Chapter 66: Old Acquaintances

Grandpa was right about some of what he had said. I googled ‘medal of honor procedure’ later and it turned out there was a huge process involved in giving the Medal of Honor. Once the recommendation worked its way up from Battalion to Brigade and then to Division, it landed at the Pentagon. At least two boards in the Human Resources Command had to approve it, and then it went before the Chief of Staff, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Secretary of the Army, the Secretary of Defense, and finally the President, any of whom could shitcan the entire thing or downgrade it to something else. It could easily take eighteen months to approve, and often took longer. It had been almost three years by that point.

What surprised me most of all was why was I only learning about it now? I would have thought somebody would have said something before this point. On the other hand, ever since I had left the Army, I hadn’t heard jack shit from them. If they thought I was such a wonderful guy, wouldn’t somebody have at least called? And if they didn’t think I was good enough to even call and curse, why was I getting their highest honor? None of it made any sense!

I was calm enough to go back to work on Wednesday. That was probably because Kelly called Doctor Shemel and got me a prescription for Valium, which she made me take and watched to make sure I swallowed. She told me it wasn’t long term, but only until whatever was happening with the Medal of Honor was sorted out. I felt a little strange, like I wasn’t my real self, but I also wasn’t thinking about eating my gun, so that was a real improvement. My depression and guilt had gone off the charts for two days.

Sergeant Castle’s comments about half of Matucket knowing about the Medal of Honor were right on the mark. Cops gossip! By Monday evening the station was getting calls from both the Times-Dispatch and Channel Nine about rumors that a Matucket police officer was getting the Medal of Honor. They were referred to the Pentagon and the number that Fong and Atheringdon had given us. By Tuesday evening, we started getting requests from some of the Atlanta stations, and the Governor’s office was quizzing Chief Jefferson for more information. Still, nobody was broadcasting anything without a confirmed report from somebody official, and Jefferson had clamped down on that. It was going to have to be officially released by the Army.

It was only going to get stranger. That week I had been scheduled for Monday through Thursday, though I had been sent home on Monday and took a sick day on Tuesday. For the remainder of the week, I went back to night shift, which was fine with me; I wouldn’t have as many people asking about what was happening. At the end of my Thursday night shift, which ended at two in the morning on Friday, I went home to start a long weekend. I crawled into bed next to Kelly and went to sleep. Being near her kept me calmer and sleeping with her kept The Nightmare from returning. Even better, I wouldn’t have to worry about facing any more questions at the station until Tuesday afternoon.

Or at least so I thought. Right after lunch on Friday, I got a call from the station. Could I come down and speak to a couple of vets who were looking for me? That wasn’t too unusual a request, since I was tied into both the formal and informal networks of the younger veterans in the area. I had often been specifically directed to assist when there were potential issues with vets, like somebody was homeless, or off his meds, or having problems coping. There but for the grace of God went I. I told the station I would be down in fifteen minutes. I cleaned up and headed into town. I had my badge on my belt and my off-duty weapon in my concealed holster, all covered by a clean tropical print shirt.

I parked in the lot out back, which was inside the fence, in case anybody tried to vandalize police cars. Once inside, I headed towards the front desk. “What’s up, Sarge?” I asked Sergeant Welsinger.

He pointed out front. “A couple of vets came in and asked for you. I didn’t recognize them, but they really wanted to see you.”

“Catch their names?”

“Yeah, I did, right until I spilled my coffee on the desk pad. One of them was a black kid and the other was Hispanic.”

“Should’ve soaked up the coffee with a doughnut,” I told him, smiling.

“Go!” he replied, pointing towards the street entrance.

I ambled off towards the smaller locked entrance for the public to come in. Unlike on television, real police stations don’t just let people wander in off the street. I waved at the officer who watched the front door and headed out to see which of the local vets needed me for something. A lot of the guys had my number, but not all.

There was nobody waiting outside on the steps, but I looked around and found a couple of fellows sitting on the elevated concrete base of the flagpole. Like Welsinger had said, one was black, and one was Latino. Both were wearing shorts and sports shirts, but the black guy was missing his right leg below the knee, and he had a prosthetic leg and foot. They were looking towards the street and talking. I walked over, and they noticed me, and turned to face me. “Can I hel...”

I never finished the statement. Both faces lit up like light bulbs. Jose Montoya said, “It’s true! You’re alive!” He slid off the base of the flagpole and stood up.

Bob Givens joined him. “It’s not a joke! You’re really alive!”

I just stared at the two men. What more could happen to me? My sins were really coming back to haunt me! “Wha ... what are you doing here?” I whispered, as much to myself as to them.

“Madre de Dios! You’re really alive!” said Montoya.

I gave him a funny look. “Of course, I’m alive. What are you guys doing here? Why would you want to see me?”

Bob grabbed my hand and started shaking it. “Sweet Jesus! You’re alive!” Then he wrapped me in a big hug. Jose joined in.

They kept exclaiming how I was alive, which I didn’t understand at all. “What do you mean, I’m alive? Of course, I’m alive. What’s going on? Why are you guys here?”

“Grim ... I can call you that now, can’t I? I outrank you! What a joke! Grim, you’re supposed to be dead!” said Montoya. Givens nodded in agreement.

“Dead?”

“Yes! Dead! You died on the way to Baghdad!” he told me.

“I died? That’s nuts! What are you talking about?”

“Grim, I am not making this up! The word came down that you died in the helo. At the memorial service, First Sergeant Cummings did the Last Roll Call, and you were called! I was there!” he told me excitedly.

“Damn, I should have known nothing could kill you!” commented Bob.

I felt a bit light-headed, so I sat down on the front steps. “They said I was dead?”

“I am not making this shit up!” said Montoya.

I looked over at Givens, who smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “I heard it later, right before they shipped me home from Baghdad.”

“Man, I just don’t understand this. What happened to you guys?”

Givens answered, “You were there, Grim. You know that Gonzalez and I got hit running out of the bunker. You saw Riley working on me.”

“You lost the leg?”

“Almost lost both, but they could fix the left one. I’ve got some titanium screws in there and I can tell you when it’s going to rain, but I didn’t lose it.”

I looked over at Jose. “Right before you made the Alamo call, Riley came out and grabbed me and we ran into the bunker, but a mortar round came too close and knocked me out. Otherwise, I was good. I had a few dings and nicks, but I mostly had a concussion. I was back at Whiskey a couple of days later. I flew in with the chaplain in time for the Last Roll Call.”

“Holy Christ! They had me as dead?” They both grinned and nodded. “How ... this is nuts!”

“It’s not just us. The whole battalion knew, hell, probably the entire brigade!” said Montoya.

“How’d you find out I was alive?”

“It was that paper-pusher, Atheringdon, he called me the other day, asking about you,” said Givens. “He wanted to confirm what happened, like when I was debriefed in Baghdad.”

“We were both debriefed in Baghdad. G-2 was all over what happened that night,” added Jose.

“They interviewed me in Germany.”

“What the hell were you doing in Germany?”

“Halfway stop on the way home. They operated on me in Baghdad, but about a day later I was sent to Landstuhl. A few weeks after that I went to Walter Reed.”

Both Givens and Montoya talked about the aftermath. Givens was transferred from Baghdad to a VA hospital in Detroit. Montoya was back at Anaconda Three just a couple of days later and was assigned to the Weapons Squad until they rotated home. Third Squad was simply left empty, since they didn’t have the time needed to rebuild it before they came back.

“And they didn’t tell you I was still alive? During the debrief, I mean?”

“Nobody said anything, so we just assumed you were dead. I simply told them what I saw and remembered, but I was knocked out before the Alamo call,” said Montoya.

Givens added, “Riley managed to prop me up by the door to the bunker and gave me an M-4, pretty much as a last resort if they got into the compound. I could see a lot of what was happening, but then you made the call, and I moved back from the door. At some point the bunker ceiling almost gave way and a sandbag landed on me, and I couldn’t see anything after that. Sorry,” he shrugged sheepishly.

“And Atheringdon called you? Both of you?” I asked.

“Yeah! Apparently, your records are really fucked up. He called everybody he could to verify things. That’s when we figured out you were still alive. Nobody had asked us about the battle since we came home,” answered Jose.

“Why didn’t you ever call?” asked Bob.

I took a deep breath. Thank God I had taken a Valium that morning. “I was ashamed,” I said quietly.

“Ashamed? What in the fuck for?” asked Montoya.

“Because I lost the squad. Why else? We all go in, we all go home, remember? That didn’t happen.” My eyes were starting to tear up again. I wished the Pentagon hadn’t found me.

“Oh, Kee-rist! Are you nuts? Man, you are the only reason any of us are alive!” answered Givens. I looked away at that, but he reached out and turned me back. “Riley even said that, at the end!”

I stared at him. The mention of Riley was like pouring salt into an open wound. “What?”

Givens continued, “Grim, he was already hit pretty bad when he went out to grab Jose.” I looked at Jose and he nodded. “He caught some more shrapnel and at least two bullets bringing Jose back inside. He knew he wasn’t going to make it. Still, he was laying there on the floor of the bunker near where I was and he told me, ‘The only way any of you guys are going to make it out of here is because that crazy bastard is out there. As long as he’s alive, you’re alive.’ He was right, too.”

“When I made it back to Anaconda Three, I heard that when the column finally made it into the compound you were actually standing there with only one arm and one leg, and down to your M-9, and you were still fighting the Iraqis,” said Montoya. “They actually had a picture of you at headquarters at Drum.”

“A picture?”

“It seems like they had a drone watching the whole battle. They have a picture of you covered with blood, no helmet, and holding your pistol.”

“Un-fucking-real!”

“You were ashamed? That’s what’s un-fucking-real!” said Givens. “You didn’t call because you were ashamed? Man, they really do grow ‘em dumb down here!”

“This is so fucking bizarre!” I told them.

“You haven’t heard anything from the battalion?” asked Jose. “Hell, I’ve been out of the battalion for a year and I’m still on the mailing list!”

“Same here,” said Givens.

“I guess they don’t send stuff to people who are dead. They really thought I was dead?”

“Call that Atheringdon guy and ask him. He thought we were fucking nuts!”

“Un-fucking-real!”

Montoya looked at me and said, “Let me get this straight. I know you gringos are stupid, but this really takes the cake! The battalion thinks you’re dead, so they never contact you, not even for invites or anything.” I nodded at that. “And you think it’s because we’re ashamed of you?”

“I’ve had some issues, guys. Ever since those two colonels looked me up this week, I’ve been like the PTSD poster boy,” I told them.

“Madre de Dios! Culo estupido!” Jose added some other choice additions while Bob laughed.

“So, anyway, what are you doing here?” I asked.

Givens gave me a confused look. “You mean here in Matucket?”

“Yes!”

“When Jose learned you were alive, he called me,” he replied, pointing to Montoya. I turned to Montoya.

“When I was called and learned you were alive and here, I called Bob and he flew down. We both wanted to see you and figure out what the hell was going on. He flew down yesterday.”

“Flew down where?”

“To Columbus.”

“Columbus? What...” What the hell was either of these guys doing in Columbus? The only thing in Columbus was...

“I’m stationed at Benning. I’m a drill sergeant,” replied Jose.

I stared at him. “You stayed in? Holy Christ!”

Jose nodded. “After I got back to Drum, I went to WLC. It’s been three years, mano. I finished my hitch as a team leader and squad leader at Drum, reenlisted, took the Advanced Leader Course, and then was transferred to Benning. I’m a staff sergeant now. I just finished Drill Sergeant School and am assigned there. It was so fucking weird when I heard you were alive and only two hours from Benning!”

I turned back to Bob, who said, “I’m back in Detroit. Jose and I stay in touch. I’m out, but he called me, and I flew down to see him and we drove up this morning.”

I just shook my head in disbelief. It felt so bizarre! It was like my life was turning upside down. “You ever marry Kelly? Or did she finally figure out you were full of shit?” asked Givens.

I smiled at that. “Both. We got married about a year after I got home, after she got out of school. We have a house on Lake Matucket. Uh, when are you guys going back? Do you have time to stay?”

“I need to be back at Benning by Monday morning,” replied Jose.

Bob added, “My ticket is also for Monday.”

“Where’s your stuff? You can stay with us. I have to tell Kelly about this! She won’t believe this any more than I do!”

I called Kelly and left a voicemail message for her. Then I went back inside and through to the parking lot and got my car. I drove around to the front, where Givens and Montoya were waiting. Montoya was driving, a small late-model Ford with Fort Benning stickers on it. They followed me back to the house.

Montoya looked around and said, “Man, they must pay cops pretty good in this town!”

I snorted at that. “Not quite. Kelly makes the money in this family. She’s a professor over at Matucket State. The property itself was our wedding present from her parents. They’re the ones with the big bucks.”

“It’s gorgeous, man!” agreed Givens.