“Sergeant,” Delroy replied. “I need to speak with Colonel Donaldson.”
The sergeant looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, sir. Colonel Donaldson left strict orders that he was not to be disturbed.”
“‘Not to be disturbed?’” Delroy couldn’t believe it. His anger and frustration seeped through his grip before he could restrain them. “We just lost hundreds of Marines along the Turkish border, Sergeant. The United States is at DEFCON 2, preparing to possibly go to war with Russia because that country is certain we’re responsible for the disappearances that have taken place there. Can anything be more disturbing?”
The young sergeant blinked in shock and confusion. “Sir, I—”
“Sergeant,” Delroy put the crisp clear tone of command in his voice as he stepped forward, “do you see these bars and that star on my shoulder?”
“Yes, sir.” The Marine backed down slightly but didn’t give up much ground.
“I am a commander in the United States Navy,” Delroy said.
“Yes, sir. I know that, sir. But I was given orders by my colonel that—”
“Son,” Delroy said in a quietly fierce voice, “either you let the colonel make the decision whether or not to see me, or I’m going to walk right over top of you.”
The sergeant braced at that. The private accompanying him took a step away and circled Delroy. The chaplain stood his ground. At six and a half feet tall, driven as he was by the need to tell what he knew to be true, Delroy knew he must have presented a fearsome figure to the men.
The ship’s crew still told about times Delroy had waded into fights aboard ship and in taverns off base and broke up fights between military personnel. He’d even broken up a fight involving two Navy SEALs that had earned him a lot of respect among his fellow military men, although the number of the Special Forces men had grown in the telling over the years. Wasp took pride in having a two-fisted chaplain.
“Sir—”
“Sergeant!” Delroy’s voice came out in a bellow. “I said open that door! And I mean now, mister!”
The sergeant stood resolute in front of the door, shifting the rifle to better use the weapon as a club if he had to.
Delroy knew he had the attention of several men around him. He almost felt embarrassed. Then he remembered how Chief Mellencamp’s body had disappeared from inside the body bag, and how there had been loose piles of uniforms scattered around Wasp. The text from Numbers 32:23 came to his mind: “But if you do not do so, then take note, you have sinned against the Lord; and be sure your sin will find you out.” He knew he couldn’t back away from the task that had been laid before him. The chief’s passing and the responsibility of the letter and the disappearance of the body while he’d been there to bear witness; those events hadn’t been by accident.
And what about Terry? Delroy’s conviction wavered a little when he thought about his son’s passing. He steeled himself. Terry’s death couldn’t mean nothing. He wouldn’t let it. Surely even there he would find God’s hand. Surely he could believe in that after everything that had happened today.
The door behind the sergeant yanked open.
“What’s going on here, Sergeant?” Colonel Donaldson stood ramrod straight, looking fresh as a daisy despite the fact he’d been up long, hard hours preparing for the Marine wing’s insertion into Turkey.
Nineteen years a Marine, Donaldson looked every inch of his calling. He stood a couple inches over six feet with the compact and wiry build of a good second baseman. His sandy colored hair was thinning on top, although that was partially masked by the flattop crew cut, and going gray at the temples. Camo BDUs outlined the hard lines of his body.
“Chaplain Harte,” the sergeant said. “He wanted to see you.”
Delroy’s breath came hard and fast, and he could feel his heart blast-pumping in his chest.
Donaldson eyed the chaplain with challenge and curiosity, though there was more of the former than the latter. “Is that right, Chaplain?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
Donaldson’s chin rose as he stepped out into the hallway. His big hand wrapped around his jaw, and his stubble crackled. “I don’t know what could possibly prompt you to interrupt a planning session I’m having, Commander. Especially after I gave specific orders no one was supposed to get in.”
“Sir,” Delroy said, straightening. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but rest assured that I wouldn’t have interrupted if it wasn’t important.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
For a fleeting moment, Delroy felt afraid. It was a natural reaction, given the circumstances. He’d hoped to persuade Captain Falkirk and Colonel Donaldson to grant him a few minutes alone to explain his reasoning.
He hadn’t expected the audience he had in the men stationed in the C&C centers around them.
“Yes, sir,” Delroy said. “I wonder if we might talk in private.”
Donaldson folded his arms across his broad chest. “This is fine for me, Chaplain Harte.”
Delroy felt the colonel’s anger, saw the white-hot emotion edged in the sharp angles of the man’s body. Most of that anger, the chaplain reasoned, wasn’t directed at him but was just seeking a target the same way water constantly sought the lowest level.
“Yes, sir. I see that, sir.” Delroy gripped his father’s Bible in both hands. He took strength from the book, and in his mind he heard his father, thundering from the pulpit as he presented God’s love and the fiery threat of hell and eternal damnation to his congregation.
Terry’s voice was in there, too, words ripped from the morning that Terry had shipped out for the battlefield. Despite his training, despite what faith he’d possessed, Delroy had been frightened, and Terry saw that emotion in him. “Don’t be afraid, Dad. I’m not. You see, I believe in you and I believe in God. Between Him and you, how can anything happen to me?”
But something had happened, and Terry had never come home again. How could God want something like that to happen to a boy who had
