Still, he couldn’t meet those hard old eyes. “Gretchen and Jeff are fine, Veron—”
“How many?”
“All three. All of them.”
Silence. Then, quietly, Veronica spoke. “They drove them off, then. Yes?”
A bit surprised by the words, Mike was finally able to look at her. He was even more surprised to see that the hard face showed no signs of grief beyond something faintly discernable in the set of her eyes.
“I could tell by your face. You understand very little, Michael Stearns. Someday you may come to understand the difference between sorrow and despair. But I hope not. I would like to think my young boys did not live and die in vain.”
That same night, after getting the news from Frank Jackson, James Nichols stared at the walls of an empty house. Realizing for the first time how much he had been looking forward to a grandchild.
An empty house. Melissa gone. Sharon gone. Hans gone forever.
There was a knock on the door. When he opened it, Tom Stone bustled through with his three teenage sons. One of them was carrying a cardboard box.
“Bummer, man,” Stoner pronounced. “Really is.”
“How’d you know?” James asked.
“The whole town probably knows by now,” said Tom’s oldest son Frank. “There’s a line of people standing outside Mayor Dreeson’s house, waiting to give their condolences.”
“We just came from there ourselves,” added one of the other boys. Ron, that was. “Annalise is taking it pretty hard, but she’s trying to bear up. It’d be a lot easier for her if Gramma were still here.”
“The whole town’s bummed out,” said Stoner. “Really bummed out. Those kids were . . . you know. Special.”
He gave Nichols a scrutiny. “I figured you’d be in bad shape too. That’s why we came over. Keep you some company and—”
He gestured toward the cardboard box in the hands of his son Gerry. The box was covered, so Nichols couldn’t see what was in it.
Given Stoner, on the other hand, he thought he could guess.
“I am not in the mood to get high,” he growled.
Stoner’s eyes widened. “Hey, doc, take it easy. It’s not grass. It’s flowers. I grow them too, y’know.”
“Oh.” James felt a bit sheepish. “Thanks.”
He started to reach for the box but Stoner took his outstretched arm and started leading him toward the door. “They’re not for you, man. They’re for the shrine. But we thought—you being Sharon’s dad, and all—that the honor of placing the first flowers should go to you.”
“What shrine?”
When they showed him, James felt his spirits lift. Not much, but some. Stoner and his boys had already set up the receptacles for the flowers—two very large terra-cotta pots, placed on either side of a little walkway. The walkway led to the trailer complex where, in the days after the Ring of Fire, Jeff Higgins and Jimmy Andersen and Eddie Cantrell and Larry Wild had taken into their home and hearts a man named Hans Richter and his family.
It was fitting, he decided. That somewhat ramshackle trailer complex was perhaps the truest symbol of what those courageous youngsters had died for. And, somehow, an old hippie had figured out the perfect memoriam to paint on the flowerpots.
One read: Gone but not forgotten.
The other: We remain.
The next morning, sitting at his desk, Admiral John Simpson finished reading Colonel Wood’s after action report—for perhaps the tenth time since it had arrived the night before. His jaws tight, he set it aside and picked up the attachment. That, he had read perhaps twenty times. Whatever comfort there was to be found, would be found there.
CITATION TO ACCOMPANY THE AWARD OF
THE DISTINGUISHED FLYING CROSS
TO
CAPTAIN HANS RICHTER, U.S. AIR FORCE
Captain Hans Richter, assigned to the 1st Air Squadron, U.S. Air Force, distinguished himself in aerial combat against enemies of the United States, during the defense of Wismar, 7 October, 1633. On that date, Capt. Richter was ordered to support U.S. naval forces defending the strategically vital city of Wismar against a Danish invasion fleet. In response to orders, Capt. Richter provided vital tactical information to U.S. naval forces preparing to attack the enemy. He continued to conduct essential reconnaissance until, in the course of combat operations, the chain of command of U.S. forces was disrupted. Capt. Richter, recognizing that continued offensive operations could rout the enemy, immediately pressed an independent attack against the enemy flagship. In this attack, he severely damaged the enemy ship, at the cost of severe personal injury and damage to his aircraft. Despite his wounds, Capt. Richter continued his attack against the enemy armada. He subsequently attacked another Danish warship, which he destroyed, though suffering fatal injuries. This last attack broke the fighting spirit of the Danish fleet and ensured the safety of Wismar. Through his courage and determination against superior enemy forces, Capt. Richter brought great credit upon himself and the United States Air Force and is hereby awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross.