Chapter 35: Tolley Hunter

It got truly strange that evening. At 1800, just as we were being served dinner, a major showed up wearing a crisply starched ACU. Starching Army Combat Uniforms was prohibited since it supposedly screwed up the flame resistance and infrared signature patterns on them. Maybe he never got the memo, or maybe he didn’t care. By that point they had me up and walking around. He sat down at the table we were at and introduced himself. “I’m Major Duckworth and I’m with the Public Affairs Office. I’m going to be handling your interactions with the press and with Miss Hunter.”

At the mention of Tolley Hunter, the rest of the table started asking a lot of damn fool questions, mostly centered on whether they could meet her and what was she like. I rolled my eyes and spoke up, “Hey, knock it off! I’ll ask the questions and you guys can shut up!”

Major Duckworth smiled at that. “Thank you, Corporal, or is it Sergeant yet? Corporal, I suppose.”

“No disrespect intended, sir, but what the hell is going on? I never heard of this Tolley Hunter before, but it seems like I’m the only guy in Iraq who hasn’t. What makes this such a big deal?”

“Don’t mind him, sir. It’s just that back home our beloved leader here is engaged to a supermodel,” commented Riley, earning laughing nods from the others. They had all met Kelly by now.

Duckworth laughed and pulled from a briefcase a thick folder, which he set down on our table. Inside he pulled out a large color photo of a blonde with smoldering and exotic looks and a large bust. She was wearing a camouflage-pattern blouse about three sizes too small and unbuttoned to the point you could see an over-packed red bra. “That is Tolley Hunter. The picture was taken right before she started on her USO tour, which has been to bases across Europe and Afghanistan before coming to our beloved Iraq. You’ve never seen her before.”

I shrugged. “I guess now that you showed me her picture. She’s a singer, right? Maybe I saw her poster somewhere.”

“Her last album went double platinum the week it released. That was her third album in a row to release platinum. She does modeling work for Chanel perfume and Guess jeans. Her last two movies had a combined gross of half a billion dollars at the box office. A video crew has been following her around and shooting footage for a two-hour primetime television show. Getting the gist of what is going on yet, Corporal?”

I sighed. “I get that this is going to be a pretty big deal.”

“It started out that way even before you guys did your General Custer performances the other day. Now it’s bigger.”

I almost said something about his crack about General Custer, but he was smiling and hadn’t meant anything by it. The guy was the very definition of REMF, rear echelon mother fucker, but wasn’t too bad about it.

He continued. “So, the Army plans to use this popularity to the greatest extent possible. That means the Army plans to use you.”

“Us? How?”

“Excuse me, Major, but we need to discuss my clients’ contractual rights before they get involved in this,” interjected Riley.

“Your clients?” asked Givens.

“I’m looking out for your interests. Trust me. It will only be a small fee, a straight percentage...”

Before I could reach out and smack him, both Montoya and Gonzalez reached out and smacked him.

“Feel free to charge them whatever percentage you want, Specialist. The Army is providing you and your services free of charge. That means you don’t get anything but time away from getting shot at,” answered Duckworth.

“Shut up, Riley!” I told him. I looked at the major. “So, what happens now?”

“Right now, not much. Tonight, right after dinner in fact, so hurry up and finish, you guys are going to get cleaned up. You will get haircuts, for one thing. You guys are really scruffy looking! We obviously need to do something about making these battles more camera-friendly. We’ll also see about getting you some more camera-friendly bandages, something that doesn’t make you look like you’ve been shot and blown up, for instance. Then, tomorrow morning, we’ll do it some more, and buff you all up so you look nice and new and shiny. At 1000 Miss Hunter will visit you, here in your room...” He stopped for a second and commented, “The nurses and doctors are all starting to call this the clubhouse. Did you know that?”

“We’ve heard,” I commented.

“Anyway, 1000 tomorrow she visits you guys, looking all nice and new and clean, and does a bunch of photos and videos with you, and she’ll be the one presenting you with your Purple Hearts.”

The other guys at the table all looked excited by the prospect. I glanced again at the photo. She looked like she was only in her mid-twenties and was, I must admit, almost as pretty as Kelly.

“What’s she like?” asked Montoya.

Major Duckworth smiled. “Actually, she’s fairly nice, fairly grounded. She’s twenty-five but has been in the business for ten years or so. Writes or co-writes most of her songs. Beautiful girl, simply stunning. She’s got all sorts of things in her background - Swedish, Italian, and French on her mother’s side, and her father is a mix of Argentinean and Creole. Absolutely fluent in both Spanish and French. She dubs her foreign films herself. She’s actually a very nice girl.”

Then he shrugged. “On the other hand, she travels around with this gigantic entourage. I’d heard of this sort of thing, but you have to see it to believe it. Most of them are either as dumb as a box of rocks, or think they are as important as she is. Whatever you do, don’t get into it with them. They can be incredible nuisances. You think the Public Affairs Office is going to be a problem, just wait until you see these guys!”

I had to laugh at Duckworth. For an REMF, he was pretty cool.

“That’s it? We get our photos taken while she hands us our Purple Hearts? Piece of cake!” said Givens.

“Oh, you silly, silly boy! If only it was that simple! No, that is just the photo op. After that the reporters are going to want to interview you. Call your Momma, boys, because you’ll be on TV!”

“Oh, shit!” I muttered. Then I remembered the line from Bull Durham that Bo Effner had used with us. God, but that was forever ago. “You’re gonna have to learn your clichés,” I said.

Duckworth’s face lit up. “You know it! Any of you ever been on television before?”

I dropped my head to the table and pounded my head on it but raised my hand. All my guys were demanding to know when and where. I pushed upright and said, “Yeah, I have. I was captain on the football team my senior year, well, co-captain anyway, and we took State. There were interviews.”

“Excellent. Anyway, I need you fellows to tell me where you are from, and what local television stations and all there are. We’ll be issuing press releases and don’t be surprised if they want you to do phone interviews with the locals back home,” he commented.

“Madre de Dios!” exclaimed Private Montoya.

“Spanish! Excellent! Anybody else speak Spanish?” Gonzalez held up his hand. “We’ll make sure that Miss Hunter talks to you in Spanish and we get some shots of that. “You other guys?”

“Grim speaks Georgian. Not sure if she’ll understand that,” commented Riley.

“Fuck you, too, Riley. At least I don’t date my relatives!”

With that Major Duckworth chivvied us through the rest of our dinner while asking us questions when our mouths were full, and then brought in a small army of orderlies to assist with cleaning us up and making us presentable to the world. A barber was brought in to give us haircuts. The nurses were summoned to make us look less like a bandage factory gone amok. Eventually we got to sleep. He warned us that as soon as we were up at 0600, we would do it all over again. He also warned us, though he was looking at Riley Fox when he said it, that anybody hitting on Miss Hunter would be propelled back to Anaconda Three on the end of the Major’s boot.

Thursday morning it just got crazy. We woke up at 0600, and for once the nurses didn’t complain about the team rampaging into the clubhouse. In fact, they rushed them in, for a quick checkup and breakfast. Major Duckworth was with us, and after we were finished, he ordered us out of the room. Then a team of orderlies was brought in to clean the room and make it more ‘camera friendly’, whatever that meant. Meanwhile he supervised our re-bandaging and change into clean pajamas and robes. We needed to look wounded, but not too wounded. We had to become heroically wounded, he explained. Television audiences back home were used to cops being shot in the shoulder and showing up at the precinct house the next day with an arm in a sling. He was especially distressed by Montoya and Gonzalez, who had bandages on the sides of their faces. He kept pushing for the nurses to use smaller bandages. The rest of us argued for larger bandages, though, since we felt it would improve their looks. This did not endear us to the major.

Eventually we were deemed ready for prime time and were herded back into the clubhouse, where I was loaded back into my hospital bed, while the others were put into wheelchairs, whether they needed them or not. Around us it got even sillier. We began to get a string of messengers coming through informing us of Tolley Hunter’s approach. A lieutenant was in and out of the room saying stuff like, “She’s left her room at the barracks” and “She’s traveling to the dining facility.” I just looked at the others and rolled my eyes. I’d seen assaults on insurgent fortifications with less coordination and reporting.

Duckworth started getting nervous when he got the word that she was in the hospital. We received minute-by-minute updates on her progress through the hospital, who she had greeted and taken pictures with, who had gotten autographs, and all sorts of ridiculous stuff. At 1030 she got to the door. There was a knock, and the lieutenant opened the door and ushered her in. By that point I half expected him to lay down on the floor so she could walk across his body.

If he had, he would have been trampled to death by the horde that followed her. A pair of photographers followed her into the room, who were then followed by a couple of guys with camcorders, and not the little ones you saw at the family picnic, but big professional ones. At the end of the parade was a middle-aged guy giving orders to everybody, and he was followed by a woman scribbling constantly into a pad. I wondered if she was transcribing his words or something. It was a fucking zoo! The craziest part was that Duckworth had told us that we were only getting the ‘small’ version of the zoo. Traveling with the great star was a team of hairdressers and make-up artists, managers, and agents.

Show time!

I think the animals in the zoo behaved better than some of the people present. Tolley Hunter was very nice and pleasant. She came in, not at all regal and imperious, and waved and said hello to everybody. The faces of my team, who knew who she was, all lit up, and she lit up, too. It looked like she was enjoying meeting them. She shook their hands and thanked them all, moving through the room. Her people were generally a pack of hyenas, however. They kept complaining that we were in the way of this shot or that shot, and the important guy kept giving orders. The worst moment came when he brushed up against Givens’ bandaged leg. He cried out in pain and cursed the asshole out, who told him to shut up and move.

My team was about to take him down when a loud soprano cut through. “Bobby! Knock it off and shut up! Move!” Tolley Hunter looked at us and said, “I apologize.” Then she pointed at the camera guys and photographers. “Out! Now!”

Bobby protested. “We need them...”

“Bobby, shut up and just stand there,” she ordered. Then she waited until her entourage had trooped out. The secretary stayed in the room, standing next to Bobby, still scribbling away.

Miss Hunter turned back to us. “I am really, really sorry about that! They mean well, but sometimes they just get to be too much. I really wanted to meet you. You saved my life. Thank you. I mean that.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” I said.

She turned to me. “You’re Sergeant Reaper? I haven’t even been able to shake your hand yet.” She came over and reached out. “Thank you, Sergeant.”

“You’re welcome, ma’am,” I repeated. I got my first chance to look at Tolley Hunter. She really was beautiful. Thick honey-blonde hair hung halfway down her back, curling slightly, around a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones, a straight nose, and almond-shaped eyes. Hazel eyes looked back at me, with more than a hint of laughter in them. She had a dark tan but considering the heritage that Major Duckworth had spoken of it might have been genetics. She was average height, maybe five-seven or five-eight, and defined the word hourglass. She reminded me of Kelly in that regard, and in that she liked to dress to accentuate her figure, as did Kelly. She was wearing skintight jeans, and a too-small ACU top, unbuttoned to the point you could glimpse cleavage and a lacy black bra. I noticed that she had a small cast on her left wrist.

“How bad were you hit, Sergeant?”

“Just dinged, ma’am.”

“Call me Tolley.”

I smiled at that. I shook my head. “Sorry, ma’am. You’re a civilian. I’m pretty much limited to yes ma’am, no ma’am, please, and thank you.” I pointed at her wrist. “What happened, ma’am? How bad is it?”

“Greenstick fracture. I had worse playing field hockey in middle school. It’s nothing, Sergeant. What about you? Where were you hit?”

I sighed. I still hadn’t told my folks the specifics, and I knew it would get out now. “Riley - Specialist Fox - and I were both hit by shrapnel from the RPG that hit inside the Blackhawk after you got out...”

“After you got us out, right?”

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am. That was Specialist Fox in the Blackhawk. He pulled you out and I was down below catching you. Then after we got the pilot out, we both got tagged with a machine gun.”

She turned to the others. “Specialist Fox?”

“Ma’am?” said Riley, raising his hand.

She moved back over to the team and shook Riley’s hand. “Thank you, Specialist Fox.”

“Call me Riley, ma’am.”

She looked at the others, and they all sang out their given names. “Thank you. Is there any way we can move your wheelchairs over to Sergeant Reaper? This isn’t the best way to talk.”

I glanced over at Duckworth, who shrugged. The elaborate photo op was a thing of the past. I sat up in the bed and said, “Bravo Three, out of those wheelchairs. You look ridiculous.”

The guys laughed and scrambled to their feet. Tolley Hunter looked astonished. “What in the world?”

“We were ordered into the wheelchairs, ma’am, for the photos,” explained Montoya. “Idiotas!” Gonzalez said something in Spanish back to him and they both laughed.

Miss Hunter’s eyes lit up and she began speaking to the two men in Spanish much too rapidly for me to understand. My Spanish had improved remarkably in the Army, simply because so many soldiers spoke it as either a first or second language, but I still needed to speak and listen to it slowly.

The guys came over to the bed, and Riley managed to crank my bed up so that I could comfortably talk to the others. They all crowded around the bed. “So, tell me, how were you wounded?” she asked, pointing at each of them in turn. Everybody tapped their bandages and explained their part in the rescue. Then she really surprised me when she asked, “How did you like Drum when you were there? I went to school there, in Watertown.”

“You lived in Watertown?” I asked.

She nodded. “My dad was in the Tenth Mountain Division right before he retired. I went to middle school in Watertown.” You could have knocked my guys over with a feather at that. They just stared at her open-mouthed. She laughed. “You didn’t know?”