Solemn Duty (1997)

by Leonard B Scott

  Walking over to the west side of the depression, the young sergeant kneeled down by Pockets, who was sitting up, supported by two rucksacks.

  "You gonna be able to keep on the horn?' he asked softly.

  The young soldier raised the handset to show he still had the strength. "I ain't dyin' here, Tan. I been humpin' this twenty-five-pound motherfuckin' radio for four months and now, it's payback time; it's gonna save my ass. I gave the map coordinates ya gave me to the gunships. They say they'll be here in less than five minutes. I saw Fouk crawl back in-the gooks gonna attack us again?"

  "Yeah, looks like it Stay on the horn and be ready to pop a smoke for the guns. Tell 'em we'll need it in close. Maybe if the guns get here the clinks won't try and-"

  Green tracers whizzed over Tanner's head. He fell to the ground and frantically crawled to the claymore clackers that would detonate two deadly directional mines set up fifty feet away. Bullets chewed up the ground around the depression's rim as Tanner grasped the two plastic devices and talked to himself to try and remain calm. Those are machine guns firing, Tanner. They want to keep everybody's head down while an assault force moves in close for the kill. Wait, Tanner, wait till the machine guns l0 their fire, then it'll be time. Wait, wait. wait.

  Suddenly, the fire lifted and he heard shouting. Rising, he saw them rushing forward. Oh God! Two attacking waves! He ducked down, closed his eyes in prayer and pushed the clacker handles down. Although he thought he was ready, the horrific explosion still caused him to groan in pain from the shear violence of the ear-shattering roar. Covered in dust and leaves from the back blast, Tanner rose with his M-16 in his hands.

  Deafened by the explosion, he felt strangely all alone and very small. A black-brown cloud to his front was lifting, revealing what the mines' hundreds of ball bearings had done. Tom, darkened bodies lay in grotesque positions, but out of the smoke more men suddenly appeared, running straight for him.

  Screaming in anger and frustration, he fired from the hip at the closest man, only three feet away, hit him in the face, spun, fired, spun again, and shot another and another.

  Suddenly he was reeling back from a powerful unseen blow to his chest. Everything became blurry and he felt himself falling backward. He blinked to clear his vision and could see the green forest canopy high above him, but his eyelids became so heavy he couldn't hold them open any longer. He knew he was on his back but had not felt himself hit the ground. Got to get up, got to try and stop them. Oh Jesus, I can't move, there's something on my chest pushing down. It's pushing down harder. It hurts so damn bad' No, gotta fight through it, gotta try. I gotta try.

  Eli Tanner's eyelids fluttered and his hand twitched but he could not make his body respond. Knowing it was the end, he let his body relax and he accepted the cold, silent darkness that had come for him.

  .

  64th Evac Hospital, An The, Central Highlands.

  The ward nurse was seated in her cubicle updating patient records when a figure passed by her open door. Frowning, she got up and marched to the door. "Hold it right there, Sergeant.

  I thought I told you to stay in bed."

  Dressed in a light green hospital gown, Sergeant Dan Murphy slowed his steps and spoke over his shoulder. "Aw hell, Cap'n, I can't sleep till I know for sure he's gonna make it. Has he come to yet?"

  The captain strode forward quickly, catching up to the persistent patient. He'd been driving her crazy since he and the others had been admitted late that afternoon. "Sergeant, I told you I'd tell you when he became conscious, now get your butt back to your bed."

  Murphy stopped in front of the patient he was seeking, and had to grab the bed rail to keep from sinking to the floor. One look at his friend's face told him it didn't look good. He reached out and patted Eli Tanner's hand. "You stopped them, Tan. I wanted you to know, you stopped 'em cold."

  Seeing tears trickle down the sergeant's face, the nurse lost her frown and stepped closer. "Your friend will make it, Sergeant. It will take time, but he'll be going home."

  Murphy kept his eyes on Eli Tanner. "They're sending me on to Japan, ma'am. Will ya tell him for me and the other guys that everybody made it . . . except Fouk. He was our Cambodian scout, ma'am. When they attacked, Tan here charged right into them and Fouk followed him."

  Murphy turned and held out his hand toward the nurse.

  "Ma'am, give him this form." He opened his hand and a thick gold chain with a gold-encased ivory Buddha fell into her open palm. "It was Fouk's, ma'am. Tan should have it. None of us cared for Fouk very much . . . he was different, ya know. But not Tan. He liked the little dude . . . they were close."

  "I'll make sure he gets it, Sergeant. Tell me something, if you can. What makes a man like your friend charge into certain death?"

  Murphy looked back into Eli Tanner's face and shook his head. "I'm not sure, ma'am . . : love, I guess. It's hard to explain. We all got real close over the past months . . . tryin' to keep alive and all. Ya know everything about everybody. Ya kind of become brothers. Ya do all ya can to keep your brothers alive."

  "I'll walk you back to your bed, Sergeant"

  Murphy patted his friend's hand one last time and whispered, "Thanks, Tan."

  PART II

  PRESENT DA

  Chapter 3.

  June 1, Junction City, Kansas.

  The deputy police chief brought his cruiser to a smooth stop in front of a yellow-tape barrier. Holding a cup of coffee, he stepped out of his car and approached the two patrol officers.

  "What we got, boys?"

  The taller officer motioned toward a small rusted trailer house. "Old codger popped himself with a .22. Neighbor found him this morning when he was piddle up his paper. Looks like the old man didn't wanna make a mess in the trailer, he kneeled down over there by that cottonwood, and barn. One in the temple."

  "Ya find a note?" the deputy asked as he walked toward the body.

  "Not yet, we're still lookin'. The damn trailer is a pigsty.

  The old man was a juicer."

  The deputy leaned over the body to get a better look at the pistol and wound. He nodded to himself, seeing the weapon still in the man's hand. Standing erect, he took a sip of coffee and raised an eyebrow toward the tall officer. "I make hint to be in his late fifties . . . only a few years older than me. Watch it when ya call him an 'old man.' He got a name?'

  "Sorry, Barry. I guess the effects of all that Jack Daniel's aged him some. We found a driver's license and retired military ID in his wallet. His name is James D. Hollis.

  What'd'ya make of the gold chain in his mouth?"

  Shrugging his shoulders, the deputy casually leaned over the body for another look. He wasn't about to admit he hadn't noticed the chain the first time. "Looks like whatever the chain is holdin' is in his mouth. Here, take my cup, will ya? And give me your pen."

  "Aw hell, Barry, use your own. I only have this one and I gotta write the report."

  Sighing heavily, the deputy took out his own pen, wrapped it around the loose chain by the dead man's jaw and gave it a light tug. "A cross, just what I thought," the deputy said, backing up and retrieving his coffee cup from the patrolman.

  "The way I got it figured is, this sinner wanted us to know he'd found religion. Easier for the family. Soon as the coroner gets here, bag him. No sense in getting the crime scene boys involved. It's a suicide clear and simple."

  "Barry, Mr. Hollis's .22 wasn't registered. We called in and checked."

  The deputy shrugged again. "You two know how many unregistered guns there are in this town? Take it from me, boys, you don't wanna read anything more inta this than what you see. Hollis was drinkin' up his retirement check for a reason. Look at the trailer, his clothes, that beat-up pickup.

  How depressed would you get knowin' this was goin' to be how you lived for the rest of your life? I've seen this before... guys retire after twenty or thirty years and they find out they're in another world . . . the civilian world where nobody gives a shit. The Army
was their life. When it's gone, their life ends.

  They think they're too old to start over, and most of 'em are right."

  The tall officer lowered his head. "We'll write it up, Barry.

  Sure a sad way to go, all alone and all. Maybe if he'd found religion sooner?'

  The deputy tossed the last of his coffee into the dirt yard and spoke over his shoulder as he walked toward his car. "With that cross in his mouth, maybe he didn't think he was alone."

  Atlanta, Georgia Seated at a small table in his paneled office, Don Farrel, Special Agent in Charge of the Atlanta office, shook his head. "I don't like this, Stew. Are you saying I don't have a choice, I have to take him?"

  Sitting across the table from Farrel, Steward Goddard, the Bureau's assistant director of personnel, ignored the question as he unsnapped his attache case and took out a file. "Don, I flew here to explain all this to you personally. None of us like it, but we're in a situation. As you know, last week Burton took over as the superintendent of the schoolhouse in Quantico. The first day on the job he calls the director and demands the removal of one of his academy instructors. Burton says he'll resign unless the guy is gone in forty-eight hours."

  Farrel's eyes began to narrow, knowing where the conversation was going. "Let me guess. The director backed him up, and now you've got to put this agent somewhere. Why here, Stew? If the guy's a foul-up, I certainly don't want him."

  Goddard pushed the file across the table. "He's no foul-up.

  You'll recognize the name as soon as you open the file."

  Farrel opened the jacket, read the name, and looked up at his supervisor with a glare. "No way, Stew. Not him. I won't do it."

  Goddard sighed as he took a cigar from his jacket pocket.

  "Like I said, we're in a situation. Burton overreacted, and the director made a mistake in agreeing to stand by Burton's decision. You and I both know you can't remove an agent without cause, especially this one. The deputy director was left with cleaning up the mess, and he passed the job to me. We couldn't let this thing get blown out of proportion, and most importantly, we had to clean up the mess before the press found out.

  We made a deal with the agent to get him to leave quietly. He got his choice of assignments, and he chose this office, Don, so he would be close to his home."

  "Bullshit! This is pure bullshit, Steward! What the hell am I going to do with him? He's the most hated agent in the Bureau, and you expect me to take him?"

  Goddard rolled the cigar in his hands, showing no expression. "It wasn't his fault that he was given the task of running the internal investigation of the Ruby Ridge fiasco. He wrote a report that many of us disagreed with, but it was his call."

  "He leaked that report to the press, and you know damn well if they hadn't spread it all over the papers, the congressional hearings would have never taken place. We still haven't recovered from that exposure."

  "He was cleared of leaking the report, Don. Do me a favor and just look at his file. It's very impressive. He served in the Army and went to their Airborne and Ranger courses before going to Vietnam. In the war, he saw a lot of action, he even received the Distinguished Service Cross, the second highest award for valor. He was wounded very badly during a battle, but recovered fully after a year and got out of the Army. He used his GI Bill to attend Georgia University, then joined as after graduation. Because of his Ranger experience, he was assigned to the special tactical unit. Just look at his file and you'll see he's had tough jobs and done them all well."

  Farrel opened the folder and turned to the summary page of assignment& As soon as he began reading he started shaking his head.

  "He's had nothing but special ops assignments. Jesus, Stew, he's not one of us. He's specialized and an independent. No wonder the bastard wrote the report the way he did. He didn't grow up in the system. He never. learned to respect it."

  Goddard raised an eyebrow. "This isn't personal, is it? I know you didn't get along with his brother when he was in charge of this office."

  "Look, Stew, Jerome retired four years ago and I never met his damn brother. I knew he had one in the Bureau but I didn't know the details of his career. As the honcho of this office, I'm worried about my other agents. They all know about this guy, and like me, most of them don't believe he didn't leak the report. I don't need any more problems, and you're talking about force-feeding me another big one."

  Steward lowered his head a moment, as if in thought, before looking into his friend's eyes. "Let me give it to you straight.

  What I say doesn't go out of this room. The agent has already been promised he would be assigned to the Atlanta office. But I can promise you this, he will be here just under a year when he receives a letter from Bureau informing him that due to reductions in our budget, personnel cuts are necessary. He will be told that a board of his peers has selected him for early retirement but that he will receive his full benefits. What I'm saying, Don, is--we're going to get rid of him, the right way.

  It's the way Burton should have handled it, but the damn hothead didn't have the patience. As you know, Burton was named in the agent's investigation as one of those who tried to cover up the Ruby Ridge affair. Burton had been on the fast track, now he's sidetracked to a dead-end position. Don't you make the same mistake. You're already in a bit of trouble over the E. O. complaint filed against you by Agent Sutton. I'm telling you as a friend, don't make me tell the deputy director you don't want to cooperate."

  Red-faced, Farrel restrained himself from slamming his fist on the table. Instead he took in a deep breath and lowered his chin. "I'll cooperate, Stew. Do you have any suggestions as to what I should do with him?"

  "As a matter of fact, I do. You're not going to like it, but it will help you with your other problem, Agent Sutton. Assign him to your resident office in Columbus to work with the Army at Fort Benning."

  Farrel's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you nuts? That makes the problem worse. I just sent that whining bitch, Sutton, to Columbus a month ago to get her out of my hair.

  This guy is senior and would bump her down from running the office."

  "Tell her it's only temporary and that within three months you'll assign her back to Atlanta to work in your white collar crime division."

  This time Farrel couldn't control himself He slammed the table with the palm of his hand. "Goddamn you, Stew! That means I'd be giving in to the bitch."

  "Don, listen to me. The equal opportunity complaint she filed against you is no little thing. Face it-you blew it when you yelled at her and said the things you did. You don't have much choice in this one, either."

  "Stew, that prissy bitch pranced in here the first day she came to work and told me, told me, damnit, that I was treating her unfairly by assigning her to Columbus. She didn't suggest I reconsider her assignment or even ask me to reconsider, the bitch stood right there in front of my desk and demanded that I change her assignment to white collar. She was lucky I didn't throw her tight little ass out of my office instead of just giving her a piece of my mind."

  "Calling her a 'goddamn female squirt' was not smart. If you had left out female, you would have been all right.

  But what really got you in trouble was your last line. What was it . . . 'You damn women libber agents are ruining the Bureau'? What were you thinking, saying something like that to her?"

  "I'm tells' you, Stew, if you'd seen the look she gave me when she came in, you'd have done the same thing. She burned holes in me with those damn green eyes of hers. And the way she talked, Jesus, it grated every nerve in my body to listen to her tell me I was making the decision because of her sex. I lost ft. I admit it. She got to me. I've been in the Bureau for twenty-four years, and that little bitch with no more than four years under her belt comes in and accuses me of violating her rights.

  And now, now you're slain' there tellin' me I've got to give in and put her in White Collar?"

  "Afraid so, Don. That is, if you don't want to retire sooner than you thought. You shou
ld have looked at her file more closely before talking to her. . . . All the warning signs were there."

  "What are you talking about?'

  "See, that proves my point. Had you read her file, you would have known her background and been more careful. She went to college on a scholarship provided by the state of Virginia. . . . Her father had been a detective in the Virginia State Bureau of Investigation. He was killed in the line of duty when she was ten, and the state started a college fund for her. She got married when she was a sophomore at college, dropped out and worked to help her husband pay the bills for school. She lost a baby two years later, and when the hubby graduated from law school, he dumped her. Like I said Dcin, the warning signs were there . . . all you had to do was read between the lines.

  The husband dumped her. . . . How do you think she felt about men in general after that? And hell, if that didn't tell you something, all you had to do was read what organizations she belonged to when she went back to school. She was a Gloria Steinem clone, for Christ's sake. Look, Don, I'm sitting on the E. O. complaint at the present. If you bring her up and do as I suggested, I'll consider the matter resolved. If you don't, I'm letting you know now it won't be brushed under the carpet.