Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  My retirement wasn’t in jeopardy and possibly never would be, since I hadn’t decided yet whether I’d put in the requisite twenty years of active duty. But I was smart enough to realize a discharge by court-martial would do me no good. It would follow me for life. I’d never be able to quit having to explain it.

  No wonder we’d so carefully avoided discussing our relationship at any length, tap-danced around it, frantically, beautifully, as if technique and style alone could cover our vulnerability. But we would not be able to ignore it much longer. Our crossroads were fast approaching, and one of us must make a decision.

  My mother had asked the general a question I’d never thought to pose myself: why not come out? He had an opportunity to make history as the first Air Force general to come out as a gay man while still serving. There were several high-ranking officers who’d come out after they retired, and even an Army one-star who’d come out as a lesbian while still on active service, but so far, no one had taken such a risk in the Air Force. But I suspected he would not be interested in making that kind of history.

  Where did that leave us? I had to know.

  “Traveler?”

  I waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, I repeated myself.

  “What?” he barked.

  “Have you ever considered coming out?”

  “Coming out of what?”

  He didn’t have to play dumb. It wasn’t becoming. I explained anyway. “Out of the closet. Letting people know you’re gay instead of pretending to be straight.”

  “Why would I want to do a fool thing like that?”

  I knew he was irate and upset, but his thoughtlessness angered me. “What’s foolish about it? Everyone on and off base knows I’m gay, after that article in the Times about the pride parade. I come out almost every day. Am I a fool?”

  He cleared his throat.

  “It’s part of who I am, Traveler. Why wouldn’t I want people to know? I told my mom and dad as soon as I was sure. All my friends knew, and it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t have to keep it a secret until I enlisted in the Reserve after high school. I had to remember not to tell anyone. It wasn’t easy, but I managed.

  “I like who I am, Traveler. I’ve never bought into the notion that being gay was something to be ashamed of. I think being gay has made me more aware of the world around me. More tolerant of people who are different. More likely to question, and less likely to accept the status quo just because that’s how it’s always been done.”

  An organization like the military, which too often accepts such slender premises as gospel, is really no place for me. But I suppose I’ve always been an optimist, too, confident I can remake the world to fit me rather than conform. The general’s faintly disparaging “hmmph” suggested that he did not agree.

  “To me, the Air Force is a job,” I said. “I take it very seriously, and I serve with pride. In uniform, I give the best I can. But my officer’s oath didn’t say anything about sacrificing my private life. At the end of the day, I have to be able to leave the NAF behind and pick up the rest of me. ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ is history. Now I can serve my country and not feel as if I’m betraying myself or my oath.

  “When I accepted my commission, I knew I’d be able to come out at work eventually. And I hoped I would find someone to love, maybe even a guy who happened to be in the service, too. And I thought I had,” I said. “That’s you, in case you’re wondering. Do you feel the same?”

  I had in mind to make him admit it, or at least confess otherwise. When he did not reply, I pressed, borrowing a point from my mom.

  “Good leaders lead by example, Traveler. Actions speak louder and faster than words. You’ve proven that to me over and over, from the first day I started working for you. Remember our discussion about the Air Force Core Values?”

  He nodded.

  “What’s the first one?”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “What is it?”

  “Integrity.” I could barely hear him.

  “Which means?”

  “Honor. Truthfulness. Reliability.” He paused and swallowed. “Honesty.”

  “There’s a reason integrity comes first, Traveler. It’s the foundation for the others. So I’m asking again. Will you come out?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “You can quit asking.” He sighed. “Life was so much less complicated under ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.’”

  I was incensed. “How can you even say that? It was humiliating, not to mention unfair. It was the only prejudice officially sanctioned by the Uniform Code of Military Justice.”

  “Even so,” he grumbled. “You knew where you stood. Black and white, with no gray areas. Everyone kept his mouth shut. In the old days, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

  “In the old days, we would never have known each other,” I said. “I would never have joined the service again if I had to stay in the closet. The only way I can put on my uniform in the morning and come to work is because I’m satisfied that there’s room for me in this Air Force as a gay man. These are the new days! Being gay isn’t a dirty little secret. I can’t think of one good reason why you would want to keep it a secret.”

  “I can think of a dozen,” he said, flat.

  “Such as?”

  He considered for a minute. “If I came out, people would rethink everything they ever knew or thought about me. Everything I ever did or said would be cut apart by people looking for clues so they could say ‘Ha! I knew it all along!’ Every good thing I’ve tried to do for Sixth Air Force and every damn unit I’ve commanded would go right down the sewer. I’d be the laughingstock of the whole force. I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of getting that second star. I’d have no legacy left, apart from being the faggot general.”

  He’d adopted his “company” voice, the same he used to berate me at the office when others were present. I didn’t like it. His tone suggested but one thing: how could I be so ignorant as to advocate his coming out? Given that we had no audience at the moment, I had to believe for once he wasn’t putting me on. As he talked, he quickened and lengthened his stride, as if to distance himself from this discussion, or perhaps distance himself from me entirely.

  I had a hard time keeping up, and not just with the pace of his feet.

  “Traveler, being gay isn’t the only thing you are. You’re tall and skinny and left-handed. You have brown eyes and a black mustache. You’re a Southern gentleman. And Irish. You’re an airman. A pilot. A leader. An opera lover. A dancer. You’re all kinds of things. A complicated, multifaceted person, a padlock with a fifteen-digit combination. None of those things by itself defines you. All the pieces fit together to make you Seamus Edwards O’Neill.”

  He shook his head. “If I come out, nobody will give a goddamn about anything else. I won’t.”

  “Ever?”

  He set his jaw. “Ever.”

  “Even after you retire?”

  “Even then. End of discussion.”

  “So, in other words, if we want to stay together, it’s always got to be a secret.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “How could we ever make any kind of life together? You’d be scared all the time I’d say or do something that would expose you,” I said. “You’re scared now.”

  “There’s no reason anyone would have to know.”

  “I disagree,” I said. “Do you see us sharing a home at some point?”

  He nodded.

  “How will you explain it to the neighbors? Or your dad and sister?”

  “I don’t know, damn it. We’ll cross that bridge when, or if, we come to it.”

  Could I live with that? It’s always been hard for me to hide my enthusiasm. Our vow of silence now was torturous for me. I knew I could never keep our relationship under wraps indefinitely. I didn’t want to spend my future in such a protective posture. Early on, I was confident, or perhaps sim
ple-minded enough to believe we could be together without sacrificing our honor, our integrity, or our service. Now I wondered if he’d catch me if I tumbled or step back and watch me fall.

  “There’s no point in doing anything if you don’t aim high,” he said. “Being out won’t get you promoted to general. Or even colonel,” he said.

  “So why did I bother? Is that what you’re trying to say? Maybe I don’t want to be a general or a colonel.”

  “You don’t have a thing to worry about,” he said. “If you wanted to get past lieutenant colonel, you should have stayed in the closet yourself. Kept your mouth shut and married a woman instead of announcing from the rooftops that you’re queer.”

  “I see how well that worked out for you.”

  “Check the shoulderboards, Harris.”

  I felt insulted. “You aren’t wearing any. If you want to be General O’Neill twenty-four hours a day—”

  He cut in, even angrier. “I am General O’Neill twenty-four hours a day. It’s a full-time job, seven days a week, twelve months a year.”

  “So there’s no room at all for you to be plain old Traveler?”

  If I thought such a pronouncement would stop him short, make him rethink his intractable position, I was wrong. His face remained stone. “Maybe not,” he said.

  He took his pipe from his pocket and clamped it into his mouth. I wished he would stop for a minute and light it. The ritual of packing in the tobacco and lighting it always seemed to calm him, slow him down. But he kept up his purposeful stride.

  If he wouldn’t give an inch, why should I? “What I was trying to get at before you interrupted me is this. If you’re so dead-set on following the letter of the military law all of a sudden, then we’re finished. We don’t have a choice.”

  He said nothing.

  “No more nights or weekends together. Strictly professional from here on in,” I said. “Do you want me? Or do you want the Air Force? You can’t serve two masters equally without compromising each one.”

  His sullen response did not surprise me. I’d heard it too many times. “I’m a general. I can do whatever I damn well please,” he said.

  Such logic might be unassailable if you’re a general. But I was a second lieutenant.

  We’re taught at an early age to respect the symbols of rank and to recognize our place in the hierarchy. For a new military recruit, the understanding of rank is paramount. From the minute he steps off the bus at basic training and an angry sergeant starts yelling at him to do what he’s told and do it now, he learns quickly. Anyone who outranks him can give an order, and if it isn’t illegal or immoral, he’s obligated to obey, no questions asked. Every branch of the military depends on the structured system of rank—people who are smart enough to keep their mouths shut, or who would never think to open theirs in the first place.

  Getting promoted depends on a variety of factors, including performance, politics, and luck. Exemplary achievement isn’t as critical as one might think or hope. Of course, competition gets stiffer as one moves up. Some good men and women achieve rank commensurate with their exceptional talents and abilities. But in spite of the system, some detestable people manage to attain senior leadership positions too, having clawed their way to the top at the expense of other, more qualified candidates. Is rank really the measure of a human being? We’re the same skin and bone under the costume. Some choose to wear rank on their sleeves. Others wear their hearts. I’m not sure it’s possible to wear both, to walk the fine line straight down the middle.

  I choose the heart. But I’m only a second lieutenant.

  “Okay, so you’re a general,” I said. “But you haven’t exactly been celibate these last thirty years. You told me once you aren’t the only general in the ‘club,’ as you called it. So you’re part of an elite group inside another elite group. But when you’re sucking some other general’s cock, are you worried about violating military policy? Do you think you pose some kind of threat to national security? How about when he’s sucking yours?”

  I’d never seen him look at me that way, as if all of hell burned inside him, and he would singe me with a glance.

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to laugh, though the situation was entirely without humor. “Since we’re lovers, unless you consider us nothing more than fuck buddies, I believe I’m within my rights to ask you about my competition.”

  “It’s none of your goddamned business!”

  He was right. It wasn’t. “But it’s my business if you want me to suck your cock, Traveler. Do you?”

  He took two steps ahead and stopped, his back to me. He muttered under his breath.

  “Did you say something?”

  He repeated himself, louder. “Damn right I do!”

  By this time, I was surprised we were still on speaking terms, but I continued to pile fuel upon his rage. I moved to face him, but he refused to look in my eyes. “In spite of any Air Force regulation. In spite of the Uniform Code of Military Justice,” I said. “Yes?”

  His strangled “yes” was the cry of a tortured man. I had to slit him, bleed him of his infernal indifference, even if I tore my own heart in two. He had to know himself before he could know me. Before he could know and understand and accept us.

  I wondered if what we had could stand a tempering in fire. Perhaps it was foolish to think we could be sure of anything as we surveyed this new territory. Perhaps we could do nothing but stake our claim, a little piece of ground for ourselves, and then work to fortify and protect it with measures yet to be determined.

  “I love you, Traveler, or General O’Neill or whatever the hell you want me to call you now. If you feel the same way, too, maybe one of these days, you’ll tell me. We can’t change the rules. But if we want any future together, we have to figure out a way to live with those rules, even if it means bending them so we can fit. I think we can. You remind people that you’re a general a hundred times a day, and you always get what you want. But there’s a time coming when you won’t be able to hide behind that excuse anymore. Drunken frat boys will call you a faggot, and you won’t be able to do a damn thing about it, unless you want to fight every single one of them. But in spite of them, in spite of this whole world, I still believe it’s possible. Do you? Do you even want to believe it?”

  A beaten man faced me, his eyes reflecting a life of sorrowful surprise. I realized then that even if he could have admitted he loved me too, his confession would be worthless under the duress required to extract it from him.

  Still. “Traveler?”

  We came to an intersection. As if propelled by his own impatience, he stepped into the street, not even looking both ways for traffic, and crossed against the light. A car screeched to a halt. The driver laid on the horn and angrily flipped him off, but he ignored it and kept walking. I stopped at the corner. I had to capture and hold his attention somehow. “Seamus!”

  I yelled it, angry, authoritative, a warning, and everyone within a block turned to look at us. We froze, a still life of a small but defining moment in a landscape for two figures. I’d never used his first name to his face, as if it had been some sacred oath. His nickname might be a suitable substitute on most occasions, but desperate times demanded desperate measures. The sound of his name stopped him cold. He wheeled around and glared at me.

  “Now that I have your attention, Seamus,” I hollered across the street, “I’ll ask you again. Do you believe it’s possible?”

  He hurled his “yes!” at me with such violence that his reply didn’t register for a second. When it did, I felt overwhelmed. My eyes spilled over, and I had to turn away from him. I would not let him see me cry. A moment later, he’d covered the distance from his side of the street to mine and wrapped his arms around me protectively. His mustache brushed my ear. “I’m sorry, Harris,” he whispered. “I’m not angry with you. Everything’s just happening so fast. I want the same things as you. I really do.”

  Desperate times. He gripped me more tightly. “Say you belie
ve me,” he said.

  At least he’d said yes. For that, I was grateful. But still. “How can I?”

  He sighed. “That’s a fair question.”

  He apparently had no answer. We separated, and he turned me to face him.

  “You have a real talent for tangling up my life, Harris Mitchell. You’re making me think. Hard. And I don’t like it because I’m a goddamned coward.”

  He’d said the same thing to my mother, but I refused to recast my ideal. We continued our walk, lapsing into an oddly uncomfortable silence. I could think of nothing to fill it except to ask what had transpired between himself and the guy in the bar just before we left. The general only spat on the sidewalk, clearly disgusted.

  “He said, ‘Hey, Grandpa, what’s your secret? Hypnotism? How else are you hanging on to that cute piece of ass?’ I think that’s what he called you.” His voice hardened. “I’m new to this scene. Is that what you are?”

  He might be my senior by twenty-plus years, but his petulance suited a surly teenager. My patience had worn thin after the circuitous, tortuous path we’d walked this night. Had he already forgotten his pledge to our future? This was not the sort of evidence that would sway my jury in his favor.

  “Of course,” I fired back. “A drunken, jealous queen will tell you the truth every time.”

  “Calm down,” he said, although he was working his own soap into a lather again, too. “I saw how he was looking at you. If you wanted to go with him, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

  I was livid. Did he honestly, truly not know me at all?

  “Traveler, if I wanted to leave the bar with him, there’s nothing you could have done to stop me. I left with you because I wanted to. Why won’t you believe it? Quit analyzing everything, and take my word for it. Are you trying to prove to yourself that you don’t deserve my attention? Some kind of self-fulfilling prophecy? How stupid is that?”