"You and Charlie are about to be kicked out of the house!", I replied.
I stepped back up to the podium, and grinned as they quieted back down. I glanced back at the grinning captain, and asked, "Do they still have flogging in this man's Navy?" Everybody began laughing again, and the captain replied in the negative, though nobody heard him. "No? That's all right, Ensign Bowling. I am sure we will find something to reward your service."
There was a lot more laughter at that, especially from Captain Bowling, the commanding officer. I waited a moment and continued. "Well, there is only one way to settle this! We'll do this the old fashioned American way, this fall, at the Army-Navy game! Sound good?" More cheering, and then I finished, "But we are going to make this a little more sporting! The winners will be invited to a delicious five course meal at the White House, my treat. The losers, however, will be eating cold MREs at our newest base, Fort Frostbite, located somewhere north of the North Pole! How about that?" More cheering! "And may the best Army win!" More laughter and a few boos.
Well, I had nothing to say after that. What could I say? My wife and children had kicked me to the curb! I turned it over to the captain, and he said a few things, and then the crew and Marines were released and given leave. Sick berth attendants wheeled the wounded back below, and Marilyn, the girls, and the dignitaries followed them. I needed to thank each of them. Marilyn introduced me to all of them, including Private Bird, who commented that 'a sucking chest wound is nature's way of saying to take it easy.' Very true! He was the worst hit of the men, and would take a bit longer to recover. The others were all going to be given a final checkup and then released to their families. Charlie would fly back with us. While that was going on, Tom and I spoke to Captain Bowling about the deployment. He was going to be visiting the Pentagon, I was sure, and we needed to make sure he and the Marine commander were properly recognized, along with their men and ships.
After Charlie was released, we went back to Marine One and flew back to the White House. It looked to me like half the staff was waiting for us, and when Charlie exited the bird, he got a big round of applause. Also waiting for us was Stormy and the medical staff. Stormy rushed up and tried to lick Charlie to death, but didn't manage to knock him on his ass. Doctor Tubb and one of the nurses grabbed Charlie and dragged him off to the infirmary for a quick review. Charlie needed rest and recuperation, and a daily visit to the infirmary until he was completely healed up.
Chapter 155: Muddling Through
Charlie was supposed to stay with us for about three weeks before he headed back to Camp Lejeune. I took a look at him one day when he was swimming in the pool and had on just a pair of swim trunks, and there were a lot of scars and wounds all over. I still didn't understand how he hadn't died. He commented that it was the clean living, and I told him that must have been somebody else, since he didn't know the meaning of the words.
Charlie mostly seemed the same old Charlie I had always known, but Monrovia had left some other scars on him as well. Every few nights he would get moody, and Marilyn commented to me that our son was going through a lot of beer. A couple of weekends after he got to the White House, I was directed to talk to him, and not by my wife, but by the Chief Usher. A few of the staff people were worried about him. I found him just sitting in one of the gardens on a lawn chair, and sipping from a bottle of Jim Beam, and just staring off into nowhere. I grabbed a matching chair and set it down to his left, and took the bottle from him. Charlie gave me a dirty look, but I took a sip from it myself, and then capped it and handed it back to him.
"How's it going, Charlie? Still in any pain?"
He snorted and uncapped the bottle and took a swig. "This helps."
"No, not really. What's up, Charlie? I've seen you busted up before. You never took too many pills or drank then.", I said.
"I was still living at home. I was a kid then."
I shrugged. "Maybe so." I took the bottle back and drank a bit more, but this time kept holding it. It was the same old sour bourbon taste that wasn't my preference, but I was not about to send for a different bottle. "I worry seeing you like this."
"Afraid somebody will see me?"
"That's not fair, Charlie. I might be the President, but I am still your father. Don't try and tell me that I shouldn't worry about my children."
"Yeah." He looked at the bottle I was holding, but didn't demand it back. "I know."
"It's not just the pain, is it? That should be pretty much gone by now. What's going on?", I asked.
"I don't know. I mean, I don't know what to do anymore. I have to get out in a few months, but I didn't want to get out, but now I don't want to stay in, either. I don't know what I want to do." Now he reached over and took the bottle back, and had another sip. This time he closed the bottle and just stared off into space.
"Why don't you want to stay in?", I asked.
"I don't know. I liked it and everything, but when we got ashore..." He sat there for a few minutes, and then quietly, almost whisperingly, said, "I killed people."
I took the bottle from him and had another drink. "I know, Charlie, I know." He looked over at me bleakly. "I read some of the reports. I know it probably won't make it any easier, but you had to do it."
This time he didn't grab the bottle back, but just turned and stared into space some more. After another couple of minutes, he said, "We train and we train and we train, but it's just words. Then I had to actually service my target, and it was just a kid, and he was shooting at us, and I serviced my target. And then the target next to him, and then another target. And they weren't targets. They were people, guys my age."
"I know, Charlie. That's the way it always is. I never liked it either."
"I've heard some of the guys laughing it off, talking about blowing away guys, and I used to laugh, but they're not just targets!" He kept staring, and then added, "I don't want to service the target, and now they are giving me a medal for servicing the target."
"No, Charlie, they are giving you a medal for saving lives, not taking them. Nobody would care if it was just you killing a bunch of gomers. They care because you brought your team home. That's what you should always remember. You brought your guys home."
He looked at me. "That's what you did, isn't it. You brought your guys home, from Nicaragua, I mean." I nodded, and he said, "No, I mean, all of it. You actually killed those guys, didn't you?"
It was my turn to crack the bottle and take a hefty swig. The nice thing about drinking booze you don't particularly like? After you've had enough, you don't care that you don't like it all that much! It was good that I didn't have to drive anywhere tonight. Or be very presidential, either, come to think of it. "Yeah, Charlie, all of it."
"How do you live with it? How do you deal with it?" He wasn't accusing me, but wanted to know.
"Just like I told you. I got my men home. That was my job, my mission. I couldn't let anybody interfere with that. I still see those men, sometimes when I am alone, but I also see the faces of the other guys, the guys who I got onto the choppers and who flew home."
"Does Mom know?"
I nodded. "She knows. She doesn't know all the details, but she knows. She's known since you were a baby. Your mother is how I survive my own madness, Charlie."
He reached out and took the bottle from me. "I don't have anybody like that.", he said quietly.
"You have us. You have me and your mother. You have your sisters, though they probably won't understand. They love you, though." I thought for a second. "Charlie, tomorrow I want you to come with me and see Doctor Tubb. I know you've been seeing him, but you need to talk to him. I don't know if this is post traumatic stress or something else, but we can get some help. You are not alone. I have been where you have been. Others, too.", I told him.