Fobbit (9 page)

Which is exactly what he’d done earlier that day when news of the al-Karkh explosion crackled over the loudspeakers in division headquarters: he’d flown from his office to Staff Sergeant Gooding’s desk, rounding the corner of the cubicle so fast he almost skidded out and landed on his fat ass in front of his PAO staff. He recovered with a half-skip worthy of Fred Astaire, albeit a 250-pound Fred Astaire, and walked up to Gooding, jabbing a fresh-printed copy of the Significant Activity report at his chest. “We need to start drafting a press release,
now
! We need to beat CNN to the punch.”

Gooding grabbed the Sig Act and spun around in his chair to his computer, pulling up the already written press release template he used whenever a division soldier died, which lately was at least twice a day.

His fingers stabbed the keyboard, pecking the letters of what would surely be a brilliant six-sentence press release destined for the Press Release Hall of Fame. He punched the
PRINT
button then put the finished product in Lieutenant Colonel Harkleroad’s hands.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE June 6, 2005

RELEASE 20050606-04a

Soldier killed in al-Karkh suicide car bomb blast

BAGHDAD — A Task Force Baghdad soldier was killed when a suicide car bomber detonated his payload in an al-Karkh neighborhood around 11 a.m. on June 6.

Three Iraqi bystanders were also killed in the blast, which ripped through a shopping district, destroying a tea shop and fruit seller’s stall.

The soldier’s unit was assisting Iraqi security forces on a patrol of the area when it came under attack from terrorists. The soldier was evacuated to the 86th Combat Support Hospital where he later died of his injuries.

The name of the soldier is being held pending notification of next of kin. The incident is under investigation.

Harkleroad hunched over the press release. The tiny hairs in his ears were bristling where they sprouted around the hearing aid he claimed cost him—or, rather, cost the Army—$6,000. Gooding wasn’t sure how well the government’s money was spent since the man still had selective hearing.

“Hm. Okay. Uh. Do we know for a fact it was a suicide car bomber?”

“It was on the Sig Act, sir.”

“But confirmed by anyone on the ground?”

“No, not that I’m aware, sir. I don’t think any of our men actually saw a crazed, wild-eyed terrorist sitting behind the steering wheel, if that’s what you mean.” Normally, Gooding wasn’t this sarcastic with his boss but sleep deprivation, the idiocy of those dingleberries in G-1, and last night’s licorice had put him on edge.

“Okay, then,” Harkleroad said. “Let’s take out ‘
when a suicide car bomber detonated his payload
’ and replace it with ‘
when a car bomb exploded.
’ Make that change, then print it out again for me to see.”

Gooding’s fingers went back to work. Peck-peck-peckity-peck. Save. Print.

Harkleroad bent over the edited release, his lips moving as he silently read Gooding’s work.

“Hm. Okay. Uh-oh. Look, you’ve got ‘suicide’ in the headline.

“Aw, shit.”

“That’s okay because I’ve got another change. Let’s take out the part about the shopping district and the fruit and tea. It tends toward humanization of the Local Nationals—you know, blurs the line of our neutrality here. Looks like we’re sensationalizing the deaths of these three poor Iraqis.”

“Okay, sir.”

Harkleroad continued to stare at the press release, his index finger curled beneath his nose as he pondered the significance of each and every word, weighing the verbs against the nouns before he had to make the long walk upstairs to the chief’s office.

“On second thought . . .”

“Yes, sir?”

“Let’s take out all reference to the dead Iraqis. We’ll let the Ministry of Interior make that announcement. Besides, I’m a little reluctant to play up the fact that only one of our guys was killed, versus the three on the home team. Collateral deaths are always a tricky thing, Sergeant Gooding.”

“Yes, sir, they are.” The licorice rumbled in Gooding’s gut.

“It sort of plays into the ‘if you weren’t here, this would never have happened’ mentality,” Harkleroad said. “Let’s not draw attention to the Local National deaths if we don’t have to.”

“Roger, sir.”

“Good. Go ahead and make those changes, then print that draft.”

Gooding pivoted and returned to his desk. His fingers were like Liberace in his finest moment.

Back into Harkleroad’s hands. Another ponderous finger perched beneath the imminently bloody nose. “Hm. Okay. But . . . ehhh . . . I don’t know. I think we need to put the reference to multinational forces
after
the Iraqi security forces. Right now, it looks like we’re trying to hog the spotlight from our Iraqi friends.”

“Ooo-kay, sir.”

Gooding glanced at the clock. More than forty-five minutes had elapsed. By now, the tow truck was already hauling the wrecked Humvee from the scene and the CNN reporter was calling in a report on her cell phone.

“Go ahead and do the flip-flop, then let me see another draft before we send it up to corps PAO for approval. I’ll be in my office.”

Gooding bent over his keyboard. He could hear his Timex ticking like a stopwatch at the Olympic trials. His fingers were like Bruce Jenner’s feet, running around the keys until they got blisters and started to bleed.

Gooding sprinted to the PAO’s office, a room no bigger than a closet (in fact, it had been a janitor’s closet when Saddam ran the place) just off the main cubicle area. The boss, Gooding noted, had been hunched over his desk lining up paper clips when he arrived panting in the doorway.

Harkleroad gave a startled flinch, then held out his hand. “All right, let me see it.” He read the release, tapped his chin, caressed his upper lip, and thought like a chess player trying to anticipate the chief of staff’s first move. “What do you think about calling the ISF
heroic
?”

“I think that’s a great idea, sir.”

Peckity-peck-peck, tappity-tap-tap. Zing!
Back to Harkleroad’s desk, front and center.

“Okay, let’s see what you got.”

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE June 6, 2005

RELEASE 20050606-04e

Iraqi Security Forces attacked in al-Karkh

BAGHDAD — Heroic Iraqi security forces, with minimal assistance from Task Force Baghdad soldiers, were patrolling al-Karkh around 11 a.m. on June 6 when they came under attack from terrorists.

One U.S. soldier was killed when a car bomb exploded in the neighborhood.

The soldier was evacuated to the 86th Combat Support Hospital where he later died of his injuries.

The name of the soldier is being held pending notification of next of kin. The incident is under investigation.

Harkleroad read the gutted-and-thrashed release twice, thrice, then once more, holding a hand over one eye for a slightly different perspective. “Okay. Looks good. I’ll take it to the chief.”

Staff Sergeant Gooding collapsed against the door frame of the PAO’s office, his fingers throbbing, but sweet relief coursing his veins.

Lieutenant Colonel Stacie Harkleroad thanked him again then drew a deep breath and climbed the stairs to the second floor of division headquarters. They were as steep and long as a path up Everest. At the top, the chief waited, a growing scowl on his face.

He was a tall man, his bald head adding to his menacing height. His face seemed carved from granite with a pair of eyes sharp as laser beams. When he looked at his staff, their souls withered. Even picturing him in his underwear didn’t help reduce the intimidation factor.

“What the fuck do you want now, PAO?”

“Release on the Second Brigade casualty, sir.”

“Oh, yeah? Lemme have it.” He thrust out his hand like he was asking Harkleroad for a roll of toilet paper.

The chief gripped the press release, his large thumbs crinkling the edges as he read it aloud in a growl-mumble: “Heroic
grrrgrrr
minimal assistance from
grrrgrrr
Karkh
grrrgrrr
attack from terrorists…One U.S. soldier was killed
grrrgrrrgrrrgrrr
evacuated to the
grrrgrrr
later died of his injuries
grrrgrrrgrrrgrrrgrrrgrrr
under investigation.”

Harkleroad simultaneously felt his bowels loosen and his nose go soft and fluid. He sniffed deeply and blinked twice when the chief raised his head from the press release. “All right. It’ll do, I guess. Fuckin’ liberal news whores’ll fuck it all up anyway no matter what we say, right, Harkleroad?”

“Right, sir.” A bit of blood peeked out from one nostril. Harkleroad silently urged the chief to hurry with the pen scribbling his initial in the left-hand corner.

The chief gave the half-crumpled paper back to his PAO. “There you go.”

“Thanks, chief. We’ll get this out pronto.”

“Right, right, whatever. And hey—” the chief raised a brow over a twinkling eye “—next time you talk to Fox News, ask ’em when I get my exclusive one-on-one interview with Lana Thompson.”

“Roger, chief.”

“Tell ’em I’m ready for my close-up.”

“Roger.”

Harkleroad about-faced and quickly marched from the second-floor command group area back down to the Public Affairs cubicles, sucking up the blood as he went. He rounded the corner with a yip and a hoot. “Staff Sergeant Gooding! Send it!”

Harkleroad was a cigar-chomping city editor and Gooding was the copyboy in a green eyeshade, racing through the room of clacking typewriters and cynical reporters on his way to the pressroom where, above the clang of bells and
whirring-clanking
presses, he’d scream in the half-deaf pressman’s ear, “Okay, Pops! Print it!”

Gooding composed the e-mail, inserted the corps PAO addresses, attached the brilliantly written Press Release Number 20050606-04, then prepared to send it zigging and zagging along the highways of cyberspace.

“Stop! Sergeant Gooding! Don’t send it!”

Gooding’s finger froze above the
ENTER
button. He looked back over his shoulder. Harkleroad was staring at the TV. His face was white and, as predicted, his nose had started to bleed. “It’s all over,” he croak-whispered. “CNN beat us to the punch. They’re running a report about the attack.”

Well, what the hell did you expect, Mr. Longfellow Rewrite?
Gooding thought.

He closed the e-mail without sending it.

“What now, sir?”

“Oh, good gravy, I don’t know.” Eustace Harkleroad stuffed a tissue up one bloody nostril. “Now I guess we start over with a new angle. Give me a minute. And give me a pen.”

“Here you go, sir.” Gooding whipped a ballpoint out of his pocket. Harkleroad took the last version of the press release and began extensive surgery with the pen. Blood soaked through the end of the tissue wad but thankfully dried before it could bead and drip onto Gooding’s beautiful press release, now splayed open before Harkleroad on the desk.
Scritch-scratch
went his pen, crossing out whole sentences and moving entire paragraphs with an elaborate series of arrows and
Insert this here
and
Change to
.

Ten minutes after CNN broadcast its first report from the scene of the attack, he handed an ink-muddied paper to Gooding. “See what you can do with this.”

“Roger, sir.”

“I’m guessing this will probably have to go through several more drafts before we’re through with it.”

Somewhere in Oregon, a tree whimpered.

Gooding returned to his computer screen. He cracked his knuckles. He started anew, decoding the colonel’s scribbles and adding extra flourishes of his own.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE June 6, 2005

RELEASE 20050606-04f

Iraqi Security Forces respond to al-Karkh attack

BAGHDAD —Iraqi security forces put months of coalition-backed training to the test today as they quickly responded to a terrorist attack in an al-Karkh neighborhood around 11 a.m.

Iraqi police and Baghdad emergency response teams were first on the scene after an explosion went off near an Iraqi Army patrol combing houses in the area and looking for caches of weapons and insurgent propaganda material. The Iraqi security forces immediately cordoned off the area to ensure no Iraqi citizens were killed or injured by potential subsequent blasts.