Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1)

by Lewis, Rykar

  He hoped the orders for his next assignment were in when he returned. The suspense of not knowing where he was heading next was killing him. He’d rather just get a yes or no answer the minute he put in for where he wanted to move. But what he wanted and what actually happened were usually two very different things.

  * * *

  Henderson Hall was known to Marines as a part of Headquarters Marine Corps. Few Marines ever worked at HQMC, but one of the Marines that did was Major Theodore P. Forn. A senior major, Forn’s purpose for working at HQMC was being a monitor.

  A small man, barely 5’ 5”, Forn couldn’t have weighed over 120 pounds even with the thick Coke-bottle glasses he wore at all times. He looked more like a bookworm librarian than a Marine, especially with the way he talked, which sounded squeaky and shrill. People that worked closely with Forn had always been baffled as to how he had made it all the way to major. Not that he wasn’t a good Marine, but he lacked zeal to increase in rank. His famous words to people that questioned his lack of desire for promotion were, “I have money, a good job, and I like my rank. Why should I want to be promoted?”

  One smart Marine lieutenant colonel who was also a monitor had come back with his own version of the statement. “You can always have more money, a better job, and a new favorite rank. Why shouldn’t you want to be promoted?” Forn hadn’t been impressed with that; in fact, he’d said so to the lieutenant colonel’s face.

  Forn could recall another Marine saying, “The man’s just a computer geek, slapped into a Marine’s uniform.” Perhaps the statement stemmed from his love of playing computer pinball while on duty, or maybe just from his eccentric appearance. Forn didn’t mind the slandering though. He was happy with his job and himself, and that was all that mattered.

  Just two weeks ago, the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps had received a request signed by the National Security Advisor, to make a list of the best fifty anti-terrorism Marines who would be candidates for a position in a new counterterrorism team the President was forming. The requirements for each man were as follows: they be no older than forty-five, they had to have at least a three-year term with the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion, and they had to be an officer above the rank of captain.

  The Commandant sent in the requested list by the week’s end. It featured thirty lieutenant colonels, nineteen majors, and – against the rank requirement – one captain who was a major select, and in his opinion, the most capable for the job. To show the National Security Advisor the confidence he had in the captain’s ability, he had put his name at the top of the list and had circled and highlighted it.

  The next day, the Commandant received yet another request from the National Security Advisor. It asked that the chosen Marine have a Permanent Change of Station (PCS) to D.C., and arrive as quickly as possible. The fine details of whom to report to, where, and so on, were hammered out in the request, and then at the very bottom of the page, the chosen Marine’s name: Captain Keith Parks (Major Select).

  The Commandant had met with his CO, Colonel Davidson, just yesterday, and had him order Forn to change Parks’ new duty station from Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana, to Washington D.C. The order went down the chain of command and finally ended up right on Forn’s desk.

  The major had just received final approval for Parks’ new set of orders, and he was sending the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion Headquarters an electronic copy. After the orders were sent, Forn could wash his hands of the entire matter and forget about it. He just hoped he’d fulfill his goal of making Marines miserable with where they were going to be stationed.

  * * *

  Parks eased back into the office’s parking lot and got out of his truck. The sun made the spring day warm and just about perfect. He strolled into the office building and made a quick trip to see one of his platoon sergeants, Gunnery Sergeant Zhao Zhou, to check and see if the man had received his new duty station orders. Zhou had arrived at the base the exact day Parks had, and both were due to move at the same time.

  “Hey Gunny,” Parks greeted, coming into Zhou’s office and taking a seat on the edge of his desk. “Anything new going on?”

  “Yes sir, there is,” the small, Chinese man said, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on the desk in front of him. “I think you’d like to know my PCS orders just arrived about fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Good, it seems you’ve been waitin’ forever, just like me.” Parks looked for any indication of the results in the gunny’s facial expression and then cautiously asked, “Where’d you get stationed this time?”

  “I got snagged to go to the U.S. Embassy in Beijing, sir,” Zhou replied quickly.

  “China?” Parks asked in amazement.

  “Do you know any other Beijing, sir?”

  “No, but I thought you’ve already been there.”

  “No sir, I was stationed at Okinawa – my first duty station.”

  “Smedley Butler…that’s right.”

  “I hated the place but my wife loved it. She’d never been out of the States before so she enjoyed seeing another country. If it were up to me though, I’d never leave here, sir. It’s not worth it to leave this country to see any other place.”

  “What choice do you have?” Parks asked flatly, already knowing the answer.

  “None whatsoever, sir. But I can still complain, can’t I?” Zhou stated as he threw his arms up in helplessness.

  “Yeah. You might have company with the complaints after I find out where I’m headed.”

  “Yes sir, I just might.”

  “I’d better go and check if my orders arrived. See ya.”

  Parks stood, and walked briskly out of the room. He was nervous. He had a bad feeling that something was going to happen that he didn’t want to have happen concerning his PCS orders. A little voice in the back of his mind kept telling him that something would go wrong.

  * * *

  The Anti-Terrorism Battalion S-1 (Administration) had just received an email from HQMC. The email was really a set of electronic PCS orders for a Captain Keith Parks (Major Select), who, as of today, was a major.

  The Admin Chief, Staff Sergeant Bill Carson, knew exactly what to do. He’d done this once already today, and a million times in his career. Just as always, he printed the orders, grabbed them, and walked over to his computer where he would copy them and then “battalionize” a set for the CO’s signature, which was usually designated to him to sign by direction of the CO. The battalion set of orders would allow Parks to obtain his travel pay, have his household goods shipped to his new duty station, and arrange for all the other details that came with moving to a new base.

  The staff sergeant began to type the orders as he thought of Parks. Just about everyone in the battalion knew who he was. Not surprisingly, as the man had received the highest award possible while fighting with the Anti-Terrorism Battalion, not to mention the Silver Star and Purple Heart. Carson had seen Parks once or twice, and he didn’t really know him well, but he knew enough about him to know that he wouldn’t be too happy with this new assignment to D.C. From what Carson could tell, he’d be working on the White House staff instead of HQMC or the Marine Corps Barracks at 8th and I. The orders didn’t explain why or what he’d be doing there; in fact, PCS orders never did. It would seem as though the monitors wanted Marines to sweat about their next duty station, and have them bite their nails until they found out what exactly they’d be doing.

  Carson snapped his mind back to his work and focused completely on finishing the task. If he had to be the bearer of bad news he wanted to get it over with as soon as he could.

  * * *

  Parks looked up from his office desk to see a Marine corporal knock on his already-opened hatch. The corporal requested permission to enter.

  “Come in, Corporal,” Parks ordered, noticing the folder tucked underneath the man’s left arm. He swallowed hard and then asked, “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir,
the Admin Chief ordered me to see that you got this.” The corporal pulled out the folder and placed it right in front of Parks.

  “PCS orders?”

  “PCS orders, sir.”

  Parks looked down at the miniature statue of a bulldog, the Marine Corps mascot, which was resting on his desk right beside the small American and Marine flags. “Well, you delivered them,” he said. “Carry on, Corporal.”

  “Yes sir,” the man obeyed, closing the hatch on his way out.

  Reluctantly and slowly, Parks peeled open the folder marked “PCS Orders – Major Keith Parks,” pulled out the orders, and began to read.

  United States Marine Corps

  Headquarters Company

  Anti-Terrorism Battalion

  Camp Lejeune , North Carolina, 28542

  1320/1

  S-1

  12 Mar 14

  FIRST ENDORSEMENT on DSO 2415-14 dtd 12 Mar 14

  From: Commanding Officer, Headquarters Company, Anti-Terrorism Battalion

  To: Major K. B. Parks 201 05 1877/0302 U.S.M.C.

  Subj: PERMANENT CHANGE OF STATION ORDERS

  1._Delivered. Effective 1600, 13 March 2014 you will stand detached from your present station and duties and will proceed and report by 2400, 17 March 2014 to the National Security Advisor to the President, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C. for duty.

  2._You are authorized 04 days proceed and travel via privately owned vehicle. You are authorized to draw advance dislocation allowance, advance travel/per diem and dependents travel/per diem.

  3._You have given your leave address as: Box 19, Elko, NV 89801, telephone: (775) 738-4244. You have given the person to be notified in the event of an emergency as: Rowdy Parks (Father), address and telephone same as above. Any change in your status shall be reported to the National Security Advisor to the President, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C.

  4._Before making any rental or lease agreements or purchasing a home you will report to the local military housing office at your new duty station if one is located thereat. You are further directed to report to the disbursing office within 3 working days upon completion of travel to settle travel expenses.

  5._Travel is chargeable to appropriation: Travel Code “C” of your Basic Orders.

  6._All other provisions of your basic orders remain the same.

  B. Y. Carson

  B. Y. Carson

  By direction

  The PCS orders papers slipped from Parks’ hand and gracefully floated down to the desk. Had he read it right? Did it really say to report to the National Security Advisor to the President, at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C. for duty? It couldn’t be.

  He slumped further in his swivel chair, picked the papers up again, and stared at the words “1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C.” Why? he kept asking himself. What for?

  Parks hated big cities, and D.C. was most certainly big. Actually, it was enormous. He buried his head in his hands and said aloud, “A hundred bases in this military and I got picked for D.C.” Then it struck him. He wasn’t going to a military base at all. He wasn’t going to HQMC or 8th and I or anywhere else. He had to report to the National Security Advisor to the President, which could mean only one thing: the White House staff.

  6

  Wednesday, March 12th – 1400 hours

  Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

  Parks sat alone in his office. He still could not believe what he had just read. His mind couldn’t register it. How could everything turn out so badly? Five minutes ago he was dreaming about the cool mountain days of Montana, hoping he’d be fortunate enough to be stationed there, and now this. He’d read the PCS orders over again just to be sure that he was reading things correctly. Unfortunately he was. Nothing had changed, except for a rising sense of dread over the duty station where he’d be working in less than five days.

  At last, Parks shoved the papers back into the folder and set it on the edge of the desk. His work phone began to ring, and he answered it immediately. “Major Parks, 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion.” It felt weird to say “major” instead of “captain,” but he’d get used to it.

  “Hey Keith, it’s Colonel Johnson. You busy?”

  “Not really, sir,” he replied, hoping that the colonel wouldn’t want to see him. He was in no mood for a conversation with anyone.

  “You got a minute then?” Johnson asked.

  “However many you need, sir,” Parks offered, not wanting his CO to sense that he didn’t want to speak with him. “Would you like me to come over to your office, sir?”

  “That’d be fine. See you soon.”

  After hanging up, Parks headed for the colonel’s office. When he arrived, the office door was open, so he stepped in and stood at attention. After Johnson told him to relax, Parks greeted the colonel who was flipping through an Outdoor Life magazine. Johnson was a big-time outdoorsman. He loved to get out in the fall to camp, hunt, and fish, for weeks on end. He rarely took leave during the spring and summer; he was saving it all for his mega hunting expeditions. Parks was also a hunter, but he rarely seemed to have time anymore to do anything like that. He was always busy with work and whatever else popped up. He hated seeing the pictures Johnson hung up in his office every fall. They consisted of the big bucks he’d shot, and the monster fish he’d managed to hook, and the animals he’d trapped. Parks was jealous. Jealous over how he never had time to do anything leisurely. Why was he always so busy? He needed to make some time to get out and do outdoorsy things once in a while. But how would he be able to do that in Washington D.C. of all places?

  “Have a seat, Keith,” Johnson offered.

  “Thank you, sir,” Parks acknowledged, pulling up a hard leather chair opposite Johnson’s desk.

  “I imagine it was quite a shock for you to hear about your next duty station?”

  “It was sir.”

  “Let me tell you Keith, there are a lot worse places you can go, and for a lot worse reasons. D.C ain’t such a bad place anyhow. Are you looking forward to going?”

  “No sir.”

  “Hmmm. How come?”

  “I’m not a big fan of large cities, sir. It’ll just be a big change going to the capital and all. You know, sir, the crowds, the traffic, the crime rate.”

  “Yeah,” Johnson agreed. “I understand.” He swatted at a fly that was buzzing around and mumbled to himself about how the creature had gotten into the building. “You nervous about going?” he asked.

  “Not yet sir,” Parks said. “Once my shock wears off I’m sure I will be though.”

  Finally, Johnson closed his magazine and stared squarely at him. Johnson stood at around 6’, and was about 185 lbs., and had a shaved head that always looked sun burnt. His personal awards for bravery in combat consisted of the Navy Cross and Bronze Star, and he often joked that his achievements were one step behind Parks’. It was all in good fun though. Parks and Johnson were great friends, and it was hard to find a better pair of Marines. Johnson was kind of a role model for Parks, and it had been that way since the first day Parks had arrived on his second Anti-Terrorism assignment and took command of Bravo Company.

  “Four days isn’t too long to get to your new duty station, and you’ve still gotta get packed up,” the colonel stated.

  “Yes sir I know.”

  “I guess you’re gonna have a change of command ceremony tomorrow then?”

  “Yes sir. Will you be there, sir?”

  “I’d never miss it.” The colonel stalled before saying. “It’s been a short three years, Keith, but they’ve been good.”

  Parks wasn’t sure if Johnson wanted him to agree with that statement or not, but he took a long breath and spoke his mind anyway. “Yes sir. I wish I didn’t have to leave this base.”

  “Well, everything’s got to end sometime. The whole battalion will miss you.”

  Parks squirmed in his chair. He wasn’t certain what to say or do, so he just said, “They’re good Marines, sir.”
>
  Johnson agreed and then added, “You’ll keep in touch, right? Rebecca and I would love to hear from you.”

  Parks promised he would and then the two men stood and shook hands.

  “That’ll be all, Keith,” the colonel stated. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  * * *

  “You asked for me, sir?” First Sergeant John Bingham stood at attention in front of Parks’ office desk. Parks had called for the first sergeant so that they could go over the details of tomorrow’s change of command ceremony that Bingham would be conducting.

  “I did,” Parks said, closing the PCS orders file that he’d been looking over yet again. “I thought we’d better go over tomorrow’s change of command ceremony.”

  “All right sir.”

  “Have a seat,” Parks offered.

  “Thank you, sir.” The first sergeant seated himself and then began. “We’ll kick it off at 1400, and we’ll hold it at the Headquarters parking lot. I’ll form Bravo Company at attention, and then we’ll hand things over to Colonel Johnson. He’ll present your going away award and all that good stuff, and then he’ll step away. Next, you can say your farewells to the company and when you’re done, Captain Harrison will come and stand next to you while the narrator reads the change of command orders.”

  Captain Joe Harrison was the Marine who would be taking command of Bravo Company. He was a good Marine, and Parks liked him a lot. Harrison had been Parks’ Executive Officer (XO) for the last year, and even though he was an ordinary Joe – considering he was rather plain – he was consistent, and that’s what made him a good Marine, and a great man to be the new commander.

  “When the captain comes up beside you, sir, I’ll go and get the company’s guidon and give it to you,” Bingham continued. “Then Captain Harrison and you will both face inboard and at that time you can pass it over to him. You’ll both face forward again and I’ll come up and get the flag from the captain and bring it back. The narrator will then read the ‘Welcome Aboard’ message from the colonel to Captain Harrison. When he’s done reading that, the captain will do his deal of saying how he’s looking forward to commanding, and thanks to the colonel for the opportunity, and whatever else comes to his mind. After that, I’ll take charge of the company and that’ll be pretty much it. Any questions, comments, or revisions on anything, sir?”