All The Seats Taken

November 11th was originally picked as Armistice Day, a holiday to commemorate the end of the First World War. In 1954, it was changed to Veteran’s Day. A day to give thanks to those who donned the uniform and served their country.

For Tim Holland, it’s a reminder he no longer has a father. Tim wasn’t close with David Holland, in fact, had borderline disdain for him, because according to his mother, "he was a dirt bag who couldn’t keep his dick in his Levis.” After his parents divorced, his father went full speed ahead with his military career, seeing him on holiday’s or rare occasions.

On this Veteran’s Day, Tim was punching up an article at home for the paper he was employed at, The Manistee Advocate, in lower peninsula Michigan.

A ding from his Facebook page sounded. He had an instant message from someone named Ed Hommer, who was not one of his “friends.” He opened the message.

“Timothy, you don’t know me, but I met your dad in Afghanistan, same time he passed away. I’m writing to you because it’s Veteran’s Day and wanted to talk to you about your father. I attended his funeral and noticed you weren’t there with your mother. I don’t know if you got the whole story about how he passed, but I’d certainly love to tell you. I’ll even fly to you. Your dad deserves it, and you deserve it more. Please let me know. Here is my number if you want to talk. 714-555-1057. Respectfully, Ed Hommer.”

Tim sat back in his chair and contemplated what he had just read. It had been ten years since his father died, so to rehash everything now, would be a large band aid to rip off. He grabbed his phone and started to dial.

“Hello.”

“This Ed Hommer?”

“Yes. This Timothy?”

“Yea. But call me Tim.”

“Will do. Thanks for calling.”

“You knew my dad?”

“I did…well…just for a day. But the most important day of my life.”

“What do you mean?”

Silence on the other end of the phone…

“I think that conversation is to be had in person, if you are Ok with that.”

“You could be bullshit’n me. Or some weirdo.”

“But I’m not. I know a few things about your dad.”

“Like what?”

“The reason why him and your mom divorced.”

“How would you know that?”

“He told me that day. Probably change your mind about your dad.”

“Well…”

“Meet ya anywhere you want.”

“Ok.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m gonna bring my son with me. He won’t be in the way. He keeps to himself rather good for a ten-year-old.”

“I’ll send an address to meet.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for calling me back, Tim. I really appreciate it”

“No problem.”

Two days later, a knock on Tim’s front door. It was Ed and his son, Stephen.

“Hello, Tim.”

“Hello.”

“This is Stephen, my son.”

“Hi, Stephen.”

“Hello,” Stephen replied back in a cute kid voice.

“Thanks for letting me and my son meet with you.”

“Yea, sure.”

“This your house?”

“It is. My grandmother left it to me after she passed. Can I get you guys anything?”

“Oh no. We’re fine. Thanks though.”

“So, tell me about my dad. Not sure if it’ll make a difference, but I’ll listen to what you have to say.”

“Well...in 2011, I was deployed to Afghanistan…”

FLASHBACK:

Outside Kandahar Air Field, Afghanistan. May 27th, 2011.

Dozens of military vehicles and equipment were on standby to move into heavy Taliban territory, located in the city of Kandahar. Many reports had come down multiple bombs were placed at the side of the roads, and Taliban movement picked up precipitately.

David Holland, A tall Air Force member in a dirty uniform, covered in sweat spots and a messy head of hair, stood next to an MRAP vehicle, loading ammo into his magazines, puffing on a small cigar.

Another MRAP pulled up in front of David, kicking up some Kandahar dirt and dust. David never fazed, kept loading his ammo. Jumping out the back, was Ed Hommer. He had the look of a kid who had no idea where or what he was doing.

Ed spotted David, since both were Air Force, and walked towards him. David stared this young airman up and down, who was struggling to carry his gear and his weapon, barely hanging on his shoulder, and helmet flopping left and right. Ed even had knee pads over his uniform, which looked fresh out of military clothing.

“I’m Senior Airman Hommer. PA with the 75th.”

“What’s with all that gear, Airman?”

“I was told I’d needed it.”

“You were told wrong.”

Ed looked disappointed.

“Been outside the wire yet?”

“Just got here a week ago.”

“A week ago?”

“Roger that.”

“Just yes or no. Keep that shit for the Army.”

“Ok…yes. You with 4th Combat Camera?”

“Yep.”

An Army Sergeant in full battle rattle, talking on his radio, interrupted their chit chat.

“Chair Force, here’s the latest. This your guy, Holland?”

“Apparently.”

“We got intel that a few Taliban been digging like some dogs, on the side of Spin Buldak. You know what that means. So, were split’n up. Bravo heading down Spin Buldak in the MRAPS, and Charlie taking the long way to Kandahar in Strykers. That’s your ride. Looking to depart in about forty-five, soon as some top gets here.”

“Who’s the top?” David asked.

“Someone from command. Got bored pushing paper, so he wanted to get some juice. Be ready.”

“Roger that.”

The Army sergeant walked away.

“You brought the wrong weapon,” David pointed out.

“My captain told me to bring my M4”

“You need to be light; need your M9. You’re carrying a bunch of camera gear, on top of full battle rattle, and get rid of those stupid knee pads. Slow ya down.”

“My captain said it’s easier on the knees, trying to get shots.”

“Your captain sounds like an idiot. It’s just more shit to lose.”

“So, what do you recommend I take?”

“M9 always, unless directed otherwise. One camera body. One lens. A twenty-four to seventy...starting out. Once you get some miles under ya, be a two-body shooter. One wide, one long. That it’s it. These Army idiots are gonna look at you like dead weight. Bullets start coming, they start running. Gotta keep up. They you this shit at CST?”

“I did the two-week course at Bliss.”

“That figures. Go ahead and drop that gear. Guarantee we don’t leave for two hours -- at most.”

Ed dropped his gear like he dropped five bags of groceries carried up a flight of stairs. Took a big swig of water, then checked his gear neurotically.

“Relax,” David said. “Take advantage of the down time. Won’t be this easy once we roll out.”

Ed stared at all the commotion around him, then at David, who was just chilling and puffing.

“This your first time in Afghanistan?” Ed asked.

“Third.”

“Bet you seen a lot.”

“You’d win that bet.”

“You married?”

David looked at Ed.

“You writing a story?”

“No. Just killing some time.”

David contemplated to answer while puffing and loading ammo.

“Was married. Old lady divorced me long time ago.”

“I’m sorry. Hear deployments are tough on marriages.”

“Wasn’t the reason.”

“Mind if I ask what was the reason?”

Another Army soldier walked by in full battle rattle, smoking a cigarette.

“You Air Force fags get lost or something?” the soldier cracked.

“No, but I see Army still letting retards join,” David said back with a smile.

Some good-natured tomfoolery between different services in war.

“She thought I was cheating on her with a coworker stateside.”

“Were you?”

“Nope. The bitch was talking shit on base, and you know bases -- small and connected. Wife caught wind of it, I said it wasn’t true, but didn’t matter. She wanted out anyway. Wasn’t exactly winning husband or father of year awards, but never a cheater. That’s a UCMJ offense. Ain’t worth it. Love the job too much. That was a problem too.”

The first soldier joined conversation again.

“Good news. Depart time got pushed back an hour. Top was called into a meeting with the command,” then left.

David took a big puff off his cigar. “Told ya.”

“Good call…got any kids?”

“A son. He’s thirteen. You?”

“My wife gave birth last month actually. His name is Stephen.”

“Make sure you call home a lot. Trust me. And stay away from the desert queens.”

“What are those?”

“Women that are fives stateside…but think their tens out here. And get a lot of attention from men. Married or not.”

“Don’t have to worry about that. What kind of action goes on out here?’

Just as Ed said that…BRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTT…off in the distance. Then the sound of ten large thuds hitting dirt. A sound so extraordinary, yet unassuming, David didn’t flinch and kept puffing his cigar, like he heard it thousands of times before.

“What the hell was that?” Ed asked.

“A-10 sending Taliban to their 72 virgins.”

“Where did it come from?”

“Where we’re going.”

“What?”

“That’s where the bad guys are. Why we’re here.”

Ed got anxious and started checking his gear again. Another BBBRRRRRTTTTT, followed by more thuds from the same location.

“You nervous?” David asked.

“Little.”

“Just stay behind the Army. And don’t be that idiot trying to get the shot. This isn’t CST. Real bullets. Real bombs. You’ll be fine. When you put on Staff?”

Ed kept silent. Things just got real for him.

“Airman?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry. Just a fun day in the dirt. Better than sitting behind a desk. How old did you say your kid was?”

“A month old.”

“How long you been married?”

“About a year.”

“How’d ya guys meet?”

“Tech school.”

The first soldier, now in full battle rattle, sunglasses and a weapon, interrupted again.

“Good news. Top can’t make it. We roll out in ten. But no room for both of ya. We need an open seat for our interpreter. Leave that up to you two. Go ahead and get locked and loaded.”

“Roger that,” David confirmed.

Ed and David started to gear up, thinking each was hitching a ride.

“No need to put that shit on, you ain’t going,” David demanded.

“What do you mean? I gotta get photos of that meeting.”

“You heard him, only room for one. I’ll get the photos for ya.”

“What the hell am I gonna tell my captain?”

“I’ll talk to him when I get back. PA loves combat camera. You don’t want to go anyway.”

“How do you know?”

“That look on your face. See it all the time. Delta’s convoying back to KAF. Get a ride with them. I should be back about fourteen hundred.”

“You sure?”

“Get on that fucking MRAP. Go call your wife.”

“Thanks. I’ll be in the office till you get there.”

David slid on his old dusty sunglasses in a slick way, like Don Johnson would on Miami Vice. Racked his nine, putting one in the chamber, then holstering the weapon. Slung two camera bodies over his shoulders, snapped his helmet, performed a quick flak vest and ammo check, then flicked his cigar to the dirt, really cool like.

“You owe me a near-beer,” David said with a grin.

David sat down inside the Stryker, giving Ed a one-finger salute, as the door closed. Ed watched the convoy roll out, before hoping on his own back to base.

Ed was greeted by his annoyed-looking boss, as he entered the office with his unnecessary gear.

“What are you doing back already?” Captain asked.

“I got bumped off the convey.”

“By who?”

“This master sergeant from the 4th.”

“Combat Camera?”

“Yes, sir. Army said both of us couldn’t go. Needed an open seat for their interpreter. Sergeant Holland volunteered. He said he’ll get his photos to me later today.”

“I coordinated that mission last week. had to go through a lot of shit to get it approved. I wanted 75th to get those photos, not the 4th. Those assholes always get the fun shit and were stuck with bullshit here on base. You should have stayed.”

“I tried. He outranked me.”

“I outrank both of you. Gonna have a word with Sergeant Holland when he gets back. Fucking combat camera. Shit happens all the time.”

Ed walked to his desk like a scolded puppy caught taking a shit on the floor.

“Airman Hommer…next time…you finish the mission. And you better hope he gets the photos I expect.”

“Yes, sir.”

The time was 4:30, and no David. Ed checked the clock every minute, then went back to typing. He could hear Captain doing the same thing in his office. Captain’s cell phone then rang.

“Hello…what…when…how many?”

Ed eavesdropped on the conversation.

“Any Air Force…who’s he with…shit. Thanks. We’ll get right on it.”

Captain hung up.

“Hommer, come here?”

Ed walked to the office. You could tell the phone call rattled the captain. He didn’t say anything for about a thirty seconds, just stared in a different direction, taking deep breaths through his nose.

“An IED hit a Stryker, on the way to Kandahar. Three KIA. One was Air Force -- Sergeant Holland, combat camera.”

Ed dropped his face into the palms of his hands.

“Hey…

Ed came up for air.

“We need to get a press release out ASAP. The ramp ceremony is at twenty hundred. Gonna need photos of that.

“What’s a ramp ceremony?”

“They off load the caskets on the flightline. All the units of the fallen will be there to receive. Probably a pastor too. Great imagery. Can you handle that?”

Ed took a beat…

“Least I can do for Sergeant Holland.”

PRESENT DAY:

Tim’s house.

Tim was hanging on every word how his father died. Years of cloudy details – mostly coming from his biased mother – opened his eyes to the past.

Tim stood up and walked over to a table to compose himself. His eyes welled up. Ed’s son, Stephen, walked over to Tim and handed him a tissue from a box next to him.

“Thank you,” Tim said. “My mom told me he died from a bomb – she couldn’t know you were in the picture – but why lie about the infidelity?”

“I got the opinion your mom had enough being second in your dad’s life. Can’t hold it against her. But I wanted you to know… I’m alive today because of your dad. If he doesn’t have the wherewithal to see that…let’s call it what it was…. a scared, young airman not ready for war… my son is fatherless. That’s why I went to his funeral. That would have been mine.”

Ed walked over to Tim.

“I imagine this is a lot. Me and my son are gonna leave you alone (Ed put his hand out). Thank you for letting me tell my story about your dad. Means a lot to me.” The two shook hands. “Say goodbye, Stephen.”

“Bye. Nice to meet you.”

(Wiping away tears) “Nice to meet you too.”

“Contact me anytime. Take care.”

“Thank you.”

“Let’s go, Stephen.”

Ed and his son departed out the door. Tim watched them leave for a second, then went into his office and sat down behind his computer. Starting to type, he couldn’t keep it in any longer. He let it all go, like a built-up damn bursting. His keyboard became drenched with tears. He composed himself and went back to typing.

“I started my article with a different opinion of my father and what it meant to me on this Veteran’s Day. History has this innate ability to distort what or who we think someone truly is. Emotions will attempt to roadblock any added information to the surface. Family can create the largest roadblocks of them all. On this Veteran’s Day, if you still have the chance, and your father is or was a veteran, accept he may not be or was perfect in terms of a father, and probably number one in his heart, but wearing a uniform put that hierarchy to the test, for the greater good.”

Ed clicked the save button, then walked out of his office.