Hometown Heroes

by Joe Gribble

on the bench, waiting while Ramiro takes off his equipment.

  “Good practice,” Bob says.

  “Yeah. Aja’s starting to get the hang of that curve,” Ramiro says. “Everything okay, Coach? You seemed a little quiet out there today.”

  Bob nods. “Yeah. Been a tough week at work. Some of our guys got killed over in the ‘Stan.”

  “Oh, man. I’m sorry to hear that,” Ramiro says.

  Bob watches as Ramiro closes his eyes. His lips move in a quiet prayer. Ramiro finishes quickly and crosses himself. He finishes taking off his shin guards and stands up to leave.

  “How’s your mom?” Bob asks.

  “She’s okay. Ms. Kuznieski called me and told me everything should be okay. We’re back in our house, so that’s good. Dad’s still pretty worried, though,” Ramiro says.

  “You call me if I can do anything,” Bob says.

  “Will do, Coach.” Ramiro puts his gear into his duffel bag and walks away. “Later.”

  ---

  Dayton International Airport

  Bob stands on the concrete apron outside gate C-3. He wears his service dress uniform, an almost unfamiliar uniform he really hasn't worn much since graduating from basic training. Usually he hates wearing the thing. It's hot, gathers blotches of dust like a magnet, and the shoes are uncomfortable. He is much more comfortable wearing his camouflaged Airman Battle Uniform. They suit him better, too. Service dress is usually reserved for the airmen that fly desks, not the men like him who carry sidearms and go out on patrol. But today is different. Today Bob is proud to wear his service dress. Today he is welcoming home a brother.

  Nearby, a hearse and a blue Air Force passenger van wait patiently.

  The wait was short. Bob hears the jet before he sees it, before it turns into the alleyway between the two small terminals.

  The engine noise increases as the pilot drives the plane up to the Jetway, guided in by the civilian workers. Once in place, the pilot kills the engines. He spots Bob from the cockpit and waves a kind of half salute.

  Bob waits as the engines spin down to silence.

  ---

  Up in the plane, the captain speaks over the intercom, asking the passengers to remain seated until the official escort can depart the plane. This allows an airman, also dressed in blues, to be the first person out of the plane. When he gets onto the Jetway, instead of continuing into the terminal, he opens a door and climbs down the ladder. Once on the concrete, he straightens his own uniform, then turns and marches crisply, with precisely turned corners, to the airplane’s cargo door. He does a smart about face and stands at attention facing away from the airplane.

  The hearse and the Air Force van pull closer. Captain Peters, the chaplain, steps out of the hearse’s passenger seat, clutching a Bible to his chest. He walks up to Bob.

  “Sergeant Williams, I didn’t know you’d be here to greet Master Sergeant Walters,” Captain Peters said.

  “I had to be here, sir,” Bob says. “I knew him. Last time I saw him, I was trying to strike him out. He was a pretty good stick.”

  Nearby, Major Kepler and a group of airmen, also in dress blues, step out of the Air Force van. Kepler carries a folded American flag under his left arm. The men quickly form up in a column of twos and check their uniforms. Major Kepler brings them to attention, and then conducts his own inspection. Once satisfied, he orders, “Slow… march.” The men begin making their way to the jet, their steps in slow, yet precise, order.

  Bob and the chaplain come to attention when the procession moves past them.

  Baggage handlers open the airplane’s cargo door. One of the baggage handlers crawls into the hold.

  As Kepler’s detail approaches the aircraft, he calls a halt. He exchanges salutes with the official escort standing guard at the cargo door. The escort marches over to the side and stops in a position so he can monitor the next leg of his airman’s journey.

  Kepler orders his detail the last few steps up to the plane where the men stop, lined up on either side of the cargo door. At Kepler’s command of “Center… face,” they turn crisply and face each other.

  Kepler steps between the columns and stops at the cargo door. He begins unfolding the flag he has been carrying and places it on the end of a dark blue casket the handlers have maneuvered toward the door. Kepler hands the flag to the airman closest to the cargo door and then grabs the handle at the end of the casket. As he slowly pulls the casket out of the plane, the two airmen closest to the cargo door unfold the flag and the other airmen take a hold on the casket side rails. Once the casket is all the way out of the plane, and in the loving hands of the airmen, Major Kepler releases his grip and steps back. He renders a slow hand salute and drops it just as slowly. He does an about-face and barks an order over his shoulder. The airmen face front, then on command they slowly follow Major Kepler as he leads them to the hearse. The official escort falls in behind the casket, bringing up the rear.

  As the procession moves, all the ground workers stop what they are doing. Several take off their hats. Even the baggage handlers stop what they’re doing to show their respect. One of them salutes. The bags can wait.

  The captain and first officer of the plane climb down the ladder from the Jetway and come to attention. As if they were in the military, which they probably were at one time, if not still in the Reserves or National Guard, they come to attention and offer crisp salutes of their own.

  The procession moves past Bob and Captain Peters. Peters snaps his own salute.

  Bob hates the fact he can’t salute, but he doesn’t have an arm to salute with, so he just stands at rigid attention.

  As the casket passes, Captain Peters drops his salute.

  “We called him Sergeant Invincible,” Bob says as the airmen begin pushing the coffin into the hearse. “I guess he wasn’t so invincible after all.”

  “Some men… some leaders… can make us believe nothing can hurt them,” Captain Peters says, “but in war, we quickly find out only God is invincible.”

  Once the Master Sergeant’s body is in the hearse, the official escort gets in the passenger’s seat. Kepler’s detail marches to the van, then gets inside it.

  “You need a ride?” Bob asks Captain Peters.

  “I’m supposed to ride back with Major Kepler.”

  “I was thinking it would give us a minute to talk,” Bob says.

  “Of course,” Captain Peters says.

  Bob’s truck is nearby, with a special ramp parking pass. He leads the Chaplain to it and they get in. Bob pulls in behind the hearse and they begin the ride back to the base where the ceremony is to begin.

  They are both astounded to see the massive community turnout on the thirty minute trip to the base. Every overpass is crowded with local people paying their respects, and thousands of cars line the road. American flags wave from almost every hand.

  Bob is quiet for the first half of the trip, listening to some of the chaplain’s stories about his own time in the desert. It turns out they shared many of the same experiences: fear, distrust, loss of friends… During the last fifteen minutes of the ride, Bob begins sharing his own story with Chaplain Peters. Peters listens without offering advice or suggestions. Just listens. Bob realizes it is good therapy, and before they get to the ceremony, he has accepted the chaplain’s offer to get together again. Bob knows he has a long way to go.

  The ceremony for Master Sergeant Williams is moving. Most of the base community—thousands of people—attend to pay their respects. Bob drifts through it, his mind often wandering back to his own time in the ‘Stan, remembering his last ball game there, and Master Sergeant Williams creaming the fastball Bob threw, letting the young Afghan teen make his first score in a baseball game.

  ---

  Root Beer Stand

  The rustic Root Beer Stand is a throwback to the old days. A covered parking area allows patrons to drive into a stall and ”car hops,” some of them on roller skates, provide the service.

  Julie and her d
aughter sit in their car, reviewing the menu. “Grilled cheese?” Julie asks.

  “And root beer,” Sarah says.

  The car hop rolls up to the window. “Are you ready to order yet, ma'am?” she asks.

  "I'm hungry, Mommy,” Sarah says.

  “Okay, Sarah,” Julie says. She turns to the car hop. “May we have a hamburger, one grilled cheese, and two root beers, please?”

  The car hop quickly writes down the order. “Yes, ma'am,” she says and rolls away to place the order.

  Julie looks at her phone, and then hits redial.

  “I don't think he's coming, Mommy,” Sarah says.

  Julie listens. She finally kills the connection. “He's still not answering. I'm getting worried.” She hesitates, and then takes a business card out of her purse. She dials her phone and waits.

  “Major Kepler,” comes the answer on the other end.

  “Major, this is Julie Kuznieski.”

  ---

  Security Forces Headquarters

  Kepler puts down his sandwich.

  Julie’s voice is scratchy as it comes out of the desk phone speaker. “He was supposed to meet us, but he's not answering. Have you heard from him?”

  Kepler hits a few keys on his computer. A map flashes up on his screen. Kepler zooms in on a red, flashing circle.

  He turns to the phone. “I think I know where he is. I'll see what's going on. Thanks for letting me know.”

  “Ask him to call me, please,” Julie asks.

  “I will,” Kepler says. He stabs at the speaker key on the phone, shutting it off, and then grabs his sandwich and his hat on his way out.

  ---

  McGuffy’s Bar

  McGuffy’s is a biker bar, a favorite of the locals and many off-duty cops. Bob wears civilian clothes, sitting at a table near the muted, big-screen TV. Only a few other people are in the bar.

  A half-empty beer and a full shot glass are on the table in front of him.

  Major Kepler walks in from outside. He takes off his sunglasses and scans the bar. He spots Bob sitting alone and walks over.

  Kepler pulls out a chair and sits down. “When you asked for the day off, I didn't know you'd be going on a bender.”

  “Just celebrating Johnny’s birthday. He would’ve been twenty eight today,” Bob says.

  “You guys were pretty close?” Kepler asks.

  “He was as close to a brother as a man could have. I met Johnny when we were both twelve. Foster home with ten other kids. But we hit it off right away. We both loved baseball. We had plans, had a pact. We were going to play in the majors.”

  “He was good?”

  ”Best catcher ever,” Bob says as he takes a drink of his beer. He puts it back down, pauses, then slams his fist onto the table. “It should’ve been me!”

  “It wasn’t your time, Bob,” Kepler says.

  “You don’t understand. It was all my idea. I talked Johnny into joining the Air Force with me. A way for us to escape that little dump of a town. If I hadn’t...” a tear rolls down Bob’s face. “It should’ve been me.”

  Bob tosses the shot back, chases it with beer. He looks down at his missing arm. “I’d have been better off.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Kepler says. “That’s the booze talking. I think there’s a reason you’re here. You don’t see it, but you have a gift.”

  “That's what everyone used to say,” Bob says. He twists around and points his injured limb at Kepler. “Those damned Afghans took my gift.”

  Kepler shakes his head. “Not that. That was a physical gift, but you have another gift—I see it when you're with your team.”

  “Team?” Bob says. “Just a bunch of kids trying to play baseball.”

  “You know there’s more to it than that. Those are kids trying to live their dreams, and you're helping them do that.” Major Kepler leans in close to Bob. “Johnny had a dream, too. You can't help him. But those guys on your team, they look up to you... depend on you.”

  “Speaking of which...” Bob checks his watch. “Game tonight. Guess I better get going.”

  “I'm not going to let the team see you like this, “Kepler says. “I'm taking you home.”

  Bob starts to finish his beer, but puts it back down. “Maybe you could drop me off at the Chaplain’s office?”

  --

  Rangers Baseball Field

  The Bandits stand near their dugout, watching as the Rangers come in from their warm up.

  The umpire dusts off the plate.

  “Where’s Coach?” Shinji asks.

  “Ain’t no one heard from him?” JJ asks. “We can’t play without him.”

  “We can if we have to,” Ramiro says.

  The umpire strolls over. “You guys ready?”

  “Just waitin’ on our coach,” JJ says.

  The umpire checks his watch. “We gotta get started.”

  “Coach has our gear,” Ramiro says.

  “We can’t forfeit,” JJ says.

  The umpire waves for one of the Rangers to come over. “The Rangers are good guys. I bet I can get them to share. Hang on.” He heads back, meeting the Rangers’ coach near home plate.

  “JJ, you’re up. Shinji, on deck,” Ramiro says.

  “Got no bat,” JJ says. “I hope Coach is okay. It’s not like him to not show.”

  “He’s under a lot of stress,” Aja says. “I see it in his eyes. I’ve seen it before. Many times.”

  “Coach’ll be all right,” Ramiro says. “Let’s just go win one for him.”

  One of the Rangers brings over a load of bats and a couple of helmets. “Just don’t break any of ‘em. Bring ‘em back over after your first three batters strike out,” he says with a wide grin.

  Ramiro shakes his hand. “Thanks, and we will… bring them back, that is—no intentions of striking out.”

  The Ranger player heads back to his bench. He shouts back over his shoulder. “Good luck!”

  ---

  Security Forces Headquarters

  Airman Jones steps inside the break room.

  Both rent-a-cops are in their usual place, sitting at the table, drinking coffee.

  Airman Jones steps smartly up to the tote board and marks a final W for the last game. He turns to face the rent-a-cops. “They’re in the playoffs. Now what do you think?”

  Paul takes a swig of his coffee, looks at the airman. “Luck.”

  ---

  Bandits Baseball Field

  The Bandits, still without a coach, practice fielding.

  Bob leans against his car, parked down the street where the Bandits won't notice him. He holds a bottle in a brown paper bag, watching the Bandits practice. Aja is pitching against Shinji. Shinji swings, missing a fastball.

  A shadow crosses over Bob, and Aja’s father steps up beside him.

  “It can’t be easy to coach from here,” Kourash says. He, too, leans against the car. They watch silently as Aja fires another fastball right across the plate. Shinji just watches it go by.

  “He throws well?” Kourash asks.

  Bob looks sideways at Kourash, then back at Aja. “Possibly the best I've ever seen… next to me, anyway... Well, before.”

  “You threw?” Kourash asks.

  “Yeah, I was headed for the Major League.“ Bob turns back to Kourash. “But that was before... before your brothers attacked me.”

  Kourash pulls off his sunglasses revealing a scar where his left eye used to be. “Not my brothers.” Kourash points at the field, at Aja. “Do you wonder why he throws so well?”

  Bob shrugs.

  “As a boy, he loved to throw rocks,” Kourash says. “He could knock down a bird if it was close.”

  “No one could do that,” Bob says.

  “Aja could. I’ve seen him do it many times,” Kourash says. “When he got older, his targets changed.”

  “Changed? Changed to what?” Bob asks.

  “Taliban soldiers,” Kourash says.

  “Taliban?” Bob says, disbelievin
g. “If that’s true, he's lucky to be alive.”

  “He hates the Taliban,” Kourash says. “Those animals killed his mother.”

  Bob starts to take a drink. Stops. Looks at Kourash.

  Kourash nods. “I joined with the Americans when you came the first time. The Taliban found out. They killed my wife, almost killed me.”

  “Is that when you came to America?” Bob asks.

  “No. Not right away. I continued to help the Americans, but it became too dangerous for my children. The soldiers helped us come here.”

  Over on the field, Aja fires another bullet. Shinji gets a piece of it but fouls toward first base.

  “I'm glad we got out,” Kourash says. “These Taliban, they are not my brothers. They are nothing more than savages. They kill for power.”

  “They say they represent Islam,” Bob says.

  Kourash shakes his head. “Nothing more than an excuse. They have no respect for life. It's always for power, only about power.”

  “Do you think we will ever beat them? The Taliban?” Bob asks.

  Kourash smiles. “Yes. The Taliban are evil, and we—you and I and all the people who hate and despise evil—we are united.” Kourash points at the ball field. “Just like the Bandits.”

  ---

  Dayton Dragons Baseball Field

  JJ leads the team out of the tunnel near the Dragons' dugout and onto the field. The Bandits look up in awe at the size of the field... the stands... the fans.

  The stadium is almost full for the playoffs, only a few empty seats.

  As they gather on the field outside the third base line, Ramiro finally breaks the trance. “Let's get in the dugout. Get ready for a ball game.”

  “Still no Coach, Ramiro?” JJ asks.

  “Not yet. We have to play ball either way, so let’s get ready,” Ramiro says.

  Ramiro follows the last player into the dugout. “We're visitors. Q, you're up first.”

  Q grabs a helmet and bat. He starts out of the dugout, but stops suddenly at the door and backs up. “Hey, Coach,” he says as he stands to the side to let Bob in.

  The team shouts in unison, “Coach!”

  Q starts out the door but Bob stops him. “Hold up a minute, Q.” Bob turns to the team. “Guys, I want to apologize for being a jerk the last couple of days. I've been wallowing in my own pity. It won't happen again.”

  “It’s cool, Coach,” Q says. “We understand where you comin’ from.”

  “Yeah, Coach,” JJ says. “Good to have you back.”

  “Back for good. I promise,” Bob says. “Now, let's get out there and win this ball game. Go on, Q.”

  Bob sits down on the bench beside Aja. “I talked to your dad yesterday. He helped me get my head back on straight. I just want you to tell him... tell him thanks.”

  “I will,” Aja says.

  Bob pats Aja on the leg, stands up and turns to the team. “All right, let's play some baseball.”

  Bob steps onto the grass outside the dugout and looks toward home plate. “Come on, Q. Keep your eye on the ball.”

  “Bob! Bob!” someone shouts from above the dugout in the grandstands.

  Bob scans the crowd. It isn’t tough to spot Julie and Sarah standing right above the dugout.

  Bob trots to the wall near them and reaches up. “Julie, I’m glad you came.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Julie says. She reaches down and takes his hand. “Are you okay?”

  “Well…” Bob says. “I’m better. I took your advice, called for some help. Glad I did.”

  “Me, too,” she says.

  “Hey, you and Sarah want to join us in the dugout?”

  “Could we?” Sarah asks.

  Bob hollers at