He reached topside and stepped out into the midday sun and took a deep breath. The fresh air was a welcome treat compared to the stale air of the ship’s interior. Ever the Marine, he requested permission to depart the ship and exited when he was cleared. He was walking slowly and with great effort. Even after two weeks of much-needed rest and recovery, his body hurt.
The wound on his face no longer required a bandage. Black thread poked out of his face along a jagged thick scar that was forming. Rahab was right. Every time he saw or touched it, it reminded him of Hunter and the long road to avenge his son’s death.
When Barone had visited him earlier, he made Gordon promise to visit him before he left. Gordon wasn’t sure if the visit would be personal or if Barone had an agenda. All he wanted to do was get on the road and begin his trip to McCall. But if Barone had something for him to do, he couldn’t just leave. He owed Barone for the staunch defense he gave him those many years ago after the events in Fallujah. So if Barone were to ask him to jump, Gordon would feel obligated to ask how high.
He was impressed with the little town of Coos Bay. It was bustling with activity. Commerce had returned, shops and stores were open, markets were vibrant in the streets. Gordon was taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds the quaint little town offered. When he made the turn onto Commercial Avenue, the sound changed. He could hear chants and yelling echoing off the building a few blocks away.
He increased his pace so he could find out what was happening. When he made the last turn onto Fifth Street, a large crowd of several hundred people were protesting outside of city hall. They held up signs that read GO AWAY!, WAR CRIMINAL, and TRAITOR. Gordon assumed this was all directed at Barone and the Marines. He weaved his way in and around the crowd till he reached the entrance.
Two armed Marines stopped him.
“Hi, devil dogs. Colonel Barone wanted to see me,” Gordon said.
“What’s your name?” one asked.
“Sergeant Van Zandt,” Gordon answered. He decided to use his old rank because he thought it might help.
“Hold right here, Sergeant,” one of the Marines ordered.
The chanting and yelling from the crowd were very loud and distracting. While the Marine radioed in, Gordon turned to look at them. It was a mix of young and old, black and white, men and women. He caught the eye of a few, who returned a hard stare.
Gordon turned back and looked at the other Marine. “Looks like idiocy is alive and well.”
The Marine didn’t respond to his comment, though he did crack a smile.
The other Marine got off the radio and said, “Right this way.” He turned, opened the door, and let Gordon go through.
City Hall was abuzz. People hovered near windows looking at the scene outside, talking in hushed voices.
The Marine escorted him upstairs. On his way up, he ran into Gunny.
“Van Zandt, good to see you up and about,” Gunny said, patting him on the shoulder that had been dislocated.
“Ouch!” Gordon cried out.
“Don’t be a pussy, it’s a little dislocation. Since you’re well, let’s meet for a drink tonight.”
“Smitty, that’s not going to happen. I’m saying good-bye to the colonel, then I’m out. I need to get home.”
“So you planned on leaving without saying good-bye to me?” Gunny looked a bit hurt.
“Ahh, well… hey, don’t be a pussy,” Gordon joked.
“Then I guess this is good-bye.” Gunny held out his hand.
Gordon took it firmly and shook it. “Thank you for everything, Smitty. So hard to believe everything that’s happened to both of us since we met so many years ago in Fallujah.”
“Yep, a lot has happened. You take care of yourself. And if you ever find your brother, tell him I still think he’s a jackass.”
Gordon laughed and said, “Will do. Take care, my friend, and stay frosty.”
Gunny waved, cleared the last stairs, and disappeared.
Gordon finished the climb and found the seating area outside of Barone’s office. There was unintelligible yelling coming from behind the closed door, no doubt in relation to the protest outside.
The door swung open and several civilians came out, obviously upset.
“Get the fuck out! I’ll be damned if I’m going anywhere!” Barone screamed at them as they scurried away.
Master Sergeant Simpson went to close the door and saw Gordon sitting there.
“What can I do for you?” he asked Gordon, irritated to see another civilian.
“I’m Sergeant Van Zandt. The colonel requested to see me.”
“Oh, yeah, the rescue. One second.” Simpson stepped away.
“Bring him in, I absolutely want to see this Marine!” Barone bellowed.
Simpson brought Gordon into the room and left.
“Sergeant Van Zandt! So glad to see you’re among the living again. You know, you looked like the proverbial shit when you came in here.”
“Yes, sir. I got a bit messed up.”
Barone looked at Gordon’s grown-out hair, which was curling up all along the sides. “Van Zandt, you’re starting to look like a hippie. I should have had someone give you a buzz when you were in sick bay.”
Gordon touched his hair. He hadn’t had a haircut since November. After the Marines he kept his hair longer, but always neat. Now his curly brown hair looked unkempt and shaggy.
“Take a seat.” Barone pointed to a chair in front of his desk. “Can I offer you a drink? Whiskey?”
“Yes, sir, I’ll have a drink.”
Barone poured, then sat in the chair next to Gordon, rather than the one behind his desk. He didn’t want the conversation they were going to have to feel proper or official.
“Van Zandt, I’ll just come out and ask. What the hell happened?”
Gordon took a healthy swig and said, “How much time do you have?”
Gordon gave Barone an abridged version of his life after the Corps and everything that happened after the lights went out. Barone sat and listened intently, only offering apologies or sincere comments when appropriate. Gordon wrapped everything up with the attack on Rahab’s compound.
“After that story, I need another drink,” Barone joked. Grabbing Gordon’s empty glass, he poured more.
“I don’t think I’m the only one who had a lot go on. And by the way, Gunny Smith mentioned your son. I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gordon said.
“Thanks,” Barone replied. He swallowed hard. “Listen, you know my story and what I did. Now, I’m not going to justify it, but I did what I had to do for my family.”
Gordon could sense it coming. This meeting wasn’t about saying farewell. Barone wanted him to do something.
“I’ve had to do things that weren’t conventional, and let me tell you, they weren’t convenient.”
“Sir, I’m not here to judge. The world has changed. We’ve changed. I get it.”
“I know your brother didn’t agree with my position, and therefore, we had to let him go. We gave him a nice going-away gift, but I understand some things went wrong. I’m sorry.”
“Sir, if you’re worried that I hold a grievance against you for my brother, I don’t. I’m not happy it had to go that way, but I do understand. As for judgment about your actions with the ships and whatnot, let me say that I gave up on my country when it gave up on me. When I sacrificed everything to go serve and the thanks I got was a court martial for doing the right thing? Believe me, I don’t have sympathy for the government anymore. People can call me a cynic but I don’t know if they ever had our interests in mind. I’m sure many of them are bunkered down, living high off the hog right now, while the rest of us fight and scratch to survive.”