Chapter 20: My Brother’s Keeper

15 March 2005 – Hilltop Road, Lancaster, Massachusetts

“Hey guys, before you run off to school would you help me out at the flagpole?”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“You’ll see, Alex. Come on. You too, Keiko.”

His wife raised an eyebrow but put her coat on anyway. She followed her family out onto the path to the flagpole in front of their house. Keiko noted Jeff shoveled the path and driveway earlier, clearing away the inch and a half of snow they received last night. An inch and a half of snow in Massachusetts wasn’t enough to warrant a day off from school for the kids or her, especially with the sun expected today. Any sunlit, shoveled pavement would dry in an hour or two.

“Could we hurry this up, Jeffrey? The wind is rather cold this morning.”

“Patience, Keiko-chan. Patience.”

“Look at you being all Zen,” she muttered.

From her stopping point midway along the path, Keiko watched as Jeff explained to the kids what he wanted them to do. The boys attached an American flag to the halyard while Jeff and Sabrina worked on something else behind them, out of her view. She started to call out to her husband again but the movement of items attached to the halyard made her stop.

The new American flag unfurled from the boys’ hands as Jeff hauled on the line. Its bright, vibrant colors caught the rays of the rising sun shining through the trees. The flag which unfurled below it was also new, and it made her breath catch. The flag, slightly smaller but in the same ten-by-nineteen ratio as the US flag, bore a white field with a thick red border around it. Centered horizontally on the white field were two large, five-pointed stars: a blue-edged gold star closer to the pole which made her eyes water, and a blue-edged silver star of the same size next to it. It was a flagpole version of service banners which hung vertically in windows during World War II.

“When did you get that?” she asked in a whisper as Jeff put his arm around her.

“I ordered it in December, and it arrived at the end of January. I figured today would be the best day to fly it for the first time.” Jeff watched the flag for a moment. “Don’t know why we haven’t had one all along.” He gave Keiko a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll help the kids finish getting ready for school.”

Keiko watched her family head back into the house before turning back to the pole. Despite the cold wind she stood there unmoving for a minute or two watching the gold star banner fly. Keiko wiped a tear from her eye.

“Happy birthday, big brother.”

A week later Jeff gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep running toward the finish line despite the pain. Once past it, he collapsed onto the cold, somewhat yielding surface of the outdoor track at the Fort Devens Fitness Center. A small part of his brain noted the track’s pebbled rubber surface while the larger part of it reported the severe cramps in his right calf.

“Jeff!” Nina Quentin barked as she rushed over.

“Cramp...” he hissed to her through gritted teeth before trying to stretch the protesting muscle with his therapist’s help. His calf relaxed and he held out his hand so the lieutenant could help him up. He looked at Colonel Iannazzone hopefully, but the officer shook his head.

“Sorry, Jeff, but you didn’t meet the minimum time on your run.”

Jeff blew out a frustrated breath. This was Jeff’s third and final attempt at meeting Ranger Regiment PT standards before being released.

“Well, Sir, I guess you’re gonna be stuck with me now. Thanks for being here. I’m sure you had other, more important things you needed to attend to today.”

“Sergeant,” Paulo Iannazzone said with a laugh, “I am possibly the least busy person in the hospital commander’s office – maybe even in the whole hospital! I’ve got good people working for me. Also, I promised Tara Paradise I’d make sure you got every opportunity to rejoin your unit. I figured the least I could do was to be here in case things didn’t work out for you. If you remember, I told you I’d find you a place to land if things went sideways? Well, I did in a way because someone else is already waiting to claim you off waivers. I think you might find this offer interesting.”

Colonel Iannazzone motioned to the man in PT gear standing next to him. Jeff had been too focused on his run to notice the man’s arrival.

“This is Colonel Drake Brubaker of the 10th Special Forces Group. Drake, Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox.” Jeff snapped a salute the colonel’s way.

“As you were, Sergeant. I’ve got a proposition for you that I think you’ll be interested in. If you aren’t interested, Colonel Iannazzone will find you a spot in one of his units as previously agreed. Sound like a plan?”

“You’ve certainly got my attention, Sir.”

“Why don’t we adjourn to the snack bar inside and discuss it? Lieutenant, you’re welcome to join us for a coffee or something if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Sir, but with your and Colonel Iannazzone’s permission I’ll beg off. I’ve got another soldier coming in for rehab in thirty minutes and I need to get back to the hospital.”

“Carry on, by all means, Lieutenant,” Paulo said.

“Jeff, you’re all set as far as the Rehab Department is concerned. Stop by and see me next week at your normal appointment time to sign a few forms.”

With salutes all around Nina departed. The three others found a table inside.

“Sergeant, I need a medic working at Group headquarters to handle some of the low-level, day-to-day medical admin stuff so my guys can focus on war fighting. That someone needs to be SOCM-qualified, though not necessarily SF-qualified, and whoever fills the position will liaise with Colonel Iannazzone’s office. He mentioned you, though not by name, when I asked him if he knew of any unassigned SOCM types floating around. Since you’re now at loose ends, I thought you might be interested.

“You wouldn’t deploy with any of my teams since you’re not SF-qualified in any manner, and this role should be enough to keep you from getting stop-lossed at the end of your enlistment since it’s not part of the normal TO&E. We’ll send you to Bragg for a SOCM refresher with my 18-Deltas before you ETS, too. What do you think?”

“No offense, Sir, but when I got wounded I wasn’t SF-qualified while working with a team from 12th Group.” Colonel Brubaker nodded, conceding the point. “Still, I think I’d be a fool to turn that offer down, Sir! A chance to work for you folks down at Little Mirror Lake doesn’t come along often for non-SF types, I would imagine. I wouldn’t even need base housing, since my family already owns a home nearby.”

“I mentioned that part to Colonel Brubaker when we started talking about you, Sergeant,” said Colonel Iannazzone. “The best part is, I think I can swing three or so weeks of PCS leave for you.”

Jeff drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song on his radio. He waited for his turn at Walter Reed Hospital’s guard shack and presented his active-duty military ID to the MP. He received directions on where to park for his intended destination. Jeff hadn’t seen much of Walter Reed from the outside when he was here last – as a patient from Christmas 1989 until the end of January 1990 – but it seemed like a nice campus. Lots of trees and grass helped it blend into the surrounding residential neighborhood in DC’s Northwest quadrant.

Colonel Iannazzone’s words from two weeks earlier proved prophetic. Even though his new assignment would only add another five minutes to his current commute to Devens, and meant his family wouldn’t have to move. Not long after the PT test, Jeff received orders stating he was on three weeks of PCS leave due to his transfer. After getting a “what are you waiting for?” when he proposed his trip to Keiko, he secured a hotel reservation in Silver Spring, Maryland less than twenty minutes later. He drove down last night so he wouldn’t have to deal with too much morning traffic. While there was plenty here he’d certainly seen worse on the narrow streets of Boston.

Jeff chuckled to himself while watching people dash to the hospital buildings in the distance. They wore heavy coats and hats. He wore a sweatshirt over his long-sleeved t-shirt, faded jeans, shit-kicker boots, and a battered 3d Ranger Battalion baseball cap as he strolled in from the parking lot.

’Geez, people! It’s forty-two! You’d think it was cold or something.’ Another part of him answered back: ’Brave talk. Come back in the summer.’ He chuckled again.

Once inside the right building he checked in with staff at the Physical Therapy clinic and explained why he was there. They smiled, acknowledged his black sweatshirt with ‘Downrange Doc’ stenciled on the left chest and a large silver-gray Combat Medical Badge screened across the back, and directed him to follow one of their therapists. She led Jeff to a pair of low parallel bars used for helping patients keep their balance while learning how to use prosthetic legs.

The patient using the bars didn’t look very enthusiastic despite his therapist’s encouragement. In fact he looked worn out despite the early hour. His therapist must have already put him through his paces given how tired he looked. The patient didn’t yet have a prosthetic so he used the bars to build his upper body strength before being fitted for one. The therapist kept coaching her patient to keep his head up, but in his fatigue he continued to stare down at the floor. Jeff positioned himself at the end of the bars. He waited for the patient to look up but the man didn’t.

“Hey DJ, you wanna move your ass?” Jeff quipped. “I ain’t got all day!”

The man’s head snapped up. Jeff soon found himself in another violent bear hug.

“Christ on a cracker!” DJ Schultheis exclaimed. “I didn’t think I’d ever see your ugly mug again! What in the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting you, you dumb-ass.”

“I meant back in the States, you pedantic son of a bitch! You’re supposed to still be kicking in doors over there!”

“Ah, I got dinged at the end of October. A collapsing building crushed my right lower leg. I’ve been RFS’d.”

“What happened?”

“An RPG took out the wall of a building while I treated a casualty near it. I covered him up before it impacted to protect him from the blast, but a chunk of the wall smacked me in the head, knocked me out, and the rest of the wall landed on my leg. To add insult to injury another gunfighter landed on top of me and cracked some of my ribs.”

“Aw, man! That sucks!”

“It’s all good,” Jeff shrugged. “I’ve been doing my rehab at Devens while I live at home. Now I’m on PCS leave before I administratively transfer to a unit on-base there. Regiment packed up my room and shipped me my stuff after they released me. Anyway what’s the policy on springing you loose from here? I’m staying over in Silver Spring, and there are plenty of places around I can take you to lunch to avoid hospital food.”

Staff at Walter Reed had no issue with DJ leaving for lunch with Jeff. DJ’s psychiatrist – who his next appointment would have been with – told him to take off. The man said that it would probably do DJ more good to catch up with Jeff over lunch than talking to a shrink for an hour. That gave DJ the rest of the day to do whatever. He and Jeff agreed on an upscale chain burger joint for lunch. While relaxing after their meal, Jeff turned to his fellow Ranger.

“Deej, have you been to Arlington to visit Terry yet?”

“No,” DJ whispered, “I haven’t screwed up the courage now that I’m healthy enough. Plus it’s like an hour’s trip by bus. If I’m gonna go visit him for the first time I’m gonna wear my Class-As and I’d rather not ride the bus while wearing them.”

“Do you want to ride over with me in my truck this weekend?” Jeff asked. “I need to go and I brought my A’s down.” DJ nodded.

“It’s about time I get over there, anyway. I’ve also avoided calling Benning to ask how 3d Battalion’s getting along over there. How were things when you left?”

“Unbelievably shitty, DJ,” Jeff answered before taking a long pull on his beer. “Your injury was just the beginning of a bunch of hurt for us. Including you? Two KIA and five wounded in five months before I got knocked out of the game.”

“Who?”

“The KIA after Terry was your replacement, a really good kid. His name was Radoslaw Blajewski though we called him Blow.” DJ raised an eyebrow. “Long story. The five wounded were you, Stan, Trace, Ruben, and another new kid, Ivan Gilchrist.” Jeff filled him in on what happened to each of the other wounded.

“Hey, Jeff, I’ve been meaning to thank you for having Kelsey Goodacre and her band come by. That helped me out a lot. It was a pretty bleak time for me then.”

“Terry figured you’d hit a rough patch once you woke up back here. He’s the one who really got things moving. I met her guitarist a few years before her band discovered him. What happened with your girl, by the way? She’s your ex-girl now I would gather, huh?”

“Dropped her like a hot rock not long after I got here. Thankfully I listened to all those intake lectures from the Army and never put her name on my bank accounts! A few guys from HHC helped me out by packing everything in my room and sending it all to my parents before I woke up. Terry listed me as his next of kin since he had no family, so his stuff went home, too.”

“I’m glad his best friend got his stuff and not a bunch of random people. So, can we go tomorrow?”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I won’t have any appointments. Sure, after ten-hundred hours?”

What little snow the Washington area received that winter had long disappeared by the time the two Rangers made their way through Arlington National Cemetery. The bright white marble headstones stood out in sharp contrast to the deep green manicured blanket of grass. Headstones and grass stretched as far as they could see. Neither man had visited here before, nor were they ready for the weight of what the somber vista represented. They’d walk up to the Memorial Amphitheater and the Tomb of the Unknowns after visiting Terry.

DJ moved steadily forward on his crutches, showing no signs of fatigue. After twenty minutes they reached Section 60, found the correct row, and then the right headstone. The angle of the sun as it lit Terry’s marker gave the marble an almost ethereal glow. Though Jeff visited Ken’s grave on a regular basis, he was unprepared for the impact of seeing his friend’s resting place.

It overwhelmed DJ. With an arm across Jeff’s back DJ’s hand clutched at Jeff’s far shoulder, crumpling the fabric of Jeff’s uniform as he clung to him. He tried to maintain his balance on his one good leg. Jeff’s hand clutched DJ’s shoulder in the same way. Jeff’s eyes misted over while DJ sobbed for his friend. Jeff took deep breaths to fight his rising emotions. His memory flashed back to a quiet cemetery fifteen years and three thousand miles away. DJ sniffled a few times as his tears dried up. The images faded from Jeff’s head.

“Terry and I met at Airborne School. He did his One Station Unit Training at Harmony Church while mine was at Sand Hill,” DJ said, referring to the two sections of Fort Benning’s Infantry School. Jeff nodded while remembering his own time at Sand Hill. “We hit it off right away, us two wise-cracking, shit-kicking, sarcastic assholes. Terry was the oldest in my company at Airborne School. He knocked around for a year or two after high school, and then joined up after his parents died in late 1999 and early 2000.

“We were together the entire way through RIP. We were thrilled when we got sent to 3d Battalion, Bravo Company, and then 2d Platoon together. We asked if we could room together and our old platoon sergeant shuffled some other newbie’s assignment around to accommodate us. You never met that guy. He got RFS’d within two months. And you thought Terry and I did some dumb shit!”

“It was good for you to visit Terry, DJ, in a number of ways. It’s good that we remember our friend by coming here and it’s good for your head in the long term.” Jeff looked around and gestured to the other graves. “Look at all the new people he can tell stories to, stories of the crazy shit you guys did together and, of course, all the ‘no shit, there I was’ war stories.” That drew a chuckle from DJ. They stood there, looking at Terry’s stone for a while longer before they were ready to go. Jeff and DJ drew themselves to attention and snapped a salute to Terry.

Blow’s body wasn’t buried at Arlington, so DJ and Jeff made their way back up the hill. Blow’s parents buried him near his home outside Minneapolis, and Jeff would have to plan a trip there another time. The pair walked silently until ten minutes into their way to the Tomb when DJ spoke up.

“Jeff, can we check on another buddy of mine while we’re out? A friend I made when I first woke up at Walter Reed?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Dom didn’t sound right when I spoke to him last week, and I haven’t been able to reach him since. He helped me get through my first few weeks after I woke up. He’s a fellow amputee, except he lost both of his legs to his IED strike. He was my roommate for a while.”

“Absolutely. Where is he?”

Jeff cast a look back down the sketchy hallway. Trash lined the walls and the smell reminded him of Afghanistan.

’Christ, this place is barely a step above the street, and maybe only a half-step at that.’

DJ stopped in front of a door two-thirds of the way down the hall and rapped on it. The sound of knuckles on metal brought back Jeff’s memories of visiting other apartment buildings but no ambulance call ever brought him to a building like this. After ten seconds without an answer to DJ’s knock, he knocked again.

“What did you say happened before they discharged your friend, DJ?” Jeff asked while they waited.

“His girl visited him at Walter Reed. I saw the look in Dom’s eyes when I ran into him later that night, and it wasn’t good. Dom and his girl were supposed to go to dinner, but he was still in our room. She broke up with him right outside our building, the cold-hearted bitch. She told him she couldn’t deal with the burden of a double-amputee after actually seeing him.” DJ paused the story to knock again.