During the height of the Vietnam Conflict, the senior King shot up through the army ranks. A hard-nosed infantry commander, King, familiarized his son with the way of the grunt. The military father taught and instilled the respect of hard work in the young Vaughn. Coming from an army background, King was happy when his son took his place in King’s males who served. The younger King stepped into his father’s boots. Instead of ground forces, Vaughn King, the 3rd took to the air and became an exceptional aviator.
An authentic military royalty, Vaughn King 3rd, came from a line of military officers with honorable service in the armed forces. Starting with his great grandfather, who first joined the army and served in Europe during WWII and in the Philippines Island. A tradition of military service to the country was born. Due to the war in the Middle East, the young King became battle-tested. While he proved his mettle in the skies over Iraq, his father lived a retired general’s life. Traveling first class just about anywhere in the world, King bore no real political ambitions. He held a cushy desk job at the state department in Washington, DC. King tried to absorb the effect of the unfortunate development. Controlling his emotion proved difficult. The news of his son’s demise hit him like a hard punch in the gut, cutting the air off and threatening to break him.
With sadness written all over his face, King glanced at his family’s photo when they were all together. It was one of him, his young wife, and son sitting at dinner. King’s forlorn expression stayed stuck in his eyes. He stared at the photo of his twelve-year-old son standing in front of his pretty wife, Hillary. King was hugging her, and she was hugging their son. Hillary wore her blond hair swept across her face like Marilyn Monroe. A smile appeared, but then King blinked. He felt loneliness washing over him, and leaving his heart soaking in sorrow.
Tears suddenly streamed down his face. The retired general reached into his desk drawer and removed the loaded .45 handgun he kept there. King held the weapon in his hand as if calculating the weight. His focus shifted from the photos on his desk to the Colt 45, and back again. He searched for an answer to this nightmare. He wanted to reach the end.
Throwing his arms up, he let out a loud yell. King held the scream until his lungs went empty. Rocked by his emotions, King’s entire body convulsed. His six-two-frame collapsed, and tears rolled from his cheeks. Still holding the cold steel in his hand, King wiped his face. He had the gun tight when King turned his head. King saw his son’s photo with his wife. His wife sent it to him while he was on duty during the Viet Nam war.
Shaking his head, he sighed and said, “He didn’t even have time to father an heir…a grandson…”
His uttering resonated in his mind, caused his body to shudder with emotions. King’s chest heaved up and down. Then the senior King cried aloud from deep inside a cavern of bereavement. Raising the gun to the side of his dome, King gripped the trigger housing. His finger slipped the safety off and automatically moved to the trigger. His face broke out in a sweat, and tears blinded the senior King. His veins popped up in his forehead, bracing for an explosion.
Better judgment took over when he saw a photo of his smiling son with Diana King. Putting the gun down on the desk, he picked up the phone. Then King dialed the number from memory. He waited and listened to the ringing until an incoming message from an answering machine greeted him. It was the voice of his daughter-in-law, Diana King.
“You have reached the King’s residence. Neither one of us is here to answer your call right now. Please leave a message at the tone…”
There was a very long beep. The shaken King sputtered into the receiver.
“Diana, please call me…and ah, let me know how you are doing. Ah, I got the message that ah Vaughn—my son was—” the grieving father stopped short before continuing. “Just call me back, Diana. I’m on my way down to Alabama.”
Vaughn Matthew King picked up the telephone and made a call to reserve a flight out of the nearest airport. Then stumbling through his emotions, he began pacing. King was a disciplined man. From daily walks to his work schedule, he lived a disciplined military style. The news left him ultimately weakened. It was as if he didn’t know what next to do. Cautiously glancing around, King realized that he was still holding the telephone.
One thing was sure. King had to travel to Ft. Rucker, Alabama. Slumped shoulder, King’s lanky frame seemed to hang like wet branches on a massive tree after the rain. Teary-eyed, King willed his frozen body to return the phone to its place on the charger. Then lumbering to his closet, it appeared that the weight of the world was on his shoulders. The news broke his spirit while he dragged out an olive drab U.S. Army duffel bag. Tears were still rolling while he quietly started packing.
Hours later, King was all dressed up but felt unwilling to leave his house. His head was still reeling as he mentally went through a checklist of all the items in his duffel bag. Removing the photo of his son, wife, and himself, King laid it on top of his clothing and closed the bag. Silently he set the alarm. Then seemingly flowing on automatic, the heavyhearted King walked out of his house.
CHAPTER
3
The next morning Dr. Diana King awoke and glanced at her cellphone. A vast amount of missed calls were littering her caller I.D. log awaited her. Scrolling through them with great haste, Diana decided to call Dr. Ruth Janopolis, her mentor. She was close to both families, and especially to Diane’s.
Dr. Janopolis served as an officer in the United States Army and participated in Operation Desert Shield. Since 1991, Dr. Janopolis provided psychotherapy for returning soldiers. She continued to serve after the victory of the U.S. led coalition forces. Dr. Janopolis’ continual psychotherapeutic research was instrumental in identifying and defining factors combat stress played in military personnel’s high turnover rate.
September 11, 2001, a deadly coordinated attack on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon resulted in military action. The US-led coalition force successfully carried out a swift, precise response. Despite the successful outcome, Weapons of Mass Destruction allegedly thought to be in Iraq. Many soldiers at U.S. bases were already on full alert status. Prepped, they were ready for deployment to another Gulf War. Because of readiness status, some of these soldiers were participating in multiple Gulf campaigns. As a result, there was a crushing to morale, and retention level reached an all-time low. The work of Dr. Janopolis became a higher priority and proved to be a successful factor in the overseas campaign.
Her research and participation in clinical psychotherapy eventually led to a suitable launching of Dr. Janopolis’ private practice. Her popularity in research magazines and psychotherapy led to a boost in the demands of the doctor. Besides being involved with the treatment of thousands of returning troops diagnosed with combat neurosis, popularly known as Gulf War Syndrome, Dr. Janopolis also did a lecture tour on the college circuit.
On one such tour, Dr. Janopolis met a twenty-year-old graduate student. Diana Cornfield, filled with Southern charm and wit, pursued doctoral studies at the University of Kentucky. Diana found out that the doctor had a practice in Fort Campbell, Kentucky. They were both from Alabama, and Janopolis knew Diana’s mother. A very close bond developed between Dr. Janopolis and the young student.
When Diana received news that her younger brother graduated from basic training at Paris Island and was pending deployment to the Persian Gulf, she immediately turned to Dr. Janopolis. The renowned therapist was instrumental in assisting Diana through this period. After graduating, Dr. Janopolis gave Diana the apprenticeship. Diana began interning in the treatment of many postwar, combat fatigued veterans.
Not only were returning soldiers from the Gulf War diagnosed in abundance for medical issues ranging from a skin rash to memory loss, but aviators would also have scheduled training and pre-training psych evaluation. Diana noticed that this was not the same for other military specialties. The discovery drew her curiosity, and while going through files, Diana questioned aviation referrals.
“Dr. Jan, don’t mean to bother you, but I’ve just got one question,” Diana said.
“You’re never bothering me. Ask away, Diana,” Dr. Janopolis said.