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2005

It was a hot, gritty night. The kind you experience only on the high desert. The long, flat highway rolled-out ahead as would a path through a mountain meadow. Except that here the peaks were rising towers of mist, the valley, sand, wind-blown off the desert floor across which the blue/gray Navy hearse was forced to crawl at snail-speed. A cloud enshrouded full moon did little to help either, unless you’re one of those strange souls for whom the spooky factor gets high marks. Under normal conditions it was just over an hour from the port of Long Beach to Point Mugu NAS but tonight, tonight they’d be lucky to get back much before midnight. Well the driver, a navy corpsman, would get back, Lt. Erickson was scheduled to accompany the body of the Marine in back all the way to Canton, Ohio. From the scuttlebutt the corpsman passed along there wasn’t much left of the dead guy but a Marine was a Marine, no matter he’d fallen in battle over 40 years ago. And a Marine officer, even a recently commissioned mustang, is clear in his duty, pick up the decedent’s remains at the port of debarkation and accompany them to the home of record for release to the next of kin.

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