Fade to Black - Proof (20 page)

“Of course,”
Jack said. He folded his hands on his notebook and smiled back. “Do you know
many of the Marines from Third Battalion?”

“Oh, yes,”
Rawls answered. “We are a big, but close, family here at Pendleton. I know many
of my fellow Marines, very well.”

“What about
Sgt. Casey Stillman?” he asked. He was nervous now and struggled not to show
it. “He’s the Marine who’s related to one of my students,” he said.

Rawl’s face
paled and her eyes widened, then she quickly got control of herself and smiled
tightly. “I know the name, but I am not sure if I’ve ever met Sgt. Stillman,”
she said. Now she was very uncomfortable, and Jack knew exactly why she would
be familiar with the name. It would have been on the list of several Marines
injured or killed in Fallujah recently. By now there would have been a somber
ceremony by the folks here in the rear, honoring and mourning the loss of some
of their own. Jack tried to show no reaction. There was no way she would tell
them, two nonmilitary strangers, the names of the dead. Did he dare ask about
the others? What would she do if he suddenly rattled off a list that contained
all of the names of the dead from the battle in Fallujah just over a week ago?
There was no way that he could risk that, if he wanted to see anything else
today. Jack quickly changed the subject and tried to cover his fear at the
confirmation he felt he had just received. Casey was very real and so were the
others. These were not names and faces that he had made up in his nightmares.
His mind reeled and his chest tightened. He looked over at Pam who looked down
at her own knees.

“What about
other support services?” he asked, fighting the nausea that now churned inside
him. He looked at his notepad, unable to look Rawls in the eyes again. “Medical
service, ministers, that sort of thing,” he said then looked up again. Her face
was somber and anxious. She seemed relieved, however, by the new course their
conversation was taking. “Are those sort of personnel based out of here as well?”
he asked.

“Partially,”
Rawls answered. “We have some medical and chaplain services staff here, what we
call “organic” personnel. But when we deploy, we supplement them with what we
call “MAPsters,” Marine Augmentation Personnel, like doctors and nurses as well
as chaplains. The augmentees expand our support staff to meet our needs in
theater. Most of our corpsmen, they’re like medics that are assigned to each
combat platoon,” she said to Pam, perhaps sensing that Jack already knew this,
“most of them are organic, but we do expand the corpsmen staff a great deal for
deployment. They’re usually put in medical companies and surgical companies
that we stand up for deployment. All of the support personnel are actually Navy
personnel. When they’re not deployed they work at various Navy hospitals and
clinics,” she finished.

“I see,” Jack
said. He sensed that Pam was becoming more anxious and wanted desperately to
know what she was thinking. He feigned scribbling another note on his pad. “Lieutenant,
is there any chance of getting a little tour, maybe seeing Third Battalion’s
spaces and maybe the chaplain services or medical?”

Rawls made a
show of looking at her watch. “I can take you on a short little tour, if you
want,” she said. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I can show you what some of our
stuff looks like. Most of our people at Third Battalion are gone, out in the
field,” she said with insincere apology.

“Whatever you
have time for would be great,” Jack said and smiled at Pam. He saw that her
eyes were sad and her face terribly pale. “Is that okay with you, sweetheart?”

“Sure,” Pam
smiled tightly.

“Well,” Rawls
said, rising and grabbing a set of keys from the desk. “Why don’t we ride
together in my car, and I’ll take you over by Third Battalion,” she said,
ending any other immediate conversation. “On the way back I’ll drop you at your
car and take you out to the main gate, okay?”

“That would be
great,” Jack said. He wondered why he was not more shaken by his interview with
the lieutenant. Hadn’t he just learned that Casey was real? Didn’t that confirm
his most horrifying fear? And yet he felt remarkably calm. Maybe it was because
the confirmation was no real surprise to him. He wondered if all of his anxiety
might be fear of how Pam was taking all this. And maybe a still undiscovered
terror that he had no idea what this would really mean for him or what he could
possibly do next. He was tied to a real Marine, dead or dying in Iraq. Hell, he
might even be him. Was Hoag right? Was all the rest of this just an elaborate
ruse of his tortured mind, a fantasy designed to protect him from his fear of
death and leaving his girls? Jack shook off the thought. He would have time for
this later.

Finish up and
get the fuck out of here. Get Pam out of here
.

He looked up
and saw that Rawls was looking at him with curiosity and Pam with real concern.

“Are you okay,
Jack?” Rawls asked.

“Yeah,” Jack
answered, screwing on another fake smile. “Just got up too fast and got a
little dizzy.”

“Well, let’s
get going,” Rawls said and led them out.

They stepped
into the small waiting room where Rawls left them for a moment, telling them
she needed to let her office personnel know where she would be. When she
stepped through the other door, leaving them alone for a moment, Pam wrapped
her arms tightly around Jack.

“Oh, my God,”
she said, her voice trembling. “What the hell is going on, Jack? How could you
possibly know these things?”

“It’s okay, baby,”
Jack said. He hugged her again. “Everything is going to be all right.”

“How?” she
asked, her face against his chest. “What are you going to do? I just don’t
understand what’s going on. I’m so scared, Jack.” Jack sensed that she was no
longer worried that he was crazy. Her fears were much bigger than that now.

“Shhh. It’s okay,
Pam,” he said softly and then tilted her face up to look into her eyes. “I’ll
fix this Pam. I will not leave you guys, do you understand?”

Pam looked
back at him with fear, but also with hope. She nodded and then dabbed her eyes
on the corner of her sleeve and sniffled.

“I’m sorry,”
she said and took his hand, trying to straighten up and look normal for the lieutenant.

“I love you,
Pam,” Jack said as Rawls came back in the room.

“Ready?” the lieutenant
asked brightly, like a realtor showing a house, Jack thought. She was perfect
for public affairs.

“You bet,” he
said. They followed her down the stairwell back to the first deck and out the
front door, chatting about where Rawls and her family were from, though Jack
didn’t really hear the answers.

Rawls drove a
black Ford Explorer with Ohio plates and a yellow and orange “Semper Fi”
sticker in the back window. Jack sat up front with the lieutenant, but reached
his hand behind him between the seats to hold Pam’s hand. He noticed that her
hand was sweaty and grimaced at the pain his nightmare was causing his best
friend.

They left the parking
lot and turned right onto a tree‐lined street that, after a mile or so, broke
out into row after row of industrial‐looking buildings. With each minute the
base became more and more familiar.

Just behind
the low brick building coming up on the left will be another one just like it—the
base post office.

As they passed
by, Jack saw without much surprise the United States Post Office sign. He
looked out the front window without much satisfaction, knowing that they would
turn right at the next stop sign. A moment later Rawls flipped on her turn
signal and slowed down. Jack realized she was talking to him.

“I’m sorry,
what?” he said.

“Yes,” Pam
answered for him from the back, “One, a little girl.”

“They’re great
aren’t they?” the lieutenant asked warmly.

“Claire is our
world,” Jack said and felt Pam’s lightly sweating hand squeeze his.

“I know how
you feel,” Rawls said as they made the turn Jack knew was coming. The PAO
continued on, talking about her boys, but Jack couldn’t pay attention. In a
minute they would come to a gym on the left, where he and his Marines spent
countless hours every day. Just past it was a recreation center. Soon they
would come to the building that housed the FSSG, or Fleet Services Support
Group, which administratively managed supply, religious services, medical
services and other support activities for the Marines. Jack had a sudden idea.

“Are the
religious services people in the FSSG admin spaces?” he asked. “I would love to
talk to someone from Chaplain Services about the important job they have.”

“They are
actually in their own offices nearby, but the admin for those folks are in
FSSG,” Rawls answered, looking at her watch. “We can stop for a moment and see
if someone is around if you like.”

“That would be
great,” Jack answered. What would he say? How could he find out more about
Hoag? He had said he was the regimental chaplain, so his office might be over
at regiment, but for sure the folks at FSSG would know who he was.

Rawls parked
the truck and they all walked together over to the low brick building, entering
through a side door.

“Stand by here
for just a sec,” the PAO said, “I’ll see if there is anyone around who has a
minute for you.” She disappeared into the office, leaving Pam and Jack in the
hallway. Pam wrapped her arms around him again.

“What are we
doing, Jack?” she asked in a loud whisper.

But Jack
barely heard her. Instead he stared past her where his eyes froze on the wall
behind her. Next to them in the hall were several rows of pictures for the
various commands that fell under the umbrella of the FSSG. The first group had
yellow lettering over it that read “Medical,” under which was a picture of a Naval
officer in woodland cammies, labeled MEF SURGEON. Beneath the picture was his
name. Then there were several rows of pictures with the various subcommanders,
such as REGIMENTAL SURGEON, GROUP SURGEON, WING SURGEON, and then lower‐ranking
officers that ran the various medical battalions.

But it was the
second cluster of pictures that froze Jack in place. It was labeled RELIGIOUS
SERVICES, and under the MEF CHAPLAIN picture was another labeled REGIMENTAL
CHAPLAIN. Beneath the placard was a smiling face that Jack recognized very
well. The man, heavier than the man Jack knew from his nightmares, smiled out
at him. The eyes behind his round glasses reflected a much happier time.
Beneath the picture of the smiling face were yellow letters that read CDR
EMMETT G. HOAG. Jack stared at the picture and his mind flashed to images of
Hoag screaming at him hysterically in the desert, red and shiny loops of
intestines falling out from beneath his desert cammie blouse.

“Jack, what is
it?” His wife’s trembling voice pulled him back from the moonlit desert. He
turned to her, but couldn’t speak. “Baby, what?” she said. He could tell she
was on the verge of tears. She turned and looked behind her at the photograph
and then read the name. Her face turned pale and she let go of his hand,
placing it instead over her mouth. Jack heard the breath stick in his wife’s throat.
“Oh, my God,” she said, for a moment unable to tear her eyes from the picture.
Then she turned to him, her hand still over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”

Jack couldn’t
speak, but nodded his head. Then he took her hand and turned his back to the
wall, unable to look at Hoag’s face again. He wrapped his arms around his wife
to comfort her, but knew he was failing miserably.

Lieutenant
Rawls came back out of the office, looked at them, and then hesitated a moment.
It was clear she had interrupted something.  She apparently decided it was none
of her business and politely ignored the emotional looks of the pleasant young
couple.

“I’m sorry,
Jack,” she said. “There isn’t really anyone around to talk to you right now.”

“That’s okay,”
Jack said, forcing a smile. He kept his arms wrapped around his wife, no longer
caring about the façade or what this helpful young lieutenant might think. He
suddenly, desperately needed to get them both the hell out of here. “My wife is
actually not feeling very well, Lieutenant,” he said. “I’m sorry to have run
you around for nothing, but if you don’t mind we’re going to have to skip the
Third Battalion tour.”

Rawls smiled
sympathetically. He wasn’t at all surprised that she also looked relieved. They
had been more than she had bargained for when she came to work this morning, he
suspected.

“That’s no
problem, Jack,” she said. “I’ll take you folks back to your car.” She led them
towards the door. “You haven’t run me around at all,” Rawls said graciously.
“This is exactly what they pay me for.”

“Thanks,” Jack
said as they headed to the truck. He piled in the back with Pam this time and held
her against his shoulder as they headed back to the MEF headquarters building.
They rode in silence. Rawls seemed to sense that they preferred not to talk.
Jack realized he had all he needed here anyway. They had confirmed that Casey
and Hoag were very much real, and Jack had no doubt from the PAO’s response in
her office that Stillman’s name appeared on a casualty report. He had confirmed
in his own mind that everything he thought he knew about Camp Pendleton and his
Marines was true. This had been his home, THEIR home. They had lived on base in
the married enlisted housing only a few miles from here. They had been
neighbors with Staff Sergeant Danny Wilson and his wife and two little girls,
both older than Claire. Jack knew that he could drive right this moment to
their home in the cluster of townhouses and their house would look exactly as
it did in his mind. Behind it was a green and yellow kid‐sized picnic table
where Danny and Beth’s little girls had read books to Claire while the four of
them drank beer.