by Jack Dayton
“We’ll probably see you later,” Vance said as he moved to his left and the hallway leading to the back of the house. Guidry followed and they soon found themselves being ushered down a curved staircase to the lower level where more trays of champagne awaited them.
“What is it with that guy?” Guidry practically spat the words. “It’s impossible to have a civil conversation with him. He is so fucking weird.”
“Oh, and you were merely trading friendly jests? He has no sense of humor, Les,” the Gunny said. “Just sarcasm. Besides, it’s clear he is insecure around you.”
“Around me? What the fuck did I ever do?”
“It’s not what you did. It’s who you are. A highly respected Marine officer who is also much liked by his colleagues and much loved by his Marines. No matter what Kovak does, he knows he’ll never have that. He is envious of what he cannot have and that he’ll never belong.”
“Oh,” Guidry paused. “When you put it that way, I guess, yeah, it makes sense.” Guidry helped himself to another glass of champagne. “I guess I am quite a fine fellow when you think about it,” he said, raising his glass once again.
* * *
Vance and Guidry ran into a couple of staff people from the University downstairs and spent a few minutes catching up. Vance was surprised to see his friend from the University, Dr. Avery Quinn, in a corner sipping champagne. “What are you doing here, Doc?”
“You probably didn’t know I run with all the diplomats on Embassy Row,” she returned with a crooked smirk. “What? You look skeptical, Gunny.”
The Gunny raised his hands defensively. “No, I wouldn’t be surprised at your social connections, Doc.”
“Okay, I’m the plus one for Mike Rossi, Command and Staff’s Ops Director, alright?” She wasn’t dressed like the button-down academic tonight. Her strawberry blond hair was caught up and back as a bundle of curls, her textured jacket a mix of deep and light blues over a black pencil skirt and black dress heels.
Vamce nodded toward his friend. “You remember Major Guidry?”
“Remember? How could I forget? Major, weren’t you the military faculty instructor who wore a ghillie suit into class to make a point about exfil? A little tactical, maybe?”
Guidry laughed out loud. “Ma’am, I thought everyone had forgotten about that. It is reassuring to know that my teaching is still held up as an example.”
“That’s a fact.” She leaned in and pointed. “I think we are still using it as an example of what not to do.”
“Awww, Ma’am,” Guidry whined. “My students loved me.”
“Yes, no doubt,” she snickered. “They loved the distraction from critical thinking.”
They bantered back and forth for a few more minutes before Dr. Quinn excused herself to chat with one of the staffers. Vance and Guidry scanned the room. The downstairs was as impressive as the upstairs and much more to the Marines liking. The reading area they had occupied with Dr. Quinn had floor to ceiling bookshelves that gave way to a sunken theater with enormous recliners and a screen that seemed like it had been removed from a Cineplex. At the back of the expansive open space was a patio evident from the sliding doors and floor to ceiling windows. All was black beyond the glass and Vance wondered what was outside. A deck? Swimming pool? The lack of illumination made it impossible to tell.
To the left was a large alcove with a pool table and a small bar and on the right of the room, a conversation area in front of another fireplace with an inviting fire. All the spaces in that area were taken by young professionals who were probably embassy staffers chatting amiably and enjoying their drinks.
They drifted over to the pool table area. On the walls hung the story of Thor and Kiersten Siggordson and their three children. Wedding pictures progressing to the births of their children and then the obligatory command pictures. A few candid pictures of Thor, young and skinny, with camo paint on his face and gathered with a group of similarly disguised colleagues made it into the mix. Colonel Siggordson’s photos conveyed a life well-lived. Someone to envy.
Vance and Guidry were just turning back to the room which was beginning to reach capacity when they saw Major Dahl. He was talking to a server at the bar across the room. The conversation was intense and it struck Vance as odd that the usual calm, reserved officer would now be agitated about the way the cheese ball was maintained or the Chex mix bowl was refilled. So much for embassy duty.
Guidry couldn’t wait. “Oh, you beautiful doll, you great big beautiful doll . . .” He sang it out loudly enough that even the chatter at the fireplace trailed off to see what the commotion was about.
Dahl turned and spotted the two Marines laughing in the corner. For the briefest moment, his face was a mad mix of recognition, irritation, confusion, surprise and, finally, happiness. Then he caught himself, shot a glance to the server, a rougher version of the other young men in gray shirts and black vests holding trays and clearing tables. The tall dark-haired server nodded and immediately turned to the main room and left quickly for the upstairs. Aksel turned and allowed a slow smile to take over his face.
“Hey, Blow-Up, how’s it goin’?” Guidry reprised his nickname for their friend. Dahl shook his head, his eyes closed. He moved around the pool table separating them, his head still shaking. As he approached them, arms extended, he grabbed each of them around the neck and pulled them into a bear hug. Guidry clapped him on the back and drew away, crowing “How the hell are you, Dahl?”
Dahl finally met their gaze, green eyes brimming with tears. Vance’s surprise at Dahl’s reaction was equaled by his shock at his appearance. The dark circles under Dahl’s eyes were offset by the sharp cut of his jaw. Dahl was far from the robust military pro he remembered from their time in Helmand. He had been through some challenges, they knew that. The rocket attack in particular had been rough. They had been there when he was in recovery and knew he had some lingering issues but he had been judged fit for duty after rehab and consistently maintained that he had shaken it off. Vance wondered what had happened in the time since they had last seen each other.
His face betrayed events over the past three years that had taken their toll, although neither Vance nor Guidry could have imagined what might have brought their friend to this new, unfamiliar state. Dahl gripped their shoulders now, composing himself to respond. “Well, I’m better now but can’t figure out how you are here. Is this some kind of practical joke that I will pay for later?” He threw a sharp look at Guidry.
“Pfft . . . ” Guidry dismissed the jab. “Give me more credit than that, Blow-Up. This wouldn’t qualify for a practical joke. Not even close.”
Vance chuckled even as he eyed his friend with concern. “How’s embassy duty, Ax?”
Dahl shrugged. “It beats sitting in that shithole in Helmand with you two. I still can’t believe you’re here. How did this happen?”
“We were ordered to be here,” Guidry offered.
Vance interjected “How could we resist hanging with ol’ Hjertesar?” He completely mangled the pronunciation of the Norwegian term of affection, The Wounded Heart, a reference they learned while together in Afghanistan. At the same time, he nodded past Dahl to Col Siggordson, who was watching from the main room. Dahl turned and dropped his head again. “Thank you, sir,” Vance called out to the colonel who nodded in return. Siggordson turned then and moved through the crowd, greeting his guests again and chatting briefly with each.
Dahl looked back up to them, his face now betraying confusion. “Hey, I have some things going on . . .” Before he could finish, an impeccably dressed young man strode through the crowd to Dahl, grabbing his arm, speaking closely into his ear. Dahl nodded and turned back to Guidry and Vance. “Guys, this is my fellow staff office at the embassy . . . Major Rune Nygaard. Major Nygaard, these are two of my closest friends, Marine Corps Major Les Guidry and Gunnery Sergeant Roscoe Vance.” Nygaard nodded curtly, ignoring the Marines move to extend their hands. He spoke further to Dahl in Norwegian who roughly p
ulled his arm from Nygaard’s grasp and spoke back sharply. Nygaard’s eyes flashed at the Marines. “A pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me.” He gave a final look to Dahl who returned his stare.
As Nygaard retreated, Dahl turned back to his friends. “As I was saying, there are some things going on here that I’m stuck taking care of. I hate to leave you two unsupervised but if you promise not to trash Col Siggordson’s house I think we could hook up later, ya?”
“Hey, no problem,” said Guidry. “We should be able to find plenty to keep us amused. Where’s the pickled herring?”
“Not a chance,” Dahl hooted. “You aren’t here to respect the pickled herring.”
“Hey, Ax, let’s see if we can share a toast later,” Vance suggested.
“Ya, of course,” Dahl returned. He paused then, looking at both of them, lingering for a moment before he turned to go. “Really, guys . . . it is very good to see you.”
“What the hell is going on here, Gunny?” Guidry blurted out as soon as Dahl was out of range.
“Man, you got me, Major. That is not what I expected when we were planning this little reunion.”
There were more questions but before they could consider them, Thor Siggordson had taken the floor with a light tapping on a champagne glass.
“Greetings and happy holidays to all of you or as we say in Norway ‘God Jul!’ We are happy that you were able to join us for this annual gathering to share good cheer and experience the joy of the season. It has been an exciting and challenging year and the new year promises to present more of the same but that is when we can be sure we are truly engaged and making a difference. And that is why we are here committed to the mission of our leaders to reach across our borders and boundaries and find ways to support the true meaning of defense . . . to create a world of peace and prosperity for everyone. So for our new year, let us wish each other good cheer and the peace of the season all year long. Skol.”
The crowd returned the toast with a collective “Skol!” followed by the merry chatter of a well-wishes and festivities. Siggordson continued to work the crowd, Kiersten at his side. Guidry and Vance waited off to the side, knowing the colonel and his wife would eventually get to that part of the room. It was only moments later they noted the server who had been talking to Aksel earlier place a full tray of champagne glasses down on the felt of the pool table. Guidry raised his eyebrows. “You suppose those are all for us?” Before Vance could answer, they heard the sharp report of a weapon, followed quickly by another and then screams.
The server was pushing through the panicked crowd, shoving people aside to get to the patio door. He took advantage of the confusion to move rapidly and was out the back door into the dark before anyone reacted. People rushed to the fallen Norwegian Defense Attache, his wife, Kiersten, on the floor beside his body. The bullet entered just below his left eye and had exploded through the back of his head. Both of them were covered in blood. A cacophony of screams and languages added to the confusion with people loudly directing what they thought needed to be done.
Guidry and Vance knew the attache was beyond help but the assassin was out there. They fought their way through the crowd, moving as quickly as they could to the back door still open. A young woman in a white sweater who had been near the attache was spattered with blood and stood weeping, looking at her blood-smeared hands. A young man gently tried to guide her through the group to the stairs. Guidry dodged around them and was out the door, Vance right behind him.
Guidry kept moving shouting out “I got left.” Vance answering “I got right.” The space outside the door was black. They could hear the gurgle of a stream below them, a bridge strung with Christmas lights to the right. Somewhere ahead of them they could hear the rush of dry leaves as someone crashed through the brush as they broke into the darkness in parallel. Vance knew that one of them would catch up with the shooter. It would be the luck of the draw.
Chapter 3
The sun was starting to come up but the clouds kept the sky a dull gray. The wind blew the last dry leaves of fall along the pavement in front of the houses. Vance sat on the back end of the ambulance waiting for the crew to return and take his friend’s body. He looked down at his hands, Guidry’s blood embedded in the fine lines of his palms and knuckles. He took a deep breath and let his eyes drift up to the trees, their bare limbs rattling with the sharp breeze. A single yellow leaf clung to a maple tree next to the reindeer in front of Colonel Siggordson’s home, the wind tossing the leaf like a tiny gold hand waving good-bye.
* * *
Vance sat with his head in his hands looking down at his desk blotter, appointments jotted on the calendar. A woman dressed in a dark skirted suit stood in the doorway. Dr. Avery Quinn had knocked but Vance didn’t react. She came in and tentatively sat down in the edge of the chair next to his desk. Quietly, she asked, “How are you doing, Gunny?”
Vance didn’t exactly jump but he was embarrassed that she had caught him off guard. He buried his face in his hands, inhaling deeply before he emerged to meet her gaze, shaking his head. “Doc, I don’t know how the heck I’m doing.”
Dr. Quinn reached out and grasped his arm. She had known Vance since his arrival two years prior and had come to respect his leadership and refusal to take the easy political path. As the Director of Institutional Effectiveness, she had often found herself in the same position and she appreciated his direct, principled style. She had found him an ally when she might have been isolated bolstered by the fact that they were both natives of Ohio.
“Look, I knew Major Guidry. I would never have had the chance to know him the way you did but I’ve heard a few of your sea stories and I know what his friendship must have meant to you.”
“Yeah, he was a unique person, a bona fide original. I didn’t see that much of him but somehow knowing he was out there in the world . . .” His voice trailed off as his throat closed with mounting emotion. He shook his head. It had been a two days but he was still processing.
“Hey, it wasn’t that long ago. To be frank, I am surprised you are back here already. You sure you should be here?”
“Doc, there was no way I was going to sit home another day. I needed to get back here. I may never be ready but I can’t let this spiral around in my head. I had to get back in the fight.”
“What’d Casey have to say?”
“What can a CO say when his gunny gets himself involved in a diplomatic murder. He wanted to know why a gunny and Major were out partying at the attache’s house, for one thing.”
“You weren’t the only ones from the University at the party. I was there.”
“Well, I wish none of us had been there. You were lucky you were spared that godawful . . . ” His voice trailed off again.
“Yeah. They held us just to see what we knew but it was meaningless. We were pretty far away from . . . Gunny, is there anything I can do?”
“Nothing. It’s just that it’s so pointless. Why the attache? Why Guidry?”
Quinn kept her silence. She had seen Marines haunted by their experiences . . . the brushes with danger and death, the randomness of those who get past the IED only to see the next vehicle explode into flame and shattered metal, the ‘if-only’s’ they can’t get past. As different as the circumstances were, the pain was still as sharp.
“I have to go back out there to talk with the investigators again.” Vance eyes glistened. “I have to answer some questions they still have.”
“When does this happen?”
“I’m going in tomorrow afternoon. I don’t know how much more I can offer them but I’ll go. I’ll tell you this though . . . I got some questions, too. I am gonna find out what the fuck is going on.”
Quinn blinked. That kind of language was rare from the gunnery sergeant. “How is that going to work?”
“I’m not sure, Doc, but I owe it to Guidry.”
“I get it,” she paused. “You taking the train?”
“Yup. You ready to go?”
“I’m ready,” Avery answered. “Let me grab my gear.” She left and walked down the hall to her office as Vance closed the door of his office and changed into his civilian clothes. He grabbed his backpack and locked his door. Dr. Quinn emerged from her office and Vance met her in the hall. Sergeant Seelbach was walking toward them as they turned to leave.
“Gunny, you headed to the train?” He called out.
They turned and waited. “Affirmative. We ain’t lollygaggin’,” Vance responded. “Come on along if you can stand the company.”
“Aye aye, Gunny. I’m happy to accompany you all but I think you’re a little harsh on Dr. Quinn? She ain’t so bad to be around.” Seelbach’s grin could barely accommodate the dip he had just deposited in his lower lip.
Both Quinn and Vance smiled. “Oh, ho, Sergeant,” Quinn answered first. “Thanks for the endorsement. That means something, especially coming from a sergeant of Marines.”
“Oh, no thanks necessary, Ma’am. We are almost used to your Ohio State Ph.D. ways.”
Vance couldn’t resist. “I believe the correct reference is ‘THE Ohio State University, Sergeant.”
“And you would be correct, Gunny.” Avery nodded in his direction.
They left Breckinridge and crossed over to the broad expanse of green and sculpted hardscape to Warner Hall. A quick short cut through Warner and they were halfway to the tiny train station in downtown Quantico. The Virginia Railway Express or VRE was a lifeline for Quantico and all points north for federal employees. It was strictly a commuter train going one way in the morning, the opposite at night and never on the weekends.
As they approached the parking lot adjacent to the train platform, Avery sighed audibly. “Sergeant Seelbach, do you remember when we used to be able to cut through that open gate at the back of the parking lot?”
“I do, Ma’am. That sweet little short cut was a tribute to covert ops.”
“It was until somebody decided to call the Quantico PD and got it chained. Something about Force Protection. It only added about five minutes on to the walk but that five minutes can make or break your day.”