Sunrise: Wrath & Righteousness: Episode Ten (16 page)

The soldier looked again at the roses on the casket.

White roses for virtue. Red roses for blood.

*******

The army chaplain directed Caelyn and Ellie to wicker chairs. Ellie held onto her mother’s hand as they sat down, then leaned into her shoulder. Her white dress fell to her ankles and she reached down to press the wrinkles from her lap. A tiny crown of white flowers had been braided through her hair and she tugged at them gently to keep them in place.  

Caelyn didn’t look at Ellie as the horse-drawn wagon came to a stop. The funeral procession moved forward and formed a half circle on one side of the grave. Ammon and Luke took up a position on the other side of the grave, Sara between them. Bono’s parents stood beside her, his father fighting to hold himself together, his mother more at peace. Someone behind Caelyn reached down and touched her face and Caelyn leaned into the unseen hand.

Outside the small ring of family members, three young officers stood in dress uniforms, ribbons and badges upon their chests; comrades of the fallen, fellow Cherokees.

Sam moved stiffly with his brothers, his injuries flaming up by the sudden change in weather. Looking down, he smiled at the young prince. The boy glanced across the grave at Ellie then looked down at the dirt, his face clouded with sudden shame.

His uncle had done this to them. His uncle had caused this pain.

Sam looked down and read his thoughts from the pained look in his eyes. Kneeling, he whispered to the young prince, then stood up again.

The chaplain nodded to the color-guard leader and the sergeant commanded under his breath. “
Element, post!
” The six men moved forward in perfect step toward the carriage, taking up a position with three of them on each side of the casket. Without any verbal commands, they reached out and took the casket by the metal handles and lifted together. Nearly empty, the casket was light in their hands.   

The color-guard turned crisply, carried the flag-draped casket forward and placed it over the nylon straps that had been stretched across the grave. After they had stepped back, the chaplain walked to the casket and paused, then turned to Caelyn and Ellie. Leaning over, he offered a few words of instruction, then straightened up again.

“One of Lieutenant Calton’s brothers in arms, has been asked to dedicate the grave,” he said.

Sam stepped forward. The prayer was simple and pleading, and tears flowed as he spoke. At the conclusion of his prayer, Sam turned to the casket, took a short step toward it and placed his hand on the flag. He wanted to turn away but couldn’t move. Bowing to one knee, he touched the flag again. “You were always my hero,” he whispered through his tears. “I will love you forever. And I will never forget.” He knelt there a moment, then forced himself to stand. The chaplain moved to his side and Sam stepped back to his place.

The chaplain straightened his uniform quickly, then began to speak. Less formal than most, he spoke of simple things. Duty, honor, bravery and truth. The obligations that came with freedom and the price that had been paid to keep a people free. Then he nodded to Caelyn and lowered his voice. “I cannot help you,” he said. “In a moment such as this, there is little comfort I can give. Indeed, were I to say too much, my words might only diminish your loss. Only time and the Lord can ease you of this pain. But though I don’t have the answers, this much I believe.

“All men will die. All men will be called upon to pass through the veil. But only a few, only a few special men, only those who have been worthy to answer a calling from God, are given the honor to die for a cause.

“And in this life, in these times, all of us will be called on to make a sacrifice. When, or in what manner that sacrifice may be required, only God knows. All we can do is wait and prepare and pray that when our time comes, we will be ready to complete the task that He gives, so that when it is over, when we have done all we could, we might look to the Lord and say the same words He said:
I have glorified Thee on the earth; I have finished the work which Thou gavest me to do.
If we can reach that point, if we can say these words to the Lord, then our sacrifice will be over and he will bring us home.”

The chaplain paused as he clasped his hands and looked again at Caelyn. “I am so proud of your husband,” he said in a low voice. “I am so grateful there are still men like him in this world. He fought for the freedom of others. That is the way that we do it here in America. That is the way we fight wars. We don’t go looking for battles. We don’t conquer other nations, we don’t occupy other lands. Indeed the only foreign soil our nation has ever claimed has been tiny spots such as this where we seek a quiet pasture to bury our dead.

“And so, Mrs. Calton, I speak for a thankful nation when I tell you that we are not only grateful to your husband, we are also grateful to you. We are grateful for your sacrifice and the price you have paid. Your sacrifice is sufficient. Lieutenant Calton is home, and I pray the Lord will bless you until you are together again.”

The chaplain stopped, took a step back and nodded to the color guard. Two of the soldiers stepped to the casket and lifted the American flag. Another sergeant marched to the side of a huge tree, a dark oak up the hillside that would watch over the grave. The sergeant lifted a silver bugle and began to play.

“
Day is done, gone the sun,

From the hills, from the lake,

From the sky. . . .
”

The sound of
Taps
was low and mournful, and it trailed through the trees and across the wet grass, melting over the graves of the American dead. As the bugler played, the two soldiers reverently folded the American flag into a perfect triangle. The junior noncommissioned officer clutched it with crossed arms across his chest. The team leader took two steps back and stood at rigid attention, then quickly drew his fist from his thigh and up across his chest, extending his fingers as his hand crossed his heart, then upward until his finger touched the tip of his brow. He held the salute, the last salute, for a very long time, then slowly, respectfully, almost unwillingly, lowered his hand. Stepping forward, he took the flag, turned crisply and handed it to Caelyn. “On behalf of a grateful nation,” he said.

Caelyn took it and placed it on her lap. The soldier then passed her the Congressional Medal of Honor, and she clutched it in her hand. The two soldiers turned together and moved to the side. The bugle faded away and the silence returned.

And with that it was over. The service was done. At least it should have been over. But none seemed willing to move, for it was almost as if there was something yet left unsaid. Every eye turned to Caelyn and Ellie. Caelyn glanced down at her daughter. Ellie looked up. Caelyn smiled encouragingly and the little girl stood up. She moved to the casket, which gleamed even in the dim light, then turned hesitantly to her mother, who nodded again. The crowded waited in silence. It seemed even the Earth held its breath.

Ellie stood for a moment, and the clouds seemed to part. The wind fell calm and the thunderclouds paused in silence overhead. Ellie took a deep breath then placed her hand on the casket and lifted her head. “Daddy, I want to tell you something,” she said in a quivering voice. “You are my hero. I want to be just like you. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough, I don’t know if I can. But I will take care of mommy, just like you asked me to. I will make her cakes for her birthdays, just like I promised I would. I will be her best friend. I will not leave her alone. And I will try to be strong. But I’m a little bit scared.” Her voice trailed off and she looked quickly away. “I love you, Dad. I miss you,” she said again to the skies. “I need you here, daddy, and I don’t understand. I wish that I could. I want to believe what you said . . . .”

She lowered her head in frustration and clasped her arms at her chest, holding herself as if in an embrace. No one spoke, no one moved, it seemed that time seemed to stand still for there was a reverence in the moment that no one was willing to break. How much time passed, it was impossible to say, but the little girl, sweet and peaceful, eventually lifted her head. Opening her eyes, her face seemed to shine.

If she had seen a vision, it was not shared with anyone.

But the heavens
had
been opened.

And she
did
understand.

*******

That night Caelyn slipped beside Ellie in her bed. Brushing her hair away from her eyes, she held Ellie close. “It was a good day, don’t you think, baby? It was a beautiful service. I think daddy was very proud.” Her voice was soft and accepting. No more hidden anger. She was going to be alright.

Ellie turned to look at her, her eyes glinting in the dim light.

Caelyn looked across the pillow at her. “God still has a plan for us, baby. I trust Him. I know He loves us. Things are going to be OK.”

Ellie put her arms around her mother’s neck.

“I miss him so much,” Caelyn muttered.  

Ellie smiled at her. “Daddy is alive,” she said.

Caelyn pulled back. “I know he is, baby. He’s with Heavenly Father now.”

Ellie didn’t answer. She was already asleep.

The photo-reconnaissance technician stared at the imagery from the satellite. Having been in urgent contact with the National Reconnaissance Office for most of the last two days, he knew his time was short.

Now he studied the results, his head swimming, his heart racing in his chest. Hundreds of emails had passed between a dozen offices, almost as many phone calls, some of them going as high as to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Few of the other intel officers had agreed with him, but now he had his proof.

He was right. It was a signal. And it’d been there for months!

He took the series of photographs taken of the mountains along the Afghan border and placed them in order, beginning with the first photograph that had been taken six months before. There were fourteen photographs in all. Taken together, they meant nothing. But lay them atop one another and the signal was very clear.

He leaned back in his chair, took a long breath, wished he had a stick of gum—his mouth was so dry he could hardly swallow—sat forward, lifted the photographs, made sure they were in order, then picked up his telephone.

He only had to wait a few seconds until the secretary picked it up. “I have to see the boss,” he said.

*******

Twenty minutes later, he was at the four-star general’s desk. The white-haired commander of Special Operations Command was lean, grizzled and as all-business as a hand grenade without a pin, his caffeine-charged personality never far from boiling over, his temper always ready to explode. He studied the photographs for the final time. He had seen them all before.

“OK, go through it one more time,” he demanded quickly. He felt a growing sense of dread, the same nervous urgency that had driven him since he was a hyperactive  kid.

If the captain was right, they had left one of their guys behind. Not only that, but he was alive. He’d been trying to signal them. The situation was intolerable.

If they had failed him, he would correct it very quickly. If that meant he had to commandeer the assets and fly the mission himself, he would do it. He’d stick a pair of scissors into his temple before he’d leave one of his men over there.

The captain moved forward. The general’s aides and senior officers were already standing around his desk. The captain laid the photos out and pointed as he started talking. “This is the
al Kifha
detention center, an Al-Qaeda run prison—a torture center really—where they detain heretics, anti-Muslim fanatics, traitors, Christian government leaders, etc. You know the drill, sir.” The general did. He knew
al Kifha
very well. “We’ve shut it down a time or two,” the captain went on, “but all they do is move to another village, take over the local jail and set up operations again. Interestingly, they always give it the same name. Once you have built a brand name for torture, I guess it’s worth holding on to.” The captain was tart and sarcastic. The general liked that. He wished all of his warriors were as hard.

“OK,” the captain spoke quickly now, partly out of excitement, partly from knowing the general’s time was extremely precious, partly out of the building sense of urgency he felt himself. “We get shots of the prison every couple days. Nothing much to see there. They never let their prisoners into the yard, of course.” The captain tapped the photograph that showed the wire, mud, and snow that surrounded the prison building. “The poor saps inside
al-Kifha
will go years without seeing any daylight, assuming they lived that long, which, or course, they don’t. The average life expectancy inside the prison is something like two months or so. Still,” the captain pointed at the next photo. “You see this, sir, this thin line in the snow.”

The general leaned toward the grainy black-and-white photograph. As far as he could see, there was nothing there. The prison. The brick walls. Wire and four machine-gun towers. A no-man’s-land between the prison and the outer walls. Mud. Barren ground. A couple trails in the dirty snow.

The captain leaned across the desk and pointed. “This line here, sir.”

The general looked and nodded at the single line in the snow.

“It’s one foot wide and six feet long.”

“OK,” the general said.

The captain pointed to the next photograph. “This photograph was taken four days later. Do you see another line there?” he asked.

The general shook his head. He was getting inpatient.

The captain traced the outline with his finger. A half circle in the snow.

“Keep going,” the general spouted.

The captain pointed to the next photograph. “Three days later, one of our unmanned reconnaissance drones happened to be flying over the area and snapped a couple photos just for fun.” The captain tapped the next photograph. The general looked. “I don’t see anything.”