We turned onto Highway 24 and I said, “The main gate is about two miles on the right. When you pull into the gate get over in the left lane and roll your window down.”
At the gate, I showed the young Lance Corporal on duty my retired ID card. Deuce flashed his DHS ID and asked the young Marine if he had two visitors passes for Rusty and Williams. Once they showed their drivers licenses, the guard went into the building and came back out with their passes.
We continued onto the base and I said to Deuce, “A little over three miles, bear left at a Y intersection. That’s Snead’s Ferry Road. From there, Courthouse Bay is about 15 miles.”
“Fifteen miles?” Williams asked. “How big is this base?”
“Altogether, it covers about 250 square miles,” Rusty said. “Some of the best fishing on the coast.”
We got to the Coast Guard facility a little after 0800. The graduation ceremony was supposed to start at 0830. We found a place to park and within a few minutes Williams located his son. I asked a Coast Guardsman where the graduation was to take place and he pointed out the building. It appeared to be a small auditorium. There were only a handful of guests, as the class only had 20 people in it. Julie was one of only two women in the class.
We found seats in the small section of bleachers set aside for guests and within minutes a Coast Guard Captain came to the podium and the ceremony began. After a few brief words, a Chief Petty Officer led a group of 14 people into the small auditorium. Julie was the only woman among them and she looked real sharp in her dress white uniform.
The Captain described the training the 14 had undergone and praised them on their fortitude. At the end, he pointed out that one graduate stood out among the others and would receive the Honor Graduate recognition and be promoted, meritoriously.
“This Seaman,” the Captain said, “exemplifies the character traits and leadership qualities the Coast Guard is looking for in its non-commissioned officers. Not only did this Seaman qualify in the upper percentile of nearly all training assignments, but she was voted by her peers as an outstanding leader. Seaman Juliet Thurman, front and center!”
Rusty couldn’t contain himself and let out a loud whoop. I turned to him and said, “Can you maintain?”
Julie stood and marched smartly to the front of the podium and the Captain continued. “Seaman Thurman is the first female to graduate this school and has set an example for others to follow. Her knowledge of small craft and safe water practices has been exemplary, as was her performance on the shooting range.” Then he picked up a sheet of paper that I knew to be Julie’s promotion warrant, or whatever Coasties call it.
He walked around the podium and stood in front of Julie and in a loud voice said the words that we who have served could recite without reading, “To all who shall see these presents, greetings. Know ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the fidelity and abilities of this Seaman, I do hereby appoint Juliet Thurman a Petty Officer Third Class in the United States Coast Guard. To rank as such from this second day of June, 2006.” He continued, charging Julie to carry out the duties of her rank and charged others of lower rank to obey her orders. But, I didn’t hear all that. I was as proud of her, as I would be if she were my own daughter.
The ceremony ended with the traditional tossing of head gear, then the graduates were dismissed. Julie came running toward us, as we stepped down off the bleachers. She went straight into Deuce’s arms and gave him a long kiss. Stepping back, she said, “I’ve missed you so much, Russell.” Julie wasn’t real big on calling him by his nickname.
Then she gave Rusty a big hug and he was beaming as he said, “I’m so proud of you, baby.”
The Captain walked up with one of Julie’s classmates, as we were congratulating her and said, “Petty Officer, all the others have received their orders already. I was told your orders were supposed to arrive by special courier today at graduation. But, they haven’t arrived yet. Is one of these gentlemen your father?”
“Captain Osgood, this is my dad, Rusty, my ‘adopted dad’ Jesse and my fiancé Russell.”
He shook hands with each of us and I introduced Williams and his son.
Deuce introduced me to Petty Officer Third Class Jeremy Dawson. He was the other on Deuce’s team undergoing Maritime Enforcement training.
“I understand Julie learned her boating skills from the two of you,” the Captain said. “You raised quite a daughter.”
“Thanks, Skipper,” Rusty said.
“I’m your courier, Captain,” Deuce said. “Commander Russell Livingston, currently assigned to DHS.” He opened his briefcase and took out a legal envelope. “These orders transfer Petty Officer Thurman to active duty and reassign her to the Department of Homeland Security, Caribbean Counter-Terrorism Command. If you’ll look them over, sir, all that’s required is your signature.”
The Captain shuffled through the papers. When he was satisfied, Deuce produced a pen from his briefcase and closed it for the Captain to sign the orders on. When he finished, he handed them back to Deuce, who put them away in his briefcase.
“Does this mean I have to salute you now?” she asked Deuce with a grin.
“Absolutely, babe,” he replied with a laugh.
The others in the class stopped by to congratulate her and a few minutes later, we were back in the parking lot. At the Expedition, I told Deuce, “Why don’t the three of you head back to the hotel, so Julie can get changed? The three of us are meeting a friend for lunch and Luke will give us a ride back in an hour or so.”
We split up and I got in the small backseat of Luke’s black Mustang. Williams ratcheted the front seat as far forward as it would go to give me some leg room, but it was still pretty cramped.
“You know where the Gourmet Grill is, Luke?”
“That’s officer country,” he replied. “Not officially, but not many enlisted Marines go there.”
“First time for everything,” I said. “Besides, the friend we’re meeting is saltier than any officer aboard the base.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot and Tank had been right. Nearly every car in the lot had a blue sticker on the windshield, denoting it was owned by an officer. It was 1045, but Tank was already there, standing by the door in his Alpha uniform. Tank should have retired long ago. He was in his mid-fifties, but looked much younger. He’d been in the Corps since Vietnam, where he’d received the Medal of Honor. He always said he only stayed in, because he got a kick out of officers saluting him and the Corps allowed it because they weren’t about to push retirement on a MOH recipient.
A young Marine Captain was walking ahead of us as we approached him. He made for quite an imposing figure in the Alpha uniform, with eight rows of ribbons, topped with the pale blue Medal of Honor ribbon, the dive helmet and wings of Recon and nine ‘hash marks’ from his elbow to his sleeve denoting more than 36 years of service. The young Captain approached him, expecting to be saluted and Tank just stood there. The Captain was about to say something, when he noticed the ribbon on top of Tank’s rack and quickly saluted him.
After the Captain went through the doors I said, “Never gets old, does it?”
He gripped my extended hand and said, “Hell no, only thing I hang around for anymore. Damn good to see you again, Jesse.”
“Same here Tank. Meet a couple of friends of mine, Dave Williams and his son, Corporal Luke Williams. Dave, Luke, this is Master Gunnery Sergeant Owen Tankersley.”
He shook hands with both of them and opened the door for us. “Just a high ranked doorman these days. Hell, the Corps doesn’t even give me anything to do anymore.”
We went inside and the talking among the Marines in the restaurant came to a near complete silence as all heads turned toward the two enlisted men and the two civilians. Tank paid them little attention as he nodded to the hostess, who quickly escorted us to a rear table, away from the others.
“Have a seat men,” Tank said. “I asked the manager to set up a table back he
re just for us.”
We sat down in a semi-circle around the table and a waitress appeared and quickly took our orders. Tank, as usual, cut straight to the chase, “So, you want to know what happened to your son in Iraq?”
“I just want to help him,” Williams replied.
“It was pretty bad,” Tank began. “Jared was part of the lead element when 1/9 was spooled back up and he was assigned to 6th Marines when we deployed. Three months into our deployment, he and his spotter located a high value target in a house north of Ashraf. They’d been in position for two days, watching and waiting for a chance to take out one of Al-Qaeda’s top people. Once he was cleared to engage the target, he took the shot. But, the target’s daughter stepped in front of the window and she was killed. Jared was debriefed by a CIA spook, who made out like he’d killed the girl on purpose. I don’t blame the kid one bit when he flipped and started beating the shit outa the spook. Anyway, the CIA guy had connections, both political and financial. He took the beating kind of personal and railroaded your son, had him court martialed, and dishonorably discharged. I know Jared, he was a good Marine and had a real future in the Corps. Personally, I’d like to meet that spook, Jason Smith, in a dark alley one day.”
I was stunned at first. “Jason Smith?”
“You know him?
Chapter 6: Smith Revealed
Three hours later, we were flying over the ocean again, south of Myrtle Beach, SC. I’d been lost in thought ever since lunch with Tank. Jason Smith was Deuce’s, and therefore my, old boss, the former Assistant Director of the Caribbean Counter-Terrorism Command for DHS. Deuce hadn’t told me any of the details about why he was no longer there, or why he’d been transferred to Djibouti, in the Horn of Africa. I’d been there once, not a pleasant place and a wonderful place for him to be sent. To say I didn’t like the man would be putting it mildly.
“Jesse!” Williams said.
“Yeah, huh?”
“I said do you wanna take the controls for a while?”
Deuce, Rusty and Julie had been talking away in back. Deuce told her about Sunday’s plans with the President and the role she was going to play. They were now quiet, looking forward to where I sat in the co-pilot’s seat.
“Sorry, I must have dozed off. How about Julie and I switch seats? Maybe she’d like to fly some.”
I started unbuckling my seat belt and looked back at Julie. “Me?” she asked. “Fly an airplane? This is only the fourth time I’ve ever been in one and the first three were airliners.”
Deuce saw that I’d been troubled since we got back to the hotel and said, “Go ahead, babe. Just like driving a boat.”
I climbed back, sat down in the seat opposite Rusty as Julie climbed forward, took the co-pilot’s seat and put on the headset. Once she was settled in and Williams was busy telling her what to do, I motioned to Deuce. He took off his headset, leaned forward and in a low voice asked, “What’s on your mind, Jesse?”
Rusty leaned across the narrow space between the seats and pulled off his headset. “I need to know more about how and why Smith got transferred,” I said.
“It’s a bit of a long story,” Deuce replied. “Can it wait?”
“Smith was responsible for Williams’s son getting a DD. He was the one that debriefed him in Iraq two years ago.”
“Long story short, he was pissed about our sudden take down of the camp in Cuba and his not calling the shots.”
“I thought he was in the loop the whole time,” Rusty said.
“No, I should have let him make the call, but I knew he wouldn’t go for it and screw around, till Tony was killed.” Tony Jacobs was one of Deuce’s operators that came with him to DHS from the SEALS. A wiry, black guy with a great sense of humor, I’d grown to not just like him, but respect his sense of service. Several months ago, we’d dropped him and another team member, Art Newman, off near the coast of Cuba to swim ashore and get intel on a terrorist camp that was stockpiling weapons for an attack on civilian targets in Miami. Tony was captured and Deuce and I, along with a few other operators went in and got him out, along with the leader of the terrorist cell and the arms supplier.
“So, he complained to the Secretary?” I asked.
“The DHS Secretary, SecNav and the CNO,” he said, meaning the Secretary of the Navy and the Chief of Naval Operations. “He tried to get both you and me ousted for being insubordinate. But, he’d been a thorn in the side of all three for some time. He was only appointment ADD due to some political ties. Chertoff, Winter and Admiral Mullen conference called me and I told them exactly what happened and my concern about Tony being left behind. Smith’s a civilian and didn’t understand our creed of not leaving a man behind. Apparently they agreed, because the next thing I knew, he was gone and Stockwell took over.”
I thought it over a moment. “I wonder if there’s any grounds that might be used to get Williams’s son’s DD over turned.”
“It’s happened before. “A lot of guys in the last couple of years have been dishonorably discharged for things that weren’t quite right. Poor leadership in most cases. Want me to look into it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve only met the kid once, but he seemed to be a pretty decent guy and my friend Owen Tankersley vouched for him at lunch today.”
“Owen Tankersley of ‘they thought I knew where the mines were’ fame?”
“One and the same,” I replied.
“He’s still active duty? That was what, 1969?”
“It was1970. Yeah, he’s still active. He’s a Master Gunnery Sergeant, with 9th Marines.”
Deuce thought about it for a minute and said, “But would he stick his neck out for a junior Marine who was dishonorably discharged?”
“I think he would,” Rusty said. “Met him once in Oki. He was a good Marine then, always looked after his troops. Hard to believe he’s still active after 37 years.”
“Good PR for the Corps to have a salty old Non-Com with a Medal of Honor around his neck,” I said, then added with a grin, “Plus he likes having officers salute him.”
“I’ll do a little background investigation tomorrow,” Deuce said. “Maybe I can have a word with Stockwell on Sunday about it. Give me Tankersley’s contact information when we land and I’ll give him a call, too.”
We sat back and put our headsets back on. Williams was still coaching Julie and when I looked forward, she was on the controls, grinning from ear to ear.
We refueled in Jacksonville, Florida, had a quick bite to eat, visited the head and were back in the air in 40 minutes. Less than three hours later, we touched down at NAS Boca Chica. I called Jackie while we were on approach and asked her when she would get off work. She was just ending her shift, so I asked if she’d like to have dinner and would she give me a ride back to Marathon, I had something important to talk to her about.
We sat in the back of the Runway Grill. A few months ago, Jackie brought me here while I was recovering in the base hospital. “So, is this a date date, or do you just have something to tell me?”
We’d just ordered our steaks, so I simply posed the question bluntly. “Do you have a security clearance?”
“Ah, not a date then.” She looked a bit disappointed. Jackie is a beautiful woman, with long auburn hair, chiseled features like fine china and even under her doctor’s smock, it was obvious she took great care of her body. “But, to answer your question, these days all Naval officers receive a secret clearance, regardless of whether they’re a medical doctor or a secret squirrel infantry officer. Why?”
“Would you like to go on a date?” I said with a grin.
“I need a security clearance to go on a date with you?”
“Kind of a group date,” I said, still grinning.
“What gives, Jesse? Stop beating around the bush.”
“Okay,” I said getting serious. “What I’m going to tell you goes no further than this table.” She nodded, so I continued. “Remember that phone call you got, while I was still in the hospital
here? The ‘highest ranking government official’ that ever called you?”
“DHS Secretary Chertoff? Yes, I remember.”
“He said he wanted me to take him and a guy from Texas out fishing. Remember that?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my memory, Jesse. Would you just get on with it?”
I grinned again and said, “I need someone in uniform, with a security clearance to be Second Mate on Sunday, when I take the Secretary and the President on a fishing trip.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope, just got the call this morning. You game?”
She thought it over for about a half second and said, “I’ll get to meet the President? In person?”
“I already submitted your name to the Secret Service,” I said grinning ear to ear. “Hope that’s not to presumptuous of me.”
“It’s a date then! What do I wear?”
“How about a string bikini?”
She reached across the table and punched me in the shoulder. “Or whatever the Navy equivalent of the Marine Charlie uniform is,” I chuckled.
“That’s the khaki short sleeves, with green pants?”
“Trousers, but yeah.”
“I’ll wear the Service Khaki uniform then. Will I really get to meet him?”
“It’s a small boat,” I said. “You might bump into him from time to time.”
“But I can’t tell anyone?”
“Not until after he leaves. I’ll make sure there’s pictures.”
Our food arrived then and we ate. She asked me how my back was and if I had any more problems. I’d been her patient last winter, when I took a bullet in the back in Cuba. It tore a hole in my right lung and lodged in my spine, just millimeters from my spinal cord. She operated for three hours, to remove it and put me in a medically induced coma for two weeks.
“I’m right as rain, thanks to you,” I said.
“Probably more to do with your physique than my skill,” she said with a wicked grin. Probably remembering when she’d bet me a steak dinner that I couldn’t stand up the day after I came out of the coma. When I did it, I was totally naked. But, the effort got me outside that evening to watch the sunset and she was true to her word and bought both me and my First Mate, Doc Talbot, a steak dinner. Doc had been a Navy Corpsman in Afghanistan. When I met him, he was First Mate on Trent’s shrimp trawler. I managed to get him a spot on Deuce’s team, as they were in need of a Corpsman or Medic. He probably saved my life that night in Cuba.
Fallen Pride (Jesse McDermitt Series) Page 7