Guardian Angels – Part One
by Grin & Barrett
Be the Father for my children while I am gone, and Husband to my wife until I come back
Fill my family with Peace, Joy, Comfort, Hope, Faith and Happiness
Give my family the strength to choose the hard right over the easy wrong
And give my children the courage to stand up for the weak and the oppressed
Put your mantle of protection around my family, and protect them from all spiritual and physical evils
- Amen
One of the toughest parts of this job is leaving the family. I don’t mind being away from the creature comforts of life, and I don’t mind being in “the suck.” The part that gets me is leaving my wife and kids. The gnawing worry that they need you there, that they won’t be as safe if you aren’t there at night. Knowing that you won’t be there to protect them is a tough pill to swallow, but it is my trust in God that helps me leave them, and my faith that He will protect them while I am gone. That and the fact that I’m blessed to have an ass kicking wife. Though I always kid her that she is a big wimp, no one messes with our kids, she is the mama-bear for my cubs. Fortunately, my wife and I have discussed what it means to be stationed overseas, and how to avoid being an easy American target for terrorism or criminal activity. I was deployed to Iraq last year when my wife had to go full blown Liam Neeson. On vacation with my mother-in-law in Italy, my wife and kids were marked by nefarious forces, and I wanted to share their story…..
My wife, her mom, and my three kids hurried toward the train station. They were already running an hour behind schedule, and they wanted to jump on the train before it got too late.
“Mom, do you think we’ll see that lady again?”
“No, honey, she’s long on her way.”
At least I hope so, my wife thought, it would just be too weird if we bumped into her again.
Four hours earlier, my wife left her cabin in Camp Darby, Italy, grabbed her mom and our three kids from the American Beach, drove the van to Lucca, and jumped on the train in Lucca, bound for Florence. They’d already taken the requisite picture of the kids “holding up” the leaning tower of Pisa, spent many sunburned hours in the waves, and eaten all the spaghetti, pizza, and ice cream they could stuff in their stomachs that week. They had a day left of their summer vacation in Italy, and they wanted to go to one last place before they left, Florence, the “Cradle of Renaissance.”
Onboard the train to Florence, my wife made the acquaintance of a young American teacher on summer holiday. She and my wife chatted for a half hour or so, making small talk and sharing stories. She had already answered a couple of this woman’s questions. Where are you guys headed? How long will you be there? When are you coming back? By themselves, the questions weren’t too ominous, but coupled with a couple other clues, my wife was starting to get uncomfortable around this young woman. First of all, the young lady had referred to her summer vacation as a “summer holiday”, not exactly an American term. Secondly, she had well worn European shoes, not something a teacher on summer vacation would have bought in the states, and clearly too worn to be something she had only recently bought in country. And lastly, and perhaps the oddest clue, was that she didn’t “smell” like an American. My wife couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but this young woman in front of her just seemed off.
After de-boarding the train at the Santa Maria Novella Train Station, my family headed off for their day in Florence. That young “American” teacher shadowed them for a bit, and my wife was happy when they finally left her behind. Once she was gone, my wife and kids all remarked their relief that she had finally gone off on her own.
Four hours later, they were all hurrying toward the train station, already running an hour behind. My oldest son, 12 at the time, asked my wife as they approached the train,
“Mom, do you think we’ll see that lady again?”
“No, honey, she’s long on her way.”
As my wife scanned her rail pass, she felt her stomach sink when she heard a familiar voice:
“Wow, you guys are an hour late. I thought you said you would be here at four.”
There she was, this young woman who made my wife so ill at ease.
“Yeah, we were running a bit late.” What the hell? This is too strange to be a coincidence.
And at that moment, my wife realized they were being targeted. Earlier, on the train to Florence, this young woman had remarked how she was on her way back to Florence because she had an apartment there she was staying at. Evidently, she forgot that she had told my wife that, because now she was claiming that her apartment was in Lucca. Now, my wife was completely on alert.
They boarded the train, and once again the young woman sat by my wife. There were few people on the train back to Lucca, and this time my wife made a deliberate effort to avoid speaking to the woman. This time, however, she was not alone. Sitting in the aisle next to, and slightly behind, my wife was a tall Italian man, and he spent too much time looking over my wife and children, and exchanged too many looks with the young woman. In a panic, my wife realized that she had not taken any phone numbers or contact info for the local police, or for the Military Police located at Camp Darby.
My wife wrote a note on a scrap piece of paper and passed it to her mom.
WE ARE BEING FOLLOWED.
Her mom slowly raised her head, eyes wide, and glanced from the man to the young woman. At that moment, she realized it was true, and she was overcome with the sudden realization that they were all in very real danger.
