The Severance (19 page)

“Well, Sir. It happened that—”

“He hit his face when he dove for cover during the firefight, Sir,” Sergeant McBride said, coming up from behind and putting his arm around Jake’s shoulder.

“And you are?” Colonel Franco asked, eyes narrowing.

“Sergeant First Class Gregory McBride, Kodiak Platoon Sergeant. Yes, Sir. You see, the captain here was diving for cover after saving Captain Slater and he hit his face on a stone. That’s where he got the shiner, Sir,” McBride said cheerfully.

Colonel Franco mulled over the info, then relented on his inquiry.

“Well, if that’s how it happened. First thing, I need to go over a few things in your record and the record of one of your men. Specialist Eastman, Joseph. As the two higher awardees, the commanding general will want to talk to both of you at length. Second, I need the remaining soldiers who are going to be getting Army Commendation Medal with “V” devices to line up with Major Morgan for their briefing.”

Big Joe walked up. “You needed to see me, Sir?” he asked. Franco had to take a step back to see Big Joe’s towering face.

“You’re Eastman?” Franco asked warily. “Just a few things I need to clear up. Hot items that I know the general will want to talk about. I spoke to your battalion commander, Colonel Morris, on the phone yesterday; he referred to your platoon as a ‘rehabilitation’ project. He wouldn’t really go into any details of what a ‘rehabilitation’ project meant. Could you provide some clarification on that?”

“Well, Sir, I think Colonel Morris was attempting to take individuals with behavioral problems and put them in an environment where they could be molded into better, more productive soldiers, as well as maximizing his manpower resources.” Jake gave his standard answer.

“Do you think it worked, Roberts?”

“Oh, yes, Sir. Like a charm,” Jake said, with a false smile.

“Specialist Eastman, your record shows that you received a Purple Heart for injuries sustained on this deployment, is that correct?” Franco asked

“That’s right, Sir,”

“What happened?” Franco asked, crossing his arms.

“I was gunning a truck in Logar when an IED went off, ejecting me from the turret. The fall broke my leg right above the knee. I got a couple of cuts and bruises and was also shot in my front ballistic plate, but it only fractured two of my ribs, Sir,” Big Joe said in an even tone.

Franco made a few quick notations on his clipboard.

“You know, that sounds familiar. Didn’t your platoon leader get a Bronze Star for defending the vehicle against over a hundred Taliban fighters? He saved you and the driver, as I recall,” Franco said.

“Yes, that’s exactly how it happened, Sir,” Big Joe said, looking down at his feet.

“Say, didn’t you attack that lieutenant at his awards ceremony and knock out some of his teeth?” Franco asked.

“Well, uh, actually—yeah, I kinda did,” Big Joe said, his eyes never leaving his boots.

“Why’d you do that?” Franco asked.

“I guess I’m stupid, Sir,” Big Joe said, letting out a long sigh.

Franco got to work prepping Jake and Big Joe for their television interviews. When the CNN reporters were brought over, Jake was disappointed. He had hoped for an attractive female reporter, but the journalist turned out to be a paunchy guy with an English accent. The reporter seemed to want to understand the real nature of the war in Afghanistan; he asked several probing questions.

“Do you think the United States is succeeding in Afghanistan?”

“Absolutely. The International Security and Assistance Force has made great strides while I’ve been here,” Jake replied.

“Are your leaders making well-informed decisions?”

“Without question. I have absolute confidence in their leadership.”

“What are your thoughts on the resurgent Taliban?”

“The Taliban pose little threat to American or NATO forces.”

Jake did not hesitate to lie when he needed to. Everything was great in Afghanistan, and all soldiers were proud to serve such a noble cause. He praised the schools and hospitals that had never been built and the corrupt local government officials who lined their pockets with kickbacks while their people suffered.

“And Captain Slater was brave for walking point on the mission and we wish him a speedy recovery.” Jake continued, his eyes boring into the reporter’s.

If was a kind of game to boogle the reporter, who looked and acted frustrated. This standard issue stuff wasn’t what he was here for. He tried other tactics.

“Do you ever get frustrated with the Afghan National Police?”

“No, they’re gaining proficiency every day,” Jake replied, smiling broadly.

“Look, Captain, I’m looking for something with a little more juice. Is there anything that you don’t like about Afghanistan?”

“I don’t get to talk to my wife and son every day.”

Colonel Franco nodded approvingly, as if he’d had some effect on Jake’s performance. He was unaware that Jake did not intend to rock the boat, when going along for the ride was so much easier.

Big Joe’s interview was also a success, as he overflowed with small-town charm and innocence. John Q. Public loved dumb guys like Big Joe Eastman. Jake wondered how America would feel about Big Joe if they knew that only a few months earlier, he’d been instrumental in stealing U.S. Government property.

Just after 0840, guests began to arrive. Dozens of majors, lieutenant colonels, and even full bird colonels began to circulate. A few of them told Jake and McBride they were prime examples for all soldiers to follow and that their actions under fire exemplified Army values. Jake smiled and nodded, just as he’d been instructed. No one asked about his black eye, as McBride’s cover story had already been disseminated by Colonel Franco.

One full bird in particular had a keen interest in Jake and the platoon: Colonel Francis J. Alderman, their brigade commander. Even taller than Big Joe, “Fighting Frank” was Jake’s boss’s boss. The commander of thousands of soldiers, responsible for combat operations in about one third of Afghanistan, and a man who was feared and respected.

“Jack Robinson! Good to see you again, son!” Colonel Alderman boomed, grabbing Jake’s hand and giving it a healthy grip and shake.

“It’s good to see you again, too, Sir,” Jake said, wondering when the Colonel would address him by his right name even though the nametape on Jake’s uniform clearly read “Roberts” and not “Robinson,” Alderman, like all senior officers, didn’t concern himself with things that weren’t important—like a person’s name. Jake didn’t bother to make the correction; it would have only gotten some poor underling in trouble.

“You must be looking forward to getting back to Melissa and your daughter,” the colonel went on.

“Oh, yes, Melissa has been worried sick these last couple of weeks,” Jake said cheerfully.

“Well, you know that’s what wives do; they worry. My wife has been worried sick about me as well,” Alderman said, chuckling. Jake joined in the laugh, but only because he thought it was funny that Alderman’s wife worried about her husband’s personal safety, when no man had been exposed to less danger during their deployment than Colonel Francis J. Alderman.

Colonel Alderman’s aide came up and whispered something in the his ear. Alderman’s back stiffened for a moment.

“Robinson, come by my office when we all get back to Campbell. We’ll talk about your future,” Alderman said, before leaving Jake’s side to greet the division commander.

As well as being commander of the 101st Airborne Division, Major General John M. Downy commanded all U.S.-led operations in the combat zone and was subordinate only to the NATO Supreme Allied Commander in Afghanistan. He was a man who could ruin a soldier’s life with a stroke of a pen. If only for that reason, Jake trod lightly in his presence. The crowd parted as the general approached the stage and Jake.

“Saw the firefight on UAV, pretty amazing stuff, son,” the general said, putting a fatherly hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Yes, Sir,” Jake said.

“General McLeavy apologized, but he will not be able to attend today’s ceremony. You’ll have to make do with me presenting your award. Is that okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” Jake said, practically bowing.

The ceremony commenced promptly at 0900. Despite the cameras and all the guests, the ceremony played out much like every other ceremony Jake had attended. A few nice words, followed by the general pinning on the medals, with a hearty “Grip and Grin” for the Army public affairs guys.

As the general held Jake’s hand, he leaned in uncomfortably close. `

“You’re father would be so proud of you,” the general said.

Once everything was over and done and people had begun to leave, McBride came walking up, his ARCOM medal hanging on his chest. “Sir, I really need to talk to you about something that came up this morning. We should—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Wesley Parker approaching with a cardboard file box in his hands and a large digital camera hanging from his neck.

“Well, Wes, didn’t think I’d see you here,” Jake said, turning his attention away from McBride.

“Hey Jake, I don’t remember you having a black eye when you left Salerno,” Wesley said, with a puzzled look.

“Yeah, that’s a funny one, Wes. Tell you all about it sometime,” Jake said nervously chuckling.

“Colonel Morris really wanted to be here, Jake, if only to take credit for the platoon’s accomplishment. He just couldn’t get away. He sent me up here to take pictures and get the paperwork,” Wes said.

“So you’ll be going back to Salerno today, Sir?” McBride asked.

“No, the colonel has got me up here for good. He wants me to prepare for the influx of our guys coming up here next week before flying home. You guys got lucky, beating the rush like this,” Wes said lethargically.

“When did you get here? I didn’t think there was another flight up here for another day or so,” Jake asked.

“Oh, yeah, that’s the bullshit part. They were able to stabilize Captain Slater enough to move him up here last night and got him a C-130 flight. Colonel Morris had me woken up at one in the morning, telling me I needed to pack my shit because he got me on that flight. The plane touched down here at 0600. I barely had time to get my stuff stowed away and get over here,” Wes said, yawning.

“Cool, Wes, what tent are you—” Jake’s words trailed off and he cocked his head to the side like a confused dog. “Well, fuck me running,” he said, to no one in particular.

“I don’t believe it,” McBride said, eyes as big as saucers.

There Jessica stood, arms crossed, feet close together. Her jet black hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing the same kind of surgical scrubs he’d last seen her in. Those perfect blue eyes made contact with Jake, and she gave him a small wave and a nervous smile. So, he’d been wrong. It had been Jessica all along, trying to cut herself into his hard-earned severance. Jake couldn’t believe her gall, trying to extort him in the open.

“I’ll be right back,” he grunted, stepping around Wes. McBride tried to grab Jake’s arm.

“Sir! Sir, we really should talk for a minute,” McBride said, but his words had no effect on Jake’s stride or destination.

“You got a lot of balls coming here,” Jake said.

“My God, what happened to your face?”

“Sergeant McBride punched me. Now, answer the question,” Jake said.

“You haven’t asked me anything. Why did Sergeant McBride punch you?”

“That’s not important. What are you doing here?” Jake asked, grabbing Jessica’s bicep.

“I came to see you. Jake, you’re hurting my arm,” Jessica said, squirming away from his grip.

McBride came up, put his hand on Jake’s shoulder, and leaned in to whisper to his enraged officer.

“Let her go, Sir. Don’t make a scene,” McBride pleaded.

“You’re hurting me!” Jessica whined.

McBride yanked Jake by his collar.

“Sir, let her go. I’m not asking,” McBride said.

Jessica stepped away from Jake. “I came here to apologize for the way I acted. What I did to you was childish and immature. I’ve calmed down and realized that you were trying to be honest and direct with me,” Jessica said.

“You think trying to kill me is ‘childish and immature?’” Jake asked, crossing his arms.

“Jake, I think you’re being a little overdramatic. I hit you with a stapler; I wouldn’t call that attempted murder,” Jessica said.

“When did you get here?” Jake finally demanded.

“This morning. I flew in with Captain Slater as a medical attendant,” Jessica said, her voice trembling. “I know, I know, they normally send an enlisted flight medic for that sort of mission, but I’m supposed to meet with Major Bradley today as well. I’m in trouble, Jake,” she said, a couple of tearrs beginning to trickle down her perfect face.

“What did you do? Or should I ask: what did you get caught doing?” Jake asked.

Jessica closed her eyes and took a deep breath, wiped her tears, and stammered, “I’m pregnant, Jake.”

Jake’s mouth fell open and the blood in his head rushed directly to his feet. McBride put his hand onto the small of Jake’s back.

“I didn’t see that one coming,” McBride muttered.

“Don’t you have som-something to do? Platoon Sergeant stuff, maybe?” Jake asked, tripping over his words.