Commandants Own

CHAPTER 1~ FOLLOW ME

At the end of my senior year in high school, I held the swim team record for the 400-meter individual medley and the 100-meter butterfly. So, in true Mia fashion, she shattered my records her sophomore year and went on to win state the next two. She was valedictorian, scored 32 on her ACT's and a 94 on the ASVAB. She was the daughter trifecta; intelligent, athletic, and beautiful. Universities lined up to throw money her way. But when I graduated college and commissioned as a Marine officer, Mia was on my heels the moment she received her high school diploma.

At my parents' demand, I tried to talk her out of it, or at least tried encouraging her to graduate college first, and then commission if the military was still what she wanted. But she was idealistic about the world and impatient to get the next big adventure under way.

I didn't try hard enough.

When it was all said and done, dad didn't fret much that Mia wouldn't be attending his alma matter like he had when I chose Syracuse over Georgetown. And Mom didn't lower herself to the usual exasperated and weepy, why-don't-my children-love-me performances. It seemed they had already steadied themselves for the likelihood that Mia would again follow me.

The groan and shudder of the C-130s' tail opening, revealing an unfamiliar scene, startled me awake. I had finally slept for the first time in two days. The sun shone too-cheery behind the Air Traffic Control tower, forcing me to squint through my sunglasses.

I was greeted by cerulean skies and an eager-to-please Marine Sergeant whose salute was almost as sharp as the crease in his cami's. I cupped my hand over my eyes to shield them from the sun as I looked at him closer.

"Welcome to Miramar, Ma'am," he said.

I quickly oriented myself to my new surroundings. I breathed a laugh when I recognized the iconic 'Fightertown, USA' painted on a flight line wall from when Miramar was still a Naval Air Station. It had been painted over several times, but the dark letters were still faintly visible through the white.

I glanced at the Sergeants' name tape and then his face, noting that he didn't look much older than Mia.

"Thank you, Sergeant Bertrand," I responded as he reached to take my bags.

Osprey blades stirred the air nearby and a jet ripped down the runway behind us. The blare of afterburners rang in my ears long after the fighter took to the sky, forcing the Sergeant to shout over it. Bodies moved from place to place with efficiency and a sense of urgency as they tended to in the Corps. The consistency of predictable behavior made transitions like this one a little easier.

"The car's waiting just over there." He motioned with a jerk of his head just before turning to walk in that direction.

I easily kept pace with his short, quickened steps, regretting my travel attire. I felt slovenly in comparison to the well-put-together Marine. My favorite Syracuse sweater had wear holes in the cuffs and around the neck, and I paired it with my Birkenstocks and an equally well-worn pair of jeans. I was still technically on leave for another week before I had to report to my new command, but I wondered self-consciously if this was the initial impression I wanted to make.

"You made it just in time, Ma'am. It's gonna be an exciting few months."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes Ma'am. Annual air show's comin' up soon and it's even rumored that the Commandant's makin' a surprise appearance to deliver his own message at the Ball this year."

"Not much of a surprise then, is it?"

He laughed ironically.

"Suppose not, Ma'am. No secrets 'round here."

That was the first lie.

I wasn't in the mood for small talk, but smiled politely and replied attentively when sergeant Bertrand spoke. We got in the black SUV and followed a white pick-up truck to the other end of the flight line. A row of yellow lights on top of the truck flashed persistently and a sign underneath read: Follow Me.

Another memory intruded, accompanied by a too familiar pang in my chest.

I had spent a weekend in Pensacola, Florida with Mia after her graduation from Air Crew School. On my last night, Mia and a few of her friends dragged me to their favorite night spot, some hole-in-the-wall joint called, Flora-Bama's. Before riding the cab back to base I hugged her tight, one unsteady leg in the cab, and told her how proud I was for all she had accomplished. Tipsy or not, I meant every word.

Mia smiled wryly, brushing her bangs to one side as she always did.

"Thanks for always leading the way, Gwenny-bear. Maybe one day you'll follow me."

Sergeant Bertrand pulled through the flight line gate and onto the road. He drove around base for a few minutes, pointing out key locations such as headquarters for when I checked in, the commissary, exchange, armory, and finally, the base training pool, where I would serve as lead instructor and Officer In Charge for water survival training.

"So, where we headed, Ma'am?" he asked.

I opened my wallet to get the paper with my condo address, and Mia's picture slipped onto the center console. We both looked down at it and then briefly met eyes as he came to a stop at the north gate. Sympathetic glances were another thing I had grown resentful of in the last few weeks.

"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Ma'am. She was a great girl," the sergeant said.

My ears perked up a little at the pleasant surprise. "Thank you. Did you know her well?"

"Not especially," he said, cheeks and neck reddening, "but, I saw her nearly every day. She was never without a smile, Ma'am, and she always said good morning to me when we passed in the hanger."

I think that's what made the news so puzzling and devastating. Mia was happy, she spoke of the future like it was sure thing. She had just completed her first semester of college courses, been selected as the base General's driver, a position that almost guaranteed a promotion, and she planned to introduce her special someone to mom and dad at Thanksgiving. So, I was completely lost when I was notified the evening after speaking with Mia, that she had committed suicide.

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