Radioman (A 2/19th Spinoff) - Complete

Buried Past

It was raining as Hannah and I walked across the well trimmed grass. The sun was going down, hidden by the steel gray clouds. Her hand was warm in mine as we moved between the gravestones together. The wind was blowing around us, slashing the rain against my heavy overcoat I was wearing to protect my Class-A uniform. Hannah was in her Class-A uniform, dressed in a skirt with high heels and nylon stocking. Both of us were wearing our red Airborne berets and I was wearing spit-shined jump boots.

We'd both been Airborne qualified over the summer in August when Atlas had been shut down for thirty days.

Both of our chests were heavy with ribbons. Aine and I were both wearing a Schützenschnur cord, which told everyone we were qualified on West German Army weaponry. Both of us had the gold medallions, which meant we'd shot gold standard on the pistol, rifle, and heavy machinegun. We had Airborne and Aine had an Air Assault badge.

We looked good, even with the rain.

Better than the people in the two caskets, held above the open graves, deserved.

It wasn't for them. Aine had insisted on wearing it, to remind me that I was more than what I was when I left. That I had become a man, with my own accomplishments that were recognized by all who saw the markings.

I sighed, walking past another row of gravestones.

Together we moved up to the grave site, where the priest, Father Tremain, was waiting with a bible in his hands. He nodded to us as we moved up and stopped at the end of the caskets. Aine and I had discussed it prior, and she stood at the foot of my father's casket, I stood at the foot of my mothers.

I had given the silver and onyx bracelet to the mortician to put in my mother's casket. I'd seen them in the morgue, I didn't need a wake or an open casket.

Seeing them in the morgue was more than I had ever wanted to see them ever again.

I stood there, silent, as Father Tremain gave a liturgy for two people who had put me on the face of the earth and then made sure I learned to survive on my own. Who had taught me about weakness, who had taught me that children were nothing more than irritants that could be sold for other people's pleasure, who had taught me that I was worth nothing but what they could extract from me, who had taught me that love was a lie, who had taught me about...

"My Paul," Aine's voice was a whisper, meant only for my ears, that pulled me from the dark thoughts.

The eulogy made me want to smirk. How their music brought joy to people. How they were beloved by people.

I wanted to make him tell the truth. That they were vile people, who stole, who destroyed other's lives, who were completely useless junkies.

But eulogies aren't about the truth. They're about making the dead look good because you don't speak ill of the dead.

The litany was coming to an end, the grave diggers moving up. The big backhoe was still silent, but one of the "diggers" was moving up to it, reaching into his pocket to pull out the keys.

The service came to an end. It had all been blurred words. I know I had heard the words, but I could not remember them. Not the individual words, not the meaning behind them.

It was just someone taking a long time to let anyone present know that the two caskets held dead people.

An elderly man, with a kind face, his back bent by the cares and woes of others over his lifetime, handed me a heavy box with a button. A cable went from the box to the ground, where it split to the two graves. His mouth opened, but all I heard was a buzzing noise.