Chapter 6: The Revelation
James Harris looked at the Colonel for a long, quiet moment. Then, slowly, with an elegance that defied his age, James raised his own hand and returned the salute. He held it for three full seconds, acknowledging the men around him, before dropping his hand smoothly to his side.
Only then did the Colonel lower his salute.
"Mr. Harris," the Colonel said. His voice was not loud, but it carried perfectly in the quiet air. It was thick with obvious, overwhelming respect. "Sir."
James smiled, a warm, genuine smile that finally reached his eyes. "Colonel. You brought quite a lot of hardware just to give an old man a ride."
"We've been trying to reach you for two days, sir," the Colonel said, a hint of exasperation breaking through his professional demeanor. "When you didn't check into the hotel in Kansas City, the Pentagon went into a minor panic. The Secretary of Defense was ready to scramble satellites to find you."
James chuckled softly, patting the leather saddlebag of his motorcycle. "I told them I was riding out on my own. I didn't want an escort. A man needs time to think before an event like this. I took the back roads. Cell reception isn't great, and my phone battery died somewhere near Salina."
"I assumed something important must be happening when I saw the flashing lights," James added, glancing briefly at Jenkins, who looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole.
The Colonel nodded gravely. "It is, sir. The President's schedule was moved up due to the weather front moving into D.C. The ceremony at Arlington has been accelerated. The chopper is waiting at Fort Riley to take you to Andrews. We have to move now if you're going to make it."
The police officers exchanged nervous, terrified glances. Neither fully understood the specific details of what they were witnessing, but the context clues were deafening.
The Pentagon. The Secretary of Defense. The President. Arlington.
Who exactly was this man? Why had an entire military convoy been dispatched to find a lone rider on a Kansas highway? And why did every heavily armed, highly trained soldier present seem to know exactly who he was?
Jenkins suddenly remembered the small, weathered emblem on the motorcycle. The one she had barely noticed. The one she had actively ignored because she was so focused on writing a ticket for a lane violation.
A sinking, hollow feeling appeared in her stomach, dropping like a stone into icy water.
Davies slowly stepped forward, his voice trembling slightly. "Colonel... I apologize for the interruption, but... who is this man?"
The Colonel turned his head slowly, fixing Davies with a look that could melt steel. For a second, Davies thought he was going to be arrested for treason. But then, James raised a hand gently, diffusing the tension.
"It's alright, Colonel. They were just doing their jobs," James said softly. "I was riding a bit slow. An old machine likes to take its time. I drifted. It was my fault."
The Colonel turned fully toward the officers. "Officer," the Colonel said, his voice ringing with absolute clarity, "the man you pulled over is Master Sergeant James Harris. In 1968, during the Tet Offensive, he single-handedly held a defensive perimeter for three days against overwhelming enemy forces, sustaining multiple gunshot wounds to ensure the evacuation of forty-two wounded men in his platoon."
Jenkins felt all the blood drain from her face.
"He is one of the last living recipients of the Congressional Medal of Honor from his division," the Colonel continued, each word landing like a hammer strike. "And tonight, he is the guest of honor at the White House for the dedication of a new national memorial. We are here to escort him."