The Marvel Knights Group presents: Punisher War Journal #5

Entry 070329

“Semper Fi.”

I’ve heard scores of men mutter that statement over and over again under their breathes. We would mention it to other on occasion as a means on camaraderie. My time spent in the military, training with the very best that Uncle Sam had to offer, made my path cross over with others like myself. People who had something to strive for, a kind of concept, a goal. We all wanted the same thing. The Corps was a way of getting it.

Semper Fi is short for Semper Fidelis, which is Latin for “always faithful.” To civilians it’s the Marine Corps’ motto, but to all of us who had been on the front lines, it was something else entirely. It was a way of life, and every time you repeated the phrase you were reaffirming your commitment to your country, your Corps, and your family.

That’s why there’s no such thing as an ex-Marine. You’re a Marine, then you’re a former Marine. You’re a part of the Corps until death do you part.

I liked that. Before I signed up with the greatest fighting force on Earth I was just a punk kid. I had no real understanding of commitment. It was ironic, since I had never really considered myself to be unpatriotic until I felt regret at leaving Maria and our unborn child behind. We had gotten married and then I was shipped off for training, and neither of us realized at the time that she was pregnant.

When she finally told me I had just finished up boot camp. I was happy, of course, but the following morning during the morning drills I repeated that sacred phrase, “Semper Fi,” in passing to a fellow Marine. That’s when it hit home - my country, my Corps, and my now budding family. In a way I felt complete, like everything was falling into place.

I had always wondered how Maria had felt at that time. I wasn’t there to help her get through the initial pregnancy, and even though she assured me that everything was working out for the best, I was never convinced. It had to be tough for her, but she was a strong woman that never let something like that show.

I didn’t know she had kept a diary. She put everything in it, from her thoughts about our first date to her concern over me running training missions for the Corps out of New York. Getting that kind of insight into her mind… I never thought it would happen. Not now. Not since she was ripped away from me.

Flipping through her entries the first thing that struck me was that she got it, too. I never had reason to doubt my wife in anything she did, but reading the words she had written, it was obvious that she understood the commitment that “Semper Fi” invoked.

Twenty Years Ago…

“Francis!”

The often-heard and commanding feminine voice carried throughout the small suburban house in Queens, New York, bouncing off the white walls until it reached the ears of two people, both of whom looked up from what they were doing. The older man had a slight look of worry in his eyes, like he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ironically enough, the younger of the two, nearly twenty years the other’s junior, had an opposite look splashed on his face as he brandished a wide smile.

“Better run, kiddo,” the man told the boy. “Looks like Mom just found out about your little project in the back yard.”

“You mean your project,” the kid replied, his smile growing wider. “It was your idea, remember, Dad?”

“Shh. Keep that to yourself and I’ll buy you a bike.” The father returned his son’s smile even though he knew he should know better. He couldn’t help it. “Go find your sister and wash up for dinner.”

The child took off down the hallway of their house, spraying the walls with chunks of clumped dirt as he ran. Muddy footprints were left in his wake, covering the hardwood floors in murky disgust. The father sighed as he shook his head gently, still unable to remove the smile from his face.

“Frank!”

He turned to see the woman who had been calling him, discouraged to see that she didn’t share his facial expression. Instead of upward-curling lips she had crushed them into a straight line, giving away her obvious dissatisfaction over what she had apparently just discovered in their back yard.

“Hey, sweetheart—”

“Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, Frank Castle. Do you know what your son has been doing to my yard?”

“Digging a hole to China?”

“Yes! And he piled the dirt on top of my rose bush… How did you know that’s what he had done? Frank! You have dirt on your hands!”

Frank Castle held his arms up as he suppressed a chuckle. “Guilty,” he said as a bit of laughter slipped out.

“Honestly, Frank.” His wife, a woman of subtle beauty with her long hair and deep eyes, fixed him with a stare as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re as bad the kids sometimes. And just who is going to fill that hole in, hmm?”

“I dug deeper fox holes than that and filled them in,” he replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it after dinner. I’m sorry, Maria. I just wanted to have some fun with Frank, Jr. while I had the chance. You know I have to run the Ops for this weekend’s training session. He asked me how far away I had traveled and I offered to take him there, and since the shortest distance between two places is a straight line—”

“Uh huh.” Maria softened her expression and unfolded her arms, only to wrap them around her husband’s waste. She was at least six inches shorter than him, allowing her to place her head on his sturdy chest. “It’s okay. I just wish you didn’t have to spend so much time away every week. The kids miss you.” She picked her head off his chest and looked him directly in the eyes. “I miss you.”

Frank sighed again as he hugged his loving wife. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

“Coming through!”

They both felt a pair of tiny hands pushing them apart before they looked down to see their daughter, Lisa, squirm between them. She wore a train conductor’s hat and was dragging an assortment of stuffed animals behind her that were tethered together by a jump rope. “Make way for the Castle Express!” she said. “Next stop, the kitchen! All aboard!”

“Okay, okay, princess,” Frank said as he stooped to pick his daughter up. “Let’s go get some grub, huh?”

“Oh no you don’t,” Maria chided, slapping his hands. “You go clean yourself off.”

Frank shot his wife a frown, mimicking how a child might react to being told what to do. It quickly returned to a smile as he walked away to find his son, who he hoped had been able to get to the bathroom before his mother could see the splotches of dirt all over him.

As he walked down the hallway, following his son’s mud-caked footsteps, he couldn’t help but think of how lucky a man he really was.

“Delta One; this is Zero. Hold your position and await further instruction; over.”

Frank released the button that activated the intercom and studied the view screens lined up in front of him. The inside of the van, while small, was still a state of the art mobile recon operations center from which he could monitor his team’s progress. Video feeds were streaming in from the tiny cameras attached to the vests of the operatives, allowing him to look in on where they were.

While Frank studied the feeds, watching and waiting for each team to move into position, he thought about how he would have much rather been outside the van than in. He was a long way off from the acrid jungles and sweaty desserts, although New York could personify those traits easily enough. Still, he never thought he would be staring at a series of screens as opposed to being the one to appear in those same images.

Since returning to the States, Frank had taken a position with the Marine Recon Commandos as a handler for Special Black Ops training missions. The job didn’t suit his particular tastes, but it allowed him to be close with his family and still stay in the Corps. After the shit he had seen it seemed like a babysitting assignment, but he tried to take it in stride. Maria was counting on him and the benefit of seeing his kids of a semi-regular basis was too good to pass up.

“Delta Zero; this is One. Affirmative,” the radio crackled back at him. “Holding; over.”

The military had reserved training ground north of the city, keeping out of sight of most residents. This particular operation was the last test his current team had to undergo before he cleared them for field duty. In the event of wartime, Marine Recon was often used to infiltrate urban areas for a multitude of purposes, which meant that had to be well-versed in the subtleties of operating in a live city.

There were three teams of four Marines surrounding the selected building, waiting for the order to move in and secure it. In this exercise the building was to house enemy insurgents, which the Recon team would need to dismiss with extreme prejudice. In reality there were only cardboard cut-outs spread throughout the four floors of the building.

After another moment of checking on each team’s position, Frank opened up the intercom again. “Delta One through Three; this is Zero,” he said into the microphone. “Move in to target area and proceed with the mission; over.”

Silently, he watched the feeds shift as all twelve Marines began to enter the building through their chosen points of entry. The entire operation was almost pointless, mostly a formality for their commanding officers. Each of the Marines taking part in the exercise were seasoned enough through their training that storming an empty building should be like taking candy from a baby, as cliché as it sounded.

So when gunfire erupted over the intercom link, Frank’s eyes widened in surprise and instant worry.

“All teams; this is Zero,” Frank said into the intercom. “Report immediately. All teams report; over.”

“Delta Zero; this is Three!” one of the Marines replied. “We’ve found live targets inside, sir! What the hell is going on? Are they shooting blanks? Is this part of the exercise? Meyers is down—”

KA-BOOM!

The explosion rocked the van gently, shocking Frank. What the hell was going on? He and the other trainers had cleared the area themselves the day before, setting up the cut-outs as they went. They were fenced in for four square acres. No one should be there but them. All three feeds were nothing but static now, adding to Frank’s sense of impending dread.

He grabbed an M4 carbine assault rifle and a walkie-talkie, part of left over gear stored in the van, and kicked the back door of the van open, hopping out to see for himself just want was happening. To his amazement he saw the entire building engulfed in fire. Part of the lower floors had been knocked away from the inside out, telling him that the explosion had blasted out from within the first floor. The flames reached up passed all four floors and into the night sky, lapping away at the clouds and moon.

“Report!” Frank screamed in to the walkie, ignoring protocol. “Anyone!”

Silence.

A pair of headlights suddenly flipped on a few dozen yards to his left, illuminating him against the backdrop of the van. He covered his eyes with one arm, trying to overcome his pupils sudden dilation so he could make out who it was.

He heard the car’s engine roar to life and saw the lights get closer. Despite his temporary blindness, Frank managed to dive to the side and avoid getting clipped by the passing automobile. He tucked into a roll, dropping the walkie talkie but managing to hang on to the M4. Blades of tall grass stabbed into his face as he tumbled into the brush, but his focus remained on the passing vehicle.

It was another van, similar in size to the one he had been in but a completely different make and model. The van swerved to one side and started to pull away, increasing its speed as it went. It was making a getaway.

Frank tossed one look over his shoulder at the smoldering building and then pulled back the pin on the carbine, ensuring there was a bullet in the chamber. He bounced up to his feet and took off after the van.

He fired a few random shots at the van, shattering one of the windows on the rear door. The driver jerked the van to one side in a feeble attempt at evasive maneuvers. Frank ran another few steps before he kneeled on one knee to steady his aim, firing another three controlled shots into the van.

The van jerked to one side again, but this time the momentum bowled the vehicle over. It capsized onto the pavement, the metal side screeching against the asphalt. Sparks flashed as it ground to a halt, quickly burning away unlike the towering inferno in the background.

Frank was up on his feet again and running toward the overturned van, keeping his weapon trained on the rear doors. As he came within fifty feet a foot suddenly kicked out the glass in the driver’s side door, surprising given that the van was now laying on its entire passenger side. Frank paused, waiting to see if someone would come out, but it was hard to make out much in the darkness, regardless of whatever light the burning pyre behind him provided.

BLAM! BLAM!

A few stray shots rung out, embedding themselves in the asphalt near Frank’s feet. He took a few steps back and trained his weapon on the van’s back door again, noticing a muzzle sticking out from within. He pulled the trigger on his semi-automatic assault rifle, making sure to squeeze out the shots in a deliberate manner. No use going gung-ho in returning fire, not when too rapid fire could knock his aim off center.

The nozzle of the enemy weapon drooped, smacking against the broken pane of glass and breaking off a few more shards. Frank quickly came in closer, maintaining his bead on the back door. He recognized the muzzle as belonging to an AK47, which made him clench. That wasn’t the chosen weapon of any American organization he knew.

He fell down to one knee again so he could get a better look inside the van from the rear. He saw the man he had shot lying beside his AK47, dead. Blood pooled under him, and from the barest bit of moonlight, Frank could make out his face. He was Palestinian, a fact verified by the symbol on the sleeve of his jacket. The patch depicted two rifles crossing over beneath a circular image: the Babbar Khalsa symbol used by the Palestinian militant group known as Black September.

“Fuck,” Frank swore upon seeing the dead terrorist.

He had heard of Black September like the rest of the world after the 1972 attack on the Olympic Games in Munich. He had no idea what they were doing in the States, or why they had chosen to randomly attack a Marine Recon unit during a training exercise.

He heard something hit the ground, followed by a sharp “huff!” He jumped back, chiding himself for forgetting about the driver. By the time he angled around the side of the overturned van he saw the driver making a run for it, having jumped out of the window he had kicked out a few moments ago.

“Freeze!” Frank ordered at the top of his lungs. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

The running man hesitated, taking a few more meaningless lunges before stopping and falling to his knees. He placed his hands behind his head in a rehearsed fashion. Frank kept his gun trained on the back of the man’s head as he ran forward.

When he reached the man, he realized that he wasn’t a man at all: he was just a kid. Sixteen or possibly a little younger, the teenager was breathing heavily. Frank pressed the gun’s muzzle into the back of the boy’s head and demanded to know why he was here.

His accent was apparent, but his English was still understandable. “I bring the message of my brothers,” he said. “You prepare your forces in the night, readying to strike at us from the darkness. The ignorant American government—”

“No,” Frank yelled. “Here. Why are you here, in New York?”

“I…We came to…” The boy sounded confused, lost.

“This was a training operation,” Frank stated. “My men weren’t even armed with live ammo. You blew them up, and for what? Huh? You don’t even understand what you’re being used for!”

“Training?” the boy repeated. If Frank had been standing in front of him he would have seen a pitiful look of abashment and agitation. Instead all he saw was the back of his head tilt to the side in contemplation. It was enough movement to give Frank cause to pull the trigger, blowing apart the back of the boy’s head, but he held back.

He thought about the men he had lost, past and present, and how this ignorant punk had been used in a ridiculous game that spanned several countries. It made him sick, knowing that youth could be manipulated into doing such horrific things.

The burning building cast a dim orange tinge over them, pulling Frank back to the present. He looked over his shoulder at the overturned van, searching the ground for his dropped communication device. He needed backup.

He felt the rifle being slapped out of his hands and the boy had turned face to face before Frank could react. He struck Frank across the chin, which did nothing more than irritate the soldier. Spit drooled out of Frank’s lip, a lip that was beginning to enlarge in a swollen red lump. Despite the younger man’s arrogance and obvious misguided ambition, Frank stayed his pity for the moment and returned the punch tenfold. The young Palestinian teenager fell back several feet before hitting the ground unconscious.

Frank shook his hand, tossing off the minor irritation of the punch he had just thrown. A second later he found himself on autopilot, running back to the van and praying that someone from his team had survived the explosion.

“It’s okay, Frank.”

Frank Castle looked up into the eyes of his loving wife, steady and calm. In many ways she was his opposite. Smooth, relaxing, placid. “No, it’s not, Maria,” he replied.

He sat on the edge of their shared bed, back in their Queens home. He hadn’t bothered to change out of the clothes he had been wearing since the training exercise from the day before. Grass stains ran up his legs from when he had crawled as close as he could to the burning pyre in an attempt to see through the flames. His black shirt was covered in a brown film from when he had pulled out the body of one of his men.

“They’re putting me on leave,” Frank finally said after a long silence. “Pending an investigation, I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return to work.”

“Frank, I know there isn’t anything I can say that will make you feel better about what’s happened, but you need to count your blessings where you can. You can’t focus so intently on the bad, because you’ll be so used to it that when the good is staring you in the face you won’t even recognize it.”

“Twelve good men are dead.”

“But you’re not, and you caught the guys who did it. Just… Why don’t we use this leave like a vacation, huh? We haven’t gone on a vacation since you came back to American soil. Frank, Jr. has been asking to see the Statue of Liberty and Lisa said there’s a Sesame Street Broadway show that all the kids in her class are going to.”

Frank smirked. “We’re probably the only family in Queens who have never been to the top of the Statue of Liberty.”

“And you can finally take me on that picnic in the park you’ve been promising since forever.”

“A husband has to keep his promises.”

“Exactly.” Maria pushed him back on the bed playfully and slipped on top of him, resting her hips over his. “I love you, Frank. Never forget that.”

“I love you, too.”

Present day…

A tear began to form in the corner of the Punisher’s one eye, threatening to fall down and splash onto the off-white page of the diary. It never dared fall, though, as the Punisher pushed down his feelings like he had so many times before.

He felt his own memories being mixed with those of the ones described by his dead wife, gaining valuable perspective that he feared he may have lost some time ago. It had been twenty years since he had lost them, twenty long years alone. To say that Frank Castle felt a sense of loss would be an understatement.

Just as he was about to close the book, content that he had absorbed as much as he could for the moment, he caught a glimpse of red ink on the last page as he started to flip it shut. Standing out against the black ink of the rest of the volume, he quickly shoved his finger into the pages to mark the place and reopened the diary.

There were two quotes marked in the bottom corner of the last page, almost like notations. The first was noted as being a quote from a man named Epicurus, whom Frank recognized as an ancient Greek philosopher. The quote read, “Live today, forget the cares of the past.”

Just before that there was another quote in blazing red ink that was unaccredited, but he knew who had spoken it. The line simply read, “Always faithful.”

The tear that he had pushed back finally burst out, landing just above his own words that his wife had written down. He leaned forward and pressed the top of the spine of the diary to his forehead, feeling a sense of loss and defeat that no foe could emulate in him.

For some reason or another, Maria had placed her secret diary in a safety deposit box a week before her death. Maybe that’s where she always kept it. Maybe she felt the need to protect her memories. Maybe she even had a strange sense of the impending future and wanted to leave it for him. Stranger things had happened.

Maybe fate had finally dealt Frank a hand he could appreciate.

Whatever the reason, Frank felt like he had a renewed purpose in life. For years he had been seeing nothing but the worst in people, the bad. His wife had been right. Too long staring into the dark and you might not be able to see the light when it comes back. His recent troubles weren’t much when compared to other obstacles he had overcome, but they had added to his already heavy soul.

Frank closed the diary and held it tightly in one hand. He stood up as a different man than when he had sat down to read. The overwhelming sense of tiredness had been erased, replaced by a conviction that rivaled the passion of a madman.

The Punisher was ready to get back on track with his war.