19 December 1989 – Airborne – Southbound, over the Gulf of Mexico

The cadence got it wrong.

Jeff’s little trip was on a C-141 Starlifter aircraft, one of the hundreds delivering early Christmas presents to Panama. Follow-on troops may travel on C-130s, but not the initial wave. Jeff woke from his nap. He reviewed the plan for the jump one more time before putting the map away. If he didn’t know it by now, he never would.

’I don’t think this is going to end like Golden Pheasant did, Jeff thought, thinking about the not-quite combat insertion he took part in last March. Unlike that jump into Honduras, combat looked certain for the 504th PIR this time.

He noticed a mix of emotions on the faces of his fire team when he looked down the row of seats. The new members of the squad, SPC Herman Adler and PFC Norm Feller, didn’t look nervous at all – they were asleep. Both experienced soldiers transferred into the 82nd at their own request. Williams and Sledz, however, looked scared.

“Hey!” he yelled to Williams over the scream of the plane’s engines. “Take a deep breath, man! You scared?” Williams nodded. “Good! Me, too!” Williams shot him a surprised look. “You’d have to be crazy not to be! There’s only one way off this plane, and that’s through those doors back there! The first step is a thousand feet high!” Williams chuckled and shook his head. He nodded his thanks to Jeff.

Jeff motioned for Williams to switch places with Sledz. The two privates swapped places, and Jeff repeated his little speech. Sledz was more nervous than Williams before Jeff’s pep talk. He thanked Jeff after three minutes of uncontrollable laughter.

“Just remember, Manny, ‘bravery is the capacity to perform properly even when scared half to death.’ You and Rick have performed properly since you guys got here. Shit, you didn’t even budge when Doc cut Oscar Infante’s neck that day! If that’s not bravery, I don’t know what is!”

“Where have I heard that first thing you said before?”

“The person who said that was the first-ever division commander of the 82nd Airborne, General of the Army Omar N. Bradley. That might be why you’ve heard it before.”

The Air Force lit the plane’s interior with red lights during the entire flight; this preserved the paratroopers’ night-vision before they jumped. Now the red pre-jump warning lights came on near the jump doors. Time to get ready.

“Showtime, Manny!”

Lieutenant Cherrington ordered 3rd Squad to perform a security sweep outside the LZ perimeter. They would push the American-controlled envelope around Omar Torrijos Airport outward. They’d operate from other supporting units, but they weren’t worried about it. Hell, that’s what the Airborne does.

Their assigned reconnaissance patrol was routine, up until the point it was not. They stumbled across a Panamanian Defense Forces patrol which launched a hasty ambush at them. Years of training the PDF in American tactics came back to bite them in the ass – their ‘fourth point of contact’ in Airborne language. The PDF knew where to concentrate their fire to do the most damage to the squad. They caught squad leadership conferring while the patrol stopped.

John Tyler and Frank Breckenridge died immediately while Cory Song was wounded. He was now unconscious. 3rd Squad bounded away from the ambush after assaulting through the PDF and wiping the enemy forces out. Williams and Sledz carried the dead across their backs; American forces do not leave their fallen on the battlefield.

Adler and Feller limped along, carrying Song in a poncho between them. Feller also carried the destroyed radio as they made their way away from the ambush site; he was the squad’s RTO – the radio-telephone operator, or radioman. The PDF would know 3rd Squad was out of contact if they found the radio. Jeff slung his M-16 across his back while he carried Adler’s M-60 and extra ammo. The squad had eliminated the PDF force that tried to ambush them, but the Americans knew another PDF force would find their trail and try to hit them again. Survival was far from assured.

Ken became acting squad leader with Tyler and Breckenridge dead and Song out of action. 3rd Squad needed to hole up. Ken looked over the terrain he selected for the squad’s hasty patrol base site. It was nasty: a partial swamp separated from the trail by thick brush and buzzing with mosquitos. In other words, it was the perfect place for a patrol base. The enemy would have to look hard for their trail in, and the site allowed them an escape route. Ken picked out spots for their fighting positions.

“What now, Ken?” Jeff whispered.

Jeff spoke in English to avoid any possible confusion during translation. Jeff looked at Ken but it was too dark to see Ken’s face, just his silhouette. Jeff was lucky that Ken couldn’t see him, either. Jeff’s shoulder bled freely and had already soaked through his BDUs.

“We’ve got to get this perimeter set up before the PDF comes back,” Ken whispered back to his friend. “Conserve ammo, water, rations, and hold out until the sun comes up and we get relieved. If they hit us and we can’t get away, we give ‘em everything we’ve got.”

The squad bent to the task and set up the perimeter. Ken and Jeff, now Ken’s assistant squad leader, met again to discuss what they still needed to accomplish.

Before the meeting started, a flash appeared outside their perimeter. Ken shoved Jeff backward without hesitation. Jeff landed hard as he heard Ken’s grunt of pain. Williams and Sledz returned fire while the rest of the squad held steady. The shot came from outside of their sectors of responsibility. A cry pierced the darkness, and the two ceased fire. Jeff rushed to Ken’s side, his heart in his throat.

“Through-and-through to my bicep,” Ken said through clenched teeth. “I’m okay.”

Jeff thought Ken needed work on his definition of ‘okay.’ Jeff tore away the arm of Ken’s BDU shirt before opening Ken’s first aid pouch; under the dim light of a red-filtered flashlight, Jeff dressed the wound as best he could. He grabbed the grenades off Ken’s LBE to hand out to others in the squad.

Jeff took the Claymore mines from Ken’s pack and put them in an empty rucksack stripped from one of the dead. Jeff collected more mines from the squad, including the deceased. Jeff thought their lieutenant was nuts when he told them to take the mines before they left. Jeff was now grateful that the LT insisted.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered.

“The hell you will!” Ken whispered back.

“Ken, I’m the only one not wounded in the leg. I’m the only one of us that can still move around. The rest of you guys are already starting to stiffen up, and we need to get this done before the PDF hits us again.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to make this an expensive piece of ground for the PDF.” Jeff handed Ken a large, soft-sided case. “These are Tyler’s PVS-7s. I’m taking Song’s, and I’m going out to even the odds a little. I’ll flash the active IR source every thirty minutes to let you know I’m okay. I’ll flash a reverse SOS with my flashlight to tell you that I’m coming back in: three longs, three shorts, three longs, okay? Get these guys home if I don’t make it back.”

Jeff disappeared before Ken could object. By the time Ken had the night vision goggles out and on, his friend was nowhere to be seen.

Pain.

That’s what registered first when consciousness returned. The pain centered around Jeff’s left chest and arm. He recognized the pain as a good thing; he’d been in combat, so the pain meant that he was still alive, at least for the moment. Next to register was the steady whine he heard even through what he guessed were headphones over his ears. The whine was one he recognized: the engines of a C-5A Galaxy cargo plane. He’d been on one only once, for a trip home last year, but the sound was hard to forget. He tried opening his eyes. Even the low-level lighting hurt at first. He made out the shapes of people near him.

Two women stood nearby, officers both. They wore Air Force flight suits and aircrew headsets with microphones; a dark-haired first lieutenant briefed a blonde lieutenant colonel. The colonel, from what Jeff saw of her, looked familiar. Her height and the patches on her flight suit, combined with the blonde hair, reminded him of someone he met once. When she looked up from what the lieutenant showed her, he did recognize her.

Jeff thought he was close enough to reach the colonel, despite the IV lines taped into his right arm. His litter lay at their waist height, so reached out to touch the colonel’s elbow. The lieutenant noticed his movement. Her glance caused the colonel to notice, and to turn towards Jeff. The colonel’s eyes showed a hint of tears as she rested her hand on his arm and smiled down at him.

“Wrong party, Colonel,” Jeff said through his oxygen mask.

The lieutenant relayed his message through her headset. The colonel nodded and grabbed a pad from her pocket, scribbling a quick note.

“Sleep – Long flight – I’ll come back”

He nodded and drifted back into unconsciousness.

Jane Donnelly looked down at the young man on the litter. She wished that her daughter’s best friend wasn’t so seriously wounded. She and Lieutenant Mia DiNapoli both noticed movement as the lieutenant briefed her on Jeff’s injuries: penetrating trauma to the left anterior chest and left upper arm, a pneumothorax, a hemothorax, massive blood loss, and dehydration. As badly hurt as he was, he wasn’t the worst on the flight. But he was the only wounded soldier Jane knew.

“Ma’am?” came the voice over her headset. “Are you alright?” Jane turned. Lt. DiNapoli looked at her with concern.

“No, Lieutenant, not really,” was Jane’s honest reply. “This soldier is my daughter’s best friend. I thought – or maybe I hoped – he would be my son-in-law one day. But he and my daughter told our family those feelings just weren’t there. They’re very close now, like brother and sister.” Jane sighed. “I’m not looking forward to telling her he’s wounded.”

“My condolences, Ma’am. I knew you were concerned about him, but now I understand why. What did he mean, Ma’am, when he said ‘wrong party?’”

“Last December I flew a cargo mission out of Pope to Westover Air Force Base. Westover is just outside of Springfield, Massachusetts, and the corporal flew Space-A with us. He’s from that area, and his family Christmas party was that day. Jeff was trying to surprise them because he hadn’t told them he was coming home. He was the only person other than my crew on board, so I let him sit on the flight deck.” Jane paused to compose herself.

“This young man impressed me, and my officers. He gave us a good vibe right away. He brought a book with him on that flight, one about a possible conventional third World War. The title escapes me at the moment ... I think it had a color in the title?”

“I think I know the one you mean, Ma’am. Tom Clancy’s Red Storm Rising?”

Jane nodded. “That’s the one. He’s a voracious reader and a huge history buff. The rest of my flight crew had read the book and told me that Jeff had some good insights. They were particularly impressed with his knowledge of the state of NATO and Warsaw Pact forces and capabilities back then. Jeff also provided a few alternate scenarios based on his knowledge.”

“When we got to Westover, my daughter came to pick me up. The corporal and my daughter hit it off like nothing I’ve ever seen. Their history debates over the next couple of weeks were insightful and even beneficial for Heather when she went back to school. She said Jeff provided viewpoints she hadn’t considered or heard in class. Heather used one or two to construct arguments for her papers since then.” Jane sighed again.

“For those two weeks, they were all but inseparable. They were always together, either at my parents’ place, his parents’ place, or off somewhere together. My dad’s a retired paratrooper, the former commander of the same regiment the corporal is in now. It usually takes him a long time to trust someone new around ‘his girls.’ That’s my daughter Heather, my mom, and me. He liked the corporal right away – again, something else I’ve never seen. Dad was hell on my dates in high school.”

“At the end of those two weeks, Heather needed to head back to UMass, and he needed to report back to his unit. The two of them had a very adult conversation about their relationship before leaving Greenwich. That’s when they decided that while they loved each other, they weren’t in love with each other. They considered themselves siblings from that point on. Mom and Dad were disappointed that he wouldn’t marry Heather, and I know I was too.” She shook her head.

“Thank you, Lieutenant, for listening to me ramble,” Jane said, drawing herself up straight. “I’ll get back to my job so that you can get back to yours. Thank you for briefing me.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

Jane Donnelly found a dark corner in her cavernous aircraft and cried for the young man she considered an adopted son.

An exhausted Jane Donnelly dropped into a desk chair later that day. She sat in her assigned Visiting Officer Quarters room at Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington, DC, and stared at the wall. Jane turned to gaze longingly at the full-sized bed mere inches from her, but knew she had a couple of calls to make before she could lie down. Jane picked up the phone and dialed a number she remembered from childhood.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Heather.”

“MOM! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Heather. I’m just tired. It’s been a long few days. After I hang up with you and make one other call, I’m taking a shower and sleeping until Christmas.”

“Mom, Jeff’s been wounded in Panama,” Heather told her, near tears. “Kara said they haven’t told her family much beyond that Jeff was wounded and flown back to Walter Reed in Washington.”

“I know about Jeff, Heather,” Jane sighed. “He was on the aircraft I flew into Andrews just now. I need to call his parents. Would you give me their number in Enfield?” Jane wrote down the number as Heather gave it to her.

“Heather, Jeff is badly hurt, but he woke up and recognized me. He was awake again when we landed and while they unloaded him. The flight surgeon said those were good things. Jeff will be okay.”

“Thanks, Mom,” her daughter replied, the relief audible in her voice. “I love you. Get some sleep. I’ll tell Grammy and Grampy you’re safe and that you’ll call after you wake up.”

“I promise, Heather,” Jane replied. “Love you, too. Bye.”

Jane dreaded making the next call. Taking a deep breath, she dialed the number she’d just written down.

“Hello?” came the emotion-laden voice of Marisa Knox.

“Marisa? It’s Jane Donnelly.”

“Hi, Jane. Are you alright? You sound pretty beat.”

It was clear to Jane where Jeff got his concern for others after she met his parents. The boy – man, she corrected herself – was raised right.

“I’m fine, thanks, Marisa,” Jane confirmed. “It was ‘all hands on deck’ for this operation, as my colleagues in the Navy would say. Heather told me that Jeff was wounded in Panama? How much information did the Army give you?”

“Very little, I’m afraid. We know they flew Jeff to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, DC. The sergeant who called the house didn’t have any information for us on how bad his injuries are.”

Jane sighed once again that day. “I already knew of Jeff’s injuries before I spoke to Heather, Marisa. I was the pilot of the plane that brought Jeff here to DC. I’m calling you from Andrews Air Force Base.”

“JOE! KARA! COME HERE! Jane Donnelly was the pilot of the plane that flew Jeff to Walter Reed! Jane, please tell us everything you can about Jeff’s condition.”

“As I said, Marisa, I flew Jeff to DC today. We landed about an hour ago. I have a list of his injuries here.” Jane read them off to Marisa, who sobbed into the receiver while when she heard them.

“When I read Jeff’s name on the flight manifest, my heart was in my throat. I left the flight deck once I was able; I wanted to see how he was doing and get a report on his condition. Jeff woke up and recognized me during my briefing. He was awake again for the last hour of the flight and stayed awake through unloading. The surgeon on the flight assured me Jeff’s being awake and recognizing me were good things. Jeff will need lots of rehab, but he should heal up fine.”

“Jane, thank you for calling to give us this information. I know we will head down to DC to see Jeff as soon as we can. Will you be in town long?”

“Honestly, I don’t know, Marisa. I haven’t received my next orders yet. So far, I only know that I have the rest of today and tomorrow off. I’ll check back in with the host wing office on the twenty-fourth. What I have heard is that casualties are nowhere near as bad as expected, so I might not be flying back south.”

“Thank heaven for small favors,” Marisa muttered. “As for visiting Jeff, Joe and I will coordinate things with your family here.”

“Thanks, Marisa.”

Jeff woke feeling worse than he had ever felt in his life. His first hangover had been more pleasant than this. He felt as if someone tossed him into an empty cement truck and left him to tumble for an hour. The last thing he remembered from his follow-up surgery was trying to count backward from one hundred. He reached ninety-eight.

Jeff tried to move but soon gave that up with a groan. The left side of his body wasn’t interested, and his right side seemed content to go along with the left. His groans attracted attention.

“Merry Christmas, Corporal. Back among the living are we?”

Jeff managed to crack his eyes open. A female officer in an Army nursing uniform stood next to his bed.

“Well, my day just got a whole lot better than it seemed to me before, if you’ll allow me to say so, Ma’am?” he asked, wagging his eyebrows.

“I’ll have to watch myself around this side of the ward,” Captain Tara Paradise chuckled. “You’re feeling better already, I see. ‘Knox?’ Got a bit o’ the Blarney in ya, do ya, boyo?”

“A bit, aye, lass, uh, Ma’am,” Jeff responded in a bad Irish accent. “Half-Irish, half-Greek, and twice as full of myself as anyone has a right to be.” The captain cast a jaundiced eye at him like she didn’t believe his statement.

“I don’t buy that for a second, Corporal,” she confirmed. “I don’t get that vibe from you. Plus, I don’t think an arrogant person would have the flock of people waiting to see you that you do.”

“‘Flock?’ What do you mean, Ma’am?”

“Well, let’s see...” she paused, looked up at the ceiling, and started counting off on her fingers. “There’s your parents, your sister, an Air Force lieutenant colonel, her daughter, and the colonel’s parents. Not to mention your division’s commanding general and his aide. See? A ‘flock.’”

“Holy crap ... Uh, am I ready to see them? I mean, do I need to wash up? I know I need a toothbrush; my mouth tastes like the elephant that stepped on me took a dump in it.”

“Vivid,” deadpanned the nurse. She produced a wrapped mouth swab. “That’ll have to do until you can get up. You shouldn’t need to wash up, though. We’ve been giving you sponge baths while you were unconscious.”

Jeff paused in mid-reach for the swab. He looked the captain in the eye, a mortified look on his face.

“‘Sponge baths,’ Ma’am? Uh...”

“Oh, yes.”

“Good grief.”

“Don’t worry, Charlie Brown, it’s all part of our training.” CPT Paradise watched while he ran the swab around in his mouth. “You ready for the visitors?”

His mother smothered him, crying. Kara was more reserved but still weepy. Jeff’s wounds concerned his father, but Joe was grateful Jeff was awake and would recover. Two Army officers waited behind his family. A major general and his aide stepped forward during a pause in the family proceedings. Jeff sat up as straight as he could.

“At ease, son,” the general said in a soft voice, “at ease.”

“Yes, General.”

“Good man. I’ve got a few things to tell you, and then we’ll get out of your way and let you get back to your family. I wanted them to be here for this before we came to see you. First, is your promotion to sergeant (E-5), effective two-four December. Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Jeff’s jaw dropped while his family looked proud. “Begging the General’s pardon, Sir, but I’ve only been a corporal for ten months ... Been in less than three years...”

“Sergeant, according to your file, your performance since February has proved that your promotion to corporal instead of specialist was the right decision. You, Sergeant, are a leader.”

“Your company sent your promotion packet to Battalion last month, remember? Your scores put you near the top of the list for promotion to sergeant. With squad leadership dead and most of the men wounded, Battalion will give you a fire team in Third Squad. You’ve already completed PLDC, so we’re good there.”

“Sir, Ken Takahashi was acting squad leader that night. The promotion should be his.”

“Who says Ken Takahashi isn’t receiving a promotion as well, Sergeant? He will be the other team leader while you help your new squad leader rebuild.”

Jeff’s head was spinning, but all he could do was answer, “Yes, Sir.”

“We’re not quite done with you yet, Sergeant,” General Johnson said. “Due to your service in Panama, you are authorized to wear the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Basic Parachutist Badge with Combat Star, and Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal with Arrowhead. Your wounds, which you received in armed combat against an enemy force, mean you are authorized to wear the Purple Heart. And last, but certainly not least, you have been awarded the Silver Star for gallantry in action against the Panamanian Defense Forces on twenty December 1989.”

The general’s aide handed his boss the items as General Johnson named them; Johnson pinned five badges and medals to Jeff’s pillow. The awards were visible to all who looked at Jeff. Jeff’s head threatened to spin off his shoulders.

“General? The Silver Star, Sir? I was just doing my job...”

“You were Sergeant, yes. However, the after-action reports I’ve read from your squad-mates tell me you did your job in an exemplary manner. Specifically, you carried out the plan to defend your patrol base after Sergeant Takahashi was wounded. Then, single-handedly, you held off the PDF. You later refused evacuation until after everyone else had been from the battlefield.”

Kara beckoned the Donnelly and Cavanaugh clan into Jeff’s ward after General Johnson’s presentation. Jeff saw Tom nod at him after seeing the items pinned to his pillow. While the Army officers made their exit, a crying Heather attempted to crush Jeff with her hug. She sobbed in relief as a red-eyed Kara rubbed her back.

“It’s okay, Heather,” he assured her while he rubbed her back with his good hand. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you hurt on this side?” Heather sniffled. She sat back up and pointed to his right shoulder.

“No, it’s all on my left side,” he answered.

She punched him in the right shoulder, and she didn’t pull her punch, either. “You need to be more careful!”

“Heather, I promise! I looked both ways before I jumped out of the aircraft.” That drew a snort from Tom. Alice promptly smacked her husband on the arm.

“Paratrooper humor...” she muttered darkly.

“I can’t believe that you guys came down here. Mom, Dad, and Kara, I expected, but...” Jeff said, trailing off. Heather hugged him again, this time without the associated violence.

“I finally got used to the fact I’ve got a little brother now, so don’t you try taking yourself out of the equation again, mister!”

“Jeff, you and your family made a terrific impression on all of us last year,” Alice explained further. “You and Heather hit it off like none of us have ever seen. You are important to her. Why the poor girl was in hysterics when she heard you were wounded.” Heather buried her face in Jeff’s good shoulder out of embarrassment.

“And don’t think for a minute that you’re not important to the rest of us, either,” Alice admonished him. “You’ve helped breathe a bit of new life into our little family, a life we didn’t realize was missing. Your parents have invited us to lots of your family’s events since last year. We now feel like our family is many times larger than it is.”

Alice and Tom were only children, as were Jane, her late husband, and Heather. The four living members of the Cavanaugh family were all the family they had until Jeff came along.

His family and friends chatted with him for about an hour until his strength began to wane. Jeff drifted back off to sleep, causing Kara and Heather to usher everyone out of the ward. He missed the kisses on his cheeks from both young women while he slept.

Jeff woke a few hours later to find his ward empty of visitors. He noted that someone placed his new awards and rank insignia in a black cloth-lined shadow box, which now stood on a table near his bed. Captain Paradise walked in a few minutes later. She sat down in a chair next to his bed.

“How you doin’, Sergeant Knox?” she asked in a quiet voice, keeping their talk private.

“In a bit of a daze, Ma’am,” Jeff replied in the same manner. “The promotion was a big enough surprise, but the Silver Star? I just wanted to get home alive for Christmas, you know?”

“You’ll figure it out, Sergeant. Be careful with the humble routine, though. I can tell it’s genuine but it’ll cheese some people off. Specifically, people who will want to make a bigger deal out of it than you will want, and you’ll just have to learn to deal with it.” CPT Paradise shrugged. “I wish I had better advice for you.”

“It’s not so much that, Ma’am, it’s the fact that John Tyler, Frank Breckenridge, and Cory Song are dead. We weren’t friends in the classic sense, especially since they were sergeants and I was a corporal, but we were all NCOs in the same unit together. We hung out in the same places together. Shi ... uh, sorry Ma’am ... I even shared a beer with John when I made corporal.”

CPT Paradise smiled. “You have my permission to speak freely when we’re talking like this, Sergeant. You can say ‘shit,’ or any other ‘colorful’ words you’ve learned around me. I have four brothers in the military and a father who used to be. I have likely heard it all before. This was your first time in combat?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I turned twenty in August, so I was a little young for Grenada.”

“Then this is the first time you’ve experienced death?”

“Like this? Yes, Ma’am. Dad lost his parents before my sister and I were born. Mom’s are still alive though elderly. No one from my high school managed to kill themselves before we graduated, either.” Jeff closed his eyes and sighed.

“I can see their faces from the night the sergeants in my company took me out to celebrate my promotion to corporal. John looked so proud that one of ‘his’ soldiers would soon join the NCO ranks.” Looking down, he shook his head. “The profession of arms is not inherently safe is it, Ma’am?”

“No,” the captain agreed, smiling sadly. “I thought I knew what I was getting myself into when I decided to be an Army nurse. I mean, I worked in a large city hospital before I got my direct commission. Nursing is nursing, right?”

My first assignment was Madigan Army Medical Center at Fort Lewis; I arrived just before Grenada. The Second Ranger Battalion was part of the invasion and, while I saw gunshot and stab wounds before I joined the Army, the number of wounded Rangers far exceeded what I’d seen in the past, at least all at one time.”

“I was overwhelmed, Sergeant. So many young, normally healthy people in the hospital? I thought I made a terrible mistake in joining the Army until I talked to a young man like you late one night. Steven helped me understand what drives you men forward when most people’s instincts tell them to run the other way.”

“Steven smiled at me the night before surgery on his leg, and finally put it all in perspective. He said, ‘They issued us parachutes and rifles, not capes, Ma’am. We’re not superheroes, only Rangers. We follow our training.’”

Jeff saw a look much like a combat soldier’s thousand-yard stare settle over the captain’s face. A tear trickled down the captain’s face.

“What happened to him, Ma’am?” he asked.

“Private First Class Steven Allen Dunbar, of Alpha Company, Second Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment (Airborne), suffered a massive intra-operative stroke during surgery to repair a broken leg suffered in the invasion of Grenada. He never woke up and died two days later. He was nineteen.” CPT Paradise stopped and grabbed a tissue from the box on Jeff’s nightstand.

“You can’t ever bring those men back, Sergeant, no more than I could bring Steven back in 1983. I’ll never forget the young man I knew, though. There’s no rhyme or reason to who lives and who dies. It just happens.” CPT Paradise rose, walked away from his bed, and out of the ward.

Jeff lay awake for a long time.