As Jascinski sat, he realized he could still smell the chlorine on himself. He looked over Massie’s head and admired his “I love me” wall. Besides the normal plaques and degrees, Massie had photos of himself taken during Desert Storm. He spent a lot of time aboard a minesweeper, USS Affray, with his EOD detachment. There were photos of him placing explosive charges on various mines and a plethora of “Farewell Disposalier” certificates from different EOD commands.
Massie hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.
“Welcome, gents. How are things?”
As the class leader, Jascinski always answered for the group.
“Fine, sir.”
“Great. Well, I have news for all of you. Orders came in the message traffic today.”
The four officers all started. As graduation drew closer, each student anxiously awaited news of their first assignment following EOD School.
Massie opened his desk drawer and pulled out four envelopes. He read the first one.
“Bullock.”
“Sir.”
Massie handed the envelope over the desk. “EOD Mobile Unit Two, Little Creek, Virginia. High speed, low drag.”
“Hooya, sir,” Bullock replied.
“Smith.”
“Sir.”
“EOD Mobile Unit Five, Guam. That is going to be fun times, hooya.”
“Hooya, sir!” exclaimed Smitty.
“York.”
“Sir.”
“EOD Mobile Unit Eleven, Whidbey Island, Washington. You like hunting and fishing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good, it’s an outdoorsman’s paradise out there. And finally, Jascinski.”
“Sir.”
“EOD Mobile Unit Six, Detachment Ingleside, Texas. Report no later than August 1998.”
Jascinski’s shoulders visibly slumped.
“C’mon, Jazz, Ingleside isn’t so bad,” the executive officer said. “It’s 1140 world down there. You’ll do a lot of diving and you’ll be a time zone and hundreds of miles from your commanding officer.”
“Do they jump there, sir?”
“Uh, nope.”
THREE
Jazz pulled his 4Runner into the parking spot behind the townhouse that he and his wife Melanie rented. He paused knowing that Melanie would not be happy with their orders. They both expected an assignment to EOD Mobile Unit Two in Virginia Beach. While all Navy communities are tight, Melanie had a strong network of friends and family already established in the greater Norfolk area.
Entering the living room, Jascinski heard his wife and their two boys upstairs.
“Jazz?” she called out.
During his plebe year at the Naval Academy, despite having no musical talent, James Jascinski became “Jazz.” Anyone who knew him from that time, including the woman who now shared his last name, called him “Jazz.” Some of his classmates did not even know his first name.
“Yeah, hon. I’ve got something important to tell you,” he yelled upstairs.
“Wait there, I’m coming down.”
Melanie waddled down the stairs, carrying their third child in her belly. Her short stature accentuated her pregnancy, but Melanie still had svelte muscular legs. Jazz watched her long blonde ponytail sway back and forth as she concentrated on her foot placement and handhold, ambling across the landing and the last few stairs. She smiled at him as she reached the bottom. He hoped their third baby would have her blue eyes.
“Let me guess, you died ten times today?” she said giggling.
Normally Jazz would have laughed. Melanie’s knew that EOD students often made fatal mistakes on training ordnance. Instructors at EOD School were known to yell at their students.
“BOOM! YOU JUST DIED! YOU’RE DEAD!”
In fact, some of the problems in both the practice area and the test area were rigged to real explosives. A small demolition charge was placed in a four-foot pit filled with water nearby that detonated if the students made a mistake. It would harmlessly knock the wind out of them and shower them with muddy water — some lessons had to be learned the hard way.
The school was just as stressful for Melanie as it was for Jazz. Her husband often studied until ten o’clock at night. Most days they had no time together; he simply came home, ate a cold dinner, showered and went right to bed. So Melanie usually endured long lonely days battling her morning sickness while caring for two active boys.
Jazz held both of Melanie’s hands in his.
“We’re going to Ingleside.”
“Texas!” Melanie tensed up and pulled her hands away. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What happened to Mobile Unit Two and Virginia Beach?”
“They need me in Ingleside.”
“Damnit, Jazz!”
“Mel, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want this either.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough! We’ve paid our dues, damnit! You’re the top of the class! Where is Petty Officer Huang going? Virginia Beach, probably! And once again Jazz Jascinski gets screwed! You extended on Anzio and had to do another deployment, LEAVING ME FOR ANOTHER SIX MONTHS! It took three tries for you to get into EOD, for what! To get sent to Texas! When are you going to take control, Jazz!”
Jazz was silent.
Melanie crossed her arms over her chest. “You need to call the Admiral.”
“I’m not going to do that,” he said dejectedly. “I mean, I’m gonna tell him. But that’s it.”
Melanie spun on her heel and headed toward the kitchen.
“I should have married an accountant,” she said acidly as she left.
Jazz knew that his wife would be upset, but the ferocity of her reaction surprised him. He thought she would at least have some sympathy for him; she knew that Ingleside would not be professionally rewarding for him or his career.
Jazz heard his wife coming back into the room.
“I have one more thing to say to you, James Jascinski,” she said pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I know that you are brave or you have courage or whatever… but you need to grow some balls. The Admiral has fucked you up. You are too sheepish in the face of authority. You need to learn to put yourself and your family first. If I am going to continue to sacrifice, if our KIDS have to, then you damn well better learn to put us first sometimes.”
Melanie turned and headed for the kitchen again. This time Jazz followed her.
“Hon, I’m sorry.”
Melanie scooped up her purse and extracted her keys.
“All I wanted was Virginia Beach, Jazz. Feed the boys.”
Jazz was even more stunned as his wife walked through the screen door, got in her car, and drove away.
The Admiral was Jazz’s father. In contrast to his son’s nickname, Jascinski’s father was called “James” by his friends and “the Admiral” by his family.
Deep down Melanie knew Jazz would never ask his father to exert his influence over the Navy’s Bureau of Personnel to have his orders changed. First, the Admiral would never aid his son in that manner. The senior James J. Jascinski would consider that as a prostitution of his position. Jazz would also never expose himself to the notion that he needed his father’s help. It was not enough that Jazz never felt he lived up to his father’s expectations. To approach him for help, for intervention on his behalf, would be viewed by the Admiral as a sign of weakness and would invite criticism and ridicule.
Jazz grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and walked through the back door to the yard. He removed the twist top and took a long drink.
Jazz knew that like his wife, the Admiral was going to give him hell. The Admiral never wanted his son to go into EOD in the first place. Now going to Ingleside would take him away from the Navy’s hub of influence in Norfolk. It would be another straw of criticism on the haystack of Jazz’s ruined career.