“I guess those are hospital regs, sir.”
Alex immediately realized the moment was becoming uncomfortable for Grant, knowing SEALs like to stay “under the radar,” avoiding recognition. But this chance meeting for all parties was beyond anyone’s imagination.
“My brother, Chris, hasn’t talked too much yet about his time in captivity, but he didn’t have enough words to describe what you did for him and the other men. You’ll be forever in our debt and prayers, captain.”
“I wasn’t the only one on that mission, sir.”
“Oh, I know, captain. Perhaps one day we can meet the others.”
A picture of Mullins flashed in Grant’s mind, as he answered, “Yes, sir. Maybe we can make it happen. By the way, sir, how is Chris, your brother?”
“He’s doing remarkably well, captain. We all realize it’s going to take some time for him to adjust being home, but we’ll be there for him.”
“Is he married, sir?”
“He was,” Alex answered simply.
“Understand, sir.”
Chris tugged on his father’s arm. “Grant, I mean, Captain Stevens said I could write to him, dad.”
Alex put an arm around his son. “Appreciate that, captain.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.” Looking at Chris, he said, “One day you might see Chris wearing one of these uniforms.”
“I’d be proud,” Alex said, looking down at his son. “Well, I guess we’ve taken enough of your time. Oh, look at that,” he said pointing at the burgers. “We interrupted your lunch. Those burgers are probably ice cold. Let me buy you fresh ones.”
“Oh, no, sir. That’s okay. Believe me, I’ve eaten a lot worse,” Grant replied with a slight grin.
“I’m sure you have!” One more time, he offered his hand, this time being more careful. “Take care, captain, and again, God bless you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Chris, a fifteen year old boy from Indiana, probably never realized what an emotional impact this trip and this meeting would have on him. He looked at his father, then went to Grant, giving him a quick, heartfelt hug.
As he and his father were nearing their table, Grant walked up behind them. “Chris, wait a minute. Here. I want you to have this.” He held his hand out. In his palm was his gold Trident.
One shocked fifteen year old, with eyes the size of dinner plates, was almost at a loss for words, as he shook his head. “Oh, no! I can’t!”
“I insist, Chris. I just ask that you keep it in a secure place for now. Then when the time comes, and you make it through BUD/S, I’d be honored if you wore it. Okay?”
Chris took it in his hand. His fingers curled around the pin, holding it tightly. He nodded his head, as he stared up at Grant. “Would you mind if I had Uncle Chris keep this for me?”
“Not at all. In fact, I think that’s a very mature decision. Listen, Chris, I hope you understand I’m not trying to put any pressure on you. If you decide not to try for BUD/S, or even if you don’t want to enter any branch of service, whatever you decide to do, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. But I still want you or your uncle to hang onto the Trident.” Grant had to take a deep breath before he said, “You know, Chris, Mr. Southere, this whole experience has been special for me, too. I’d really like to keep in touch with all of you. Okay?”
Chris nodded. His father again offered a hand to Grant. “Thank you, captain.” Then, he put an arm around his son’s shoulders. They went to their table.
Grant sat down. Sitting there quietly, he reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. He drew the photo out from under the flap, unfolded it, and looked at his dad. Then raising his eyes, he focused on a father and son.
A haze drifted across the eastern horizon, as a thin veil shrouded an early morning sun. The day’s forecast was for a high of ninety-six degrees, humidity eighty-five percent. Both not unusual for late July.
Traffic on all roadways was typical for the time of day, heavy and congested, with sounds of blaring horns, trucks braking, cars backfiring.
In Arlington National Cemetery there was peace and calm, as if noise from the outside world had been silenced.
Two Navy officers, wearing their summer service whites, walked side by side along a path, looking for a specific row, a specific headstone.
Finally locating the row, they walked across freshly mowed grass, being respectful of the hallowed ground, being cautious where they stepped.
Joe Adler stopped in front of a headstone. He looked at Grant and tilted his head slightly to the right. He spoke quietly. “Here he is.”
Grant walked nearer, standing next to Adler, looking down at a white marble marker. Engraved in black concrete dye was an inscription:
Tony Mullins
Purple Heart
Ensign
U.S. Navy
Vietnam
1941–1978
CIA
1972–1978
They both stood quietly in front of the headstone, each in their own thoughts. A few minutes passed when Grant reached into his shirt pocket. Getting down on one knee by the stone, he laid his own Bronze Star medal with “V” from Vietnam, at the base.
In the center of the star is a superimposed bronze star, the center line of all rays of both stars coinciding. The reverse side has the inscription “Heroic or Meritorious Achievement” then Grant’s name. It’s suspended from a ribbon with white, scarlet, white stripes; a center stripe of ultramarine blue; then white, scarlet, white stripes.
Grant bowed his head, as he pressed his palm against the stone. “Rest in peace, Tony.” He got up. Both he and Adler braced at attention, then snapped a salute.
They started to leave, but Grant paused and touched the top of the headstone. “Thanks, Mullins-san. Won’t ever forget you, buddy.”
As they slowly walked along the path, Adler looked at Grant and asked, “You okay?”
“Been better. You?”
“Same.”
Grant pointed to a wooden bench positioned under a dogwood tree. “Let’s sit over there for a minute.”
More visitors started arriving. Most came just to pay their respects to all buried here, some specifically looking for markers, carrying flowers and small American flags.
Grant raised his aviator sunglasses, and brushed his fingers across his eyes. Then he leaned forward, unconsciously rubbing his palms together. He glanced around the cemetery grounds, at row upon row of white marble headstones. No matter what angle the markers are viewed from, they’re all in perfect alignment.
Without turning to look at Adler, he asked quietly, “How many more times will we have to do this, Joe?” Adler knew Grant wasn’t expecting an answer.
Lowering his head, Grant closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly. With the beginning sound of a lone bugle playing taps, he and Adler stood. They turned toward the American flag, flying at half staff, then saluted their respect to an unknown soul.
When it was quiet again, Adler asked, “You think it’s time to head over to NIS?”
“Guess we’d better get going,” Grant answered as they turned toward the parking area.
“Hey, skipper, I know we’ve been hashing it out. Is today the day we talk to the admiral? He’s gotta be wondering.”
“Just as soon as we get back.”
As they were nearing the Vette, Grant dug his keys out of his pocket. Adler started walking around him when Grant put a hand in front of him. “Hold up a minute, Joe.” Adler turned. Grant stood directly in front of his friend, staring into the familiar blue eyes. “This is the only time I’m going to bring this up.” He took a breath before continuing. “I know it’s been tearing you up inside, but that day, the day the chopper went down, you were following my orders. You got those men and Grigori to safety. It was you who completed the mission, Joe.” He lightly poked a finger against Adler’s chest. “That’s what I won’t forget. That’s what I want you to remember. Do you understand what I mean, Joe?”