Chapter 10
XX
A/N: I am attempting to adopt Jenny wrens' practice of answering reviews from one chapter in the opening author's notes of the next one. Here goes!
Blue Leader: Thank you for the review of Chapter 9, and your compliments of my work. As for your question, I am too busy to consider writing anything in the "Transformers" universe right now.
Jenny wrens: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all your eloquent and thoughtful reviews. Alex St. Esprit IV does indeed dislike Tony quite a lot, as does Mark Golan. Both of them come from homes where military discipline is a way of life, and where the parents are constantly attentive and engaged. Tony is used to things being much looser, and he instinctively resists what St. Esprit and Golan consider the only acceptable way to live. Of course, Tony is also just not meant to be in the military, whereas St. Esprit and Golan are born and bred for it. Those two are influential and dangerous to have as enemies, but Tony has already made his choice there.
Also to Jenny wrens: Chris has mental health issues that have gone unaddressed for some time, mainly because he has conspired to hide it from everyone, even from Josh. He behaves erratically out of a daredevil spirit, a desire to impress people and be liked, and beyond that he just does it to do it. Chris changes his behavior partly depending on who he is around. A desperate need to fit in and be liked is not his only reason/motive, but it is a notable one. Josh does not plan to tell his adopted father about the full extent of what happened, and he has been hiding things Chris has done, covering for him, for years now. Out of blind loyalty, I suppose, thinking that is the best way to protect Chris and his prospects for the future. Josh spent the first 14 years of his life utterly alone save for Chris, who was dependent on him, so he may never have fully adjusted to turning to others to help solve so personal a thing as trouble with his brother.
XX
Chris was more and more restless as the car drove up Pennsylvania Avenue and past a crowd of press to the front gate. Finally, he spoke up, looking anxiously at his brother.
"Josh, for the luvva God, I'm sor-"
"Don't say anything," Josh said, his voice quiet but firm.
Chris looked like he still wanted to talk, but he obeyed. Tony knew better than to say anything. Josh was clearly in no mood for a conversation.
"Gentlemen," one of the agents said, "we're not driving you to your execution."
"Then what is it?" Josh asked tersely.
"That we can't tell you, Captain. Not yet."
Josh sighed.
Tony devoted himself to picking dust and lint off his cadet dress uniform, straightening the necktie. Inwardly he relaxed, but only a little. It was nice to know the two cadets and the Marine officer weren't about to get shot, but what was happening, then? Especially given what had just gone down at the airport…
The long black car was admitted through the gate, and its driver continued on until he stopped beside one of the most famous buildings in the United States, one of its most enduring symbols. More men in black suits were positioned around, and one of them opened the rear right door on the Cadillac. Quickly, quietly, and efficiently, the men in black escorted the two boys and the Marine officer into the White House. As Tony looked around, he realized he'd somehow expected the place to be bigger. And newer. It was kind of just an old house. Lots of history to it, sure, and Tony supposed someone who knew anything about architecture might find it suitably old and dignified, but to him, it was just a random house that everybody had decided was a really big deal.
Then a bunch of people in business suits, some gray, some black, some blue, bustled up and started practically hustling the three through door after door.
"Okay," a woman said officiously to them, "once the ceremony starts-"
"Ceremony?" Josh interrupted, sounding dumbfounded. "What-"
"Your father's already on site, I just spoke to him, now-"
"What!" Josh exclaimed. "What is going on? Will someone tell me something?"
The woman sighed impatiently and turned to one of the agents. "Christ. Jake, didn't you tell them anything?"
"My team and I were given strict instructions not to."
"Well, you certainly did a good job of that!" The woman turned to Josh, never once slowing or breaking stride. "Okay. I don't have time to catch you up, Captain. We have two hours' worth of events scheduled for the same forty-five minutes. Wait here. Everything will be clear to you soon."
And just like that, the three were left in some antechamber, surprisingly alone in the eternally-busy White House. Somewhere, down a hall, a phone was ringing. Then another. Tony fidgeted with his uniform buttons and wondered what in the hell was behind all this. And who, although he was starting to get an idea about that one.
A four-star general in Marine dress blues entered the room, and Josh snapped to attention.
"Attention on deck-"
"At ease." The general smiled at Josh, clapped him on both shoulders. "There'll be stars on these shoulders of yours, and sooner than you know it, too."
"Sir? I- I don't know what's going on."
The tall, broad-shouldered man had hawk-like brown eyes, seated beneath a buzz-cut of iron-gray hair. His face was flawlessly-clean shaven, and when his grin broadened, it gave Tony an even better look at a set of perfectly white teeth.
"You're not in any trouble, I can tell you that. The President wants to handle the rest. He set this whole thing up himself."
"The President is involved in this, sir?"
"Like I said, it was his idea."
Josh looked stunned. "I thought-"
"The mess at the airport's been taken care of," the general said. "Don't worry about it. Although I would recommend you two make better choices in the future."
"Yes, sir," Chris said instantly. He stood perfectly upright and looked intensely focused and alert.
"Yes, sir," Tony added. He had no ambitions of getting arrested at any more airports just yet. Once was good.
"You'll be going to the East Room in a minute. Before you do, I wanted you to say hello to this old Marine warhorse I found. Somebody's giving the old son of a bitch a medal."
Sergeant Major Thomas Marshall entered the room exactly on cue, row after row of medals gleaming and clinking softly as he moved in his full dress uniform. Tony wondered just how you lived long enough to acquire all those; Thomas Marshall had begun his military career when he was even younger than Chris and Tony were now.
"Hello, boys," Thomas Marshall rumbled. "Not getting arrested at any airports, are we? Starting fights with airport police is frowned upon in the Corps."
"Uh, no, Dad," Chris said, shuffling his feet. The highly-decorated cadet sergeant major managed to grin sheepishly. "Well, maybe a little."
"There we go. See, Jack? He's an idiot sometimes but he's got some integrity."
"Aw, c'mon, Dad-"
"Having a good morning so far, Josh?" Thomas Marshall asked, turning to his eldest son.
"Well, Dad, nobody's telling me what's going on."
"The President insisted on telling all of you himself, Josh," the general said.
"General Owens, with respect-"
"Oh, hell, Josh, you're a little too serious sometimes," General Owens told him. "Listen, everything's fine. Better than that, actually; a hell of a lot better."
Owens grinned again and hugged Josh suddenly, gripping him in a tight bear-hug. He did the same for Thomas Marshall a few moments later.
"Hell, Tom, this is long overdue. We both know it is. You and your boys deserve everything you're about to get."
"Hey, go easy on me, or everybody's gonna think I'm spoken for," Thomas Marshall replied, grinning but maintaining his gruff tone of voice.
"Gentlemen," a man in black said, "I hate to interrupt but it's almost time to start."
"Right," General Owens said, all business again. "If you'll excuse me, I need to secure that front-row seat they promised me."
An agent positioned himself at a door to the right, and Tony got a glimpse of a spacious room with a high ceiling and some real tall windows as the agent briefly opened the door and gave a hand-signal to someone.
"Okay," he said, "Mr. DiNozzo, go on through. Take a seat next to General Owens. Go, go, go."
"Sure," Tony said. He headed in through the door, keeping his dress cover under his left arm. His dress shoes made little echoes as the heels hit the polished wooden floor. To the left, lit up by a variety of powerful lights, was a large stage, the back of which was lined with various flags. A podium with a microphone sticking up off it stood alone at the center.
"Over here, son," General Owens called, and Tony started; he hadn't realized he'd been walking over towards the stage as he stared at it. A little too nervous to do or say anything else, Tony took the seat that the general had indicated and waited.
For the next several minutes various uniformed personnel with a great many medals and ribbons between them filtered into the room, along with even more men and women in what had to be a variety of hand-tailored suits. There were men in black everywhere, ushering press into their section further back from the stage. A few more men and women with cameras also showed up, looking and acting more like government staff than press.
Finally, the murmur of steady conversation died down as an agent opened another door, opposite of where Tony had entered the room. This, he realized, was the East Room, the place where fancy balls and ceremonies got held at the White House. Tony had heard Dad yak about that for some reason, sometime or another. He gave a thumbs-up to the man at the other door, and Thomas Marshall marched formally into the room and up onto the stage, followed by his adopted sons. The three were perfectly in step, Tony saw, and when they halted, they executed a simultaneous right-face flawlessly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," an agent called as several of his fellows fanned out into the room, "the President of the United States."
Everyone in the room stood, and Tony, swept along by the moment, was on his feet, applauding just as hard as he could as President Ronald Reagan strode into the room. An Army veteran, this man could take care of himself, but when you were this kind of important bodyguards were just a given. Tony liked Reagan, even admired him. The former actor carried himself with presence, with charisma, and he had style.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Reagan said as he reached the podium and faced the audience. "Thank you. I want to say what a privilege it is to be here today, and to have all these fine men and women here in this room, from the Joint Chiefs of Staff to the magnificent men and women of the White House press corps. Every one of us here in this room has, in some way or some fashion, devoted ourselves to service. To not just the United States as a government, or the Armed Forces or the press that support and defend it, but to the idea of America itself."
"From the sunny beaches of California to the fields and mountains of the Federal Republic of Germany, from the hills of the Republic of Korea to the White House right here in Washington, all the peoples of the free world, everywhere, yearn for and strive toward the same things. We hold the same values. We pray the same prayers. And day after day, we work so that the same common hopes become and remain a reality."
"There are some who ask me, 'But what are we doing in Germany or Korea? For what reason did we send our boys to Vietnam? What is Asia or Europe to us?' Sometimes we forget that wherever Americans stand, we carry our principles with us. Sometimes we forget that the light of our free society shines beyond our borders, extending a beacon of hope to the citizens of oppressed lands. We must never forget that no weapon in all the arsenals of the world is so formidable as the will and the moral courage of free men and women. It is a weapon that our adversaries in today's world do not have, and will never have, whatever they might think of their own resolve. No one personifies the will and the courage of free men better than the three standing beside me, here in the East Room today."
"Born in the midst of the Great Depression, Thomas Wayne Marshall never had it easy. Before he had even graduated from high school, he joined the United States Marine Corps, where he earned the Bronze Star and Silver Star during the Battle of Iwo Jima. He fought in Korea, where he was decorated again and again, and some ten years later left his country once more to serve the cause of freedom in the Republic of Vietnam. An experienced tank commander, a gifted leader of Marines from the United States and the Republic of Vietnam alike, he devoted himself to keeping his men alive under any conditions. Like our mighty Rockies and Appalachians, he endured."
"Twenty-one years ago, Thomas Marshall was on his third tour of duty in Vietnam, a first sergeant who took on the challenging tasks of mentoring a young Marine captain and leading a joint force of American and Vietnamese Marines with equal skill. Twenty-one years ago, when Harold Moore's battalion was under heavy fire in the Ia Drang valley, Thomas Marshall and all the Marines around him answered the Army's call for aid. To their brothers in need, they said, "We are coming. We will carry the weight."
"Making effective use of a platoon of M67 Flamethrower Tanks, Thomas Marshall led a bold counterassault to distract and confuse and demoralize the enemy. They blazed a path through the jungle for others to follow. When his tank was hit and disabled by enemy fire, Thomas Marshall did not stop at rescuing the other two Marines who crewed the tank with him. He immediately took command of another M67, then assisted in the rescue of its crew when it, too, was disabled. Two M48 tanks, one American, one Vietnamese, were also disabled as the Marines pressed on to their objective, and Thomas Marshall ensured as many of their crews as possible were saved while also directing the movement and fire of his company, which had by then lost its commander. The Marines did not reach Harold Moore's forces until the following morning, but reach them they did. Soldiers and Marines alike endured all the enemy could throw at them. They could not be broken, in no small part because of the valor of men and leaders like Thomas Marshall."
"His actions are a beacon to all of us who have come here today in tribute to his valor. Sergeant Major Thomas Wayne Marshall, on behalf of the Congress and the people of the United States of America, it is my great privilege to present you with the Medal of Honor."
Thomas Marshall did not move or speak. He stood as rigid as a statue as applause filled the room, his jaw set firmly in place. President Reagan took a bright blue ribbon from the podium, strode to stand just behind Thomas Marshall, and hung the decoration around his neck. The golden star that was suspended from the ribbon gleamed brilliantly under the lights. It looked a bit like an upside-down sheriff's badge from the Old West. Tony could see some stuff was engraved on the medal but couldn't make it out.
Reagan had returned to the podium.
"Set on following their father in his example, Joshua and Christian Marshall have also dedicated their lives to the service of others. Time and again their alma mater, the Remington Military Academy, has decorated and praised them for their personification of the Academy's Honor Code and noble standards of virtue. It was by these standards, and the valor of their father, that these two found courage and inspiration when danger struck only last August, when the brothers were traveling the world together, on a cruise off the coast of Africa. Abandoned by its captain and crew and laboring in heavy seas, the MTS Oceanos was doomed by the time Joshua Scott Marshall reached her bridge and found it empty. But thanks to his heroic efforts, and those of his brother, her passengers were not. Finding the captain and crew of the Oceanos had abandoned their ship and duty, Josh Marshall decided he would not. Together with his brother, he said, "I will take command. I will carry the weight." So resolved, he operated the ship's communications systems to send out calls for aid. Numerous seagoing rescuers and the South African Defense Force heard them."
"Yet even as the Oceanos took on more and more water, struggling as she began to list further and further towards the sea, Joshua remained at his station on the bridge, now assisted by a handful of brave fellow passengers. Sensing the need for leadership below decks, his brother Christian heeded the meaning of his name and went out to aid the many who needed his help. Tirelessly, he fought his way further and further into the bowels of a ship that was without lights, without power. Sustaining a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder amidst heavy rolling, Christian nonetheless organized a ship-wide effort to save the passengers the crew had abandoned. For the next five hours, enduring great pain and the torrential rains lashing the ship, Christian Marshall led groups of passengers to the ship's top decks and directed others who joined him in doing the same."
"While his brother battled to control a ship that he had no training to operate and to use the ship's emergency batteries to stay in contact with rescuers, Christian Marshall fought his own battle- a battle to coordinate and assure hundreds of frightened people. Inspired by the brothers' example, the others who had joined them succeeded in their efforts. Every soul aboard that ship was saved. Yet the Marshall brothers insisted on remaining almost to the end, searching all over the ship to ensure that no one was left behind. Like their father, like all great Americans, they endured in the face of tremendous adversity. Like their father, they could not be broken. Nearly six-hundred lives were saved because of their courage, and it is a privilege and an honor for me to recognize their heroism today. Today, we witness the establishment of a new award, a medal for extraordinary civilian heroism, or extreme courage by a member of the U.S. Armed Forces not engaged in combat."
Regan motioned to an aide this time, who followed him with two rectangular padded cases. He opened the first one up, and Reagan held up the new medal as he stopped in front of Josh.
It was a gilt, blue-enameled, upside-down star, with the Great Seal of the United States on a gold disc at its center. It hung from a gold "V", which attached to the dark blue neck ribbon. Its outer edges were lined with a single thin red and white stripe, and gold fabric gleamed at the center of the ribbon.
"Joshua Scott Marshall, Christian Scott Marshall, for your exemplary heroism and selflessness in the face of the greatest possible danger, I am proud to make you the first and second recipients, respectively, of the Presidential Medal of Valor. Today, you and your father are the waves of the Atlantic, pushing ever westward. You are the great sequoias rising from the Sierra Nevadas- defiant and enduring. You are towers of wisdom and courage, torchlights in the darkness, living reminders of all that is best in our republic."
Reagan hung the first medal around Josh's neck, then Chris's. Both young men looked like they had been hit over the head with a good-sized frying pan, like they couldn't quite believe this was real. With the gold of the medal gleaming under the lights, the polished brass buttons shining brilliantly on his uniform, Chris looked nothing like the hell-raising teenager he'd been just hours ago. He was the cadet sergeant major again, upright, lean and successful.
"Thank you," Reagan said, shaking hands with each Marshall. "Thank you."
Then he stood back and began to clap his hands. Applause filled the room as the numerous dignitaries and officials rose to their feet, joined by Tony DiNozzo, who was close enough to see Josh and his adopted father keeping their stoic expressions firmly in place, and the tears in Chris' eyes as he stood beside them.
XX
Having sprung this surprise on the Marshalls and on the nation, the President spared nothing. After briefly chatting with the Marshalls and Tony in private, Reagan sent for a car. Not one of the black ones owned by the Secret Service, but a perfectly normal silver Lincoln Town Car, brand new from the look, smell and feel of it. Given VIP passes and tickets to every monument and museum in Washington, the four headed out into America's capital city for a day of sightseeing. Josh was their unofficial tour guide, and at that role he left Tony greatly impressed.
It wasn't just that Josh knew a lot about the history behind the museums and monuments. Tony had seen people like that before. What surprised Tony was the way Josh described the events a given museum dealt with, the people. Josh talked about it all like it was relevant, interesting. He spoke of moments in history as if he had been there, and of people from decades and centuries past as if he had known them personally. Tony was no historian and doubted he ever would be, but if all historians and history teachers were like Josh, he might have felt more reason to pay attention in social studies classes.
The one place where Josh didn't have much to say was Arlington National Cemetery. After warning Tony that no "teenage macho bullshit" would be tolerated here, on hallowed and sacred ground, he brought Tony and Chris in behind Sergeant Major Thomas Marshall, who appeared to be moving of his own accord, to places here and there in the cemetery that only he knew of.
"David McCann. He was from Durbin, out in West Virginia," the grizzled old noncom said, motioning to one headstone. "Wanted to be a lawyer." At another: "Kevin Ackley. M60 gunner. He threw back a VC grenade. Saved half a platoon."
On and on it went. At some graves, though, the old Marine just stood in silence, his mouth working as if he was trying but unable to speak. He cried but tried to hide it, and Josh and Chris, also struggling, made a point of not noticing.
XX
They were invited back for a formal dinner and ball at the White House, once again in the East Room. This time the press were all over the place, and one thing that appeared to especially irritate Josh was the question of whether the President was trying to fend off heat from Iran-Contra by using medals to distract the public. He answered no questions and forbade Chris and Tony from even looking at the reporters in the brief time they were outside as they left the car and returned to the White House.
Once they were safely inside, Josh turned to his adopted father.
"Dad, if they were gonna have us all up here, why didn't you go with me when I left to take Tony and Chris back?"
"It was suggested that I stay at Lejeune," Thomas Marshall rumbled.
"You knew!"
"It was suggested," the veteran Marine said. "That's all I know." But he was smiling.
XX
After a lot of flowery speeches that Tony found incredibly boring, elegantly-dressed waiters brought out the food, which turned out to be both excellent and plentiful. Tony cheerfully wolfed down a double helping of steak and mashed potatoes, wishing with all his heart that Ronald Reagan would spare whomever was in charge of cooking around the White House to give the lousy cooks up at Remington Military Academy some much-needed lessons.
A great many men of standing and importance stopped by the table to offer congratulations to the three Marshalls, and Josh skillfully greeted and interacted with all of them. He talked to powerful Congressmen, generals, lobbyists and lawyers like he had known them all his life. More than one of these men, most of whom Josh was meeting for the first time, were surprised and impressed by how much he remembered about their public lives, how much Josh could already tell them about themselves. Josh was smooth and diplomatic, and he showed a hint that he'd once been a rather devilish rogue in the especially charming way he greeted the wives of these powerful men.
Tony was overlooked in most of the interactions; he wore no prestigious honors around his neck and was only here by happenstance. It didn't much bother the dark-haired teenager, though; he had little interest in the high-level politics and power games of Washington. Neither did Thomas Marshall, for that matter; in fact, the older man seemed rather uncomfortable amid all the pomp and circumstance. He clearly disliked having such a big fuss made about him, but also clearly knew he couldn't do much besides put up with it.
Then a blonde woman in her twenties, tall and slim, wearing an elegant dress of so dark a blue it was nearly black, approached the table. Josh was on his feet at once, and he bowed and kissed he hand.
"My love," he said quietly. "Elizabeth."
"Joshua," she said, regarding him fondly. "You didn't tell me you were about to make the news."
"I was surprised, cara mia. The President evidently wanted to keep this from everyone. I called as soon as I could."
"You deserve it. All of you do. The world is starting to see what you're worth, Josh."
"Elizabeth, my beloved fiancée, a star to outshine all the heavens, will you join me with the other guests of honor? Will you grace me with the joy and peace that all know in your presence?"
Tony made a gagging gesture behind Josh, and Chris looked startled, then horrified, and then finally clapped his hands to his mouth as he struggled not to laugh.
"Yes, Joshua," Elizabeth answered. "Not all the riches or fame in Heaven or on Earth could tempt me away from you. Every hour I spend with you is the best of all my life."
Taking his fiancée's hand, Josh guided her to an open seat at the table beside him. Looking to Tony, the 26-year-old said, "Tony, this is my fiancée, Elizabeth Moore. We're getting married next spring. Elizabeth, this is Anthony DiNozzo, Junior, the newest superstar on the Remington Military Academy Varsity Basketball team. He's busy chasing ghosts in his spare time, but other than that he's shaping up superbly."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Anthony," Elizabeth said, offering her hand.
Tony stood, bowed slightly, took her hand and brought it gently to his lips in perfect imitation of how Josh had just done it. "Miss Moore," Tony said.
Elizabeth smiled, then turned to her fiancée as the three took their seats. "Chasing ghosts, Josh?"
"Honor Corps, my love. A lot of nonsense about scary campfire ghost stories and barracks legends. It's been a story around Remington since before I was there. It's a lot of harmless nonsense. The overactive imaginations of boys."
"Ah," the pretty blonde replied, nodding her head knowingly. "Well, you'll be out of that soon enough, Tony. Life goes faster than you think."
"Not to mention that school's gonna keep those boys plenty busy," Thomas Marshall said in his deep voice. "Busy enough to focus on what matters."
"Honor Corps does matter," Tony started, but Josh cut him off.
"Elizabeth, did you get that donation to the NCMEC? They need every dollar we can give."
"Yes. The director asked me to personally convey her gratitude."
Josh nodded. "Well, someday there'll be more. Someday I'll give them tens of thousands." His voice took on a passionate, fervent note Tony had not heard from him before. His voice was quiet, but it was obvious he meant every word. "That organization is one of the greatest in the world. If anybody deserves every nickel they get, it's them."
"Good that you care this much," Thomas Marshall said. "It's in your nature, Joshua. Always has been."
"I know, Dad. I just do the best I can."
"It's pretty damned good, son."
"Look at Chris. Dislocated shoulder and a broken arm didn't stop him from saving lives last year. Didn't even slow him down."
Chris was dabbing at his eyes with a napkin. "Guys. Guys, c'mon-"
"You deserve the medal you got today," Josh told his brother. "When I marry Elizabeth, I want you to wear it. Dress grays and everything. You're gonna be my best man."
"Aw," Chris said, and his chest started hitching. A tear landed on the third row of ribbons on his school uniform. He tried to speak again. "Josh- Josh- I want you to be proud of me. I do. I'm gonna get my shit together and do this right."
Josh was silent for a while; Tony stayed quiet, surprised by the heavily emotional atmosphere that had suddenly arisen.
"Chris."
"Yeah?"
"I'll always be proud of you."
That set Chris off even more, and he embraced his elder brother and then hurriedly excused himself.
"I'll make sure he's okay," Tony said, getting up. He bowed to Elizabeth. "Ma'am, good to meet you. I'll be back."
"Behave yourself," Sergeant Major Marshall advised him.
"Yes, sir. Er, yes, Sergeant Major."
XX
Chris was leaned over in front of a bathroom sink when Tony found him; it was obvious he'd been crying quite a lot. He was still sniffling and dabbing at his eyes with a paper towel. His uniform jacket was draped over one of the stall doors, leaving the sergeant major's black-and-gold insignia clearly in view.
"Hey, Sergeant Major," Tony said in greeting.
"Hey," Chris said hoarsely. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to just leave like that."
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Well, I mean, I'm- I don't know."
"What's the problem?"
"I'm a fuckup, Tony. That's the problem."
"You just won a fucking big deal of a medal and you think-"
"Tony!" Chris shouted, turning suddenly. "You don't know who I am! I do! I have been, ever since- ever- ever since-"
Then Chris stopped talking. He stared blankly at Tony for a moment, then giggled, and it was terrifying how weird and unnatural it sounded.
"Oh, I am not nearly drunk enough to get into this," Chris said, and it sounded like he was talking to himself.
"I bet the White House has some good stuff around," Tony said with a grin. "We can fix that."
"No, no. That's not what…" Chris turned away, then looked back. "When we were on the run, Josh told me he'd always be there. He said he'd do anything to protect me, and that he'd never stop no matter what I did. Wherever I go, whatever I do, Josh will be there when I need him."
"So? What's the problem with that?
"Tony, he doesn't get it. I don't deserve his help. And you shouldn't be hanging around me. I'm not the type you want to know."
"What?"
Chris shook his head. "My brother is a great man, Tony. You probably don't realize how great. He's gonna go on to become a fucking big deal. I know that. And then he's got… me. The fuckup. You think a medal changes what someone is underneath?"
"Maybe it says something about what you are underneath. Maybe you don't get what it says about you. That's some fucking great shit you did on that ship, man. I can't believe you did that."
Chris laughed. "Oh, man, I didn't do anything. I just rounded up some people, knocked on a few doors. Josh did all the work. Did you know the captain of our ship actually tried to call back from land and ask how the rescue was going? I didn't know Josh could scream that loud. I didn't know anybody could. God, he was mad."
"You saw him then?"
The redhead nodded. "Yeah. It was near the end. Goddamn ship was rolling all over the place… I used my good arm to throw the door open, then this bitch of a wave almost slaps me overboard anyway. Slopped water all over the bridge floor, but Josh didn't even notice. He was just standing there at the helm, dead center of the bridge, wrestling with the wheel with one hand and fucking ripping the captain a new asshole with the other." Chris laughed again. "Shit, I didn't know he could even speak any Greek."
"How'd you guys get off that ship?"
"South African helicopter lifted us off in this basket-thing. The wind was throwing us around, so I hit the side and almost blacked out a couple times. Then they gave me some morphine and I didn't give a fuck about anything anymore. It was awesome."
"I like your brother," Tony decided. "And, uh, I guess you're not the worst asshole going around."
Chris laughed, and the sound was genuine, warm. It was the way you expected Chris Marshall to be. A total Boy Scout, the whole all-American kid act, except it wasn't really an act. Way too straight-laced for Tony, except this guy could party. And he wanted to stand up to those jerkoffs back at that overpriced school.
"Well, gosh, thanks," Chris said. "Look, Tony, I'm gonna be okay. I just can't stand what I did to my brother. Embarrassing him like that."
"What was it like, getting maced?"
"Oh, it was fucking great. You gotta try it sometime."
"I wanna talk to Coach about some stuff when we get back. I want you to be there."
"Tony-"
"And I want us to convince Josh that Honor Corps is real. No matter what. I want him to know. Imagine what someone like him could do to help if he just believed us."
"Josh isn't going to just believe stories, Tony, even detailed ones. For one thing, he loves that school, so you better be ready for that. He knows you hate it. If we come to him with some fucking horror stories, he'll get upset and think you're trying to make the school look bad."
"The school deserves to look bad. It's a goddamn shithole."
Chris flushed, and for an instant anger flashed in his eyes. "Tony," he said in a warning tone.
"Josh could help us if he wanted to," Tony said, returning to his point. "Please, let's try something. If it helps, let's tell him we need his help to make RMA better, or whatever. Make it sound good so he won't get mad, or whatever."
"Okay, but Tony, if you start down this road, I mean really start down it, you may not like what you find."
"What is that, a fucking fortune cookie?"
Chris grinned. "An eeeeevil fortune cookie!" he said, waggling his fingers at Tony.
Tony laughed. "Okay, smart guy. Let's get back out there before people think we're in here making out. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. I'm good."
"You think we can get Josh on our side? Get him to work with us and Coach against the Honor Corps?"
Chris was silent for a few moments.
"I'll tell you one thing, Tony. Once my brother goes after something, he gets it. If he does get involved, he'll kick ass so hard you'll think it was D-Day on campus."
Tony grinned, encouraged by the thought, by the vivid mental images it gave him. Pausing to savor the dream of Josh in dress blues delivering a swift kick to Mark Golan's ass, Tony said, "That's exactly what I want, man."
XX
Back in the East Room, Tony played up the 'cool bachelor guy' look he was so fond of, and found it surprisingly useful for staying at ease amidst so many rich and powerful people. Chris picked it up, too, amusing both Tony and Josh.
Sergeant Major Marshall, Josh, and Chris all continued to have their hands shaken by various visitors and dignitaries, well-wishers and friends. Josh handled it all with dignity and grace, and Tony was surprised by how many of these men and women the Marine captain already seemed to know. Several times, when making introductions to the table, Josh mentioned that so-and-so was from one class or another at Remington Military Academy, and always, they had ranked somewhere from 10th to 1st in their class.
You'd think that dump was a real school, Tony thought. I guess at least some of the guys who go there get pretty far in life.
After all the plates and silverware had been removed by waiters, the center floor was cleared and Josh and his fiancée Elizabeth got up to join the Reagans for the first dance. Josh was an expert, quite easily better than President Reagan at formal ballroom dancing, though he did well at hiding it. The two couples circled the dance floor several times, and the love and affection that each pair had for each other was obvious.
"Hello, DiNozzo."
Tony jumped, turning in his seat just as the first dance concluded. Chris had slipped away somewhere while Tony had been watching the dance floor, and evidently so had Sergeant Major Marshall. Instead, Alexander R. St. Esprit, IV, the high-and-mighty Alexander the Great, had shown up in cadet uniform. The many rows of ribbons he wore made quite a splash next to all that formal gray and white, and the three silver diamonds on his collar and shoulders gleamed like grounded stars. The bond son of a bitch had carefully gelled or oiled his greasy blond hair specially for the occasion, it looked like. Tony wanted to reach for a lighter.
"Well, if it isn't Alexander the Great," Tony said with venom. "Something you wanted? How'd you get in here, anyway?"
"My dad is extremely well-informed. He also happens to be good friends with General David Klammer, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. I also happened to be visiting some friends in the area."
"Like a prick like you actually has friends."
St. Esprit smiled. "If Golan was here, he'd ask how they let the likes of you in, something like that."
"Oh, but you're just thinking it, huh?"
"I know better, though. It's Chris Marshall. He's taken a real liking to you, you know. Talks about you all the time. He argues with Golan, with Darby, anybody that thinks you're shit. He's having a hard time on Brigade Staff hallway these days because he won't stand for a bad word about you."
"Is that right?" Tony asked, keeping his scornful tone up, but inside, he felt rising hope. Chris had been standing up for him? Arguing with scumbags like Golan on his behalf?
"Before you get too pleased about that, DiNozzo, Coach Tanner is planning on putting a boot up your ass. He doesn't like that chip you got on your shoulder and he's on a mission to knock it off."
"I can handle Coach Tanner."
"I know you think you can."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?"
"When Tanner's got you running laps until he gets tired, running drills until 1997, you'll remember this warning, believe me. Nobody fucks with Coach Tanner. He's a tough son of a bitch."
"Sorry if he's spoiling the fun for you Honor Corps assholes."
"I run the Corps of Cadets but that doesn't make me part of some secret club," St. Esprit replied calmly. "Especially since I never heard of it. I don't wanna talk to you about that anyway, DiNozzo."
"So what do you wanna talk about?"
"You really wanna hear me out? No more tough guy crap?"
"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."
St. Esprit leaned in. "I want to see if you can last until graduation, DiNozzo. Golan thinks you'll fuck it up, but I don't know about that. You act all this macho bullshit but you're smarter than you want people to think. And who knows? You might make a pretty fucking good basketball player."
"Why the buddy-buddy shit all of a sudden? What're you after?"
"What'm I after?" St. Esprit asked. "Honor, glory, living up to the family name. The only thing we sons of rich and powerful men want." St. Esprit paused. "Unless we get jerkoff fathers like yours. Sucks to be you, DiNozzo. I'd do anything for my old man. I'd rather die than embarrass him. Honestly, man. I wish you could've had a dad you could be proud of."
"Great, well, get the fuck outta my face and go chase glory somewhere else."
"I won't let you provoke me," St. Esprit said, almost as if he was talking to himself. "Not here. Not today."
"Good, that makes two of us."
"Then we finally agree on something." St. Esprit leaned over and held out his hand. "Shake on it, DiNozzo?"
Tony stared at the pale blond boy's hand as if it was some dubious foreign object, seriously thought of refusing, but ultimately shook the blond greaseball's hand once and let go.
"You talk like you're a fucking machine," Tony said. "You know that? You never think for yourself."
"And all you think about is yourself. Remember what I told you? I exist to be a soldier. That's all I was born to do. Fight this country's wars whenever and wherever I have to, bear any burden, so on and so forth. You think I'm some mindless drone? Families like mine shield families like yours from the way the world really is. We keep the monsters at bay."
"Oh, fucking save me the speeches!" Tony exclaimed, slamming a hand on the table. "If you're so set on protecting my goddamn freedom, go do it somewhere else!"
St. Esprit's face went white, and for a moment Tony thought the other boy was going to take a swing at him. He was in for a nasty surprise if he did that, but St. Esprit gave the impression of a predatory animal at rest. Tony never would have admitted it, but a boy who could just pick Tony up and pin him against the side of a van like it was no big deal had to be a fighter of powerful gifts.
The two boys stared hatefully at each other. Finally, St. Esprit leaned toward Tony and said, "DiNozzo, I've been getting dragged from one Army post to the next all my life. Remington is the most I've ever gotten to be in one place. Your dad ignores you? So what? You could've got it a lot worse. When have you ever had to sacrifice anything in your perfect little life?"
Before Tony could fire back a reply, St. Esprit got up and stormed off. Tony heard applause coming from the dance floor, and he turned to see Chris Marshall leading the First Lady of the United States through what had to be a flawless tango, an elegant and intricate dance that someone had taught Chris to the smallest details. Josh continued to circle the dance floor with his fiancée, having eyes for her and no one else, and across the room, the sky blue and gold of the Medal of Honor around his neck, Sergeant Major Thomas Marshall watched them both, more proud than ever of his beloved sons.
I might just make it work after all, Tony thought. I got a good feeling about everything right now. I bet St. Esprit was telling the truth about Coach Tanner, but I'll worry about it later. I started this morning passed out in a hotel bathroom and now I'm in the East Room of the White House. It's been one hell of a day.
XX
A/N: 10-4-2019.
Chapter 9 was posted around July 16, 2019, so it's been nearly three months. Still, Chapter 8 was posted back in early February 2019, meaning a five-month gap between Chapter 8 and Chapter 9 being posted. Jenny wrens asked me (in her review of Chapter 9) to "Don't leave us hanging for so long this time", so here we are, three months later instead of five!
This chapter draws extensively on other fictional and real-life events. The Presidential Medal of Valor is fictional, but the description of its appearance and overall purpose is modified from that of the Public Safety Officer's Medal of Valor, which was created in 2000 and first awarded in 2001. The United States has no direct award for recognizing civilian heroism of the highest order, unlike the United Kingdom, which instituted the George Cross as a civilian and noncombat equivalent to the Victoria Cross on 24 September 1940- during the first weeks of World War II. In this alternate universe, Ronald Reagan got the idea to create a civilian award for extraordinary heroism one way or another and made Joshua and Christian Marshall its first recipients.
The Medal of Honor is just that, by the way. The United States Code, very confusingly, refers to it both as the "Medal of Honor" and the "Congressional Medal of Honor," and is thus of limited help against Hollywood's endless promotion of the lie that the decoration is officially named the "Congressional Medal of Honor." Anyway.
MTS Oceanos was a real cruise ship, launched in 1952, completed in 1953, and sunk in 1991. She was in service with a Greek cruise line by 1991, and was off the coast of South Africa in bad weather when her captain, Yiannis Avranas, abandoned the ship and took virtually the entire crew with him. The ship was thus left with nobody at the bridge, nobody manning damage control stations or any of the ship's vital systems. Entertainers aboard the ship discovered the bridge was empty and organized and led an effort that ultimately saved the lives of everyone still aboard. Avranas was criticized for his cowardice and abandonment of duty but he never faced any consequences whatsoever. The cruise line just gave him another command and he carried on until his retirement.
The speech President Ronald Reagan gives is based closely off the one that President Aaron Kimball gives at Hoover Dam in the 2010 video game Fallout: New Vegas. It is also slightly based off of actual remarks and speeches made by Reagan.
Chapter 11 will see Tony and Chris returning to Tiverton, Rhode Island and to the Remington Military Academy. In Chapter 14 of her story "Adjustments," Jenny wrens has Tony reference the point in his life that this story directly depicts. Both the episode all this is based on- Season 12, Episode 14 "Cadence"- and "Adjustments" have Tony refer to Coach Gerald Tanner with respect, even some liking, but also as a harsh taskmaster. All in all, a damn good coach. Tough when required, harsh as needed, compassionate behind the scenes and occasionally up front. We will see plenty of Coach Tanner going forward. His role in getting Tony through to graduation was pivotal and the results he managed to get, given Tony's record up to that point, were and are nothing short of miraculous. Sometimes you come across teachers and coaches like that, people who see past the exterior of troubled students and just never give up on them.
Reviews are welcome.