Chapter X- Years Later

A/N: I ended up getting the idea for this chapter before I wrote the other three that provided the link to it. I pictured Jack potentially going the way that he does in this story, but I could never see him giving up his habit of breaking the rules. That would probably stay with him no matter what he did.

For two more years at Bunker Hill Military Academy and through four years at the Carolina Military Institute that was always Jack Merridew's response. Ask me later. Ralph never quite gave up asking the question, but he did somewhat give up on ever expecting to get an answer. He and Jack were permanently linked by all that had happened on the island and since, with the two of them playing a prominent role. They'd made all the decisions, and the events of the island that they started together, they also ended together.

The intensely close friendship Jack and Ralph had come to know didn't happen overnight; Ralph scoffed at the very idea. They had three dead boys between them, and no easy way of dealing with any of it. Even had they been on good terms all through the island's events and aftermath, it would still have been a wonder had Jack and Ralph remained on speaking terms at all. Some things just made knowing a person at all awkward, uncomfortable… or, over time, could make it impossible to part with that person. Ralph knew Jack had never forgiven himself for helping Ralph kill Roger, who up till then had been his best friend. It took years for Jack to get over his expulsion from the Foxhounds; Old Top, the senior cadet in the shadowy club, had decreed that Jack should be left alone… but also that he be excommunicated, forever gone from their ranks for helping an outsider kill one of the brotherhood's own. Jack had loved being a Foxhound; loved the secrecy, the elite status and influence- and a true sense of belonging. Being kicked out like that had hurt Jack very badly. But life had to go on, and so it had. But that first year afterwards had been especially difficult, and awkward, as both Jack and Ralph attempted to pick up the pieces.

So how, some would surely ask Ralph, did such a close friendship come to pass? Ralph knew the answer to such a question, and it was neither simple nor complicated, but both of those things at once. It had seen its beginnings when Ralph and Jack graduated from Bunker Hill with the Class of 1992. But when they'd entered the Carolina Military Institute, walked through the Durrell Gates of the most prestigious military college in the American South in a broiling, humid August that same year… that, Ralph knew, was when things had really changed. That had been the beginning of his and Jack's friendship.

The Fourth-Class System was known throughout the South, and to a lesser extent the United States, for its fierce, unforgiving brutality. It was legendary for the savagery with which its enforcers, the demonic beings that were the junior and senior classes, tore into the ranks of bald-headed, terrified boys now known only as worthless "knobs". Against that, Jack and Ralph had quickly realized that only by fighting together did they have even a prayer of surviving. Against the merciless attacks of the upperclassmen, even Jack had come close to quitting. But one night, so sore from the endless running and hitting the deck for pushups he was literally moaning in pain, Ralph had turned over in his rack and seen Jack entering the room. Once again breaking the regs, he was out of his room after taps. Out of his room, and from the spooked, wide-eyed look on his face, out of his mind. But Jack had crept over to Ralph, and in one instant of locking eyes with him, Ralph knew Jack was suffering the same pain, having the same doubts. All of them were. Some of them would even listen, and though they would rarely be spoken of by the boys who did make it, the ones who washed out of the Institute's brutal plebe system were never blamed or hated by their classmates. At that moment, on that dark and brutally hot night, Ralph had wanted very much to be one of those boys himself. Out of this hellish prison of a college, back home in a real bed… and free. Yes, Ralph had wanted that very much.

But then Jack had crawled up to the side of Ralph's rack, his blonde hair which he'd prized so highly just starting to grow back. He was barely recognizable in the moonlight; like all the other boys who had been sentenced, seemingly by a merciless God Himself, to a year's existence as pitiful knobs, Jack's eyes held a constant terror. The look of a boy suddenly turned into prey. But some of those eyes in some of those terrified boys held courage. Already some of them were resolving that they could not, would not, ever be run out of the Institute. Some of them had already made an incredibly courageous decision. And Ralph knew Jack had made that decision that night in their second week as knobs. Jack looked at Ralph in the dark, and quietly said, "I'm gonna stay. I'm gonna stay, Ralph."

Ralph had stared at Jack in the dark, absolutely floored. He had no idea what to say. But his mouth seemed to have deserted his brain, and while Ralph's mind was struggling for a reply, his mouth went ahead and gave one: "Me, too."

Then, sobbing helplessly, Jack had hugged Ralph fiercely, burying his face in Ralph's shoulder. Jack had vanished into the dark again after a minute or two, and into the once-again-complete silence Ralph's roommate quietly said, "Well, I guess we all gotta stay, now. I'd feel like shit if I quit now."

And not one of those three boys had. Jack, Ralph, and Ralph's roommate Kevin Westfall, had all stayed. Jack and Ralph became leaders in their class simply by that one act of incredible courage; they resolved to stay no matter what, and then Kevin Westfall chose the same, and so did dozens of others in the weeks and months to come. Ralph always attributed the true beginning of his friendship with Jack to that night in his room on fourth division, on the highest floor of T Company's barracks in Fourth Battalion. When Jack had spoken those words, when Jack had simply refused to leave and Ralph had sworn to do the same with him, that had been the moment when they'd truly become friends. That, Ralph knew, was the day their old enmity died for good, and a damn good friendship began in its place. That was when it had been for real.

Jack almost never spoke about what happened on the island; Ralph was content to leave it in the past as well, where it belonged. Jack did make the occasional comment, though, that would leave Ralph wondering just how he'd changed his thoughts about the island over the years. He'd never say much, and would become mysteriously deaf if ever pressed on the subject. But once in a long while, Jack would say something like, "Piggy was pretty smart, huh?" or "Simon was all right. Yeah. He sure was."

Then there was graduation day at the Institute. Ralph was amazed that both of them had made it this far when Jack, grinning from ear to ear, was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps. Ralph had won a large sum of money over the fact that Jack hadn't gotten kicked out; to say the least it had amazed a few people.

It wasn't that Jack hadn't done well at the Institute; he ended up being one of the sharpest cadets in his class in military, academic, and leadership accomplishments, even as a knob. But while the Institute may have succeeded in making a better, more disciplined young man out of Jack, it could not quell the daring and rebellious spirit that lived deep within him. Jack's ability as a rising leader in the Corps was only surpassed by his audacity during weekend and holiday passes. Enough angry bar owners, lovelorn girls and enraged fathers followed Jack Merridew around throughout his college career- quite inexplicably according to a wide-eyed, innocent Jack- that his remaining in the Corps at all through to graduation in June 1996 was as much a surprise to Jack as anybody. After enough time, Ralph learned not to fight too hard against the way Jack did things. He loved living on the high wire, and even the Institute was powerless to drive that out of him. Even the best efforts of the finest college in the Low Country could do nothing against the strains of rebel that, it seemed, ran right down to Jack's DNA. Besides, Ralph did come to like Jack's style after a time. Nothing was better than a good party after a year of being stuck on campus almost every weekend, and Jack knew how to party better than anyone at the Institute.

Yes, Ralph remembered thinking as he stood in line to receive his diploma from the General, it was quite an accomplishment that Jack had managed not to get kicked out… word was that the Commandant's Office had a bigger file on Jack Merridew than any other cadet in the history of the Institute. An exaggeration? Not by much; not in Ralph's book. But Jack was immensely popular with the upperclassmen by his senior year, and word also had it that if Jack had been kicked out, there would have been a mass uprising in the Corps to restore Jack's status as a cadet. Regardless, Ralph and Jack were both there on the parade ground that day, and both proudly saluted General Kriegman and received their diplomas before each of their watching families. It was a wonder for both of them that this day had ever come.

"Come on, asshole, I want you to see my parents," Jack said, sprinting up to Ralph and steering him off from talking to their portly- but much admired- English professor. Stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up- Jack had only gotten faster and stronger as he trained to become a Marine lieutenant- Ralph spotted the distinguished-looking man in an obscenely-expensive business suit, the slender, sandy-blonde-haired woman in an equally expensive dress… and a young boy who he recalled was Jack's little brother. When the two caught sight of each other, Ralph knew his memory was right- the boy broke into a grin and ran towards Jack, who knelt and met him in a close, tight hug, his sword brushing the grass.

Ralph looked at Jack as 4th battalion's now-former commander picked up his brother, and tried asking the question one more time. "Why, Jack?" he whispered it in his friend's ear. Whispering back, his eyes more than moist from how happy he was, Jack had said yet again, "Ask me later."

Ralph did not commission alongside his classmates; he instead went off to medical school at Yale that fall. Ralph had done well enough for rank at the Institute, once again irking Jack by gaining the higher post as Regimental Executive Officer for their senior year. But Ralph's real brilliance, his real area of achievement, was in academics- Ralph Meyer graduated fourth in the Class of 1996 to Jack Merridew's tenth, and it was surprising to few when Ralph received his acceptance letter from the Yale School of Medicine. The elder Merridew insisted on paying a quarter of his tuition there, saying he had no idea what Ralph had hit his boy over the head with, but he was damn glad he did it. And he wanted to know who was selling the objects, whatever they were.

It was one of the happiest days of Ralph's life when he and Jack left the Institute together, known from the lowest freshman to the highest-ranking senior as two of the closest, most fiercely-bonded friends ever to attend Charleston's military college. It was a day he'd never forget.

Equally unforgettable was the day North and South Korea went to war in 2010, for what turned out to be the most violent but also final time. Inevitably more nations than just the United States had gotten dragged into it, and inevitably few young men on either side had wanted to sit out the fight.

Jack and countless others had been there on day one or soon after, already trained men fighting on the front lines. For Jack, the war was the ultimate challenge, and he loved every minute of it. He flew close air support missions, one after another, each after a takeoff run from the USS Abraham Lincoln, the carrier that took more abuse from the enemy than any other ship in the Sea of Japan.

Ralph was different; he went all the same, but as just another ordinary man who'd given up his ordinary job to fight in the war. While Jack soared high- and swooped low- above the enemy, no doubt delighting in making North Korean soldiers fall in terror before him, Ralph worked at a field hospital, keeping alive the boys and men Allied bombs and bullets couldn't keep safe. For whatever reason, fighting to save lives felt much more natural to Ralph than fighting to take them did. A bitter thought occurred to him as well, whenever Ralph reflected on his service in the war; to the best of his knowledge, he'd never killed anyone besides Roger… but that had been far more than enough. Perhaps determined to make up for the one life that he took, Ralph instead resolved to preserve as many as possible, even treating wounded POW's from time to time. His courage as a medic sometimes went over the line to being outright reckless; there was nothing Ralph wouldn't do if it meant getting another wounded man back to the surgeons. Sometimes he wondered if knowing Jack hadn't made him a more daring person than he otherwise would've been. It had certainly made him more careless when ideals- and people- that mattered to him were in danger.

Then there was the last and most unforgettable day of all, out of all the years they'd known each other. Ralph knew he'd never forget the day Major Jack Merridew's Super Hornet went down over North Korea. One battalion of the 1st Marines had been trapped by two Korean People's Army armored brigades during the drive on Pyongyang; Allied command had denied air support from going in because enemy SAM coverage was too heavy. It was actually very true; North Korea's air defenses were infamous for being the heaviest and most unforgiving in the world, and the war had only made the reality of that brutally clear to Allied commanders. But Allied command and North Korea's air defenses had never met Jack Merridew. Ralph smiled ironically as a pilot from Jack's squadron told him the news; telling Jack he couldn't do something was the best possible way to make sure he absolutely, positively, found a way to do it.

Ralph was not surprised at what Jack did, or that the Allied Nations ultimately did win the war. He was surprised at how many people showed up when the Marine Corps honour guard prepared to say farewell to Major Jack Merridew at Arlington. It said a lot about how different Jack had become.

Among those present were dozens of men who'd been on the ground with the 1st Marines, fighting one of the most desperate battles of the Second Korean War. Then that lone F-18 had roared overhead, followed closely by a handful of others. Every pilot who'd followed Jack in had faced a court-martial; the fact that his squadron commander was among them- albeit spitting and swearing the whole way- was one of their best saving graces. And Ralph spoke with a handful of pilots who'd been there; to a man, they'd all said they'd do it again, court-martial or no.

The lead Super Hornet had been too low for its crew to eject if hit- and hit they were, but not before blowing a bridge and costing the KPA a whole column of tanks. The men present- pilots and grunts- talked of that pilot as a "brave, beautiful motherfucker" and inwardly, Ralph had to suppress a smile…. Jack would have loved this. All the glory, all the attention- and knowing he'd given the guys he hated one good, solid punch rather than letting someone up high tell him he couldn't. Jack would've loved every bit of it.

As for Ralph… he was just thankful the bad dreams had stopped. He didn't know what had become of Piggy or Simon, but he knew they'd faded away, at peace. Ralph was glad for that.

And strangely, he felt at peace with the way Jack had gone, too. After twenty years of knowing Jack Merridew, Ralph was sure he wouldn't have wanted to go any other way. He had probably gone out with a grin on his face; and Ralph was certain he'd had no regrets. That helped Ralph rest easy, too.

XX

A young Air Force first lieutenant approached Ralph after the ceremony; he saluted sharply, and briefly Ralph was confused; he'd been so faraway with his thoughts he'd forgotten he was a Lieutenant Colonel of the Army Medical Corps; just discharged, but in uniform nonetheless. He'd also forgotten about the rows of medals hanging from his chest. It was one thing that had always made him different from the tall, blonde boy he'd gone to school with; Jack never forgot a single thing that brought him glory.

The lieutenant smiled a little after Ralph returned the salute; with his uniform on and the Air Force blue officer's cap hiding most of his hair, Ralph forgot who he was. The junior officer didn't seem to have any trouble recognizing him, however. Then Ralph read the brushed silver nametag, and noticed the Air Force Cross and silver pilot's wings on the left breast of his uniform. It figured.

"Hey, uh, sir," the lieutenant said, offering his hand. "You must be Ralph."

"That's right", Ralph said, shaking his hand. "You must be Michael."

The lieutenant gave a different smile then, one that Ralph was very familiar with; it was that same flashy, show-stopper's smile that Jack had always been so good at doing. Michael Merridew hadn't quite inherited his brother's bone-deep rebelliousness, but they looked almost exactly alike. And when Ralph saw the younger of the two brothers smile like that, he felt a little sorry for Michael Merridew's squadron commander. Maybe he more than just looked like Jack.

The two talked for a time, and for a young man who had just buried his brother, Ralph found Michael to be a surprisingly cheerful young man. Keeping his college-acquired instinct of checking a man's right hand for a CMI ring, Ralph had not been surprised to find one when they'd shaken hands. It was only natural somebody like Michael Merridew would want to go to a prestigious school like CMI, just as his brother had done. Jack and Michael had been close throughout both their childhoods, and that had closeness had clearly endured beyond their early years. Jack had gone to the Institute, so Michael went to the Institute. Jack became a fighter pilot, so Michael did just the same.

Even now, it was clear how much the younger Merridew still adored big brother and wanted to be like him. Save for one difference; Michael had inherited a little more of his parents' good sense, enough to know that glory was fleeting and surviving a war was better in the end. But Michael had no delusions about what his big brother would have said, had he heard that: to Jack Merridew, Sic Transit Gloria Mundi was meaningless Latin gibberish, and all great glory was forever.

The younger Merridew said nothing of his own exploits in the war, never mentioned the fact that he'd taken on nine KPAF MiG-29's in a single F-22. And won. Overall, the two avoided talk of the war- and of Jack's death in it- as much as possible. They talked about how they'd both known him over so many years, smiling at the many memories both of them had. It was something that Ralph would come to realise about military funerals in particular; it was about celebrating the man's life, rather than simply mourning his death. And more than one life was being lived still because Jack had volunteered to turn his in early. Ralph would think about that often, too.

The younger Merridew brother told Ralph how much Jack had always talked about him- "I don't think he ever liked and hated somebody so much at the same time", Michael had said with a smile and a shake of the head- and mentioned Jack's actions only briefly. His eyes shone with more than pride as he talked of the medals Jack had won, and how Allied troops on the ground loved the renegade squadron exec as much as the North Koreans hated him. Finally Michael could not go on. He gave up, staring at the ground to hide his eyes.

Ralph found himself strangely unable to speak, too. For a time, both men looked at each other, then shook hands, exchanged information, and promised to visit one another someday. Ralph headed off to his own car after a while, to waiting children and a wife. They stood beside the car, watching quietly from a distance after the ceremony; they weren't about to leave until Ralph was ready. Finally, he got in though, and after blinking furiously for a time started the car and drove away.

Michael Merridew watched Ralph's car go; people gradually drifted away, finding other places to go and other things to do. Michael was grateful. He was already getting tired of shaking hands with so many people who wanted to thank him for something his brother did; and then when they noticed his Air Force Cross, people started wanting to thank Michael too. He would stay in the Air Force for a long time to come, though he would sometimes 'forget' to wear the medal. That was one thing that did make Michael Merridew noticeably different from his brother; he hated the attention his actions' had brought him, while Jack had reveled in it. It made him smile a little, in spite of the terrible sadness he felt. That was just like Jack. There wasn't enough glory in the world for somebody like him.

Standing there on a warm June day in Arlington, Michael knelt beside the white headstone, freshly engraved. He set a hand on it and knelt there for a time, unable to speak. Then he got up and walked away without a word.

Behind him, on the white headstone, part of the engraving read:

JACK N. MERRIDEW

MAJOR, USMC

SECOND KOREAN WAR

MEDAL OF HONOR

XX

Two weeks later, a box arrived at Ralph's house in Maryland. The return address was for Michael Merridew's house at Tyndall Air Force Base in Florida; already famous in the fighter community for his own exploits in the Second Korean War, as well as those of his brother, Michael Merridew had just finished transferring to the 325th Fighter Wing. Not even twenty-five years old, the task would soon fall to him to begin training the boys who'd missed out on the recent war how to live through the next one. Standing next to the pile of mail on the kitchen table, Ralph frowned. Why would Michael have needed a box this big just to send a letter? Finally, curiosity spurred him into action; Ralph got a letter opener and cut the tape holding the box shut. Then he opened its cardboard flaps, and Ralph's breath went out in a rush. "Son on of a…" Ralph noticed one of his young sons standing nearby, and added, "Birch". A good save, but his mind was miles off already.

Suddenly, Ralph wasn't in his kitchen anymore. His eyes took on a distant look indeed, because in his mind, Ralph was watching someone walk the island again, this time alone. Images flashed before him, and as he saw each Ralph was sure that was just how they had really been. Ralph saw Jack touring the island; the cove, the beaches, the two caves and the signal fire's old site, at the top of the grassy hill. Looking, thinking, having sights, sounds and smells come flooding back, both good and bad. Ralph saw Jack standing there on the hilltop, feeling it all come back again. And his regret, coming like pain.

Standing there in the kitchen of a house he'd bought five years ago, Ralph marveled at the effort this must have taken on Jack's part. Hiring a seaplane or boat, locating the island again by little other than memory… and searching the island one more time, alone with nothing but a lot of painful memories. Ralph could scarcely believe Jack had found the courage to face all that again in the first place, let alone so vividly. He thought again of Piggy, and Simon, and Roger. And Jack, who in finding this one simple thing had showed, without ever speaking a word, how deeply moved he was by everything he'd seen and done on the island. And all he'd seen and done since.

A small smile crept onto Ralph's face. His wife had joined him and two of his kids in the kitchen now, and they all looked at him curiously. But for the moment, Ralph hardly noticed. He just couldn't believe it.

"What is it, Dad? What did Mr. Merridew send?" That brought Ralph back, the question by his youngest son, five-year-old Kevin. Briefly Ralph reflected on the use of the title; Kevin would not know for many years yet that another, older Merridew had existed in Ralph's life. And for someone like Jack, "existed" was too small a word. No word seemed to fit; even in death Jack defied all labels and categorization. But now it was Ralph who couldn't find a word to say; his mouth worked silently several times before something came out.

Ralph said, "Jack sent me something," and lifted the item out of the box. His children oohed and ahhed, captivated by its colourful brilliance despite years of abuse by the merciless sea- or somehow, perhaps, because of it. Ralph's wife, more aware of the object's importance, gasped quietly and touched a hand to her mouth, her eyes moistening with tears.

Ralph, for his part, just grinned. It was unbelievable, it was impossible- but then, that was Jack. He'd probably had a laugh as he took the item away from the island; Jack, somehow, had probably known Ralph would never expect him to find it.

It was the conch.

The conch from the island in the Pacific, from where the water was the same blue as the sky, where the tall grass still swayed in the wind at the top of the grassy hill, and only the songs of a few birds would ever again disturb the peace.