He Guards with Honor

Copyright © 2013 Dottie McComas.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover Illustrator:

Sara Wieland of Knoxville, Tennessee

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Inspiring Voices

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Bloomington, IN 47403

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1 (866) 697-5313

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0813-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4624-0814-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013920316

Inspiring Voices rev. date: 11/18/2013

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

This book is dedicated to Jim, without whom, it could not, and would not have been written. Many thanks to Tim and my Family for their encouragement. A special thank-you to Margrett for being a great listener and encourager. Finally, I dedicate this book to the soldiers, past and present, of the Third Infantry Regiment of Fort Myer, Virginia; the Old Guard. Their service to our country is gratefully acknowledged and appreciated.

Chapter 1

Washington, DC

1973

He stands straight and tall, eyes forward, perfectly still as the mournful sound of Taps whispers through the cool morning mist. Another young soldier, lying silent in a flag-draped box, is put to eternal rest in Arlington National Cemetery. The grieving widow watches as the flag is folded before her in perfect precision into a tight red, white, and blue triangle, stars on top. He hears the command, jerks to attention, and fires his weapon along with the others in his detail. The crack of the blasts pierces the fog and causes some to recoil, as do the rifles in the arms of the Honor Guard. But the young soldiers do not flinch. They have practiced this duty so many times that they could probably do it in their sleep. Sometimes it seems as if they do.

He learned early on not to look at the families of the honored dead—widows young and old, crying stoically, sometimes children who don’t seem to know what has happened to their fathers, brothers. No, he cannot look at them. Three shots fired, the soldiers retire their weapons in unison. Perfect. At least to him it was perfect. He didn’t make any mistakes. His uniform was pressed, his shoes polished, his buttons shone in what sunlight was filtering through the clouds. His commander should be satisfied. Dan hopes there will be no late practices tonight.

After the last of five funerals was over, the detail returned to base at Fort Myer, Virginia. Fort Myer is the home of the Old Guard, the Third US Infantry, the oldest active-duty infantry unit in the army. Founded in 1784, the Old Guard has served our nation as the official Army Honor Guard since World War II. Members serve as escort to the president and conduct military ceremonies at the White House, the Pentagon, and national memorials. They march in official parades, guard the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and provide funeral escorts at Arlington National Cemetery. The Old Guard is also ready and able to defend our nation’s capital in the event of an emergency. They fire twenty-one-gun salutes, as Dan and his firing party had done today.

Dan had made his parents proud when he was chosen to be in the Third Infantry when he was stationed at Fort Dix, New Jersey. Then a young, nineteen-year-old private in basic training, Dan was chosen because he was over six feet tall, had no criminal record, and was of good character. Requirements for the Guard are to be in excellent physical condition, reach the height of between 5'10 and 6'4, meet weight regulations, and be proficient in soldiering skills. Dan met all those requirements and more. He was now twenty-one and in the last year of his two-year duty.

After the guys from the firing detail got back to their barracks, and while they readied their uniforms for the next day, they talked about how the long hours of practice in the cold April showers had paid off. They were feeling rather proud. Sure, they were the second string, the backup to the Honor Guard Company of the Old Guard, but just because they weren’t the top company, that didn’t mean they weren’t as good at what they did. Their CO was out to show the higher-ups that their company could outperform the top company any day. So perfect or not, they would not be excused from practice this afternoon. They had fired at five funerals today in their full dress blue uniforms. They had even had to wear their overcoats. That always made handling their weapons more difficult, but they had prevailed. Tonight they could relax. Talk turned to a more pleasant subject: girls.

One of Dan’s buddies sat down on the bunk opposite his, grinning as he said, I heard that a group of college girls from Tennessee is going to be at the Spirit program tonight.

Dan, bending over to remove his shoes, looked up at his friend and nodded. Yeah, I heard that too, this morning at mess. They’re staying at the motel across the street from the base.

How in the world do you know that? asked Malcolm.

Ken was bragging that he was going over there after the show to meet some of them.

Ken was named appropriately. He was one of the top company members, six-foot-three, blond, muscular—the ideal of all the Barbies out there. Dan wasn’t grinning.

Malcolm jabbed him in the ribs. We’ll get there first! He’ll have to get changed after the show, and we can find the girls after the program and escort them back across the highway to the motel before he has time to get there!

Dan smiled slightly, nodded, and then lowered his head in disappointment.

What’s the matter? You scared of beating Ken at his own game? Malcolm taunted.

No, I’m on CQ tonight, Dan said gloomily. Wouldn’t you know I’d be the one sitting up watching an empty barracks while all of you are out partying.

Malcolm and John slapped him on the back and shook their heads. We’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, kid.

After a long day of funeral detail, marching, and preparing his uniform for the next day and a long night of CQ duty, Dan finally heard Malcolm’s laughter and loud footsteps in the hall. It was his duty to quiet Malcolm down, but he wanted to hear all the details.

Malcolm was tired and needed to get some rest, so he just grinned and punched Dan in the shoulder and said, You shoulda seen Ken. He’s a natural with the ladies. They just swoon at his feet. He pushed off and went toward his bunk.

Southern girls—I just love to hear them talk. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, a contented look on his face.

Dan was left to his own thoughts on the subject.

Chapter 2

Johnson City, Tennessee

Two days earlier

Up at five in the morning, she had packed the night before. She had to hurry down to the ROTC building on campus to board the bus. Wendy had never been to Washington, DC, before. She hadn’t been anywhere much. Here she was, a sophomore at East Tennessee State University and a member of the elite Sponsor Corps Drill Team.

Last year, as a freshman, she’d seen the girls dressed in navy blue military jackets and skirts marching on campus and checked into it. She hadn’t wanted to be a ROTC cadet, but she did like the uniforms. One of the girls in her dorm was a member of the Sponsor Corps and told her that they weren’t part of the army program, but they were a drill team. They marched with dummy rifles and put on shows and had competitions with other school drill teams. She’d encouraged Wendy to try out. That spring, Wendy did, and she made the team.

Now it was spring again and time for the National Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, DC. Wendy was proud to be a part of it. As she handed her suitcase to the Greyhound bus driver, she couldn’t help giggling with the other girls about the guys they would probably meet at Fort Myer in Arlington. She didn’t really know what to expect, but she was excited, as were all of the girls.

Wendy loved the crisp morning air, even though the diesel smoke escaping from the bus was polluting that freshness this morning. Of course there were a few girls, their hair still in curlers or looking half-asleep, who weren’t really morning people, but Wendy loved the morning. This was going to be a great trip. She boarded the bus and found a seat next to a window.

The guy’s ROTC drill team was traveling with the girls. Wendy hoped that cute guy, Larry, with whom she’d been on a date last week, would sit next to her. But as she sat with the empty seat next to her, Larry passed her by and went toward the back of the bus. He sat with another girl—one who didn’t have a very good reputation. Wendy felt rejected and embarrassed, but she had pride, and she wouldn’t let it bother her. She didn’t want a guy who would rather sit with a girl like that anyway.

Wendy had never dated a guy for more than a few dates—except Roger. She had fallen head over heels for him, and they’d dated for a few months before he abruptly began dating another girl without so much as a good-bye. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t keep a boyfriend long enough to go steady, but she wasn’t going to let Larry or any other boy ruin her trip.

She looked around at the other girls and guys on the bus. There were the twenty-six girls on the team, a smaller number of ROTC guys, Sergeant Major Grundy, Captain Crane with his wife and toddler son, and a few other guys. They departed right on time, military style, and they settled down to a long, eight-hour trip.

The first night in Washington, Wendy called Pat, the sister of one of her best friends, Kathy. Pat lived in Arlington with her husband, Rob. Kathy’s mom had given Wendy Pat’s number and encouraged her to call her. Pat and her husband picked her up at the motel, took her to their apartment, fed her supper, and then drove her around the city at night.

The buildings shone white under the landscape lights. They looked just like the pictures on postcards. The Capitol building with its huge dome, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Jefferson Memorial were so beautiful and surreal. It was prettier and more majestic than Wendy had imagined.

A small-town girl from the south, Wendy had never even seen many big cities. Growing up in Elizabethton, Tennessee, she had to go to the next town over, Johnson City, to ride her first elevator, at the J. C. Penny store. Wendy sat in the backseat of Pat’s car staring out of the window as her hosts pointed out each landmark. What a thrill!

When they returned to the motel, Wendy thanked her friends and said good-bye. Tomorrow, she would be sightseeing with her drill team friends and going to the Capitol building, the Lincoln Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the Smithsonian Natural History Museum, and the National Cathedral.

She went to bed earlier than some of her partying counterparts. She didn’t drink or party with guys, so she just went to sleep. One of her roommates was already in bed with a hair dryer on her head, the plastic bonnet inflated by the airflow. Should she turn it off? Jenny looked like she was asleep. Wendy decided not to. Jenny was recently engaged to be married. She was probably happily dreaming of her fiancé. She would eventually turn it off.

Wendy closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow was a big day.

Washington in 1973 was rather open to the public. You could walk around freely, and today, people were. The National Cherry Blossom Festival was first held in 1935. More than half a million people came to DC every spring to see the cherry blossoms. The trees were a project began by President Taft’s wife, Helen. She had lived in Japan and loved the cherry blossoms, the unofficial national flower of that country. Mrs. Taft wanted to plant cherry trees in Washington, DC. The city of Tokyo donated two thousand trees as a friendship offering to the United States. They arrived in 1910 but were found to be diseased and had to be destroyed. Tokyo replaced the bad trees with three thousand new trees. Mrs. Taft planted the first one in 1912. The trees thrived, multiplied through the years, and have become a beautiful sight each spring in our nation’s capital.

The trees were in full bloom as the Sponsor Corps toured the beautiful city. The air was perfumed with their fragrance. Walking toward the Capitol building was like walking down a fairy garden path with the exception that in fairy gardens, you don’t usually have to contend with a menacing little insect called the bee. As a group, the Sponsor Corps dodged the bees and went into the Capitol to listen to a little speechifying in Congress. They toured the rotunda, took pictures by the busts of presidents, and gazed up at the dome. They went to the office of their representative, Congressman Jimmy Quillen, to meet him. He let them have their picture made with him, which he would later autograph and send to them in the mail. The architecture of the Capitol building was amazing. The marble, the carvings, the whiteness, the sparkling floors, the hugeness—all was just unbelievable. Once out of the Capitol, they were left to explore on their own until they were to meet at the Smithsonian. That gave Wendy time to go to the street vendors to buy gifts for her little sister and brother. She chose two little rubber Nixon dolls with suction cup feet for standing.

As she paid for her purchases, the vendor warned Wendy to be careful walking around Washington alone and to not let people see her money. With that warning, Wendy realized she needed to be more careful; after all, she wasn’t in a small town anymore. The other girls had wandered off as well, most in groups, but Wendy didn’t know many of the other girls very well, and she was a little naïve, anyway. She didn’t think of dangers; she was too caught up in the wonder of it all. She looked for a street sign, wanting to find Pennsylvania Avenue, where she was told she could walk by the White House. That was one building they had not seen yet, and in her mind, it was the most important one to see. She didn’t see any of her group members. At least she knew where the museum was and had a watch. She would look for the White House and then go on to the museum on time.

She walked over to a guard who was near the steps of the Capitol. Which way do I go to get to the White House? He pointed in the direction she had been walking and curtly told her it was on Pennsylvania Avenue. She continued on with her quest. After walking a bit, she saw some of the other girls and hurried over to get with them. It was becoming a little scary being by herself. The girls were on their way to the museum. Wendy decided to give up trying to find the White House and walk with them. It was a good thing, too, because by the time they got there, Captain Crane was giving out instructions on how long to stay and where to meet after they toured the exhibits.

Inside the museum, the first thing Wendy saw was a giant stuffed elephant. And then she saw the Foucault pendulum. Velvet ropes marked off a large circle on the floor. She stood and watched the giant pendulum swing from the ceiling