Fade to Black - Proof

by Jeffrey Wilson

  “Thank you,” Jack said, and then rolled up the window while the Marine mounted his Humvee again. Then he followed the lightly armored jeeplike truck onto the main road. “Here we go,” he said softly to no one in particular, but Pam wrapped tightly around his arm again.

  First MEF headquarters was several miles from the gate at the end of the main road on which they entered the base. On the way in they passed the typical nondescript brick or grey wood buildings that made up every base he had ever been on. The traffic was fairly heavy, a mix of civilian vehicles and green or tan seven‐ton trucks and Humvees. The Marines on the street were all clad in cammies, some in woodland green, others in tan and brown desert digitals, indicating those who had either just returned or were soon heading to Iraq.

  Jack pulled into the parking spot which the private’s Humvee stopped beside, right next to the large, brick three‐story building with its towering white pillars. Over the entry was a large brown sign with yellow lettering which announced “One MEF HQ.” Below it, in script, Jack read the words “Through these doors pass the finest warriors in the world.” He locked the car and he and Pam followed the private through the white wood and glass doors. Jack felt a stirring inside, pride mixed with fear. He had no doubt he had passed through these doors more than once, and he knew in his heart that he was also “one of the finest warriors in the world.” He unconsciously took his wife’s hand.

  Lt. Rawl’s office was on the second floor (second deck, Jack thought to himself). The private opened the door for them and led them into a small waiting room. In it were a simple sofa and two chairs, centered around a coffee table with various military magazines and newspapers.

  “Have a seat, sir,” he turned to Pam, “ma’am. I’ll let the lieutenant know you’re here.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said as he took a seat beside Pam, her hand still tight in his.

  Jack resisted the urge to pick up one of the various and sundry military magazines on the table. His mind was a torrent of images and emotions. He had such clear pictures in his head from this place. And sitting here, with the distinctive smell and feel of the base, took him back to another time, or at least to another place. He watched a slide show of snapshots of himself and his Marines. He saw them drinking beer in the bowling alley, Pam at his side. He saw them crawling through the woods, weapons ahead of them, doing combat land navigation training and humping packs through the nearby high desert and conducting joint training with their sister Light Armored Reconnaissance unit, their heavily armed LAV-25s kicking up dust. He had a clear picture of all of them together in their gear, stretched out in the grass in front of the Headquarters and Service Platoon, waiting to debrief after a long day of training. They were laughing and joking the way young men, friends bound by a common purpose and codependence, were familiar with in unspoken ways. Jack sighed. He knew where this journey was taking him. He was still unsure how he would get back from there, but he had no doubts anymore where the journey would begin.

  “Hi, folks. My name is Lieutenant Sheila Rawls,” a friendly voice said behind him.

  Jack rose and let go of Pam’s hand long enough to shake hands with a woman about their age, dressed in woodland digital cammies with the sleeves rolled up tightly to her midupper arms. The rank insignia on her collar showed her to be a first lieutenant.

  “Good, morning Lieutenant,” Jack said releasing the woman’s firm grip. “I’m Jack and this is my wife Pam,” he said as the two women also shook hands. “Thanks so much for taking time to meet with us on such short notice.”

  “My pleasure, Jack,” the woman said. “Why don’t we go to my office and we can chat. It’s always a pleasure to meet with people interested in teaching kids about our Marines and the tough job they’re doing.”

  Lt. Rawls led them back to a small room, made smaller by a modular cubicle system that divided it into four, even smaller, office spaces. She pulled two chairs into her cramped cubicle and motioned them to sit down. Jack took in the typical space, full of Marine Corps memorabilia and pictures, and noted the scattered pictures on the desk of a handsome man holding and playing with two small boys.

  “You have a lovely family,” Jack said, pointing to the pictures.

  “Oh, thank you,” Rawls said proudly. “Steven is wonderful and our two boys are just great. They put up with a lot having a Marine for a wife and mother.” Jack knew just what she meant. “What can I do for you today?” she asked.

  Jack ran through a similar set of vague questions as those he had asked Staff Sergeant Perry. Rawls answered his questions with a little more spin than the recruiter had. She emphasized the tough job the Marines faced in Iraq and the fine job they were doing in a trying war with difficult rules of engagement. She focused on the role of the Iraqi people and their efforts to help them build their country. She also talked about the various humanitarian missions the First MEF Marines were engaged in to provide health and security, and “win the hearts and minds” of the Iraqis.

  “What we are trying to do is give them security and safety so that they can have the confidence to build and defend a free society,” she said, quoting the party line of her commander in chief. Jack had no doubt that her words were not rhetoric, and that she believed very much in the mission they had been given in the Middle East. “Stability in the Middle East begins with freedom and requires security for the people,” she said. “That stability will ultimately mean safety for Americans at home and abroad,” she emphasized.

  As before, Jack made a show of scribbling notes in a notepad Rawls had provided. It was time to get to the tough questions.

  “What about losses,” he asked as casually as he could. He felt his pulse quicken, and Pam, who had been quiet throughout the conversation, put a hand on his leg and squeezed gently but nervously. “I know the action in Fallujah the last few days has been intense. Have we lost many Marines there?” Jack watched the lieutenant’s face closely and saw it cloud. She shifted uncomfortably.

  “Well,” she began, clearly choosing her words carefully, “we’re in a dangerous business, Jack. I’m sure you’ve seen on the news that we do lose Marines and soldiers. The action in Fallujah has cost us the lives of several brave Marines recently. I’m not at liberty to discuss many specifics, of course.” She smiled, but was clearly not as at ease as she had been earlier.

  “Of course,” Jack said. He folded his hands on his notebook and smiled back. “Do you know many of the Marines from Third Battalion?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rawls answered. “We are a big, but close, family here at Pendleton. I know many of my fellow Marines, very well.”

  “What about Sgt. Casey Stillman?” he asked. He was nervous now and struggled not to show it. “He’s the Marine who’s related to one of my students,” he said.

  Rawl’s face paled and her eyes widened, then she quickly got control of herself and smiled tightly. “I know the name, but I am not sure if I’ve ever met Sgt. Stillman,” she said. Now she was very uncomfortable, and Jack knew exactly why she would be familiar with the name. It would have been on the list of several Marines injured or killed in Fallujah recently. By now there would have been a somber ceremony by the folks here in the rear, honoring and mourning the loss of some of their own. Jack tried to show no reaction. There was no way she would tell them, two nonmilitary strangers, the names of the dead. Did he dare ask about the others? What would she do if he suddenly rattled off a list that contained all of the names of the dead from the battle in Fallujah just over a week ago? There was no way that he could risk that, if he wanted to see anything else today. Jack quickly changed the subject and tried to cover his fear at the confirmation he felt he had just received. Casey was very real and so were the others. These were not names and faces that he had made up in his nightmares. His mind reeled and his chest tightened. He looked over at Pam who looked down at her own knees.

  “What about other support services?” he asked, fighting the nausea that now churned inside him. He looked at his notepad, unabl
e to look Rawls in the eyes again. “Medical service, ministers, that sort of thing,” he said then looked up again. Her face was somber and anxious. She seemed relieved, however, by the new course their conversation was taking. “Are those sort of personnel based out of here as well?” he asked.

  “Partially,” Rawls answered. “We have some medical and chaplain services staff here, what we call “organic” personnel. But when we deploy, we supplement them with what we call “MAPsters,” Marine Augmentation Personnel, like doctors and nurses as well as chaplains. The augmentees expand our support staff to meet our needs in theater. Most of our corpsmen, they’re like medics that are assigned to each combat platoon,” she said to Pam, perhaps sensing that Jack already knew this, “most of them are organic, but we do expand the corpsmen staff a great deal for deployment. They’re usually put in medical companies and surgical companies that we stand up for deployment. All of the support personnel are actually Navy personnel. When they’re not deployed they work at various Navy hospitals and clinics,” she finished.

  “I see,” Jack said. He sensed that Pam was becoming more anxious and wanted desperately to know what she was thinking. He feigned scribbling another note on his pad. “Lieutenant, is there any chance of getting a little tour, maybe seeing Third Battalion’s spaces and maybe the chaplain services or medical?”

  Rawls made a show of looking at her watch. “I can take you on a short little tour, if you want,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I can show you what some of our stuff looks like. Most of our people at Third Battalion are gone, out in the field,” she said with insincere apology.

  “Whatever you have time for would be great,” Jack said and smiled at Pam. He saw that her eyes were sad and her face terribly pale. “Is that okay with you, sweetheart?”

  “Sure,” Pam smiled tightly.

  “Well,” Rawls said, rising and grabbing a set of keys from the desk. “Why don’t we ride together in my car, and I’ll take you over by Third Battalion,” she said, ending any other immediate conversation. “On the way back I’ll drop you at your car and take you out to the main gate, okay?”

  “That would be great,” Jack said. He wondered why he was not more shaken by his interview with the lieutenant. Hadn’t he just learned that Casey was real? Didn’t that confirm his most horrifying fear? And yet he felt remarkably calm. Maybe it was because the confirmation was no real surprise to him. He wondered if all of his anxiety might be fear of how Pam was taking all this. And maybe a still undiscovered terror that he had no idea what this would really mean for him or what he could possibly do next. He was tied to a real Marine, dead or dying in Iraq. Hell, he might even be him. Was Hoag right? Was all the rest of this just an elaborate ruse of his tortured mind, a fantasy designed to protect him from his fear of death and leaving his girls? Jack shook off the thought. He would have time for this later.

  Finish up and get the fuck out of here. Get Pam out of here.

  He looked up and saw that Rawls was looking at him with curiosity and Pam with real concern.

  “Are you okay, Jack?” Rawls asked.

  “Yeah,” Jack answered, screwing on another fake smile. “Just got up too fast and got a little dizzy.”

  “Well, let’s get going,” Rawls said and led them out.

  They stepped into the small waiting room where Rawls left them for a moment, telling them she needed to let her office personnel know where she would be. When she stepped through the other door, leaving them alone for a moment, Pam wrapped her arms tightly around Jack.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, her voice trembling. “What the hell is going on, Jack? How could you possibly know these things?”

  “It’s okay, baby,” Jack said. He hugged her again. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  “How?” she asked, her face against his chest. “What are you going to do? I just don’t understand what’s going on. I’m so scared, Jack.” Jack sensed that she was no longer worried that he was crazy. Her fears were much bigger than that now.

  “Shhh. It’s okay, Pam,” he said softly and then tilted her face up to look into her eyes. “I’ll fix this Pam. I will not leave you guys, do you understand?”

  Pam looked back at him with fear, but also with hope. She nodded and then dabbed her eyes on the corner of her sleeve and sniffled.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and took his hand, trying to straighten up and look normal for the lieutenant.

  “I love you, Pam,” Jack said as Rawls came back in the room.

  “Ready?” the lieutenant asked brightly, like a realtor showing a house, Jack thought. She was perfect for public affairs.

  “You bet,” he said. They followed her down the stairwell back to the first deck and out the front door, chatting about where Rawls and her family were from, though Jack didn’t really hear the answers.

  Rawls drove a black Ford Explorer with Ohio plates and a yellow and orange “Semper Fi” sticker in the back window. Jack sat up front with the lieutenant, but reached his hand behind him between the seats to hold Pam’s hand. He noticed that her hand was sweaty and grimaced at the pain his nightmare was causing his best friend.

  They left the parking lot and turned right onto a tree‐lined street that, after a mile or so, broke out into row after row of industrial‐looking buildings. With each minute the base became more and more familiar.

  Just behind the low brick building coming up on the left will be another one just like it—the base post office.

  As they passed by, Jack saw without much surprise the United States Post Office sign. He looked out the front window without much satisfaction, knowing that they would turn right at the next stop sign. A moment later Rawls flipped on her turn signal and slowed down. Jack realized she was talking to him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” he said.

  “Yes,” Pam answered for him from the back, “One, a little girl.”

  “They’re great aren’t they?” the lieutenant asked warmly.

  “Claire is our world,” Jack said and felt Pam’s lightly sweating hand squeeze his.

  “I know how you feel,” Rawls said as they made the turn Jack knew was coming. The PAO continued on, talking about her boys, but Jack couldn’t pay attention. In a minute they would come to a gym on the left, where he and his Marines spent countless hours every day. Just past it was a recreation center. Soon they would come to the building that housed the FSSG, or Fleet Services Support Group, which administratively managed supply, religious services, medical services and other support activities for the Marines. Jack had a sudden idea.

  “Are the religious services people in the FSSG admin spaces?” he asked. “I would love to talk to someone from Chaplain Services about the important job they have.”

  “They are actually in their own offices nearby, but the admin for those folks are in FSSG,” Rawls answered, looking at her watch. “We can stop for a moment and see if someone is around if you like.”

  “That would be great,” Jack answered. What would he say? How could he find out more about Hoag? He had said he was the regimental chaplain, so his office might be over at regiment, but for sure the folks at FSSG would know who he was.

  Rawls parked the truck and they all walked together over to the low brick building, entering through a side door.

  “Stand by here for just a sec,” the PAO said, “I’ll see if there is anyone around who has a minute for you.” She disappeared into the office, leaving Pam and Jack in the hallway. Pam wrapped her arms around him again.

  “What are we doing, Jack?” she asked in a loud whisper.

  But Jack barely heard her. Instead he stared past her where his eyes froze on the wall behind her. Next to them in the hall were several rows of pictures for the various commands that fell under the umbrella of the FSSG. The first group had yellow lettering over it that read “Medical,” under which was a picture of a Naval officer in woodland cammies, labeled MEF SURGEON. Beneath the picture was his name. Then there were several rows of pict
ures with the various subcommanders, such as REGIMENTAL SURGEON, GROUP SURGEON, WING SURGEON, and then lower‐ranking officers that ran the various medical battalions.

  But it was the second cluster of pictures that froze Jack in place. It was labeled RELIGIOUS SERVICES, and under the MEF CHAPLAIN picture was another labeled REGIMENTAL CHAPLAIN. Beneath the placard was a smiling face that Jack recognized very well. The man, heavier than the man Jack knew from his nightmares, smiled out at him. The eyes behind his round glasses reflected a much happier time. Beneath the picture of the smiling face were yellow letters that read CDR EMMETT G. HOAG. Jack stared at the picture and his mind flashed to images of Hoag screaming at him hysterically in the desert, red and shiny loops of intestines falling out from beneath his desert cammie blouse.

  “Jack, what is it?” His wife’s trembling voice pulled him back from the moonlit desert. He turned to her, but couldn’t speak. “Baby, what?” she said. He could tell she was on the verge of tears. She turned and looked behind her at the photograph and then read the name. Her face turned pale and she let go of his hand, placing it instead over her mouth. Jack heard the breath stick in his wife’s throat. “Oh, my God,” she said, for a moment unable to tear her eyes from the picture. Then she turned to him, her hand still over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

  Jack couldn’t speak, but nodded his head. Then he took her hand and turned his back to the wall, unable to look at Hoag’s face again. He wrapped his arms around his wife to comfort her, but knew he was failing miserably.

  Lieutenant Rawls came back out of the office, looked at them, and then hesitated a moment. It was clear she had interrupted something. She apparently decided it was none of her business and politely ignored the emotional looks of the pleasant young couple.

  “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said. “There isn’t really anyone around to talk to you right now.”

  “That’s okay,” Jack said, forcing a smile. He kept his arms wrapped around his wife, no longer caring about the façade or what this helpful young lieutenant might think. He suddenly, desperately needed to get them both the hell out of here. “My wife is actually not feeling very well, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m sorry to have run you around for nothing, but if you don’t mind we’re going to have to skip the Third Battalion tour.”