by B. K. Dell
Trey Tucker’s story raced through Jackson’s thoughts.
Rider was in approximately the same position as Jackson. What Jackson could see, Rider could see. Rider tracked the figure’s head in his sights. One bullet would stop his approach. But, with a body packed with explosives would it be too late? Could he still have life enough to trigger the explosives that surrounded his body? Wasn’t he already close enough that the shrapnel could tear them apart? With one step closer through the fog of the sand, both Marines could see that the approaching man wore a turban.
Pine Box theory! My pine box, my choice.
Brit jumped down from behind the M2. He ran frantically to the side of both Marines on the ground but did not take his eyes off the approaching man. “It’s Caleb Hertz!” he yelled once more at the top of his lungs, the same instant that he watched the man’s head snap backward and a bright red circle on his forehead could be seen through the sand. The circle of blood seemed to be the only thing that did not move in slow motion, but grew out of control. The force of the bullet stopped the man’s advance just as a strong wind blew past them and thinned the veil of sand. Every American eye was on the face of the fallen Marine. It was Caleb. His lifeless body first dropped to its knees, then fell face forward into the sand.
Rifles continued to fire until the very last of the enemy had been defeated, but there was no rousing cheer from the Marines when it was over. The entire world went silent. Every eye watched as the wind blew sand onto the fallen warrior. In a very short amount of time, a bank of sand had built up around Caleb’s body as well as every nook and wrinkle in his clothing. It seemed as if the Earth was anxious to bury the horror, bury the evidence of what had just happened. Brit walked forward without even being fully aware that his legs were moving. He turned back to his team. Rider had already lowered his weapon. Jackson trembled with his rifle still pressed against his hardened shoulder and his eyes still seeing the last images of Caleb’s bloody face – knowing it had been his bullet that had done it.
PART THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Jackson was numb. Any real concept of what he had done, or the finality of Caleb’s death, had been denied access to his brain. But it was patiently waiting and would eventually get in. The Marine Corps makes it a point to desensitize the Marines toward death. That may have been the only reason he wasn’t currently breaking down. But Jackson had enough sense to realize that he couldn’t stay numb forever. His mind would leave the battlefield and the only thing that would linger – perhaps the last thought ever to remain in his brain – would be the image of Caleb’s face with the red blood streaming down.
Brit was representing Jackson’s case before the upper brass very effectively. Any hint of his normal flippant attitude or British intonation was gone. His words were measured and sincere. Major Nash sat behind his desk, joined by Lieutenant Colonel Lucero. Both Jackson and Brit sat on chairs in front.
“While engaged in the firefight, I had a higher vantage than anyone else. When I spotted an approaching figure, I feared that our team had been surrounded. That was when I gave the order to fire.”
“Sgt Sparks,” Major Nash inquired to Brit, “Are you saying it was you who gave the order to fire?”
Jackson interrupted here before Brit had the chance to say anything stupid, “What Sgt Sparks meant to say is that he alerted us to the position of the advancing…of Private First Class Hertz, but he did not order us to fire.”
Brit quickly jumped in, “Due to their proximity to an IED explosion seconds before, neither PFC Brooks, nor LCpl Holt could clearly hear anything that I ordered. And, that was only the first part of the problem.”
“What were the other parts?”
“The main problem was visibility. The sand was blown so high and so thick that visibility was severely limited – a predicament which made us more vulnerable to the enemy, particularly if we had been surrounded.” Major Nash did not respond, but pulled out a tissue from his drawer and used it to wipe the tip of his nose. Brit continued, “Then there was the issue of Caleb’s facial hair and bandage.”
“What about them?”
“Caleb had nearly a full beard. That, combined with the bandage from his head wound, well that just made him look like…”
“I thought it was a turban, sir,” Jackson completed the thought for Brit.
“Are you telling me that supposing a man is wearing a turban is a good reason to shoot him?” Major Nash asked.
“No sir,” this time Brit answered, “We are saying that the very best reason not to shoot a man is knowing that he is one of our men. And identifying that a man is bearded and wearing a turban is a good reason to assume he is not one of our men.”
Major Nash showed his approval by issuing no comment at all. He looked down at the report in his hands. Everything they were discussing was already on paper. He asked, “PFC Hertz had grown a beard?”
“Sir, his medevac chopper had been shot down seven days before. During that time he had no means of shaving. His hair had grown in quite thick for seven days.”
“I see.” Major Nash looked at the report again and asked Brit, “Sgt Sparks, can you think of anything that could explain how PFC Hertz could have received a head injury, survived a helicopter crash, survived the area being bombed, and then lived for seven days behind enemy lines?”
“Caleb Hertz never quit, sir.”
Major Nash nodded, then let out a long, sad sigh. He studied the file. Jackson’s insides began to tremble as he watched the old Major’s war worn eyes move from left to right, top to bottom. Jackson did not know what they would do to him, but a persistent voice inside his head kept telling him that it was a betrayal to worry about his own fate. It would be a mockery of Caleb’s memory. Whatever punishment that the military saw fit to dispense, he would take it. He would accept it, and a part of him even wished it would be swift and vicious.
But there was another part – the part that held onto Stephanie’s unengaged engagement ring. Stephanie, who was an innocent party in all of this, would suffer without him. Stephanie needed him. How could he hold her if he were not free? How could he protect her? How could he provide for her? How could they start a family if he were not free?
Major Nash looked straight into Jackson’s eyes. Jackson looked straight back. He said, “You two may be dismissed.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Brit.
“Thank you, sir,” said Jackson stoically.
As the two of them got up to leave, the doorway was blocked by three men who were just walking in. Two of them wore helmets labeled MP, the third was Colonel Shelton. Colonel Shelton put his hand up to halt Jackson and Brit. He said, “I am sorry gentlemen, but these men have orders to detain Private First Class Brooks and deliver him into the custody of the United States Attorney General.”
Major Nash stood up, “This is not a matter for the DA, sir.”
Colonel Shelton frowned, “Well, it is now.”
“How did the States even get wind of this so soon?” asked Colonel Lucero.
“It was reported in the Times, Colonel.”
***
“That is the reason we have federal hate crime legislation,” Stacy Oliver was arguing passionately on the Mitch McCarty Show. Stacy had done several appearances on local television, both in Dallas and in Los Angeles – he had even done one webcast – but this was his first time on live national television. “…so that people are not punished just for the crime, but for the motive.”
Mitch McCarty nodded and Veronica Cisneros put her index finger to her lips as if she was pondering something very profound, even though she doubted that her face was even on screen at that moment.
“But what evidence do we have that can illustrate Private First Class Brooks’s motive? The Marines say that this was simply a tragic accident,” Mitch McCarty said. There was an insincerity about his tone that implied he was only playing devil’s advocate.
“It all comes down to who you are going to believe; th
e government? The government that does not allow gays to marry? The government that kicked homosexuals out of the military in the first place? The government that lied to us about WMDs?” Stacy ranted.
“What about the soldiers?” asked McCarty.
“The soldiers? Oh my God, they are the ones who hated him the most. You don’t know – no one knows – what I had to go through. I am the one who had to read his letters about – letter after letter – about how cruelly they treated him, starting with boot camp.”
“Like what?”
“Like, um…first, his drill instructor found a donut in his footlocker and made the entire platoon do pushups while Caleb ate the donut. Then, when he was wearing this big metal scuba diving thing, they cut a hole in his bag and the water was really cold. Then the head guy tried to rape him and none of the other guys could stop him because they were all inside this cage thing.”
“Are you saying that Caleb told you someone in the military tried to rape him?”
Here Stacy began to cry. He put his hand over his face. Everything he said after that was unintelligible. McCarty quickly turned to the camera and announced, “We’ll be back after the break.”
As they went to the break, the camera panned back for a wide shot of the studio and the show’s computer graphics were superimposed on the screen. They bookended the segment by switching to the old footage of Caleb in the USO parking lot with the audio:
“How do you think you will be received?”
“I think they will try to kill me.”
After the commercial, the show came back on with more graphics, and before cutting to Mitch McCarty, they played the same clip.
“How do you think you will be received?”
“I think they will try to kill me.”
Mitch McCarty was shaking his head, looking very solemn. Stacy Oliver shook his head also, not knowing that he had been cropped out of the shot. “Let’s go to someone who was there,” said McCarty. “Our next guest was embedded with Private First Class Hertz. He ate beside him, he slept beside him. They even saw combat together. Plus, he has the added benefit – to us back at home anyway – of having the credibility of a non-bias Pulitzer Prize winning reporter. Michael Ponce, if there is anyone who can straighten this out it is you. How long were you embedded with PFC Hertz?”
“From the very start. I met him at Camp Sydney, then followed him with Echo Company to Camp Kookaburra. I was there for the entire length of his tragically shortened service.”
“And, what light can you shed on the situation of his death? What can you tell us about Private First Class Jackson Brooks?”
“I can tell you for certain, for certain,” Michael Ponce repeated for extra emphasis, “that Jackson did not treat Caleb differently than any other Marine.”
“Interesting, so you are saying that Jackson showed Caleb no discrimination at all?”
“That’s a lie! That’s a lie!” Stacy broke in before McCarty was finished. “That is a big fat juicy lie!”
At this point Michael Ponce had both hands up. “Whoa, whoa, you misunderstood me. I meant that Jackson did not treat Caleb differently than any other Marine treated Caleb. I mean they all discriminated! They all treated him the same way.”
“Which was?”
“Brutal.” Michael Ponce gave a one word answer.
Mitch McCarty skillfully left the next second empty.
Michael Ponce continued, “I mean, brutality is what these guys do best. Marines are not known for their love of outsiders; they’re just as intolerant as the fundamentalist Christians. I can’t testify to anything Mr. Oliver has reported from Caleb’s letters at boot camp, but I can tell you that it wouldn’t surprise me. I can tell you that they showed no regard for his feelings; they constantly excluded him, laughed at him, made fun of him for every little thing that he did not understand. They even had a nickname for him.”
“What was that?”
“Mellow Yellow.”
“Because they thought he was a coward?”
“Um,” Michael Ponce stumbled, then offered, “Well, it’s a name that is very unfortunate. Very unfortunate,” which did not answer the question.
“Did you remember Jackson specifically using that name?”
“Yes, it was unanimous. It was a unanimous chorus of hatred. They were like school yard bullies.”
“We keep hearing reports that Jackson and Caleb were friends?”
“Well, consider the source. Those reports are coming from the very people who play the main roles of this cover-up.”
“Cover-up,” Mitch McCarty said with no indication that it was a question.
“Cover-up,” said Michael Ponce.
The term cover-up became the new favorite catchphrase of the media and the term most closely related to the story.
***
When Jackson posted bail, it was Stephanie who picked him up. She took him to her house, where all the TVs and radios had been unplugged.
He arrived to find that her entire house was filled with people. His friends from school, his parents, his pastor, and people from church had all come to show their support. There were even people who were members of his congregation that he did not know by first name, people he had smiled at, waved to, and shaken hands with, but with whom he never found the time to share a long conversation. They all came together now like old friends. They already knew everything about Jackson they needed to know in order to love him.
When he received the hugs and shoulder squeezes, Jackson began to cry openly, more than he had ever cried in someone else’s presence. The pastor prayed over him and every eye in Stephanie’s living room was wet. Before they left, the pastor told him, “It is not our task to understand why, all we can do is trust in God.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
As soon as the story began to fade from the front page and from the collective conscience of America, Michael Ponce unveiled the ace he had been holding – the photo of a Marine holding a gun to Caleb’s chest and a room full of Marines just standing around watching. From the angle of the one photo he had been able to snap off, it was impossible to make out the gunman’s face, but Jackson’s face and Caleb’s face could be made out perfectly. Everyone who had so far doubted Stacy and Michael Ponce’s exaggerated accounts, everyone who thought the claims were just too outlandish, suddenly had a different view about the type of shenanigans that might have gone on in their very own military, and a different view about Jackson’s innocence.
The photo ran on the front page of the Times for twenty-one days in a row that first month. Details were released by the media bit by bit, therefore keeping the salacious story alive. While doing more digging, Michael Ponce discovered in the archives of a local paper out of Ramona, California, what was reported as an irrelevant detail at the time. The article set the scene: the first openly gay Marine courageously heads off to war, leaving behind a worried lover. It described the last tear-filled exchange that Caleb and Stacy shared and the last words that Stacy said to him were reported accurately, “Do me a favor and watch out for that one.”
“Which one?”
“That ugly redneck with the big gaudy cross around his neck.”
Video footage of Caleb and Stacy holding hands, that every network had in their own archives, was slowed down and digitally magnified to reveal an image of Jackson standing – out of focus – in front of the USO building watching Caleb. For three seconds the cameras had an unobstructed shot of him. In those three seconds, the viewer could clearly see that the man in the fuzzy image wore an ostentatiously large cross, and that the man had the same facial features of Jackson Brooks, the very same man who ended up fatally shooting Caleb Hertz.
“Chilling,” people in the media said, analyzing it.
“Could it be that there was something so ominous in Jackson’s presence that Stacy Oliver was able to pick up on it even after only seeing him from across the parking lot?”
“Something looming behind his eyes, maybe.”
; “Of course it has to be pointed out that Stacy could have chosen his words more carefully. No one is condoning his use of name calling.”
“Or perhaps that type of haunting intuition in his gut simply overpowered his desire for tact.”
“Perhaps, indeed.”
A video clip of this exchange was posted on a popular activist blog with a caption below it that read in all caps:
OMINOUS PRESENCE, GIMME A BREAK! STACY SAW ALL HE NEEDED TO SEE AND IT WAS HANGING AROUND THE MURDERER’S NECK! SOME WING-NUTS MAY HAVE THOUGHT HE WAS BEING RELIGIOUSLY INTOLERANT IF THEY HAD HEARD HIM AT THE TIME, BUT NOW THAT WE KNOW HOW THE STORY ENDS, I SAY STACY WAS BEING DOWNRIGHT CLAIRVOYANT.
The bright sun had cast dark shadows over both of Jackson’s eyes, giving his face a sinister quality. The digital image noise that resulted from the magnification gave the clip an unsettling feeling. The three seconds were looped silently so many times that people had forgotten that the term redneck was ever used. Some networks put a highlighted circle around Jackson’s head and shoulders. Some networks put a highlighted circle only around his cross.
All of the momentum seemed to be on the side of Stacy. He became an icon for the entire gay rights cause. When Caleb became an emblem for fighting oppression and intolerance, Stacy became the living face of it. Stacy Oliver hogged up so much of the spotlight and developed such a following that some people had forgotten all about the name Caleb Hertz. Stacy continued to hit hard words like, cover-up, conspiracy, intolerance and hate. When any interview got too hard for him, he would resort to crying. But he received very few tough questions and he would only go on shows that he knew to be friendly to his cause. He was never even asked to produce the alleged letters describing the treatment that Caleb had received in boot camp.
When the issue of the phantom letters was raised by opponents, blog posts would begin to sprout up containing articles from people who claimed to have been given first hand access to the letters. Quotes from the letters – words attributed to Caleb – even began to circulate: “I can’t bear another day of this humiliation,” “If I only believed in God, I would pray for my own speedy death,” and one describing his fellow recruits at boot camp as, “…just about the most twisted, antisocial bunch of psychopathic deformities I have ever run into!” The last one was actually a quote from the Dirty Dozen. When this fact was pointed out, supporters of Stacy’s cause argued: “Caleb must have really liked that movie.”
