Chapter 65: Coffin, Metal Handles

Monday, May 24, 2010

I busted my ass that winter getting back into shape. As the doctors had told me, my problems mostly related to muscle and tissue damage, but my joints were in good shape. My biggest problems were in stretching and rebuilding the muscles in my left arm and side. I spent a lot of time in rehab and therapy, and then even more time in the gym rebuilding myself. Kelly and I didn’t have a gym in the house, but it was another one of those benefits of being a cop. The MPD had an arrangement with Jupiter’s Gym on Broadwell where policemen, firemen, and active-duty military got a discounted price on joining. I bought the family package and got Kelly to join up with me. I didn’t say anything to her, but I had heard more than a few women over the years complain about gaining weight when they were pregnant. Kelly, I knew, would be one of the complainers when she did catch.

I made it back onto the force the second week of January. It felt good to be back to work. I was just not the type of person who liked sitting around doing nothing. I needed to be active. As soon as I could, I got back onto the schedule at nights on my regular shift. At some point I would get on the day shift, but I was still junior for that to be more than an oddity. I also got the brass to get me signed up for the Interpersonal Relations and Crisis Intervention training at the Academy as soon as I could be squeezed in. That was mostly a classroom and bookwork type of course, and relatively short. With any luck, I could nail that in the spring or early summer.

Kelly didn’t catch in January either, but she missed her period in February and was ecstatic. She celebrated by using my body for various unspeakable, and probably illegal, carnal acts that were now no longer required. In March she was absolutely devastated when she had a very early miscarriage. She was a basket case for a few days, and I promised her we would try again as soon as she was able. Later, I called her mother and met her for a private lunch. Was there a medical reason Kelly was an only child? Sharon assured me there wasn’t. She and Seamus had been moving around so much that it had never seemed like a good idea, and then when she finally did settle down in Matucket, Seamus was gone so much and neither wanted her raising another child on her own. It was just part of the strange dynamic of their marriage. I suggested that she talk to Kelly about it, so she would know that this wasn’t some family curse. I also enlisted Mom in the campaign since she was a nurse.

April came and went without anything happening baby-related. May was a much better month, for everybody. Kelly missed her period, which made her a whole lot happier, and I graduated from Matucket County Community College. I had already managed to get through the final Academy course in April, so as soon as I had my degree, the MPD promoted me to Senior Patrolman. I found a half-filled-out application to the Tactical Response Team in my mailbox the next day.

It wasn’t completely perfect. What Kelly had told me would happen with the Matucket County budget came to pass at the beginning of May. There was a rash of car thefts and vandalism in March and April, but we were stretched so tight that it might be an hour or more before an officer showed up, especially if it was on the night or graveyard shift. Chief Jefferson went in front of the County Council and told them bluntly that you could delay paving over a pothole, but that criminals wouldn’t hang around until the cops got there. The Chief of the Fire Department then took the podium and told the same thing about fires not waiting until everybody had a chance to assemble. The Council needed to bite the bullet and end the hiring freeze and fund the departments or the next time there was a crime wave or a major fire it was going to be even more serious.

The County Council was not amused. This ended up in the newspapers and all over the television stations. There were limits to the amount of money that could be obtained from federal grants and programs. Taxes would need to be raised, which was not a popular idea. Then a fireman fell through the roof of a warehouse that was on fire in West Springs and was crippled, and it came out that the responders were at only half strength because of budget and personnel cuts. The office of the Georgia State Fire Marshall decided to get involved after that happened. The budgets were increased, and the hiring freezes were lifted.

That didn’t mean that the vote was unanimous. Reverend Theo Pendergast, the councilman from the 3^rd District, was a long-time troublemaker and enemy of the police force, and he just automatically voted against any budget increase for the department. Joining him was Clinton Alderdyce, who demanded that the ‘gun-happy out-of-control rogue elements on the Matucket police force must be purged from the ranks!’ He was referring to me, of course. The vote ended up 5-2 in favor of lifting the hiring freeze. Chief Jefferson looked me up after that and I had to explain what I had learned about Alderdyce and Candy Pants Holden.

Then he told me that my application to TRT had been accepted, and that as soon as I passed my Basic SWAT class, I could begin my TRT qualification with the MPD. That basically would consist of riding with some of the TRT guys and getting their final approval. I was told to make sure I was in shape, because TRT would be tough.

Things got very strange at the end of May. The last full week of May I was scheduled for an odd stretch on the day shift, since a couple of more senior guys were on vacation. I went in at about a half hour early, seven-thirty, and made sure I was ready in the squad room for roll call at eight. Sergeant Calkinov was running the roll call, and everything was wonderfully normal. No mass murderers were prowling the streets, no bank robbers had targeted downtown for their next break-in, and al Qaeda was avoiding Matucket for more amusing opportunities. Calkinov gave us our assignments and patrol car numbers, but he didn’t call me out. Instead, I noticed a number of my fellow brothers-in-blue looking at me and smiling, like they knew something that I didn’t

Finally, Calkinov announced, “Reaper, special assignment. Sergeant Castle managed to sprain an ankle over the weekend. Congratulations, you’re his driver.”

Everybody else in the squad room was laughing, though I felt like groaning. Sergeant Castle was the most senior sergeant in Patrol, the Day Shift Watch Commander, and he liked to drive around during the shift and keep an eye on what was happening. He was about my father’s age, in his late forties, and before he had joined the MPD had been in the Marines and had seen service in Desert Storm. He also had a reputation as one tough bastard when the shit hit the fan.

“I’m living the dream, Sergeant, living the dream!” I responded. The rest of the room laughed at that as well.

After that, we were called to attention and Calkinov inspected us and sent us on our way. I went to find Castle. The one good thing about this was that Castle drove the newest and nicest cruiser in the fleet. Nobody in the motor pool was crazy enough to give the Day Shift Watch Commander anything but the best. I found him in an office, and he sent me off to get some coffee, check on our ride, and make sure our paperwork was up to speed. We would be on the road by nine.

At nine I was back at Castle’s desk, and he stood. “Let’s go, Grim. There must be some bad guys out there somewhere we can do battle with.”

“If the Cops and Robbers thing doesn’t work out, Sergeant, maybe we can play Cowboys and Indians,” I answered.

“Shame on you, Senior Patrolman Reaper! Nobody plays Cowboys and Indians any longer. They play Transient Agrarian Workers and Oppressed Native Americans. You’ll need to retake your Cultural Diversity and Sensitivity Training.”

I snorted at that and smiled. “It’s been two years, so I think I have to take that this year sometime. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Let us go find miscreants and ne’er-do-wells.” Sergeant Castle led the way out into the hallway, clumping around with a plastic sprained-ankle boot on his right foot. That would interfere with his operating the gas and brake pedals, so I wasn’t surprised he needed to draft somebody to drive for him.

I was walking beside Sergeant Castle, mostly just so I could open doors for him, when we were going through the main lobby of the station. As we did so, I noticed a pair of Army officers, lieutenant colonels in Class A uniforms, talking to the desk sergeant, Sergeant Simpson. As we approached the lobby, Simpson looked up and saw us and said, “Reaper, these officers are looking for you.”

I looked over at Castle, who simply looked back at me curiously. I shrugged back. “Can I help you gentlemen?” I asked, coming closer.

“Sergeant Reaper?” asked the taller of the two men. He was African-American, while the shorter officer was Oriental.

I smiled and tapped the two chevrons on my sleeve. “No, Senior Patrolman Reaper.”

Both light birds smiled at that. “No, sir. Would you be Sergeant Graham Reaper, Third Squad, Third Platoon, Alpha Company, Fourth of the Fourth?”

I stopped moving and looked at them curiously. “That was a long time ago, gentlemen. I’ve been out of the Army almost three years now. How can I help you?” I was beginning to get a very bad feeling.

“So, you are Sergeant Reaper?” said the shorter of the two colonels. “You were in command of Outpost Whiskey, Anbar Province, on the night of June 6^th through June 7^th, 2007? Is that correct?”

Suddenly I felt light-headed. Memories of that awful night began flooding back. I thought back to how I had killed my men that night. Could the Army finally be getting around to court martialing me? I had tried so hard to make up for that night since then...

I stood there, stock still, staring at my fate. It was Sergeant Castle who spoke up. “Fellows, what is going on? What do you want out of Officer Reaper?”

It was absolutely unreal. By now half the office was staring at us. Still speaking to me, the taller of the colonels said, “Sergeant Reaper, it is our pleasure and privilege to inform you that you are under final consideration for the award of the Medal of Honor.” Then both men came to attention and gave me a parade-ground-quality salute.

I stood there for a second in utter disbelief, and then my stomach gave way. I stumbled into the bathroom off the lobby and staggered into a toilet stall. I dropped to my knees and began throwing up breakfast. Tears were in my eyes, but though I could barely see where I was, I saw perfectly that night at Whiskey. I was reliving The Nightmare, though now I was awake, and it was in color. I could smell the gunpowder, the explosives, the sweat, the fear, and the blood. Through it all I was seeing the faces of the guys I had killed that night, staring at me in shame...

I was still crying and heaving when Castle came into the bathroom after me. Thankfully the bathroom had been empty when I came in. A couple of people came in after Sergeant Castle, looking to help, and he simply yelled, “Out! Everybody out!” Then he came over to me. “Grim, what’s going on?” I kept heaving until nothing was coming out. He pulled me to my feet and pushed me towards the sinks. “What’s wrong, Grim?” He turned on the cold water at one of the sinks and pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser.

I washed my face off and stared at the hollowness I saw. I was revealed as nothing but an empty shell. “I killed my men. My whole squad, they died,” I said in a whisper. “Ever since then, I have tried to make up for it. It’s all I’ve tried to do since I came home, make up for it.” I turned to face Sergeant Castle, who probably thought I looked like a mad man. “I’ve tried to be a good policeman, I swear, I have tried to be a good policeman! Please, you have to believe me!”

Sergeant Castle pulled me upright, standing straight. “Officer Reaper, you are one of the finest young officers I have ever met. Now, you need to calm down. Nothing is going to happen to you. Now, wash your face. We will go out and sit down with these guys and find out just what the hell is going on.”

That calmed me down enough that I could clean up and wash my face. I felt better, not by much, but some. He led me back to the door and pulled it open. Out in the hallway half the station was standing there and staring at me and the Army officers. Then Captain Crowley showed up. “Everybody can get back to work! Where the hell is Reaper?” He turned and saw me. “Reaper, conference room upstairs, now!” Then he turned to the light birds and snapped his fingers. “You two, too. Let’s go!”

On the way, Castle stopped at the front desk. He told Simpson, “Find Officer Reaper’s wife and get her over here, now! Send a patrol car!” I saw Simpson grabbing a phone as I was hustled out.

From there we went to the stairs, with Castle holding me by the arm. Crowley led the way into a conference room, at which point he closed the door behind us all. Then the captain grabbed a phone and hit an extension. “I’ve got him in the conference room, sir ... Them, too ... Yes, sir!” He hung up the phone and turned to face us. “Sit!”

Castle pushed me onto a couch, and then sat down next to me. Also in the room were the two lieutenant colonels and Lieutenant FitzHugh, who had snuck in after the others. About a minute later Chief Jefferson came in. He saw me sitting there, and said, “Good! Officer Reaper, what is going on? I just had a call from the Governor’s office - the Governor’s office! - ordering me to cooperate with the United States Army! I assume these are the guys I need to cooperate with?”

I just sat there speechless, still reliving that night. It was like a vast and terrible cosmic joke. What was going on?

Crowley sat down on the coffee table in front of me and reached out. “Grim, what is going on? What happened?”

“I don’t know ... I can’t ... Ask them!”

All eyes turned towards the very confused Army officers. Jefferson decided to take over at that point. “Gentlemen, my name is Joe Jefferson, and I am the Chief of Police for Matucket County. Now, who are you and what the hell is going on?”

The tall officer said, “I’m Lieutenant Colonel William Atheringdon, and I am with the Army’s Public Affairs Office.”

The shorter officer answered, “Lieutenant Colonel Ho Lee Fong. I’m with the Army’s Human Resources Command. It was actually rather difficult to track down Sergeant Reaper. His last phone number was disconnected and belonged to an address in a place called West Springs. We went there first, and Sergeant Reaper’s grandfather told us to try here, but he refused to give us any more information.”

“Good! We’re police. We don’t like our personal addresses and phone numbers being public information,” replied Jefferson. “So, I repeat, what brings you to Matucket and why is that so upsetting to Officer Reaper?”

The two light birds looked at each other, and Fong motioned for Atheringdon to take over. “Sir, are you aware of Sergeant Reaper’s service record?” asked Atheringdon.

“I know he did four years in the Army, most of it in combat in Iraq, and that he was awarded a number of medals. Everybody knows he received the Silver Star for rescuing that movie star. Other than that, Grim doesn’t talk about it much,” said the Chief.

Sergeant Castle added, “Grim never talks about any medals. He has told a few of us that he was in some very heavy combat. Jerry Wolinski, his training officer, once told me that Grim said if things ever got hairy, to let him take the lead. I can tell you that his tactical and combat skills are some of the best I have ever seen or heard about, off the charts, really.”

Captain Crowley said, “I saw the list of medals, but simply because he had to fill it in on his application to the force, and he had to provide his service record, but that’s privileged information. That’s locked up in his personnel file.”

The two officers looked at me as I began to get my breathing under control. “It’s not something I talk about. I’ve never even mentioned Whiskey.”

Atheringdon looked at the others. “Well, let me just preface this by stating that Sergeant Reaper wasn’t just any soldier. Even before this, he was one of the most highly decorated soldiers in the Army. The reason we are here is to inform him that he will be receiving the Medal of Honor, most likely this summer. It is in the final paperwork stage right now.”

The room erupted at that. It was Lieutenant FitzHugh who said, “The Congressional Medal of Honor?”

Lieutenant Colonel Fong smiled and said, “Technically, it is simply the Medal of Honor. It’s just that it is presented in the name of the Congress. Nobody lets Congress get involved in this sort of thing, though. It’s too important.”

Sergeant Castle nodded. “We used to call it a Coffin with Metal Handles, CMH, back when I was in the Corps. Most of the guys who get them aren’t around to receive them, you know? Just what medals has Grim earned?” he asked.

Before they could say anything, Kelly came bursting into the conference room, wild-eyed and half expecting some terrible news. When she saw me, she came running over and hugged me. “What’s wrong?”