Gordon Ryan - Uncivil liberties

“General Connor?” the president said.

“Yes, sir. It would be an honor to accompany you.”

The president turned again to the new Acting Secretary of Homeland Security. “Lillian, I am going to have General Connor’s operation report directly to me for the immediate future. Can you see that he has the full support of Homeland Security until we sort out the reporting line?”

“Certainly, Mr. President. We’ll give the general all the support he needs.”

“Thank you. Now, do either the CIA or the FBI think this was anything more than an opportunity taken by the terrorists, or is there the possibility that it’s more wide-spread and we need to increase security around key government officials?”

Kincade spoke for the CIA. “Mr. President, we have no intelligence to indicate that this action was part of a larger event, other than the continuing threat we face every day. I believe Al Qaida targeted the security conference in Brussels, and Secretary Austin’s vehicle was convenient. We don’t even know that they targeted a U.S. diplomat, considering all those in attendance from the several European countries.”

The president nodded, then turned to Vice President Tiarks. “Hank, will you see to the return of Secretary Austin’s remains, please? All military protocol and honors.”

“Already underway, Mr. President.”

“Thank you, Hank. We will ask Mrs. Austin about her wishes and intentions for burial and advise you immediately. If there’s nothing further, perhaps we should conclude our meeting. The story will be on the news outlets by now and I need to prepare a statement before we leave. Pug, perhaps you and Senator McKenzie could move to the press room. I’ll need to address the public immediately, but I don’t want to delay our visit to Mrs. Austin.”

Sitting in the press secretary’s office foyer, Pug and Rachel waited as the White House staff scurried about, preparing for the impromptu press conference. Fox News, CNN, and each of the major networks had interrupted their regular programming to present the limited facts that were known. Al Qaida had struck again. A U.S. cabinet officer was dead. There seemed no end in sight to the tragedy a small group of dedicated terrorists could inflict on the most powerful nation in the world. But immense power had no recourse against one man-or woman-determined to give their life in the furtherance of their beliefs.

“Pug, I’m going to call my office and then my mother. She’ll want to know about Uncle Bill’s death and then she’ll want to phone Christine. I’ll be right back,” Rachel said, walking quickly out of the small ante-room.

Pug sat alone for a moment, the silence allowing him to reflect on General Austin’s sudden death. The president would address the nation. Tell them about the cowardly murder of one of America’s leaders. Lament the loss of a friend, a decorated hero, a needless death. But General Austin would see it differently. He had taught Pug many things, especially in his attempt to convince the young Marine that working behind a desk to plan the operations was every bit as important as leading a team of Marines in a frontal assault. And what did his death prove? He’d had no chance to shoot back. He died at the hands of an assassin, not an enemy charging him or shooting a missile at his aircraft from three miles distant. General Austin had faced those dangers, had proven his courage under fire, had defeated the enemy. But America always had enemies. If one saw the world in terms of good and evil, good always had enemies.

General Austin had paid the price for his beliefs and he did so from behind a desk. Pug found it hard to fathom, having earned his stripes in the hard crucible of battle, he and the enemy each having a weapon. Pug had also earned his stripes through the loss of his men in combat. Perhaps the greatest lesson about leadership General Austin had taught his young Marine officer, while trying to convince him that the battle is fought not only from the trenches, but from the offices of leadership, was the proven adage of senior military leaders. It was the same lesson Lieutenant Commander Cartwright, Royal Australian Navy, had learned at the RAN academy: ordering subordinates, both men and women, to a surety of death, was far more difficult than facing the enemy yourself, one-on-one, in combat.

Following the president’s press conference, Pug would accompany him to Mrs. Austin’s home in Bethesda. 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.”