The Sandbox
Copyright© 2025 by Vonalt
Chapter 7: A Real American Hero?
My celebrity status on base had faded after a few weeks, and I was just another Major again. I’d managed to avoid the daily briefings led by the General Officers so far. I considered myself lucky as staying out of the limelight suited me just fine. I hated dealing with the press.
A reporter who remembered me from Washington stopped me while I was walking across the base one day. He asked what I was doing all the way out here. I told him that I was assisting with the war effort, acting as an advisor, and crunching numbers for the reports the Generals needed, then politely excused myself and moved on.
One of the well-meaning do-gooders unfortunately overheard my response and decided to contribute to the war effort by revealing the truth about my role in the Intelligence Group. He couldn’t resist adding something about my ‘heroic’ mission behind enemy lines for nearly a week, of course.
The reporter, recognizing a good story when he heard one, followed up hoping to earn a Pulitzer for his reporting on my so-called adventure.
I ended up behind a podium, facing a line of reporters with too many questions, and not enough patience. I tried to downplay the incident behind enemy lines, calling it a mistake, a simple case of a driver taking a wrong turn, but no one bought it, especially not after GNS told the press that I had been sent in with orders to gather intelligence on enemy troop movements.
There’s a particular kind of sting that comes with being left to twist in the wind by your own boss. His grin, while I scrambled to deflect the media’s assumptions and their half-informed questions, said it all.
The sooner this spectacle ended, the better it was. My security team had been tucked away from the public eye, safely out of reach of the media frenzy. I had no doubt that Randy and the ‘Twin Mountains’ were still watching my six, probably laughing their asses off at my misfortune.
I became the designated daily presenter to the press much to my chagrin, delivering summaries of the day’s events before handing the podium over to a General who would speak on a specific topic. I was still responsible for overseeing my team’s intelligence gathering and analysis on top of that. I had become a very busy man with little time to myself, often putting in 12- to 14-hour days just to stay on top of it all.
I was called to a special meeting of the General’s staff attended by special guests from the Pentagon, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, by the end of the second week in February. The ground invasion of Kuwait and Iraq was set to begin the following week, and GNS wanted everyone involved in the planning there to explain the operation in detail.
I fielded my share of questions from the Joint Chiefs. One thought stayed with me as I walked out of that meeting; I hoped that this operation would end soon. I was starting to wear down, and I knew that I’d need a long stretch of time to recharge before I felt like myself again.
The following week at CentCom was chaotic. The invasion of Kuwait and Iraq was set to begin, and last-minute intelligence reports had to be written and delivered to various Unit Commanders. The General needed updated data pulled from the latest intel summaries, as well. He wisely sent someone else to the front to gather the critical information this time, ordering me to stay at my desk and not even think about going forward.
Runners responsible for delivering reports to Unit and Coalition Force Commanders were in high demand, especially those with foreign language skills. Randy and the ‘Twin Mountains’ stepped up, each fluent in multiple languages. We were all so busy in the final days leading up to the invasion, that we hardly saw one another.
I continued leading the daily press briefings, a task I thoroughly dreaded, along with my duties with CentCom’s Intelligence Group. The feeling was mutual; the press and I couldn’t have been more at odds. I strictly stuck to the agenda the General approved, and gave them nothing beyond that. They kept cycling through the same tired questions, which I routinely ignored. I’d simply move on if a question strayed from the day’s topic, sometimes skipping three or four reporters before someone finally asked something relevant.
I had a feeling that the reporters were just as eager as I was for the day when I’d finally step down from the podium.
Being on TV every day even became a regular topic during my calls home to Karen and Andi. Karen would tell me she’d seen me on the news and that I looked handsome. Andi would chime in agreeing, and say that they were both counting down the days until I came home, then I’d hear them giggle together, like they were sharing a secret.
My twin daughters were just old enough to hold a basic phone conversation, and they’d tell me they saw me on TV. They still couldn’t quite figure out how I could be on the screen and talking to them at the same time. Listening to them try to work it out with their toddler logic was adorable.
Andi would also tell me that my being on TV was the highlight of the day at the office. They even placed bets on which reporter I’d snub, and Molly was winning so far. Everyone, including Karen, agreed that I looked uncomfortable in front of the camera.
Karen always ended our calls with the same message; “Come home to Andi and me. We love you.” I’d be lying if I said that it didn’t choke me up, but it also left me uneasy. I still hadn’t come to terms with how much our relationship had changed, and there was a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something at home wasn’t right, like they were hiding something from me.
Someone in the Army’s Public Relations Department thought that it would be a great idea for me to appear on a news program for an in-depth interview. No one asked me, of course. I would’ve said no if they had. It was a rush job; the Army wanted it aired before the invasion.
The TV program had already been selected, the interviewer chosen, and I wasn’t told until the day before the interview was set to take place. I reported to the General’s office as ordered, where he was waiting with the program’s producer and the interviewer. I politely declined when they pitched the idea. The General then asked me to step into the hallway; he wanted to speak with me privately.
I told the producer and interviewer I’d be glad to do the interview when we returned to his office. The General had made it clear during our hallway conversation that my time in the Army might become indefinite if I refused. He had me, and I knew it. I was left with no real choice but to go through with it.
Scheduled for the next morning, the interview was set to air on national TV that same night. Feared in media circles, the reporter had a reputation for dismantling her subjects on camera with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. It made for compelling television, but it usually was a slow, public unraveling for the person in the hot seat.
The interview didn’t go the way the reporter had hoped, but I thought that it went surprisingly well. I even enjoyed myself in fact.