The Captain's Mission. Debby Giusti

The eyes clinched the deal, along with the dimples that must be killers when he smiled. Not that he was smiling this evening. His rugged face was lined with concern and an underpinning of grief.

      No doubt he felt for the loss of his soldier’s life, but he also had to know his own career was on the line. If the captain had made a mistake, he’d be disciplined as well as the shooter. Phil had a reputation for being the pretty boy on post with the ladies and the man most likely to be promoted above his peers. Maybe the poster boy of Fort Rickman knew his moment of glory was coming to an end.

      “With some luck, we might have this investigation under wraps within a few days,” Kelly told Jamison. Then she could say goodbye and good riddance to Captain Thibodeaux. Until then, she had to be careful.

      She knew all too well that a handsome face could turn a girl’s heart. Her mother had been a perfect example. At least Kelly had enough sense to stay away from guys who promised everything and gave nothing but heartache in return.

      The memory of her Cajun dad bubbled up like rancid oil. Kelly wouldn’t take pity on anyone, even a handsome captain who, at this particular moment, looked like he needed a friend.

      TWO

      Phil glanced at the clock on the wall as he entered his company headquarters. Eight o’clock. He and Agent McQueen had talked to the unit as a whole. Both of them had addressed the terrible tragedy and the need to find out what had happened. Phil had encouraged the men to confide in their platoon leaders, squad leaders and the battalion chaplain. Tomorrow they would spend one-on-one time with each man in hopes of learning more.

      Kelly had been supportive through it all, which Phil appreciated. Maybe having her in charge of the investigation wouldn’t be a complication after all.

      The next priority was to notify Mrs. Taylor of her husband’s death. The wives had been briefed before the company road-marched to the field four days ago about the time of the unit’s return to post. None of the family members expected their soldiers to be released from duty for another two hours.

      Still, Phil wanted the chaplain and Taylor’s platoon leader on the road as fast as possible to notify the corporal’s next of kin. Phil wanted to be there, as well.

      Currently, the special agent was overseeing the turn-in of weapons in the arms rooms. The serial number on each rifle would be checked and double-checked. She had mentioned returning to CID headquarters once the firearms were under lock and key.

      If he had noticed one thing about the special agent tonight, it was that she was thorough. Her attention to detail had given him confidence the investigation would be handled by the book.

      Earlier he had feared Kelly might be a distraction, but she understood the work that needed to be done, for which he was grateful. Cute as she was, the woman seemed keenly aware of the SOP—standard operation procedure—for the company and in no way hampered Phil’s leadership or got in the way of the men doing their jobs.

      As far as he could tell, she realized everyone was stretched thin from the four-day field exercise prior to live fire, and although she hadn’t verbalized her opinion, she must have known their fatigue could have played into the incident today.

      The battalion chaplain was on his way over to the company. A new guy named Sanchez, who’d recently transferred into post.

      Together, along with Lieutenant Carl Bellows, a slender twenty-three-year-old who was in charge of First Platoon, the three officers would break the news to Mrs. Taylor. Not something to look forward to doing tonight, or any night for that matter.

      Letting out a deep breath, Phil stepped into the latrine and slapped cold water on his face. Tired eyes stared back at him from the mirror. What would he tell Mrs. Taylor about her husband’s death? Hopefully, the chaplain would offer the comfort Phil didn’t know if he could provide tonight. All he knew was that Taylor shouldn’t have died.

      As he stepped from the latrine, the first sergeant approached him. “Sir, Chaplain Roger Sanchez is waiting in your office.”

      The chaplain stood about five-ten, with a square face and stocky build, and had new-to-the-army written all over him. He held a Bible in his left hand and accepted Phil’s handshake with his right.

      “Chaplain, thanks for helping me out this evening.”

      “No problem, sir.”

      Phil almost smiled. “Is Fort Rickman your first assignment?”

      Sanchez nodded. “After Chaplains School.”

      “Good to have you with us. First rule to remember, we’re both captains. You only need to ‘sir’ someone who’s above you in rank.”

      Sanchez shook his head at his own mistake. “Guess I wasn’t thinking.”

      “Well, there’s a lot to learn. Tonight you’ll get some experience in notification of next of kin.” Phil explained about Corporal Taylor’s death and the necessity of informing the family members.

      “Taylor and his wife, Lola, lived on a farm his mother owns. The senior Mrs. Taylor—” Phil opened a file on his desk “—Mildred Taylor, the mom, has medical problems, although I’m not sure about the exact nature of her condition. We’ll probably learn more tonight.”

      Sanchez nodded and then eyed the framed unit citations and awards on the wall behind Phil’s desk. “You commanded C Company in Afghanistan?”

      “That’s right. We got back three months ago.”

      The chaplain shook his head. “So there was a long separation for the family prior to Corporal Taylor’s death.”

      Phil narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t say tonight would be easy, Chaplain.”

      Sanchez held his gaze. “And I never expected it would be. Just to set the record straight, I didn’t become a chaplain for the easy jobs.”

      With that one statement, Phil’s opinion of the chaplain went up tenfold.

      “Lieutenant Bellows, the platoon leader, will meet us outside. He’ll drive his own vehicle.”

      Phil grabbed his hat and motioned the chaplain forward just as the door to his office opened and Kelly McQueen stepped inside like a whirlwind of fresh air and energy.

      “I thought you’d be at CID headquarters by now,” he said.

      “I’m on my way.” She glanced at Sanchez, then back at Phil. “You said you were going to notify the next of kin?”

      “That’s right.” He introduced her to the chaplain. “Lieutenant Bellows is meeting us outside, and the three of us will drive to the farmhouse.”

      “First Sergeant Meyers gave me directions,” Kelly said. “The Taylor home is about five miles farther out from where I live. I’ll join you there.”

      “Ah—?” Phil hadn’t expected Kelly to go with them. “Do you think that’s wise?”

      She stood up a little straighter. “Wise?”

      “Meaning it’s late. Both Mrs. Taylors—the wife and the mother—will need time to grieve. We could drive out there tomorrow. I’ll probably need to talk to the widow again.”

      Kelly nodded. “Perfect. But I want to see her tonight, as well. I have to stop by CID Headquarters for a few minutes, but I’ll meet you at the farmhouse.”

      She smiled at Sanchez. “Nice to meet you, Chaplain.” Turning on her heel, she left the office and Phil to stare after her.

      His phone rang. Lieutenant Bellows’s voice sounded fatigued when he answered. “Sir, can you give me about fifteen minutes? Private Benjamin Stanley wants to talk to me about what happened today.”

      “He’s one of our new recruits.”

      “Yes, sir. Seems he’s pretty shook up.”

      Phil