She read:
Representative Randolph K. Jepperson and his military escort were injured yesterday when their Humvee went off a main road near the Bosnian village of Krkyl and hit a land mine. They were evacuated by helicopter to the NATO base in Turdje and then flown to the U.S. Army medical center in Landstuhl, Germany.
A NATO spokesman said both are in “serious but stable” condition.
Massachusetts Congressman Jepperson is a ranking member of the House Armed Forces Overseas Projection Oversight Committee. He was on a fact-finding mission at the time of the incident. An ancestor was a signer of the Declaration of Independence.
His escort, Corporal Cassandra Cohane, is with Army Public Affairs, based at Turdje as part of the NATO peacekeeping deployment.
It was unclear what their Humvee was doing in the middle of a posted minefield.
Sometime later-was it that same day?-Cass heard a grave, urgent voice.
“Corporal. Corporal Cohane.”
She opened her eyes. The uniforms of impressive rank had returned. She saw a colonel, a major, a captain-no, two captains. None bore flowers, magazines, or “get well soon” cards. Cass closed her eyes again, but the voice, blistering with authority, summoned her back from her hiding place behind lids. She was momentarily grateful that her head was bandaged and her left arm encased in plaster. It might make them just the teensiest bit sympathetic. Okay, she thought, here goes.
“Corporal”-it was the colonel talking-“why was the congressman driving your vehicle?”
“He asked.”
This brought a wave of frowns around Cass’s bed.
“You understand that was in violation of regulations.”
“I’m aware of the fact.” Painfully aware.
“And you nonetheless let him commandeer the vehicle?”
“Sir, he’s a U.S. congressman.”
The uniforms exchanged glances. “What were you doing in the village?”
“Fact-finding, sir.” Lovely, morphine. Takes the edge off anything, even the prospect of a court-martial.
“Corporal, you’re in a deep hole. Don’t keep digging.”
“The congressman was hungry. He insisted. I attempted to persuade him to eat an MRE instead. It was apparently not up to his gastronomic standards.”
“‘Insisted’? He was your responsibility, Corporal.”
“Yes, sir. I seem to have screwed up big-time, sir. Might I inquire how the congressman is?”
Deeper frowns.
“They’re still working on him. Trying to save his leg.”
The uniforms left. Cass had a cry. The obliging nurse gave her a shot, and she tumbled gratefully back into the outstretched arms of Mother Morphine.
When she awoke-was it the next day?-there was a uniform sitting by her bed. It was Captain Drimpilski. He had flowers. When she realized it was he, she began to blubber.
“All right, Corporal. It’s all right. Come on now, soldier, enough of that. Eagles spin. They don’t cry. Suck it up.”
“Yes, sir.” She blew her nose. “What is the captain doing here?”
“They flew me in. I talked to the doctors. You’re going to be all right, Cohane. You’re damn lucky.”
Cass stared. “Lucky? In what way, exactly, sir?”
“Could have been a lot worse.”
“How’s Randy?”
“Randy?”
“The congressman. Whatever. Is he…all right?”
“They’re flying him stateside for further surgery. They”-Drimpilski sighed-“removed a portion of his left leg.”
“Portion?”
“Below the knee.”
Cass groaned.
“He’s got a dozen broken bones, a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, his left arm got pretty shredded, but they think that’ll be all right eventually. He’ll be setting off metal detectors for the rest of his life. But he’ll live. So it could have been worse.”
Captain Drimpilski handed her another tissue and helped her blow her nose.
“Cass,” he said. It was the only time he’d ever used her first name. It made her start blubbering again. Realizing what he’d done, he self-corrected and spoke gruffly.
“You represent the 4087, Cohane.”
“Yes, sir,” Cass said miserably. “Eagles spin the way. Hooah.”
“All the way. That’s more like it. All right, then, let’s review the apparent facts. You went beyond the perimeter of operations, broke regs by permitting a civilian to drive a military vehicle, did something to provoke the locals-hold on, let me finish-and in the process nearly lost a United States congressman. A congressman known for being outspokenly critical of our presence here. And who is known to have a certain reputation with the…female of the species.” Captain Drimpilski pondered a moment. “As you can see, there are a few layers to this onion.”
“Is the captain implying,” Cass said, suddenly dry-eyed, “that the corporal was having sex with the congressman? In a minefield?”
“No, I personally do not believe that.”
“Do they?” she said incredulously.
Captain Drimpilski cleared his throat noncommittally. “What I know is that discussions are being held even as we speak. In Washington, D.C., at the Pentagon. And at the White House. I am given to understand that the secretary of defense himself is taking part in these discussions. While I am not privy to these discussions, it is my general understanding that they are not arguing over whether to award you the Distinguished Service Medal or the Medal of Honor. By the way, there are approximately fifty members of the media outside this facility, all of them extremely eager to interview you.”
Cass was not one for self-pity, but she couldn’t help reflecting that eighteen months ago she was at home in Connecticut opening a letter saying she’d been admitted to Yale and she was now lying wounded in an army hospital in Germany, responsible for the mutilation of a member of the United States Congress and listening to what sounded like a preamble to her court-martial. She began to laugh. She couldn’t help it.
“You all right?” Captain Drimpilski said.
“Fine. Fine. So when’s the firing squad?”
Captain Drimpilski stood. “I’ll stick around, see what can be done.” He patted her on the knee. “You get some rest now, Corporal.”
“Captain,” she said as he was leaving.
“Yes?”
“The corporal was not having sex with the congressman in a minefield.”
“Noted.”
The next day, off morphine and wishing she weren’t, Cass watched CNN and saw Congressman Randy being wheeled off a military air transport at Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington. A large crowd awaited him. His mother was there, along with the entire Massachusetts congressional delegation. Randy gave a thumbs-up gesture-which would be replayed a thousand times-as he was bathed in the flashlight from dozens of cameras. People waved American flags. A welcome banner read, WELCOME HOME, HERO! Cass noted the presence of the secretary of defense and various Joint Chiefs, including the chairman. The secretary’s demeanor, not normally jocund, resembled that of a man chewing aluminum foil. She became aware of the reporter saying, “Congressman Jepperson was wounded when the vehicle he was being driven in went off the road and onto a mine. From here he will be transferred to…”
Was being driven in? Had she heard correctly?
Cass was not left to speculate for long. That afternoon, the colonel returned, this time alone. He closed the door and sat beside Cass’s bed. He handed her a clipboard. There was a sheet of paper on it, with a line at the bottom.
“It’s your request for discharge.”
“From the hospital?”
“No, Corporal. From the army.”
Cass tried to sit up. “Sir, though my mind is kind of clouded up with morphine, I do not specifically recall requesting a discharge.”