Marine Corps Stories: These Birds

Coffee poured into the mug on General Wainwright’s desk.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Misha said.

“Absolutely, Ma’am,” Sergeant Moriarty said. He was white, about twenty five years old.

“I’ve also typed and prepared your speech for you.” Moriarty said, as he handed the documents to the Commandant.

Misha looked over the words and cleared her throat. She sipped from the coffee, and rose from her seat. Her pressed uniform and spotless heels stayed on her consciousness. Even though the TV cameras wouldn’t pan down to her feet, she knew in her own mind they still needed to be impeccable, as always.

Colonel Nneka “Firestarter” Solomon met up with Misha. Tall and slim, she had distinctive cinnamon reddish-brown skin. The two women were striking as they walked together through the hallways of Arlington County, Virginia.

“There were twelve of them, Ma’am,” Colonel Solomon said. “All grunts.”

“We’ll need to make sure we include the names of each man.”

“There were three women who perished.”

“Three? The trac has been a cradle for infantrymen. I would love to have heard that the men and women survived. What’s the report on the other ones who made it out?”

“There were no survivors, Ma’am.”

Misha abruptly stopped in her tracks. “None of them.” She held onto a speech concerning a promotion ceremony for a lieutenant general. She put those notes on hold.

“I need to get to my Marines.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Commandant Wainwright addressed her staff in front of cameras and other press as well.

“Today is a sad day for our Corps. We have lost twelve of our own in a trac accident. These stars, and my Commandant flag, represent those men and women who were lost, and all of you. I will be sending a word for the families of those who are no more. That is all.”

Misha met back up with Colonel Solomon.

“Fire’?,” Misha asked.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“What can we do to ensure these tracs are safe and battle ready? I mean this was a training mission. Just think how this would have played in the heat of battle,” Misha said, understandably angry.

“We’re talking with the SECDEF now to to update the AAVs.”

“This needs to be the focus of our efforts. The safety and well being of our Marines is at the forefront of all of our actions.”

Misha took out her smartpad and wrote down a few words for the families. She then sent a separate, strongly-worded directive to the colonel at the command where the Marines originated. Her fiery language wasn’t directed at the commander, but at Washington. Pushing the limits of conduct becoming of her role as Commandant, she demanded government officials fast-track the new tracked vehicles. She tapped with such fury, it seemed she meant to carve rather than type the words of her missive.

Misha finished the piece, and issued it to Colonel Harrow Giles. She wanted Harrow to clearly understand how anguished she was before he translated her words into something better suited to comforting the loved ones of fallen fellow Marines.

Harrow did exactly that, then he gathered the stunned families together. As is usually the case, these family members just wanted answers.

Harrow stood just 6 feet even, had light-brown skin and salt and pepper hair. He wore his silver eagle rank insignia with obvious pride. Standing there facing the confused, drawn faces of these family members, Harrow began to more completely understand Misha’s barely-concealed rage. Some looked on the edge of anger themselves. Others just looked desperately sad. Regardless, Harrow addressed them all.

“Good evening. I want this to be an open forum. I want you all to get off your chest what you want to express. These birds fly away. Who’s first?”