THE MAJOR’S WIFE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or organizations, or living persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2020 Augustus Publishing, Inc.
ISBN 9781935883562
Novel by Anthony Whyte
Edited by Laurel Montague
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For further information contact Augustus Publishing.
Augustus Publishing paperback November 2020
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO THE FAMILIES
OF ALL FALLEN SOLDIERS
YOUR SACRIFICES AND SERVICE
WILL NOT GO UNHEEDED...
CHAPTER
1
Diana King frantically threw the files down on her desk and hurried out of her office. Moving faster than her feet could go, she ran down the stairs. Her svelte, five-ten frame came stumbling out the building. Kicking off her heels, Diana went running at top speed across the street. Suddenly her strides slowed before she completely froze. Her breath coming in gasps, Diana stared, trying to wrap her brain around the entire situation. Astonished, her eyes widened with her every step she took.
Nervously approaching the unmoving body lying beneath the shadow of the Boll Weevil Monument, Diana’s mouth gaped. She was now able to recognize her husband’s body, and her legs slowly started to move. Diana broke into a slow trot. Her hands were covering her mouth, and Diana’s breathing was labored.
“Oh no, oh no…no…” she sobbed.
Gasping for air, she ran to where Vaughn’s body was lying. As she got closer, Diana saw that he was bleeding, and a blood-curdling scream escaped her throat. Launching herself to the ground, she wept while kneeling by the side of her husband’s bullet-riddled body. Then Diana gently raised his head and was uncontrollably sobbing while cradling him in her arms. A small crowd gathered and stared in sympathy at her grief.
“Someone call nine-one-one, please!” Diana screamed, pleading.
“The police are on the way, ma’am,” an onlooker said. “I already called.”
“We saw him lying there. Look like he had an accident or—” another person said.
“He’s bleeding badly,” a person in the said.
“Is he dead?” another onlooker asked.
“Looks like someone must have tried to rob him, huh…?” an onlooker asked.
Diana King didn’t answer, hugging her husband, she sobbed, “Vaughn, please don’t die, honey. An ambulance is on the way. Don’t die…”
A flash of lightning followed by a thunderous roar, and the sky opened. The downpour of rain brought brief relief from the high humidity of the evening. King’s lifeless, leaking body left bloodstains on Diana’s khaki Capri pants. Sobbing loudly, her white blouse turning crimson, she held her dead husband’s body beneath the giant statue of a woman holding a boll weevil. Rain added to the macabre of a spectacle.
Sirens blared in the distance. Enterprise emergency services received the call. Diana knew that any real chance of saving her husband might just be too late. She held Vaughn’s body in her arms and felt his life slipping away.
“Please don’t die. Oh, God…” Diana sobbed.
Fear clouded by her despair gripped the slender body of the therapist. A mixture of emotions ripped her thoughts apart like the bullet holes from the killer’s gun. Her husband was lying still, and Diana continued to hold his lifeless body close to her buxom. Onlookers shook their heads in empathy, carefully watching. The notion that her husband might be already dead never seemed to cross her mind. Diana refused to give up hope. A wave of emotions rippled through the crowd like a bolt of lightning. Some of the sympathetic onlookers appeared overcome by this horrible scene. Wiping Vaughn’s face, Diana was crying and pleading.
“Don’t leave me, Vaughn. Just hold on. The ambulance will be here soon,” Diana grieved.
Captain Vaughn King survived many tours in the Gulf War. He was a hero of both Desert Storm and Operation Freedom and was a leader of an elite aviation unit known throughout Fort Campbell as the Black Angels of Death. The Cobra unit earned its wings performing search and destroy combat missions in the Gulf region. BAD was the unit’s call sign, and its members reigned terror on enemy tanks and mobile units. During the ongoing Gulf War, King’s military contingent participated in over three hundred missions with minimal loss. Eventually, accolades started pouring in from all quarters, including the White House. Four weeks ago, King’s unit returned stateside after another successful tour of duty in the Gulf. Their notoriety had spread far and wide, leading to promotions and new leadership assignments for the unit’s members.
A highly decorated soldier, Captain King, was reassigned to Fort Rucker for advanced aviation training. He was poised to take command of another army cobra outfit. These plans appeared derailed. Her husband’s life was leaking away with each passing second. The combat vet was bleeding badly in the arms of his weeping wife. She heard him gasp then felt the coldness in her husband’s limbs. Death came calling.
“No, Vaughn. Don’t die!” Diana shrieked.
Glancing up at the sympathetic look of the faces looking down at her, Diana seemed struck by the show of emotions but felt hopeless. Deep inside, she knew it was all in vain. The lethal injuries caused by the bullets left Vaughn’s body feeling cold. Diana held him close, cuddling him, seemingly not wanting to let him go. The falling rain pelting the streets added to the macabre of the scene. Rainfall washed his stilled body, mixing with tears streaming down Diana’s face. They met while the young King was involved in initial flight training at Fort Rucker.
While King rocketed up the military ladder ranks, Dr. Diana King made a name for herself working passionately as a clinical therapist. Assisting soldiers and dependents affected by the stark and very violent realities of overseas combat duties, Dr. King was a very busy, diligent, and respected for her work. Holding her husband and crying, Diana was now face-to-face with the harsh reality of death.
Cradling her husband’s body, she sobbed loudly. Diana never seemed to notice the rainfall or effects of stormy winds swirling around her due to her emotions. Flashing lights lit the night sky, and wailing of sirens announced the arrival of emergency vehicles. Ambulances and a couple of police cars with uniformed officers were on the scene.
The officers immediately sprang into action. Rushing from their cruiser, they ran to where a grieving Diana was holding King. While one tended to Diana and the stilled body of Vaughn King, the other was radioing for assistance.
Minutes later, crime scene investigators and detectives crawled through the area like the infestation of boll weevils that hit the region’s cotton crops. Back in 1918, the insect pest destroyed most of the cotton farms in Coffee County. With hope for better results, uniform officers fanned out, covering the perimeter of the crime scene. A seasoned homicide detective led the investigation. Sharkey, with ten years of police work under his belt, was on his walkie-talkie. The constant squelching sound chirped amongst the sirens and flashing lights.
“This is Detective Sharkey... The victim is a forty-year-old military officer. A black male shot multiple times. The uniform guys who responded reported that it appears that he’s the victim of a botched robbery.