Poetic Justice

Chapter 2

2

Immediately upon our arrival at the airbase, they tried to get me into surgery. “I’m not going anywhere until I let Tanya know what happened.” I insisted.

I would rather have her hear the news from me than some unknown army chaplain. They carried me into the ops-room where I steeled myself and picked up the sat-phone. It was almost midnight back in Georgia, and the phone rang for a while before she answered in a sleepy voice, “Tanya, hello.”

I hesitated for a second before saying, “Hi Tanya, it’s Brad, I’m calling from Afghanistan.”

Silence, then I heard her voice catch, “How bad is it Brad?”

“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Fred’s gone.”

No hysterics, no screaming or crying. She was an incredibly strong woman; one of the reasons Fred had loved her so much.

She choked back a sob as she asked, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can’t give you any details right now, all I can tell you is it was quick, he didn’t suffer at all.” Small comfort, I knew. I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks.

“And you, are you ok?”

“Just a minor leg wound and a concussion, I’ll be fine.”

“You know what I mean.” She knew better than anyone how close the two of us were. So like her to be concerned about me while she must be going through hell herself.

“Right now it still feels like a bad nightmare, it hasn’t really sunk in yet.”

“I know what you mean Brad. Listen, I’m going to phone my parents now and ask them to come over. I’m going to need their help in the morning when I tell the kids.”

“I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back. Stay strong.”

“Bye Brad, see you soon.”

I disconnected the call and several emotions washed over me as I did. I felt absolutely exhausted as they carried me off to the base hospital.

Five days later I landed at Lawson Army Airfield at Fort Benning. They had removed two pieces of shrapnel from my right thigh, one of which was close to the femoral artery. Seemed like my luck was still holding. According to the doctors I probably would have bled out if the artery had been severed. Although the leg was tightly bandaged and quite stiff, I was able to walk with the aid of crutches. The headaches from the concussion were also a thing of the past.

My father, Brigadier-General Phillip Peterson (retired), had been on hand to meet me when I arrived at Andrews Air force base the previous day. Before his retirement he was assigned to the Pentagon and lived in a brownstone in Georgetown. I had spent the night with my parents with my mother fussing over me as if I were mortally wounded.

After having endured a thorough de-briefing in Afghanistan, I had to repeat all the details of what had happened to my father. Although he was no longer in the military, he had retained his top-secret security classification, so I was not breaking any laws in doing so.

He had met Fred on many occasions and was distraught to hear of his death at the hands of the Taliban. After checking in with my commanding officer and hearing that I’d been granted a weeks leave, a private drove me over to the Single officers Quarters where I was currently staying.

I took a long, steaming hot shower and after dressing, walked down to where my car was parked. After removing the cover, I inspected the gleaming red, 1969 Ford Mustang convertible.

She truly was a classic and one of the few indulgences I had allowed myself. After reconnecting the battery I drove off base to a nearby suburb where many of the personnel with families lived.

As I pulled into the driveway I felt so much sorrow it was almost overwhelming. This was Fred and Tanya’s home. I had spent so many weekends here barbequing and relaxing next to the pool out back, that it felt like my second home.

With no small amount of trepidation, I rang the doorbell. The door opened almost immediately, I had called ahead and Tanya was expecting me.

She gave me a brave smile then hugged me tightly for a few seconds. I could see she was trying hard to keep it together. We went through to the living room and sat next to each other on the couch.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked.

Although it was only two in the afternoon I had a yearning for a stiff drink.

“I’ll have a whiskey if you have any?” Both Fred and I had shared a passion for a good single-malt Scottish whiskey.

“ I think there’s still some Glennfiddich left from the last time you were over.” She replied.

She poured a generous amount in two glasses and added a touch of water, no ice.

She handed me a glass “Just the way you like it.”

“So how are holding up?” I asked.

“Just taking it one day at a time.”

“And the kids?”

“Alicia’s still too young to truly understand, but Matt’s really taking it hard. You know how he idolized his dad.”

Alicia had just turned three and Matt was six.

“ If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thanks Brad, I seem to have it all under control. The kids are over at my parents while I finalize the funeral arrangements.” Fred was to be buried in two days time at a nearby cemetery with full Military Honors.

“Oh, if you could arrange the pallbearers, I’d really appreciate it.”

“No problem, I’ll take care of it.” Besides myself, I would choose five of his closest friends from our unit.

We chatted for another half an hour before I said goodbye. As she hugged me again at the door, she whispered in my ear, “Don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened, there was nothing you could have done to help him.”

Little did she know I totally blamed myself for his death. Not only had he died trying to help me, but we both should have been out of the army two years ago.

We had nearly finished our ten years in the army when my Commanding Officer, Colonel Waters had approached me. At the time I was a Captain. He had asked me to sign on for two more years and guaranteed me that I would make Major if I did. I agreed, and persuaded Fred to do the same. As far as I was concerned I had asked him to sign his own death-warrant by doing so.