He must have brought over the butcher's bill for Monrovia. "Let's fit him in right after the meeting."
The door closed, but less than a minute later there was another knock and it opened again. "Mister President, the Commandant really needs to see you."
I shrugged to the others and stood up. Out in the hallway was General Jones, accompanied by a naval officer, a captain, who looked Asian-American. "General, I really didn't expect you to get me those casualty figures this morning. It could have waited, or you could have sent a message."
"Uh, sir, that's really why I'm here ... Jesus, I don't know how to do this..."
"General, what's the matter?"
"Mister President, Monday evening, your son, Lance Corporal Charles Robert Buckman, was wounded in action in Monrovia."
Chapter 154: A Summer Cruise
Things swirled around for a second and I slumped against the wall. The general and the captain grabbed my shoulders, but I didn't faint or collapse. This was my worst nightmare, that Charlie would get killed in the service. Marilyn might have tolerated me in the service, and even allowed Charlie to go in, but this was going to just kill her. She would never forgive me.
"How ... how did it happen?"
The captain answered, "Mister President! Mister President! He's not dead, he was wounded. He's not dead!"
I focused on him. "Who are you?"
"I'm Captain Hmong. I'm a doctor over at Bethesda. I talked to the doctors on the Fort McHenry. Your son was wounded, but he'll be all right. He's not dead! He was wounded. He'll be all right!"
I looked around and found that the hallway was filled with people staring at me. John McCain and Condoleezza Rice were scurrying around the corner. I was maneuvered back into the Oval Office and towards an armchair, with my morning staff shuffling out of the way. John and Condi came in also.
I looked at the Commandant and the doctor again. "He's not dead? He's wounded?"
"Yes, sir. He'll be fine. I've talked to the ship.", repeated Doctor Hmong.
"What happened? He wasn't even supposed to get off the ship!"
General Jones sighed. "There was a breakdown in communications, sir. The Marines knew, but not the embassy."
"What?" That made no sense to me.
"They needed everybody, sir. Every time a helo came back on board carrying refugees, it would load up with Marines and take them back into Monrovia. Sir, there are a million people in Monrovia, and we only had 400 Marines. Your son was in one of the last units sent in, and he was only supposed to be security at the American embassy. Instead, the Ambassador decided they needed to set up a collection point elsewhere and diverted the helo at the last minute.", he explained.
"Jesus Christ!", I exclaimed. "So, what happened to him?"
"Sir, did you see the film of the rescue of the nurses? It was playing on television last night."
"I watched the NBC news. There was a segment with footage of some guys running across a street and getting shot at. One of them kept running back and forth before he died. He was covered with blood. I couldn't believe they showed that.", I said.
"He didn't die! That was your son! He was the one who kept running back and forth pulling people out!"
"No, I watched that, he couldn't ... no way that kid made it!", I protested.
The doctor answered, "He was all shot up, but it's mostly shrapnel and flesh wounds. He lost a lot of blood but he's back on the ship. He'll make it. He'll be fine."
The Commandant added, "His CO put him up for the Navy Cross."
"The Navy Cross?" In the Marines, the only medal higher than the Navy Cross is the Medal of Honor.
"Yes, sir." He shrugged. "Realistically, he doesn't quite rate the Navy Cross, so it will be downgraded to a Silver Star, which is what he actually deserves. You were in the service, sir, so you know how the game gets played."
I did, too. In order to get your people the recognition they deserve, you generally have to overrate them, so they look good compared to some desk warrior whose only combat injury involved a loose staple and some paper cuts. The same occurred at promotion time, when a scruffy but great combat leader had to go up against some picture perfect PowerPoint commando.
As it was, the Silver Star was rated higher than my own Bronze Star, and could only be earned in combat. The worst thing was that I realized that the higher up the medal rates, the more likely you earn it posthumously. To get the Navy Cross he would have probably had to die...
Suddenly my stomach lurched. I stumbled into my adjoining bathroom and just made it to the toilet before breakfast came up. I heaved until I was empty, and only then noticed that I had been followed by the doctor. He helped me to my feet, and I washed my face at the sink. I felt every day of my 100 years at that moment. A hollow man stared back from sunken eyes in the mirror. "It's just nerves, Mister President. You'll be fine. Your son will be fine. We can probably get him on the phone."
He led me back into the Oval Office, which was getting crowded by now. The White House Physician, Doctor Tubb and a nurse had joined us when they got the word I was throwing up. Also, in addition to the regular morning briefing team of Ari, Josh, and Mindy, we also had Frank, Carter, and Will crammed in, along with a couple of Secret Service agents. The room was packed. Meanwhile, John was ordering Josh and Ari, politely, to keep a lid on this until I wanted it released.
I pulled myself together. I knew what had to be done first. "Where is the First Lady?", I asked.
Will answered, "She's here, upstairs, I guess, getting ready. She has a lunch with the Daughters of the American Revolution."
I snorted in laughter at that. "The DAR? Good Lord! My family sat out the war, and Marilyn's was in Canada at the time!" I shook my head. "I'll need to see her right now. Where are the girls?"
One of the agents responded. "They are running with Stormy down on the Mall. Hold one..." He muttered into a hidden microphone, waited a moment, and then added, "Stormy just jumped in the Reflecting Pool!"
"Good Christ! Well, get them back here. This is my doing. I need to be the one to tell them." He began muttering into his mike again. The agents on the twins' detail would drive up with a War Wagon and hustle them inside. They would be back here in less than five minutes. To the others I said, "Whatever my schedule is today, it just got cancelled. We don't say anything about this until I say we do. I will let you know as soon as I know something. Right now I have to tell Charlie's mother her son has been shot. I think I'd prefer it have been me." The room erupted in discussion, but I ignored it. To the general and captain, I said, "Gentlemen, on me.", and led them out of the room.
We went to the elevator and rode up to the Residence, but I didn't go beyond the vestibule. The girls weren't back yet, but I expected them momentarily. I lowered my voice and said, "We are going to wait until they are back. I can't do this twice." They just nodded in understanding.
About two minutes later, the girls and the dog, all of them looking thoroughly soaked, came up the elevator. Molly saw me standing there and said, "Daddy, what's going on?! Stormy was in the Reflecting Pool, and when we dragged her out she got us all wet!" In emphasis, Stormy shook herself all over the twins again.
Holly was more succinct, especially when she saw a pair of officers with me. "What's wrong?"