Читать книгу The Major's Wife - Anthony Whyte - Страница 5

CHAPTER

2

Raindrops pelted the roof of his house. The early morning thunderstorm found General Dan Mason, a commander at Fort Rucker Aviation School, picking up his house phone. A commander of the U.S. Army Aviation School duties and responsibilities included informing next of kin about a loved one’s death. A daunting task, Mason hated to perform because it was emotionally grueling.

Due to ongoing combat operations in the Gulf War, soldiers were losing their lives, and these calls were at times appeared routine. Even though this was an ugly side of the war, and Mason executed the duty many times before, he was still dreading making the call. Colonel Mason would generally make a call of this nature from his office on base. However, things were very much different on this occasion.

During combat operations in Operation Desert Storm, Mason served with the victim’s father. They had served on the battlefront together. Dan Mason was a helicopter pilot back in Desert Storm, and King at the time was colonel and commander of a tank battalion. The two had collaborated on many missions. Being more than familiar with the deceased soldier’s family made this a nearly impossible task. Under the tearful scrutiny of his wife, Joanne, General Mason’s hands trembled as his shaky fingers began dialing. It was like this was his first time.

Home in suburban D.C., King sat reading, his phone rang. King picked it up and glanced at the time. An uneasiness in his stomach swelled. What was the emergency? Vaughn King thought when he heard the voice on the other end.

“Hello…Vaughn…”

An old friend was calling after three in the morning. Dan Mason’s voice was stoic and did not bear the usual excitement. Looking incredulously at the phone in his hand, King felt his stomach churning. He cleared his throat, swallowed hard, and answered.

“Hello, Dan. How are you, old man?” Vaughn King said.

“Vaughn… I’m not so bad. But…”

“But what, Dan…?”

“Ah…”

“I know you didn’t just call to check up on me at oh-dark-thirty hours in the morning, Dan… What’s the damn emergency?” King asked.

“Vaughn, you better hop on the next plane and get down here as fast as you can,” Mason said.

“What’s wrong, Dan? It’s three in the morning…”

“It’s your son, Vaughn.”

“What happened…? An accident…? Was he flying…?”

“No, but you best get on the next plane down here to—”

“Dammit, Dan! I’m ordering you to tell me right now! What’s going on?”

“Someone shot your son—”

“What…? Is he…?”

“I’m sorry, Vaughn.”

“Dammit! Give it to me straight, Dan.”

“Someone tried to rob him. He fought back, and the robber him shot three times. According to the doctors, one of the bullets perforated a blood vessel in his heart, causing massive hemorrhaging, resulting in internal bleeding. Vaughn, they couldn’t save. He lost too much blood—”

“Okay, okay. Dan, thank you,” the senior King loudly sighed. “I’ll leave right away,” King said. “How’s his wife? How’s Diana?”

“Thank God, she was unharmed. She was upstairs in her office when the incident happened. She was with him when the ambulance arrived. The police briefly questioned her. And detectives from Enterprise made sure she got home safely. They’ll have a more in-depth interview with her later in the morning.”

“I want our people from the CID keeping tabs on the investigation, Dan.”

“Vaughn, that’s what I did. We’ve already assigned one of our best.”

“It happened off-post, huh?”

“Yes…Enterprise…near the boll-weevil Monument—”

“All right, Dan…”

Shell-shocked by the dire news, the senior King gently set the phone in the cradle. He calmly sat back at his desk. The elder King remained silent, staring at the photos adorning his desk. Snapshots of family and friends caught in different settings. The retired general’s face twisted with the raw emotions running inside when his eyes found a picture of him and his son. They were both outfitted in army dress white uniforms.

His trembling fingers traced the outline of the picture frame. The photo, taken back in 1998, awoke King’s memory. He remembered being at a social function given for his son’s graduation from West Point. King stared at the face of his twenty-one years old son. They were both holding victory cigars, regaling in a celebration caused by his son’s success. The picture, along with thoughts of his son, took his cloudy mind to another time. Soon the mind of Vaughn King senior was wandering down memory lane.

A veteran of the Viet Nam war and Desert Storm, the older King was brigadier general and commander of all forces on Fort Hood, Texas. A Huey helicopter transported the general, his cadre of four officers from Fort Hood to Fort Drum, New York.

While at Fort Drum, King conducted meetings with other generals. Then he was transported by motorcade to West Point for his son’s graduation ceremonies, where he was a guest speaker. Although Mrs. Hilary King, a schoolteacher and the wife of the senior King, could not be there to share in her son’s graduation, it was still a proud day for the King family.

“You did great son,” he told his son on the day of the milestone accomplishment. “Lieutenant King, let’s take this photo, and please sign it for your mother. She, like myself, is proud of you.”

“Thank you, general,” the younger King said. His hand was raised in a crisp salute when he continued. “I’ll try to live up to the great standards you have set, sir.”

“You already have, son,” the father gushed with a satisfactory smile. Patting the younger King on the back, the proud father continued. “Lieutenant King… It’s got a common ring to it. The sky is the limit.”

“Flight school, here I come,” the younger King said, pumping his fist.

“You’ll be great there, son. The Aviation Branch will be proud to have you.”

“Thank you, sir,” the younger King said, his smile widening with excitement.

When the father and son hugged, flashbulbs went off, recording their happy moment. A week later, both father and son visited the ailing woman. There were more than enough photos for them to share with Hilary King.

The following day father and son would deliver the photos to the ailing but happy mother. Although she was still in the hospital and weakened by her battle with the disease, she had the bravest smile. He wouldn’t know it then, but it would be the last time Vaughn King Jr. saw his mother alive.

Hilary King was in her hospital bed for an advanced stage of breast cancer. She had been in and out of the hospital but would later succumb to the disease. The son and father had both signed the photo and given it to the matriarch who could not attend. That day was special and brought a lot of tears from the family. It was an emotional day. Vaughn King had graduated from college and was now moving on, walking proudly in his father’s footsteps.

“Lieutenant Vaughn King Jr. That has a certain familiar ring to it,” Hilary laughed.

“Mother, that’s what dad said,” the younger King said.

“That’s because twenty-five years ago, he was the freshly minted lieutenant looking forward to his stint in the military,” Hilary said.

“You remember that, huh, Hillary?” King said.

“Yes, I do, vividly. You stayed up the entire night polishing medals and shoes. I was proud of you then, just how I am now proud and happy for you, son.”

“Thank you, mother.”

“So, where do you go from here?” she asked.

“It’s off to flight school at Fort Rucker now. But before I go, mother, you have to promise that you’ll come to my graduation from flight school.”

“I promise you I will, lieutenant,” she smiled.

The disease had ravished her body so much that no one was for sure how long she would live. She had been battling cancer for six years now. The disease had gone into remission only to activate a year later, which happened three times. All these years, Hilary battled back. The family supported her all along.

“You as demanding as your dad. Like father, like son,” Hilary smiled.

They hugged and cried then soon, Hilary was too tired and had to take a nap. The men left and went to eat and promised to come and see her. It was the last time they would see her alive. After his wife succumbed to her illness, the general went into semi-retirement but returned for Operation Desert Storm. When the military campaign ended, the senior King made it official and retired.

During the height of the Vietnam Conflict, the senior King shot up through the army ranks. A hard-nosed infantry commander, King, familiarized his son with the way of the grunt. The military father taught and instilled the respect of hard work in the young Vaughn. Coming from an army background, King was happy when his son took his place in King’s males who served. The younger King stepped into his father’s boots. Instead of ground forces, Vaughn King, the 3rd took to the air and became an exceptional aviator.

An authentic military royalty, Vaughn King 3rd, came from a line of military officers with honorable service in the armed forces. Starting with his great grandfather, who first joined the army and served in Europe during WWII and in the Philippines Island. A tradition of military service to the country was born. Due to the war in the Middle East, the young King became battle-tested. While he proved his mettle in the skies over Iraq, his father lived a retired general’s life. Traveling first class just about anywhere in the world, King bore no real political ambitions. He held a cushy desk job at the state department in Washington, DC. King tried to absorb the effect of the unfortunate development. Controlling his emotion proved difficult. The news of his son’s demise hit him like a hard punch in the gut, cutting the air off and threatening to break him.

With sadness written all over his face, King glanced at his family’s photo when they were all together. It was one of him, his young wife, and son sitting at dinner. King’s forlorn expression stayed stuck in his eyes. He stared at the photo of his twelve-year-old son standing in front of his pretty wife, Hillary. King was hugging her, and she was hugging their son. Hillary wore her blond hair swept across her face like Marilyn Monroe. A smile appeared, but then King blinked. He felt loneliness washing over him, and leaving his heart soaking in sorrow.

Tears suddenly streamed down his face. The retired general reached into his desk drawer and removed the loaded .45 handgun he kept there. King held the weapon in his hand as if calculating the weight. His focus shifted from the photos on his desk to the Colt 45, and back again. He searched for an answer to this nightmare. He wanted to reach the end.

Throwing his arms up, he let out a loud yell. King held the scream until his lungs went empty. Rocked by his emotions, King’s entire body convulsed. His six-two-frame collapsed, and tears rolled from his cheeks. Still holding the cold steel in his hand, King wiped his face. He had the gun tight when King turned his head. King saw his son’s photo with his wife. His wife sent it to him while he was on duty during the Viet Nam war.

Shaking his head, he sighed and said, “He didn’t even have time to father an heir…a grandson…”

His uttering resonated in his mind, caused his body to shudder with emotions. King’s chest heaved up and down. Then the senior King cried aloud from deep inside a cavern of bereavement. Raising the gun to the side of his dome, King gripped the trigger housing. His finger slipped the safety off and automatically moved to the trigger. His face broke out in a sweat, and tears blinded the senior King. His veins popped up in his forehead, bracing for an explosion.

Better judgment took over when he saw a photo of his smiling son with Diana King. Putting the gun down on the desk, he picked up the phone. Then King dialed the number from memory. He waited and listened to the ringing until an incoming message from an answering machine greeted him. It was the voice of his daughter-in-law, Diana King.

“You have reached the King’s residence. Neither one of us is here to answer your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone…”

There was a very long beep. The shaken King sputtered into the receiver.

“Diana, please call me…and ah, let me know how you are doing. Ah, I got the message that ah Vaughn—my son was—” the grieving father stopped short before continuing. “Just call me back, Diana. I’m on my way down to Alabama.”

Vaughn Matthew King picked up the telephone and made a call to reserve a flight out of the nearest airport. Then stumbling through his emotions, he began pacing. King was a disciplined man. From daily walks to his work schedule, he lived a disciplined military style. The news left him ultimately weakened. It was as if he didn’t know what next to do. Cautiously glancing around, King realized that he was still holding the telephone.

One thing was sure. King had to travel to Ft. Rucker, Alabama. Slumped shoulder, King’s lanky frame seemed to hang like wet branches on a massive tree after the rain. Teary-eyed, King willed his frozen body to return the phone to its place on the charger. Then lumbering to his closet, it appeared that the weight of the world was on his shoulders. The news broke his spirit while he dragged out an olive drab U.S. Army duffel bag. Tears were still rolling while he quietly started packing.

Hours later, King was all dressed up but felt unwilling to leave his house. His head was still reeling as he mentally went through a checklist of all the items in his duffel bag. Removing the photo of his son, wife, and himself, King laid it on top of his clothing and closed the bag. Silently he set the alarm. Then seemingly flowing on automatic, the heavyhearted King walked out of his house.