked out of the Air Force by now.

As it was, Dad had been vowing to Mom that he was going to "get that son of a bitch" and "nail that stupid asshole to the wall," so Mark knew it was just a matter of time. He whooped as he saw the B-52 Stratofortress climbing above the trees that, though they helped reduce the noise of constant takeoffs and landings, also frustratingly obscured the view of the runway.

"That's it! That's King Six!"

"Yeah, I recognize the new tires," Ben said.

"How would you know; they already retracted the gear." Mark checked his watch. "And it's 13:58, plenty of time for some lemonade while we watch my father keep that dumb fu- fool in line."

"Good choice of words, Mark," Mom said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Would you boys like some of that lemonade? They're just going to head out over the base and come back."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ben and Mark both gratefully accepted the glasses that Mom poured for them on the table. They took a cushioned deck chair each and talked about the Air Force. As always, the topic revolved around their fathers' careers.

"So, you really think your Dad is earmarked for General?" Ben asked.

"That's what Colonel Sawyer told me. It's gonna be a few years yet. He's gotta make O-6 first, obviously."

"Oh, hot-shot Mark Golan Senior isn't just gonna skip on up to four stars?"

"It's more likely to happen than your dad ever getting one star."

"My Dad still outranks yours."

Mark stuck out his tongue.

The boys drank their lemonade and bickered amicably about who was better, more athletic, more attractive, whose father was going to make rank first, and so on. They had become best friends almost immediately after Mark's father had been transferred to Eiselson AFB two years ago. It had been a great friendship from the start, with lots of fierce competition and genuine affection between them. Used to a nomadic life of roaming from one base to the next according to the whims of the Air Force, the two boys had been delighted to have one year, then two to be friends. They'd expected it might have to end with one of them moving any minute. This was the longest either of them had ever stayed in one place.

Before long, though, Mark heard the approach of the jet engines, and he clinked his glass with Ben. "To Colonel Huck Finn Sawyer," Mark yelled. "The second-best pilot in the Air Force!"

"Make sure to wave!" Mom shouted.

The two boys did so, but Mark suddenly felt his smile fading. Something was wrong.

King 6 flew overhead, evidently taking the long way around the control tower before landing. As it banked for the turn, however, the bomber's port wing sank lower and lower. The bomber was already less than 300 feet above the ground, and Mark was suddenly on his feet, shouting "Pull up! Pull up! You're too low to be turning like that! PULL UP!"

Sun glinted off the B-52's gray fuselage as King Six went into an irreversible stall, as the steady roar of the multiple engines started to die.

"PULL UP!" Mark screamed.

King 6 continued forward as it attempted to bank around the tower, losing altitude. Mark was yelling and screaming, but none of it did any good. The B-52 disappeared below the trees, and the great roaring explosion, the sound of the Devil firing a shotgun in Hell- came a second later.

KA-WHAMMM!

"DAD!" Mark howled.

He wasn't aware of anything after that. Not really. Confronted with the horror of what he'd just seen, Mark's mind simply detached itself. And so he barely heard Mom and Ben crying out, barely heard their surprised shouts as Mark vaulted over the railing of the back porch and began sprinting for the trees. Sirens began going off, and distantly, Mark could see men running, MP and fire vehicles speeding out toward the rising plume of black smoke.

Ben tackled Mark before he made it out of the backyard. As fit and athletic as his best friend, Ben wrestled Mark down and pinned him to the grass. "You can't go out there, man," he said, his voice shaking badly.

"LET ME GO!"

"I can't."

"I SAID LET ME GO!"

"It isn't gonna bring him back, man."

"LET ME GO NOW!"

But Ben didn't. He stayed there, tears streaming down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs as sirens screamed and Eielson Air Force Base went into lockdown. The worst happened. An aircraft was down, and from the size and force of that explosion that had rocked even the oldest trees lining the airfield, no one was coming out of that. Both boys knew it. The difference was Ben admitted he knew. Mark had no intention of acknowledging that stupid fake-macho, wannabe class-clown Rich Harland had just killed Dad.

So Mark shouted and twisted and kicked and yelled. Mom was there too, saying things, but Mark didn't care. He fought and he cried, and eventually he just cried. Finally, many hours later, the solemn-faced detail of men in dress uniform came and told Mark and his Mom what they already knew.

Mark awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed. He was grateful that he hadn't woken Allison up, at least. Mark had been "messing around" with one girl or another in Pocahontas or Greenbrier County for years now. A few of them even knew about the others, and when Mark was back and wanted to go for a roll in the hay, they were up for it. It was a great deal of fun, sure, and Mark loved it, but over time he'd also begun to suspect he was working out and sleeping around this much because he didn't want to think about something.

That goddamn nightmare. It came along every so often. Back after the crash first happened, it would come around every three or four days, or even every night. But less often, Mark found, if he was exhausted. So he'd started working out like never before, started to chase after girls like never before, and after arriving at Remington… he'd lived military life like never before.

It was better than thinking about it, although Mark wound up thinking about it all the time. Other boys tended to tease Mark for being so moody, so serious, so relentless and quick to anger. Mark didn't much care. Even if some of his fraternal brothers didn't quite get it, that was okay. They didn't need to understand, really, not the way Mark did, not the way that Richard Harland II called "Anthony DiNozzo" did.

Mark shifted and swung his feet out over the floor. His groin ached. Mark had tried so much to just wear himself out. Allison thought he'd just been really "in the mood" tonight, or whatever. It didn't matter. Mark sat there for a while, looking out the window.

I don't care what it takes. I will get the stars you already earned, Dad. I will make it right. And all the Richard Harlands in the world will not be enough to stop me.

Tony began Friday, November 28th a little cautiously. Still eager to avoid angering Chris again, Tony was careful to avoid going even near the door to his room unless he and Chris were hanging out. The red-haired teen didn't refer to the 'incident' and Tony didn't bring it up. Chris, Tony decided, was an odd guy sometimes. There were things about him Tony just couldn't place. But he was a highly skilled basketball player, an awesome workout partner, and a great party companion. He had an intoxicating degree of belief in his own invincibility and was wildly enthusiastic about life. No one Tony had ever met was quite so much fun to be around.

The two boys went on an early morning run with Captain and Sergeant Major Marshall, and Tony took great pride in the fact that, in addition to having one hell of a bod, enough that he could pass for a Marine at a glance (or three), he could run like a Marine, too. The Sergeant Major set the pace, and it was strenuous and then some. The man might have been an aging veteran of three wars, but the years only seemed to have toughened him.

After the run, the Sergeant Major took Tony aside.

"My youngest has really taken a liking to you," the man said in that deep, rumbling voice of his.

"Oh, Josh hasn't?" Tony cracked.

"No, he likes you all right. Josh just doesn't let people in as easy as Chris does. You must have really impressed Chris at school- I've never seen him take to anyone quite like this."

"It's just 'cause he's finally met somebody who's a ladies' man like he is," Tony said boastfully.

The Sergeant Major laughed. "Yes, you have some similar interests. But Chris can go a little far trying to impress people he likes. Don't let it bother you. But if that leadfoot of his comes back you let me know; I'm tired of having the MPs or the local police come bother me about that Camaro of his."

Tony considered and rejected telling about the other night. Hearing that it might just have been Chris trying to act up and impress his new friend helped ease Tony's mind about it a lot. Besides, while Sergeant Major seemed like a good man, Tony didn't want to get Chris in trouble.

"He's been doing fine. Ran over a few Navy guys on the way back the other night, though."

"That's fine, son. Speedbumps are all the Navy is good for here at Camp Lejeune."

After a long and extremely challenging (and fun) day at the gym, Chris and Tony rented a hotel room in town. Tony found himself playing along with the whole "junior enlisted Marine" story again, but if it meant having a fun evening, Tony could've cared less. He and Chris had a lot of fun teasing each other from their respective beds, and they were close enough that at one point, while each of the girls were 'busy' and the two boys were lying on their backs, they actually exchanged a high-five.

The whole evening passed much too quickly, and Tony complained like a little kid when Chris announced they had to leave and head back to the base. Chris patiently let Tony gripe, and ultimately the two boys put their clothes back on and left.

This isn't so bad, Tony thought, happily daydreaming in the passenger bucket seat as Chris drove back to Camp Lejeune. I think sports, the bedroom, and the gym have gotta be the three greatest things in the world. You won't find me going to any more fucking Civil War reenactments, that's for sure. And look, Chris is even driving like he's sane. He's not so bad. You can do this, man. Things will work out just fine.

At the gate, as the MP checked Chris' military dependent ID, Tony thought of something, a line from one of this year's best movies and one of Tony's all-time favorites.

"Hey, man," Tony said, "what if your dad or your brother checks the odometer on this car?"

"They don't," Chris said, taking his ID back and giving a casual wave to the MP.

"But what if they started to?" Tony asked.

"Oh, that's easy," Chris said with a grin. "We'll drive home backwards."

"Yes!" Tony shouted. He pummeled Chris' right shoulder exultantly, yelling excitedly. "Yes! Yes! This is awesome, man!"

"Oh, you just figured it out?" Chris laughed. "What has gotten into you?"

"You saw Ferris Bueller's Day Off!"

"Yeah, man, I saw it, so what?"

"It is the best fuckin' movie of 1986, that's what!"

"Okay, okay, it is, I agree, lemme drive, will you?"

Tony kept messing with Chris, though, and Chris started trying to find him off with one hand, with the end result that they blew a stop sign about a mile or two into the base. And, as if it was fate itself taking a crap on Tony's great evening, a military police car jumped out from hiding with its lights on.

"Shit," Tony said.

"Yellow flag," Chris said. "I was just about to open her up, too."

Chris brought the Camaro to a stop on the side of the road, and two Marines in camouflage fatigues walked up on either side of the car. The boys rolled down the windows and stayed put as the MPs ran their flashlights over the car and its occupants.

Oh, man, I hope Chris doesn't fuck up and show them that fake ID. Oh, please, man, don't grab that one if you have it. They'll figure out there's no Marine by that name on this base and then-

"What's the hurry this time of the night?" the MP at the driver's side asked.

"Just trying to beat the curfew home, Lieutenant," Chris replied.

"Yeah? You almost made it," the MP officer replied.

"What were you kids doing off-base?" a Marine corporal on Tony's right asked.

"Well, we-"

"Never mind, I don't care."

Chris cleared his throat. "Uh, sir, are you the Lieutenant Scott that was in Joshua Marshall's class at Remington Military Academy? Class of '78?"

"What's it to you, hotshot?"

"I'm his brother. I didn't know you were on base with him now, sir." He displayed his ID. "It's really me. Seriously."

The lieutenant aimed his flashlight right at Tony, who winced and put up a hand.

"That kid," Scott said, "he's got the kinda face I just wanna punch. You know that, Corporal?"

"I was just thinkin' that about the ginger there, sir," the Corporal replied.

"Alright," the officer said. "Tell you guys what. Chris, if your stupid-lookin' friend can tell me why I became a Marine, I won't run you in for resisting arrest."

"Uh-"

"That's strike one."

"The dress blues?"

"That's two."

"You were bored?"

"Buddy, you just struck out. Outta the vehicle; you're under arrest."

Before Tony could respond, Chris suddenly shouted, "Goddamn it, Quentin, this was supposed to be a fuckin' joke! Why the hell do you MP's have to fuckin' ruin everybody's fun?!"

The two MP's looked at Chris in surprise, then cracked up laughing. The lieutenant said, "Chris, you know I'm just fuckin' with you. I only got to see your brother today. I pulled him over for speeding, too. Gave him a pass because of that sweet Caddy of his. He doesn't deserve that car, you know that?"

"You MP's never know when to quit."

"It's not in our nature. Get outta here, Chris, and take your buddy with you. Make sure you stop at the Stop signs, it's what they're there for."

"Really?"

"Really. Go on, get lost. Don't make any of my boys run you in."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Yeah, yeah, what?"

"Yeah, yeah, sir."

"There you go, man."

Back at the house, Chris invited Tony to stay up for a while in his room. They talked about the remainder of what the basketball team had to do for the fall, and the upcoming games of the spring. Tony was looking forward to all that. He was also looking forward to taking on Honor Corps with an ally at his side. All they had to do was investigate, get some dirt on those guys somehow. With enough ammo, they could convince Honor Corps to back off. Maybe, just maybe, Chris and Tony could finish Honor Corps for good. Coach Tanner had hopes of doing just that.

"You really think we can do this?" Tony asked finally.

"Do what?"

"The whole thing. Take on Honor Corps. Change the school."

"Of course."

"Well, what about your brother?"

"What about him?"

"Will he help us?"

"He's not gonna be too interested. He's got his mind elsewhere. He doesn't believe they exist, anyway."

"Can I ask him about it?"

"It's not gonna cost me anything if you do. When we get ready to head to the airport tomorrow, you ask him then. He'll tell you the same thing he's told me."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Just ask him yourself, if you want."

"Okay." Tony was silent for a while. "Chris, when did you lose your virginity?"

Chris laughed. "What in the fuck? What's that got to do with anything?"

"I'm just curious. I mean, I just fucked a girl in plain sight of you. Just tell me."

"Okay. I was twelve. My first year at RMA. You should've seen me the next summer, man. I started coming out of my shell, eventually. And when I did- well, that's what set me on the path to become the muscular love machine you see before you today."

"So how'd it happen?"

"This real cute girl who worked at the pool took me into the locker room at the end of the day. I was a little kid. I had no idea what I was doing. I learned."

"Doesn't sound like you had that much fun, though."

Chris shrugged. "I guess it just wasn't that fun, because… because… I was new. I hadn't been done it before. To be honest I didn't like it. But later… later, I did."

"Well, I for one am glad you decided you liked to fu-"

Chris whacked him on the shoulder. "Oh, kiss my ass, DiNozzo! You know I was just nervous, that's all! By the time I turned fourteen I was totally over that; you take my word on it."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Shit."

The two boys looked at each other and started laughing. They giggled like a couple of little kids for a while, and Tony had to wipe away tears at one point.

"You're not so bad, DiNozzo," Chris sighed. "But next time I want my own room. I see you naked enough just in the locker room."

"Seriously, how fun was doing that high-five? Be honest."

"Oh, that was fun, my man. But I'm still taking my own room next time."

"Good. I don't want to embarrass you again if I can help it."

"Tony, you got no chance, man."

"Thanks for making this break so much fun. I'm actually kinda glad my Dad didn't pick me up."

"No problem, Tony. It's all good, man."

Tony wound up falling asleep in Chris' room, and Josh and Chris somehow got the brown-haired teen into the hallway bathroom's bathtub without even waking him up. Tony slept soundly right up to the moment the water was turned on.

"HEY!" Tony shouted, suddenly wide awake. He spluttered and coughed, cursed as he realized he still had his underwear on, and that it was rapidly getting soaked. "What the hell's going on?!"

"Tony," Chris said, "you gotta learn to wake up sooner, man!"

"This was too easy, dear brother," Josh added, laughing. "Hey, Tony."

"Fuck you!"

"Wash up, sweetie, and then pack your shit and get downstairs! Food's on me, but Dad wants no excuses on you and Chris getting back to school on time!"

"Goddamn it!"

"Speak with respect when you speak of the Lord!" Josh barked at him.

"I'll make something of you yet, DiNozzo!" Chris thundered.

"Goddamn it, leave that boy alone and give him some fuckin' privacy!" the Sergeant Major bellowed from his room. "I get enough time to come back here and take a friggin' nap, and I gotta listen to the damn monkey house!"

"I love you, Dad!" Josh and Chris shouted.

"I love you too, boys!" the Sergeant Major shouted back. "Now leave DiNozzo the hell alone so he can take a friggin' shower!"

The Marshall boys got Tony's Class A uniform and hung it up on one of the towel rack, and set the shoes and dress socks beneath it. They then closed the door and let Tony have his shower in peace. Tony kept shaking his head, muttering to himself, "These guys are crazy. This whole family is crazy."

An hour later, Tony was loading his things into the Cadillac's trunk when he heard Chris let out a yelp. He turned just in time to see the whole thing as Josh picked Chris up, tossed him into the cavernous trunk and closed the lid.

"Let me out!" Chris yelled, pounding on the inside of the trunk lid. "Let me out of here!"

"Say the password!" Josh said, laughing so hard he could barely stand.

"I don't know any fucking password!"

"Ask your friend!"

"Tony, what's the fucking password?"

"I don't know what the fucking password is, man!" Tony replied, also laughing.

"I hate you both!"

"Chris, man, I told you there'd be consequences if you didn't get Tony up on time this morning!"

"I did!"

"No, we both woke him up ten minutes late!"

"You let me out of here, Josh, I swear I'll get you for this! I'll get you! Let me out!"

Josh took his keys and unlocked the trunk, and Chris promptly sprang out and tackled his brother. The two wrestled good-naturedly for a minute or so before Sergeant Major Marshall came out front and yelled at Chris to come get the rest of your stuff, I don't have all day here.

"You got payback coming," Chris said, glowering at his brother.

"I love you, little brother."

"Yeah, man," Chris grumbled. "All right. I'll see you guys in a minute."

As Chris went back inside the house, Tony turned to Josh.

"Has Chris ever mentioned Honor Corps to you?"

Josh had been eying himself in the Cadillac's driver's side mirror; he looked sharply at Tony and frowned.

"What?"

"Honor Corps. Secret group at RMA?"

"There's no such group."

"I think there is. Chris thinks so, too."

Josh straightened up and looked speculatively at Tony for several moments.

"Tony, I'm gonna tell you something. When I went to Remington, back before the beginning of time-"

"Back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth?"

Josh cracked a smile. "That's right, DiNozzo. Well, they used to say that the Corps sleeps. The TACs sleep. But Honor Corps, they don't ever sleep. The stories said they were the elite defenders of the school, a brotherhood forged to purge Remington of anyone who crossed the Academy in thought, word, or deed. I even heard one guy swear they started back in the 1940s somewhere, and over time their mission evolved, went from just defending the school to defending America. Whatever it takes. Victory at any cost. Fidelis ad Mortem- faithful unto death. That's the Honor Corps motto, or so the rumors said. And you know what? It's all hogwash. It's bullshit. I graduated valedictorian in the Class of 1978, I met every alleged criterion I've ever heard of. Patriotism, athletic ability, loyalty to the school, physical fitness, leadership, and nobody contacted me. No masked gang led me away into the dark one night for initiation. I searched for years, wasted time like you're doing on a wild goose chase, and nothing ever happened."

"Someone drew 'HC' on my locker, on my uniform, and painted it on my door. Right after that prank I did with the paint."

Josh shrugged. "So what? It's a barracks legend, Tony, that's all it is. That little stunt of yours just gave somebody a great chance to scare you. I personally know guys who used to shit like that to scare new boys."

Tony hesitated. "Josh, I don't think someone's just trying to scare me. It felt like they were sending a message."

The red-haired young man sighed. "Oh, I think I know what's going on. Chris thinks he's gonna go running off on some idealistic crusade, doesn't he?"

"Won't you at least help us if we prove it to you somehow?" Tony asked. "Chris was saying we might be able to-"

Josh cut him off. "Tony, you have enough to worry about all by yourself. Don't go looking for ghosts in the dark. Get on the right path, accept a little discipline in your life. Graduate. You've got enough work cut out for you just with that."

"You really don't believe Honor Corps exists?"

"Do you believe Hell exists, Tony?"

"I don't know."

"I don't know either, Tony, but I sure as hell don't wanna go there, you know what I mean?"

"But- that couldn't even be a problem unless Honor Corps really-"

"No more antics, Tony. No more of that shit you pulled when you first showed up at RMA. No one can ever amount to a thing in life unless they have a code, and there's one you can live by at Remington. Verum, Animus, Officium. And then there's that statue: Huc venite iuvenes ut exeatis viri." I want you to go look at that statue sometime after you get back. You go there and you think about this. The day's coming, Tony, when you're not only gonna have to find a code to live by, but also grow up and become a man. Remington can make you a man if you just take advantage of what the school offers. Question is, what kind of man do you want to be?"

A/N: 2-3-2019.

First chapter of this story for 2019!

I was inspired by Jenny wrens, whose rapid pace of updating her story lately has been nothing short of incredible. I hadn't updated "The Cadet" since November 2018, and I figured, better do something about that. This chapter totals at about 4,787 words, considerably shorter than most all the others in Chapters 1-7. But that's all right. Better at least that I got the story moving again. I hope to update it again much sooner than the three-month gap between Chapter 7 and Chapter 8.

I would like to say a special word of thanks to VG LittleBear, whose steadfast praise and support was and is an inspiration to me. VG LittleBear's reviews were a great source of encouragement and played no small role in my decision to become further involved in writing for NCIS. VG LittleBear, thank you very much for all your PMs and reviews. They are appreciated.

And the same to Jenny wrens, an excellent writer who I greatly enjoy interacting with on here. Josh Marshall, a Marine captain (O-3) in 1986, has now become a part of "Gibbs' Test", set in 2005, where Josh is a brigadier general (O-7). Josh's powerful drive, personal ambition, courage and nerve have made him stand out since the beginning of his life, and enabled him to survive circumstances others might have found overwhelming. He is an extremely tough and brave individual, and realizing that about him has led me to planning for him to have a larger role than he was originally intended for in this story.

The 1983 film adaptation of "The Lords of Discipline" is referenced in this chapter.

Tony will be returning to Remington Military Academy soon, and Honor Corps will be waiting. Tony, Chris, and Honor Corps itself have gotten themselves into a fairly complex situation by now- to say the least.

All reviews are welcome.