Enemies Domestic

Two

two

Freedom Hall Terminal at Lawson Army Airfield US Army Fort Benning Georgia

Roughly fifty feet from the large fifty-foot flag displayed behind the informal stage area, Colleen McDougal stood against the retractable seatbelt partition at the front of the amassed crowd. Colleen had arrived early to ensure she could be near the front, but she had always found the Freedom Hall and USO crowds friendly and accommodating, unlike those in much of the civilian world. The best part about the Hall, she had always thought, was that only military personnel and their loved ones ever entered. There were no protestors, no unconnected civilian onlookers, no one with a political agenda, and no judgement of the soldiers and their families' joyous noise. Just a simple ceremony and an unapologetic welcome home that even The Waldorf couldn't surpass.

Confident this would forever rank among the best days in her life, she scanned the gathering of what she assumed must be nearly two hundred friends and family who had gathered inside Freedom Hall on the US Army's expansive Fort Benning for a much needed homecoming. Excited, nervous, and somewhat fearful this was only a dream, Colleen looked around at the Hall as the crowd collectively awaited their soldiers' arrival. She noticed, for the umpteenth time, the interior of the large, converted aircraft hangar; massive tan acoustic panels hung side-by-side on the wall in front of her, over which a large American flag hung just above a vinyl, camouflaged banner with "Fort Benning" in large white block letters. There was no podium, no raised stage platform, no fancy accoutrements to attempt to rival the emotion of the impending ceremony. At the far left edge of the crowd, she noticed, seemingly for the first time despite the number of visits to Freedom Hall, that several rows of chairs placed behind most of today's crowd were actually benches. That's why they're always so straight! Each individual space was just a plastic seat secured to the same bench, separated by metal arms that rose from the bench and formed a support for the padded backing. Kinda funny the seats and arms are Air Force blue, she thought, I'll have to remember to rib Jonathan about that later. Colleen looked up at the inadequate, florescent warehouse-style lights that hung from the ceiling, and the high, long windows intermittently placed at the top of the walls just below open steel girders that supported the roof. The bright, late winter light shone in and partially brightened fifty state flags hanging from the girders. Colleen found herself overwhelmed. This is the last time, she thought, I won't miss it, but I'm so grateful to be here today. Just a simple, open building to allow enough space so that no well-wisher would be turned away, she thought, although, in her experience, not that many folks usually came for the brief ceremony. Lot of hassle to be here for a fifteen-minute ceremony.

Anxiously looking around, Colleen scanned the immediate area and nearby crowds. Where did they run off to, she wondered. While searching for her family, she saw several of those around her already video recording their respective groups in anticipation of their soldier's imminent arrival. Colleen subconsciously fiddled with the collar of her white silk blouse before tugging its bottom seam down; despite being among Jonathan's favorites, it had been the final, last-possible-second choice after rifling through her suitcase to assemble the best and cutest "welcome home" outfit, which had to include her comfortable shoes. The constant twinge of back pain that emanated from her lumbar vertebrae and shot down the back of her left thigh had gradually increased over the previous hour while she alternated between standing on the hard floor and sitting in an unforgiving plastic chair. I need to sit down, but I think they're only a few minutes out. No, she thought, I can tolerate the pain for a few more minutes.

"You look stunning, dear, and Jonathan wouldn't care if you'd worn a gunny sack." Her mother's words landed softly on Colleen's ears, and she turned to find her parents had snuck back through the crowd with Michael, her seven-year-old son.