True Valor

by Dee Henderson

  Give Jill a hug for me. She sent me fuzzy slippers. I owe her a big one. I won’t mention what happened to my socks last week. (Actually it was pretty funny, but it will need to be told in person to convey its true dimensions. Those who think we Navy brats have boring lives have never seen us play.)

  Night, Bruce.

  Gracie

  Bruce reached for the pad of paper and pen he’d tossed beside his towel.

  Grace ~

  Thanks for starting that last letter with “I’m okay.” I can read between the lines. I hear near swim. It’s a sunny day here, 1500 Saturday afternoon. The sand is warm, the surf is calm, the water a clear rich blue. It would still kill you if it could. The Persian Gulf isn’t so nice; it would eat a jet or a pilot in a gulp.

  When Gulf Air Flight 072 went down with 143 people aboard while trying to land at Bahrain International Airport, I was stationed about ten miles away. The search and rescue went on through the night, and when daylight came, it became clear why no survivors had been found. The water was shallow, five feet in most places. It was strewn for miles with wreckage, life vests, clothing, and victims.

  It’s not the way to die, honey. If it comes down to a choice, take your chances on the broken bones and get out of the plane while you have a chance. You may dread yanking the ejection handle, but I’m confident that if it’s the best option, you’ll take it. Wolf would be miserable without you, not to mention Jill and me. Tell your nugget wingman to pay better attention next time; there’s a SEAL and a PJ watching.

  The thing is—I know an accident is as likely to happen on any day while you are deployed; the last trap is just as dangerous as the first. And I know what can happen during training stateside. You’re talking to a man who is very much a realist about such things. The military pays me to worry about pilots. I know the risks firsthand. You have a career built on no margin of error. So you handle it like most pilots by simply not thinking about it or that it could be you. That invincible confidence is a wonderful thing that keeps you calm, working problems to the very last item in a checklist. You’re in my prayers daily, Grace. I’m grateful you have such a focused intensity to be the best; it keeps you alive when those surprises happen.

  How about a mushy letter?

  I want to write you one without you misunderstanding why. I think you’re a special lady, Grace. And you’re coming home to the place you once said felt incomplete.

  Why don’t you try to close the circle and find that completeness? There are a lot of us around who see you for who you are and who would gladly make room for you in our lives. Me, Cougar—who bugs Wolf for news about you—Rich, who somehow managed to acquire your picture too. (Not that I wouldn’t have a few words with those guys if they dared to do more than flirt, but that’s another point.)

  With Ben you saw the separations as a problem that couldn’t be overcome. Grace, being apart is not good or bad, it’s just part of the relationship. We’ve done pretty well at a friendship for six months. Take a risk. Find out what you can have stateside in the next months. On the next sea tour you can find out if it can comfortably coexist with your job. That’s the secret of peace; it’s not complicated. It’s putting together the parts of who you are and letting yourself be complete.

  Do you have plans for your Fourth of July? I’ll be watching the fireworks here and thinking about you. Next year if we’re both stateside you’ve got a standing invitation to join me. See, I just planned part of your life. Life is about planning events that you would enjoy and keeping all those plans that life lets you hold on to.

  I’ve been trying out that list of things you were homesick for; it had some wonderful items. I’m sending you a big batch of Sunday comics. Enjoy. I’ve taught Emily to love popcorn. The TV with lots of channels has even less on it than you’ll remember.

  I’ve been lazing around the beach the last four days, feeling about as energetic as a baked clam. I’m glad to be home, Grace, but only to you will I admit I already miss the deployment. I was on the front lines. Now, I’m back training to get the privilege to go back to the front lines. Please don’t ever let the long days and the distance leave you thinking you made the wrong career decision. You made a valuable one, and I, for one, deeply appreciate what you do. I wish you were sitting on the beach with me today, able to see the civilians walking by. They have no idea what is being done around the world to keep them safe.

  The ring Wolf gave Jill is very special. I’ve never seen her so happy and so nervous at the same time. She’s looking forward to seeing you.

  I’m looking forward to your return home too. I miss you, Grace. August 26 is less than eight weeks away. Think of me occasionally between now and then.

  Bruce

  Psalm 34:7–10

  The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them. O taste and see that the Lord is good! Happy is the man who takes refuge in him! O fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him have no want! The young lions suffer want and hunger; but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.

  JULY 4

  USS GEORGE WASHINGTON (CVN 73)

  ARABIAN SEA OFF THE COAST OF OMAN

  From the vantage point of vulture row, the planes on the flight deck were being moved around like cars on a big parking lot. Grace loved to watch the activity. She’d come to the best viewing spot on the ship. Vulture row was a narrow balcony just aft of primary flight control, six stories above the flight deck, one of the few places where a spectator wasn’t in the way. Elevator one lowered two planes to the main hangar deck in the heart of the ship. It was a down flight day and a welcome day off.

  There were worse places to spend the Fourth of July.

  She watched Bushman land and catch the third wire. He was learning.

  Lord, all the sacrifices to reach here have been worth it. She was content.

  Bruce ~

  I have enjoyed your letters. Your last one has put me at a bit of a loss for words. Touched is probably the closest to capturing the emotions.

  The deployment is wrapping down, and tomorrow we will officially hand off offensive flight ops to the USS Truman. I’m at peace. It’s been a good deployment. I told Wolf before I left that when I returned, I’d be ready to move on. The low-grade grief that lingered after Ben’s death has begun to fade. Frankly, hard work is a wonderful remedy for what ails.

  I’ve made some fabulous friends on this tour. Living on top of six others does that. I’m going to feel lost those first few weeks home with all the space. Would you do me a favor and bring a handkerchief with you? I have a feeling I’m going to need it when I see Jill. I’m presuming that you will be there, and I don’t mean to do so. Already the awkwardness of translating a friendship on letters to one conducted in person has begun—forgive the stumbles as I sort this out. Please know I’m approaching it with no expectations. I’d much rather simply enjoy whatever comes.

  I’m sure I’ll be riding the ship to the pier rather than getting the privilege of being one of the seventy-five pilots who get to make that final ship to shore flight. I don’t have enough seniority yet. It’s probably just as well as it’s going to take me those last couple days aboard to figure out how to pack my duffel bags to bring everything ashore. I am always astounded by how much I’ve acquired.

  Rome should be excellent. Thanks for the restaurant tips. Heather and I are planning to have a wonderful time. I always have a problem setting aside the work to truly play, but I think I’ll manage it for the three days ashore. I know, I know. I’m in the Navy; I should have world tourist in my blood, but in reality I find it overwhelming. The language mix is confusing, the traffic incredible, the prices unexpected, and the history around every corner astounding. I’ll go to Rome and accumulate my one shore visit memory for this deployment.

  I’m going to do the smart thing and turn in now. Good night, Bruce.

  God bless, Gracie

  Nineteen

  * * *

  AUGUST 19

  NO
RFOLK, VIRGINIA

  Jill pushed open the door to Seaman Jones’s apartment with her left foot, struggling not to drop any of the sacks she carried. Her little finger was turning numb as the plastic bag handle cut off circulation. She especially didn’t want to tip the carryout containers of food. She made it to the kitchen and carefully lowered the sacks. “How’s the wiring coming on the new speakers?”

  “I’ve almost got it figured out,” Wolf called from the living room. She walked through to see. He had the stereo cabinet pulled out into the room. Wolf turned on the radio to test it out. “Were you able to find a fifteen-foot cord?”

  “Twelve feet was as long as they had.”

  “It’ll do. I wish Detective Reese would find the guy who did this. I’d like to have a few words with him. He ripped apart the back of the unit when he stole the CD player.”

  “Six weeks without a burglary. He’s moved on,” Jill replied, relieved at that fact. Scott was still convinced he would eventually catch up with the guy, Wolf was still growling about the fact she hadn’t told him what was going on, and Bruce—her brother hadn’t been pleased with her. She’d learn. Next time she would handle the situation differently and tell them what was happening stateside.

  Jill settled on the couch, seeking a minute with her feet up before she started putting away items she had carried in. She was drowning with welcome home preparations for her clients. Most of it was time sensitive, from groceries to getting them an extra hundred dollars in cash so they could easily get out that first weekend home without worrying about where their ATM card was and what their finances looked like. She was going to make it, maybe, if nothing else went wrong.

  “Thanks for helping me out.” The last replacement items for Seaman Jones had been delivered yesterday, and she’d been struggling to find time to get them unpacked.

  “I wish you’d asked me days ago.”

  She was feeling guilty enough about the workload as it was; dragging him into it had been admitting defeat. “It’s my business; I’m supposed to be able to handle it.” Wolf pivoted to look at her and she sighed. “Sorry, I’m still working on the partnership implications of wearing your ring.”

  “Obviously. You’re going to have to reconsider letting me be a business partner. I’m going to meddle; you might as well make it official.”

  “I’d rather figure out how to shove the business back into a reasonable box so it doesn’t keep interrupting the time we have to spend together. It’s a business, not the most important thing in my life.” He’d shown up at her place this morning with a sack of muffins, coffee, wearing a T-shirt that said Jill’s My Sweetheart. She would have loved the freedom to follow up on his hug with an offer to spend the day at the beach. Instead, she’d been forced to suggest she needed to eat in the car on the way to the office. She was tired of this job. Jill reached for the binder that contained her master plan, a sheet for every client, to see what stops were next on her list for the day.

  “The job is cyclical in its demands; quit fighting it. You’ve got this organized. Do I smell lunch?”

  “I brought Chinese. I’m organized enough to see I’m behind schedule. Would it be okay if I leave you here and go on to Craig’s?”

  “You should have asked Bruce if you could keep Emily a few more weeks. I don’t like you going to clients’ homes alone.”

  “I’m carrying in grocery sacks to stock refrigerators. Emily would go nuts. And I promise, I’m careful. There are fourteen more stops to make today. What about if I make the three near here and come back for you in an hour?”

  Wolf shifted back toward the stereo cabinet. “I’ll have the VCR subdued by then.”

  “Better you than me.”

  “Eat lunch first or take it with you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He laughed and tossed her his wallet. “Stop and get us a movie for tonight? When we stop for the day, you’ll have a reason to put your feet up for more than a couple minutes.”

  It was the best offer she’d had all day. “Deal.”

  AUGUST 26

  USS GEORGE WASHINGTON (CVN 73)

  OFF THE COAST OF VIRGINIA

  Grace wrapped the gift she had bought Jill in Rome inside her blue cotton T-shirt and added it to her duffel bag. She’d found the small painting at a gallery and fallen in love with it. She had to pack her flight gear, her uniforms, and her casual clothes brought for liberty. Her bunk was covered with piles. She’d already emptied her locker and her cubbyhole in the squadron ready room.

  Grace leaned against the bunk and offered a photo to Heather. Her friend was stretched out reading the latest issue of the shipboard newspaper. “Do you remember when we took this one?” It had been taken with one of the Polaroid cameras that floated around the ship.

  Her friend took it and chuckled. “My hair coloring had not yet completely faded to return me to a brunette. Probably six weeks out.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Grace handed Heather another one taken last night at their stateroom version of a good-bye party. “Did you see this one?”

  “It’s amazing what six months does.”

  “I’m now showing gray hair,” Grace noted, depressed by the sight. “Bruce is going to notice.”

  “He’s a smart guy; he won’t comment. Wear your cover.”

  Grace hadn’t worn her Navy hat since she’d been deployed. “I think I’ll have to. Are you standing the rails for the homecoming?” A large contingent of sailors were part of the official homecoming detail.

  “Yes. Want to join me?”

  “If I get packed, I’ll come up.” Grace hadn’t been assigned but she’d enjoy it. Sailors in dress uniform would man the rails of the aircraft carrier, standing at parade rest, as the GW entered port and was guided by tugs against Pier 12. When the loudspeaker on the flight deck called attention on deck, over a thousand men and women would answer with a crisp hand salute.

  The mood on the ship had done a 180 in the last few weeks. Smiles were back, cheerful good humor, a smartness to steps. They were ready to get home. Talk around the mess table had turned to family and friends. Bruce was right, the military taught you to value relationships.

  Grace turned back to her packing. She folded the pillowcase that had been her one special comfort from home. Books, music tapes, flight schedules, training bulletins—she found niches for them. She looked at the letters carefully arranged on the bunk by date. Bruce had sent her fourteen letters during the course of the deployment. Jill had sent her thirty-six; Wolf had sent nine along with half a dozen boxes. She didn’t want to know how many she had written—whatever the number, there had not been enough of them. After some thought, Grace put the letters in her flight bag. They were the items she would treasure the most from this deployment.

  She picked up the notebook she had made her temporary diary for this trip. In the first few pages were a jotted list of Scripture passages as she kept track of highlights from her studies. She smiled as she traced her finger over the list. God was gracious. He loved her. And life was good. It wasn’t a bad set of facts to go home with. Bruce said test and see how well the pieces could fit together; she was ready to find out.

  NORFOLK, VIRGINIA

  Norfolk was celebrating the arrival of a carrier group. Bruce appreciated that fact as he took out his wallet for the third time in an hour. It was a military town, and every business was having a homecoming special of one kind or another. Movie theaters, restaurants, clothing stores—everyone hoped to get those fifteen thousand sailors back from six months at sea to spend money with them by providing a special sale. Bruce paid the florist and carefully took the wrapped flowers.

  The first of the twenty-six ships in the George Washington carrier group had arrived yesterday. Bruce bought a newspaper on the way back to the car so he could check the summary for arrival times and locations. Roughly seven thousand sailors, marines, and air wing personnel were coming home today. The aircraft carrier USS George Washington was scheduled to pull into Pie
r 12, Naval Station Norfolk, at 1000. Knowing the Navy, it would be precisely on time.

  Bruce thought about Grace’s last letter. She sounded nervous. He smiled. Nervous was good. Anticipation was a wonderful thing. He was about to get a chance to establish a new first impression with her. How this relationship translated to face-to-face would establish the tone for the next months. He didn’t want to rush her, but he definitely planned to seize the moment. He had settled on jeans and a black T-shirt, trying to keep it low-key. He wanted her to settle into a relaxed pace of stateside life, wanted to help minimize the inevitable disorientation that came with the transition. Showing up in Air Force blues would just remind her of a hurdle to overcome.

  Bruce followed the map Jill had given him and parked in Open Parking Lot QP-6. He passed massive tents set up along the parking lot and large signs directing people with military precision to the New Mother’s Tent, Air Wing Tent, Medical, Children’s Tent, Hospitality Tent. The Navy was doing what it could to take care of the thousands coming to meet the ships. He crossed the street to join hundreds of others walking down to Pier 12.

  The pier was huge, allowing two aircraft carriers to dock, one on either side. Jill had told him she’d be over near the Air Wing tent. He finally spotted her at the refreshments table and made his way to join her. She was putting out giant-size cookies. He helped himself to a chocolate chip one. “Hi.”

  “Are those flowers for me or Grace?”

  He smiled at her.

  “I thought so. She’ll love them. Did you see Wolf? He was getting me the balloons.”