Suddenly, the president was standing in front of him. The band still played, blaring out the exuberant notes. The president studied his face for a moment, then glanced pointedly at the empty chair at Tombstone’s side. Despite the standing room only crowd, Tombstone had insisted on it — it was only right to save the seat next to him for the only person he wanted there that he couldn’t have. Although people had flown in from all around the world to be at his retirement ceremony, there was a massive, aching hole in his heart.
The president returned Tombstone’s salute then held out his hand. Tombstone dropped his salute to take it.
“How are you doing, Admiral? Really, I mean — not what you tell the rest of the world.”
Tombstone started to temper his answer, to let fall the words he’d learned to say so easily over the last month and a half. But gazing into the president’s deep blue eyes, he realized it wouldn’t wash. But if he started talking, started telling the president how he was really doing, he knew he would never be able to make it through the ceremony.
As though he were reading his mind, the president’s gaze softened. “We’ll talk later. Whatever I say in public, know this — your service to this nation has been beyond measure. And I’m for one profoundly grateful for it. Now, let’s get on with this before these old farts start dropping their salutes out of sheer boredom.”
The president turn to the crowd as Hail to the Chief ended and returned their salute. Tombstone’s uncle stepped forward to introduce the president, but the president waved him back. With his voice pitched to reach the open the microphone, he said, “They all know who I am, Admiral. And it’s not me they’re here to see.”
The president’s protocol officer turned pale, as did the chief of naval operations. But when the president wants to speak first at military ceremony, there’s not much anyone can do about it.
The president approached the lectern. He paused, giving the crowd a chance to settle down. “I would give anything if the circumstances were different,” he said simply. He looked back at Tombstone and said, “We’re assembled here today to observe the retirement of a great naval officer — and a great man. At some point in the program, we’ll go over the exact details of his career. You probably already know them as well as I do. But as I reviewed Admiral Magruder’s record, I found myself repeating one word — and perhaps some of you can guess what it was.
“Patriot. Admiral Magruder has been on the front lines of every conflict this nation has faced for the last several decades, putting his life on the line to protect our way of life. And, perhaps more difficult — as the admiral will tell you himself — he has had to make decisions that affected the lives of others. I can tell you from personal experience that while the danger may be less immediate, there’s no more difficult agony that one faces. And in the end, his sacrifices have been greater than those most of us have been called upon to make. And yet here he stands — a patriot. I think that’s not too strong a word.
“I could go on for hours, you know. Members of Congress tell me I often do.” There was a small, appreciative chuckle from the crowd at that. “But this is his ceremony, and I’d rather hear what Admiral “Tombstone” Magruder has to say, as I’m sure you would. Admiral?” The president stepped back from the lectern.
His uncle nudged him. “Go ahead, Stony. It’s all yours.” Tombstone stood, and found that his knees were trembling slightly. He called upon every ounce of iron will that he possessed and forced himself to walk to the lectern.
Not like this, oh not like this — not alone again. I never knew how much I needed her until she was gone. And now… I don’t know if I can face what is coming. To lose Tomboy, and now to lose the only other thing that ever mattered in my life…
He gazed out over the front row, and saw a drawn, pale Batman sitting there in the midst of the other admirals. If there was one person who understood the agony coursing through him, it was Batman. His best friend had not yet been able to speak a full sentence to him, his voice growing thick and harsh every time he tried. Tombstone knew that his old friend held himself personally responsible for Tomboy’s death.
It was only at Tomboy’s memorial service two weeks ago that Batman had finally been able to look in his eyes. Gazing at the torture there, Tombstone had felt his own loss recede just the slightest bit. Tomboy was gone — nothing would bring her back. And not even having a body to bury made closure even more difficult. Tomboy was officially MIA — missing in action — rather than KTA, but it was only a matter of a few weeks before she would be officially declared dead.
But the survivors had to go on, one way or the other, as they had before.
Tombstone had pulled Batman into a hard hug, and the rest of the crowd had drawn away for a few moments to give them the privacy they needed to each express his own grief.
“You never think this day will come,” Tombstone began, surprised to find this voice sounded steady. “Those long hours you spend pulling alert-five, the countless days spent sitting in the Ready Room, studying, hammering facts and data and emergency procedures into your head, the midwatches you stand… time seems to stand still, you watch the minute hand barely moving on your watch, but in the back of your mind you know that it’s only a matter of time until you walk down that flight deck and climb up into the most powerful fighter in the world. And that thought, that’s what keeps you going. That, and thinking of the people that you’re protecting every time you put on your flight suit, every time you fly a boring mission. And when you’re just starting out, it seems that it will last forever. That’s always who you’ll be, a fighter pilot.”
He paused for a moment and gazed out over the crowd. Some of the older men and women had a look of recognition on their faces, but most of them seemed a bit baffled. What was it he’d heard last cruise — that the average age of a sailor onboard Jefferson was only twenty years old? Few people appreciated the sheer numbers of young people that were the backbone of every military force, yet looking out over the crowd, he was struck by how much older he was than most of them.
He didn’t feel old, dammit. Okay, maybe a few aches and pains, but he wasn’t old.
But in this community, he was. A sudden peace settled over him. Yes, this was the right thing to do. Step aside, make room for those moving up. And go on to build a second career, one that thank god still involved flying, but apart and separate from the military.
I’ll always be a fighter pilot, he thought, with a rush of insight. Always. Even after I’m too old to crawl down the tarmac and strap my ass into an aircraft, it won’t matter. I was born to be a fighter pilot and that’s who I’ll be until the day I die. So let this new assignment bring what it will — it won’t change who I am, who I’ve always been.
“I’m leaving you a Navy facing increasing commitments around the globe,” he continued. “You’ve got some powerful new weapons to use — like this aircraft carrier we’re on. But it won’t be enough — it never is. And although I haven’t asked him, I think perhaps my uncle wouldn’t mind if I told you what he told me a few months ago.
“The battle group’s not the aircraft carrier. It’s not the airwing or the combatants that protect her. It’s not the mass of metal or the spare parts or even the submarine that goes with us.
“The battle group is you. All of you. It’s your dedication, your commitment, your courage and your steadfastness that makes this Navy what it is. And I know you’ve got what it takes — I’ve served with too many of you not to know that this is the finest fighting force in the world.”