Six fully tacked white Percherons led the 3rd US Infantry, 1st Battalion “Caisson Platoon” as the flag-draped casket, secured by two leather straps, rolled in step. The four old wooden wheels rotated bicep-high on the casket party, four on each side of the procession.
Eileen walked directly behind Jane. She was the older sister. She had always stayed a few steps behind Jane just to make sure she was okay even when they were children. Now Eileen could only wonder what her little sister was doing, who she was talking with, or if Jane was finally settled and just watching her own funeral in restful silence. Eileen’s chin was up as she walked with purpose, never taking her eye off the flag that covered her little sister’s war-torn body.
Camp angled his right arm in as Eileen’s arm joined his tightly. Had Jane’s Blackhawk not crashed in Iraq, Camp and Jane would have been married by now. Instead, Camp prayed that God would forgive him for supporting Eileen’s decision to pull Jane’s life support five days earlier. For nearly 20 months after the helicopter crash in the deserts of Iraq, Jane slept in a persistent vegetative state until all hope was gone.
US Army Lieutenant Colonel Leslie Raines bowed her left arm in as Eileen’s other arm hooked in tightly. Raines feared she might feel out of place, that she shouldn’t feel so close to Jane, and that perhaps she should not have feelings for Camp. But her thoughts grew clear and singular as the procession rolled down a small road, past World War I vintage oak trees and came to a halt in the most recent of hallowed grounds.
This was Section 60, Arlington National Cemetery.
The rest of the mourners left their cars on the road and gathered around the simple canopy where Eileen, Camp and Leslie took seats in the first row. Camp’s parents, Sea Bee and Ruth, sat stoically in the second row to bid farewell to the daughter-in-law they never had. Eileen and Jane had lost their parents years before. No other extended family members had the resources to travel to Washington, DC from Muleshoe, Texas. It would be a 20-minute funeral service for a war hero who died more than a year before she was ever pronounced dead.
The first of three volleys from the seven-soldier rifle party pierced the solemn Arlington air with a penetrating jolt. The other two volleys were anticipated. A solitary bugler blew a solemn Taps from a crest on a nearby hillside, surrounded on three sides by simple white head stones.
The chaplain preached his sermon and held his Bible open though he never looked down for the words he already knew. The sermon was sincere, but the repetition of the words was ingrained and seared into his memory.
The flag from Jane’s casket was folded with elegant tradition and accuracy. Three spent shell casings from the rifle party were discreetly placed into the folds of the flag.
Standing two rows deep, Brigadier General Jim Ferguson swallowed back a tear as the flag bearer moved closer to Eileen. Ferguson had been Jane’s commanding officer in Iraq. He was Colonel Ferguson back then, when Captain Jane Manning flew MEDEVAC missions into the Balad Trauma Center as Navy Commander “Camp” Campbell, SEAL turned trauma surgeon, brought most of them back to life in a tent hospital during endless 20-hour shifts.
Eileen raised her eyes with the intensity of a battle-hardened ER nurse, a career she had embraced for many years, as the flag-bearer approached.
“Ma’am, on behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation.”
Mourners filed past Jane’s casket, some pausing to remember, some reaching out to touch her for the last time.
When all had left the gravesite they paused at their cars to watch one solitary sailor who stood isolated, guarding Jane’s casket while standing at attention.
Camp had given his heart to Jane in Iraq. He had slept on the floor by her bed in Gettysburg on and off for nearly 20 months, as she lay silently. Now he was forced to say good-bye.
Camp rendered a final salute. He removed his lid and knelt next to her one last time. He smiled as he remembered getting down on his knee in scrubs, proposing to Jane between surgeries and her flight missions. She had laughed at his chivalry while all of the nurses, medics and recovering soldiers applauded in the recovery bay.
There were no jewelry stores in Iraq and no time to shop in the Haji mart. So he used a black Sharpie and drew a ring around her finger and asked the love of his life to spend the rest of her life with him.
And she did.
“Fair winds and following seas, Captain Jane,” he said as tears trickled down his cheeks. “And long may your big jibs draw.” The seafarer’s prayer and blessing gave Camp little comfort, but he hoped it would release Jane to take her rightful place in both Arlington and in heaven.
Camp kissed her casket and caressed her face through the wood one last time.
General Ferguson was offering his condolences to Eileen when Camp walked up. Raines walked over and grabbed Camp’s hand.
“Are you okay, sailor?” Raines whispered.
Camp looked over into her eyes and lit up her heart with a reassuring smile. “Jane’s finally home… she’s at peace.” He was torn by a million emotions but relieved that Leslie Raines was at his side.
“Sir, I suppose you have attended far too many funerals at Arlington,” Eileen said as General Ferguson walked up to extend his condolences.
“Yes, young soldiers like Jane are the most difficult. When I was a boy, my father was the attending veterinarian for the Old Guard. I saw far too many funerals here, young boys who came home from Vietnam one last time. I practically grew up on Fort Myer. For 15 years, my dad took care of Black Jack.”
“Black Jack was a presidential celebrity,” said Camp as he joined the conversation.
“Indeed he was. A Morgan-American quarter horse, he was the rider-less horse that carried turned in boots for almost 30 years. I never cried so hard as when Black Jack died in 1976. He almost made it to his 30th birthday.”
“General, we’re having a reception for Jane out in Gettysburg tomorrow afternoon. I hope you’ll join us,” said Eileen.
“I wish I could. I really wanted to see your infamous ‘research lab.’ But I fear duty calls. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs needs to see me, something about a tularemia outbreak.”
“Rabbit fever?” asked Eileen.
The general seemed surprised.
“Eileen’s an old ICU nurse, general; she knows her diseases,” said Raines.
“Well, I hope this is just a disease.”
Camp moved closer to General Ferguson. If the chairman was involved, serious issues were at stake.
“In Afghanistan, sir?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, the battalion surgeon on a FOB in RC-East reported three Afghan patients with tularemia this week. One case of tularemia gets you a phone call, two requires a meeting. But three… that’s a damn convention full of generals. So, my sincere regrets for tomorrow, Eileen, but duty calls.”
Ferguson held Eileen’s hand for a passing second, and then he and his coffee-pouring majors got into their car for the quick ride back to the Pentagon.
“Junior, your father and I are going to stay at Lightner Farms tonight so we’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Okay, mom. Pops, you good to drive?” Camp asked with a wry smile.
“I haven’t started drinking yet, boy, but I plan to.”
Raines stepped forward and took Ruth’s arm. “I’ll walk you over to your car.”
As Raines, Ruth and Sea Bee headed toward the Campbell’s old Ford Galaxy, Eileen turned to Camp.
“You were Jane’s knight in shining armor, sailor. She loved you, and she loved that you loved her. This was the right thing to do, Camp. It was time to let her go.”