The thought brought back unwelcome memories. Memories of Afghanistan.
It was in the Hindu Kush, in 1991, when Captain Padraig Connor, Sergeant Carlos Castro, and six Force Recon Marines had sat on the hillside of the mountainous range awaiting extraction. Two Marines rested beneath the shelter of their ponchos, the battle the previous night having taken their lives. The deaths were Lieutenant Connor’s first combat loss, and Sergeant Castro had understood the isolation brought on by the loss of men under your command. As a corporal, Carlos Castro had been part of Gulf I, in 1990, when two of his platoon had been killed in action. Castro had not been in overall command, but he understood combat-related death up close and personal.
Six, and then eight days after returning from Pakistan, Lieutenant Connor and Sergeant Castro attended each funeral, having met with the families, in the first instance, a mother and father, plus three siblings. In the second, a grieving nineteen-year-old widow with an eight-month-old son. Pug had told Castro later, as they flew back to Pendleton, that he would rather face an armed enemy than a grieving widow.
Sitting in the press office of the White House, the feeling had not abated. While the president would be the primary person to brief Mrs. Austin, Pug knew her, had dined at her home, had been treated as a son. And, unrecognized until this moment, Pug had come to respect, admire, and after nearly ten years serving under his command and partaking of his paternal advice, even love, his former commanding officer.
Rachel walked back into the room and sat beside Pug. “You okay?” she asked.
“Just remembering,” he replied softly. “How did your mom respond?”
“She’s calling Christine right now, and my office is arranging for her to fly out this evening from Kansas City. I’ll fly back with her on Friday night, unless General Austin’s funeral delays her return. I’ve got to go, since I’m scheduled to address a convention of city managers in Kansas City on Saturday morning.”
“For a few moments back in the car, I forgot that your family was such close friends with the Austins,” Pug said.
Rachel nodded. “We’ve known each other for over forty years. After all this time, the roles are reversed. Christine Austin was the first person to call my mother after the military notified Mom of my father’s death in Vietnam. They’ve been close ever since.”
Pug reached for Rachel’s hand, gently stroking the back of her fingers. “I know you understand the nature of such loss better than most, Rachel, but it took me a bit longer. General Austin said as much while he was trying to convince me that working in military intelligence had just as much value in the war on terror as field operations. He said ‘It’s not the warrior who suffers the real agony, Pug, it’s the wife, the mother, the children, the remaining family who live to regret his absence, the daughter who walks up the aisle without presence of her father, the wife who raises the child without the father to share the love.’”
Slowly tears began to form in Rachel’s eyes and Pug stopped talking, content to hold her hand. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to open old wounds.”
She nodded, placing her hand over his.
Abruptly, a White House aide stepped into the doorway. “Senator, General, if you’ll follow me, please, the president is about to enter the press room. I have two seats set aside for you.”
Pug and Rachel stood and silently followed the young man down the corridor. They were engulfed by a bevy of reporters and White House staffers. As soon as they sat, another staff person came through the door and announced the arrival of the president. Pug and Rachel stood along with the occupants of the room as the president mounted the dais and took his position behind the lectern.
“At 11:20 this morning, local time, Homeland Security Secretary William Austin was killed in a car bomb attack in Brussels. Secretary Austin was attending a conference of security leaders from European nations seeking ways to confront terrorism. Once again, it has been demonstrated that terrorists do not want peaceful solutions to the ills of the world. Secretary Austin served this nation for four decades, both in war and in peace. He was seeking further methods to assure peace when he was needlessly killed. The United States puts these terrorists on notice that we will follow every path to find and kill or capture those who planned this murder. I personally offer my sincere condolences to Mrs. Austin. The general was…”
Chapter 29
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.
June
Sometime after 10:00 PM, Pug drove Rachel to Dulles International Airport to meet her mother’s plane. The president’s visit to the Austin household had been difficult, to say the least, but Pug recognized in President Snow the gentle hand of a compassionate man, belying the weight of his office. Mrs. Austin was a remarkable woman, her strength resilient, her expression of gratitude to the president sincere. Despite the many other occasions when Pug had met her, his admiration for the woman took on a new dimension during the president’s visit. Shortly before they had left, Christine Austin’s sister had arrived to fill the absence of family. With no children of their own, Rachel had been concerned that the older woman would be alone for the night and had offered to stay, but Mrs. Austin had declined, grateful that Rachel’s mother would be coming to visit tomorrow.
As they waited near the luggage carousel at Dulles, Pug held Rachel close, his arm around her shoulder.
“These are not the circumstances that I envisioned for us to become friends, Rachel. I’m truly sorry for this loss and the memories it fosters.”
Rachel raised her hand to her shoulder, covering Pug’s hand. “The circumstances are not important, Pug. I’m grateful you were with me. Uncle Bill was like a father to me and I know he was fond of you, trusted you, and that his feelings were reciprocated. It’s your loss, too. I feel numb, actually. I might-”
Suddenly, Rachel leaned to the right, scanning the passengers coming down the escalator. “There she is,” she said, quickly walking forward and embracing her mother as she stepped away from the moving throng of people. Pug remained quietly behind. After a few moments of tears and hugging, they approached him together.
“Mom, this is General Pug Connor. Pug worked with Uncle Bill for the past several years. They became very close.”
Mrs. Thompson extended her hand and showed the briefest hint of a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you, General. Thank you for meeting me.”
“My pleasure, ma’am. Your luggage will be on carousel eight. I already have a trolley.”
“I only brought one bag. I have some of my things at Rachel’s home.” She turned to Rachel as they walked toward the luggage carousel. “Do you know when the funeral will be held?”
“Yes, Mom. Friday morning at Arlington. Christine did not want any public ceremony, but agreed to the president’s request that Bill be buried in the national cemetery. I have us both booked back to Kansas City on Friday night.”
Mrs. Thompson nodded. “That’s my bag, General,” she said, pointing to a light gray case which Pug retrieved.
Thirty minutes later, Pug placed the suitcase just inside the front door of Rachel’s home.
“Rachel, if I can be of any assistance over the next several days, please phone. I’ve called a meeting of my team tomorrow morning to discuss several items, but mostly to deal with our new reporting line to the president’s office. Please, do call if I can help.”
Rachel looked up at Pug for several seconds, then stepped close to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. She then kissed him lightly on the cheek, pulled back, and looked into his eyes. “You’ve already been helpful, Pug, perhaps more than you know. Thank you.”
“If I don’t see you beforehand, I hope to see you at the funeral on Friday,” Pug said.
“I’ll arrange it, Pug. My staff will organize seats for us.”
“Good night, Rachel.”
