got worse, Shawn felt a small kindling of hope that he might return home to take over the management of the ranch, but he could not discontinue his enlistment. He would have to wait it out, he thought. Then his uncle and his nephews started to manage the ranch. The hope had diminished, but Shawn still clung to the idea that it was temporary. Now any hope was extinguished.
At 1450, Shawn sat outside of Captain Fredericks’s office. Petty Officer Gibbons watched him closely. She did not know why, but Petty Officer Bryant was slumped and downcast, with his head bowed and his cap in his hands. She remembered the handsome, robust, and smiling SEAL that was in her office just yesterday and wondered how this could be the same person. She was strongly attracted to him, even if he did not seem to notice her. But now she just felt concerned.
“Come on in, Petty Officer,” the captain said as he stepped through the door of his office.
Shawn got up slowly and entered through the open door. He closed the door behind him and stood silently before sitting down. Captain Fredericks noticed the change as well.
“So you have had time to read the emails,” he said without a question in his voice.
He had received an email himself from Bryant’s mother. It was sent to his command, and it essentially became his responsibility to respond. He knew that Petty Officer Bryant’s mother was dying. He did not know anything about the disposition of the ranch.
Captain Fredericks set his eyes on Shawn in a compassionate manner—as much as a SEAL captain can—and said, “So I know a little about what’s going on for you.” He described the email and said, “I can imagine that this is a very difficult time for you.” He paused then said, “I have taken the liberty of initiating transportation back to the States for you.” He paused again. He watched as Shawn raised his head and stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes.
Shawn nodded and said in a soft voice, “Thank you, sir.”
“There are some things I want to go over with you before you leave. I have written them down in this letter.” He handed the sealed envelope to Shawn. “You can open it after leaving this office. To summarize the contents, it authorizes you leave for one month. This is longer than usual, but you have provided exceptional service to this unit, and I believe it is justified under the circumstances. There is another piece. You may have forgotten, but your enlistment is up in forty-three days.” Fredericks paused again to let it sink in. He watched as Shawn registered his awareness with a look that was more inward. A look that reflected relief and confusion.
“I am offering you a bonus and a promotion if you decide to reenlist. You will be promoted to petty officer first class as soon as you sign your papers. I encourage you to do so. It has been an honor to be your commanding officer, and the Navy and I greatly appreciate your service. The next item is very important.” He watched Shawn to be sure he was attentive; then when he was satisfied, he said, “With the support of your previous commanding officer and the division of the Navy, we have completely expunged the records of the incident with Seaman Lawrence. I am not giving you a written notice of this as your involvement in this incident is no longer on the books—anywhere.”
Shawn stared at the captain. His jaw slack and lips parting, he said, “So there is no record of the fight?”
“There is no record of your involvement in this incident, and that is all I can tell you. In essence, you were never involved in any kind of altercation or investigation during your naval career. This means you would receive an honorable discharge should you decide to end your enlistment.”
“Thank you again, sir. I am very relieved to hear that.” This was the first real good news since his return from the mission. It was slowly sinking in that the incident was still on record, but that he was no longer involved. He wondered if Seaman Lawrence received that same exoneration. He doubted it, given the phrasing by Captain Fredericks.
“One last thing. I am not trying to prevent your reenlistment, but should you decide to go civilian, I have authorized you to be dismissed in San Diego, California. You will need to contact the naval base there using the email address and phone number I have provided in the letter. You may also decide to continue your service through the National Guard, although I can imagine that would seem anemic, given your service experiences. Anyway, your plane leaves at zero five thirty tomorrow. Don’t miss it!” Captain Fredericks smiled and stood.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”
“Thank you, sailor.”
Shawn stood at attention and smiled for the first time during the meeting. He spun on his heels and walked out of the office with an improved posture and a stronger appearance.
Third Class Petty Officer Gibbons watched him leave, and he nodded in her direction. Now that’s more like what I remembered, she thought wistfully.
Chapter 8
Liberal Shock and Dismay
January 2, 2016—day 1 of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge occupation. From a group of approximately three hundred protesters marching in Burns, Oregon, against the sentencing of local ranchers, a group split off to occupy the refuge.
George Henry clenched and unclenched his large bony fist. Watching the evening news in his hillside home in Portland, Oregon, was painful for him. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the report being delivered on his beloved Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. When they announced that no attempt had been made to stop the occupation, he pounded his fist so loudly on his recliner that his wife jumped.
“God, George, you are out of control!” Jill exclaimed with irritation. “You need to get a grip.”
“I’m not going to get a grip, unless it’s around the red neck of one of those occupiers!” Henry argued. “They have no right to take over the refuge. Who the hell do they think they are?”
“There’s nothing you can do about it. So why worry about it?” Jill countered.
Henry paused and stared at the television, not really seeing the screen. His jaw tensed in his long, narrow face.
After a few seconds, he brightened some and said, “Maybe there is something I can do about it.” He raised his long frame from the chair that was set a few feet from the wall of the great room and stretched.
“Those sons’a bitches are protesting. Maybe I could protest them.” He adjusted his wire-frame glasses and sat back down.
Jill watched George suspiciously. Her blue eyes were steady, but her mouth carried a slight frown. She did not speak. After eighteen years of living with George, she knew he was past the point of reason. Only one question remained: what was he about to do? She silently reflected on the time he had decided to take karate lessons. His decision followed a break-in at their home. No one was home at the time, but George had obsessed over what would happen if one of them were home. He had purchased a pistol, but he wasn’t satisfied with that and started talking about both taking self-defense classes.
Jill had balked. She had no interest in being in a gym full of sweaty fighters. After she expressed her reluctance, George had corrected her, saying that the term was dojo. He went on to explain, as he often did, that a gym was a term derived from the Greek word gymnasium and that the participants of ancient Greece participated in the nude. Jill smiled slightly as she recalled the conversation. What she remembered was that George had convinced her to join with him in taking karate classes.
Jill’s participation
