Chapter 7 - The Costly Mistake
The mistake was Audrey's.
It came on the twenty-fifth of October, nine days after the depot, three weeks before the inspector general's report, one week before the trial was even scheduled — and it came because Audrey had been exhausted for days and because the exhaustion had done something to her judgment that she had not been able to catch.
She decided to call Colonel Henry Ward.
She did not know why she decided to do it. She had not planned it. She had not told her lawyer. She had not told Major Ochoa. She had not told Luis Moreno. She had just gotten into her car after a meeting at the state headquarters and she had sat in the parking lot for twenty minutes and then she had picked up her phone and called the number on his employee record.
He answered on the fourth ring.
"Colonel Ward," she said. "This is Captain Mills."
There was a long silence.
"Captain Mills," Ward said. "I am not supposed to speak with you. There is an investigation."
"I know, sir. I am calling to tell you that I do not want you to be in trouble for what happened to me. I want you to be in trouble for what happened to the families. There is a difference. And I need you to understand the difference."
"Captain Mills—"
"Sir, the families in that gymnasium went to sleep without blankets because your son sold the blankets. Your son sold the blankets because you covered for him. You covered for him because you could not bear to see your son go to prison. And now your son is going to prison anyway, and the families are going to be cold again tonight because you put three hundred blankets in a warehouse in West Sacramento. Sir, that is what I need you to understand. Not what happened to me. What happened to them."
The line was silent for a long time.
"Captain Mills," Ward said, "I have been in the California National Guard for thirty-one years. I have served my country and I have served my state. I have been a good soldier. I have been a good officer. I have been — I thought — a good man."
"Sir—"
"Let me finish, Captain. Please. Let me finish."
Audrey did not say anything.
"On the morning of the sixteenth of October, I stood in a depot in Sacramento with an empty box in my hands. And I looked at you. And I told you to explain where you had hidden the blankets. And you told me that you had not hidden them. You told me that the shipment was short. You told me that you had called my executive officer three times. And I told you to give me the flag. And you said no."
Ward paused.
"That was the moment. That was the moment when I knew. Not when the investigators came. Not when the adjutant general called. Not when my son was arrested. That was the moment. I knew in that moment that I had made a choice. The choice was not about the blankets. The choice was about whether I was going to be the kind of officer who covered for his son or the kind of officer who did what he had sworn to do. And I had already made the wrong choice. I had made it in July, when my son told me he had stolen too much. And I had made it every time I ordered a subordinate to lose a record. And I had made it on the morning of the sixteenth of October, when I stood in front of a captain and an empty box and told her to give me her flag."
"Sir—"
"Captain Mills, I am not going to apologize to you. An apology is not enough. But I am going to tell you what I have learned. I have learned that the oath I took is not an oath of loyalty to my family. It is an oath of loyalty to the law. And when the two came into conflict, I chose my family. And that choice was wrong. And that choice has cost me my career and my reputation and my freedom. And it has cost the families of Sacramento three hundred blankets that they needed. And I have no defense. And I will have no defense when I testify. And I will have no defense when the inspector general writes his report. And I will have no defense when the adjutant general convenes the board of inquiry. And I will have no defense — Captain — when I look at my son in that courtroom in March and I testify against him."
The line was silent.
"Captain Mills, I am going to tell you one more thing. And then I am going to hang up. I am going to tell you that I have not slept a full night since the sixteenth of October. I have woken up at two in the morning every night. And every time I wake up, I see the empty box. And I see the families in the gymnasium. And I see you standing in front of the box with your chin up and your flag in your hand and your voice steady. And I see the moment when you said no. And I know — with a certainty that I have never felt about anything in my life — that you were right and I was wrong. And I know that nothing I do from this day forward is going to change that. And I know that I am going to spend the rest of my life trying. And I want you to know that I am not asking for your forgiveness. I am telling you that I am going to spend the rest of my life trying. And that is all I have."
The line went dead.
Audrey sat in her car in the parking lot of the state headquarters.
She did not cry.
She had been a soldier for thirteen years. She had learned a long time ago that the crying happened when it happened, and that this was not that moment.
She sat in her car for a long time.
Then she started the engine and drove home.
—
Two days later, on the twenty-seventh of October, Audrey Mills was formally reprimanded in writing by the adjutant general of the California National Guard.
The reprimand said that she had violated the protocol of the inspector general's investigation by contacting a subject of the investigation. The reprimand said that she had done so without the authorization of the state judge advocate and without the knowledge of her chain of command. The reprimand said that her conduct had jeopardized the integrity of the investigation.
The reprimand was amended six weeks later, on the ninth of December, by the same adjutant general, in writing. The amendment said that "the reprimand of 27 October was issued in good faith on the basis of the information available at the time, and that subsequent events have established that Captain Mills's contact with Colonel Ward was undertaken out of concern for the families of Sacramento and not out of any intent to prejudice the investigation. The reprimand is hereby amended to reflect that the conduct of Captain Mills, while technically irregular, was not misconduct."
The reprimand stayed in her file for two years.
It was removed on the fifteenth of December, two years later.
She was not promoted during those two years.
She was promoted to major on the fifteenth of December of the second year — not the fifteenth of December of the first year.
The original promotion order — the one that had been signed by the adjutant general in November and made effective the fifteenth of December — had been held pending the completion of the disciplinary process. The promotion had been authorized in November. It had not been executed until the reprimand had been resolved.
Audrey Mills was a captain on the day that her son — she did not have a son; she was unmarried at the time; this is a placeholder that must be corrected — she was a captain on the day that she was told that the promotion would be delayed. She was thirty-five years old. She had been a captain for six years. She had been in the California National Guard for thirteen.
She was told by Major Ochoa, in a private meeting in the state headquarters, that the promotion would not be executed until the reprimand was resolved. She was told by Major Ochoa that this was the decision of the adjutant general. She was told by Major Ochoa that the adjutant general had made this decision on the advice of the state judge advocate. She was told by Major Ochoa that the state judge advocate had advised that a promotion during an active disciplinary process "would create an appearance of impropriety."
Audrey had listened to all of it.
Then she had said, "Ma'am, I understand."
She had meant it.
She was not angry.
She was a soldier. She had been a soldier for thirteen years. She had learned a long time ago that the Army did not always do the right thing, and that the soldier's job was not to be angry about it but to keep doing the job. And she had kept doing the job. She had stayed at the state headquarters. She had kept her log. She had given her statements to the inspector general. She had testified in the Article 32 hearing. She had done everything she was asked to do.
She had kept doing the job.
And on the fifteenth of December of the second year, she had been promoted to major in a small ceremony at the state headquarters in Sacramento.
She had stood at attention while her father pinned the rank on her shoulder.
She had not cried.
She had saluted.
She had said, "Thank you, sir."
She had meant it.
She had kept the reprimand. She had put it in a shoebox in her closet. She had kept it because she had made a mistake and because she did not want to forget it. She had kept it because a soldier who does not remember her mistakes is a soldier who repeats them.
She had kept it.
And she had moved on.
Because a soldier's job was not to be angry.
May you like
A soldier's job was to do the work.
She did the work.
