Full Military Honor

The Petraeus scandal is again in the news. Apparently the story is not over. There is unfinished business. Did Petraeus compromise top-secret information, in addition to compromising his marriage, his reputation, and career?

Now, there might be, finally, some real news to report—something to really talk about.

The first bit—the brouhaha about the affair—that didn’t seem particularly newsworthy. Of course, people must pretend to be shocked by news of infidelity. (Being that it occurs so rarely? And especially so rarely among high-ranking government officials?)  But after the scandals of so many of our nation’s leaders, former and current, was it really necessary for the poor general to fall on his sword in such a dramatic fashion and end his career in disgrace?

His actions, prior to his resignation, seem fairly consistent with those of powerful, highly accomplished, high-testosterone men. They seem especially consistent with those in the military. If the story were only about infidelity, and not a question of compromised secret intelligence, perhaps the military might even take the initiative to create a special award for cleverly carrying on a dalliance for an extended amount of time. There’s already many a military hero who secretly wears that badge of honor. Let’s make it public. Perhaps, even the wives, at least those who find their own ways of coping with the challenges of military family life, might be made eligible for a distinction of their own?

How about that? This idea calls to mind a member-in-good-standing of an Officer’s Wives Club. Her lover was a handsome pilot who lived, with his family, next door to her and her family. Her husband, a navigator, considered the pilot his best friend. Still, the affair went on for a while. Everybody knew about it, everybody perhaps, but for the navigator. The affair didn’t stop until the navigator was transferred to another base, although his wife and her pilot continued to carry on a dedicated correspondence by mail.

Eventually, the pilot too showed up at the navigator’s new base. But despite that the pilot was newly divorced, there were doubts that the affair resumed. The pilot and the wife were closely watched. In the pilot’s absence, the wife had taken on other lovers, both officers and the occasional NCO. Maybe there was only one NCO.

Regardless, the pilot and the wife must have come to some sort of understanding. A new relationship. A friendship. One must assume it was a comfortable new bond between the two, for when the pilot decided to take a new bride, the wife, his former lover, hosted his wedding reception. The wife had hoped her whole family would attend and she expressed an odd mix of dismay and outrage when her daughter refused.

When the pilot was later killed—it was a plane crash during “routine exercises”—the wife expected the whole family to attend the pilot’s funeral as well. There would be no getting out of this one. Across the country she drove her family. In the hot sun they stood sweating as tourists crept along at distance gawking among the rows and rows of bright white tombstones. Arlington Cemetery. The full show: the 21-gun salute, Taps, the Missing Man Flight Formation and the presentation of the folded flag to the widow. His ex-lover didn’t receive a flag, but on that sweltering summer day, there were few present who were ignorant of her special relationship with the pilot as his body joined the ranks of other soldiers accorded full military honors.

He may have fallen from the sky, but he did not fall on his sword. He is buried there still today, with all the other heroes. With the Unknown Soldier. With the unknown secrets.

As the FBI continues its investigation, one wonders if Petraeus will some day be similarly honored. Or were our secrets not safe with him?