Chapter 154: A Summer Cruise

Things swirled around for a second and I slumped against the wall. The general and the captain grabbed my shoulders, but I didn’t faint or collapse. This was my worst nightmare, that Charlie would get killed in the service. Marilyn might have tolerated me in the service, and even allowed Charlie to go in, but this was going to just kill her. She would never forgive me.

“How ... how did it happen?”

The captain answered, “Mister President! Mister President! He’s not dead, he was wounded. He’s not dead!”

I focused on him. “Who are you?”

“I’m Captain Hmong. I’m a doctor over at Bethesda. I talked to the doctors on the Fort McHenry. Your son was wounded, but he’ll be all right. He’s not dead! He was wounded. He’ll be all right!”

I looked around and found that the hallway was filled with people staring at me. John McCain and Condoleezza Rice were scurrying around the corner. I was maneuvered back into the Oval Office and towards an armchair, with my morning staff shuffling out of the way. John and Condi came in also.

I looked at the Commandant and the doctor again. “He’s not dead? He’s wounded?”

“Yes, sir. He’ll be fine. I’ve talked to the ship,” repeated Doctor Hmong.

“What happened? He wasn’t even supposed to get off the ship!”

General Jones sighed. “There was a breakdown in communications, sir. The Marines knew, but not the embassy.”

“What?” That made no sense to me.

“They needed everybody, sir. Every time a helo came back on-board carrying refugees, it would load up with Marines and take them back into Monrovia. Sir, there are a million people in Monrovia, and we only had 400 Marines. Your son was in one of the last units sent in, and he was only supposed to be security at the American embassy. Instead, the Ambassador decided they needed to set up a collection point elsewhere and diverted the helo at the last minute,” he explained.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed. “So, what happened to him?”

“Sir, did you see the film of the rescue of the nurses? It was playing on television last night.”

“I watched the NBC news. There was a segment with footage of some guys running across a street and getting shot at. One of them kept running back and forth before he died. He was covered with blood. I couldn’t believe they showed that,” I said.

“He didn’t die! That was your son! He was the one who kept running back and forth pulling people out!”

“No, I watched that, he couldn’t ... no way that kid made it!” I protested.

The doctor answered, “He was all shot up, but it’s mostly shrapnel and flesh wounds. He lost a lot of blood but he’s back on the ship. He’ll make it. He’ll be fine.”

The Commandant added, “His CO put him up for the Navy Cross.”

“The Navy Cross?” In the Marines, the only medal higher than the Navy Cross is the Medal of Honor.

“Yes, sir.” He shrugged. “Realistically, he doesn’t quite rate the Navy Cross, so it will be downgraded to a Silver Star, which is what he actually deserves. You were in the service, sir, so you know how the game gets played.”

I did, too. In order to get your people the recognition they deserve, you generally have to overrate them, so they look good compared to some desk warrior whose only combat injury involved a loose staple and some paper cuts. The same occurred at promotion time, when a scruffy but great combat leader had to go up against some picture-perfect PowerPoint commando.

As it was, the Silver Star was rated higher than my own Bronze Star and could only be earned in combat. The worst thing was that I realized that the higher up the medal rates, the more likely you earn it posthumously. To get the Navy Cross he would have probably had to die...

Suddenly my stomach lurched. I stumbled into my adjoining bathroom and just made it to the toilet before breakfast came up. I heaved until I was empty, and only then noticed that I had been followed by the doctor. He helped me to my feet, and I washed my face at the sink. I felt every day of my hundred years at that moment. A hollow man stared back from sunken eyes in the mirror. “It’s just nerves, Mister President. You’ll be fine. Your son will be fine. We can probably get him on the phone.”

He led me back into the Oval Office, which was getting crowded by now. The White House Physician, Doctor Tubb and a nurse had joined us when they got the word I was throwing up. Also, in addition to the regular morning briefing team of Ari, Josh, and Mindy, we also had Frank, Carter, and Will crammed in, along with a couple of Secret Service agents. The room was packed. Meanwhile, John was ordering Josh and Ari, politely, to keep a lid on this until I wanted it released.

I pulled myself together. I knew what had to be done first. “Where is the First Lady?” I asked.

Will answered, “She’s here, upstairs, I guess, getting ready. She has a lunch with the Daughters of the American Revolution.”

I snorted in laughter at that. “The DAR? Good Lord! My family sat out the war, and Marilyn’s was in Canada at the time!” I shook my head. “I’ll need to see her right now. Where are the girls?”

One of the agents responded. “They are running with Stormy down on the Mall. Hold one...” He muttered into a hidden microphone, waited a moment, and then added, “Stormy just jumped in the Reflecting Pool!”

“Good Christ! Well, get them back here. This is my doing. I need to be the one to tell them.” He began muttering into his mike again. The agents on the twins’ detail would drive up with a War Wagon and hustle them inside. They would be back here in less than five minutes. To the others I said, “Whatever my schedule is today, it just got cancelled. We don’t say anything about this until I say we do. I will let you know as soon as I know something. Right now, I have to tell Charlie’s mother her son has been shot. I think I’d prefer it have been me.” The room erupted in discussion, but I ignored it. To the general and captain, I said, “Gentlemen, on me,” and led them out of the room.

We went to the elevator and rode up to the Residence, but I didn’t go beyond the vestibule. The girls weren’t back yet, but I expected them momentarily. I lowered my voice and said, “We are going to wait until they are back. I can’t do this twice.” They just nodded in understanding.

About two minutes later, the girls and the dog, all of them looking thoroughly soaked, came up the elevator. Molly saw me standing there and said, “Daddy, what’s going on? Stormy was in the Reflecting Pool, and when we dragged her out, she got us all wet!” In emphasis, Stormy shook herself all over the twins again.

Holly was more succinct, especially when she saw a pair of officers with me. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to go inside and talk with your mother,” I told them.

“What’s wrong?” added Molly.

“Is it Charlie? What happened?”

“Charlie is fine. Let’s go see Mom.” I ushered them into the living room, where I found Marilyn reading a short speech she was supposed to give about motherhood and apple pie, or some such nonsense.

She looked up and said, “What are you doing here so early? And why do our daughters look like drowned rats? What did they do now?”.

“Mom!” squawked both the girls. If that fazed Marilyn, it didn’t show.

Marilyn stood up when she saw the visitors. “Hello.”

“Marilyn, please sit down. Girls, you too.” I said. I went to my wife and moved her towards the couch.

She must have noticed the Marine uniform. “What’s wrong, Carl? Is it Charlie? I thought you said he would be safe!”

“Let’s sit down, honey.” I pushed her down onto the cushion of the couch and sat next to her. Both our daughters had terrified looks on their faces. As soon as she was seated, and with me still holding her hands, I said, “Charlie’s been wounded, but he’s alive and is going to be okay.” The girls went into an uproar at this, but Marilyn turned white as a ghost. I just pressed on. “This is General Jones and Captain Hmong. The captain is a doctor and has talked to the doctors on Charlie’s ship. Charlie will be okay.”

Marilyn turned an icy glare on the two men. “What happened?”

The general repeated his review of what happened, and Captain Hmong reported that he had talked to the surgeons who had treated Charlie, and that our boy would be fine. When he mentioned calling the ship, Marilyn jumped at it. I directed General Jones to a phone in my study and told him to set up the call. Monrovia was five hours ahead of us, so it was early afternoon local time. He came back in after a few minutes and said that it would be a few minutes and they would call when they had the connection.

Marilyn fixed him with a glare and said, “I’m not going anywhere. Are you?” I got to see a Marine general blanch and turn white.

Ten minutes later the phone rang, and we all crowded into the study. I put the phone on speaker and said, “This is the President. Who is this?”

“Hey, Dad, how’s it going?”

The voice was weak, and the reception was scratchy, but that was probably the best sound I had ever heard. The girls started shrieking and Marilyn started talking to Charlie, and I just collapsed into my swivel chair. After a bit, I tossed in my two cents, but Charlie just kept repeating he was fine and don’t worry about him. After five minutes, Doctor Hmong got on the phone and asked to talk to one of the doctors, and they spouted medical jargon at each other for five minutes. After that, Charlie talked to us again until a doctor on the ship said he needed some rest. The connection broke down after that.

“Mrs. Buckman, Lance Corporal Buckman will be fine, but he needs some rest and healing. He lost a lot of blood, but that has been replaced, and he has a lot of stitches and scars in unusual places, and he’s in some pain so they have him on meds and antibiotics, but his prognosis is excellent. In a week or two he will feel like a new man, and in a couple of months he’ll be as good as new,” said Doctor Hmong.

“What do you mean, unusual places?” asked Holly, beating me to the punch.

The doctor made a wry face and said, “There was a penetrating trauma to the left gluteus maximus muscle.”

The girls looked perplexed, and Marilyn wasn’t much better, so I translated for them. “Your brother got shot in the ass.”

“Carl!” protested Marilyn, as the girls giggled.

The doctor shrugged and nodded. “More likely shrapnel from an RPG or a ricochet fragment, but that’s about right.”

“When can I see Charlie?” asked Marilyn.

“Well, he’s confined to the hospital on the Tarawa right now. He’ll be there for a few days, and then will be able to come home. The Tarawa group is scheduled to return to Norfolk as soon as they clean up in Monrovia, maybe another week. It might be easier to simply bring the lightly wounded home that way,” said Captain Hmong.

It was my turn to receive the death stare from Marilyn. “I want to see Charlie now!”

“Marilyn, he can’t be moved yet!” I argued. “He’s in the hospital! On a ship!”

“TODAY!”

“Marilyn!”

“Do you still own a plane? Do you want to bet I can’t call and have that warmed up?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” I took the coward’s way out and turned to the Commandant. “General?”

“Give me a few minutes, and we will make it happen. I can probably arrange it from the Situation Room,” he replied.

I popped to my feet. “Here, let me go with you. Maybe I can help.” The three of us beat feet out of there.

Once we got out of the room, I asked, “When did this happen? I thought that rescue was on Monday. How come I didn’t hear about it until today?”

General Jones looked embarrassed at that. “It’s sort of your fault, sir. I mean, everybody here knows your son is a Marine, and everybody on the Fort McHenry knew he was your son, but the computers still had him down as Robert NMI Buckman of Washington, D.C. When they sent the signal through to the Pentagon, they pulled up his official address and sent a notification team there last night. That’s when they were told by the Secret Service where to actually go, and they turned around and went back to the Pentagon to figure out what to do.”

I grunted at that. We went down to the Situation Room, where the general did his thing, and I just sat there and contemplated my navel. It’s one thing to whistle up the G-IV and tell them to fly somewhere, but how do you get to a ship in the middle of the ocean? It was going to take some doing, but the Abraham Lincoln carrier group was in the process of rushing to the area, to relieve the Tarawa group and show the flag. If we got Marilyn to Naval Air Station Oceana, just outside of Virginia Beach, she could catch a COD cargo flight to the Lincoln. From the Lincoln, they could fly her on a helicopter to the Tarawa. She could be there in 24 hours.

The captain we left hanging around the lobby while General Jones and I headed back to the dragon’s lair. Marilyn simply nodded and said, “When do I leave?”

I needed to get in control of this clusterfuck at some point. “Marilyn, we can probably do this today, but you need to do something for me.”

“What?”

“I am going to get a lot of heat over this, about using the power of my position to send my wife halfway around the world on the taxpayers’ dime. How come she can do it when all the other mothers can’t? - that sort of thing. Now, I will pay the bill, and take the heat, but if we are doing this, you need to do some schmoozing while you are out there. You get on a ship, you do the tour and shake hands and wave and smile and pose for pictures, okay.”

“Oh, I can do that, I suppose,” she said, quite amicably. Suddenly I thought I might come out of this with my marriage still intact.

I grabbed a phone. “Please send Ari and that doctor up to the Residence. Thank you.”

“What about us? Do we get to go?” asked Molly.

“No, and neither does Stormy. That would be all the Navy needs, the three of you loose on a warship! We’d probably end up at war with somebody!”

“Daddy!” protested her sister.

“No!”

When Ari showed up with the doctor from Bethesda, we gave him the rundown on what was happening. I simply figured he would want to issue a press release and say something at the press conference. No, that was not at all what Ari had in mind. “Mister President, let’s be honest here. Your son is a wounded in action certified hero as seen on national television! The First Lady is going to fly around the world on Navy planes to see him, when no other mother can do that. This is news! We need to handle this properly.” He turned to General Jones. “General, can we send a reporter or two on this junket?” He looked at me and held up a hand. “That’s what the media is going to call this, true or not.”

“Yes, probably several people. We’re going to send a Marine escort with the First Lady to show her around,” he replied. That was news to me, but I suppose it made sense.

Ari nodded. “Send both a man and a woman, and I’ll line up a couple of reporters. Nothing big, though.”

“Who are you planning on sending, Ari?” I asked.

“Depends on who I dislike the least when I get downstairs. General, this is going to break tomorrow morning. Have your press people call us here to coordinate our response. Doctor, you will need to brief me on Charlie’s wounds. Mrs. Buckman, give him our best!” He stood up and said, “I need to work on this, Mister President.”

“Go, Ari. I’ll talk to you in a bit.”

My day was totally shot by now, and Marilyn cancelled her lunch. I stayed with Marilyn and the girls as they all stewed and tried to figure out packing. After about an hour, I was rescued by the Marines, in the form of a pair of Marine Gunnery Sergeants, one of whom was a woman! That was probably the most surprising thing of all to me, and only went to show I was a hopeless dinosaur.

Ari called me down to his office before this was all done. In with him was Jennifer Loven, a reporter for the Associated Press, and Greg Kelly, from Fox News. Everybody stood up when I came in the office, and once inside, Ari moved around and closed the door. “Mister President, I found a couple of volunteers for you.”

Jennifer looked at Ari and said, “Is that what we are? Volunteers? What have I been volunteered for?”

“I used to be a Marine, Ari. I can remember being volunteered before. What’s going on?” added Greg.

Ari Fleischer deferred to me. “Mister President?”

“Mister Kelly, do you have a cameraman who can handle remote broadcasting by himself,” I asked.

Ari nodded and Greg said, “Yes. Why?”

“I am asking the both of you to buy a pig in a poke. I will explain what is happening but only if you both agree, right now, not to tell anybody, not even your bosses, the details, at least not until tomorrow. This will be a very exclusive story, but it needs to remain secret for one more day. If you say no, we will swap you out before we tell you. There will be travel involved.”

Greg said, “What the hell? Excuse me, Mister President, sorry about that.” He looked over at Jennifer.

She just nodded and shrugged. “Okay, I’ll bite. I’m in. What’s up?”

I looked back at Greg. He threw his hands up and said, “Sure, why not?”

I nodded to myself and glanced at Ari, who shrugged his shoulders and nodded as well. “Okay, here’s the short version. My son got all shot up in Monrovia the other day. The First Lady is going to be flying out to see him. We don’t want to announce this until tomorrow, but she is leaving this evening. You two, plus your cameraman, Greg, will be traveling with her. This is going to be an exclusive for you. This won’t be your average trip, either. We are arranging to send her out to the ships, and you’ll report from the middle of the ocean.”

“Oh, my G ... Yes sir, I’m in!” he said.

“How is your son, Mister President?” asked Jennifer.

“He’s pretty banged up, but he’ll make it. Did either of you see the video footage of the Marine who was running through enemy fire to rescue people?” They both nodded at that. “That was him.”

“I thought that kid died!” she said.

“No, but he did get wounded. I pretty much thought the same thing. We just found out ourselves. Now, are you two both going to keep quiet and go along with this?” I asked. “I am betting you’ll get some nice reporting out of it. You’ll probably be gone a week or more.”

“Can we tell our bosses?” he asked.

I glanced at Ari, who said, “Tell them you will be away on an assignment, and that they cannot release that information, and that I will confirm it if they call me. Then at the press conference tomorrow, when this comes out, it will be explained that two reporters are traveling with Mrs. Buckman.”

They both agreed to that, and I said, “Okay, then. Let’s get this show on the road. Both of you follow me.” We headed up to the Residence and found the most astonishing sight. Marilyn was standing there in a Marine Corps Battle Dress Uniform and combat boots, with one of those hats they call a cover perched on her curls and wearing web gear and a backpack. She was grinning wildly as I came in. “Holy Christ!” I exclaimed. “They’re drafting midgets!”

“Who says paratroopers are so tough?” she replied. She shifted around with her backpack.

“Well, now I can die happy, because I have surely seen everything,” I said.

Jennifer Loven began fumbling through her purse and came out with a small digital camera. “I have to get a shot of this!”

“What’s going on?” asked Marilyn.

“These are your ghost writers. They are going to help you write your book, What I Did On My Summer Vacation.” Greg snorted at that, and Jennifer laughed and kept taking photos. “They are a couple of reporters. If I am sending you to see the troops, they are going to go with you.”

“Good idea, Mister President.” That was spoken by a naval lieutenant off to the side.

“Who are you?”

“Lieutenant Patrick Swanson, Public Information Officer. I will be accompanying the First Lady and her team.”

I eyed him curiously. He was in his late twenties, and a naval lieutenant is the same as an army captain, an O-3. “Oh, okay. What’s the plan? What’s next? These two need to collect a cameraman and get some clothing and gear, I guess.”

“Let me handle that, sir. We’ll fly out of here at 1900. Let me talk to these folks for a moment, and then we’ll get out of your hair.”

I let him do his job and went over to my wife. “Of all the ridiculous getups I’ve ever seen you wear, this has to take the cake!”

“Here, take this, it’s heavy,” she said, trying to shrug out of the backpack.

I grabbed it and she managed to wriggle free. “I’m not impressed. Paratroopers wear chutes heavier than this, and top that off with an even heavier combat load.”

“When will we leave and get there?”

I tossed the pack onto a chair and sat down with her on the sofa. I threw an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll leave at 1900 or so. They’ll fly you down to Oceana and load you on a transport and take off. No idea how long that flight takes, but I guess you’ll land on the Lincoln in the early morning. After that, no idea. I don’t know if you’ll be close enough to fly from there, or if you have to sail closer. Probably tomorrow evening.”

“I thought you knew this kind of stuff.”

“The Navy and the Marines aren’t as precise as the Army, dear.”

“I am going to tell your son you said that!”

“So what? He’s in the hospital. I can probably beat him up,” I replied. She laughed at that, and I added, “Now, seriously, I know the first thing you are going to want to do will be to see Charlie, but you’re not just a mother, you’re the First Lady. I want you to visit the ships, talk to the sailors and Marines, pose for pictures, all that sort of thing. Can you do that for me? It’s important.”

“Of course! It should be fun!”

I smiled to myself as I considered that. I had seen pictures of a C-2 COD landing on a carrier deck; it looked like a poorly controlled crash. It certainly didn’t look like fun! Still, I let her prattle on, half out of nervousness. We had a light lunch, after the PIO guy took the reporters out, and the two Gunnies joined us and told us some more of the planning. They had both seen sea duty several times and seemed to know what they were doing. After lunch I went back downstairs and did some more paperwork and reading.

They didn’t get off the ground until about 2000. I received a call later, when the C-2 lifted off, and then I went to bed. I got another call in the morning that they had landed on the Lincoln and would be transferring to the Tarawa that afternoon. In between, I would be having my own version of fun, a joint press conference with the Pentagon.

We went with the zoo to the Pentagon, and Ari and I met with their PIO. He would handle the initial press briefing, and then make the announcement that Charlie was wounded, and the First Lady was flying out to meet with the wounded and the refugees. The good news came from a phone call right before the briefing, from Colin Powell. Charles Taylor, the President-for-Life, had bugged out and surfaced in Nigeria. In the meantime, Ambassador Myrick was negotiating a ceasefire with the various rebel groups and trying to bring some order into the chaos that was Monrovia. Colin seemed to think he would pull it off, too, and I told Colin that when this was done, I wanted to see the man and congratulate him; we needed smart thinkers and he seemed to fit the bill. I was too cynical to believe it would last, but maybe the next time the place blew up it would be on somebody else’s watch. Depending on how well the talks worked out, Colin could do his own press conference in a day or so.

The Pentagon press room was packed, since the word had gone out that I would be attending. The initial briefing was presented by a Marine Corps colonel, with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Commandant of the Marine Corps, and the Secretary of Defense and me standing off to the side. The briefing started out with a timeline on Operation Green Delta, which was named for the operational plan that ended up being used (Green plan, Delta variant.) We had thrown it together so hastily we didn’t have time for a fancy name. For this briefing, however, they were able to put together a slick PowerPoint and video presentation.