Veil of Silence (19 page)

“I’ll ask her,” he promised.  He was amazed at how much the army had pushed aside in regards to the captured captain’s well-being.  They had totally disregarded some of the protocol.  He’d already filed several complaints regarding their handling of this case. 

* * * * *

“Captain, you are correct about a promotion being delayed because of your absence.  The army should have designated your promotion at three years during your captivity.  There are cases where it is eighteen months to two years.  I’m pushing for that as well as retroactive pay.”

“What about my promotion to lieutenant colonel?” she asked, reminding him of the initial conversation they had in Kabul.

“That one is going to be a little harder to get,” he stated, and seeing the combative look in her eye, he explained, “Normally that can take eighteen months to three years too.  A lot depends on where you are in the zone and your qualifications.  Title 10 of the United States’ Code and its regulatory requirements are very specific in regards to the regulatory, directive, and policy of said promotions.”

“That sounds like a lot of legalese to me, counselor.  I suggest you dumb it down for this mere captain.”

He smiled.  There was no bullshitting this woman and he didn’t blame her.  The pay bump alone from captain to major was going to help her a lot.  Lieutenant colonel was going to be a hard one to go for, but all he could do was try.  She certainly had the years in.  “Were you intending to make the military your career?” he asked.

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” she countered.

That told him the answer was probably no.  “They will probably give you major, no problem.  I’ve already had Corporal Harris on the paperwork and spoken on the phone with a few key individuals to expedite this; however, they are going to say your baby-making actions will keep you from focusing on your career in the military, and that becoming a lieutenant colonel wasn’t in your plans.”

“They can’t know that,” she answered back angrily.  “I was coming home after an eighteen-month deployment.  I’d made captain.  For all they know, I intended on staying in the army to become a friggin’ general!  Furthermore, that’s sexist.  It’s not my fault in the least that I’m pregnant.”

With that it clicked for Lance how he could word his reports in a way that would be in the captain’s favor and garner her the well-deserved promotion.  He was determined to get her everything she deserved.  The powers that be were still chomping at the bit to get some more information out of her, but she simply didn’t remember or hadn’t seen anything of value.  The rural people who had taken her had kept her too well hidden.  His other investigations centered around the other people in that helicopter.  The two pilots didn’t raise any red flags and neither did Sergeant Ames, but the names of the other two had been redacted and he’d had his superior officer look into the original documents to find out exactly what was being hidden from this investigation and what Captain Gagliano was really being accused of.

* * * * *

“Do you know what Hayley means?” Marsha asked the little girl who look so painfully like her, but who didn’t really want to talk to her.

Reluctant, but curious, the little girl asked, “No, what?”

“It means hayfield,” she smiled, watching the astonishment on her little girl’s face.  She was laying in the fresh cut grass.  One of the neighbor’s sons had been helping cut the lawn for Heather since they didn’t own a working lawn mower.

“Hayfield!” she wrinkled her nose.

“When you were born…” Marsha began speaking in story-telling mode, which she knew the little girl adored.  She glanced up at her wife who was sitting in a chair on their back lawn, watching as the other two slid down the slide.  Bahir came over to listen to the story and Amir followed along behind, ever the shadow of his sister.  “When you were born your hair was as blonde as a hayfield.  Your mom commented on that as soon as they cleaned you up.  It was long and blonde and we decided to call you Hayley.”

The little girl, whose blonde hair had fallen out by year one and grown back in thick and luxurious and black like her mother’s, smiled at the story.  “Was Bahir’s hair the color of a hayfield?” she glanced almost jealously at her little sister.

Marsha shook her head, laying back and looking up at the clouds as she remembered Bahir’s birth.  She’d barely seen the child when Malekah had taken her away to show her off.  She’d been lucky to establish a relationship with either of her children with the proprietorial air that Malekah had towards them.  The child was brought to her for feeding, but that was almost all for a long time.  “No, Bahir’s hair was a soft brown that grew darker every day.  She had more curls than I remember you having,” she teased a little since Hayley’s hair was very curly now, much like Marsha’s as a child.  That was another reason she had kept it short in the army…easier to maintain without the thick, luxurious curls she had now.

“What does Bahir’s name mean?”

Marsha smiled, knowing curiosity would bring her daughter closer to her, more than anything else.  She hadn’t forced it in the time she had been home and that had been good.  Both Bahir and Amir came to her freely since Malekah wasn’t around to thwart them.  The change in them had been very welcome.  “It means spring,” she answered simply.  She waited for the youngster to ask the next question, not volunteering anything.  She wasn’t disappointed.

“Why spring?” she asked eagerly.

“Because she was born in spring,” she answered readily and glanced at Heather.  She could see her doing the calculation of time that they had been apart.  She was sorry for that and hoped meeting with the psychologists would help her deal with any problems that might arise.

“What about Amir?” the youngster continued.

“His name means king,” she made it sound regal and the little girl giggled.

“But he’s not a king!”

“Ah, but his father was a leader of a tribe, so yes, in their culture he could be a king,” she explained carefully.  She was afraid that the little girl would figure out that they had different fathers far too soon and she didn’t want to explain about Zabi, whose name meant sacrificed or slaughtered person. 

Heather saw her expression of anticipation.  It was almost painful so she distracted the children.  “Who is going to help Mommy off the ground?” she asked, playfully.  The children pulled and pushed and laughed as Heather went over and offered Marsha a hand.  Only by rolling onto her hands and knees could she slowly bring her feet under her unbalanced self.  It was a good thing Heather was there to help her as she nearly fell over.  They all laughed at her ungainly body as they went in to fix dinner.

* * * * *

That night, as the children were in their makeshift tent, Heather went in search of Marsha and found her outside in front of the house.  The last rays of sunshine were slowly fading over the horizon, or what they could see of the horizon within the housing development they lived in.  “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

“I was thinking about how beautiful the sunsets were in Afghanistan,” she said just as quietly.

“Is there anything you miss about that country?”  Some of her fears were that something kept her wife over there besides being a prisoner.

“It was beautiful there.  Sometimes we would camp in a meadow and I knew no one was around for miles.  Even the deserts and the infernal sand and dust and dirt were beautiful at the time, the sunsets and the sunrises so intense.  You don’t get that here with the city blocking the views.  I mean, look at that,” she pointed towards the sky.  “You can’t even see all the stars because of the city lights.”

“I love looking at the stars.  Remember when we fell asleep along the lake looking at them?”

Marsha smiled as she nodded.  She leaned over and hugged her wife closer, one-armed.  “I remember waking up cold and damp from the fog that rolled in over us.”

“Well, you warmed me up nicely as I recall.”

“Someday we’ll have all of that again,” she promised.  She leaned in for a kiss and afterwards saw that they were being watched from across the street.  Not everyone appreciated same-sex couples or open displays of affection.  “All I wanted was to get home to you.”  She took Heather inside so they could at least cuddle on their sofa.

* * * * *

It took weeks and then the psychologists were ready to release not only their findings, but their patient.  She was doing well and she could always talk to anyone on the SERE staff.  The debriefings with the psychologists dealt with the overall experience of her captivity and they were pleased that she related the stories of tribe life and that it wasn’t all tainted by the harsh and brutal treatment that she had sustained.  Her medical records, showing the scar tissue on her back, buttocks, and thighs, attested to her testimony about the beatings.

They advised her to follow up in the coming year, possibly years, regarding everything that had happened to her.  “It’s not a quick fix, Captain.  The things that have happened to you can sneak up on you at the oddest times,” he advised.  “Don’t be brave.  It could adversely affect your relationship with your wife,” he’d noted how well they got along.  “It could also affect your career as PTSD comes up when you least expect it.”

Marsha understood that, but at the moment she really didn’t care.  She was nervous about the resumed interrogation she was going to have to undergo the following day now that the reports were in.

The SERE representative had offered her the services of a chaplain as well.

“Oh, hell no,” she told him succinctly.  “They didn’t want to marry us.  They won’t acknowledge my marriage.  I want nothing to do with them.”  That ended that.

“Do we know why a processing team chief was not assigned?” the psychologist directed this question to Lance.

“No, we don’t.  We also don’t know why the army disregarded a lot of the steps of processing Captain Gagliano.”

The psychologist made notes in his report.  He was very unhappy with the apparent disregard for protocol that this case had engendered.  Something wasn’t right.  “I suppose we could call you the escort officer in this case.”

“I’m also her liaison officer and legal defense, but I was sent by Jag and more precisely by General Biggins.”

“General Biggins?” his eyebrows rose at the name.  “That is impressive.”  He turned to Marsha and asked, “And how do you know General Biggins?”

“I don’t,” she admitted.

“Yes, she told me back in Kabul that she didn’t know him.  Colonel…” he began and then something clicked into place for him.  Colonel Kodel hadn’t wanted him to go to Kabul to help Captain Gagliano and Biggins had insisted.

“Yes, Colonel, what?” the psychologist asked.

He shook his head.  “Sorry, lost my train of thought,” he lied.  “Could I also be considered her processing team chief as I’ve been looking into things for her?” he asked to distract the man who was looking at him suspiciously.

Nodding, the man added some more things in his notes.

“Since they skirted Phase I and Phase II of Operation Yellow Ribbon, is it possible during Phase III that you or your staff could be present for the rest of the debriefing?” Lance asked.

Nodding, the man looked up.  “Try to keep me away.”  He was very disturbed about this whole thing.  Captain Gagliano had not been handled correctly, not at all.  Captain McKellan was keeping something from him and the rest of the people anxiously waiting for his and his staff’s evaluation reports were keeping something from them all.  He too was anxious to get to the bottom of this.  He watched as Lance got on his cell phone as soon as he left his office.

The much-anticipated debriefing scheduled for the following day was going to have to wait.  Captain Marsha Gagliano went into labor that night.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Marsha had reluctantly called her parents the week before.  She knew that letting them know of her situation was only fair.  They were grieving and they didn’t even know she was alive.  She debated on it long and hard though.  She was so angry about what they had pulled on her wife, she wanted to shut them out, let them suffer.  It was the psychologist who pointed out that she wasn’t thinking clearly or rationally.  Finally, taking a deep breath, and with Heather looking on, she called after the children had gone to bed so they wouldn’t interrupt.

“Hello?” the familiar voice felt warm and friendly.  She was actually relieved to hear it.  She had expected another voice to answer the phone, had in fact braced herself for it.

“Dad?”

“Who is this?”

“Dad, it’s Marsha.”

There was a pause and then he got angry.  “I don’t know who this is, but if this is some kind of sick joke…”

“No, Dad, it really is me.  I’m home.  I’m with Heather.”  She didn’t know if she wanted to mention the children, not yet.  The silence was long and she thought she had lost the connection for a moment.  “Hello?  Dad are you there?”

“Yes, I’m here,” he answered, but Marsha could hear something strange in his voice.  It sounded like emotion.

“It’s really me.  I finally escaped and made my way to Kabul.”