It was his turn to nod. “I heard that already, although not from him. I have to tell you, nobody else corroborated his allegations of murder.”
“Then I guess the murders never happened,” I replied.
“Yeah? So tell me, hypothetically speaking, what happened next.”
“Nothing, of course. Like all the others told you I went over to the prisoners, who were tied up next to the fuel dump, and released them, then fired four shots into the air to scare them away. It must have worked. Have we heard anything from the Nicaraguans?”
“Nothing. Of course, Lieutenant Fairfax says you simply shot the men and then burned them up in the fire.”
“Well, considering that Lieutenant Fairfax and all the men were in the LZ at the time, nobody would have seen me releasing the prisoners, would they?” I asked. “Which is what happened, of course.”
“So I was told.” He waited a few seconds, thinking about things. My answers must have satisfied his curiosity, or whatever, and he shrugged. “It’s over now. Care to make a phone call?”
“Yes, please.”
He nodded and stood to go to the door. “Captain, let me just say one last thing to you. I pulled your records before I ever came down here. I’ve read your fitness reports. I’ve seen your FBI and CIC background reports. I’ve even seen your IRS tax records…”
“The FBI and CIC? What are you talking about?” I said, interrupting him.
Featherstone nodded and looked serious. “You were being groomed for major command, Captain. Of course there were background checks.”
“Jesus!”
He continued. “I probably know more about you than anybody but your wife. You graduated from high school, for all intents and purposes, at 16. Your family threw you out then, too. I know about your psychotic brother. You burned through college and got a doctorate at 21. You made captain at 25 and were going to be a major at 28. You could have done the R&D stint and CGS blindfolded and standing on your head. Hell, you’d probably have picked up another grad degree there. After that, a nice tour as a battalion exec somewhere, followed by a tour at the Pentagon for seasoning. You’d have a brigade sometime in your thirties. Sound familiar?”
I nodded mutely. He was right. I’d have had a brigade just in time to take them into action against the Iraqis when they invaded Kuwait. Commanding a brigade in the most lopsided victory since the Franco-Prussian War would have been a guarantee of a star by the time I made twenty years. Featherstone kept going. “You’ve been on a high speed tear through life since you hit puberty. You’re already a multimillionaire.” He must have seen the surprise on my face, because he then said, “Yeah, I know. I had the IRS pull your tax returns, remember?”
I shrugged at that. “What’s your point, Colonel?”
“Just this. You’ve been on a high speed tear to general. You’d have made it, too. But it’s all over now. The thing to remember, Captain, is that this is just another job. Really, that’s all it is. It’s a good job, an honorable job, a dangerous and exciting job at times. It’s certainly a job that needs doing. Still, at the end of the day, it’s just a job. That job is now over for you. Your job is not who you are, it’s what you do. It’s time to go home now and be a father and a husband. That’s your job now,” answered Colonel Featherstone.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He was right in many ways. I was a fast burner. Like General Hawkins? Would I have been like him? Burning through people? I didn’t like that thought. I had nothing left to prove here. I opened my eyes and smiled. “Point taken, Colonel. Get me that phone and I’ll start on that.”
“The plan is that tomorrow you’ll be flown to Washington, to Walter Reed, for the work on your knee. If you’d like, I can help get your family to see you there.”
“I’d appreciate that, sir.”
Five minutes later the colonel returned with a telephone and a wire that he plugged into a phone jack behind the bed. Interestingly, it was still a high security area. The phone didn’t have a dial, but when you picked up the handle you immediately got a switchboard and had to give the number to be called. When I gave them my home number, Colonel Featherstone nodded and left the room.
“Hello?” answered Marilyn.
“Honey, it’s me, Carl.”
“CARLING! Where are you!? What’s happened to you!?”
“It’s all right, honey, it’s all right. I just had a bit of an accident and I’m in the hospital now. I’m being flown to Washington tomorrow, to Walter Reed Hospital. Maybe you could drive up. I want to see you and my son. God, you sound good!” I told her.
“Carl, what happened? What’s going on? I don’t understand! I heard you were in jail!”
“It’s all a misunderstanding, Marilyn. I’m not in jail. I’ve just got a problem with one of my knees. I’ll be fine. I’ll explain it all when I see you. Can you come up?”
“Yes! How… yes!”
“I’ll get somebody to come over and help.”
“I just don’t understand what’s happening, Carl! Somebody came over from the battery with all your personal stuff and told me you were being court martialed! What’s going on?”
I smiled to myself. “It was just a misunderstanding. It’s going to be all right, Marilyn. We’ll have a long, long talk.”
It was the day before Thanksgiving. I really had something to be thankful for this year.
Chapter 60: Starting Over
After our brief call, the phone was removed from my room. I guess Colonel Featherstone wasn’t a very trusting sort, or maybe he was just a careful sort. It wasn’t important to me. I had come to terms with what was happening.
I wasn’t going to hide my money anymore, either. I asked him to arrange a nice suite at a nearby hotel, a good one, like a Hilton or a Ritz, not some damn Super-8. He suggested the Hilton in Silver Spring, which was only a few miles away, across the line in Maryland, and less than a ten minute drive. I agreed to that. He would have somebody from the local JAG office in Fort Bragg call her tomorrow and give her directions, or meet with her on Friday before she drove up. Then somebody from the JAG office in DC would meet her and get her to Walter Reed on Saturday.
After that I said thank you and farewell to the colonel. He told me that he’d follow my case, but that he needed to fly to Fort Rucker in Alabama to sort out some other assholes. I got the impression that was his main job, solving problems that nobody wanted to go to trial or to be in public with.
I knew Marilyn. She would be lucky to get the car packed and on the road by noon. The family joke was to always tell her you had to leave half an hour before she really had to leave, that way she would be on time. It was about a six hour drive from Fayetteville to Washington, unless she got lost and detoured through San Francisco. Hopefully she would notice the Mississippi River before she crossed it.
That meant she would spend the night at the Hilton and see me in two days. That was probably fine by my schedule. That had me spending two more nights here, getting checked and prepped for the transfer, and then being flown in an old C-123 Provider to Andrews in Washington, to be transferred to Walter Reed. I probably wouldn’t get there before she did. I just hoped I would have a chance to see her before they started working on me at Walter Reed.
In two days time I was deemed healthy enough to travel. Whatever was wrong with my kidneys seemed okay, but they left the drain in my side. I lost a few more of the tubes in me, but they kept a couple of IVs in place, as well as the catheter. It was a wonderful flight. The Provider was even noisier and rougher than a Herc, and my not quite cute and bubbly flight attendant had a five o’clock shadow.