Chapter 3 - The Brass Arrives
Every soldier in that room remained frozen at attention, but their eyes moved. Two hundred pairs of eyes followed Colonel Sterling’s polished combat boots as they clicked across the gray linoleum.
Sergeant Reese was standing so stiffly I thought the seams of his uniform might rip. When the brigade commander stopped two paces from our table, Reese tried to recover what was left of his morning.
“Sir,” Reese barked, his voice tight with protocol. “Staff Sergeant Reese, Bravo Company. Sir, I was in the process of identifying an unauthorized civilian in the battalion dining facility. She is wearing regimental honors without documentation, and—”
“Shut up, Reese,” Colonel Sterling said.
The voice wasn’t loud, but it had the weight of an iron vault door swinging shut.
Reese blinked. “Sir?”
“I said shut your mouth, Staff Sergeant. Step three paces back and remain at parade rest until I decide whether or not to strip those stripes off your sleeves before lunch is over.”
Reese stepped back. His heels hit the floor with a hollow thud. His jaw was clenched so hard I could see the tendon jumping under his ear.
Colonel Sterling didn’t look at him again. He turned toward me, his shoulders softening, the harsh lines around his eyes easing into something that looked dangerously close to reverence.
“Captain Braddock,” Sterling said, his voice quiet. He brought his right hand up to his brow in a slow, crisp, regulation salute that stayed there until my old eyes acknowledged it. “Clarksville told us you might come down this month, but we didn’t expect you until the memorial on Friday.”
“I don’t care for crowds, Colonel,” I said, resting my hands on my purse in my lap. “Crowds make too much noise, and nobody listens to the speeches anyway. I wanted the chili. Fort Campbell has made good chili since nineteen-sixty-six. It was the only thing that tasted like salt and pepper after three months at Pleiku.”
Sterling let out a soft breath that was half a laugh and half a sigh. “The recipe hasn’t changed, ma’am. Even if the kitchen staff tries to ruin it.”
He looked down at my table. He saw the cold bowl, the half-empty glass of water, and the paper napkin folded into a triangle. Then he looked at Reese, who was standing five feet away, his face turning an ash-gray color as the realization of what he’d done began to settle like lead in his gut.
“Reese,” Sterling said, not turning his head.
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Do you know who this woman is?”
“I... Sir, I thought she was a visitor without an escort. She didn’t show her visitor's pass when challenged.”
“Did you ask her politely?”
Reese swallowed. The mess hall was so quiet now you could hear the compressor on the milk machine hum on the far wall.
“I asked for her credentials, sir.”
“You called her Grandma,” a clear, small voice said from two tables over.
It was the little private girl who had tried to stand up earlier. Her cheeks were crimson, but she stood tall, staring straight at the wall opposite her. “He asked her what her rank was back in the Stone Age, sir. And he told her to take that pin off or he’d take it off for her.”
A terrible silence descended on the brigade commander. Colonel Sterling didn't shout. Shouting is for drill sergeants trying to scare teenagers who forgot their canteens. When a full-bird Colonel gets truly angry, the air gets cold and thin.
He turned slowly to face Staff Sergeant Reese.
“In November of nineteen-sixty-eight,” Sterling said, every syllable dropping like a hammer on an anvil, “the First Battalion was ambushed five miles north of Duc Pho. We lost three Hueys in the first twenty minutes. The landing zone was under six-inch mortar fire and heavy machine guns from three sides. The infantry boys were dying in the grass because the medevac choppers couldn't get through the canopy without taking fire through the cockpit.”
Reese’s eyes widened slightly.
“One bird went in anyway,” Sterling continued. “It went in four times without door gunners because they needed the weight allowance for blood plasma and stretchers. On the fourth lift, the crew chief took a round through his throat. The pilot was blinded by hydraulic fluid. A twenty-five-year-old surgical nurse unstrapped herself from the bulkhead, reached across the console to help bring that chopper down in a clearing twenty yards from an NVA bunker, and then spent four hours in three feet of ditch water holding a femoral artery closed with her bare thumb while the mortars tore the tail boom to pieces.”
Sterling leaned in close to Reese’s face.
“That pin on her coat isn’t a souvenir, Sergeant. It’s the crest of the unit she saved. The unit you are currently dishonoring by standing in this room. That pin was struck from the rotor blade of the aircraft she pulled seven of our men out of before it burned.”
Sterling pointed toward the back of the mess hall.
“Sergeant Major Vance.”
“Sir!” the grizzled NCO barked, stepping forward.
“Take Staff Sergeant Reese to my office. Take his belt, take his cover, and have him wait there. If he says one word between here and the brigade headquarters, write him up for insubordination under Article ninety-one.”
“Move, Reese,” the Sergeant Major growled, grabbing the young man’s elbow with a grip that left no room for debate.
Reese didn’t move immediately. He looked at me. The arrogance was completely burned away, leaving behind the pale, terrified face of a boy who suddenly realized the world was much larger and much older than his own pride.
“Ma’am,” he whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood.
May you like
“Go on with your sergeant major, son,” I told him gently, without an ounce of vinegar in my voice. “We’ll talk later. You have an appointment with your commanding officer.”
***
