DATE: August 2007
TITLE: Under Fire
AUTHOR: losingntrnslatn
(Jennifer, LosingInTranslation)
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own anything associated with the show… I just like
playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!
RATING: T – For Teen (for mature subject matter)
PAIRINGS: Brief reference to GSR
SPOILERS: Season 7 (anytime following Brass’ recovery from 6X23, in
a summer month)
SUMMARY: BrassLove Jim Brass Summer ’07
Vacation Fic-A-Thon (Prompt =
A/N:
My original intent was for this one to be kind
of heavy in the beginning, but then lighten it up a little towards the end. Didn’t happen. L This is a real angst fest,
so you have been warned.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: I love my betas, and while I would normally be
heaping HUGE amounts of praise on them, I decided that there was another group
of people who needed it more. To all the proud men and women of the Armed
Forces, past, present and future, who have faithfully served our country and
the world. Perhaps one day, we will finally give you
the treatment that you so richly deserve, but please know, without a doubt, you
are in our hearts, our thoughts and our prayers for all that you have done, and
will do in our names.
REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the
work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at
least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time
to read.
UNDER FIRE
“Vacation? What vacation?”
“The one I am unofficially forcing
you to take as of this moment.” Sheriff Burdick never pulled any punches when
it came to an edict, but the last thing Jim wanted at that point was time by
himself to think.
He was
ready to spit nails, throw furniture, and/or blast something after the sheriff
laid down the proclamation that he was being forced into using some of his
vacation time. That all changed the very next day when the wife of one of his
old buddies called to tell him that Jack Fischer was dead. He hadn’t heard from
old Jack in years, but through the grapevine, he’d known about his battle with
cancer. It was one battle Jack simply could not win.
Because
of the exemplary service the man had performed, on behalf of an ungrateful
nation, Sergeant Major John “Jack” Fischer was to be lain to rest at the
Jack was
given the medal because of an act of attrition. Simply put, he was the last guy
standing when they finally got a chopper to land on that ridge. The whole rest
of his reconnaissance squad was wiped out by enemy fire. It was that incident
that changed his military career, and the reason Jim had ever met the man in
the first place.
Jim was a
fresh-faced, smart-mouthed kid from
His only
wish as he started packing for the trip, was that Jack
was there to do him that service once again. Jim felt much like he did that day
so long ago; adrift, without a clue as to his purpose or place in the world.
What he wouldn’t give to have Jack in his face bellowing, “I’m gonna give you what for, you little brass assed monkey.”
He
chuckled as the memory flooded his mind. Jack always had a way of making each new
recruit feel special in some way, but he eventually learned that they actually
taught that stuff in Drill Instructor School. Jack had called it “
As he
started fishing around in the storage closet, he decided that he would use the
trip out to
Maybe
this was just what the doctor ordered… Or at least, a certain brunette who’d
been riding him to take better care of himself lately.
When he
thought about Sara, he made a mental note to check out the
He
finally came across the black, heavy canvas garment bag, all the way in the back
of the closet. Jim tried to remember the last time he’d had the occasion to
wear the clothing contained within. As much as he would like to believe he was
in good shape since his recovery from the gunshot wound (and his subsequent
incarceration in the hands of a very stubborn vegetarian), he knew there would
need to be some alterations and adjustments made.
Jim
carried the bag into the bedroom and hung it from the closet door. He stared at
it for a few moments, and then backed up to the bed before he sat down. He just
wasn’t quite ready to look at the hidden garments inside that bag.
As if on
cue, his doorbell rang. He looked down at his wrist watch and knew exactly who
that would be.
He opened
the door without even looking and said, “Not even six hours? You’ve got to have
a spy at PD, or something.”
“How’d
you figure me out?” Sara walked in through the door as he stepped aside to
permit her entrance. “And it’s not a spy… When they were rooting around inside
your chest, I just had them implant you with a tracking and listening device.”
His face
contorted into a curious scowl and remarked, “That must be why I’ve been
picking up Radio Free Canada broadcasts.” Jim followed her into the kitchen and
added, “On the plus side… I am learning French.”
Sara simply
shook her head and chuckled as she set the grocery bag on the counter. As she
took the items out of the bag, she explained, “So, Gil’s stuck on a case, and I
can’t sleep. Plus, since you got put on vacation by the sheriff, I knew you’d
be here stewing over all this free time you’ve got, so I figured we could be
pissed off and frustrated together.” She turned around and handed him one of
the beers from the six pack she brought in. “Sandwiches or pasta?”
Looking
at all of the things she brought into the kitchen, Jim realized that Sara had
done some serious shopping. That was when he realized that he probably should
have called her with the heads up on his plans. “Whatever won’t last until next
week.”
She
scrunched up her brows in that adorable little gesture which showed her
confusion. “Ooookay.” She
turned back to the groceries and asked, “And where will you be going?”
Taking in
a deep breath, Jim cracked the cap off of the bottle and sighed. “I got a call
from the wife of an old friend this morning… I’ve gotta
head out to D.C. for a funeral.”
“Oh,
Jim…” She instantly whipped back around to look him dead in the eye. That gaze
never failed to pierce through any defenses he built up. “Are you okay?”
He exhaled
sharply and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m fine… I’m the one above ground.”
She took
a step to bridge the physical distance between them and gently grasped his
upper arm. “Jim-”
“I know…
But I’m okay, really. Thanks for askin’, kid.” Jim
sat down at the kitchen table with his beer.
“Okay…
Outside of feeding you, what help do you need to get ready?” Sara turned back
to the counter and started to work on a couple of sandwiches.
Under
most circumstances, he would have laughed as he watched her timidly layer
slices of cold cuts onto the bread with a spare piece of plastic to keep from
touching the offending meat products. Witnessing such a mundane task, and
knowing her feelings, made him realize just how much he meant to the brash and
fiercely independent young woman who had become such a huge part of his life.
He was suddenly very grateful for the time he had been given, the time to see
the things that were right there in front of him, and to appreciate them.
“Know any
good tailors?”
After
explaining to Sara why he needed a tailor, she chuckled at his difficulty in
describing his predicament. They ate their sandwiches and she insisted he try
on the clothes in question. And so, there he stood in front of the full length
mirror, staring at a man he didn’t recognize, stuffed inside the dress blues of
a kid he no longer knew.
When Sara
finally convinced him to let her into the room to inspect the uniform for
problems, he was ready for her to start laughing hysterically. Instead, he
heard only silence, which forced him to turn towards the door. He found her
staring with her hand over her mouth in complete shock.
“It looks
that bad?” He went from her stunned face to stare down at his pants and then
nervously back up to meet her gaze.
“No… Jim…
You look…” She shook her head, as though she was trying to clear away the
cobwebs and find just the right word. “Distinguished.”
“That’s a
nice way of saying old.” He turned back to the mirror and checked the cut of
the jacket shoulders when he crossed his arms, and was pleasantly surprised to
find that it wasn’t too tight. Not for the first time, he was glad that Sara
had taken him on as a project and gotten him back into shape.
The sky
blue dress pants, however, felt like they were more than a little snug. He
wanted to do a little rearranging, but not with Sara there staring at him with
that silly look on her face. “What is it?”
“Well,
aren’t you supposed to wear the white pants in the summer?”
There was
no way to hide his surprise at her question. “What?” She took on a defensive
posture and then smirked when she finally admitted, “I used to date a Marine in
The two
shared a comfortable laughter with the comment. Jim shook his head and finally
answered, “I guess I better look that up…”
“Where’s
your computer? I can look it up for you.”
After a
few clicks, Sara found the exact regulation, and within ten minutes she had a
local authorized supplier. With a quick call to David Phillips, he had an
appointment with an Air Force tailor at Nellis to get
the pants fitted first thing in the morning before he had to leave for the
airport.
He was
thoroughly surprised by Sara’s knowledge of military uniforms and regulations,
but more importantly, that she was able to get it all done with so little effort.
Jim decided that she must have done a lot of growing while he wasn’t looking.
It made him feel a little guilty that he had missed it during the time that he
was too caught up in his own garbage.
When he
was shot, Sara was right there for him. When he was moved from the ICU, she was
waiting in the room with a bag of his personal items, and a smile. When he was
being released from the hospital, she was there with the wheelchair to take him
out and a smile to let him know everything was going to be all right. She
nursed him back to a health he couldn’t remember having before, and she did it
every day with a smile. She always had that smile for him.
It was
that smile that he took with him as he boarded the plane to
The
moment he stepped off the plane onto the gangway, the stiflingly humid air hit
him like a heavy bag in the face. It had been years since he made it to
anyplace other than the desert in the summer, and he was instantly reminded why
as he felt his shirt instantly begin to stick to his back as he threw the
garment bag over his shoulder and made his way into the terminal of Reagan
National Airport.
There was
a driver waiting for him when he got to baggage claim. That was something of a
surprise, but as the man took him to his hotel he explained that the hotel
manager had sent him. It would appear that someone told the manager that a
decorated Marine and law enforcement officer was in town for a funeral and a
few days of site-seeing when they made the reservation for him. He was going to
have a little talk with a certain red-headed CSI when he got back to Vegas, and
he made a note to never ask Catherine to help him find a hotel room again.
After
hanging up his uniform and changing into some fresh clothes following the close
to six hours he spent on a plane, Jim stretched out on the bed and flipped on
the television. He just wanted to check the box scores and try to get a little
sleep before morning. Being awake all day was not his usual schedule, and he
was exhausted. Between the length of the flight and the time change, it was
already late, but as he flipped around to find ESPN he found himself wide
awake.
Just as
he finally found the sports channel, there was a soft knock on his door.
Looking at his watch as he slowly rose to answer the door, he noticed that it
was after eleven in the evening. He cautiously opened the door to find a young
man in a waiter’s uniform.
“Captain
Brass?”
Through a
raised eyebrow, he answered, “Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’ve got
a special order for you, sir. Where would you like me to set it up?” The young
man gestured for Jim to allow him room to bring in the tray.
“Ah,
well, I’m confused… I didn’t order any room service.” Jim stepped aside and let
the kid enter the room.
“Oh
right… Sorry about that. I forgot to give you the note first.” He reached
inside his jacket and retrieved a faxed page to hand to him. “Where would you
like me to set up, sir?”
Jim took the
paper and started to read as he pointed at the table by the window. “Just on
the table is fine.”
The
moment he started reading, a sly smile began to play at the corner of his
mouth.
Jim,
I knew you’d tried to skip dinner
when you got in. Take care of yourself, and don’t mess up all of my hard work.
-Sara
P.S. Gil says to use his name at
the
He tipped
the waiter and opened the cover from his plate. Shaking his head at what he
found, he should have known that she would find a way to keep him on the
straight and narrow. A grilled chicken breast, some wild rice and steamed
vegetables waited for him on the plate. Beside it was a small salad of mixed
greens. But to his surprise and delight, wrapped up and off to the side was a
nice piece of apple pie.
As he
chuckled at her choices, he flipped open his cell and hit the speed dial. He
waited the three rings it normally took for her to pick up, but when it went to
the fourth ring, he looked at his watch and saw that it was just after eight
o’clock in Vegas. When the voicemail message started, he figured she must have
been getting ready for work.
“Hey,
doll… Thanks for the dinner. And if you don’t mind, do me
a favor, huh? Tell Cath that I’m gonna
kill her when I get back. Talk to ya later. Stay
safe, kid.” He hung up the phone and started in to his dinner. By the time he
was finished eating, he finally felt like he could get some sleep.
He made
one last check on the uniform, and then called it a night.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Morning
came far too soon, and it found him struggling with the iron to put a fresh
crease into the new white pants. He gave the whole thing the once over with a
grooming brush, and once he was satisfied that it would pass muster with his
old Drill Instructor, he slowly put it on.
Before he
pulled the suspenders up over his shoulders, Jim turned to check the lines of
his trousers in the mirror and caught sight of something in his garment bag.
When Sara and Gil showed up to take him to the airport, she handed him a slim
package. Inside was one of those new fangled undershirts he was always seeing
the rookies down at PD wearing. She told him that since he was headed out of
the desert to wear a wool suit, he better have something to keep him cool, and
that the shirt was supposed to do just that. She also leaned in to whisper that
it would also be tight enough to remind him to suck it in and stand up
straight.
As he
tore open the plastic wrap on the shirt, he chuckled at the memory. If any
other woman had gone so far as to tell him he needed to suck it in, he would
have been hurt or offended. But coming from Sara, he took it as the helpful
hint that was intended. He also knew that it was payback for all the grief he’d
been giving her about her latest choice in old lady sunglasses, and how it
related to her current boyfriend’s age.
Once he
had the new undershirt on he instantly understood why Sara gave it to him; it really
did remind him to suck in and straighten up. What he was surprised to discover
was that it also hid a multitude of sins and almost made him forget just how
old he was as he stared at himself in the mirror.
He pulled
up the suspenders and squared them on his shoulders before double checking the
lay of his trousers. Satisfied that he was within regulation, he slipped his
arms into the sleeves of the jacket and slowly brought it up to rest on his
shoulders. Starting from the bottom, he fastened each button with deliberate
precision until he reached the collar. Jim drew in a deep, calming breath, and
then blew it out slowly before he reached up with both hands to close the clasp
on his collar. Taking one more breath with his eyes closed, he got ready to
turn back to the mirror and check out the damage.
When he
opened his eyes, all of the wind was knocked right out of him. Staring back at
him was a man he no longer recognized, a man he wished he still knew. He saw
the man he once was, the man Jack Fischer made him. There in his hotel room,
preparing to lay his mentor to rest, he wanted to be that man again.
It was a
quick cab ride to the
They were
instructed that they would meet the hearse at the chapel, escort the casket
into the chapel and wait in position until the service was concluded. After the
service, they would take the casket out of the chapel and place it on the
caisson. It would be their responsibility to escort the caisson to the
gravesite, behind the band, the marching platoon, the color guard and the
chaplain. However, the most important of their duties was to carry the casket
to the gravesite in accordance with precise military protocol, and then after
the graveside service, they were to perform the military honors.
The
Officer In Charge took Jim aside and told him that one
of his honor guardsmen would step in for him during the military honors. It was
to be his duty to present the flag to the widow at the conclusion of the
honors. He was afraid that would happen the moment he saw that the chaplain was
same man who once served at
When he
had agreed to come out for the funeral, Abby, the Sergeant’s wife, asked him to
say a few words during the chapel service. It was all shaping up to be one of
the most intensely emotional days of his life. By the time the OIC came in to
inform them that the hearse was en route, he had actually begun to think that
getting shot wasn’t so bad after all.
The
service was a completely nerve wracking experience for Jim, but he managed to
get out a few poignant words about his old friend, and kept from making a fool
of himself. The part that surprised him was that the processional was actually
the hardest part for him. Escorting his friend and mentor to his final resting
place was a deeply moving and heartbreaking place in time, and he had to force
himself to hold back the tears and sobs that threatened to melt his granite
façade, as he heard the words of his friend echoing in his ears.
It ain't braggin’ if you can do it.
Pain Is Only
Temporary, Pride Is Forever.
Pain Is
Weakness Leaving The Body.
Marines Never
Die -- They Just Go To Hell And Re-Group
Unless You're
Dead, You're Not A Former Marine
Heaven won't
take us, Jimmy boy, and Hell’s afraid we'll take over.
Heroes Get
Remembered, Legends Live Forever
The stark
truth hidden in that last one stuck with him for the duration of the walk to
the gravesite.
At the graveside
service, everything was quick and by the book. Military Honors was a sight for
anyone to behold, but for a Marine, it meant so much more.
Immediately
following the three volleys of rifle fire, he watched the honor guard as they
began to fold the flag, while Taps was played out by the bugler. Jim prepared
for his final duty to a great man. He recited the words over in his head, and
stepped into position for receiving the flag.
Once the
flag was placed ceremoniously in his waiting hands, he made the appropriate bow
to the young Marine who placed it there, and then he turned to the casket and
gave his final bow to Old Jack. With the big man’s words repeating in his mind
again, he made an about face and started his parade march to his grieving wife.
Down on
one knee, Jim bowed his head to Abby Fischer and repeated the phrase he had
long since committed to memory, “On behalf of the President of the United States, a grateful nation, and
a proud Corps, this flag is presented as a token of our appreciation for the
honorable and faithful service rendered by your loved one to his country and
Corps.” He slowly and painfully stood from his crouch, and saluted the widow
and the flag. The pride and the sadness he found in her eyes in those moments
would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He managed to make an appearance at the reception that followed the
burial service, but after a while he felt like the walls were closing in on
him. As everyone shared their favorite stories about the man who wasn’t there
to hear them, Jim excused himself to leave.
As the cab worked its way through
He walked up to the fence and stared out at the expanse of gravestones
over every hill on the grounds of the cemetery. Each stone marked another life
given in the name of our country’s endeavors, and a host of people left behind
to mourn their loss. As he started to tick off the number of stones on one
hill, he began to wonder just who would take the flag from another Marine in
the name of his next of kin.
Ellie was in the wind once again. He never even got a chance to talk to
her before she left Vegas. Gil told him that she came right after he placed the
call, and that she stuck around as long as she could, given the circumstances.
Later, after he dragged it out of him, his old friend admitted that he wasn’t
entirely sure she was strong enough to handle the implications of his possible
death, and even less prepared to help him recover. What he feared was that his
brush with death may have set her recovery back in the process. No one had
heard from her since she left Vegas, not even her mother.
It had taken everything in Jim’s power to find the strength to call his
ex-wife in order to find out what was happening with their daughter; with her
daughter. His one great wish is that he was really her father, in every way.
Instead, he was a half-assed, absent father to the product of his failed
marriage and another man’s immorality.
As he slowly began to walk down the sidewalk on
Jim was fairly certain that the department would have made a huge
ordeal of the thing, outweighing whatever wishes he may have had, and done
their damnedest to slip under the carpet his bad shoot from the months before.
However, he knew, without a doubt, that Gil and Sara would have done anything
they could to prevent the whole thing from turning into a circus, and they
would have mourned his passing. He might have gotten a few tears from
Catherine, and maybe even Sofia, but their lives would have returned to normal
before the sun rose on the next day. The guys would probably have toasted his
memory a few times, but before long they would be toasting the team that won
them a few extra bucks that weekend.
So, as he slowly made his way around
When he reached the halfway point, he vaguely registered that a car had
stopped beside him. “You lose your ride, Marine?”
Brass stopped his meandering march and dumbly answered, without a hint
of emotion in his voice, “Just takin’ a walk, sir.”
The man in the car shook his head and chuffed. “Well, you drop that sir
thing, and I’ll give you a lift, Gunny.”
The use of the nickname for a Gunnery Sergeant broke him from his
self-imposed stupor, and he finally took the initiative to look at the man in
the car. He found an older man, probably in his forties, with a trim build, and
silver hair in a high and tight cut. He chuckled to himself when he once again
remembered the words of old drill instructor; You
can take the Marine out of the Corps, but you can never take the Corps out of
the Marine.
“Thanks.” Jim removed his cover and tucked it under his arm as the
passenger door was pushed open from the other side. When he sat down in the
seat, he looked forward and remarked, “And my feet will thank you later. Been a while since I went more than a mile in my dress shoes for the
cause.”
The silver haired man put the car back into gear and pulled forward as
he said, “Never cared for the Blues, myself, but sometimes we gotta do it…to honor the ones who go before us.” Jim nodded
at the truth of his words and a silence descended within the car.
When he merged left onto the
Jim suddenly remembered what he was doing with the man’s question. “Oh…
Ah, I was thinking about checking out The Wall before I went back to my hotel.
Figured it wasn’t far, and just tried to walk it.”
The man maneuvered the car all the way to the left of the circle,
hugging the side of the road closest to the Lincoln Memorial as he spoke, “Not
far, no… Just better to cab it at night.”
As they swung out onto
A short while later, the government-issue Dodge Magnum came to a
rolling stop beside a walkway and the brushy haired man with the sideways grin
nodded his head toward the park beside them. “Follow that walkway, and try not
to trip over it.”
Brass chuckled as his description and brought his hand out to thank the
man. “’Preciate the lift… And the
advice.” They shook hands, and Brass was out of the car. As he replaced
the cover on his head, the dark blue car sped away without another word.
He slowly made his way along the walk, under the trees until he came to
sign directing him to turn to the left in order to find the memorial. Jim
filled his lungs with the thick D.C. night air, as he prepared for the sight he
was about to see.
Jim had heard many stories from veterans and civilians alike, telling
about the impact one felt upon first seeing the subtle wall, filled with the
names of those who had fallen in the jungles of
Instead of making that left turn, Jim kept walking down the concrete
path. From the guides he flipped through at the hotel, he knew that the walk
emptied out near the Reflecting Pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial. He
decided that it might be easier on him if he took a few baby steps before launching
himself into hell.
When he found himself sitting on a bench, staring out into the dark,
mirrored surface of the Reflecting Pool, and the dancing reflection of the
Washington Memorial on the water, Jim wondered if he wasn’t just going to find the
nearest bar and try to blot it all out with a bottle of bourbon and a nameless
face to smile at him.
Just as he was about to get up from the bench and wander off through
the streets of the
“There’s a nice breeze off the
Two men, seated on the bench, cups of coffee in
their hands, staring out into the D.C. night. All in all, Jim had to
admit that it must have been a surreal site, especially with him in his
uniform.
“How long have you been out?” Jim couldn’t think of anything else to
say, but he wanted the stranger to know that he spotted him for a fellow
Leatherneck.
The man shrugged and said, “Not long… Since Gulf
Senior.”
He nodded at the answer and came back at him with, “Just a pup, then.”
Chuckling to himself, the other man simply took another sip from his
coffee. Brass figured the man wasn’t exactly used to being called a youngster
any longer.
Watching the man in his peripheral vision, he spotted him for a fellow
cop. Based on his wardrobe, his government-issue car, and the wear on his belt
from a removed holster clip, he could tell he wasn’t just any regular cop, and
figured that with his quiet and calm demeanor he couldn’t possibly be FBI. That
left him with one of the military investigative units, and given his obvious
respect for the Corps, Brass was pretty sure he knew which one.
“And you?” The man punctuated his question by sipping from his coffee
cup again.
“Long time, I’m afraid… Processed out in 1973.”
Just saying the date out loud made Jim feel even older than he normally did,
but it also felt good to talk about it with another Marine.
“Served with a few from your era… Tough Marines.”
The man spoke few words, but he still kept his eyes trained on the lights
reflecting in the water.
“Yeah…” Jim raised his cup in the air and gave a toast, “To those that
went before… Hoorah.”
“Semper Fi.”
The silence returned once again, and Jim began to think about that wall
behind them, and the names contained on it. He thought about the men he served
with who never made it home. He thought about the families they left behind. He
thought about the ones who came back, but not as themselves, as only a shadow
of their former selves. Finally, Jim realized that then, such as now, there
really wasn’t anyone to mourn for him, if he hadn’t come home.
“Tough choices.”
Jim’s brow scrunched up in confusion because of the man’s words, but
then he went on. “We’ve all made ‘em. To serve, or not. To fight, or not.
To live, or not.” The silver haired stranger stood up
from the bench and made ready to leave, but not before he left him with a few
more of his sparing words. “Keep fightin’, Gunny… There’s a few more pups out here looking for a dog like you
to lead the way.”
As the man faded away into the night, Jim sat forward on the bench and
shook his head. The man’s words were still ringing in his ears as he slipped
his hand into the pocket of his jacket and found a folded sheet of paper. Upon
closer inspection, he recognized it as the program from the funeral service. He
saw the picture of a proud Marine, in perfect attention, gazing back at him in
the dim light of the park. With the stranger’s words in his head, he found the
one quote that his old buddy was most fond of spouting off to his men, and he
laughed.
Ours is not to reason
why, ours is but to do and die.
His entire existential crisis was summed up in the words of a stranger
on the street and front of a funeral program. Jim had no idea why things were
happening the way they were, but it wasn’t really his place to question it
either. He just needed to keep on serving, fighting and surviving, because
there had to be a reason for it all, and he needed to go on doing it until the
end.
Walking along the covered path to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, he
scribbled something at the bottom of the program and prepared to pay his
respects to those that had gone before. When he reached the edge of the trees,
the soft lighting against the memorial was enough to raise a lump in his
throat.
It might just be a wall in the dirt, but its undeniable power came from
the simplicity of the presentation and the profound impact of the meaning
behind it. As he approached the sleek black wall, he slipped on his white
gloves and made sure his cover was on straight.
With a precision of movement he thought was long forgotten, he sharply
marched up to the wall and ceremoniously placed the program upright against the
wall. He stood up straight, steeled his spine into parade attention, squared
his shoulders perfectly and clicked his metaled heels
together as he performed a perfect Marine Corps salute.
As he was about to disappear beneath the cover of the trees, he heard a
familiar voice say, “Hoorah.”
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In the pre-dawn hour, the members of the National Park Service begin
their daily task of picking up the non-perishable items left in memory of those
recorded on the wall. Each of the items is handled with love and care, as these
Park Service workers understand the importance of each scrap, each trinket, each memento. Each day the items are brought to the Museum
and Archeological Regional Storage Facility of the National Park Service and
periodically they are rotated into the display at the
One of the volunteers spots the funerary program and
carefully picks it up. Normally, she would simply lay it in the box and move on
to the next item, but on this morning, the crisp image of a stalwart Marine
beckoned her to take a closer look.
The normal stuff she had seen at hundreds of funerals
during her late husband’s long service at the Marine Barracks were there;
Heroes Get Remembered, Legends Live Forever.
In Memory of the Honorable SGTMAJ
John “Jack” Fischer, USMC Ret.
1938 – 2007
Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and
die.
However, scribbled at the bottom was something else, and she knew that they
were hard fought words. It was the men left behind to live with the memories of
war and friends long passed that suffered the most in this world. She slipped
the program into the plastic sleeve marked as priority for the curator at the
storage facility.
As she carefully laid it over the top of box’s contents, the words
could be easily read:
GYSGT James Brass, USMC ’69-‘73
Still serving, still fighting, and still a Marine
Semper Fi, Jack
A/N2: For the all the Marines, still serving and still fighting. Because “Unless You're Dead, You're Not A Former Marine.” And in memory of SSGT Timothy Tracey 1959-2006