Chapter 68: Television

I knew what the citation said; whether I believed it was a different question. It didn’t matter much. I stood there, kept my mouth shut, and looked straight ahead. The President put the ribbon around my neck, and everybody saluted and applauded. He gave me a whispered, ‘At ease.’, and I was able to break position and shake his hand in thanks.

That was the end of the official ceremony, and it was time for a meet-and-greet. Mister and Mrs. Obama escorted me down off the stage and over to where my family and fellow soldiers were. My family was suitably impressed, and I could see why Barack Obama had done so well as a politician. He really had the skill of making people comfortable and making them feel important. Even Grandpa managed to be charmed by him, and since he was wearing the ribbon rack the Army had provided, I was able to point out that aside from the Medal of Honor, he had most of the same medals I had.

President Obama also met the rest of my military guests, Bob and Jose, the two Apache pilots, and Major Vernier and General Barstow. Bob Givens was wearing a civilian suit, not a uniform, but the Army had made a ribbon rack for him as well. Both Bob and Jose boasted that I was probably a better shot than the Secret Service agents who protected the President.

“Is that true, Sergeant Reaper?” he asked, smiling.

I shrugged and smiled. “Not sure, sir. I’m pretty good,” I admitted. Bob and Jose were grinning wildly at that. “There’s probably more to being a bodyguard than that, though.”

“I think you’re right,” he replied. “I just wish I had the time to see that.”

“If you’re ever in West Georgia, sir, I’ll be happy to set up something at a range.”

A moment later, my grandfather swatted me on the back of the head. “Confidence is good in a soldier and a police officer. So is humility!”

Everybody, including the President and First Lady, laughed at that. “Yes, Grandpa, understood,” I said.

That was pretty much it. The show was over, and we weren’t getting a lunch or dinner at the White House. The President thanked us all for our service, thanked us for coming, and then thanked me again. After that, he and his wife were gone. We were all escorted out of the East Room and to a series of limousines for the short ride back to the Hay-Adams.

Once we were in the car, Kelly asked, “How are you doing, Grim?” she was holding my hand tightly.

“I’m good, babe. I’ll be all right,” I answered, patting her hand.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m hungry. Is that a problem?” I said, smiling.

“I think we can probably take care of that.”

Lunch was almost immediately after we got back to the hotel. Again, it was in a private dining room, and was a buffet. I made myself a couple of large sandwiches and had a Coke, and otherwise just settled back and talked to everybody. It felt strange wearing the medal. There were only two medals that go on ribbons around the neck, and the other one was the Legion of Merit, which was a flaky kind of thing given to senior generals and admirals and foreign officers. The only time I had ever actually worn my medals was when I received them. When I did have to wear my dress uniform, I had always worn the ribbons. The Medal of Honor came with a ribbon, though, and once this foolishness was finished, I planned to put the ribbon on the rack and then put it all away, never to see the light of day again.

Dinner that evening was formal, and a limo took us to a place called the Willard, another five-star hotel like the Hay-Adams. It was only a few blocks away from the Hay-Adams, but the weather was still dismal, and walking wasn’t in the plans. Everybody was in suits or Class A uniforms, waiters served champagne and appetizers, and I was seated at a long table with a podium on it. Kelly sat with my family at a side table. In addition to my guests, I think we had half of Washington there. Both of Georgia’s Senators were present, and all the Republican Congressmen were there, too. The Pentagon showed up in force, with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Army Chief of Staff, and most of the other Chiefs of Staff and other serious muckety-mucks also present. I whispered to Kelly during a hand-shaking session that if I didn’t have the medal on, I’d probably be relegated to working in the coat closet. I was the most junior person in the room.

Thankfully, the only thing I needed to say was ‘Thank you.’ There were several congratulatory speeches made, but the most important thing, at least for the politicians, was to get a picture taken with the hero. My father told me that it was guaranteed that those photos, suitably doctored, would be in campaign ads shortly, and I should expect more of the same when we got back to Matucket. I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. I drank more than I should have, but neither pissed in the potted plants nor threw up on a politician, and nobody complained except Kelly, when I fell asleep that night.

It was time for my publicity tour, which was to commence immediately. Unfortunately for everybody, the White House was in Washington, and all the network morning shows broadcast from New York. Not to worry! The Pentagon moved with unbelievable efficiency. We were yanked out of bed at five-in-the-fucking-morning, which amused my wife not one little bit. I woke up woolly-headed and in desperate need of a piss, but a long leak and half a bottle of Advils got me functional. I showered and shaved, threw on a clean uniform, and moved my ribbons over, and Kelly put on a dress, and we tossed everything else into our luggage to be sorted out and cleaned later. We were out of the Hay-Adams and into a limo in record time. Forget breakfast, no time! We went back to Andrews where a small turboprop was already waiting for us. An hour later we were landing at Kennedy airport in New York.

I didn’t think that was a great idea. While the weather had cleared up, Kelly’s morning sickness hadn’t. Shortly after we took off, she filled an airsickness bag, and then needed a second, ten minutes later. She was miserable. As soon as we landed, Major Posey grabbed her, and a suitcase and they headed into the private plane terminal for a quick change. I told my handlers that we had better not be having any more early-morning travel, no matter what.

Kelly returned ten minutes later, pale but calm, and wearing a new dress. “Sorry about that, Grim,” she said.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have never agreed to this.”

She smiled. “I’ll be fine. It’s just the morning, the flying ... Don’t worry. Just keep telling yourself this pays the mortgage! This pays the mortgage!”

I snorted and smiled at that. “No, I’m saying this pays for a boat, this pays for a boat!”

“I’ll buy you a canoe.”

As soon as Kelly was presentable, we were hustled out to a waiting limo. We were in Manhattan by seven. Our first stop was at the ABC studio in Time Square, where I was scheduled to be on Good Morning America at 7:45. Thank God there was food in the green room! We probably looked like dressed-up wolves, the way we descended on the pastries and juice. For the interview I was scheduled to get seven-and-a-half minutes with George Stephanopoulos.

Atheringdon and Fong were both nervous about this. It was my first interview since any of this had come out; I hadn’t even been interviewed back in Matucket when it was first announced. A staffer with a clipboard and a wireless headset came and pulled me out of the green room, and I followed, along with Atheringdon. The first stop was in makeup, which I had no idea was necessary. “The bright lights wash everything out,” the makeup artist explained. It felt very strange having makeup put on, and I knew I was going to have to swear Kelly to secrecy! We had already checked my uniform twice, just to make sure it was in good shape; in the event of an emergency, they had a complete second uniform in a traveling bag. From makeup I was taken to an armchair sitting in the middle of a small, carpeted area, but the lights were a touch dim. They came up a moment later, and several people made strange noises and comments and it was deemed I would be good for the cameras.

I just sat there and kept my mouth shut. I saw Lieutenant Colonel Atheringdon off behind the cameras. I could see over to the side a set where Stephanopoulos and Robin Roberts were sitting and talking. I had never been on a television set before, and I had no idea what was going on, but after a few minutes everything stopped, and people started moving around. The staffer with the headset and clipboard said, “It’s a commercial break. Mister Stephanopoulos will be over in a moment. You’ll be on right after the break.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Don’t sweat it. You’ll be fine.”

About a minute later, George Stephanopoulos came up from behind me and sat down in the chair across from me. “Sergeant Reaper, thank you for coming.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.”

“Relax, Sergeant, we’re not on the air yet,” he said, smiling. “This is going to be simple. I am simply going to ask you a few questions about the attack and receiving the medal and throw a few pictures up on the screen. Compared to the Iraqis, this should be easy for you.”

“I was allowed to shoot the Iraqis, sir!”

Stephanopoulos laughed loudly at that. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind!”

After that, though, things got serious. A couple of people came onto the stage and made sure our microphones were working and ran a few lighting tests and camera checks, then they scurried away. Somebody else with a clipboard and a headset began a countdown, eventually going silent while still counting down with his fingers. I just kept my mouth shut and watched.

Stephanopoulos: “Welcome back to Good Morning America. Our special guest this morning is Sergeant Graham Reaper of the United States Army, who yesterday received the Congressional Medal of Honor from President Obama. On the night of June 6^th, 2007, Sergeant Reaper was commanding an isolated outpost on a road called Route Indigo in central Iraq when it was attacked by approximately one-hundred-fifty insurgents. Over the course of the next six hours, Sergeant Reaper defended that position against heavy machine gun, rocket, and mortar attack, despite multiple serious wounds. During the course of the battle, he personally ran out of the defensive compound to rescue the pilots of a helicopter that was shot down while it tried to support the beleaguered outpost. Finally, when in danger of being overrun, he called in artillery strikes on his own position. I caution you, some of the footage you are about to see is graphic and may not be suitable for young viewers.”

With that, several spliced clips came on, showing some rather disjointed footage from the drone that had been flying around us and recording things that night. There was a shot of Nanda Devi’s gun truck exploding, me running out to the helicopter, and the final shot of me standing on one leg with my pistol, bleeding like crazy. Most of it was in black and white, and I didn’t know if anybody would understand any of it.

Stephanopoulos: “Sergeant Reaper, welcome to Good Morning America. Thank you for coming.”

Me: “Thank you, Mister Stephanopoulos.”

Stephanopoulos: “Sergeant, can you describe what happened that evening for us?”

Some of the questions we had already practiced prior to any of the interviews started, and that was one of them. Both Atheringdon and Fong had helped me prepare some standard answers to the questions that would undoubtedly be asked. I knew Atheringdon and Major Posey were doing the same with Kelly for any interviews she might have to do.

Me: “It was really just a standard night. We were manning a place called Outpost Whiskey, a small fortification on the main southern supply route, Route Indigo. We were only a few miles away from our parent unit, Third Platoon. Anyway, at ten that night we were attacked by about a company-size unit, maybe 150 insurgents. I had seven guys with me.”

Stephanopoulos: “That’s twenty-to-one odds, Sergeant. How could you survive that?”

Me: “Mostly we didn’t. We lost two guys in the first few seconds, and a third was wounded at the same time. That left me and four other soldiers to continue. Over the next six hours we were whittled down until I was the only one left still fighting. Three more men died during that time.”

Stephanopoulos: “If you were only a few miles from your platoon, why did it take them six hours to rescue you?”

Me: “We were actually attacked by a battalion-sized force, but two-thirds of them, roughly two companies in strength, were positioned between Third Platoon and us. I contacted headquarters as soon as the attack started and was told they were coming, but as soon as they started, they were ambushed. It took them six hours of fighting, outnumbered five or six to one, to get through to us.”

Stephanopoulos: “At one point you were being aided by a pair of Apache gunships, but they were shot down and you had to rescue the pilots of one of the helicopters.”

Me: “Yes, the insurgents had a lot of antiaircraft missiles and both gunships were hit. One of them managed to escape, but the other crash-landed outside the gate of the compound. I had to run out and help them get back inside. Corporal Fox gave me fire support from inside the gate and then helped me get them to the bunker.”

Stephanopoulos: “He died later, didn’t he?”

Me: “Yes. He was hit during that portion of the battle. He also had to get our last guy inside the bunker before I called the artillery in on our position, and he was hit again. He received the Silver Star, posthumously.”

I had learned that from Givens and Montoya. Medals had rained down following the battle. Riley Fox and Lieutenant Southerland had both received a Silver Star; Montoya, Devi, Shaniq, and several of the guys coming to rescue us had received Bronze Stars; Purple Hearts were handed out by the bucket load.

Stephanopoulos: “Why did you stay out in the open when you called in the artillery on your own position? Wouldn’t the bunker have been safer?”

Me: “The bunker didn’t have the visibility I needed. The only way to do it was from the truck I was using. I just ducked down and prayed a shell wouldn’t land on me. It was the only way to defend the position.”

Stephanopoulos: “Were you afraid? Did you think you were going to die?”

Me: “Yes, but that wasn’t important. You just keep going.”

Stephanopoulos: “Sergeant, I am sure we are all going to learn a lot more about your heroism over the next few days. Allow me to thank you on behalf of all of us.”

And that was just about it. Stephanopoulos shook my hand, but then was off to his regular place on the set. Atheringdon collected me, and we all headed across town to Rockefeller Plaza, for an interview with Matt Lauer on The Today Show.

That went well, but the day was just beginning. We were able to get to our hotel room in the Four Seasons, and get organized and cleaned up, but we didn’t have time to rest or take it easy. As soon as we were ready, it was off to City Hall, where I received the key to the city from Mayor Bloomberg and we had lunch. That wasn’t the end of the day, though. After lunch we were immediately rushed to the CBS Studios, where they were taping that night’s The Late Show with David Letterman.

Even though the show was on at 11:35 PM, it was taped at 1:30 in the afternoon! For that night’s episode they had me scheduled as the first major guest. I was to come out from behind the curtain after Dave did the opening monologue and the night’s Top Ten List. I was to stay on the couch for the first two segments, but after that I was getting the boot, and they had a pop group I had never heard of doing their latest hit song. Letterman was his usual snarky self, though you could see him trying to tone it down, because I probably wasn’t going to appreciate jokes when talking about a combat action that left me with five dead soldiers. I was just glad to get out of there.

Friday morning, we were up early, to appear on the CBS morning show, The Early Show. After that, we were off to Fox News, for an appearance on Fox & Friends.

One thing was true and that was that most of the people I talked to had some kind of agenda, and my interests mattered not one bit to them. This came out during my time on Fox & Friends, when I was being interviewed by Gretchen Carlson, and she seemed to think that President Obama had somehow shown both me and the military disrespect by not saluting me during the Medal of Honor ceremony. I knew that Fox had some real right-wingers on the staff, and while I hadn’t voted for Obama, I also didn’t think he was the Antichrist.

Gretchen: “Were you insulted when the President blatantly refused to salute you during the award ceremony?”

Me: “Excuse me? I didn’t see any insult.”

Gretchen: “You didn’t feel insulted when your Commander in Chief refused to salute you?”

Me: (Staring for a moment) “I am not going to get involved in whatever political agenda you might have, but I think you need to reconsider that question. Do you actually expect me, a soldier wearing a U.S. Army uniform, to show disrespect to the President of the United States, especially when the President showed me a considerable amount of respect by presenting me with the Medal of Honor? You’re kidding me, right?”

We went to commercial about two seconds later and were basically booted from the show. None of my handlers seemed to think I had committed some sort of broadcasting mistake. Afterwards we went back to the CBS studios to meet with a producer from 60 Minutes. They wanted to do a much larger piece on me for a Sunday evening show. Both Kelly and I talked to them for at least an hour, and that was just in preparation and discussions, none of it was recorded. After that, we had lunch, and then went back to the NBC studios for a meeting with a producer for Dateline for the same thing. By the time we got back to the hotel, Kelly and I were exhausted, and I was all talked out. I had been saying the same damn thing for two days straight, and I had at least another two weeks of it! I still wasn’t done for the day, though.

It was late in the afternoon, and I found Lieutenant Colonel Atheringdon waiting for me in the front room of our suite. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. I should have done this years ago.” I went into the bedroom, where Kelly was lying down. “Babe, I have to go out for a few hours. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going? I didn’t see anything on the schedule.” She started to get up.

“No, you stay here. This is something I need to do. I’ll be fine.” I gave her a quick kiss, and then went back to the living room. Atheringdon and I went out and down to the lobby, where a limo was waiting for us.

It was about a forty-five-minute drive from the hotel across a river to a part of New York known as Queens. I was visiting Maria Gonzalez, the widow of Tomas Gonzalez, one of the guys who died at Whiskey. Along the way, Atheringdon told me, “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Grim. It was a war and people died. I know you all promised you would come home, but that wasn’t a promise to be kept.”

“Maybe not, Colonel, but they were my men. I should have visited or written or something. She’s just the first. You can tell me that I didn’t fail when they died, but I certainly failed to contact their families.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“Would your wife understand if it happened to you?” I asked.

“My wife divorced me and took the kids while I was on my second tour in Afghanistan. I am sure she wouldn’t give a damn. Besides, we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know.”

Atheringdon waved it off. “Okay, details. Maria Gonzalez gave birth to a son nine months after Specialist Gonzalez took his final leave, so I think we know how he spent his time at home. He never saw the child, also named Tomas. Mrs. Gonzalez remarried last year, and the new father has adopted the son. Her last name is Santos now. He’ll be there also.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything else. I just looked out the window, not really seeing anything but thinking about what I would say. Sorry I got your husband killed and then ran away home. That seemed pretty lame. When we got there, Atheringdon had to nudge me to make me notice. “You want me to come in, Sergeant?”

“I’m good.”

“We’ll be right outside.”

I nodded and got out. We were parked in front of a small house in a neighborhood of neat and clean homes. It reminded me of the old reruns of All in the Family and Archie Bunker. I walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell.

The door opened and a medium-tall dark-skinned man looked out. “Sergeant Reaper?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you like this. Is Mrs. Gonzalez ... sorry, Mrs. Santos home?”

“Yes, come on in, Sergeant. Maria is looking forward to meeting you.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. I stepped across the threshold into a very ordinary-looking home. A toddler was walking around in the living room, the floor of which was covered with toys. I recognized Maria Gonzalez from when I met her in Baghdad. She abandoned trying to clean up after her son and stood up and came over to me. “Sergeant Reaper, it is good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gonzalez. I’m sorry about that. Mrs. Santos, I mean.”

“Please, it’s alright. Have a seat, please. You met my husband, Miguel.”

Miguel was several years older than me but seemed pleasant. We shook hands and then I sat down on the couch. The little boy eyed me curiously, then went back to playing with a toy train. “Tomas?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, but he doesn’t know about his father,” answered Maria quietly. “He thinks Miguel, well, you understand.”

I nodded. “I’m not here to cause any trouble, ma’am.”

“Why are you here Sergeant? It’s been three years,” she asked.

“That’s hard for me to explain, ma’am, even to myself. Mostly I just want to tell you how sorry I am, partly for not bringing Tomas home, but even more for not getting in touch with you. I am very ashamed of that, and hope that you can forgive me some day.”

“Why didn’t you contact Maria, Sergeant?” asked her new husband. “You’re all over the television these days. Is this part of some publicity thing?”

“Oh my God! No! This isn’t about that, but it is about the Medal, at least indirectly. I don’t know how much you know about things like PTSD, but I have had some issues. The reality is that for the last three years I have been hiding away in Matucket and trying to live down what happened over there. I had a lot of problems because I couldn’t bring everybody home, and I just tried to bury it all and forget it. Then this business started, and I had to dredge up a lot of old history. I met some of the guys again, and it really hit me how I should have contacted Mrs. Gonzalez a long time ago. For that I am terribly sorry.”

“How did it happen, Sergeant?” she asked. “I heard from some of the men that it was fast, but I don’t know if that was true or not.”

I nodded in understanding. “It was, that I can say honestly. I was there and saw it. It happened just a few seconds after the attack started. Tomas had been in the bunker with some of the other guys, and when the attack started, he grabbed his rifle and ran out the door, along with Bob Givens. Not sure if you remember him, black kid. Anyway, seconds later a second force started, firing from the side, and they both got hit immediately. Your husband, he went quick, really quick,” I snapped my fingers. “I mean, it was like that. He never felt a thing. Bob, he only caught a piece, and we got him back inside, but he lost a leg.”