Don't Ask - the story of America's first openly gay Marine.

by B. K. Dell

  “Give it to me!” Rider yelled the second he saw the bug. He stood up and rushed forward toward Brit, but Caleb grabbed him with both arms.

  “It’s too late for you!” yelled Caleb, but Rider was able to knock him completely to the ground.

  Both Jackson and Teflon jumped onto Rider, each grabbing one of his arms. It took all the strength they had, but they were able to restrain him. “It’s too late,” said Brit with authority. As he spoke, he gestured with the tongs. Michael Ponce could see the scorpion’s stinger bounce up and down as Brit shook it angrily at Rider. “Don’t you understand? You are already dead! You’re dead, already. We all are and you know it.”

  Rider saw the look in Brit’s eyes and he slowly stopped struggling.

  “But there’s hope for Michael Ponce.” He extended the tongs.

  “Do I have to let it sting me?” Michael Ponce asked fearfully.

  Teflon let out another moan from the pit of his gut. Caleb strenuously stood up and dusted off.

  “You are wasting too much time,” said Jackson as he forcefully took the tongs and the scorpion from Brits hands, he stepped impatiently over toward Michael Ponce. Michael Ponce flinched as he approached, but Jackson stepped past him to grab a half-eaten MRE that was left out. He placed the tray on a table, then found another pair of tongs. Michael Ponce winced when Jackson grabbed both sides of the giant insect and pulled it right in half. He then turned around and mixed its body into someone’s leftover mashed potatoes. He held the entire tray up and said, “No, you have to eat it.”

  Michael Ponce looked at the tray. The reflexes were still firing in the dead scorpion’s body and he could see lumpy parts of the potatoes twitch and wiggle. Caleb handed him a fork.

  “First you feel that burning acid feeling in your stomach, then you feel a clinching pain that will bend you in half. After that it is too late.”

  “I do feel a burning acid,” confirmed Michael Ponce, scared.

  Brit moaned again in pain as Michael Ponce scooped a lump of potatoes onto his fork. They could see that it had finally stopped moving. He drew it to his mouth. All eyes were on him.

  “Filthy liars!” He stopped. “This is all a ruse. It’s just a trick,” Michael Ponce said.

  “No,” said Jackson sternly.

  “No,” said Caleb pleadingly at the same time.

  “Let him die!” said Rider.

  “Come here,” said Brit as he grabbed the fork and tray and set them on the table. He grabbed Michael Ponce’s arm and lead him like a disciplined child out to the shower cabin. He grabbed a shaving mirror and turned Michael Ponce’s back to the mirror on the wall. In the small mirror, Michael Ponce could see his large reflection. His back was covered with dark red spots. His heart sunk. It had been wishful thinking. He imagined that these men could pull off a pretty intricate trap, but he did not know how they could put sores on his own body without him knowing it.

  Both men walked back into the hooch and Michael Ponce grabbed the fork and MRE tray from where Brit had left them.

  “Just think of it as a chocolate-covered pretzel.”

  Michael Ponce gave a nod and quickly shoveled the entire mound of potatoes into his mouth. He chewed as fast as he could and tried to swallow as much as he could without chewing. Through his stuffed cheeks, the men could hear loud crunching. The reporter’s eyes looked pitiful. When he finished the whole thing, he slid down to the ground and held his stomach. His face began to turn green and Teflon yelled, “You can’t throw up. You have to keep it down.”

  “Keep it down!” yelled Rider like a drill instructor.

  Michael Ponce’s body lunged forward and vomit spewed out of his mouth onto the floor. He spat twice, and still on his hands and knees said frantically, “Is it too late to try it again?”

  Every Marine laughed. They exchanged high fives around the room. Rider grabbed Caleb’s shoulder and shook it victoriously. Brit had already begun wiping Caleb’s artist chalk off his chest with a rag. Teflon grabbed an MRE tray, identical to the one in front of Michael Ponce. He poked at the mashed potatoes a little bit until he could clearly see that there were two uneaten parts of a dead scorpion in there, then threw it down for Michael Ponce to examine. Jackson grabbed a copy of the Times’ front page story titled “I’d Kill for My Father’s Love: Did Caleb Hertz go to war to impress estranged father?” and threw it down on the ground into Michael Ponce’s line of sight. Ponce didn’t think that they would ever see it. He did not know how they happened to get a hold of a copy. Perhaps they just acquired it.

  Caleb grabbed a chocolate-covered pretzel from what was left in the bag and threw it into his mouth. On his shirtless arm he bore a fresh tattoo courtesy of Teflon – a beautiful rendering of the Eagle, Globe and Anchor, and the letters USMC.

  Caleb loved being a Marine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Caleb was lying down reading a book by Gottfried Leibniz when Jackson walked up.

  “I have something for you,” Jackson said.

  Caleb looked over to see that Jackson was carrying a Bible. He knew that it was obvious he had just seen it, so he sat up and made wide sweeping glances around the room and asked, “Where is it? You should have brought it over.”

  Jackson laughed as he extended the Bible. “Actually, Stephanie mailed it to me. You remember Stephanie. She’s the one who wanted me to give this to you. So, if you are going to press charges…” Caleb laughed even before Jackson finished, “you’ll have to go after her.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t report you to Michael Ponce,” smirked Caleb.

  “Yeah, I get the feeling he doesn’t like Christians very much,” said Jackson.

  “I’ve gotten that feeling a few times myself.” Caleb grabbed the Bible, “Please thank Stephanie for me.”

  “I will,” Jackson smiled.

  There was an awkward silent moment and Jackson looked as though he was wrestling with a thought.

  “Um, so I’ve been meaning to ask you, when did you decide that you wanted to be a Marine?” Jackson asked.

  “Well, do you remember Stacy? He and I were in the middle of another fight…” He trailed off. “Well, long story short, I wasn’t happy with where I was in life and I had watched a Marine Recruiter reporting to work. I liked the way he walked and held himself so confidently. I decided I wanted to walk that walk in life.”

  Jackson smiled proudly, “And, now you do.”

  “Dude, you’ve been watching me walk? That is so gay.”

  Jackson laughed and found a place to sit down. “My point is that people can choose who they are. Didn’t you choose that day to change everything about yourself?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean our lives are not predetermined. I was always the type to be inspired in that situation. Another person wouldn’t have decided to become a Marine right then. But there has never been a me that, while in that moment, would have not become a Marine.

  Jackson thought about what move to make next. “I read his article,” he confessed. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “I kind of figured everyone did. Did you hear it won a Pulitzer?”

  Jackson winced. “What is wrong with people?” he cursed. “Anyway, the point is that you grabbed the flag. If the article was accurate, you seemed to be regarding your inability to reach the flag as proof positive that freewill doesn’t exist, but you have the flag.”

  “But I don’t have it. I lost it.”

  “How did you lose it?”

  “Three men attacked me in a Dallas alley. I knew they were going to rob me, so I shoved it in-between a drain pipe and the side of a building so I could go back and find it later.”

  “Did you find it later?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I realized something.”

  “Which was?”

  “It was unnatural for me to have. That flag represented the ability to change my sexual orientation, and everything about me, by an act of will. That flag did no
t belong to me; it belonged to someone else, someone who was born different than I was. And so I couldn’t hold onto it. If I had been able to climb to the top of that rope, then I would never have been in that alley in the first place and I would still have the flag today. I could also deny my sexuality for a while, but it wouldn’t be something I could hold onto.”

  “The flag does not have to represent your sexual orientation. The flag could represent faith in God.”

  “Jackson, I like you, I respect you, but I have more chance of being straight than I do Christian.”

  Jackson laughed, “That attitude is what I am talking about. You are picturing a small child who cannot climb the rope, but you are ignoring your own story. I have seen you climb a rope to the top; I saw you do it in boot camp. How do you explain that?”

  “Conditioning.”

  Jackson spread his arms. He smiled and said, “Freewill.” He added, “Even Rider could not, out of will, kill you on the spot. But couldn’t Rider choose to become someone who could kill a man as easily as killing a fly, just like you chose to become a Marine?”

  “Probably.”

  Jackson smiled, “I’m sure there is someone who could condition him to do that.”

  “SSgt Folsom,” nodded Caleb. “Let’s try to make sure those two never meet!”

  Jackson smiled. “So if our environment has the power to change us, and it does, you cannot overlook the fact that we have the power to change our environment. And, that is still not to mention the unexpected. The barn burnt down. You are ignoring the power of the unexpected - God.”

  “You’re saying that God burnt the barn down?”

  “I am saying that God burns barns down every day! You only saw three options, reach the top, quit or die. You were never expecting the unobtainable to be brought down to you. The flag is salvation. You’ve never taken into consideration the power of getting down on both knees and humbly asking God to change your heart into whatever He wants it to be.”

  There was so much passion in Jackson’s eyes that it possessed Caleb to ask, “Is that what you did?”

  “Yes.” It was a whisper.

  For the first time since they met, Caleb imagined that Jackson may not have been Christian all his life. He smiled, “Wait, you’re not really a virgin, are you?”

  “I never said I was.”

  “Wow,” Caleb’s imagination was running on overdrive. “You’ve got a lot of bad stuff in your past.” It didn’t sound like a question, but Jackson nodded. “You’ve done a lot of bad, bad stuff,” Caleb repeated.

  Jackson nodded again. “Have you ever reached a point in life where you feel like you’ve reached the bottom; you can’t sink any lower?” Jackson asked rhetorically. “There is nothing left in your life that you want to keep. It’s like having a car that costs more to fix than the car is worth; all you can do is scrap it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I scrapped it. I let all of what I once thought was so important go. I just let it go.”

  “Actually, I felt that way for a few weeks at boot camp.”

  “Yes, that is by design, of course. They tear you down to bring you back up again. The military knows that in the moment that you have nothing left, they have a blank slate, or for you to picture it, an empty white sheet of paper. They can draw you back in any way that they want. I think God understands that too. Those moments are so few, so precious, and so dangerous. When I reached that moment, I got down on both knees and prayed to a God that I did not believe in.”

  “What happened?”

  “I left the room I was in. I walked straight to my car and did not look back. I forfeited the deposit on my apartment; I did not even go back for my stuff. I never saw any of my so called friends again and I wound up in Phoenix. A short time later I met Stephanie, and another year later I had signed up for the Marines.”

  “Hmm,” Caleb said as he looked down at the Bible. He smiled and said dryly, “Well, I am really glad that worked out for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The firefight was intense. Jackson had his back to the side of his armored humvee. He did not know what caused it, but a sudden urge prompted him to look around and find Caleb. He was alright, though he was trapped by enemy fire behind another vehicle. A mysterious feeling of dread came over Jackson the moment he caught a glimpse of Caleb’s face. The two of them made eye contact and in the next second, the vehicle Caleb was leaning against burst into flames.

  Jackson did not wake up in a cold sweat as he normally would. This was no dream.

  Their security patrol had two humvees carrying big guns and one 7-ton truck. They were two hours out on Kassim Road when they made contact with the enemy. Everyone jumped out of the truck to hide behind it, as they had been trained to do. Brit was in charge and he ordered Rider to open fire with the M2. Caleb had his back to the truck’s wheel hub, with rounds exploding all around him. He wrenched his neck to get a good look at the enemy.

  The good guys were pinned down. Brit called in for air support. “They can get here in five minutes,” Brit cried out. The sounds of bullets popping against the armor plating on their vehicles increased its intensity. It was difficult to get a good idea of how badly they were outnumbered. Rockets launched from RPGs exploded into the ridge around them. Sand flew high into the air making it difficult to see and difficult to breath. Brit announced the amended countdown before the air strike, “Three minutes!”

  Marines know that three minutes can seem like an eternity.

  They had one minute left to wait when the humvee that Caleb was pinned behind was hit by an RPG. The vehicle was destroyed and Caleb’s body, on the other side of the direct hit, was tossed twenty feet. Jackson could see him squirming, stunned and hurt. His helmet was blown off and was nowhere in sight. As close as the explosion was, Jackson was happy to see him alive at all. Jackson ran over to him, despite the bullets flying all around. He grabbed Caleb’s arm to drag him back to safe cover.

  Finally the air strike came. The explosions shook the ground. Jackson threw himself over Caleb to protect him. Bodies of the enemy were lifted from their positions into the air, then instantly turned into pink mist.

  There was silence.

  Brit radioed in, “Target destroyed.”

  Turning all his attention now to Caleb, it was the first time that Jackson could see a stream of dark blood flowing from Caleb’s head.

  “Hertz?” He shook him, “Caleb? Are you alright?”

  Caleb did not answer, but his eyes were able to focus on Jackson. They were frightened and disoriented.

  “We need a medevac!” Jackson called to Brit. “Caleb’s hurt!”

  Jackson could hear Brit radio in for a helicopter to come and carry Caleb away.

  “You’re going to be alright.” Jackson was able to slow the bleeding and he pulled Caleb up into his arms to more easily apply pressure to the wound.

  Soon they could hear the rhythm of the chopper blade approaching. Jackson looked down at Caleb’s bloodied face and searched for something comforting to say. “It was the 121st Psalm,” he said. “That is where your mom heard that quote.” Caleb looked up at him vacantly and Jackson recited the Psalm from memory:

  I lift up my eyes to the hills,

  where does my help come from?

  My help comes from the Lord,

  the Maker of heaven and earth.

  He will not let your foot slip,

  he who watches over you will not slumber;

  indeed, he who watches over Israel

  will neither slumber nor sleep.

  The Lord watches over you,

  the Lord is your shade at your right hand;

  the sun will not harm you by day,

  nor the moon by night.

  The Lord will keep you from all harm,

  he will watch over your life;

  the Lord will watch over your coming and going

  both now and forevermore.

  When Jackson finished, Caleb continued to
look at him with the same lost helplessness. Jackson wished he could have brought him some comfort. The Psalm was the answer to a mystery Caleb had since his youth. Jackson would have settled for some surprise over discovering the quote’s origin. He wished he could see some evidence of a reachable brain inside that wounded skull, some evidence that the Caleb he knew was still in there.

  The head wound did not look to Jackson to be too severe and the bleeding had all but stopped; it was the look in Caleb’s eyes that concerned him.

  Two men rushed over to grab Caleb when the helicopter touched down. Neither of them showed too much shock over the extent of his injuries, but Jackson knew they would not make very good corpsmen if they had.

  When they loaded Caleb onto the chopper, Michael Ponce quickly followed. He was greeted by a hand pressed in his chest – ironically right in the spot that read PRESS – and was told simply, “No room.”

  Brit laughed at Michael Ponce, “Looks like you just lost your story, didn’t ya?”

  The reporter huffed.

  The corpsmen began to dress the wound and the chopper lifted off. Rider put his hand on Jackson’s arm, “That was beautiful, what you told him. You’re a good friend.”

  Jackson shook his head. “Did you see the way he looked at me? It was like his entire personality was absent.”

  Rider deliberated on his next sentence. He wondered if making Jackson feel better on one score, would make him feel worse on another. Rider decided to go with the truth. He said, “He couldn’t hear a word you said, you know?”

  Jackson’s head snapped quickly in Rider’s direction.

  Rider continued, “So close to an explosion like that, there’s no way his ears will be working for a while.” He added, “That’s good news. It means his head might not be so bad. Being so close to an explosion like that, losing your hearing, then feeling the ground shake – that’s got to be terrifying.” When Rider saw the look on Jackson’s face he punched him in the shoulder. “What are you worried about? You’re just going to tell him that Bible verse later, that’s all.” Rider did not use words like, you might, or you can, or you will get the chance to. Rider said you are going to, as if Rider could see into the future and had already witnessed it happening. Rider saw the comfort on Jackson’s face, the comfort that Jackson sought fruitlessly in Caleb’s face, and added, “That’s a promise, Marine.”