15 March 2005 – Hilltop Road, Lancaster, Massachusetts

“Hey guys, before you run off to school would you help me out at the flagpole?”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“You’ll see, Alex. Come on. You too, Keiko.”

His wife raised an eyebrow but put her coat on anyway. She followed her family out onto the path to the flagpole in front of their house. Keiko noted Jeff shoveled the path and driveway earlier, clearing away the inch and a half of snow they received last night. An inch and a half of snow in Massachusetts wasn’t enough to warrant a day off from school for the kids or her, especially with the sun expected today. Any sunlit, shoveled pavement would dry in an hour or two.

“Could we hurry this up, Jeffrey? The wind is rather cold this morning.”

“Patience, Keiko-chan. Patience.”

“Look at you being all Zen,” she muttered.

From her stopping point midway along the path, Keiko saw Jeff explain to the kids what he wanted them to do. The boys attached an American flag to the halyard while Jeff and Sabrina worked on something else behind them, out of her view. She started to call out to her husband again but the movement of items attached to the halyard made her stop.

The new American flag unfurled from the boys’ hands as Jeff hauled on the line. Its bright, vibrant colors caught the rays of the rising sun shining through the trees. The flag which unfurled below it was also new, and it made her breath catch. The flag, slightly smaller but in the same ten-by-nineteen ratio as the US flag, bore a white field with a thick red border around it. Centered horizontally on the white field were two large, five-pointed stars: a blue-edged gold star closer to the pole which made her eyes water, and a blue-edged silver star of the same size next to it. It was a flagpole version of service banners which hung vertically in windows during World War II.

“When did you get that?” Keiko asked in a whisper as Jeff put his arm around her.

“I ordered it in December, and it arrived at the end of January. I figured today would be the best day to fly it for the first time.” Jeff watched the flag for a moment. “Don’t know why we haven’t had one all along.” He gave Keiko a quick hug and a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll help the kids finish getting ready for school.”

Keiko watched her family head back into the house before turning back to the pole. Despite the cold wind she stood there unmoving for a minute or two watching the gold star banner fly.

“Happy birthday, big brother.” Keiko whispered as she wiped a tear from her eye.

A week later Jeff gritted his teeth and willed himself to keep running toward the finish line despite the pain. Once past it, he collapsed onto the cold, somewhat yielding surface of the outdoor track at the Fort Devens Fitness Center. A small part of his brain noted the track’s pebbled rubber surface while the larger part of it reported the severe cramps in his right calf.

“Jeff!” Nina Quentin barked as she rushed over.

“Cramp...” he hissed to her through gritted teeth before trying to stretch the protesting muscle with his therapist’s help. His calf relaxed and he held out his hand so the lieutenant could help him up. He looked at Colonel Iannazzone hopefully, but the officer shook his head.

“Sorry, Jeff, but you didn’t meet the minimum time on your run.”

Jeff blew out a frustrated breath. This was Jeff’s third and final attempt at meeting Ranger Regiment PT standards before being released. “Well, sir, I guess you’re gonna be stuck with me now. Thanks for being here. I’m sure you had other, more important things you needed to attend to today.”

“Sergeant,” Paulo Iannazzone said with a laugh, “I am possibly the least busy person in the hospital commander’s office – maybe even in the whole hospital! I’ve got good people working for me. Also, I promised Tara Paradise I’d make sure you got every opportunity to rejoin your unit. I figured the least I could do was to be here in case things didn’t work out for you. If you remember, I told you I’d find you a place to land if things went sideways? Well, I did in a way because someone else is already waiting to claim you off waivers. I think you might find this offer interesting.”

Colonel Iannazzone motioned to the man in PT gear standing next to him. Jeff had been too focused on his run to notice the man’s arrival.

“This is Colonel Brubaker of the 10th Special Forces Group. Drake, Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox.” Jeff snapped a salute the colonel’s way.

“As you were, Sergeant,” Colonel Brubaker ordered. “Sergeant, I’ve got a proposition for you that I think you’ll be interested in. If you aren’t interested, Colonel Iannazzone will find you a spot in one of his units as previously agreed. Sound like a plan?”

“You’ve certainly got my attention, sir.”

“Why don’t we adjourn to the snack bar inside and discuss it? Lieutenant, you’re welcome to join us for a coffee or something if you’d like.”

“Thank you, sir, but with your and Colonel Iannazzone’s permission I’ll beg off. I’ve got another soldier coming in for rehab in thirty minutes and I need to get back to the hospital.”

“Carry on, by all means, Lieutenant,” Paulo said.

“Jeff, you’re all set as far as the Rehab Department is concerned. Stop by and see me next week at your normal appointment time to sign a few forms.”

With salutes all around Nina departed. The three others found a table inside.

“Sergeant, I need a medic working at Group headquarters to handle some of the low-level, day-to-day medical admin stuff so my guys can focus on war fighting. That someone needs to be SOCM-qualified, though not necessarily SF-qualified, and whoever fills the position will liaise with Colonel Iannazzone’s office. He mentioned you, though not by name, when I asked him if he knew of any unassigned SOCM types floating around.

“Since you’re now at loose ends, I thought you might be interested. You wouldn’t be deployed with any of my teams since you’re not SF-qualified, and this role should be enough to keep you from getting stop-lossed at the end of your enlistment since it’s not part of the normal TO&E. We’ll send you to Bragg for a SOCM refresher with my 18-Deltas before you ETS, too. What do you think?”

“No offense sir, but when I got wounded I wasn’t SF-qualified while working with a team from 12th Group.” Colonel Brubaker nodded, conceding the point. “Still, I think I’d be a fool to turn that offer down, sir! A chance to work for you folks down at Little Mirror Lake doesn’t come along often for non-SF types, I would imagine. I wouldn’t even need base housing here since my family already owns a home nearby.”

“I mentioned that part to Colonel Brubaker when we started talking about you, Sergeant,” said Colonel Iannazzone. “The best part is I think I can swing three or so weeks of PCS leave for you.”

Jeff drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat of the song on his radio. He waited for his turn at Walter Reed Hospital’s guard shack and presented his active-duty military ID to the MP. He received directions on where to park for his intended destination.

Jeff hadn’t seen much of Walter Reed from the outside when he was here last – as a patient from Christmas 1989 until the end of January 1990 – but it seemed like a nice campus. Lots of trees and grass helped it blend into the surrounding residential neighborhood in DC’s Northwest quadrant.

Colonel Iannazzone’s words from two weeks earlier proved prophetic. Even though his new assignment would only add another five minutes to his current commute to Devens, and meant his family wouldn’t have to move, not long after the PT test Jeff received orders stating he was on three weeks of PCS leave due to his transfer.

After getting a “what are you waiting for?” when he proposed his trip to Keiko, he secured a hotel reservation in Silver Spring, Maryland less than twenty minutes later. He drove down last night so he wouldn’t have to deal with too much morning traffic. While there was plenty here he’d certainly seen worse on the narrow streets of Boston.

Jeff chuckled to himself while watching people dash to the hospital buildings in the distance. They wore heavy coats and hats. He wore a sweatshirt over his long-sleeved t-shirt, faded jeans, shit-kicker boots, and a battered 3d Ranger Battalion baseball cap as he strolled in from the parking lot.

Geez, people! It’s forty-two! You’d think it was cold or something. Another part of him answered back: Brave talk. Come back in the summer. He chuckled again.

Once inside the right building he checked in with staff at the Physical Therapy clinic and explained why he was there. They smiled, acknowledged his black sweatshirt with ‘Downrange Doc’ stenciled on the left chest and a large silver-gray Combat Medical Badge screened across the back, and directed him to follow one of their therapists. She led Jeff to a pair of low parallel bars used for helping patients keep their balance while learning how to use prosthetic legs.

The patient using the bars didn’t look very enthusiastic despite his therapist’s encouragement. In fact he looked worn out despite the early hour. His therapist must have already put him through his paces given how tired he looked. The patient didn’t yet have a prosthetic so he used the bars to build his upper body strength before being fitted for one. The therapist kept coaching her patient to keep his head up, but in his fatigue he continued to stare down at the floor.

Jeff positioned himself at the end of the bars. He waited for the patient to look up but the man didn’t.

“Hey DJ, you wanna move your ass?” Jeff quipped. “I ain’t got all day!”

The man’s head snapped up. Jeff soon found himself in another violent bear hug.

“Christ on a cracker!” DJ Schultheis exclaimed. “I didn’t think I’d ever see your ugly mug again! What in the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m visiting you, you dumbass.”

“I meant back in the States, you pedantic son of a bitch! You’re supposed to still be kicking in doors over there!”

“Ah, I got dinged at the end of October. A collapsing building crushed my right lower leg. I’ve been RFS’ed.”

“What happened?”

“An RPG took out the wall of a building while I treated a casualty near it. I covered him up before it impacted to protect him from the blast, but a chunk of the wall smacked me in the head, knocked me out, and the rest of the wall landed on my leg. To add insult to injury another gunfighter landed on top of me and cracked some of my ribs.”

“Aw, man! That sucks!”

“It’s all good,” Jeff shrugged. “I’m doing my rehab at Devens while I live at home. Now I’m on PCS leave before I administratively transfer to a unit on-base there. Regiment packed up my room and shipped me my stuff after they released me. Anyway what’s the policy on springing you loose from here? I’m staying over in Silver Spring, and there are plenty of places around I can take you to lunch to avoid hospital food.”

Staff at Walter Reed had no issue with DJ leaving for lunch with Jeff. DJ’s psychiatrist – who his next appointment would have been with – told him to take off. The man said that it would probably do DJ more good to catch up with Jeff over lunch than talking to a shrink for an hour. That gave DJ the rest of the day to do whatever. He and Jeff agreed on an upscale chain burger joint for lunch. While relaxing after their meal, Jeff turned to his fellow Ranger.

“Deej, have you been to Arlington to visit Terry yet?”

“No,” DJ whispered, “I haven’t screwed up the courage now that I’m healthy enough. Plus it’s like an hour’s trip by bus. If I’m gonna go visit him for the first time I’m gonna wear my Class-As and I’d rather not ride the bus while wearing them.”

“Do you want to ride over with me in my truck this weekend?” Jeff asked. “I need to go and I brought my -As down.”

DJ nodded. “It’s about time I get over there, anyway. I’ve also avoided calling Benning to ask how 3d Battalion’s getting along over there. How were things when you left?”

“Unbelievably shitty, DJ,” Jeff answered before taking a long pull on his beer. “Your injury was just the beginning of a bunch of hurt for us. Including you? Two KIA and five wounded in five months before I got knocked out of the game.”

“Who?”

“The KIA after Terry was your replacement, a really good kid. His name was Radoslaw Blajewski though we called him Blow.” DJ raised an eyebrow. “Long story. The five wounded were you, Stan, Trace, Ruben, and another new kid, Ivan Gilchrist.” Jeff filled him in on what happened to each of the other wounded.

“Hey, Jeff, I’ve been meaning to thank you for having Kelsey Goodacre and her band come by. That helped me out a lot. It was a pretty bleak time for me then.”

“Terry figured you’d hit a rough patch once you woke up back here. He’s the one who really got things moving. I met her guitarist a few years before her band discovered him. What happened with your girl, by the way? She’s your ex-girl now I would gather, huh?”

“Dropped her like a hot rock not long after I got here. Thankfully I listened to all those intake lectures from the Army and never put her name on my bank accounts! A few guys from HHC helped me out by packing everything in my room and sending it all to my parents before I woke up. Terry listed me as his next of kin since he had no family, so his stuff went home, too.”

“I’m glad his best friend got his stuff and not a bunch of random people. So, can we go tomorrow?”

“It’s Saturday tomorrow, so I won’t have any appointments. Sure, after 1000?”

What little snow the Washington area received that winter had long disappeared by the time the two Rangers made their way through Arlington National Cemetery. The bright white marble headstones stood out in sharp contrast to the deep green manicured blanket of grass. Headstones and grass stretched as far as they could see. Neither man visited here before, nor were they ready for the weight of what the somber vista represented. They’d walk up to the Memorial Amphitheater and the Tomb of the Unknowns after visiting Terry.

DJ moved steadily forward on his crutches, showing no signs of fatigue. After twenty minutes they reached Section 60, found the correct row, and then the right headstone. The angle of the sun as it lit Terry’s marker gave the marble an almost ethereal glow. Though Jeff visited Ken’s grave on a regular basis, he was unprepared for the impact of seeing his friend’s resting place. It overwhelmed DJ.

With an arm across Jeff’s back DJ’s hand clutched at Jeff’s far shoulder, crumpling the fabric of Jeff’s uniform as he clung to him. He tried to maintain his balance on his one good leg. Jeff’s hand clutched DJ’s shoulder in the same way. Jeff’s eyes misted over while DJ sobbed for his friend. Jeff took deep breaths to fight his rising emotions. His memory flashed back to a quiet cemetery fifteen years and three thousand miles away. DJ sniffled a few times as his tears dried up. The images faded from Jeff’s mind.

“Terry and I met at Airborne School. He did his One Station Unit Training at Harmony Church while mine was at Sand Hill,” DJ said, referring to the two sections of Fort Benning’s Infantry School. Jeff nodded while remembering his own time at Sand Hill. “We hit it off right away, us two wise-cracking, shit-kicking, sarcastic assholes. Terry was the oldest in my company at Airborne School. He knocked around for a year or two after high school, and then joined up after his parents died in late 2000 and early 2001.

“We were together the entire way through RIP. We were thrilled when we got sent to 3d Battalion, Bravo Company, and then 2d Platoon together. We asked if we could room together and our old platoon sergeant shuffled some other newbie’s assignment around to accommodate us. You never met that guy. He got RFS’ed within two months. And you thought Terry and I did some dumb shit!”

“It was good for you to visit Terry, DJ, in a number of ways. It’s good that we remember our friend by coming here and it’s good for your head in the long term.” Jeff looked around and gestured to the other graves. “Look at all the new people he can tell stories to, stories of the crazy shit you guys did together and, of course, all the ‘no shit, there I was’ war stories.”

That drew a chuckle from DJ. They stood there, looking at Terry’s stone for a while longer before they were ready to go. Jeff and DJ drew themselves to attention and snapped a salute to Terry.

Blow’s body wasn’t buried at Arlington, so DJ and Jeff made their way back up the hill. Blow’s parents buried him near his home outside Minneapolis, and Jeff would have to plan a trip there another time. The pair walked silently to the Tomb. DJ spoke up ten minutes into journey.

“Jeff, can we check on another buddy of mine while we’re out? A friend I made when I first woke up at Walter Reed?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

“I’m not sure. Dom didn’t sound right when I spoke to him last week, and I haven’t been able to reach him since. He helped me get through my first few weeks after I woke up. He’s a fellow amputee, except he lost both of his legs to his IED strike. He was my roommate for a while.”

“Absolutely. Where is he?”

Jeff cast a look back down the sketchy hallway. Trash lined the walls and the smell reminded him of Afghanistan.

Christ, this place is barely a step above the street, and maybe only a half-step at that.

DJ stopped in front of a door two-thirds of the way down the hall and rapped on it. The sound of knuckles on metal brought back Jeff’s memories of visiting other apartment buildings but no ambulance call ever brought him to a building like this. After ten seconds without an answer to DJ’s knock, he knocked again.

“What did you say happened before they discharged your friend, DJ?” Jeff asked while they waited.

“His girl visited him at Walter Reed. I saw the look in Dom’s eyes when I ran into him later that night, and it wasn’t good. Dom and his girl were supposed to go to dinner, but he was still in our room. She broke up with him right outside our building, the cold-hearted bitch. She told him she couldn’t deal with the burden of a double-amputee after actually seeing him.” DJ paused the story to knock again.

“What my girl did to me was cold, but what Dom’s did to him was frikken arctic! He was discharged a week or two later. By then he already scrapped plans to move back to his hometown and found this place. He seemed to be holding it together until last week.”

“What are you effing assholes doing in my building?” someone bellowed from their right. A man rolling in fat wearing a sweat-stained tank top waddled towards them.

“Why do you care?” came out of Jeff’s mouth.

“Because I’m the goddamn building manager, that’s why!”

“Good, then open this apartment so we can check on our friend.”

“I ain’t opening shit for you pricks!”

Jeff shrugged while pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Fine, then I’ll call the cops and ask for a welfare check. They’ll call the fire department when you refuse to unlock the door, and the fire department will beat the shit out of this door until it opens. Then you’ll have to explain to the landlord why he’s paying for a new door, and maybe a new frame and part of this wall.”

He turned on the phone’s speaker so the manager could hear him dial nine, one, and then one again. Before Jeff pressed ‘SEND’ the manager relented.

“FINE!” he barked, pulling keys out of his pocket. “After I do that, you assholes are leaving!”

“After we make sure our friend is okay,” DJ corrected and the manager glared at him. The man tried to stare DJ down but the Ranger simply asked, “Jeff, can you go ahead and call the police? I see we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

Jeff raised his phone again, causing the manager to curse before he turned to the apartment door and unlocked it.

The door opened into a combination kitchen and living room. It was a mess. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes, and flies buzzed above it. The trash stank worse than the hall did. Desiccated, half-eaten meals sat on a low table in front of a grimy, stained sofa. More flies orbited there.

“See?” the manager asked. “There’s no one here!”

“If you open your mouth again before we check the rest of the apartment you’d better hope you have good dental insurance,” DJ growled.

“You threatened me! I’m calling the cops!” the manager whined before leaving.

“Fat prick...” DJ muttered while poking his head into the single bedroom. No one was there, either. When he turned around Jeff stood in the doorway of the bathroom across the short hall. He wasn’t moving. He just stood there, staring. “Jeff...?”

DJ looked past his Ranger buddy and his heart sank.

“I wonder what this shitbird wants now,” Tyson Jackson griped to his partner as he pulled the Metropolitan PD cruiser to the curb.

“Maybe he misses your smiling face, Tyson,” joked Finnegan ‘Finn’ O’Doul. In the three years they’d been partnered together, Finn could remember maybe five genuine smiles from Tyson.

“O’Doul, you’re so full of shit you’re gonna turn as dark as I am!” Tyson’s skin was darker than the navy blue coat he wore against the early-April chill. The Columbia, South Carolina native would be glad when the temperature rose to a more-reasonable eighty-five.

“If I didn’t have to worry about bursting into flames every time I step into the sunlight I’d be grateful, partner.” A bit tall for a leprechaun at six-three, Finn possessed the red hair, freckles, and pale skin regardless. “How you wanna play Fatso today? Good Cop, Bad Cop? Bad Cop, Worse Cop?”

“Surprise me,” Tyson snorted. “Come on, Lucky.”

“Took you long enough to get here!” their favorite building manager barked when they stepped into the lobby. The MPD officers stopped, looked at each other, shrugged, and turned to leave. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“I think my hearing’s going, Ty. Did you hear the building manager say he was all set when we came in?”

“S’what it sounded like to me...”

“You two think you’re a couple’a flippin’ comedians, don’t you?”

The officers looked at each other again.

“Yep,” answered Finn. “We also think you asked for our assistance so, if you would like our help, it might behoove you to stop being an asshole for half a second. Now, what’s the problem?”

“They won’t leave!”

“Who?” Finn sighed.

“The two assholes down in 109! They threatened me!”

“Do they live here?” Ty asked with fraying patience.

“No! I would have told you if they did!”

“Then why don’t you show us to Apartment 109?”

The manager rolled his eyes and waddled away towards the apartment.

“He needs a nightstick enema,” Ty grumbled quietly before following the manager. Finn chuckled as he fell in behind his partner.

Once inside the apartment, the sight of two Army soldiers wearing green Class-A uniforms surprised the officers. Military personnel in uniform were a dime a dozen in DC, but not around here. Finn addressed the senior soldier.

“Sergeant, the building manager says that you’re refusing to leave.”

“Not entirely correct, as you might imagine, Officer. We came to check on a friend of Specialist Schultheis’, one whom he hasn’t heard from in close to a week. Unfortunately, we found him in the bathtub. This is an unattended death, at the very least. Actually it appears to be suicide, but then again I’m not a detective. We insisted on staying until your arrival.”

“The building manager also alleges you threatened him.”

“Nope,” DJ said. “I said I hoped his dental insurance was up to date when he tried to prevent us from searching the entire apartment.”

“Doesn’t sound like a threat to me...” Finn shrugged and commented with another glance at his partner.

He walked into the bathroom. The victim lay half-submerged in cold, bloody bathwater. What Finn could see of the victim’s body was pale and bloated. Lacerations covered the forearms. The vic cut up the length of his arms, following the path of the arteries so they wouldn’t clot over, which ensured his death. Finn turned back to the living room.

“Gentlemen, please step into the hall. We’ll have to secure the room. I’m asking you to remain until questioned by our detectives.”

The manager threw up his hands and left the apartment.

The first team of detectives arrived twenty minutes later. They questioned DJ and Jeff separately over the ensuing half-hour. The lead detective declared there to be no evidence of foul play, but the coroner would perform an autopsy to be sure.

“Detective, when do you think the coroner will release Dom’s body?” DJ asked. Detective First Grade Michael Thompson looked at the two soldiers and shrugged.

“Unless he finds evidence of foul play, I suspect it’ll only be a few days. Where was he stationed?”

“Dom was discharged from Walter Reed Hospital and the Army last month so, technically, nowhere. Did he leave a note or anything? We’ll take care of his burial but we’ll need to know if he had any last wishes.”

Detective Thompson hesitated. “Remind me, did your friend have any next of kin?”

“None that he listed, sir. The only reason he was going to move back home was to be with his girl. When she dumped him he decided to stay here in DC.”

Thompson nodded. “Technically, I can’t release any information to you until the coroner confirms the cause of death as not being a homicide. Privately I’ll tell you that he did leave a note, but I can’t say more than that.”

“Headquarters, 10th Special Forces Group, Staff Sergeant Daniels.”

“Sergeant, my name is Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox. I’m supposed to report in there on Monday but I’ve run into a problem down here in DC. Is the HHC first sergeant available?”

“Sergeant Knox, wait one...” The brief click of a call being placed on hold sounded before the line connected again. “Colonel Brubaker here.”

“Sir, Staff Sergeant Jeff Knox. My apologies for disturbing you, but I originally asked to speak with the headquarters company first sergeant. I have a problem here in DC and I need some guidance, sir.”

“I know, I heard you were on the line and told Sergeant Daniels to put you through to my office. What’s the problem there, Knox?”

Jeff explained the situation. “In the sergeant’s suicide note, he asked to be buried anywhere that’s convenient, so long as it’s NOT his hometown. Seems he wasn’t very popular there before he enlisted and he didn’t feel any connection to it after his girl dumped him. My buddy wants to have him buried in his hometown.”

“Where’s your buddy’s hometown?”

“Niwot, Colorado, sir, which is outside Boulder. Sir, I know I’m due to report in next week, but I’d like to make sure DJ gets Sergeant Jimenez on a flight out there before I come home. I should be able to report in by Tuesday at the latest, sir.”

“You going to be able to get things arranged fast enough?”

“Just waiting for Sergeant Jimenez’s Class-As to be cleaned, sir, and for the funeral home to prepare the body. As soon as those two items are complete we can leave DC. I’m guessing within the next day or two, so long as the weather cooperates. I’ve already squared things with the funeral home here, and arranged the charter flight, sir. I haven’t let my buddy know, but I’m covering things.”

”’Covering things?’ As in paying for things, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. I can explain in more detail once I report in.”

“Does Walter Reed have a cleaners on-post?”

“Not sure on that one, sir, but I’m sure there’s one nearby if not.”

“I consider you as having reported in, Sergeant. I’m cancelling your PCS leave and putting you on TDY until next Tuesday, and you’re going to take that extra week to get this done right. Pick up a 10th Group flash, a Special Forces unit patch, and SF DUI pins for your -As. I want you to swap out your Ranger stuff before you fly to Colorado with your buddy and Sergeant Jimenez. I’ll have new orders cut for you and sent to you care of Walter Reed.”

“I can’t believe your new CO put you on temporary duty to help me out,” DJ muttered as the chartered Cessna Citation X+ streaked across the country at over six hundred knots. “And I can’t believe this plane! Or that someone donated the use of it!”

“I know, right?”

Jeff glanced to his right where Dom Jimenez’s casket rested on the cabin floor, securely fastened in place. The charter company, which Jeff had used for years, came through when he asked for their help. Their mechanics removed the seats on the right side of the cabin to allow for installation of the proper brackets and tie-down points. The seats waited in the small cargo hold for re-installation in Denver.

The company apologized for the interior which resulted but Jeff brushed it off, explaining that anything would be more comfortable than the inside of the military cargo planes he was used to. He would come clean to DJ at some point, but not right now.

An almost three hour direct flight from the airport in College Park, Maryland to Denver International proved much easier than changing planes in various large airports across the country. Not having to deal with the security hassle of commercial air travel post 9/11 was welcome, too. It also allowed Dom’s casket to fly draped in the nation’s flag, not in some anonymous box.

“What did your colonel mean when he said we’d have help in Denver?”

“Beats me, brother. We’ll find out soon enough.”

“True.” DJ turned to look at the sleeve of Jeff’s Class-As, which hung at the front of the cabin. “Your uniform still looks funny.”

“You ain’t kidding. I’m sure that patch combined with my tan beret will raise some eyebrows.”

“Tell ‘em to go jump in a lake,” DJ responded, causing Jeff to snort.

An hour later they taxied to the fixed base operator which would fuel and hangar the Citation while they were in Colorado. Jeff made sure the pilots would be well taken care of. They’d have a few days’ layover in Denver before he and DJ were ready to return east. Jeff would give them as much warning as he could, but until that time they’d be on a short paid vacation, courtesy of him. There was an unusual pause where the cabin door remained closed.

“I wonder what’s taking so long?” asked Jeff.

DJ took a closer look out his window.

“Probably the help your CO told you about,” he replied while pointing outside and aft of the jet.

Seven Green Berets marched toward the plane behind a color guard wearing the uniform of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. When the groups stopped near the cabin door, only then did one of the pilots open it. Jeff and DJ put their blouses and berets back on before stepping out of the aircraft.

“Sergeant Knox?” a man asked Jeff at the bottom of the stairs. The man appeared to be the funeral director. “Sergeant Krebs asked if you and Specialist Schultheis would fall in behind his detachment.”

Jeff nodded. He and DJ fell in as requested. They watched funeral home staff bring Dom’s casket to the door. Sergeant Krebs gave the commands to line his men up on either side of the luggage loading lift which drove up to the plane’s door. The funeral home staff placed Dom’s casket on the lift while soldiers and veterans saluted. Out of the corner of his eye Jeff could see a large group of civilians arrayed around a hearse which backed up to a spot near the loading ramp.

The detachment from the 12th Special Forces Group carried the casket to the hearse. No one other than Sergeant Krebs spoke a word as he gave quiet instructions to his team. Other than the occasional roar of a jumbo jets in the background, only the sound of boots hitting the pavement was heard.

Once the rear door of the hearse closed, the two Rangers loaded into a van with the other soldiers for a silent ride to the funeral home. There the process played out in reverse with the pallbearers carrying Dom Jimenez inside. Jeff and DJ stood at ease and turned their attention to the crowd in the funeral home parking lot. A large contingent of veterans with their VFW and American Legion covers made up about half the crowd. DJ’s family stood in front of the civilian half of the group. He rushed over on his one crutch to greet them.

“Where’d you drive up from Sergeant, Fort Carson?” Jeff asked Krebs when the SF soldiers reemerged. He shook the sergeant’s hand, then the hands of the other six soldiers.

“That’s right.”

“We appreciate you taking the time to do this, as well as your CO letting you come.”

“Our pleasure, Sergeant. When our group’s colonel heard from yours that this soldier had been all but abandoned by his hometown, we couldn’t not send someone. I had a hard time only picking six others. How’d a Ranger wind up in 10th Group anyway?”

“I got released by my Ranger battalion after I was wounded. I hit a snag during my rehab and was cut because I couldn’t meet the PT standards after three attempts. Colonel Brubaker claimed me off waivers as someone else put it.”

“What happened?” asked one of the other sergeants.

“A wall fell on my right leg and crushed it while I was on loan to one of your group’s teams.”

Krebs’ eyes narrowed. “Which one?”

“Charlie-97.”

Now the SF sergeant’s eyes widened.

“You’re the guy!” blurted Krebs.

“‘The guy?’”

“The guy who saved Captain DeFusco’s life!”

Jeff shrugged. “The Air Force PJs say it best, Sergeant: ‘These things we do, that others may live.’ It’s why I was there.”

“Shit, we owe you a few beers...” Krebs muttered.

“I doubt you’ll have a hard time twisting my arm on that one, Sergeant.”

The Schultheises put Jeff up in their guest room, which was an attached in-law apartment. Once at their house he and DJ finally changed out of their Class-A uniforms. They’d been in them since 0900 Eastern Time, over ten hours, though it was only 1500 in the Mountain Time Zone. Jeff emerged from the apartment – built for Mrs. Schultheis’ mother ten years prior – and into the family room wearing a green DMD EMS t-shirt, shorts, and his slippers.

“Aren’t you going to be cold, Mr. Knox?” asked the oldest Schultheis daughter, Ellie, while seated on the couch. She wore a sweatshirt and was covered with a blanket. Jeff made a show of turning to look behind himself.

“You scared me, Ellie! I thought my dad snuck up behind me naked!” Ellie laughed out loud. “I might be almost your dad’s age, but please call me Jeff, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jeff continued walking to the kitchen.

“Can I help you with anything, Mrs. Schultheis?”

“Harriet,” she reminded him while doing something at the sink. “Won’t you be cold dressed like that, Jeff?” she asked when she turned around and saw how he was dressed.

“Harriet, you have radiant heating in your floors like I do at home. This is how I dress in my house in the middle of February. I couldn’t be cold inside your home if I wanted to.”

Harriet gave him a familiar look of disapproval but said nothing. She looked down at the scars visible on his right leg.

“How is your leg, Jeff? Dieter told us it was broken in many places.”

“No worries now, Harriet. The bones knitted back together well. Now I just have to work on the muscles and get them back into shape. Pretty minor in comparison.”

“I promised Dieter I wouldn’t do this,” Harriet sniffed while her eyes watered. “Thank you for saving my boy, Jeff. Thank you for bringing him home.”

“Harriet,” Jeff replied gently, “your son had my back outside the wire so many times I can’t count that high. DJ was – is – family. We were all we had over there. We counted on everyone being there for each other.” He took a deep breath. “Billy Joel wrote a song titled ‘Goodnight Saigon’ a few years ago. Even though the lyrics are about Marines during Vietnam, the last three lines of the song fit any group of combat soldiers:”

And we would all go down together,
We said we’d all go down together,
Yes we would all go down together.

“We’ve gone through Hell for each other already, and we’d gladly do it again.”