Stefanie Allison, a.k.a. our loyal, die-hard fan Star5fallonmyheart, has served up another juicy story for our A Dish Called “Wanda” contest.  It deals straightforwardly with a divisive subject, and will no doubt elicit some powerfully-felt responses. Just keep your comments polite, because we’re in mixed company – writers and readers. At the very least, we can agree on this:  Don’t order the onion rings.

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Honor and Duty
for Lieutenant Colonel Victor Fehrenbach

The locals warned me about Wanda’s, but why was there a tinge of urgency when Captain Redmond asked me to meet him off the Air Force base?

Deciding that helping a fellow soldier had to take precedent over badly breaded onion rings, I went ahead and left the base right at eighteen-hundred hours on the dot as he asked me. Well, almost. As only luck and fate would have it, my military ID went missing from my wallet after a rushed search around my visitor officer’s quarters and figured to hell with it. Manny was running the security booth that night and he knew exactly who I was—no need to flash the ID or anything else for that matter.

I tried not to cringe when I drove up to the beaten-up roadside café. The dilapidated roof looked like it was about to cave in at any time from the weight of too much bird shit that birds bombed it with before World War…I. I could feel the inevitable stains on my immaculate BDU’s before I even left the Jeep.

Captain Redmond nervously twisted his faintly stained linen napkin. For someone who fought mock-dog fights in M-16’s like he was drag racing, he jumped when the waitress asked him if he wanted to try the raspberry iced tea.

“No, too fruity for me,” he mumbled before looking up, standing up and saluting. “Sir, good to see you.”

“At ease, Captain, we’re off base,” I said, sitting down and shoving the menu aside. “What is it that you needed to see me about?” Captain Redmond ran his hand through his spiky, milk chocolate hair. I always wondered why a good-looking kid like him always acted as if the ground he was walking on was made of soiled tissue paper.

“It’s about the other night,” Captain Redmond said. “About what happened.” I leaned back. Captain Redmond had assured me days before that he was able to handle the situation.

“There’s nothing wrong with what happened that night,” I said assuredly. “It’s normal for people like us.” Captain Redmond cringed when I said the word “us.”

“Normal? But they’ll never accept us. They’ll never trust that it’s ok. It’ll never be alright to be what it is that we are,” Captain Redmond said, bowing his head. As I carefully weighed my next words I realized what I was doing was the right thing to do. He was my fellow soldier, another thread in the fabric that made our unit, our air force, and our country what it was. And of course, if nothing else, I was beginning to see him as my friend. And he needed me.

“It will be alright,” I said firmly. “Things may not be perfect right now, but one day, they will become accepting. They’ll see someday. When Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is overturned someday, they’ll see how ridiculous it was and that the system has been working just fine as it is with gay people like us there. Just keep doing what you’re doing, Jason. Keep your private life private in the meantime, but just keep trucking. Understand, Basic?” He seemed to perk up slightly when I called him “Basic” as a semi-affectionate nickname from his days in the academy.

“Yes, sir,” he said back, standing up. “Glad you could talk to me. Good day, sir.” I made no note of the fact that he neglected to salute me as he left, but I did tell him that he was at ease. I’d probably jokingly remind him to properly salute his superiors next time I saw him in the hangar, but otherwise, I felt pretty confident—sort of like the walk Captain Redmond finally had leaving the café. Well, Wanda’s, thanks for being the place where I could be open and honest to one in my command—but you can keep the onion rings.

As I walked out of the café, my fight response kicked in when I felt two sets of strong hands pull me to a Jeep marked “MP” and shove me onto the hood. Screaming obscenities over my Miranda rights, I was able to turn my head slightly to notice Captain Redmond talking to what looked like a four-star general.

“He coerced me into coming here,” Captain Redmond said professionally to the general. “After admitting to me that he is a homosexual, he made several unwarranted sexual advances toward me before I was able to make the call.” I shook my head. Like the general had the time to drop everything right then and there to pick up a fag.

As the general more or less upgraded Captain Redmond to my position until further notice, the MP shoved me into the Jeep. My last human contact other than the officers shoving me into my cell at the mental ward at the air force base hospital was glaring at Captain Redmond.

What’s wrong, kid? Scared of a faggot like me? I thought to myself. Or that you’ll never be able to run that unit or fly a plane as good as me?

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What some people will do for a promotion.