Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  “I’ve kept it pretty low-key. I’m trying to, anyway. There will be no press conference, but I reckon everyone in the NAF knows by now,” he said. “I spent a pretty uncomfortable hour on the phone with the four-star, but I brought him around.” He chuckled. “Yesterday, in the commissary, a young airman came up to me. Couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. He was quaking in his boots, but he looked me square in the eye and said thank you for coming out, sir, and shook my hand. It made my day.”

  “Now you can put a picture of your boyfriend on your desk, too.”

  “Do I have a boyfriend?”

  I bypassed the question. “Have you told your dad and Kathleen yet?”

  “No. Jesus! One thing at a time. I’m more concerned about your parents and what they must think of me after my little performance at the club.”

  “You lost a lot of points,” I said. “It was a critical error. Whether it’s fatal or not depends on you.”

  He nodded. “I put a letter in the mail yesterday. It was a hard one to write. I’ll call them in a few days, too, but I wanted to write first and apologize. Will they ever want to see me again?”

  “You can still expect a cool reception for a while,” I said. “Coming out helped a lot, but you’ll have a lot of work to do to get back in their good graces.”

  “I’m ready.”

  The puppy circled around me, sniffing my shoes and endearing herself, tail wagging furiously. She chose that moment to squat and relieve herself on the rag carpet in front of the kitchen sink, distracting us for a minute. I wasn’t as upset as the general seemed to think I might be, and he grabbed some paper towels and blotted the damp stain.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s an old rug. But it’s not too early to start paper-training her.”

  Listen to me. What was I getting myself into?

  “She’s got it easy. She’s still young and open-minded. Doesn’t know any better and hasn’t got any bad habits yet,” the general said. He paused to collect his thoughts.“I reckon I don’t have to tell you I could use a little obedience training myself.”

  Hmm…interestingly put, I thought.

  He continued. “I’m an old dog, and you know what they say about us.”

  “I do.”

  “If anyone can teach me anything in the way of new tricks, it’s you. And you have my permission to whack me with a rolled-up newspaper whenever you think I deserve it. I’m a stubborn old man, but eventually, I’ll get it through my thick skull,” he said. “I’m not willing to settle for a souvenir. I need you more than any other thing in my life, Harris Alfred Langdon Mitchell. There’s too damn much of you to put into an envelope.” He took a deep breath. “I love you. With everything in me, I do. That’s a true statement, and I give you my sorry word on it,” he said.

  “Will you put that in writing?”

  He shook his head. “You have my word. I’m not sure of the consequences,” he said, “but you have my word. About that second chance—you did promise, Hacksaw.”

  “I did?”

  “You did. Just say yes. Nod your head.” And then he glared at me. “I’ll settle for a ‘maybe’ right now.”

  He waited, expectant, eager, nervous, a little uncertain. As if for a fraction of a second I wouldn’t give in. As if he thought for a moment that I really had any other choice. Or wanted one. Under my scrutiny, his brown eyes watered and overflowed, and I was a beaten man. With less unwillingness than I intended to show him, I stepped inside his embrace. After a hesitant second, he attached his mouth to mine.

  “I’ve never been so scared,” he said when we separated. “If I have any excuse for my miserable behavior, that’s the best I can offer. I can’t say you’ll never regret it. You probably will sometimes, because you know I can be a real—”

  “Prick,” I said.

  “Prick,” he said. “I sleep better when I can wake up next to you in the morning. If you like to watch me shaving, I’ll cut myself to ribbons anytime you want to distract me.” I gave him, he said, courage to fight his doubt. Love, he said, could change what you want, and it could change your tactics, techniques, and procedures as well.

  He was learning.

  I had my own fears to face. “You asked me once how I could be sure that you were the one for me. How do you know you won’t change your mind?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “It won’t happen in your lifetime,” he said. “That’s as long as I can promise. Done?”

  I nodded.

  He wagged his eyebrows. “So I do have a boyfriend?”

  “Don’t you think that sounds kind of high-schoolish?”

  “I feel kind of high-schoolish right now. As for the photo on my desk, it’s already there,” he said. “Has been for months, in fact.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he said. “It’s the softball team photo from the summer, but we’re both in it side by side, and I’ve got my arm around your shoulder.”

  “I remember. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “It will have to do for the time being. And now that we’ve got all that settled,” he said, “there’s one more little thing.”

  He excused himself, went out to his car, and returned with a packet that he handed to me without ceremony. It was a single red rose, a little tired but valiant, wrapped in what looked like official correspondence on Air Force letterhead, with the blue seal in the left corner.

  He was a bit embarrassed. “I’m not in the habit of doing such things,” he muttered. “I never gave a man a rose before.” He clamped his jaw on the pipe stem and glowered as if he dared me to say a word.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He was still scowling, as if he were angry at himself for succumbing to a cliché.

  Curious, I unwrapped the paper and read its words. Succinct to the point of abruptness, the letter contained only a couple of lines addressed to his boss, the four-star. Briefly, it stated that, effective immediately, Major General Seamus E. O’Neill was resigning his commission and retiring from service in the U.S. Air Force. It had been an honor to serve, and thank you very much.

  “I don’t get it,” I said.

  “Well,” he said, “until my mouth got away from me at the staff meeting, this was my Plan A. I was going to retire, like it says in the letter. And I was going to rent a hall and hire a brass band to announce to the world that I was queer and planning to retire so I could enjoy it. I didn’t know how else to show what you, and us, meant to me,” he said.

  “And then you devised Plan B.”

  He nodded. “On the fly, you might say. But I can’t retire now.”

  “You could if you wanted to.”

  “No. I’ve thrown down the gauntlet. I can’t walk away.”

  I could hear the pride in his voice, and I knew he was actually looking forward to the fight. He’d tackle it, as he had every other barrier in his life, with lusty conviction and energetic spirit. The greatest hurdle had been cleared, and nothing would be as difficult afterward.

  “Guess you’re right,” I said. “I could resign my commission instead. We could wait a respectable month or two, and then we could move in together.”

  “That’s a possibility.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Do you want to resign?”

  I realized I didn’t. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do right now than serve in the Air Force.”

  “I was hoping you would say that. I want us to have that experience in common. So we’re agreed we’ll both continue wearing the uniform, at least for the time being?”

  “Agreed.”

  He sounded relieved. “I like it better this way, even if it means we have to wait a couple of years before we can settle down. You’re still going to have to sneak around and knock on my door in the middle of the night and hope no one sees you.”

  “So are you.”

  “I’m willing.”

  “Me, too.” He winked. “I’d hate to lose that two-star pension. It will come in hand
y when we go homesteading.”

  “Don’t look so pleased, Traveler,” I said. “You’ve got a rocky road ahead. You don’t know how hard it’s going to be for the next couple of weeks, let alone the next three years. How do I know you won’t start blaming me for putting you up to it? You’ll hate me.”

  “I won’t. End of discussion.” He took me into his arms again. “I offer you a dog and a rose and my sorry ass, and you’re willing to give me a second chance,” he said. “You’re more generous than I deserve. I can’t tell you how much—”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I said. “You have to show me.”

  “I know. Every day. Mending a broken promise is a lifetime’s work, and even then, you might still see the cracks. But I’m ready. It’s more important to me than anything, even if we still have this Air Force business to get through. It’s a mine field,” he said, “but I think we can get across.” He looked at me, stern. “You’ll be back to work on Monday. Correct?”

  I sighed and nodded.

  He seemed relieved. The puppy started chewing the shoestrings of his sneakers, and he got down on the floor with her. She transferred her attentions to his fingers, gnawing with needle-sharp teeth. “It’s just temporary, you know,” he said as they tussled. “You’re transferring to another base, away from my bad influence. I can find you a position at one of the units in the NAF. That way, I’ll still see you sometimes, and you can catch a hop back here on a C-5 to visit me. Do you want to go back into personnel?”

  “Not if I can help it,” I said. “Maybe something a little more invigorating? Although nothing could top this past year.”

  He grinned. “You’d be a good candidate for pilot training.”

  “Not on your life. One egomaniacal flyer in the family is enough. I could never compete.”

  He laughed. “Maintenance officer? Communications? Civil engineer? Cop?”

  “How about the Military Equal Opportunity office? I could do some good there, I think.”

  He nodded. “A sane and practical choice. I’ll make the necessary arrangements Monday morning. I’ll start the search for a new aide immediately, but you’ll have to stay on until your school starts.”

  That worked for me. Three years apart would be a long stretch, but we’d manage. We’d be able to exchange calls and emails, and I’d insist he continue to send me postcards regularly. Perhaps I could even convince him to get a cell phone.

  “It won’t be easy, but it will be worth it,” he said.

  I agreed.

  “I don’t know how the rest of the staff will take the news. They seem to think you do a good job keeping me in line.”

  Maybe so. But the transition wouldn’t be difficult, I told him. “Everyone in the headquarters thinks you hate me.”

  He seemed surprised. “They do?”

  “Sure. You’re so demanding, and you always seem to be angry at me. Always hollering, especially when you have an audience. Didn’t you ever notice? And you never call me by name. Linda is convinced you only do it because you want to embarrass me.”

  “Hmm,” he said, thoughtful. “They think I actually hate you?”

  “Yup.”

  “But you know this guy better than that, right?”

  I did. “I figured out a long time ago he was mostly bluff.”

  He paused for a long time and then sighed. “Remind me why you would stake your future on a guy like him.”

  Because underneath his mask, he’s a complicated package of conviction and wonder, mischief and fear, spirit and surprise, equal parts malice-with-intent and heaven-and-nature singing? That must be it. But I gave him three words. “I love him.”

  He stood, and we faced each other. “That’s enough,” he said simply. “He loves you, too.” He drew me to him, and I angled my head to take his mouth once more. He built a good fire, and we actually could teach conflagration a thing or two about heat and smoke and urgency. When we came up for air, he let out a low whistle and chuckled. “You pack a hell of a kick, Muleskinner,” he said. Then, as if I might all of a sudden be offended he quickly apologized. “I’m sorry. Harris. It’s just another stupid habit I should quit.”

  “Oh, hush, Traveler. If you start calling me ‘Harris’ all the time, I’ll think you’re mad at me. I can hear you, no matter what ridiculous thing you call me.” I suspected his nickname generator would never run out of ingenious ways to fetch me, and I didn’t mind. “I don’t know who will be unlucky enough to be your next aide,” I said. “And God help him, because he’s going to need it. But if I ever catch you calling him anything but his name, I’ll throw you to the dogs.”

  The puppy, as if to prove she’d heard me and would fully cooperate, took hold of the general’s pants leg and tugged, furious. And as we stood there, the three of us, I decided this was how our family should look. He drew me to him and folded me into his arms, strong and warm and familiar. When he sanded my neck with his unshaven jaw, any protest from me would have been pointless.

  “I don’t mind telling you, for the first time in my life, I’m a little uncertain about the consequences of giving my word,” he said. “This is unfamiliar territory.” Like a proverb, he muttered, “I’m a goddamned old fool.”

  “You certainly are,” I said. And foolishness in hard times is the heart of wisdom.

  “And for my part, you’re my compass. I need your north,” he said. “And, well…” His mustache loped on ahead of him.

  “What?”

  “My belly misses your hands.” He paused and shook his head. “That sounds dumb. I’m sorry.”

  It didn’t sound dumb at all. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew what to do. I reached underneath his sweatshirt, and inside of a minute, he was making the hungry sounds I loved. Nothing I could put in an envelope would ever match his contented sigh.

  “That’s it,” he whispered. “We’re home.”

  About the Author

  Richard Compson Sater retired from the U.S. Air Force Reserve after twenty-four years of service, having attained the rank of lieutenant colonel. He spent most of his career as a photojournalist and public affairs officer under the “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” directive that kept gay service members in the closet. He is a veteran of both Operation Enduring Freedom (Afghanistan) and Operation Iraqi Freedom. Rank is his first novel.

  Sater earned a bachelor’s degree in creative writing from the University of Pittsburgh, a master’s in creative writing from Purdue University, and a Ph.D. in fine arts from Ohio University. In addition to his military service, he has at various times been a college professor, classical music radio host, bookkeeper, bartender, and window shade salesman. He lives in Seattle with his handsome spouse and their dog.

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

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