Chapter 9: Human Connection

Ramstein Airbase, Germany

Acorn and O’Brien were on an isolated ramp, standing on the tarmac next to the C-20, waiting for the group of soldiers to approach.

“Captain Miller, this is Staff Sergeant O’Brien. O’Brien, Capt Miller is an intelligence officer with SOCOM.”

O’Brien saluted the army captain, then shook his hand when the captain returned the salute and extended his hand.

“This is my team. Master Sergeant Hawkin, and Sergeants First Class Agew and Norton.” O’Brien shook hands with each green beanie wearer in return. The three army sergeants had already scanned O’Brien’s ribbon stack during the introduction to their OIC.

“These men are more than security, they were sent from MacDill to interview you on your tactics, equipment, and training.”

O’Brien paused, as he was caught unknowing the purpose of special forces’ interest.

“Uh ... actually, sir, if the captain wants to interview some shit-hot shooters and operators, I respectfully submit a company of rangers about 6000 kilometers that way.” O’Brien pointed generally to the southeast.

“We know about our rangers. They were the ones that suggested we might want to talk to you. Our schedule is flexible.”

“I’ll be blunt, sir. My schedule is not flexible for the next several days. Some of my troops are in danger, and not necessarily from the Taliban. My sergeant is comatose, on life support, and as his medical power of attorney I have three more days remaining to make a decision on whether to terminate life support or send him to a VA facility. As it is now, my schedule will be consumed by evading people certain people, making critical decisions about my platoon, and determining the fate of one of the finest Marines I have ever known. Also, Mr. Acorn has placed a few demands on my time in support of CIA investigations.”

O’Brien’s unintended and terse soliloquy was followed by discomfort among the soldiers and an increased awareness that discussions within the special forces may have veracity and that the formation of the groups are as real as some panicked field commanders had described. Captain Miller concluded that he needed considerably more face-time with Acorn.

“Staff Sergeant, we understand and will be careful with our demands of your time. As for the German police...”

Acorn stepped up, or rather hobbled, into the discussion.

“Captain, the Germans are here to collect the bodies of the two men that attempted to kill us in Italy during re-fueling.”

The army master sergeant, as typical of competent and dynamic leaders of at least 20 years experience, took the reins from his dumbfounded and silenced captain.

“Sir, we need to get these two to Landstuhl ASAP. There is a physically and electronically secured conference room in the hospital we can operate from and support this Marine and Mr. Acorn. And we need to let the German police do their job. Mr Acorn, please allow me.”

The master sergeant relieved Acorn of his two large bags, but Acorn firmly clinched his large document portfolio and evidence bag.

Acorn identified himself to the German police. After a brief exchange with the police, Acorn requested O’Brien’s ID and passport. The Germans examined O’Brien’s documents and read the single page that was in a legal-sized manila envelope. The Senior police officer nodded to Acorn and waived a junior police member to escort the Americans to a small ramp up to a door with no label. Just inside the hatch was a small counter and two middle-aged Germans. The female official asked for passports in excelant English. She took both passports, thumbed through a few pages, then applied two stamps to each passport.

“May I see the U.S. Marine’s orders, please?”

She read O’Brien’s orders and made some notes in a logbook, then scanned both passports on a small light-table device. Upon returning the documents to Acorn and O’Brien, she dismissed them in a mono-tonic, unemotional manner.

“Please have a safe stay in Germany, gentlemen.”

Two ambulance vehicles had arrived and moved to the port side of the C-20 aircraft. Acorn approached the senior police officer and had a short conversation in German, ending with exchanged hand-shakes.

“What are they gonna do with the bodies?”

“I asked the police to let me know if the autopsies indicated anything ‘interesting’, and to run their prints and pics through available international data bases. They said the Italian police had advised them to ‘be careful’ clearing customs with this aircraft. I am guessing that there was a security camera somewhere at the airport that recorded something of interest. If the Italians become too inquisitive over this, we’re going to invoke sovereign territory as both assailants had boarded the aircraft. I have been thinking about your ‘evidence bag’. I believe that our facilities in Frankfurt have forensic labs. I may need to take a side trip...”

“Sounds good to me. That shit is way over my pay grade. I don’t plan on leaving the hospital area.”

The special forces soldiers expedited the movement by putting Acorn’s and O’Brien’s bags in a hummer.

“Burnin daylight, sir.”

Landstuhl, Germany

The two hummers took a circuitous path to the medical facility. It was evident to both Acorn and O’Brien that the route was not to enjoy the scenery. The route was designed to identify anyone that may be following the two vehicles, and to mask their destination.

As they pulled up to a side entrance to the hospital about 45 minutes later, a young army captain in a white smock exited the building and waited for the two hummers to enter the ramp area. Captain Kenney watched the unusual combination of civilians and military personnel exit the vehicles. It was obvious to the young physician which one was the responsible medical proxy for his patient. Dr Kenney was uncertain why flag-level commanders had taken interest in this case, but he did have his sources.

The Army master sergeant halted their entrance and approached the Army doctor.

“Sir, I am Sergeant Hawkin. We need to know the names of other attending physicians, assigned nurses, and other hospital personnel that will require access to Sergeant Pistochini. From the present until the resolution of this case, there will be an armed soldier with your patient and this Marine. Are we taking a direct path to the patient’s room, sir?”

Dr Kenney realized that the three green beret sergeants were tactical security. Observing the group, he gained immediate insight into the importance of his patient, which was an order of magnitude greater than had been originally thought. The level of senior command interest explained his CO’s requirement for daily reports and the assignment of Maj Gomez as a principle case nurse. When no other introductions for group members were offered, the question was answered.

“I had planned to take the most expeditious route to the patient’s room, sergeant.”

“Sir, please take a more ‘indirect’ route. We will go to Sergeant Pistochini’s room using an unexpected path. And if we happen to pass by conference room 301A, please point it out but do not stop.”

The army master sergeant addressed the waiting group.

“Sergeant Norton walk behind the captain and Mr. Acorn. Staff sergeant, please walk with Sergeant Agew and remain about two or three meters behind me.”

Returning to the captain, “sir we also need a wheelchair for Mr. Acorn, and he will eventually need someone to look at a bullet wound in his lower extremity.”

Captain Kenney comically bumped his head on a tall adjacent planter after his rapid movement to look at the civilian.

“How long ago was he shot?”

O’Brien stepped forward.

“Less than 24 hours, sir. It seems to be a clean wound with a little seepage. But I am not a medic.”

Cpt Kenney pulled out a small hand-held radio, and pressed some buttons and resultant beeps resulted.

“BRM room, this is Doctor Kenney. Wheelchair ASAP to west entrance number two ... just a few minutes, sergeant.”

MSgt Hawkin nodded to Cpt Kenney as a young female specialist pushed a wheelchair through the two doorways and towards the Doctor. Acorn’s discomfort with yet another unknown person caused the CIA officer to loose his jacket and adjust his sidearm.

The medical soldier elevated the right foot-peddle and held the wheelchair for the civilian.

“Thank you specialist.”

The CIA officer and the army spec4 exchanged knowing looks as he seated himself. O’Brien caught the exchanged glances out his peripheral vision and wondered if the spook knew the potential hazards of any entanglements with non-rated military personnel. O’Brien’s mind had multiple threads of thought. He was at the overload point where situational awareness became diminished, so he chose to ignore whatever dalliance Acorn thought he might be arranging.

Cpt Miller stepped behind the wheelchair and pushed Acorn into the ‘slot’ specified by MSgt Hawkin. Cpt Kenney turned and walked through the wide automatic doors and headed east down a corridor. At the end of a corridor was a supply elevator that required an authorization that secure its use. Miller swiped a card in the magnetic reader slot and the lift door opened into a large elevator carriage. MSgt Hawkin did not enter, but immediately looked up into the elevator.

The group filed pass MSgt Hawkin, then entered as Dr Kenney pressed a button. Upon arriving at the fourth deck, Hawkin placed a hand into his waste-band and stepped into the single corridor that headed west as the door opened. Miller headed west down the long corridor, and at almost the end, there was a group of one naval and three Army personnel.

The Army people were an RN and two physicians. The sailor was a corpsman, it was Doc Sanders. The army Lieutenant Colonel stepped forward of the group to align himself with O’Brien, obviously to establish that he was the gate-keeper and head-mother-fucker-in-charge. O’Brien stepped aside to grip Sanders’ left shoulder and firmly grip his right appendage. Looking deep into each other, Sanders’ eyes misted as he almost broke down.

“I tried, staff sergeant. I tried the best I could. I just could not get the juice back into Pistol fast enough.”

“I know it, man. I know that you did what could be done. You could never do less, doc. How’s he doing?”

“Uh ... We need to get briefed by the Colonel for Pistol’s status.”

The Army colonel puffed himself up, determined to assert that he was the alpha-dog. At least until O’Brien stopped the colonel’s sputtering.

“Sir, I will be here for a short period. There is no time for bull-shit. Captain Miller has been the case physician and the attending neurologist. Why doesn’t the Colonel find himself a big, fancy desk to sit behind?”

There is arguably, in political terms, not that much that is more dangerous than a lower-ranking soldier or Marine that is desperate and has not much remaining to lose.

The colonel, becoming more moribund and increasingly flummoxed, could do nothing but emit incoherent and incomplete squeaky sentences. The colonel was offended by this enlisted, non-medical peasant. O’Brien interrupted the colonel’s ineffective posturing and loudly asked the green beret a question.

“Master sergeant, other than Captain Kenney, have any of these people been vetted?”

MSgt Hawkin, almost broke into a grin, but still managed an outward grimace.

“No, staff sergeant. I can ask Mr Acorn if the CIA can immediately do a BI on select members of the hospital staff.”

“Thank you, master sergeant ... I respectfully request that the following people meet at conference room 301A in approximately one hour. The major here, Captain Miller, Captain Kenney, Sergeants Hawkin and Norton. Master Sergeant, is it ok if Sergeant Agew stays with Sergeant Pistochini?”

“That’s all good, Marine, but my captain has a multitude of things to do, so I’ll brief my boss later.”

“Aye, top. See you in about 60 mike. Thank you, top ... Doctor Kenney, doc Sanders, please join me in Sergeant Pistochini’s room.”

O’Brien opened the door, knowing what to expect. He had seen this shit before. People seldom looked human after surgery had eviscerated their bodies. And the post-surgery status of a patient as nothing other than a measurable component to the surrounding machines. But this was Pistol. This was O’Brien’s trusted friend.

O’Brien dragged himself next to the hospital bed, put his hand on Pistol’s shoulder and talked in almost a whisper close to his head.

“Pistol, Opie here. You knew I’d come back for you. I always will, dude. I was thinking about when we surfed the trestles then went down to Red Beach to fish. The the rest of the platoon arriving at just the right time to eat our fish. And we didn’t fuckin care. The fuckin burgers that Jake brought grilled up damn good. Dude, I’m just trying to say, it always works out somehow. And we’ll fuckin make it work again...”

O’Brien knew he was starting to break down and sought to retain control. He turned away, found a visitor’s chair, sat down, closed his eyes, and imagined Sergeant Jay’s voice, ‘okay people, close your eyes and listen to my voice... ‘.

Sanders caught Captain Kenney’s eyes and pointed to the hatch. As Sanders exited into the passageway, closing the hatch.

“Sir, Staff Sergeant O’Brien is trying to center himself, I am sure the Captain is familiar with the effects of Zen-base meditation. He has taught it to his platoon. They typically use it as a tool to enable focus and enhance their ability to learn complex subjects, increase stamina, and prepare themselves for difficult tactical situations.”

“I understand. I know that Sergeant O’Brien is on record as the next-of-kin. How close are O’Brien and Pistochini?”

“Very close, sir. They have at least two deployments together that I know of. Staff Sergeant O’Brien is more than a platoon sergeant. He is their mentor, a father figure to junior members and big-brother to the more senior members. But O’Brien and Pistochini share something more intimate and dark. I do not know what it is, but there is something special in their experiences together or something similar in their background that bonds them.”

“Petty officer Sanders, do you know if either have had PTSD?”

“Yes sir, every member of the platoon has PTSD. And new members will probably have it after this deployment is completed. Has is disabled them? Has it made them unreliable or unable to perform their duties? No sir, it has not. Mostly because the platoon is a very tight unit and they talk to each other. Unlike SOCOM units, they do not have access to physicians and psychiatrists having high-level security clearances. The platoon cannot talk much to external parties because of op-sec, so available therapy can be limited.”

“Petty Officer Sanders, do you have recurring stress or guilt over Sergeant Pistochini’s outcome?”

“Sir, only every day of the week and every hour of the day...”

“Who are you seeing? I know an excellent therapist.”

Doc Sanders pointed to the closed hatch, meaning O’Brien.

“Sir, my first-line counselor just arrived, and I literally feel 20 kilos lighter. If you see indications that I need more help, please advise me of such ... Another important, uh, issue, sir. Staff Sergeant O’Brien, in general, does not trust medical personnel, and is openly critical of the military’s medical system. He has some good reasons to distrust us, sir. But he will listen to logical prognosis and treatment suggestions where there is a strong body of empirical data. If someone intentionally misleads him or he is lied to, that organization or that person will not like the price he will charge for such behavior.”

Dr Kenney was, for obvious reasons, taken aback by Sanders’ last statement.

“Uh, thank you. I will see you in the conference room.”

Doc Sanders re-entered the ICU room and sat down in the chair across from O’Brien. Sanders closed his eyes and imagined O’Brien’s voice. ‘okay people, close your eyes and listen to my voice... ‘.

O’Brien had just entered into the ‘advanced and effortless’ stage of meditation. His feelings were calmed; he was no longer fighting anger and remorse. The internal dullness was there but his mindfulness was full. An image formed of Pistochini next to him on a surf board. The image was transitory even though O’Brien did not attempt to re-gain full mindfulness. Pistochini on the surf board, with nothing around him, faded in and out, illusory and indefinite to O’Brien. O’Brien continued to have nothing to ‘latch’ onto the image or to reject it as not being part of a dull mindfulness.

He pushed deeper into his breathing until he had almost absolute control over his metabolism. O’Brien’s sphere of awareness as he went further into mindfulness, was significantly different, yet entirely selfsame per the thousands of previous periods of meditation, or at least the sessions where conditions allowed a long period into the advanced stage.

O’Brien sought minimal interference from his metabolism, so pushed yet further into the controlled breathing. The pulse became intermittent and the occasional short breathes were no longer his. O’Brien was next to an amorphous Pistochini. They were both watching the platoon while they ate fish. There was no sound. There was nothing to see because the images did not come from photons landing in the retina.

O’Brien saw a bright flash, and Pistochini and the platoon disappeared. O’Brien returned to a dull mindfulness, then slowly backed out into the controlled breathing stage. When sounds and physical awareness pierced his conscious, he opened his eyes to find a nurse examining him. The nurse was filling a syringe and removed the needle from the vial. She approached O’Brien and applied an alcohol swab to his neck, O’Brien grabbed the wrist of her hand holding the syringe. The nurse dropped the vial and O’Brien stood up, jerked her wrist behind her body and forced her to the floor.

The nurse said nothing. She remained on the floor, not moving or saying anything. O’Brien stepped away from the nurse and removed his weapon from the waistband of his trousers.

“If you get up, you get shot. If you move, you get shot. If you say anything, you get shot. Nod if you understand.”

The nurse promptly nodded. Her level of calmness and poker face only served to elevate O’Brien’s sense of danger.

By this time, Doc Sanders was fully aware. He watched and listened but said nothing, waiting for the Marine.

“Doc, get that green beret guy outside the room.”

The green beret sergeant quickly scanned the room upon entry and surmised the situation.

“What you catch her doing, O’Brien?”

“She was about to inject something into my neck. How did she get in here?”

“She walked right by me when that nurse major said she was to administer medication to your sergeant. But that was about ten mikes ago. Has she done anything to the patient?”

“Still have your radio?” The green beret nodded affirmative. “Tell the top to detain that major and the colonel. We need Captain Kenney in here ASAP to look at Pistochini. Send someone to find Mr. Acorn. And be careful, she’s a professional.”

O’Brien pointed to the chair where Sanders had been sitting.

“Sit in that chair. palms up. Do you have any weapons on you?”