A Certain Voice

By Allan Winneker

Returning from combat in the Middle East, Ethan Wells, a Georgia native, begins his civilian life as a suburban high school teacher. One day, at the school, his life takes a horrific turn. What appears to be an accidental encounter with a troubled student turns into personal nightmare for Wells and his wife.

One of the school employees, bent on turning the unfortunate event into a personal crusade against Wells, aggressively moves the story to its tragic ending. It is a sad commentary on one of the major aspects of today’s society that reflects poorly on America in the early stages of the twenty-first century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Feb 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781483464336

Allan Winneker

“Border Line” is Allan Winneker’s fourth work of fiction. He became interested in the subject after learning of the many dangers faced by the U.S. Border Patrol. Winneker, a native of Philadelphia, enjoyed a 38-year career in marketing management before retiring to begin writing novels and enjoying life with his wife Betty on Callawassie Island in South Carolina. The Winnekers have two sons and three grandchildren. Allan’s first novel, “The Expatriate”, was published in 2002.

Book preview

103

Prologue

Heading home. The flight from Kabul to Coleman Army Airfield in Mannheim Germany would take about eleven hours, with a stop at the U.S. airbase in Incirlik, Turkey. After ten months in Afghanistan, the 4th Brigade Combat Team, a unit of the Army’s 1st Infantry Division known as the Big Red One, was being deactivated. This deployment of 2200 soldiers, known as the Dragon Brigade, was preparing to return to Fort Riley, Kansas, and the unit’s home base. The initial compliment of troops was already in the air. They would arrive in the U.S. the next day.

Staff Sargent Ethan Wells was ready to get home. From Germany, the flight to Wichita Airport would take roughly fourteen hours. Then, with a number of other men in the unit, it was a 2-hour bus ride to Ft. Riley. After three long flights and the bus ride, Ethan’s wife Sarah would meet him at the reception center, somewhere around 8 o’clock in the evening.

The snow began falling early that morning. By arrival time, there would be several inches on the ground, with more accumulation on the way. This was nothing new for Ethan. Ghazni, Afghanistan, about 3 hours south of Kabul, was covered with several inches of snow the day of departure.

Two tours in Iraq, and this one in Afghanistan, were enough for Wells. He was due for discharge from active duty in less than a month, then the transition back to civilian life. It was time. He’d served his country, as he had promised his dad, who died of prostrate cancer six months earlier.

Mentally and emotionally, Wells was drained. Hugging and kissing at the reception center, Sarah could tell he was not his old, playful, energetic self from the emails and phone calls they exchanged over the past four or five months. She was looking forward to having him home again, and she desperately wanted children. They had tried unsuccessfully before Ethan’s first tour in Iraq. That was five years ago.

It was, to Sarah, the right time to give it another try. Tall, slender, with shoulder-length auburn hair and an infectious smile, she was thirty-two years old and didn’t want to chance carrying a child while in her forties.

1

Even though it was eight in the evening, the brilliance of the powdery white carpet of snow brought out Ethan’s sunglasses, as Sarah drove the Ford 150 toward their small home about three miles from the main gate at Fort Riley.

Ethan was dozing off in the passenger seat You’ve got to be dog tired, love, Sarah said, as she saw him straighten up. How many hours have you guys been on the go?

I don’t know; a hell of a long time. What day is this? It was five in the morning; I think it was Tuesday, when we mustered and got ready to shove off. I slept on the flight to Germany, but not much over the pond. A shower and a bed sound awesome.

Can’t wait to get you in bed, she said. What’s it been, eight months?

Me too. Yeah, eight sounds about right. Too long, but that’s it. No more tours. I’ve done my time. It’s time to be human again.

You know how long I’ve been waiting for this, Sarah said. The last six years have seemed like a lifetime. We need to get back to living normal lives again. She turned to smile at her husband. He was asleep.

Sarah turned the pickup into their driveway. The actual name of the town is Junction City, Kansas. Many NCO’s and their families lived close by. The neighborhood was relatively quiet, and far enough away from the base to give it a relatively civilian personality.

Sarah opening the 150’s door awakened Ethan. He looked around, still groggy. Hey, we’re home. How long was I asleep?

Not very long. Let’s get your duffle bags in the house and get you to bed. She opened the garage door, as Ethan got out, stretched, and went to grab his wife for another homecoming hug and kiss. She parked and got out. They stood holding each other in the garage and opened their emotions full tilt. Sarah broke down and wept. Ethan was on the verge of doing the same thing.

After some scrambled eggs and coffee, they went to bed. It was few minutes after ten. He was out like a light. She watched him for a few seconds before falling asleep herself.

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Around 5:30 the next morning, Ethan awoke and not wanting to rouse her, kissed Sarah gently on the forehead. She opened her eyes. Thought you would sleep later, she said, turning her head to see the clock on the dresser.

I’m sorry. Didn’t want to wake you.

Glad you did. She rolled over and kissed him on the lips. I missed you so much.

Their bodies joined, as Ethan began to remove her pajama bottoms. She began kissing him as he unbuttoned her tops and kissed her breast. They made love several times. It was close to 9AM before Ethan rose first and went to the kitchen to start the coffee. Sarah threw on a robe and followed him shortly thereafter. She had taken a few days off from her job at the Best Buy in Manhattan, about a 25-minute drive from their home, where she was employed as a Geek Squad technician. She loved the job, but now that Ethan was back, she wasn’t sure how long she would keep it.

2

The last two weeks of his final month in Afghanistan, Ethan had written letters, attached to emails, to three school districts in the Atlanta area, applying for a high school teaching job. After graduating from the University of Georgia, he decided that some time in the military would help smooth out the rough spots in his volatile personality. But long term, he saw himself in a teaching career. During his second tour in Iraq, he took on a number of instructional tasks with local Iraqi infantry personnel. And they responded positively to his approach and his visible enthusiasm for the subject matter.

Ethan and Sarah were both native Georgians. He grew up in Macon. She was born and raised in Valdosta. They met in college, but she did not stay there long enough to earn a degree. She moved to south Florida with her parents and younger brother, attended junior college there, and became a computer systems support tech. Tropicana hired her and she didn’t run into Ethan again for another two years. They saw each other at a tailgate party before a Florida-Georgia football game in Gainesville. Ethan had already enlisted in the army, and was awaiting orders for his basic training assignment. They married before he reported for duty.

Now he would be able to focus his time and energy on getting a teaching job. He had received an encouraging letter from the Fulton County School System Office. Margaret Sullivan, the assistant superintendent, signed the letter, inviting Ethan to come for an interview when he returned to the U.S. He responded that the invitation was greatly appreciated, and that he would call to schedule the visit immediately after getting back.

They sat in the small breakfast room, sipping coffee and checking their iPads for the latest news.

Better make that call to the Fulton County folks, Sarah said. I would think that they would already be lining up teachers for next fall.

I will. It’s on my to-do list. I have to report to Brigade Headquarters tomorrow morning, so they can start processing me out the door. My discharge timing is in their hands. But you’ve got me all day today. I need to do some shopping for civilian clothes. Want to come?

Sarah knew that he really wanted her to, as he was a terrible shopper. Only if you promise to take me for a nice lunch. Maybe Bella Italian. You love the place.

I thought maybe we’d go there for dinner. Either way is fine with me.

That’s a better idea, she said. So how about Texas Roadhouse for lunch? I assume you’re going to Town Center to do your shopping.

Copy that. Sounds like a plan.

The balance of the morning was dedicated to unpacking and sorting out Ethan’s military gear from the limited amount of civilian clothing he took with him eight months ago. Around 11:30, they headed out the door. Town Center was a thirty-minute drive. After lunch and a few hours of shopping, Ethan grew bored and tired of the process. They headed home for a nap. His body time was 1:30AM in Kabul.

3

Ethan’s call to Margaret Sullivan at Fulton County School System resulted in their agreement to conduct a Skype interview, as a precursor to a trip to Atlanta. If that interview went well, he would possibly be offered a teaching position in short order, or at a minimum, be asked to visit their offices to meet the administration.

The Skype interview went well. Sullivan was impressed with Ethan’s demeanor and obvious passion for a job at one of the system’s high schools. At its conclusion, she agreed to get back to him with a decision on the next steps. Wells felt good. He shared his enthusiasm with his wife.

I think she likes me. We’ll see. Since I’ve already passed the tests for certification in Georgia, I could get green-lighted for a job in the fall. My test scores on history were pretty high.

That’s great honey, Sarah said. It would be awesome to get the job in Atlanta. And I could probably get a Geek Squad position there as well.

Well, let’s see what happens, Ethan added. I figure there’s still plenty of time. It’s only March. And it’s great to be a civilian again.

Wells had gotten his Georgia teaching certification while on leave a year ago, between tours in the Middle East. He was an excellent test taker, and had no problems passing them. Nevertheless, even though he had a Clear Renewable Certification, Ethan needed to activate his teaching employment before any particular Georgia school system time limits would kick in.

The separation processing at Fort Riley was a three-hour ordeal: lots of paperwork, an exit interview with his commanding officer, and a physical exam. This required exercise was pre-scheduled; in Ethan’s case, three months earlier. Wells requested the physical, which was no longer required for separation, but he wanted a reading from the physicians on the issue of PTSD; to have some idea of the symptoms. It was too early to know for sure, but having seen some of his buddies killed and wounded on the battlefield suggested the triggers were there to eventually bring them on.

Signing the forms went smoothly. The interview with the unit commander, Lt. Colonel Aaron (Hap) Stanger, was a pure formality. Ethan had discussed his exit from the service with Stanger on a number of occasions. Stanger wanted Ethan to re-up and qualify for officers training. Wells was thirty-four, but bright, physically fit, and generally acted younger than his age. A career in the army was, however, the furthest thing in Ethan’s mind. The future prospects, laden with regular duty changes, family moves, and less-than-exciting financial rewards, did little to entice him to stay in.

The meeting with Stanger was fairly brief; less than an hour. Then it was on to Irwin Army Community Hospital, where he would receive his final physical exam before separation. After a forty-minute wait, he was ushered into a treatment room, and a nurse took his vital signs.

Everything looks good, Sergeant Wells. Dr. Goodrich will see you shortly.

Ethan nodded, sat on the treatment table, and waited another fifteen minutes until Goodrich arrived. Short in stature, middle-aged and bespectacled with graying brown hair, Randall Goodrich, Jr. had a friendly demeanor, highlighted by an infectious smile. So, Sergeant Wells, it’s out the door in a few weeks. What’s your plan for civilian life? Goodrich gestured to Ethan to remove his street clothes.

Overall, Wells was in excellent condition. At 6’4", he weighed in at a muscular 215 pounds. That would equate to a healthy body mass index, in the normal range for a man his age. Running three miles every morning, and lifting weights, he had always dedicated himself to staying fit.

I’m applying for a high school teaching job, Ethan said, as Goodrich listened to his heart and lungs.

Wells continued. Doc, can you give me some idea of the symptoms of PTSD? I served with a few guys in Iraq that were dealing with it. For the most part, they seemed okay, but every once in awhile, they talked about it. They said they were diagnosed with it after a couple of tours, and had some emotional troubles back home. They still do.

Sergeant, generally speaking, it typically manifests itself almost any time, although some of the symptoms can effect you while in combat. If you haven’t been bothered by nightmares, or fears of readjusting, you’re not in much danger of having a serious case of PTSD. My best advice is to try and keep your mind clear of these concerns, and focus on the positive aspects of getting back to civilian life. Bottom line: don’t sweat it.

Sounds encouraging, Ethan said. I’ll try. Thanks.

Goodrich wrote out a couple of prescriptions for sleep and relaxation. Wells was on his way home in short order.

4

The first day of school at Sandy Springs High was a hot and humid one. It was also Ethan’s first day as a tenth grade history teacher. He was excited, and the perspiration was dripping from every pore in his body as he parked his F150 and headed for the gymnasium. There, Loretta Banks Marshall, the principal, welcomed students and faculty to the new school year.

He and Sarah had found a house to rent in Dunwoody, a nearby Atlanta suburb, and Sarah, four months pregnant, was home throwing up. Her doctor had predicted some morning sickness in the first few months, but it was getting in the way of her new job. Fortunately, there was a Best Buy only a few miles from home, so if she was up to it, the bike ride was an easy one. But not today; the heat exacerbated the nausea, even though the house had central air.

Marshall, a tall, thin, and very attractive African American woman, was beginning her tenth year as Sandy Springs principal. A disciplinarian, but fair and approachable, she had impressed Ethan during their initial meeting and interview. He left the meeting feeling confident that she would be supportive of his efforts to fit into his new environment.

Students, please welcome Mr. Ethan Wells to the Sandy Springs family. There was a healthy round of applause, as Ethan stood from his bench in the stands and waved to the crowd. Mr. Wells has recently returned from three tours of duty with the U.S. Army in the Middle East. We are delighted to have you join us, and we thank you for your service to our country. Another round of applause ensued, this one louder and longer.

Marshall then recited a litany of rules and requirements of all students, placing emphasis on dress code, manners and respect for each other. There would be no exceptions. Rule breakers would be disciplined. Bullying would result in an immediate one-week suspension. Repeat offenders would be expelled, without appeal, and sent to a special school in the district for behavior rehabilitation. The Fulton County School System was unrelenting in its weeding out of bullies and delinquents.

Less than half an hour later Ethan stood in front of the students in his first history class at Sandy Springs. It was a group of sophomores, eager to hear the first words emanating from their new teacher’s mouth. It was a chatty gathering of white, African American and Latino kids. They quieted down quickly when Ethan began.

Good morning, sports fans. You are the lucky ones to be the first class of my Sandy Springs High School career. But don’t try to take advantage of the situation. I just finished three tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan; Army 4th Brigade Combat Team, First Infantry Division; known as the Big Red One. We hunted down Taliban and al Qaeda terrorists and put them away. Any questions?

Silence. You could hear a ballpoint pen drop. The nine girls in the class had no idea what Ethan was talking about. The eight boys sat there, most of them with their mouths open, with not a single hand raised to respond to his invitation. He waited another minute or so and then retook the floor. Each student was asked to stand and provide his or her name. Number three in the rotation blurted out his name, but failed to stand as requested.

Up, Ethan said, emphatically, raising his arms to illustrate the requested movement. Great to have you in our class, Mr. Tanner. But staying seated is not an option when I ask you to stand.

Dillon Tanner deliberately stared Ethan down, suggesting a reluctance to comply with the request. Wells stared back, and made a move to approach Sanders’ desk. The medium-size youngster quickly reconsidered and got to his feet. His father was a non-entity, leaving his mother to raise the boy on her own. Dillon was a good-looking kid, but clearly had an attitude. Ethan would deal with it in good time. He considered this incident to be a good start.

After going around the room, Wells introduced the class to the first subject matter in the course work plan. They were going to cover three hundred years of the English Crown, from the House of Hanover to the House of Windsor, up to the present time. A few students looked interested. The others looked half asleep.

5

Chemistry teacher Neil Cushman, more or less functioning as the school’s athletics director, asked Ethan if he would be interested in coaching the varsity basketball team. Wells had been a second-string forward on Georgia’s varsity squad. Sandy Springs was a traditional basketball powerhouse, but their previous head coach left the school after the previous year’s less-than-spectacular season.

Currently, it was football season, but tryouts for JV and varsity basketball were scheduled for the second week in October. Cushman needed Ethan’s decision in a few days. There was a backup choice for the position, but Wells was clearly the better candidate. Neil, can I give you an answer tomorrow. I’d like to discuss it with my wife, Sarah. Based on experience as a player, the time demands put on the coach for the better part of three months is huge. And it runs right into the holidays. I haven’t been around for them in two years, being on deployment.

No problem, Cushman said. But I’d really like to have a go or no-go by Monday. Okay?

Will do. You’ll have it tomorrow.

Ethan really wanted the assignment. It paid a few extra dollars, but more importantly, he thought he would enjoy working with the kids. He wasn’t a great player, but had all the skills, techniques and strategies down cold, after learning them from the Georgia Bulldogs’ great varsity coach, Shay Mellon.

Wells was confident that Sarah would be supportive of a decision to take the job. She loved basketball, and went to many Georgia games while a student. Her sport was tennis. She was the number one seed on her high school team, but didn’t go any further after having arthroscopic knee surgery in her senior year.

At dinner that evening, Ethan brought up the subject as he finished a glass of wine. He made it sound as though it wasn’t that important to him, one way or another, but that he would enjoy the experience. I can go either way Sarah. I know you’d kind of like to enjoy our first holiday together in three years. And there are a number of tournaments that take place around that time. What do you think?

Ethan intently watched the expression on his wife’s face, but kept quiet until she chimed in. Honey, it’s your decision. If you’d really like to do it, that’s fine. At least you won’t be in the Middle East this year. That’s a huge change. We can make it work. Her phenomenal smile lit up the moment.

I love you, Ethan said, now smiling himself. I told Cushman I would let him know tomorrow. So I’ll give it more thought, but I’m inclined to do it.

Sarah’s smile remained. Want some other news?

Sure. Let’s have it. Ethan had a feeling he knew what it was about.

"I went to the doctor this afternoon. Everything’s looking good. We’re only four months into it, but things are progressing well.

Ethan’s response was immediate. He knew Sarah was walking on eggs with this pregnancy. Sweetheart, that’s great. He leaned over and gave her a kiss. Do you feel okay?

I feel fine. We’ve waited for a long time for this. I need to take it easy over the next month or two. No bed rest or anything like that; just no strenuous activity. But I feel fine.

Just do what the doc says, okay?

Sarah smiled, nodded and poured two cups of coffee. They just sat there, without saying another word. There was no dessert.

6

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon in early October. While the temperature was in the seventies, the clouds and winds that accompanied the showers offered Atlanta Braves fans a miserable set