I followed her down the hall. I watched from the doorway as she changed a diaper. “Keep it up, Buster! It’s only seventeen years and eight months to go before you’re out on your ass!”
Marilyn protested, “Carl! Don’t say that!” but then Charlie did the fountain trick before she had his diaper fixed properly. “Then again…”
“Ha! Just wait until he starts walking! You’ll see! We’ll spend the first year teaching him how to walk and talk, and the next seventeen telling him to sit down and shut up!”
Marilyn finished getting a clean diaper on him, and handed him to me. “Your turn, Dad! I’m going to clean up again, and then I’ll make dinner.”
I played with my son for a few minutes, until Marilyn came back in a different dress (pee-free) and took him back. I hobbled on my crutches behind her to the kitchen, and sat down at the table, with Charlie in his little seat in front of me. I kept him occupied while Marilyn made dinner. Yet another reason to hurry the healing process. The only way Marilyn knew how to cook involved a microwave oven. I was going to lose weight this way, not regain it!
After dinner, Charlie fell asleep again, so Marilyn and I played another round of hide-the salami out in the living room. Then later, he slept the entire night. We didn’t, but we didn’t complain, either. When Marilyn drove me over to the base hospital in the morning for rehab, we were both sleepy but smiling.
And so it went for almost a month. I was doing rehab every day, along with working on the weights and swimming, which is good exercise for bad joints, since it is low impact. When I was home, Marilyn and I made up for the three months I was away. My mobility and strength improved, and after a couple of weeks I graduated to a cane, and was able to put some weight on my right leg and walk. At that point I started cooking again. We also did some belated Christmas shopping together, since I wasn’t really up to driving yet. We spent some time up in Raleigh and I found a lingerie store and took her to it. She was embarrassed and nervous, but we bought a few items we would both like. I also bought her a few items of jewelry.
Then, out of the blue, I got a call at the apartment from Colonel Featherstone. I was actually still in the Army, even though I was assigned to the Detachment of Patients at the hospital, and my four year commitment was long over. I was still getting paid by the Department of Defense. The colonel told me to be in my Class As over at the HQ of the 505th on Friday morning, 22 January at 0900. Marilyn was supposed to be there, too, in a nice dress, along with Charlie. I was being given my Bronze Star, and they would also process the paperwork to medically retire me.
I hadn’t worn a uniform since I had been back from Honduras. I had to dig one out and see if it still fit. It did, if a touch loosely in the waist, but not all that badly. I had Marilyn take it out to be cleaned. I might be going out, but I’d do it in style.
It felt weird that morning to put it on, for one last time. I even had my Honduran jump wings on my chest. Marilyn wore a nice blue knee length skirt and a white blouse, with some medium heels, and Charlie had on a little camouflage jumper she had picked up at the PX. I drove us over. I had just started driving again this week, although not for long distances. Colonel Featherstone was actually there waiting for us! That surprised me, since I figured he would be off in Washington or someplace torturing miscreants.
He led me inside to the office area, where he parked me at a table. He played peek-a-boo with my son while I signed off on an interminable pile of paperwork that a Spec 4 clerk put in front of me. They didn’t want me around anymore, but they sure seemed to take their time getting rid of me! Eventually I was done, and the colonel took over again. “Follow me. The colonel wanted to give this to you, but he’s tied up elsewhere.”
We followed Colonel Featherstone down a hallway towards the ready hangar for the 1st Battalion, but didn’t go in. Instead, he sent the Spec 4 in, and then two minutes later, he held the door open, and motioned for me to go in first, to be followed by Marilyn and our baby. He came in last.
“ATTEN-HUT!” barked out from a loud baritone to the side of the bay. I stood there in disbelief as the entire battalion, almost a thousand soldiers, standing in ordered ranks and rows, came to attention. There was a small temporary stage at this end of the bay, with flags on it and a small podium.
I was roused by a tap on my shoulder. I whipped my head around to find Featherstone smiling at me. He pointed towards the stage and said, “March! And try to think up something brief to say.”
Thank Jesus I had spent the last four years (and a chunk of the four before that!) under military discipline, since I was moving on muscle memory and nothing else. I marched to the stage and went up the side steps, to find Colonel Longworth, the commander of the 505th, and Lieutenant Colonel Small, the new commander of the First Battalion. There was a small X marked in masking tape on the floor of the stage. Lieutenant Colonel Small stopped me when I reached the X and whispered to me to stop and face towards the battalion. As I hit my mark, the loud voice, which I now recognized as belonging to the battalion sergeant major, barked out, “PUH-RADE… REST!” The battalion snapped into the position of parade rest.
From where I was standing I could see the battalion standing at attention. I think the brigade was on support cycle, but I wasn’t sure. Since I was on medical leave, I hadn’t been following the cycle. Everybody was in fatigues, except for a few of the officers, like Longworth and Small. Standing in the front rows, in the center, were some faces I recognized, 3rd Platoon, Company C, including one man in civvies, but still standing at attention. There were also a small number of civilians on the side.
I turned my attention from outward to the stage, as Colonel Longworth went to the podium. “All of us here know why Captain Buckman is being honored today. We also all know why we can’t state that reason or discuss it. Captain Buckman, please step forward.”
At that point the adjutant loudly stated, “Attention to orders!”
I took two steps forward, to another X on the stage, and came to attention (not that I hadn’t been before.) Colonel Longworth opened a small folder on the podium and read:
“For courageous and meritorious service while assigned to elements of the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment. During training operations while attached to Company C, 1st Battalion, 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment, Captain Buckman took command and led his unit with courage and merit. His actions were in keeping with the highest traditions of the service, and reflect great credit upon himself, the 82nd Airborne Division, and the United States Army.”
The colonel then opened a small jewelry case and pulled out the Bronze Star. It was the actual medal, a five pointed bronze star hanging from a red ribbon with blue and silver vertical stripes. I knew that inside the jewelry box was the ribbon device, a matching ribbon used when the medal wasn’t worn, and a miniature version of the medal to wear on the mess dress uniform. The colonel pinned the medal on my chest while a photographer took photos. Then he stood back and saluted me, and I could see through suddenly watery eyes the rest of the room snapping to attention and saluting as well.
I returned the salute. He dropped his arm and then said, “Captain, you may say something if you wish.”
“Stay right there, please,” I whispered. I sidled behind him, so that he was blocking the sight lines, and pulled out my handkerchief and wiped my eyes quickly. Then I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.” Colonel Longworth smiled at me and stepped aside, nodding.