chair but allowed his knees to spread apart. He held the folder containing the reports on the foray into Mexico against his stomach with both hands, and looked at Kozak for a moment, considering how he was going to do this.
From the examining table, Kozak watched Cerro as a bird watches a cat circling the tree it's in. He kept staring at her face, which no doubt looked like hell. At least, she thought it did. If it looked half as bad as it felt, it was terrible. During the initial exam, one of the nurses had looked at Kozak's face with a pained expression. With a sigh, the nurse had grasped her hand, telling her not to worry, that the black and blue would go away as soon as the swelling went down. Instead of serving to calm Kozak, it had only worried her, creating an uncontrollable urge to find a mirror and see what it was that caused everyone to stare. With Cerro sitting there, holding folders that no doubt contained statements and reports concerning the crossing of the Rio Grande, it would be a few more minutes before she got to look at her own face.,
Seeing that Lieutenant Kozak wasn't going to make his task any easier by initiating the conversation, Cerro decided that he might as well just launch into it. After all, diplomacy, subtlety, and regard for someone's feelings never seemed to blend well with the spirit of the bayonet. Praised by raters throughout his career for his direct, frank, and uncompromising approach to all matters, Cerro now found himself wishing he had a few more skills in dealing with people. Sidetracked for a moment by that thought, he wondered if he was concerned about his approach because Kozak was a woman. No, he was sure that wasn't it. On the day he had observed Kozak's squad get overrun, he hadn't even considered the gender issue when he 'counseled' her. No, that wasn't the reason he was uncomfortable. Was it because she was hurt? That could be. After all, he felt the same way whenever he had seen any of his own men wounded or injured. But that wasn't it completely, for in the past Cerro had always been able to say something to the wounded. Even when faced with a man from his own unit who had lost a limb, Cerro had been able to work through his natural revulsion of injured people and say something appropriate.
Yet here he was stymied by a lieutenant with a simple broken nose and two black eyes.
That was it. Suddenly, like a bolt of lightning, the reason for the unaccustomed empathy that was hamstringing his efforts to carry on, struck Cerro. Instead of looking at Second Lieutenant N. Kozak, infantry platoon leader, Cerro had been looking at himself. Without realizing it, he had projected himself into Kozak's position as he read the reports and weighed her actions. The feelings that he was experiencing were not those of a male seeking to protect the female of the species. Nor were they of one human experiencing sympathy for an injured fellow being.
Instead, Cerro found himself having trouble dealing with Kozak because he had true insight into the emotional upheaval that she was going through, the same upheaval he, as a second lieutenant, had experienced after his introduction to combat. For the briefest of moments, he was able to see Kozak in a light that transcended all differences. He saw her not as a person of a different rank, or sex, or age, or anything. She was, at that moment, the newest recruit to what W. E. B. Griffin referred to as the brotherhood of war.
With his own emotions in check and a clear idea of how to approach Kozak, Cerro started. 'The G3 has sent me to talk to you, one on one, after reviewing all the statements and reports concerning this morning's crossing of the border by your platoon.'
Once Cerro finally began to speak, Kozak breathed a sigh of relief. He had, while he had sat there staring at her, made her feel uncomfortable and very vulnerable. It had been as if she were a specimen under a microscope, open to examination and unable to do anything. Now that he had started talking, at least she could respond to his initiatives and comments.
Grasping the edge of the examining table, Kozak nodded, responded with a 'Yes, sir' that was barely audible even to herself, and waited for Cerro to play out his initial hand.
Deciding to cut to the heart of the matter, Cerro moved his feet out from under the chair and planted them firmly on the floor, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When he was settled in his new position, he looked into Kozak's swollen black eyes. 'The G3 believes that you need to rewrite your statement. It is his opinion that you are being far too critical of your actions. Were this report to go forward as is, there is the chance that you might open yourself to undeserved criticism and possible disciplinary action that would be unwarranted.'
After a short pause, during which she looked down at the floor, then back into his eyes, Kozak asked Cerro what he thought. Although he knew that she was asking specifically about the proposition that he had presented to her — the rewriting of her report — Cerro understood that what she was really asking for was his opinion of her actions as a platoon leader, as an infantryman, and as a soldier. Deciding that this was no time for great philosophical discussions or subtle mental jousting, Cerro decided to talk to Kozak in a manner that he wished someone had used with him after his first battle. He dropped the folder with the reports to the floor and linked his hands. 'Lieutenant Kozak, you done good.'
Though Kozak had been hoping to get around to Cerro's assessment of her performance, he had surprised her by doing so right off, and it showed. As before, she sat on the table, in silence, and let Cerro go on.
'What you're going through, right now, is no different than what just about every second lieutenant goes through the first time they survive a firelight. Oh, I suppose there is the odd character who charges into his first battle and walks away from it without a second thought. But those creatures are rare and, if they exist, dangerous. You see, West Point and the Army have filled your head with a lot of ideas and theories about war and leadership that you, under peacetime conditions, cannot possibly understand and sort out. While it's true that we can teach you the technical skills needed to employ the, weapons and people under your command, and provide you with an idea of what it's going to be like through realistic training, there is no way in hell that West Point, sitting in splendid isolation high above the Hudson, or the Army, or anyone, can adequately prepare you for the experience of being shot at and watching people, your people, die. There's just no way.'
Since Kozak had expected, at best, an inquisition, Cerro's comments were a welcome relief, at first. Slowly, however, she began to wonder if they were simply fluff, a standard 'You're okay, kid, now drive on' speech given to every lieutenant after their first action. Abandoning her position of leaving the initiative to Cerro, Kozak asked him how he'd felt after his first firefight.
Sliding back into his seat, Cerro crossed his legs, allowing his hands, linked together, to come to rest on his stomach. He looked down and a slight smile lit across his face as he let out a small chuckle. 'You know, Colonel Dixon, the G3, and I were talking about that just before I came over here. My first action.' Cerro looked up at Kozak, and his smile widened. 'I was lucky it happened in the middle of a war and not, like yours, alone and on national television, 'cause it was a fucking disaster.''
Cerro paused. 'Even today, years later, I still can't think about it without wondering how I survived without killing myself and every man in my platoon.' Suddenly, as if someone had hit a switch, Cerro's smile disappeared.
When his eyes locked onto Kozak's, she could almost see a cold emptiness in them. When he spoke, he did so with an even tone that lacked all feeling, all emotions. 'It was a night jump to seize an airfield.
We went out at five hundred feet. Though I was in the air less than two minutes, with all the tracers flying this way and that, it seemed to take forever. I hit the concrete runway like a ton of bricks, knocking myself silly. I wasn't even able to unhook myself from my harness for several minutes. Imagine, lying there in the middle of a firefight. Explosions going on all around you, people screaming, officers and NOCs shouting orders, your platoon out there, somewhere in the middle of the darkness and chaos, running about and fighting. And there I was, lying flat on my back after screwing up the simplest of all airborne skills, the parachute landing fall, unable to do squat.'
Cerro paused, looking up at the ceiling as he took in several deep breaths. 'In those few seconds, I was convinced that I was the dumbest, most incompetent, most worthless piece of shit God had ever placed on the face of the earth.' Slowly, his head moved from side to side. 'God, I can't imagine anything before or since that compared to what I felt that moment.' When he looked down at Kozak again, she could see his eyes were moist, almost as if he were on the brink of tearing. Not that it mattered, for she realized that he was no longer with her. Though he was looking right at her, she knew he didn't see her. Instead, images she could only vaguely picture were dancing before his eyes, images that were burned onto his brain by the fear and horror that his words could never do justice to.
Slowly, methodically, Cerro continued. As he did so, he picked his words with great care, more out of the desire to do justice to the memory of that moment than for impact. 'We lost the CO that night. He had a malfunction and creamed into the runway. Didn't find his body till next morning. I lost my first man too. Young black kid from Jersey. He joined the Army to get away from the slums and gangs. Specialist Ellis.
Johnston wasn't the smartest person in the world. Nor was he the best soldier. In fact, he was, at times, a
