Cross of Honor

Xanthippe rang the bell and listened to muffled sounds on the other side of the door until it opened. She looked into air, then down at a frail elderly black man in a wheelchair.

“Mr. Ralph Carver Martin?” She showed her badge. “Agent Rudd, ACLU.”

“Call me Digger.“ the man said.

“What?”

“That’s the nickname my buddies gave me, because I could dig a foxhole faster than any other man in our company. I know what it sounds like, so don’t bother sayin’ the word.”

“I wasn’t going to. Did you receive our letter?”

“About my DSC? Yeah, I got the letter and tried to use it. But it wouldn’t flush down the toilet.”

Xanthippe frowned. “This is a very serious matter. In accordance with House and Senate Rule 1682, commonly called the Ultimate Separation of Church and State Act, all religious symbols on public property and/or financed by public funds are herewith banned. That includes military decorations in the shape of a cross or anything resembling one. Even your Distinguished Service Cross. The government appreciates the medal’s sentimental value to you and is prepared to compensate you --”

“They ain’t really there, you know,” Digger interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

“The words ’separation of church and state.’ They ain’t in the Constitution. Thomas Jefferson wrote ’em in a letter, and he didn’t have nothin' to do with makin’ the Constitution.”

Xanthippe sighed impatiently. “I don’t want to argue over something the United States Supreme Court settled long ago. May I come in?”

“Why not?”

Digger wheeled his chair aside and she stepped into the small room, glancing around at the sparse furnishings and few personal items.

“It ain’t much, but I call it home.”

“Sufficient lodging for an obsolete relic that is no longer of use to society,” Xanthippe paraphrased from the Official Doctrine.

Digger snorted.

“Please surrender the Cross so that it may be properly disposed of.”

“You want to hear how I got it?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so, you not bein' among The Crucified."

She looked bewildered.

"Jesus was put on the Cross and the Cross was put on me. Either way, it's Crucifixion. The General who pinned it on me said it was a sacred ceremony. Also said it should’ve been the Medal of Honor. But you people would probably find a way to take that away from me, too.”

“I don’t make the laws,” Xanthippe said. “But we all must obey them. Where is the medal?”

Digger’s jaw tightened stubbornly. “Supposin’ I don’t give it to you?”

Xanthippe drew herself stiffly upright. “I have two uniformed officers downstairs who are experts at searching every possible hiding place. And they don’t clean up the mess when they’re finished.”

Digger’s shoulders slumped. “Looks like you got me over a barrel. Guess the quickest way to get shut of you is to let you have it. Look in the top bureau drawer over there, with my other war souvenirs.”

“That is a wise decision. The sooner I can close your case, the better for all of us.”

Xanthippe crossed the room, not noticing Digger wheel his chair out the door while her back was to him. The bureau top was covered with pictures of Digger, his wife and family, which she ignored as she pulled out the drawer. The medal lay on top of a clutter of other objects. It seemed stuck to something when she tried to pick it up. She gave a hard yank, then stared blankly at the attached steel ring and pin.

Digger, out in the hall, sat with his back to the wall beside the closed door. “Sometimes an obsolete relic can still be of some use,” he mused, as the grenade's explosion shook the wall.

The End