Chapter 20 #2
But knowing the dangers war can reach, I fear for their futures, and I hope these young men will not face another deadly war in their lifetime, as I know our country cannot afford the pain and heartbreak of another one.
Staring ahead, I spot him in the distance, standing at attention in front of a building.
He’s wearing a similar dark khaki suit to the other privates, except for the brown leather Sam Browne belt across his torso and his two-star rank displayed prominently on the shoulders of his jacket.
My heart skips several beats as we get closer.
Sweat beads on the palms of my hands. I’m astounded he is waiting to greet us.
I would’ve placed a hefty bet he’d order one of his lower-ranking officers to do this.
Never would I have thought he would step away from his post to see us.
It seems Major General Fairfax can be there for his daughter; all it took was for her to be in mortal danger. If only I’d known that helpful piece of information a decade ago, maybe younger me would have held on to that small ounce of hope for him.
By the time we park in front of him, my heart feels as if it’s about to burst out of my chest. I grip onto the edge of the leather backseat with so much force that my knuckles whiten. Panic consumes me as fear pins me to the seat, and I know I’m unable to move.
Henry tugs my arm, silently asking me if I’m alright. I shouldn’t be surprised he can sense my uneasiness; we’ve been attached at the hip the past few days, after all. His eyes reassure me that he’ll be with me every step of the way.
Before we can sneak in a word to one another, Private Frederick and Manheim open our car doors, sending in a gust of chilly air.
A shiver runs down my spine as I grip Private Frederick’s hand and ease out of the car.
I hold in a breath of anticipation, as I do not know what is about to transpire.
Pushing aside any worry, I muster any confidence I can find within myself.
I’ll certainly need it.
Turning around, our eyes lock over the car’s roof. We stare at each other for a few moments, reacclimating to one another. Slowly, the few memories of him during my youth surface, how much younger he appeared then.
He’s aged in the way only being a top-ranking officer in a stressful industry can.
I should look at him and see myself reflected in him, or him reflected in me, but I search his face and find no connection between us, not even to Grandad—as if our estrangement extended beyond our relationship and into our genetics as well.
I meet the eyes of the man who is my father, but all I see is a stranger.
His hair is cut short and hidden beneath his service cap, which nearly covers his eyes.
His uniform is in pristine condition, not a single wrinkle or medal off-kilter, as if he knows he must be an example to the new privates in this base.
His face is tilted upward in an unnaturally upright position, his chin and slightly large, pointed nose jutting straight out—part of the military conditioning.
Knowing I can’t hide behind the car forever, I swallow down my nervousness and make my way to Henry, who's standing in front of my father.
I keep my eyes fixed on my father as I walk over, wanting to see his reaction.
His cold eyes trail over me as I cross the few feet to Henry, placing my arm around his.
His face does not change as we approach him, shutting off the world from seeing what he is thinking, but I do notice his eyes shift down quickly before lifting back to my face.
“Welcome to Hullbeck Barracks,” my father says to us in the deep, husky voice I remember.
He then turns to address the two privates standing at attention by the Austin Saloon.
“Private Frederick and Manheim, you’ll take their luggage to cabins five and six.
Then you are dismissed and can resume your normal training duties. ”
Private Frederick and Manheim salute my father, then drive deeper into the base. Now it is Henry and me alone with my father. I swallow down the fear rising in me, unsure what will happen now that we no longer have any witnesses with us.
My father starts walking down one of the paths and gestures for us to follow. “Come along,” he says over his shoulder. “I shall give you a brief tour of the base.”
I remain still for several seconds, confused.
We’ve just arrived after traveling thousands of miles, and he can barely speak a word to either one of us before walking away.
The military must have stripped away his empathy over the years.
I know Grandad would never raise his son to be the curt, unempathetic man he is today.
Nor do I like to think this is the kind of man my mother loved and married.
This must be the byproduct of our family tragedy and decades of military service.
With our arms still entwined, we follow my father as he gives us the layout of the base.
“In the building there,” he gestures to a wide, tall red brick structure to our left, “is the dining hall. Breakfast is served between four and seven, lunch between ten and thirteen hundred hours, and dinner between sixteen and eighteen hundred hours. Tea is available at all hours.”
My father states the times as if he is reading them directly from a script, as dryly as possible. He doesn’t stop to ask if we have any questions or even how we fared on our trip. He proceeds down the gravel path toward a group of two-to-three-story buildings ahead of us.
“These three buildings to our right are Liverpool, Denmark, and Edison. These are educational buildings for our trainees and will not pertain to your stay. The two on our left are Amsterdam and Casablanca; these are the offices of the ranking officers here at Hullbeck. My office is on the third floor of the Amsterdam building.”
“And the Tripoli building?” I ask, referring to the only building my father has yet to explain.
“Weaponry. But you are never to enter there. Ever,” he stresses.
I slightly bite my bottom lip to refrain from making a snide comment. He does know we are both Oxford academics and understand that we are not allowed to enter a military weaponry building as civilians, right? Instead, I curtly nod.
“Understood,” I snark back.
Briskly, my father turns and walks further down the pathway, continuing the tour.
As we walk behind him, Henry reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze to reassure me.
He must see the tension lingering on my face and knows I’m filled with anxiety over seeing my father for the first time in several years.
If he wasn’t sure I was telling the truth about our strained relationship, he certainly knows it now, witnessing how our first interaction is going—as if we are two strangers meeting for the first time.
Off in the distance, I notice a grey, windowless building behind a barbed-wire fence, several guards manning the front door and watching the perimeter. Two big yellow triangles are painted on the grey metal doors, indicating that only authorized personnel and ranking officers are allowed inside.
I peek up at Henry, about to point out the building, but he already noticed it when I did. He looks down at me and squinches his face in perplexity, wondering what on earth is in there.
What could they be guarding away if it’s not weaponry?
We follow him down the pathway for several more meters, then stop in front of a white, ship-lapped small house. “This is the telegram office. If you need to send out any messages, we have privates manning the office at all hours of the day and can assist you in sending one out.”
Silently, we follow him down a few stairs as we head slightly downhill toward a huddle of a dozen small wooden cabins. At the bottom of the staircase, we stop before another small walkway dividing the cabins equally, six on each side.
My father turns around to face us. “This is Officers Row. All ranking officers reside here, and this is where you both will be residing during your stay.” My father gestures to cabin number one to our right.
“This is where I am staying. Numbers two through nine are being occupied by other ranking officers on base. Mr. Ashford, you will be staying in cabin number ten, and Mrs. Ashford, you will be staying in cabin number eleven.” He then points to our cabins further down the pathway.
My father clears his throat, directing our attention back to him.
“I must admit your grandfather neglected to disclose some significant details about you,” he says, keeping his eyes glued to my face.
Then he looks between us. “Even if I knew ahead of time about you two, our cabins are not adaptable to host more than one person.”