02 September 2005 – Ernest N. Morial Convention Center, New Orleans, Louisiana

“So, Keisha, what you’re saying is we’re running out of food?” Ezra Washington asked.

“Technically, Ezra, we’ve been running out of food since we got here,” Jeff pointed out.

“Technically, you’re the worst comedian ever, Jeff.”

“That’s insubordination.”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Not as much as having to deal with you every day.”

The rest of the center’s command staff snickered at the exchange while they sat in the first floor restaurant where they held their staff meetings. The frequent joking between the top two acknowledged leaders helped keep tensions low among the staff. The staff met every morning to discuss issues and concerns before they became major problems. With so many people in the building minor things could rapidly become major concerns.

Joking aside everyone gathered for the meeting held mutual respect for each other. The convention center proved to be a high-pressure environment the people in charge were constantly managing. All of them showed themselves to be capable, proactive leaders.

“With our current rate of consumption, we’ll exhaust the meat from the reefer trucks within two days,” Keisha Williams said as she continued her report. Growing up in and around her family’s restaurant in Indiana made her a natural choice for kitchen manager.

“The rice will last us through the weekend, longer if we alternate it with pasta which is also still at hand, but we’ll run out of both by Monday. Boiling that much so often produces a ton of steam, and items to clean, but we’ve been handling it. As I’ve mentioned before, the rice is nutritionally different than pasta but we can add more veggies to pasta meals to offset that difference and provide more calories to the folks here. Collecting the various fats from the meats as we use them – JC Alvarez’s idea – allows us to balance meals further, too.”

“Bottom line is, however, we’ll be facing a real problem come next week if we’re still here?” Gary Smith asked Keisha.

“Oh, yeah,” she confirmed. “By Monday, we’ll start having some real problems around here. We might get away with tapering the calorie allotments down a little, but that won’t gain us more than a day. We’re running up against the low edge of minimum daily requirements as it is.”

“So, it’s time for me to become a thorn in FEMA’s side?” Jeff asked.

“Them or whoever’s running things at this point, yes.”

“Okay, I’ll get with Gary after our meeting and start rattling cages. We’ll start with our usual FEMA contact first and work our way up the ladder from there if we have to. We’ve been quiet here in comparison to what we’ve been hearing from the Superdome.” Jeff turned to Ezra.

“Make sure to give Ephraim a pat on the back for putting together those shower stations, if you haven’t already. I heard a lot less grumbling during my walk-around this morning now that people have had a chance to get clean. I know it was a ton of work to move those industrial washers and driers, keep the shower stations going and wash all those towels yesterday, but it was a big help.”

“I’ve been praising him and everyone else left and right, don’t you worry,” Ezra assured his boss. “I know Jack’s happy, too, because that’ll help keep folks from getting really sick while they’re here.”

Jack Blanchard nodded in confirmation. The last thing they needed was a disease outbreak. The various departments presented their reports in turn until the meeting reached its conclusion.

“All right, everyone, thank you very much both for your reports and your hard work all week. We’re almost done here, so let’s keep ourselves focused until the feds get us out of this place. Same time tomorrow unless something changes?” Everyone nodded. “Okay, back to the salt mines, you louts!”

Everyone laughed as they left the tables and went off to work.

“We’re headed right for a cliff aren’t we, Ezra?” Jeff asked in a quiet voice while keeping the grin on his face.

“We’ve been leaning out over the edge of it since we got here, Boss,” he answered in the same manner.

“What do you mean you’re not handling things here any longer?” Jeff bellowed into the radio’s microphone.

“FEMA’s been relieved as the lead agency for the relief efforts,” came the dispassionate reply. “The Army’s in charge now. You’ll have to call them to ask about your evacuation timeline.”

Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose.

Typical narrow-minded, bureaucratic, ‘not my job’ bullshit. “So what’s their contact information?”

“I don’t have that readily available at the moment,” the voice said without any apparent interest in finding the information. “You’ll have to call back later.”

Jeff swore, snapping off the power switch to the ham radio set. He massaged his temples while staring at the desk.

“That asshole’s lucky I can’t reach through the radio and strangle him.”

“I’ll try raising the Navy or Coast Guard again,” Gary offered, “they should be able to get me the information.”

“Let me know when you have that, Gary. I’ll be doing my walkthrough of this place, but I’ll come right back once I hear from you. Any luck raising Fort Devens or someone who could contact my unit for me?”

“Yeah, the night staff got ahold of a ham operator at Hanscom Air Force Base outside of Boston. He called your unit’s Officer of the Day. That officer said he’d relay the message to your CO as to your status and location, but that he didn’t foresee an issue for you down the road. You have a pretty good excuse.”

“I’d rather have a pretty good ride out of here...” Jeff muttered. He shook his head. “Give me a call when you’ve got something, Gary.”

Jeff hadn’t made it past the first knot of refugees inside the exhibit space when his radio crackled. He jogged back to the security office.

“That was quick.”

“I’m good, what can I say?” Gary chuckled. “I’ve got a Specialist Isaacs from ‘Joint Task Force Katrina’ on the line and standing by.”

Jeff gave the specialist the rundown of the impending food shortage and the need to evacuate the center. The specialist got his lieutenant on the radio and asked Jeff to repeat his message. Lieutenant Davies wrote down the full scope of the situation at the convention center. The lieutenant told Jeff that he would hear back from someone in two hours.

“Even if it’s just to keep you informed of where we are in working the problem someone will get back to you, Sergeant,” the lieutenant promised.

“I appreciate that, sir. I’m responsible for a lot of folks here.”

“I’m lighting a fire under this one. Expect some movement on this soon.”

“Wilco, sir.”

“Hang tough, Ranger. JTF Katrina out.”

Jeff, Keiko, and Ezra ate lunch together in the same restaurant where they held the staff meetings. Jeff guessed the food was not the normal fare served there during events. Afterward he and Ezra continued the walkthrough. As they inspected the conditions at the aid station Gary called on the radio again.

“Jeff, they’re sending another chopper out to us soon,” Gary informed them once inside the command center.

“How many people are they sending out this time?”

“Only half a dozen.”

“Do we still have enough diesel left to send some ambulances over to the LZ and pick these people up, Ezra?”

“Sure. More than enough.”

“All right,” Jeff sighed. “When are they coming?”

“Thirty minutes,” Gary answered.

“No moss growing on these folks. Let’s get things moving, XO.”

Jeff and Ezra continued working in the security office while waiting for their guests to arrive. They heard the radio call when the ambulances announced their return, but were too busy with contingency plans to really pay attention. A few minutes later one of the EMTs cleared her throat causing Jeff to look up.

“Ma’am, gentlemen, welcome to the Morial Convention Center. I’m Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox, US Army. This is Ezra Washington, retired US Navy chief master at arms.”

“I hear you’re the one holding things together here, Sergeant?” the senior army officer, an MP lieutenant colonel, asked.

“Not without everyone’s help, ma’am. They’re doing the heavy lifting around here.”

“Folks, would you mind if we step back out into the hall?” Ezra asked when the visitors started asking questions. “It’s already crowded in here, and the folks working here won’t be able to hear if the conversation gets too loud.”

“I understand you’ve got around twenty thousand people here, Sergeant?” a FEMA official asked while the group walked toward the lobby.

“A little under twenty-three thousand at last count, sir. We got lucky when five tractor-trailers showed up looking for a safe place to hole up until the roads reopened. For the past week we’ve been living off the food they were hauling, but by Monday it’ll be just about gone. We need an evac plan ASAP, sir.”

The MP officer looked at one of the other officers.

“The roads between here and Louis Armstrong International Airport are still flooded, ma’am. The buses we have staged can get here, but the only airfield capable of landing the transport planes accessible without a prolonged bus ride is the naval air station. We need clearance before bringing civilian transport onto the base.”

“And how long will that take, Captain?”

“A day or two at most, ma’am. That’s to get the transport plan in place and start moving people. Clearance onto the base won’t take more than an hour to get.”

“Get on it, Neal. Make it happen.” The captain nodded and left the group while raising a satellite phone to his ear. “It’s as good as organized, gentlemen,” the colonel commented. “He’s sharp.”

“Why don’t we have a seat in here, ma’am?” Ezra asked when they approached the lobby restaurant where staff held their morning briefings. “It’s not totally private, but we won’t be bothered during our discussions.”

The group wasn’t even fully settled in their seats before the kitchen doors opened. Servers brought out sandwiches and drinks for them. One of the servers winked at Jeff and gave him a big kiss. Jeff watched part of her anatomy sway as she returned to the kitchen. He sighed.

“Your wife is gonna be some kinda pissed at you if she ever finds out about that,” Colonel Rancic chuckled. She’d noticed the wedding band on Jeff’s left hand.

“That was my wife, ma’am. We were on vacation in the city when the hurricane came through. Now, excuse me for asking this ma’am, but why did you and the group come to visit? I’m sure you have more pressing matters to attend to, around New Orleans.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Sergeant,” the colonel said. “You and your team have done an amazing job here. After the way all levels of government screwed up the relief efforts so far we can use a win. I wasn’t about to leave this to chance.”

“Colonel, the men and women of the Coast Guard have proven their valor and dedication once again by all accounts. The ham operators we’ve been in touch with told us about the stellar job the helicopter crews are doing. That’s not to sell others with the task force short, ma’am, if I may borrow the phrase. We just haven’t heard as much about other troops as Admiral Allen’s.” Keiko emerged from the kitchen again, carrying another meal, and sat down next to Jeff.

“Ma’am, this is my wife, Keiko. Keiko, Lieutenant Colonel Joyce Rancic and her team. They’ve come out to help us start planning our departure.”

“We have met some amazing people here, Jeffrey, but I will be glad to get home and see our children again.”

During lunch the convention center staff briefed the colonel’s team on the updates since the Navy’s visit. They also led the visitors on a tour of the mammoth facility, more to walk off the meal than anything else. The tour barely began before a familiar nemesis reappeared.

“You need to arrest that man!” the man bellowed while pointing at Jeff.

Jeff and Keiko’s eyes narrowed at the man accosting them. The rest of the center’s staff didn’t look happy either.

“And why is that, sir?” Colonel Rancic asked.

“He and his thugs assaulted and seriously injured nearly a dozen men! Then they did nothing to treat them!”

“You mean the eleven ‘men’ who were going to rape Mizz Keiko?” Ephraim Gallatin cut in before anyone else could. “The eleven who held Mister Gary at gunpoint? I heard you cowered in the corner before Mister Jeff and his friends acted that night. You were just gonna sit around on your ass and wait for an opportunity to take credit for everyone else’s hard work again, weren’t you George?”

“That’s Mister Thibodeaux to the likes of you!”

“Kiss my ass, old man!” Ephraim shot back. “As far as I’m concerned you’re a fat piece of shit! Momma worked her ass off helping to plan the church’s summer picnic three years ago and you waltzed in and told everyone about all the work you did! Is it any wonder no one volunteers for anything church-related anymore if you’re around? You’re just pissed that Mister Jeff built an effective team here in seconds! He makes sure everyone else gets the credit around here, even for stuff he could rightfully claim. Mizz Keiko’s the same way. She’s the one who made sure all the kids here had things to occupy them during the day instead of sitting around, but hasn’t said a word about the work she’s done.

“They both understand that the rest of us are the local community, the ones with roots, and that we’re the ones who will be left to pick up the pieces here after they leave. They’ve helped us step up and take charge over the past few days. You certainly didn’t. Get outta my face, you old fraud! You make me sick!”

During Ephraim’s speech the others on the center’s staff formed a semi-circle behind him and glared at George Thibodeaux. It was clear, even to George, that he’d find no support among the center’s leadership. He hadn’t had much luck drumming it up among the other refugees, either. There were too many spreading the story of that first night to the others who arrived after the incident in question. As with that first night, George Thibodeaux oozed away.

“That was a pretty impressive display of loyalty, Sergeant,” Colonel Rancic muttered to Jeff.

“I’ve just been giving credit where credit is due, ma’am. Everyone – well, almost everyone – here has chipped in from that first night. We’ve had remarkably few problems even though most here have lost everything. I’m like a baseball team’s manager: I’ve been letting people do the jobs I’ve asked them to do without micro-managing them.”

“Then it’s up to us at JTF Katrina to make sure your story here has a happy ending.”

Thirty buses pulled into the loading docks on the morning of September 4th. Hours of prep work by the center staff helped reassure the refugees they’d be safely evacuated and that they would cooperate with the planned departure. The FEMA rep who came to help with the evac was honest when she told them most wouldn’t be able to return to their homes right away, or ever. She was honest about what she didn’t know and everyone seemed to appreciate that. The last groups to leave would be the center’s staff and their families. They would make sure they left the center in better shape than when the refugees started to arrive. Jeff and Keiko made sure to start thanking everyone on staff as the final group of non-staff buses pulled away.

“I can’t believe we pulled it off, Ezra,” Jeff admitted as the sound of the final bus’ exhaust faded away.

“Thanks to you, Jeff. This place could have been a disaster inside a disaster otherwise.”

“I didn’t do it alone, Ezra.” It was a point they agreed to disagree on. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“Yeah. They’re gonna make sure we get over to the Navy base after we lock up the place.”

Jeff turned and looked into the empty gloom of the now-dark convention hall.

“I guess Keiko and I are ready to go, Chief,” he said to the Coast Guard port security detachment commander next to him.

“There’s a Humvee waiting outside for you and your wife, Sergeant.”

“You all have our address?” he asked Ezra. The older man nodded. The others of the clean-up and shut-down group stopped what they were doing to say goodbye. Jeff grinned at the friends they made and took the time to shake every hand. Turning back to Ezra, Jeff asked him, “Permission to leave the ship, Chief?”

“Permission granted, sir. Fair winds and following seas to the both of you.”

With a kiss on the cheek to Ezra from Keiko they left the building they called home for nearly a week.

“My guys’ll get you over to the LZ safely, Sarge,” the Coast Guard CPO said while they exited the lobby. “The rest of us will make sure these folks get outta here okay.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“My pleasure, Sarge. Take care, folks.”

“Where are we going again, Jeffrey?” Keiko asked once the Coast Guard Humvee pulled away from the convention center.

“Camp Shelby in Mississippi where the feds have their relief efforts headquartered. I guess they want to debrief us before we head home.”

“Why did they not interview us somewhere closer to New Orleans? Or in New Orleans itself? Flying us over one hundred miles to do so does not make sense, Jeffrey.”

“It’s the government, Keiko. You honestly thought anything having to do with the government would make sense?”

“Yes, I suppose that would be an unreasonable expectation.” Keiko answered with a sheepish look. Jeff laughed and gave his wife a hug.

The crew chief of the Mississippi Army National Guard Black Hawk settled Jeff and Keiko in the passenger compartment of the aircraft before securing their bags for flight. As the helicopter swung north and arced over the convention center, Jeff saw the remaining staff of the center lined up on the street waving up at them. He pointed them out to Keiko and they waved back. Once more he wondered how many he’d ever see again.

There was little conversation during the forty minute flight. The chopper’s crew chief saw fatigue claim his passengers within minutes of leaving New Orleans. He chuckled to himself while switching off Jeff and Keiko’s headsets, allowing them to sleep. Neither stirred until the crew chief woke them in preparation for landing at Hagler Army Airfield. The still-groggy couple followed the specialist assigned to bring them to their quarters. A short Humvee ride later they collapsed into their temporary bed.

Jeff wheezed through a five-mile run the next morning or, more accurately, his attempt at one. A week’s vacation wouldn’t normally have affected his stamina, but not working out at all while in the convention center combined with the knife wound across his back left him feeling weak. The base MPs stopped him no fewer than three times during the run because they didn’t recognize him, nor was his military ID visible. He didn’t have his ID holder with him since it was still buried at the bottom of his duffel bag. The interruptions prevented him from finding a rhythm to his run. By the time he returned to the visitors’ barracks Jeff was frustrated and in a bad mood.

The debriefing he and Keiko suffered after breakfast didn’t help. The lumbar support in Jeff’s chair pressed on his still-healing knife wound preventing him from getting comfortable. The first set of interviewers were two FEMA employees, a man and a woman they hadn’t met before. The man’s questions were condescending for reasons Jeff couldn’t begin to imagine. The pompous ass even kept insisting Jeff refer to him as ‘Regional Deputy Director Archuletta.’ As a result Jeff’s answers to the questions became monosyllabic. Keiko, when asked direct questions, answered in Japanese. The female member of the team barely spoke, but at least she was polite.

“You two could be more cooperative, you know?” the male FEMA interviewer commented after twenty minutes.

“I suppose we could, yes,” Jeff replied.

The interviewer waited for Jeff to continue.

“We can have you charged with hindering a federal investigation,” he threatened when Jeff didn’t.

“Then this interview is over until we have counsel present.”

Jeff and Keiko sat stone-faced, not answering any further questions. They continued sitting impassively while the one interviewer became more and more belligerent. The man stood and came around the table, trying to intimidate them by standing over Jeff. When Jeff’s silence continued the man became so enraged he slapped Jeff across the face.

Jeff’s right hand shot out and clamped down around the man’s genitals. The man gasped and rose up on his toes, trying to get away from Jeff. Jeff gave the man a death stare while he rose slowly from his seat. Keiko gave the same look to the other interviewer, though the woman looked shocked and raised her hands. The other woman wanted no part of what was happening.

“My turn,” Jeff growled.

His other hand grabbed a handful of the man’s shirt before he put the interviewer through the closed door. The hollow-core door normally opened inward, and about exploded from the impact. The man lay in a pile of splinters and cardboard on the carpeted floor. He gasped for breath as Jeff stepped out of the small office and into the hall. Stunned civilians and Army personnel stared in disbelief at the angry evacuee.

“I want to see MPs and the commanding officer of this abortion here in five minutes!” Jeff raged. He grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him to the lobby of the building.

“Sergeant?” someone asked from behind Jeff.

Jeff spun around with murder in his eyes. An Army captain and specialist stood next to Keiko with their hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Will you allow Specialist Turco to check your cheek? He’s a medic. I’d also like to have your wife photograph it for the MPs and CID now, in case the welt fades before they arrive. I’ve also called my CO.”

Jeff nodded while trying to calm himself.

The slap did no lasting damage to Jeff’s face. Specialist Turco tended to the FEMA employee as the outer door to the building opened. A pair of MPs stepped into the lobby and called the room to attention. A lieutenant general strode in along with a small crowd of other people. Based on the general’s look he wasn’t happy.

“Captain Arreguin, what the hell’s going on here?” the general asked.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on here, General,” Jeff interrupted. “This puffed-up little toad slapped me when I wouldn’t answer his insulting questions. My wife and I didn’t survive the past week in New Orleans to be treated this way, so I put a stop to that treatment. You’ll need a new door on that office, by the way. And if the tenor of that first ‘interview’ is what my wife and I should expect before we’re allowed to return home you’d best get me JAG counsel, General, because we refuse to answer any more questions until then.”

“He’s right, sir,” the female member of the FEMA team said. “I have no idea why Deputy Director Archuletta acted like that, but Sergeant and Mrs. Knox weren’t being difficult in any way. They simply stopped answering after a while. Frankly, General, I wouldn’t have answered Mr. Archuletta’s questions, either. It seemed like he was personally pissed off that FEMA’s no longer the lead agency in the efforts around here. The questions he asked were straight up inappropriate. It’s my fault for not putting a stop to it.”

“If I recall, Ms. Greeling, you’re still relatively new to the agency, correct?” asked someone behind the general. That man wore civilian clothes and a FEMA ID lanyard. “You only just came off orientation if I remember.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man turned his attention to Jeff.

“Mr. Knox, I’m Harry Walton. As Ms. Greeling’s and Mr. Archuletta’s supervisor, responsibility for his behavior falls to me. Do you wish to press charges?”

“Not if it means flying back here for Deputy Dickhead’s trial.”

“We’ll keep him away from you while you’re here, at the very least.” Harry Walton looked at Specialist Turco. “Can he be moved?”

“He’s got a couple of broken ribs, sir. He’ll need to be taken to the camp medical clinic by ambulance. Sitting up might be too painful.”

“Take care of it, Specialist,” the general ordered. “Sergeant, would you and your wife join Mr. Walton, Ms. Greeling, my staff, and I? I give you my word you are not a suspect in any investigation, nor will you need counsel. If you still feel you need JAG present, however, I will request counsel for you before we begin.”

“I believe we may trust General Honoré, Jeffrey,” Keiko whispered in Japanese. “I recognize him as the commander of JTF Katrina. The press call him The Ragin’ Cajun, and he does not suffer fools lightly.”

Jeff glanced at his wife. Keiko nodded.

“We’ll join you, General. We’ll forgo counsel at this time.”

“This way, General,” Captain Arreguin said. “We’ll use our large conference room.”

Once everyone settled into their chairs around the conference room table, Harry Walton turned to Jeff and Keiko.

“Mr. Knox, if you and Mrs. Knox will bear with us for a day or so, we’ll get you to one of our relocation camps so you may get to rebuilding your lives.”

“Mr. Walton, your agency will take us to an airport capable of handling a chartered civilian aircraft – possibly a small jet – which will take us home. We’re not going to any relocation camp. And have you missed the fact that I’ve been referred to as ‘Sergeant Knox’ multiple times since your arrival?”

“A little attention to detail from you would be good, Walton,” General Honoré commented. Harry Walton’s mouth snapped shut. Honoré turned to Jeff. “Where are you stationed, Sergeant?”

“Fort Devens in Central Massachusetts, General. I’d appreciate it if you could write me a note for work, sir, since my leave expires tomorrow.”

General Honoré’s eyebrows rose. “Captain, get the Sergeant’s unit on the phone right away.”

“Sir, I was joking,” Jeff explained. “A ham radio operator relayed a message to 10th Group headquarters a few days ago letting my CO know we were safe. He’s extending my leave to whenever I can report in again.”

“You’re a Green Beret?”

“No, sir, a Ranger attached to the group commander’s office, which is a bit of a long story. I’m not a long-tabber in any event.”

“Do you have enough leave accrued? I’ll authorize extra days for you so you won’t have to change any future plans.”

“Thank you, sir, but I have plenty. I could go on terminal leave at the end of this week if I wanted to.”

“You’re that short?”

“Twenty-nine and a wakeup until my ETS date, sir.”

“If you can arrange the charter, I’ll see to it that the plane is authorized to land at Hagler. Just let me or my staff know what type of fuel it takes before it comes down.”

“Wilco, General. What else do Keiko and I need to discuss with your task force before we can bug out, sir?”

Three hours later Jeff and Keiko had learned how many unanswered questions the task force needed answers to. Though the task force staff served them lunch and allowed them as many breaks as they needed, hours of questioning wore the couple out. Jeff rubbed at his gritty eyes while General Honoré’s staff packed their things.

“Thank you, Sergeant, Mrs. Knox, for your cooperation, especially after this morning. How soon do you think you’ll be able to arrange your charter flight?”

“We will call the company when we return to our room, General,” Keiko answered.

Honoré nodded. “Let Ms. Greeling know when you have the details.” The general ignored Harry Walton’s startled look and addressed Marcia Greeling. “Ms. Greeling, you are the liaison for these folks until they leave – their personal concierge, if you will. If they need it, you get it, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Walton, if you don’t stop trying to stare a hole in my head you’re in for a hell of a lot more trouble than you’re already getting. Your man effed up by the numbers, so you’re on thin ice around me as it is. Am I clear?” The man from FEMA simply gulped and nodded. Russel Honoré turned to Jeff and Keiko once again.

“The last favor I will ask of you folks is for you to appear with me tomorrow at a press conference. Our ‘friends’ in the press have heard hints of how different things were at the convention center as compared to conditions at the Superdome. Your shelter was a five-star hotel compared to that place. Since none of the rest of the folks from your convention center staff are currently available, I’m asking both of you to come with me and answer questions from the Fourth Estate.”

Jeff looked at General Honoré for a moment.

“Will I get hazardous duty pay, sir?”

Before they entered the lion’s den the general gave them a few pointers: answer only the question asked, don’t volunteer too much, don’t let them make you angry, if they do don’t let it show. Jeff hoped their eagerness to leave wouldn’t show, either. He and Keiko would leave as soon as the press conference ended. The plane already sat at Hagler Army Airfield being refueled, and the couple’s bags sat in the back of the Humvee which drove them here.

The klieg lights and camera flashes blinded Jeff when he and Keiko entered the room where the press set up for the interview session. JTF Katrina’s public information officer directed General Honoré and the reluctant couple to the appropriate chairs. Jeff covered his microphone and leaned over to whisper in the general’s ear.

“I can’t believe we let you talk us into this, sir. After I ETS I’ll be calling to cuss you out something fierce.”

“Fortunes of war, Sergeant,” Russ Honoré laughed. “Fortunes of war.”

The JTF PIO gave a brief statement about the progress of the overall relief efforts before introducing the three on the dais. He let the press know of Jeff and Keiko’s presence in the convention center from the height of the hurricane until the center’s ultimate evacuation. The Army major might as well have dressed them in steak-covered suits before releasing the aforementioned lions. Every single reporter started talking at once. Jeff leaned over to the general once again.

“I take that last comment back, sir. I’m gonna start right now.”

The senior officer smiled again and gave him an ‘I deserve it’ nod. Jeff turned back to the reporters and the three sat mute waiting for the noise to die down. Jeff glanced at his watch and covered a yawn.

“You people need a lesson in manners,” Russ said when the reporters finally fell silent. “Now, one at a time, raise your damn hands like you should have learned when you all were in kindergarten.”

“Sergeant Knox,” a young man in the first row asked after barely lifting his hand off his lap, “may I call you Jeff, by the way?”

Jeff flicked a pained glance at him.

“No.” He was already done with the whole thing.

“Uh ... okay ... um, where are you from?”

“Not New Orleans. My wife and I are on vacation.”

“Yes, I’ve heard, but where are you from?”

“That’s private. We have no desire to find you people camped outside our door once we get home. Next.”

“We’ve heard many evacuees from the convention center are naming you as being the one responsible for so many people being safely rescued,” a reporter from a national news outlet called out.

Jeff stared blankly at the reporter for a moment.

“That’s not actually a question.”

“My question is how did you accomplish that feat?”

“I didn’t. You truly believe I did that all myself?”

“Are you saying you didn’t then?”

“There were, at final count, twenty-three thousand six hundred twenty-two people in that building for nearly a week. The span of control for one supervisor is limited so, yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Jeff sighed. “Next.”

“People are calling you the Hero of New Orleans,” a voice called out from somewhere in the room.

Jeff glanced at Keiko and the general. Both shook their heads.

“Do you believe these people?” he asked them. “Are you telling me no one else did anything heroic in New Orleans over the last week?” he asked the reporters.

“The crews of the Coast Guard helicopters who plucked people off their roofs all week weren’t heroic? The police officers, fire fighters, EMTs and paramedics who stayed in the city and on the job didn’t do anything heroic? The doctors, nurses, and other staff who stayed in flooded hospitals with no power trying to keep their patients alive weren’t heroic?

“What about the people of New Orleans who couldn’t evacuate, didn’t stop fighting for their lives, and now face a very uncertain future? What about the ones who did evacuate? They left the familiarity of their homes and now they might never see those homes again. They’re not heroic? My wife and I are heading home to our family, our clean, dry, intact house. The people of New Orleans and the rest of the areas Katrina laid waste to are the ones who will rebuild the region, who will do the hard work for no other reason than this is their home. They are the heroes, not my wife and I.”

“There are reports that the company which runs the convention center is looking to speak to you about damages and theft!”

“The city wants to talk to you about running a medical facility without a license,” called another reporter.

“New Orleans Police wants to talk to you about theft of food from the hotels surrounding the center!”

Jeff looked at Keiko, incredulous. She smiled back and quoted a song he often listened to.

I should know better
I heard the warnings
I should know better
When the walls are forming

Jeff finally smiled. He leaned over to Russ Honoré one more time.

“Permission to be dismissed, sir?”

“Only if I get to leave with you, Sergeant. Let’s un-ass the AO.”

“Wait, where are you going?” one reporter called out when the three stood from their chairs. Jeff indicated he’d handle the question. Picking up his microphone he answered:

Against a wall
Of a million words
I fight to shout right back
Trying to be heard

“What the hell does that mean?” the reporter called out.

“It means you haven’t listened to a damn thing he’s told you,” General Honoré shot back. “We’re done here. If you learn how to behave, I might be back later. These good people have a plane to catch and I mean to get them on it.”

He turned from the assembled newsies and stepped off the platform. He gave an order to one of his staff while hooking a thumb over his shoulder. The soldier nodded and spoke into a radio. General Honoré motioned to Jeff and Keiko before leading them out of the room.

“I think I’d rather testify in front of Congress before doing that again,” Russ said in the hall while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Those people make me tired.”

“What did you say to that soldier, sir?”

“I ordered him to keep the parasites, I mean reporters, in that room until you’ve taken off. All you need is one of them getting ambitious and tracking you down because they researched your plane’s tail number.”

“Thanks, sir. It’ll only be a matter of time before they track us down I’m sure, but we’ll have more time to prepare thanks to you.”

“I know you folks didn’t do it by yourselves, but well done. If you ever have occasion to speak to any of the others who helped you again tell ‘em the same from me, would you?” Jeff and Keiko nodded. “Specialist Burton here will get you over to the airfield. Have a safe flight home.”

“We will sir, thank you.”

Jeff didn’t totally relax until the small business jet rotated off Hagler’s sole runway and into the Mississippi sky. A deep sigh escaped his lips when he heard the aircraft’s wheels retract. Keiko took his hand and squeezed.

“It will not be long now, Jeffrey.”

“We’re getting closer to home by the second. I’m getting closer to the end of my time in the Army, too.”

“Will you miss it?”

Jeff considered the question.

“Parts of it, definitely. I made some good friends during both enlistments. I’ve been extremely lucky with commanding officers and senior NCOs along the way, too. That’s what I’ll miss, the people I’ve served with. I won’t miss the combat itself, the deployments and separations, the petty bullshit that sometimes seems part-and-parcel of Army life. In the end, I can’t argue with where I wound up because of my service – as your husband and father of your children. I’m looking forward to growing old with you.”

Keiko snuggled up against her husband wearing a wide smile.

Above the cloud layer the bright sunlight streamed through the jet’s windows, bathing its interior in a pale golden hue. The young cabin attendant smiled to herself while she covered the sleeping couple in a thin fleece blanket. She hoped she would one day find a solid partner like the one holding the pretty wife sleeping securely in his arms.