annashay 
This story is by Gary G Little and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Sitting on a mesquite log near the edge of a dried-up old pond, Casey heard boots crunching on the dry ground behind him.
“Pop? You ok? It’s getting dark and we got worried.”
“Sorry, Bob. Found this in the middle of the pond, got to cleaning it off, and got sidetracked. Recognize this?” He tossed something glistening and gold to his son. Bob fumbled but caught it.
“Not engraved. Know whose it is?”
“Yeah. Ran the serial number on my phone. It’s Chucks.”
“Uncle Chuck?”
“Yeah.”
“How did his Medal of Honor get in the pond?”
“That is what distracted me. When did this pond last have water in it?”
“I dunno. Five, maybe six years. Old man Hawkins rerouted his irrigation, and this pond wasn’t needed.”
“‘Bout the time Chuck visited me that last time.” Casey looked around. “It’s late, Dottie’s going to be pissed at me.” He lurched as he leaned forward and winced. “Damn it. Gimme a hand, will ya son.”
The younger man took his father’s hand and steadied him as he rose from the log. “Knee,” Bob asked.
“Yeah. Sat too long with my butt too low.” He walked a step or two, shook his right knee out a bit, then started up the slope with a limp.
“There ain’t nothing you could do to get my wife mad at you,” Bob said.
“It’s rude…” Casey started to say, but Bob interrupted, “…I know. It’s rude to be late for supper. You and Mom drilled that into us.” The two of them walked into a warm August evening in west Texas.
Dinner was ready when they arrived. Summer corn, fresh, homegrown tomatoes, pan-fried potatoes, and black-eyed peas with snaps – one of the family’s favorites.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll be on the patio,” Casey said as he finished supper and scooted back from the table. He heard Bob explain things to Dottie and their two young children.
He sat in his comfortable lawn chair, rammed a hand down his Levi’s pocket, and pulled that medal out. His fingers traced the surface.
“We were planning to churn up some ice cream,” Dottie called from the screen door. “Too hot to be baking anything.”
“That sounds good,” Casey said.
Bobbie Jr. and Susan scurried to get the wooden bucket. Bob dropped bags of ice on the patio and found the salt. Dottie brought out a canister and placed it in the bucket. Bob supervised the churning. A layer of ice. Liberal rock salt. More ice. More salt. Affixing the crank and handle, plastic bags, newspaper, a blanket on top, and Susan’s butt to hold it all in place, Bob grabbed the handle and began cranking, tickling his daughter a time or two to make her giggle. Then there was silence.
Susan started to speak, but Bob hushed her, “Not right now, Baby. Pop, tell us about the medal?”
Casey sat silent, fingering the object in question. His grandson climbed onto a knee and just looked at the gold star in his grandfather’s hand. “Sure,” Casey said and seemed to sit straighter with a bit of resolve.
“I can’t say for sure how it got in the pond, but the time fits. Remember Chuck’s last visit?”
Heads nodded around the circle.
“We made several trips down to the pond and mostly just did what we did as kids. Sit and spit, and skip rocks across the pond. We talked a lot about Ted and Vietnam. Ted was the first to die. Didn’t even know what hit him. Lost a lot of good men that day in that valley.” He looked at his grandson and said, “His grave is one you set flags on.”
“Theodore P. Brookes, 1st Lieutenant, 2nd Troop, 1st of the Third Calvary,” Bobbie recited.
“That’s right,” Casey said and faced Bob. “Guess we don’t talk about it.”
“Pop, it’s the only thing you never talk about.”
Silence lay on the patio for a bit. The rusty gears creaked, the canister rushed and swished through icy water, and a coyote yip-yip-yipped, followed by the squeal of a rabbit.
Life, Casey thought. You live, and then you die. He continued his story.
“The last time Chuck was here, he wandered off to the pond by himself. We hadn’t lost Martha yet, and she told me she had seen him down that way. When I got there, he was on his knees, sobbing. I squatted down and put an arm around him. All I could hear him saying was, ‘I couldn’t save him, Casey. Half of him just wasn’t there.’”
“Damn,” Casey stopped, used his handkerchief, and looked into his grandson’s brown eyes. He hugged Bobbie close and gently stroked Susan’s head.
“I think, before I got there, he had skipped this into the pond,” Casey whispered, holding up the medal. “We did not do any more rock skippin’ till he left.”
“But why …” Dottie started to say.
“He never wanted it. Not because he didn’t think he earned it. Hell, anybody in that valley on that day earned and deserved that medal.”
“You were there,” Bob said.
“Yup, and I wrote citations for several men in my platoon. Chuck did not want it because of who he left in that valley, not who he brought out.”
“Dottie,” Bob said, helping Susan down and removing the newspaper and blankets from the churn. “I think the cream is set. We ready to uncork this?”
Bright, eager young eyes focused on the contents of the wooden bucket and churn. Bowls were passed out, and everyone received heaping helpings of cold deliciousness. Silence reigned for a few minutes as the sweetness of a summer treat was savored, enjoyed, and shared. Bob, Bobbie, and Susan had seconds. Dottie got the paddle from the churn. Casey sat back and enjoyed his family more than the ice cream.
When all had been cleaned up, everyone returned to the patio. Bobbie Jr sat next to his father on one side, and Dottie sat next to her husband on the other. Casey sat in the comfortable chair to the left of everyone with Susan on his lap.
“You want to continue, Pop? You don’t have to,” Bob said.
“I know.” Casey pulled his kerchief out, blew his nose, and dabbed his eyes. “Sorry about that, Susan.”
“S’ok, Grandpa.”
“I think I need to. For me, yes, and for Chuck. He didn’t want it. Too many men had to die,” and Casey fell silent again, finding it difficult to swallow.
“Pop, why didn’t you get that medal?” Dottie asked. Bob squeezed her hand in a way that said, Thank you for asking the question I wanted to ask.
“I told them no. I lost too many men in that valley. Went in with 45. Came back with 12.” Silence, again.
“God, I lost so many. I didn’t think, and I still don’t, that a platoon leader losing over half of his men deserved it. I heard battalion was putting me in for it, and I flatly told them, ‘Hell, no!’ Chuck would have done the same, but he was hospitalized and out of it for months. By the time he knew what was going on, he had the award. And as I told him, you can’t un-award that medal. Not with honor.”
“But why didn’t he want it?” Bob said. “From what I read in his citation, more than anyone, he deserved it. He saved that pilot and many of the men in his platoon just by his leadership. One sidebar I read said his platoon went to Battalion with the nomination.”
“He didn’t want it for the one person he couldn’t save.” Casey paused, torn about what he was about to tell them. “A lot of things have changed since those days. It was decades before Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. I knew in high school that Chuck and Ted had something going on. Seeing them together when they thought no one was about. Just little things.”
Dottie gulped, started to usher the kids out when she caught Bob’s eye. He was telling her no. She thought about it, sat back, and agreed with her husband. She saw Casey looking at her. “Go on, Casey. Please.”
Big eyes and big ears caught the exchange between the adults, turned it over in their young minds as they looked at each other, and Susan said what Bobbie Jr. was thinking. “Uncle Chuck was gay.”
There, it’s out. They know Chuck, maybe knew all along, Casey thought.
“Yes, Susan, Uncle Chuck was gay.” To Bob and Dottie, he said, “Ted was the co-pilot in that chopper. The RPG that took out the chopper cut him in half. Chuck had to leave him behind.”
Dottie gasped, her eyes welled with tears. “Oh no,” she whispered.
Casey paused for a moment as the sun dipped below the horizon, lighting the western sky in ochre and gold.
“The one man he wanted to save was the one man he could not save.”
