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Capt. Carthage Mulkern returns from Iraq a war hero. She is also pregnant, the father of her child still serving overseas. When he disappears and the very military she is proud to serve covers up his disappearance, Carthage enlists the help of the last survivors of WWI to get to the truth.
Over ten million men and women served their countries from 1914 to 1918 in the war to end all wars, World War I. English Tommies, French pilus, American Doughboys, Grermans, Italians. Today there are only 31 left around the world. And time is running out for them.
A war hero herself, veteran of two tours of duty in Iraq, 25-year old Capt. Carthage Mulkern has been assigned to interview the handful of American survivors who can still recall their distant past. The US president, concerned by the progrewss of his war and the demoralization of the American people, intends to use these last survivors to spin a patriotic message that will connect the generations of soldiers, from the oldest veterans to the youngest still fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan in time for the fall elections.
Carthage is the perfect choice for the job. Raised by parents who are connected to the military and to the current administration,a graduate of West Point, who has written for the military's Stars and Stripes, Carthage was wounded in combat. Descneded from a long line of Southern bluebloods, she is an idealistic career officer honored by her selection. What nobody knows, not her commanding officer, not her own family, is that she is pregnant and that the man she loves is still serving in Iraq. She has not heard from him in several days. It is unlike him not to be in touch with her, and she is concerned that something terrible might have happened. In fact, something has happened, and the military, her own people, will not tell her the truth.
Unaware of the machinations of those people she most trusts, Carthage begins her interviews of three ancient veterans. Bill Duff lives in a nursing home in Portland, Maine. An Indiana farm boy, he served under Gen Douglas MacArthur in the Meuse-Argonne salient. Alone in the world,he is doing little more now than awaiting his death. Burleigh Bell Hunt, a southern poet, not only served his country in Europe but watched Orville Wright take flight and earned the hatred of the Ku Klux Klan. Harold Hahn fought for the german army in WWI and served with the OSS in World War II.
As Carthage interviews these three very old veterans, their tales of war and struggle intertwine with her own. They Were Called to Duty is a salute to the brave survivors of the Great War before they pass into history. It is also a story of people who have been to war and who understand that the fight in the trenches is only the beginning. The war in the trenches can't end until the wars at home are won.
Excerpt
Collier didn't call her into his office until shortly before his noon lunch break. When he did, he told his secretary to close the door behind her and not let any calls come through. He did not want to be disturbed by anyone.
Only when he was alone with Carthage did he tell her, "Have a seat." It was an ominous beginning. He remained standing, perusing papers on his desk. At last, when he was ready to confront her, he pulled up a chair and sat beside her.
"I have made some preliminary calls on the matter that concerns you," he said. "Perhaps I've been harder on you than I should have been. You've lost someone you love. My primary concern was otherwise. Not a thoughtful position on my part."
"You have responsibilities other than myself, Sir. Perhaps I was not being thoughtful."
Collier nodded. "Thank you for saying that, Captain Mulkern. It's never easy dealing with death in the military. I've had to pay my respects to parents who have lost their only child, wives who have lost their husbands, kids who have lost their dad. The job stinks. I'd much rather be back at the Point teaching."
"You were a good teacher," Carthage said. "You still are. That's why I feel I can talk to you. What have you found out, Sir, about John?"
She was not going to divulge what she knew, information which he may or may not have.
"I talked to Gen. Ramsay," he said. "Monteiro's commanding officer. It's his responsibility to do what I hate, contact next of kin, arrange for movement of the body. Now, it's not typical for an autopsy to be performed on a soldier who dies in combat. But for unusual reasons, in Monteiro's case, an autopsy is being performed."
"Is?"
Carthage suddenly felt the urge to throw up, whether because of the baby or because she wasn't prepared for what Collier was going to tell her didn't matter.She braced herself, shut her eyes, and opened them only when her commanding officer offered her a glass of water.
"Are you all right, Captain? Can you handle this?" he asked.
"Sir, yes, please, go on." She took a deep drink, then settled back in her chair. "An autopsy," she said. "Then he is dead?"
"You thought otherwise?"
"I hoped. How did it really happen?" she probed, feeling him out. "Why would they perform an autopsy?"
Collier leaned back in his chair, obviously discomfited. Carthage could see it in his eyes. "In all my years in the army I have never had a situation like this. It hurts me to say it. And you must leak none of this outside this office. Do you understand me, Captain?" he said. "It's grievous. It's terrible. But we're doing our best to cope with it. And we need you to be on board."
"On board for what, Sir?
Collier glanced down at his feet. It was as if, in telling her the truth, he could not look her in the eye, officer to officer, soldier to soldier.
He said, "Private Monteiro was not killed in the line of duty. We believe a couple of private security people did it."
Carthage suddenly bent forward feeling the contents of her stomach surge upward. Even though she suspected the truth already, hearing it from Collier sickened her.
"We're not clear on the circumstances," he said. "An internal investigation is under way. Hence, an autopsy. Most of the eyewitnesses were Iraqis who are hesitant to speak out."
"And the security company? Have their people been arrested?"
Collier looked away again. "No."
"No? Why not?"
"No witnesses. No evidence. Yet."
"But I may know who they are. Sir. I was with Pfc. Monteiro when he was involved in a fight with private security. John hated them. They threatened him."
"Give me a report, of course," Collier said. "But the odds of their being a connection are pretty great."
"It sounds to me like you don't want to know the truth," Carthage said, fully understanding why. She felt a distancing occurring, a disorienting sensation, as if a gap had suddenly appeared between her and everything she had always believed in, leaving her on very unsteady military ground. "Why has the army attributed his death to enemy fire?" The overwhelming feeling of nausea had subsided a bit, so she sank her probe deeper.
Collier got up. Unexpectedly, he cursed. "It's politics," he said. "Everybody, from the President on down, is walking on eggshells these days. We can't afford negative publicity on something like this. Come on, Captain. You can see that. American civilians killing an American soldier? Throw in the race card, and what have you got?"
"I don't care, Colonel. I want justice."
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