David Bruns: Weapons of Mass Deception

“Congratulations, Elizabeth. I know you worked very hard.” Her voice was soft, and Liz bristled at the unspoken regret in her tone.

We’re not going to do this today.

Liz smiled at her own reflection in her mother’s stylish smoky glasses. The US Marine Corps eagle, globe, and anchor insignia on her lapel and the second lieutenant bars on her shoulders gleamed in the May sunshine.

I did it. I graduated. I’m a Marine.

“Thank you, Mom. That means a lot to me…”

As usual, her father saved the day. He slid his arm around her, pulling her close. “Lizzie, you did it! I’m so very proud of you.” His accent was still heavily salted with the tones of his native Iran. She folded herself into his thick arms, letting the scratch of his beard scrape her cheek.

Whereas her mother towered over both of them, she and her dad were the same height and build, thick and strong.

“Thank you, Papa,” she whispered.

Fatima and Ahmad Soroush had left Iran in the late 1970s with their three sons in tow. Ahmad, an engineer, settled his family in Los Angeles, and through the Iranian expat community he found a good job with a local real estate developer. Within a few years, he was running the company. Money had never been an issue in the Soroush household, and Liz could have attended any university in the world.

She chose Annapolis.

Her closest brother was just finishing high school when Liz was born. Fatima Soroush might have had visions of her perfect little girl dressed in the latest fashion, but Liz might as well have been born a boy, for all the good it did her mother.

Liz let her father go. “You’re going to miss your plane, Papa.”

The old man’s eyes were misty under his bushy eyebrows. “I know. I just wish we had more time.”

She pushed him gently toward the open car door. “I leave for Quantico in the morning and I have a million things to do before then. Now go.”

She waved as they drove away. She didn’t really have that much to do, but she was looking forward to the graduation party at Marjorie’s this afternoon, and five days with her parents was more than enough togetherness for one visit.

The parking lot outside the Navy-Marine Corps Stadium, where the US Naval Academy Commencement Ceremony had been held, was still a saluting madhouse from the thousand or so newly commissioned ensigns and second lieutenants filling the area.

She’d seen a few silver dollar salutes — it was tradition that a newly commissioned officer flipped a silver dollar to the first person who saluted them — and it made her smile. In a place like the Academy, tradition sometimes felt like a mindless repetition of outdated acts, but silver dollar salutes held a special place in her heart.

Liz finally made it to her car, still parked on the Academy grounds, her arm tired from all the salutes. Brendan leaned against the hood, his lean body clad in the US Navy service dress white uniform. An overnight bag lay at his feet.

“I left my car parked over at Marje’s. Mind if I get a ride?”

“Sure,” Liz replied. She searched his face, looking for some clue about how he was feeling. He met her gaze, but gave her nothing.

Liz got behind the wheel of her 1999 Honda Accord. Both the trunk and the backseat were packed with her gear for her drive to Quantico early the next morning, so the front seats were moved forward. She drove down Admiral’s Row, the Academy housing for senior officers, and past the chapel. A newly minted ensign was just coming down the wide stone steps with his bride on his arm.

“And so it begins,” Brendan said, watching the couple walk through a sword arch. Naval Academy midshipmen were not allowed to marry, but that restriction was lifted once they graduated. The Academy Chapel would be doing weddings every hour for the next week to keep up with the demand.

“They’ll be divorced in a year and you know it,” Liz replied.

“Maybe.”

Liz made the turn past the parade ground, toward the back gate.

“Ever wonder about us, Liz?”

She let out her breath in a rush. Did she ever.

“We’ve been through this, Bren. You’re a SEAL, I’m a Marine. We’re going different places… and we’re not going to get there together. Maybe someday, but we owe it to ourselves to make the most of our separate lives first.”

Did she really believe that? Brendan McHugh was her best friend and sometimes boyfriend, but more than anything he’d been there for her for all of the last four years. The familiar scenery of the parade ground slid by the car window, maybe for the last time. No one made it through the Academy on their own, and she couldn’t remember a day in her time here when she hadn’t at least talked to Brendan for five minutes. Was she really willing to give that up? Her head said yes; her heart… she wasn’t sure what her heart was telling her.

On the other hand, she knew this was her moment. The 9/11 attack had changed everything for them, and her path lay in a different direction than Bren’s. They laughingly called the Academy the Boat School, but behind the chuckles, the mission was deadly serious. They were professional military officers now, and they owed it to their country to repay their training with dedicated service.

Brendan punched her on the arm. “You’re such a hard-ass, Liz. You’ll make a good Marine.”

Marje met them at her front door. “Oh, thank God you’re here. I need some help setting up. Get out of those uniforms and meet me in the kitchen.” She wagged her finger at them. “No fooling around, you two. I need your help now.”

Another benefit to her and Brendan’s friendship with Mark had been the fact that his mother lived in the Annapolis area. The Academy had a sponsorship program that paired midshipmen with local families, and Marje had been glad to sponsor Brendan, Liz, and Don Riley.

Their bond only deepened when Mark was killed in Iraq. Her son’s death had taken its toll. Her beautiful auburn hair was shot with gray, and the deep lines that radiated from the corners of her eyes and lips looked permanent.

But at least she was happy today. It was probably the first time since the funeral that Liz had seen her really smile. She kissed Marje on the cheek. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Liz retreated to a spare bedroom and carefully hung up her service dress uniform. She slipped on a pair of cutoff jeans and a white bikini top, and she finger-combed her hair as she made her way back to the kitchen.

“What can I do?” she asked.

Marjorie looked up from a plate of cold cuts she was fussing over. “Don just got here with a whole pack of people. Can you get a badminton game started? Anything to keep them out of the house while I get the rest of the food ready.”

Liz trotted down the lawn to where a group was crowded around a cooler of beer and soda. The Severn River sparkled at the base of the property and she could make out the Academy buildings on the opposite side of the river.

“Alright, who’s up for some badminton?” Quickly, she organized two sides and got the game underway. By the time Brendan and Marjorie showed up, the other team was losing badly.

“Ensign McHugh,” she called, “I think that team could use some help.”

Before Brendan could answer, a tall blonde girl reached out and snagged his arm. “You can play on my side,” she said with a smile. “I’m Milli, by the way, with an i .”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Twelve serving three,” she called and swatted the birdie.

Having Brendan on the opposing team definitely helped even the score, but it soon became clear to Liz that “Milli with an i” was playing her own game — and it wasn’t badminton. She stuck to Brendan’s side and seemed to be always touching him. Liz felt a spark of… what? Jealousy? She’d just spent that last week telling Brendan they needed to live their own lives; she was not jealous.