Shawn nodded and said in a soft voice, “Thank you, sir.”
“There are some things I want to go over with you before you leave. I have written them down in this letter.” He handed the sealed envelope to Shawn. “You can open it after leaving this office. To summarize the contents, it authorizes you leave for one month. This is longer than usual, but you have provided exceptional service to this unit, and I believe it is justified under the circumstances. There is another piece. You may have forgotten, but your enlistment is up in forty-three days.” Fredericks paused again to let it sink in. He watched as Shawn registered his awareness with a look that was more inward. A look that reflected relief and confusion.
“I am offering you a bonus and a promotion if you decide to reenlist. You will be promoted to petty officer first class as soon as you sign your papers. I encourage you to do so. It has been an honor to be your commanding officer, and the Navy and I greatly appreciate your service. The next item is very important.” He watched Shawn to be sure he was attentive; then when he was satisfied, he said, “With the support of your previous commanding officer and the division of the Navy, we have completely expunged the records of the incident with Seaman Lawrence. I am not giving you a written notice of this as your involvement in this incident is no longer on the books—anywhere.”
Shawn stared at the captain. His jaw slack and lips parting, he said, “So there is no record of the fight?”
“There is no record of your involvement in this incident, and that is all I can tell you. In essence, you were never involved in any kind of altercation or investigation during your naval career. This means you would receive an honorable discharge should you decide to end your enlistment.”
“Thank you again, sir. I am very relieved to hear that.” This was the first real good news since his return from the mission. It was slowly sinking in that the incident was still on record, but that he was no longer involved. He wondered if Seaman Lawrence received that same exoneration. He doubted it, given the phrasing by Captain Fredericks.
“One last thing. I am not trying to prevent your reenlistment, but should you decide to go civilian, I have authorized you to be dismissed in San Diego, California. You will need to contact the naval base there using the email address and phone number I have provided in the letter. You may also decide to continue your service through the National Guard, although I can imagine that would seem anemic, given your service experiences. Anyway, your plane leaves at zero five thirty tomorrow. Don’t miss it!” Captain Fredericks smiled and stood.
“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”
“Thank you, sailor.”
Shawn stood at attention and smiled for the first time during the meeting. He spun on his heels and walked out of the office with an improved posture and a stronger appearance.
Third Class Petty Officer Gibbons watched him leave, and he nodded in her direction. Now that’s more like what I remembered, she thought wistfully.
Chapter 8
Liberal Shock and Dismay
January 2, 2016—day 1 of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge occupation. From a group of approximately three hundred protesters marching in Burns, Oregon, against the sentencing of local ranchers, a group split off to occupy the refuge.
George Henry clenched and unclenched his large bony fist. Watching the evening news in his hillside home in Portland, Oregon, was painful for him. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the report being delivered on his beloved Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. When they announced that no attempt had been made to stop the occupation, he pounded his fist so loudly on his recliner that his wife jumped.
“God, George, you are out of control!” Jill exclaimed with irritation. “You need to get a grip.”
“I’m not going to get a grip, unless it’s around the red neck of one of those occupiers!” Henry argued. “They have no right to take over the refuge. Who the hell do they think they are?”
“There’s nothing you can do about it. So why worry about it?” Jill countered.
Henry paused and stared at the television, not really seeing the screen. His jaw tensed in his long, narrow face.
After a few seconds, he brightened some and said, “Maybe there is something I can do about it.” He raised his long frame from the chair that was set a few feet from the wall of the great room and stretched.
“Those sons’a bitches are protesting. Maybe I could protest them.” He adjusted his wire-frame glasses and sat back down.
Jill watched George suspiciously. Her blue eyes were steady, but her mouth carried a slight frown. She did not speak. After eighteen years of living with George, she knew he was past the point of reason. Only one question remained: what was he about to do? She silently reflected on the time he had decided to take karate lessons. His decision followed a break-in at their home. No one was home at the time, but George had obsessed over what would happen if one of them were home. He had purchased a pistol, but he wasn’t satisfied with that and started talking about both taking self-defense classes.
Jill had balked. She had no interest in being in a gym full of sweaty fighters. After she expressed her reluctance, George had corrected her, saying that the term was dojo. He went on to explain, as he often did, that a gym was a term derived from the Greek word gymnasium and that the participants of ancient Greece participated in the nude. Jill smiled slightly as she recalled the conversation. What she remembered was that George had convinced her to join with him in taking karate classes.
Jill’s participation had lasted less than a month. She was never athletic, and the demands of her normal responsibilities left her feeling frustrated with her progress. When George tried to practice with her at home, it was funny. Funny if you were watching like a fly on the wall. Not funny if you were Jill. At six feet five, he was more than a foot taller than her. His strength was too much for her, and she often got hurt when sparring. George seemed to take perverse pleasure in blocking her punches and then taking her to the ground. The final blow came when he lost control of his takedown, and she banged into a chair. She flew backward into the chair and banged her head on the arm. She hit hard enough that they debated whether to take her to the emergency room. For three days afterward, Jill sported a lump on the back of her head.
From that day forward, Jill refused to do anything related to karate, at least not where George could see her. George continued his lessons and would come home telling her in detail about his katas and his progress. After nearly two years of seemingly obsessive effort, George announced he had achieved a first-degree black belt.
The obsession did not stop there. He was nearing the next evaluation for his second-degree black belt when the Bundy brothers and other rancher supporters occupied the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge. Jill was realizing there was no use trying to persuade George to relax over the occupation.
“So what are you going to do?”
“I think I might just go over to Burns and see what I can do,” he responded. “I know the authorities won’t like it, but I don’t see that they are doing anything about it, and that just pisses me off!”
“You know, George, going there would be dangerous. I mean, they are carrying guns, and they seem to know how to use them,” Jill complained.
“Aww, I don’t know. I’m just so pissed, and they are getting away with this. I may just start with some letters to the governor and to some of the other lawmakers. I have to do something! I will think about it, but I think I will go. Even if it’s dangerous. I will think about it,” he said, shaking his head solemnly.
George