MetaViews - 1. Metaview 1: Capt. Fink

“Good morning, Ma’am.”

The stiffness in Capt. Chris X. Fink’s body didn’t seem to come from military courtesy but more from anxiety about the very unusual situation.

“Good morning, Captain. And please call me ‘Amanda,’” she offered with a smile, crossing her impeccable legs, while pointing towards a chair. When she noticed the Captain didn’t acknowledge her legs at all, despite the skirt being a hint too short for the Iraq Green Zone, and the blouse a bit too revealing, she ticked the ‘gay’ box internally.

“Thank you, Ma’am. How can I help you?”

“Well,” she took her pencil out of her hair and opened her paper pad nearly dramatically, “as you know we are evaluating our ROTC program, so we interview graduates to get their point of view. I can assure everything you say is completely anonymous.”

“I understand Ma’am.”

He had ignored the ‘Amanda’ offer.

“We understand you were one of the first recruits who openly declared to be gay during the program. How did that impact you in the program?” she asked, noticing the little twitch in the man’s handsome face. The years in the sandbox had given him a roughness she didn’t remember from the party all those years ago. Though he still looked as handsome as ever.

“My superiors were very supportive; and my fellow ROTC recruits couldn’t care less. It didn’t impact my ability to be a great soldier or to lead. It was a non-issue,” he answered more convinced than he seemed to be.

“That is reassuring. Did you actually pursue a relationship during your college time?”

For a second she thought he would challenge her question, but he answered nonetheless. “No, Ma’am, too much work. And lack of the right man.”

“I can relate to that. Nonetheless, thinking back, is there something you would change if you could relive your college years?”

Bingo.

“Not sure Ma’am, I might be more open to some people I cared for; I was very guarded.”

‘You are very guarded,’ she thought. “And what would the ‘right’ man be like?”

“Ma’am, is that question really relevant?” he challenged softly.

She put the pad and pencil away. “No, it isn’t. It’s just some female curiosity. You are an attractive, strong soldier; I would find it interesting to know.”

“Strong, smart, decisive, loyal, not taking anything for granted,” he answered immediately.

“Those are rare indeed,” she commented, taking her pad again. With this a photo fell to the floor.

Chivalrously Capt. Fink jumped up from his floor and picked it up. The photo showed a good-looking blond college student in baseball outfit. The caption said ‘Rob Perry.’

“Like him?” she asked nearly fag-hagly.

“I don’t know him,” he answered truthfully.

Amanda smiled gently. ‘No,’ she concluded. “Do you remember we met once at a party?”

“I do, Ma’am. You were there with a friend of a friend,” he put it politely.

“Indeed, Terrence. So you considered Mr. Parker your friend?”

Nervously, Capt. Fink rearranged his name patch on his uniform. “I would say ‘acquaintance.’” A hint of pain crossed his face.

“Would you have preferred to extend that acquaintanceship?” she asked in a sultry voice.

The soldier’s pupils widened, he opened his mouth, he wanted to say something. Instead he quickly grabbed the water bottle, opened it impatiently and took a long gulp. “Ma’am, I would prefer to tell this to Mr. Parker myself if the opportunity so arises.”

“Of course. Have you been in contact with him?”

“No, Ma’am.”

“I see,” she stated. She considered this was not the right moment to inform the Captain that Mr. Parker was dead. “So are you intending to go back to university for another degree?”

“No, Ma’am, but I volunteered to instruct future ROTC recruits, so I might return to a college after all,” he informed her, relieved the topic had become less touchy.

“That is interesting.” She made some notes on her pad. “I have seen you have spent most of your first four and half years in the army in Iraq. Is there a reason for that?”

More water. “I chose to be a soldier. I need to be in the field. I need to lead. I’m not the person who can sit behind a desk for too long. We are doing something very important here. I can make a difference.”

Amanda smiled, taking a sip from her glass of water. ‘PR garbage,’ she summarized on her pad. “I fully understand. And I appreciate your service.”

“There is nothing,” the Captain volunteered, as if he had to get something off his chest, “nothing that kept me in the States. This was a good place to be of value.”

Amanda nodded. She knew too well what ‘nothing’ meant. “So did you feel any less adequate as ROTC graduate compared to the officers from regular military academies?”

“Initially a bit. After the first battles the good officers separated from the less good; and it had nothing to do with ROTC or non-ROTC,” he stated.

“So you would say our college has given you sufficient support to be successful in your career?”

“Yes, Ma’am, absolutely.”

“How do you think about adding ROTC programs of other branches?”

“I’m not sure I’m the most qualified to answer that, but I think an officer program that goes more into the technical areas – like the Air Force’s – would be a good compliment to the current program,” he answered crisply.

“No marines then,” she joked.

“No, Ma’am,” he stated firmly.

“How is the cooperation with the Marine Corps; there is talk again to incorporate them into the Army?” she asked nearly disinterested.

“Again, that question is above my pay grade. Our corporation is highly professional, and we value each other’s capabilities.” Capt. Fink nearly sounded like a politician.

“Do you know General Stiller?” she changed course abruptly.

He emptied his water bottle. “I met him briefly when he was on campus; he visited the ROTC program, of course.”

“Oh, I remember that was shortly before we met at the party.”

“Indeed, Ma’am.”

Amanda smiled. “Well, I’ll meet him in the next days, maybe I can tell him about your wish to return to our college …”

“Ma’am, I’d hope my qualifications would be the only criteria …”

“Of course, Captain. But as both of you are alumni of our college I can at least make him aware of your wish …”

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.”

Amanda made some notes on her pad and flipped a page. Another photo became visible, attached to the back of the turned page. A tall, red-haired man in tight jeans and a red sweater with the Marines logo was on it, seemingly waiting for someone. The caption said: ‘Prime F. Loope.’ She noticed how the Captain temples throbbed, he fisted his palms as if to attack an enemy with his bare hands, he had to take some deep breaths. When he returned to his professional calm, he quickly asked: “Is there anything else?”

“No, Captain. You have been extremely helpful. And thank you for your service.” She got up.

The soldier followed her, nodded his head, forced himself to say: “Thanks for your support” and ran off.

She picked up her phone and called her boss.