03 February 2002 – Camp Bullis, San Antonio, Texas

“The Greatest Show on Turf will crush your Patriots, Knox! My team’s gonna win this game!”

It would figure Zambrano’s a Rams fan, Jeff sighed to himself while rolling his eyes to Terrance.

Today was Super Bowl Sunday. The New England Patriots would play the St. Louis Rams in Super Bowl XXXVI in a half-hour.

Charlie Company was midway through their end-of-AIT field training exercise at Camp Bullis northwest of San Antonio. The four-week FTX allowed the AIT cadre an opportunity to evaluate the soldier medics on the entirety of their training, both individually and in small units. Given the importance of NFL football in the US the cadre gave the cycle the day off, which was their first in two weeks. A projection-screen TV from the ground floor lounge in their normal barracks occupied one end of the narrow field dining facility.

The Patriots were the clear underdog in the game with the Rams favored by two touchdowns. While the commentators tried to be impartial during the pre-game shows, the implication they all believed the Patriots were about to be steamrolled was clear. Despite two weeks of Zambrano’s boasting, bragging, and inability to shut up far in excess of his norm, Jeff remained silent after the conference championship games. Jeff was thankful, however, that he had so little interaction with ‘Francis’ since embarrassing him at the first PT test.

“Where you from, Knox?” someone asked in a whisper.

Jeff glanced to his left and saw SSG Gulbicki seated on the bench next to him. SSG Gulbicki was a recently promoted drill sergeant from another company also at Bullis. His company would start the field portion of their FTX in the morning.

“Enfield, Mass originally, Drill Sergeant. It’s near Springfield. My family and I now live near Fort Devens.”

Gulbicki nodded. “I’m from Pawtucket, Rhode Island. Dad used to take my brothers and me to games at what was then Schaefer Stadium. My family’s been season ticket holders since the team moved to Foxborough. I hope to hell they do better today than in their other two Super Bowls.”

“You and me both.”

The Rams drew first blood with a field goal halfway through the first quarter. While Zambrano crowed loud and long over those three points.

“The Pats are shutting the Rams down. If they can keep it up they could steal this game,” commented Terrance, who didn’t have a favorite team in the game.

The Patriots held a surprising fourteen-to-three lead at halftime. Zambrano appeared ill though no one asked what was wrong. Jeff almost suggested bleeding and leeches as a remedy but managed to restrain himself. He also let SSG Gulbicki be the exuberant Pats fan while he watched Francis stew.

In line for the halftime buffet Jeff muttered, “So far, so good. Let’s hope they can keep it up,” Jeff muttered while in line for the halftime buffet.

“You don’t think they will, Jeff?” replied Zeke Gulbicki.

“Bucky-bleeping-Dent? Up two runs, with two outs, in the bottom of the ninth inning of Game Six while leading the Series three-to-two? You’re not waiting for the other shoe to drop, Sarge?” Jeff asked in reply, referencing heartbreaking Red Sox collapses in 1978 and 1986. “I’m hoping these guys prove me wrong, but it’s hard for this Boston fan to break the habit of expecting something to go wrong.” Zeke chuckled.

The Pats widened their lead to fourteen points with a field goal of their own in the third. The course of the game did the one-eighty Jeff expected on the next Rams possession when they scored a touchdown. Patriots fans thought their team jumped out to a twenty point lead at the end of the third quarter. The refs called back the fumble recovery and ninety-seven-yard return due to defensive holding. The Rams scored on the very next play.

“See what I mean, Sarge?” Jeff asked.

“No one likes a know-it-all.”

“There we go! There we go!” Zambrano crowed while pointing at Jeff. “We’ll win this game in overtime!” He started dancing around when the Rams tied the score with only 1:30 left in the game.

“You’ve been dealing with that guy since your cycle started?” Zeke asked under his breath.

“Well, not really. Up until now we’ve been avoiding each other.”

“Doesn’t seem like the kind who would leave you alone. How’d you manage it?”

“This old geezer maxed out on our first PT test while junior over there barely broke two-twenty.”

“You’re what, my age? Thirty-two?”

“Last August.” Jeff looked back at the screen. “What did Madden just say, Terrance?”

“He thinks the Patriots should play for overtime.”

“Well, I think he should kiss my rosy red ass but nobody’s asking me my opinion. Play for overtime? Please! You play the game to win!”

“I agree,” Zeke added. “Go big or go home.”

Jeff and his buddies watched the Patriots run the two-minute drill to perfection as they marched down the field. The Rams fans in the room looked more nervous with each successful play. Zambrano looked downright frantic. Tom Brady, the Patriots’ rookie quarterback, spiked the ball at the Rams’ thirty-yard line to stop the clock with seven seconds left in the game. The New England field goal unit ran onto the field.

“This guy’s been automatic all season,” Jeff commented about kicker Adam Vinatieri. “Totally en fuego. Unless the kick’s blocked, we’ve got this.”

Jeff’s leg bounced up and down in nervous anticipation while the Pats lined up. Everyone in the room leaned forward on the edge of their seat during the final play. Snap made, ball down, kick away, and Zeke Gulbicki and Jeff bounced out of their seats screaming their fool heads off when the ball sailed through the uprights as time expired. The Patriots were Super Bowl champions. Weeks later Jeff would hear the hometown radio broadcast of the final play. Long-time area sports reporter Gil Santos channeled his inner Al Michaels with his exuberant call of “IT’S GOOD! IT’S GOOD!”

Lost in the celebration of the soldiers rooting for the Patriots was Zambrano’s temper tantrum at the end of the game. Jeff didn’t see it but he did see the result: nacho cheese and red bug juice flowing down the projection TV’s screen. Zambrano pumped out pushups with SSG Chin standing over him.

“What are you gonna do now, Zambrano? What are you gonna do?” SGT Kimball, the lane grader, barked.

Class 02-02 was still on their final, capstone field training exercise. Zambrano looked around while on one knee, trying to comprehend the tactical situation around him. Artillery simulators whistled and exploded forward of the student platoon’s position, ‘landing’ closer with every second the unit remained motionless. The cadre designed the tactical situation to be the first stress event of running a casualty extraction exercise, something interesting to test reactions on the way to the objective. After the training they received in Basic and two weeks of similar scenarios on this FTX, the young platoon leader shouldn’t have locked up like this.

“Gupta!” SGT Kimball yelled to the assistant platoon leader after another fifteen seconds of Zambrano’s confusion. “The platoon leader’s dead! You’re in charge now! What are you going to do?”

“BOUND RIGHT, ONE HUNDRED METERS!” she barked without hesitation.

The platoon complied before the echo died. Once out of the artillery target area, Mishka Gupta briefed her squad leaders on what she wanted and got them moving again within seconds. The platoon reached their objective ten minutes later and without further incident. The objective, a mock village, was deserted except for two casualties. Mishka set security, directed two of her medics to begin treatment, and prepared to evacuate the casualties.

A half-hour later the platoon sat in the After Action Review area at the end of the scenario’s lane. They ate a quick lunch of MREs while SGT Kimball spoke to the OPFOR soldiers. She turned back to the student soldier medics once the OPFOR finished their initial brief.

“Nikalsson, what did you see?”

The AAR took a contentious twenty minutes. The final consensus was the patrol wouldn’t have accomplished what it did if Zambrano continued as squad leader. Zambrano argued loud and long that the rest of the platoon played favorites. He claimed they liked Mishka Gupta more than him. While this was true, it was also true that she was a better medic and leader than he.

“You just made the list, lady,” Jeff muttered to Mishka while they marched back to bivouac area.

“‘List?’”

“I see your education is lacking.”

“No, ‘outdated’ is what I’d say instead,” Terrance muttered from behind him.

“Stripes is a culturally important movie! You two have probably never seen Caddyshack, either!” Jeff saw blank looks on both faces. “Damn kids.”

“You wanted to see me, Drill Sergeant?”

“Come on in, Knox,” Dale Chin waved him to a chair. “Have a seat. Nice job on the FTX. Your lane graders had good things to say about your performance, not that it’s a surprise you did well.”

“Thank you, Drill Sergeant.”

“I also wanted to let you know that your request for Special Operations Combat Medic training has been approved, pending your successful completion of the Ranger Indoctrination Program.”

“Thank you again.”

“You’re probably looking at Soldier of the Cycle too, you know?”

Jeff blinked. “Um, about that, Drill Sergeant? I’m not sure that would be fair to the other soldier medics.”

“Why not? You’ve certainly earned it. Best PT scores of the cycle, best classroom scores of the cycle, best marksmanship, best skills evaluation. Are you seeing a pattern here?”

“Drill Sergeant, I’ve been an EMT for more than ten years. I’ve been shooting an M-16 or M-4 for fifteen years. I’ve been working out like a fiend since the time most of these kids were born. I don’t think the others should be judged in comparison with me. I believe I should be excluded for the reasons I’ve listed.”

“I’ll have to consider your request, Knox,” SSG Chin said while regarding his top student. “In the mean time, make sure your uniform is squared away for graduation Sunday. Don’t forget, you’ll no longer be eleven-bravo by then. You’ll need to take off the infantry’s blue cord and disks.”

“Understood, Drill Sergeant.”

“Dismissed.”

Jeff walked back into his room and found Terrance checking his own Class-As.

“You just missed Zambrano,” Terrance commented.

“No, I didn’t miss him at all.”

“He was in here complaining about people not helping him while he’s been here.”

“‘You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’”

“You’d think someone would have already told him that.”

“You’d think. When are your folks getting here?”

“Friday night. How about your family?”

“Saturday afternoon.”

“Cutting it a little close.”

“Keiko’s not on vacation until next week, the week of Presidents Day, so they won’t leave home until Saturday morning. Both sets of parents are coming down with her and the kids.”

“I almost forgot to ask, what did the Drill Sergeant want?”

“He wanted to tell me I’m headed to Benning next.”

“So you got your RIP and SOCM slots?”

“Well, the latter is dependent on the former.”

“Ma’am, Sergeant Knox reports!”

“At ease, Knox. Have a seat,” Captain Mag Uidhir said while motioning to the chair in front of her desk.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Sergeant Chin told me something interesting this morning, Sergeant Knox,” she continued, gesturing over her left shoulder at his lead drill sergeant who stood behind her.

“Yes, ma’am?” Jeff knew what she’d been told but he played along.

“He said you’re a shoe-in for Soldier of the Cycle. I don’t find that surprising having seen your records, but what I do find surprising is your request not to be considered for the award. You made such a request, did you not?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“Ma’am, if you’ve read my records you’ve seen accounts of my performance at Basic, AIT, and Airborne School in 1987. I’ve had my turn. You’ve also likely heard that I’ve been an EMT or paramedic since late 1991, over ten years now. I hold instructor credentials in the certifications paramedics are required to maintain in Massachusetts, and some optional ones: CPR, ACLS, PALS, PHTLS. I’ve been shooting half my life, and working out the way I do for two-thirds of my life. Respectfully ma’am, I feel my fellow soldiers should be judged on an even playing field by eliminating me from it.”

Captain Mac stared at Jeff while tapping her pen on her desk blotter, the look on her face unreadable.

“Sergeant Chin?” she called in a soft voice, not taking her eyes off the soldier in front of her.

“Ma’am?”

“Sergeant Knox is not to be considered for Soldier of the Cycle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Knox, if any of your classmates find out about this discussion you’ll road march to your next post. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am. Crystal clear, ma’am.”

Terrance was out Friday night having dinner with his parents who flew in from California for graduation. Keiko, the kids, and both sets of grandparents would arrive around 1400 the next day while Jeff and his class practiced for Sunday’s ceremony. With any luck both families would meet after the ceremony.

Jeff checked the awards placement on his Class-A blouse using a small metal ruler. He cast a critical eye over the seams and patches, looking for loose threads. The only items to catch his eye were the enlisted medical branch insignia on his left lapel replacing his infantry crossed rifles, and the missing infantry blue cord and discs. He sensed a slight wrongness while he looked at the uniform due to that, but the feeling would fade in time.

“You bastard,” Zambrano snarled from Jeff’s doorway.

“I don’t know about your parents, Zambrano, but mine are married,” Jeff replied without turning. He was baiting Zambrano and he knew it.

“I should have had that SOCM slot!”

“In what universe?” he snorted while turning to face the door. “You wouldn’t make it through the first PT session.”

Frank Zambrano then did something stupid: he clenched his fists and advanced on Jeff.

This’ll be interesting. Jeff squared himself up to face Zambrano.

The barracks rooms assigned to Charlie Company were small, about twenty feet by fifteen. That space was reduced further by beds, closets, and desks. Jeff slapped Zambrano’s punch aside and shoved him back out into the hallway. Zambrano braced himself to rush in again. He took one step before he jerked to a stop when someone grabbed him by the collar.

“And just what the holy hell do you think you’re doing, Zambrano?” growled Dale Chin. “You just bought yourself time in the stockade.” Chin dragged Zambrano back into the hall.

If assaulting Jeff was stupid, taking a swing at the drill sergeant was insane. SSG Chin pinned Zambrano’s arms behind his back and slammed him to the floor. Altti Nikalsson and Ralf Pavlovic responded to the shouting. The two largest soldiers in the barracks, they helped SSG Chin frog-march a still cursing and struggling Zambrano from the barracks. Jeff watched them leave.

“Winner, winner, Big Chicken Dinner,” came Terrance’s voice from behind Jeff.

“Actually the penalty for assault on a superior NCO is a dishonorable discharge, not a bad conduct discharge,” Jeff replied, correcting his roommate’s theory on how Zambrano would now leave the Army. “Conviction would also come with forfeiture of all pay and allowances and three years’ confinement regardless of whether or not Zambrano connected with his swing. That’s UCMJ Article Ninety-one.”

“Why am I not surprised you know that? You seem to know everything else.”

“Oh, there are plenty of things I don’t know, Terrance,” Jeff laughed. “They covered that in BNCOC, which is why I know it.” Jeff and Terrance sat on their bunks. “I was content to ignore him but he wouldn’t go that route. I’ll admit I rubbed his nose in it during our first PT test but he could have chosen to let it go after that. He didn’t. As my mother is fond of saying: ‘You are free to make your own choice. You are not free, however, from the consequences of your choice.’ That made me stop and think more than once as a kid.”

“Don’t forget his taking a swing at you, Sergeant Knox,” SSG Chin said while walking back into their room. He waved Terrance and Jeff back to their seats when they tried to rise. “That’s worth another year of confinement.”

“I’m sure his lawyer will get that charge dismissed or reduced as part of a plea agreement, Drill Sergeant.”

“Maybe so but either way he won’t be here for graduation.”

Jeff walked to the bleachers where everyone’s families had watched graduation moments before. With three small children, he and Keiko agreed it would be best for him to try and find them afterward. Once everyone else streamed off the metal structure to find their loved ones, finding his family wasn’t difficult.

“DADDY!” Alex, Ryan, and Sabrina shouted. Jeff managed to cradle all three in his arms to give them a big hug. That done, he set them back down so he could kiss Keiko.

“Do you two need oxygen?” Hiro asked when they broke their kiss. Keiko’s mother swatted him.

“You’re too American now,” he protested. “Where’s my quiet little Japanese wife?”

“Waiting for you to fall asleep,” Mayumi responded with a smile.

“Why?” Hiro asked. Mayumi kept smiling.

“Better sleep with one eye open, Hiro,” Joe Knox suggested in a stage whisper.

“Won’t do me any good. She’s already peeved.”

Keiko and Jeff chuckled at their fathers’ antics and the looks their mothers gave them. The kids gave their father a blow-by-blow account of the flight down from Massachusetts.

“Were Dean and Steve your pilots again this time?” Jeff asked.

“No, Jeffrey, they left the charter company at the end of last year. Our pilots were both new to the company.”

“They let us into the pit, Daddy!” Sabrina declared. “There were all these switches and buttons!”

“The cockpit I’m guessing? They’re a little young to be in a mosh pit.”

“Yes, husband,” Keiko chuckled.

“Is this your family, Jeff?” someone behind Jeff asked. He recognized the voice. Jeff spun around and went to parade rest.

“Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“At ease. You can cut that out now, Jeff. I’m not your drill sergeant because you’re no longer my student, and you’re a sergeant yourself. Call me Dale.” Jeff nodded and introduced everyone. “It’s true then. You’re officially nuts if you left these folks to work for Uncle Sugar again.”

“These folks questioned my sanity for years even before that, Dale.”

The ladies in his family pursed their lips and crossed their arms. “You have that right, Jeffrey,” Keiko said.

Before anyone else could pile on, Terrance Davis approached with two people who were clearly his parents. His father stood about six-six and wore a Marine Corps Service Alpha uniform with sergeant major’s stripes. Jeff guessed Terrance’s mother stood five-nine without her heels, and an easy five-eleven wearing them.

“At ease!” Jeff called.

Both he and Dale went to parade rest until Sergeant Major Davis told them to relax. He extended his large hand to them, and then to Jeff’s family. Alex, Ryan, and Sabrina stared up at the towering giant with wide eyes until he kneeled down and smiled at them.

“Hi, I’m Mr. Davis. You must be pretty proud of your dad, huh?” The three nodded, still wide-eyed. “You should be. He’s been a big help to my son Terrance.”

“And to most of the rest of our company, Sergeant Major,” someone new said. Mishka Gupta, Altti Nikalsson, and the majority of the cycle’s soldiers and their families walked up to the bleachers. “You must be Keiko,” Mishka said. She held out her hand to Jeff’s wife. “Your husband was a great help to all of us during our cycle.”

Mishka painfully pinched the back of Jeff’s arm and dragged him away from the group while the others chatted with Jeff’s family.

“Ow...” Jeff whined before his friend stopped twenty paces away from the group.

“Just what the hell did you think you were doing?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about, Jeff! There is no way I beat you out for Soldier of the Cycle! I may have been close but that’s about it!”

“Mish, relax, it’s no big deal...”

“Goddamn it, Jeff, it’s a huge deal! You’re the soldier they should have honored!”

“Mish,” he sighed, “look, the long and the short of it is I’ve had my turn. I was Soldier of the Cycle at my Basic, at infantry AIT, and again at Airborne School back in 1987. Do I really need that a fourth time? No, not here at least. I’ll take honor grad at RIP and SOCM if I get that far, sure. But here? That award will help you get a start on your career more than it’ll restart mine.”

Mishka’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” she sighed after a moment’s pause. “I still don’t like it even if I do see what you’re saying.”

“Just don’t let Captain Mac catch wind of your suspicions, Mish. I don’t feel like walking to Benning.”

Five days later Jeff’s Passat wagon powered up the on-ramp to Interstate 65 North in Chickasaw, Alabama. He and his passenger had just grabbed dinner from a fast food restaurant so they could keep driving. They did the same at lunch. They left San Antonio early that morning and they would reach Columbus, Georgia in another four hours or so.

“Are you sure you didn’t want me to drive some more, Jeff?” Donal O’Brien asked.

“No, Donal. I’m good, thanks. It’s only another four or five hours till we hit Columbus. I’m used to a lot of time behind the wheel.” Donal was a tough, wiry Irish lad from outside Chicago. He was also the only other medic from their cycle to earn a provisional SOCM slot. Airborne School and RIP would come first for him. Jeff hadn’t gotten to know Donal much until late in AIT because he’d been stuck with Frank Zambrano as a roommate. Jeff spent the first eight hours of their ride together getting acquainted.

Donal was a product of the Illinois child welfare system. His parents and younger sister were killed in a car accident the summer before his freshman year of high school. He skipped a church outing and wasn’t with his family when their car was crushed by a semi. None of the rest of his family contacted him. None offered to take the Chicago orphan into their home.

The State of Illinois moved Donal out of Chicago for foster placement. Bitter and angry at the world, he could have spiraled into a short, crime-filled life, even in the suburbs. Two years of concerted effort by Donal’s new high school guidance counselor and a state child psychologist prevented that. The angry young man was able let go of most of his grief with their help. He released it through exercise and school sports. Sincere effort during his last two years of school didn’t earn the grades needed for college, and by the time the real Donal emerged his classmates already labeled him ‘that weird kid.’ He kept his guard up and shut others out. He didn’t loosen up until two months of Basic passed.

“You mind if I change up the music a little?” Jeff asked.

“It’s your car, remember?” Donal laughed. Jeff chuckled and activated his iPod. Donal listened for a moment. “This sounds familiar. Who is it?”

“Flock of Seagulls.”

“Who?”

“A Flock of Seagulls, a synth-pop/new wave band from the early ‘80s. The album this song’s from came out around the end of Seventh Grade. I was twelve.”

“And I probably wasn’t even born yet!” Donal laughed again. “I think my parents used to listen to this song. That’s probably why I recognize it.”

“Rub it in, youngster. Funny thing is I didn’t really like the song when it first aired. My tastes only ran to rock back then.”

“Then why do you have it on your iPod?”

“Nostalgia more than anything, I suppose. By the time I came to like the song I was in high school, which was a much better place for me than middle school. I remember the friendships I had then when I hear this song.”

“When did you lose touch with your friends?”

Jeff stared out the windshield while he ground his teeth. Donal saw Jeff’s jaw muscles working so he waited him out.

“All of my friends from high school and I are still in contact. My best non-Army friend from after I graduated, however, hasn’t spoken to me since I decided to reenlist in October.”

Donal frowned. “What? Really?”

“Really. I met Heather during a trip home for Christmas in ‘88. We considered ourselves brother and sister until I reenlisted. I don’t know what she considers me now.” Jeff sighed. Donal could tell it bothered him. “I’ve been in contact with Heather’s mom, her grandparents, and even her husband since we reported in, but I haven’t heard from her. Hell, she and TC named their son after me but now she won’t talk to me when I call the house.”

“Damn!” Donal breathed.

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was tough not having anyone to contact but ... Geez.” Donal never made much of a connection with his foster parents.

“You heard Keiko tell you to stay in touch, right? If you don’t let her know how you’re doing ... Well, let’s just say you won’t like it if you don’t.” Jeff managed a wry smile.

“She was serious? No offense Jeff, but I thought your wife was just being polite.”

Jeff looked over at his young passenger. “Keiko wouldn’t say that if she didn’t mean it. She likes you, Donal. My whole family likes you. That’s why we had you hang around with us this week rather than sitting out two weeks at Benning before Airborne School.”

“You guys paid for my hotel room this week, didn’t you?”

“Figured that out, huh?” Jeff grinned. “And as far as not having anyone to contact, don’t you think that guidance counselor of yours would like to hear how you’re doing? I know you’ve told me you wouldn’t piss on your family if they were on fire, but if you ever go back to the Chicago area don’t you think Ms. Gillis would be disappointed not to see or hear from you?”

Donal looked thoughtful. “You’re right. She would be disappointed. I’ll write her a letter tomorrow.”

“Write the letter and we’ll relax for the one day we’ll have off before we report in. You’ll get nights and weekends off after the training day at Airborne School. Me? I think I’m in for a four-week-long smoke session at RIP.”