# # #
The Crowd Was Just for Him
Hunter Ash
(aka B. Cooper)
10/02/2006
Copyright 2006-2020
This is an original piece, no copying,
editing or using any part without my permission.
This is rated PG
The corporal checked his line of
Marines again. The plane was heading to another landing, another
family waiting for their loved one. It was his duty to ensure that
his men and women looked their absolute best.
These were Marines, after all. The
best the military services had to offer. The best they had to offer
America.
A quick sleeve over a highly polished
shoe to catch a trace of dust, a slight twist of the USMC emblem, the
Eagle, Globe and Anchor at the collar, each little detail important,
perhaps not to an outsider but to a Marine facing their family or
inspection, it meant everything. The rows of green and khaki, broken
by shiny brass and polished shoes always impressed the corporal.
He was proud of this bunch. They were
more quiet than the usual Marines heading home, home into the arms of
their families after a long tour. This bunch had seen the worst of
it, he thought. Door-to-door fighting, snipers, hostile civilian and
the road-side bombs. Homemade devices that threatened to take arms,
legs and send shrapnel through any helmet, possibly leaving the body
alive but stealing the mind and soul of a soldier. His men and women
had seen the worst and had performed like Marines.
The Lieutenant walked over with a
frown. It was always his place to worry how his troops looked. The
officers always depended on the NCOs to set things right but it was
the officer that took the flak if things went SNAFU – Situation
Normal, All Fouled Up was the polite translation.
“Which one for the first landing?”
the Lieutenant asked the Corporal.
“Rodriguez, Sir,” the Corporal
responded. “He always said that one day the crowd they showed on TV
at the airport would be waiting for him.”
The Lieutenant inspected Rodriguez and
smiled at the young man. “They are, they’re waiting just for
you.”
He glanced at the Corporal. “Prepare
for take off, secure your troops away.”
”Yes, Sir,” the Corporal responded and moved to secure everyone. Wouldn’t do to have someone or something slip when these men and women were heading to their families. It was going to be a long enough flight without worrying about his men and women.
”Yes, Sir,” the Corporal responded and moved to secure everyone. Wouldn’t do to have someone or something slip when these men and women were heading to their families. It was going to be a long enough flight without worrying about his men and women.
# # #
The Corporal watched from under the
belly of the plane, watching the family and friends as they waited
for their Marine. Some waved flags but the heat of the California
sun bouncing off the black tarmac made things seem oppressive, almost
surreal.
He watched as the family waited
anxiously, as if they didn’t believe that their young Marine was
finally coming home for good. Coming home with medals, even. A
Purple Heart, Combat badge, Deployment and more on that OD green
jacket their Marine wore. They would be proud.
The Corporal sighed as the Marines came
forward to claim one their own. A detachment from the local Naval
base or Reserves, he wasn’t sure which. It was almost always the
same. The nameless, faceless men in uniform moving to the plane and
slowly bringing the casket down, quiet and solemn as they walked in
rhythm. It took time to learn the men and women in those uniforms,
the Corporal knew. They wouldn’t know his boys and women, they’d
never have the privilege of serving with these Marines like he had.
Learning about their families, their hopes, dreams and fears,
learning their names, even their first names. Trusting each of them
to be there when a door was kicked in on an insurgent bunch and
bullets started flying.
No, they wouldn’t have the honor but
they family would be proud. He’d tell them later. The Corporal
knew the Lieutenant, Captain or someone always wrote a letter to the
family saying how proud the Marine Corps was of their son, daughter,
husband or wife and how they regretted their loss. The Corporal also
wrote a letter to each family, adding personal details that he
remembered of his boys and women. Each letter killed a small part of
his soul, each death took another piece from him.
As a mother wailed, supported by a man
that looked much too old to be the father in the picture Rodriguez
had shown the Corporal, the young NCO sighed.
The Corporal wondered if there would be
anything left to him when the action was finally over and all the
Marines could come home on a plane to cheers, to flags waving
frantically, to ribbons and ceremonies honoring their service to
their country. To something other than a metal box, a flag draped
over that box and the sound of Taps. To tears and sorrow from family
and friends.
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