My Country Tis of Thee

CHAPTER THREE

Mike pushed the Styrofoam box away. The half-eaten breakfast inside it had long since grown cold. Food was not his priority this morning. The box would probably have tasted better than the pancakes inside it. Mike looked at the time on his Blackberry once more. It was almost seven. Doing the math quickly in his head, he dialed the number in Washington, DC.

"Congresswoman Martin's office," answered a female voice on the third ring.

"May I speak with the Congresswoman, please?"

"I'm sorry, but the Congresswoman is on the House floor this morning. May I take a message?"

Mike cursed under his breath. He had been trying to reach the woman for the past week and he felt his control slipping. He did not expect parades or confetti, but he was not going to tolerate the callous way this woman was avoiding his calls. His request was not that extraordinary. Hundreds of similar requests had been granted. It was the least that Manny deserved.

Mike felt the iron control that he had learned over the past twenty years slipping. The discipline that he had bragged about to Tia Manuela deserted him then. Gone was the trained Marine. In his place was the angry young man that he had once been.

"This is Master Sergeant Michael O'Malley, retired US Marine Corps. I'm trying to reach her regarding the post-humus granting of citizenship for a young Marine, whose family lives in her district. I've called several times and sent emails. I realize that the death of another Mexican soldier in Afghanistan might not rate that high in the Congresswoman's legislative agenda, but the least the woman could do is return my god damned calls. Perhaps my next call should be to a Spanish language television station?"

The phone was silent for several heart beats. Then another voice came on the line. "Sergeant, this is Travis Mason. I'm Congresswoman Martin's constituent officer. I am sorry for the delays getting back to you. Unfortunately these things are not always quick. I can assure you that the matter is being handled though."

"Yeah, well today is Manny's funeral. I had hoped to be able to give his family something more than just the flag of a foreign country. Mr. Mason, I don't know if you have ever been in the military or seen what is happening in Afghanistan, but that young man spent almost a year battling the heat, the cold, a population that does not want us there as well as the god damned insurgents that blew his brains out. All for a country that he was not even a citizen of. This is the least that country can do to show its gratitude."

"Hold on a minute, Sergeant," the man asked as the line went dead. Classical music boomed in his ears as he waited for he knew not what. The booming echoed in his head. He was so tired that he was unable to think. His mind was a complete blank.

Finally, the man came back on the line. "Sergeant, I truly am sorry, but these things take some time. Not even Congresswoman Martin can do much to speed the US Citizenship and Immigration Service. But I have spoken with our Los Angeles office, the Congresswoman will issue an acclamation honoring Corporal Manuel Hernandez's service to the United States. We will have our local representative there by three today."

Mike's shoulders slumped. It was not the news that he had hoped to bring the grieving family but it would have to do, he supposed. "Thank you, Sir."

"The Congresswoman has a strong record of supporting our troops. We will keep you informed of any progress on the other matter, Sergeant," came the terse reply.

Mike shook his head as he checked the notes in his Blackberry. He still had to find a dry cleaners and have his dress uniform pressed, but there was plenty of time for that. The funeral was not until thirteen hundred; one o'clock, he corrected himself.

Mike had not slept well. The dreams had returned. Young faces laughing and joking. The smell of smoke, bombs and blood clung to his memory like skin. It was always the same, but they had been getting more frequent lately. These days Mike had the dreams almost every night.

Logically, he knew he should talk to someone. Maybe even have the doctors at the Veterans Hospital here look him over. But the truth was what could they do? Hell, what did they even know about what life was like out there? Let alone the death and pain that Mike could not seem to shake.

No, Mike felt that his plan offered as much promise as anything the doctors could offer. A few months, a couple of years, it really did not matter how long it took or where he went. Mike was just going to wander the country that he had served since he was eighteen. Visit a few of the men and women he had served with. Check and see how they were doing. Help out in any way he could. And in cases like Manny's offer what comfort he could to the families. Not that that was going too well right now.

Mike ran his fingers through his hair, what little there was of it anyway. Hell, he might even let it grow. Maybe not long like Luke's, but it had been almost twenty three years since it was longer than regulation. Of course, it was no longer the deep brown curls that he had watched disappear as a young man, joining the growing pile of locks on the shiny floor.

He had stared at the inches and inches of hair that collected around the barber's chair at Camp Pendleton. Straight blonde from the California surfer dude. The coarse tight black curls from the guy that looked a bit like Michael Samuels. His own soft brown curls. Even the bright red of the farm boy from Oklahoma, who was to become his best friend during those long weeks of boot camp.

No, these days there was more grey than brown in Mike's hair. He supposed in the grand scheme of things a few grey hairs was not that much to pay for a life time. Grey hair was not something that Manny Hernandez would have to worry about.

Mike shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. Any more than another sleepless night had. Reaching for his duffle bag, he took out a t-shirt and pulled it over his head. There was no need to change the loose sweat pants that he had slept in. Adding socks and his sneakers, Mike was ready for a run.

But where did you go to run in a big city like Los Angeles? Grabbing his Blackberry, Mike quickly had a plan. There was a bike and jogging trail along the cement river that served to drain storm water from the city to the ocean. It might not be fancy, but it would do. A far sight better than some of the places that Mike had jogged over the years.

His first day of retirement began to take shape. Drop uniform at the drycleaners. Take a run to clear head. Pick up uniform. Go to funeral. But that left another long evening and night ahead. He could not manage another sleepless night so he added one final item to his agenda. Get so drunk I pass out.

***

The sun glared off Esther as Mike pulled into the Hernandez's drive way. He was slightly refreshed from his run and shower. He had barely turned off the engine and lowered the kick stand when Lupe rushed through the door.

Her broad smile was a stark contrast to the somber occasion. "Sergeant Mike, we've been waiting for you."

Mike nodded as he pulled the plastic bag that contained his dress uniform from a compartment on his bike. "Hola, Lupe."

"Mama and Papa are in the living room. Mama Nona just arrived from Mexico with Tío Alberto," the girl rattled on as if Mike knew everyone, although the names were vaguely familiar.

He searched his memories of familial stories that Manny had shared with the group. He and Tommy had always entertained the others with their stories. For someone without a family of his own, Mike had found their tales refreshing. He wondered who was entertaining the others now.

"Mama Nona?" he finally asked.

"Si, she is Papa's abuela. My father's grandmother. We would visit her near Hermosillo every summer. But she has never been to Los Estado Unidos, to America," the girl was so excited that she switched back and forth between English and Spanish.

Mike smiled as his mind made the connection. Goats. His men had been shocked to discover that goats were the primary source of meat in Afghanistan. Coming from a country where beef, chicken and pork were the limited selection, they had found the smell of the roasting delicacy particularly pungent. Manny had told everyone about the summer he spent with his great-grandmother. She raised goats and there was always a big pot of goat stew on her stove.

"Yes, Mama Nona," he nodded as the girl drug him across the yard, up the steps and through the front door. He squinted as his eyes attempted to adjust to the dimness inside.

Looking around, he spotted her immediately. She was a large woman. Her dark dress was simple with a zipper running up the front. Her legs were covered in thick hose and her feet overflowed the floral slippers that they were stuffed into. Her almost white hair curled about her face. Her bright red lips were distinctly out of place with the rest of her appearance.

"Mama Nona, me presentar Sergeant Mike. El es del amigo por Manny," the girl beamed.

The old woman studied him for a moment as if taking his measure. Then she smiled and nodded as if he had passed an inspection of some sort.

Mike crossed the room and knelt beside the chair. He knew that his Spanish was inadequate to express his feelings to the woman. Hell, his English was not that good either. But he could try.

"Manny was a good man," he began. "He told us all about you. About how much he loved spending summer's with you. About your goats. There were lots of goats where we were and they reminded him of his Mama Nona."

The woman nodded her head as Lupe translated his words. When she was done, he could see the tears glistening in the elderly woman's eyes. Mike was shocked to discover they were not brown like Manny's or the rest of the family, but a hazy blue like his own. Then he remembered that Manny had explained that his grandmother was Castellan, a mix between high born Mexican ancestors and German settlers after the World War.

"Gracias," the woman whispered.

Mike stood up. He was not certain what to say or do then. The woman's stare reminded him of the great robed men that he had met when his mother drug him to church as a boy. They seemed to look into your soul. And as always, Mike felt his was somehow lacking.

Lupe stepped forward. "Do you need someplace to change?" she asked noticing the plastic bag.

"Yes, please."

"Mama and Papa must be getting ready in their room. And Maria is probably hiding in ours. The bathroom always has someone in it. But you could change in Manny's room, I suppose."

Mike followed her down the corridor once more, stopping this time at one of the first doors. She opened it and stood back.

"They said that the cars would be here in a few minutes."

"I won't be long," Mike had more than enough years of practice donning his uniform. Placing the insignia and medals did not take as long as people thought.

She nodded as she left him alone in the room. Mike was not certain what he expected but this room showed no real sign of belonging to anyone. The neatly made up bed was covered in a dark blue blanket. The walls were a drab grey and held only a couple of painting. Saints, he supposed.

Only the dresser that sat against one wall held any personal mementos at all. On it were half a dozen frames. A collage of Manny's life. His high school graduation with his parents and sisters beaming proudly. The official looking photograph of him in his dress uniform, the one that would accompany any announcement of his death. The one that all Marines had.

But it was the one at the back that caught Mike's eye. The young blonde girl in the hospital gown leaned against Manny's shoulder as she smiled lovingly at the tiny red ball in her arms. Rachel. Mike wondered if she would be here today.

She had not written or spoken with Manny since before he joined Mike's troop in Afghanistan. Mike had only learned about her when he helped Manny fill out the paperwork for his next of kin and insurance. He knew that the girl would have been informed along with Manny's parents. But that did not mean she would come or bring Manny's son. Mike put the gold frame back and began to change clothes. Like everything else in life, he supposed only time would tell.

As he had told Lupe, it took him less than five minutes to change. He stared at his reflection in the mirror which hung over the dresser. The hair might be grayer. There were definitely more lines around the eyes and mouth. But Mike could not help but recognize the man that stared back at him. The Marine. He brought up his hand in a salute. A final farewell to this part of himself. With one final pause, he turned and opened the door.

"Madre de dios," cried Manny's mother as she saw him come from her son's room. She made the sign of the cross as her husband joined her, wrapping his arms about her.

"I am sorry, Sergeant Mike. We did not know you were here yet," explained the man.

Mike shook his head, "No, Senor Hernandez. It is I that am sorry. Lupe told me to change in there. I did not mean to cause your wife any alarm."

"I suppose seeing you, the uniform, coming from Manny's room. It was just not what Guadalupe expected."

"Lo siento," Mike said to the woman, who just nodded as she twisted the tissue once more.

He followed the couple back into the living room. It was filled now with dozens of people. Lupe was standing with an older man in a black suit. His hair was combed back, not one strand out of place. Mike shivered at the sight of the mortician.

"Papa, Senor Flores says that the cars are ready now. We should get going if we are going to make it to the church on time."

"Of course," said the man as he drew his wife further into his arms. The mortician nodded and motioned for everyone to follow him. Mike stood to the side as everyone exited out the door and down the steps.

There were three long black limousines sitting by the curb in front of the house. Eight or nine young men and women climbed into the last one. A half dozen older people folded themselves into the middle one. Only Mama Nona, the Hernandez's, Lupe and another younger girl remained standing in the yard with Mike. He turned towards his bike, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Would you like to ride with us, Sergeant Mike?" asked Manny's mother.

Mike froze at the quiet words. Though heavily accented it was the first time the woman had spoken to him. He nodded and followed her to the vehicle. He helped Senor Hernandez get his grandmother inside first. Then Senora Hernandez and their daughters. Finally, the two men were alone.

"Thank you, Sergeant. I know that this cannot be easy for you. But you being here, it means a lot to me and my wife. It is good to know that Manny had friends over there. People that really cared about him. Thank you."

Mike put his hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed softly. "No, sir. Thank you and your wife. You raised a fine young man. I just wish that we had met some other way. I wish..." Mike's word hung unspoken.

The man nodded. Understanding exactly what Mike meant. Both men sighed as they turned back to the waiting car and a very long day that neither wanted to face.

The ride to the church seemed to take forever. Senora Hernandez clung to her husband and cried softly. Lupe sat on the other side of her mother and squeezed her hand. Mike was wedged between Mama Nona and Maria. Each stared out the window in silence.

Mike searched his memory for something to say. Something about Manny that would bring comfort to them.

"Maria, Manny told me that it is your birthday soon."

Senora Hernandez sobbed. Her husband squeezed her hand harder. "Maria will be fifteen. It was to be her quinceañera on Friday. But now..."

It was the younger girl, who sobbed then, turning away from the window to look at her father. "But Papa," she began. "It is all planned. The hall is rented. The invitations sent. My dress is almost done."

"Si, Maria, but without Manny, who will be your escort? It just is not right. Perhaps in a few weeks."

"It won't be my birthday in a few weeks," she pouted as she turned silently back to the window.

Mike felt worse than before. Clearly, he had stepped into a family dispute. But he knew this was not what Manny would have wanted.

"Senor Hernandez, I know things are hard right now, but Manny would not want Maria's party cancelled. Is there any way?"

"See, Papa. Sergeant Mike knows," it was Lupe, who spoke up on her sister's behalf then.

The car stopped. Mike looked out the window at the large stone and stained glass edifice rising above them. A crowd of people were gathering on its steps already.

"We will talk about it later," said the man as he wrapped his arms about his wife.

The door opened and light streamed into the car. Mike got out first and helped the mortician to assist the women from the car. It took both of them to manage Mama Nona's bulk. Senor Hernandez insisted on helping his wife alone.

The mortician directed Mike to the long black hearse waiting in front of the car. A few young men stood around it, chatting softly. "You should join them," said the man.

Mike nodded and walked over. He immediately recognized Hector, Manny's young cousin, from the night before. The boy grabbed his hand and shook it. He started to introduce Mike to the others when the mortician came over. He opened the back of the black vehicle and sun light glittered off the silver casket.

Mike's throat tightened to the point that he was not sure he could breath. Manny was inside that thing. Manny, who had along with Tommy, been comic relief for his whole company. Manny, whose laugh could be heard throughout the camp. Manny, who was almost never without a smile.

A thousand thoughts raced through Mike's mind. But only one stuck. Why? Why not him? He was not like Manny, Tommy or Billy. No one would miss him. No one would mourn his passing. No big funeral. No tears. The unfairness of war and life hit him like a sucker punch to his gut as the man slid the casket forward.

Hector elbowed him and motioned for them to step forward, taking the handles from the somber man. It felt heavier than any pack that Mike had ever carried. It weighed upon him. All of it. Over twenty years. All the friends. The lost lives. Unfulfilled dreams.

All of it centered in this shiny box that weighed far more than it should. A weight that Mike bore with honor just as he had borne the weight of his duty; duty that had put Manny inside this cold, dark box. The decisions he made had cost lives...or saved them, but he did not remember those in that moment.

The man motioned for them to lift the box to their shoulders. Like the solider he was, Mike followed the order. With the others, he put one foot in front of the other. Marching. He had spent a lifetime marching to the orders of others. Leading men and women like Manny on patrols where marching could turn into something far more dangerous. Just as it had that night.

It had begun normal enough. Their platoon had patrol in the village where they were staying. It was something they were doing less and less often as they focused more on training the Afghan army these days. But this night, it was one of their most holy times, the month long fasting of Ramadan, so he and his men were taking a few more patrols.

There were few windows in the simple buildings and most of the doors were shut. Light shone out from under only a couple of doorways. The barking of a dog tied up under a tree was the only sound to break the cool night air. Scalding hot days and desert nights that bordered on freezing were common in this region of the country that sat at the foothills of the mountains.

Over the past weeks, Mike had asked himself over and over again, perhaps a million times, 'had he missed something.' Was there some sign of what was to come? Was the dog barking, not out of hunger or howling at the moon, but because of the movement of men on the roof tops? Should he have known the difference somehow?