by Mark Tufo
“I don’t have a choice when I’m going to be in, you know that. And I don’t think you should be so shocked that I should show up for his birthday. Common sense would tell ya that it’s a parent’s right to be there to celebrate the birth of their offspring,” Robert replied, trying not to lose his temper.
Barbara took a deep breath and rose to all of her five-foot, two inches and puffed up her ninety-eight pounds to point at his chest. To any passersby it might appear like a toy poodle dressing down a St. Bernard, but Barbara Mueller used to rule Robert with an iron fist, and she wasn’t going to stop trying to exercise that control now. She stood up to his six-foot, six-inch, two hundred and sixty pound muscle bound self without fear. “He’s your son not OFFSPRING!” she yelled.
Robert sighed. “I’m not going to fight with you, Babs.” Robert turned and started to get in his Jeep.
Barbara all but yelled at him, “My name is Barbara. You will address me as Barbara from now on!”
Robert turned on her very slowly. For just a fleeting moment, Barbara felt a moment of panic thinking that she had actually pushed him too far and that he was going to hurt her. And she also felt, for that same fleeting moment, that she actually deserved it for the way she had been treating him and for the way she had been using Bobby as a tool to hurt Robert. But when Robert turned and she saw his face, she saw the twinkle in his eye and the cheesy grin on his face. He slowly closed the gap between them until there was barely a breath between them.
He looked down on her and said softly, “You will always be MY Babs.”
She barely had time to see his hands move as they wrapped around her waist and he picked her up to meet him eye-to-eye. He pulled her close, and before she knew what he was doing, he kissed her. Hard at first, then softening into the tender deliciousness she had almost forgotten. In shock, she wasn’t sure what to do. She had divorced him! He wasn’t supposed to do this! She began to hit at him, but it was like striking a stone wall. All she was accomplishing was hurting her fists. When he softened his kiss, she remembered why she married him in the first place. His grip lightened and he slid her slowly to the ground, her fists went from beating his chest to wrapping around his neck and how she ended up kissing him back, she doesn’t remember. How long they stood in the driveway kissing, she doesn’t know, but she knew that this was where she wanted to be. She felt safe again. He made her feel safe. Her mountain of a man holding her gently, kissing her, making her feel like she is the only woman in the world…this is what she truly wanted. The fight in her drained away as she let down her guard and opened her heart to him once again.
Robert’s pager went off and she cursed softly beneath his mouth. No! This can’t be happening again. This is why I had to divorce you the first time. You can’t do this. You can’t. Don’t look at it. If you choose that damned pager…
Robert pulled away from her to look at the pager. He cursed again and hung his head low. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to.”
Barbara didn’t even know she was crying, but Robert reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. The sadness in his eyes bore through to her very soul. If I could make it all better, I would. He cupped her face and reached in for another kiss. She kissed him again, this time more desperately, her arms wrapping around his neck again holding on and squeezing herself against him.
The pager buzzed again, and this time Barbara practically choked out a sob. “I love you so much, Babs. Tell Bobby I love him, too.” He kissed her once more on the tip of her nose.
He mounted his Jeep and started it up. He looked out at her standing in the driveway and she stood staring at him, tears streaming down her face. “You bring your ass home safe, Robert. Or I swear to God, I’ll dig up your corpse so I can kill you myself,” she whispered as his Jeep pulled from the curb.
Jimmy ‘Tango Down’ Wallace didn’t appear to be much of a threat to the bikers in the bar, but there was still something about the little man that made them uneasy. TD, as he was known to his friends, was just trying to enjoy a cold beer and maybe shoot some pool, but the majority of the patrons in this shit-hole dive were already so inebriated and rowdy that he knew there would be trouble.
At 5’8”, TD wasn’t large in stature, but he carried himself with a surety that was unmistakable. He was a no-nonsense kind of fellow made of tougher things than most could endure. He just looked like he was tougher than shoe leather, and the jagged scar running from his right brow and down his cheek added to the intensity the man carried. An Air Force Combat Controller for the last eight years, TD had spent as much time in the muck as any other spec ops warrior. He had fought evil all over the globe – from the Columbian drug lords to terrorist cells in Iraq, TD had seen or done most everything there was to do and still be able to walk away from it. He still recalled when the flight surgeon promised they could make him pretty again, he said, ‘Fuck it. Pain don’t last forever, and chicks dig scars.’ It may have been an old expression, but it definitely held true. TD was never much on looks prior to the incident that left him scarred, but afterward, the chicks certainly seemed more interested.
Draining his beer, he took one last look around the bar to see if any patrons were sober enough to offer a game at the pool table. Satisfied that there were none, he slid off his barstool to leave. Counting out his bar tab and allowing for a tip, he dropped a small wad of bills on the bar and was turning to leave when his pager went off. Glancing at the number, he knew he had to return to base as soon as possible.
The drive to the base was shorter than he expected, and he arrived at the station chief’s watch post. TD checked in, signed the log and was headed to the locker room when he was intercepted by his commanding officer. “Tango, I got orders for you. My office, five minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” TD responded. He loaded his bug-out bag and was checking his gear when Dave Marshal came sliding through the door. TD and Dave had pretty much spent all of their time together. Having enlisted at the same time, gone through boot camp together, Security Forces school and Combat Controller training together.
“You get paged, too?” Dave asked.
“Yup. I figured it was a full deployment and that we’d all be paged, no?” TD answered, glancing around the locker room and noticing that nobody else was coming or going.
“Nope. I called Marley and Pride to see if they might need a ride in and they said they weren’t paged.” Marshal had that look on his face that always made TD’s guts spin. Something wasn’t right.
“Cap wants us in his office. Maybe we’ll get the low-down on what’s going on.”
Marshal poured a cup of coffee from the mixer stand. “All I know is, if we’re bugging out tonight, I’m gonna need some go-juice to keep my butt from dragging. We were supposed to have a three day R&R and I haven’t slept since Cap cut us loose.”
TD stood and headed towards the CO’s door. Marshal held his ‘cup-o-mud’ but followed. After knocking and Cap clearing them for entry, both men entered and waited for acknowledgement. Their CO was going through papers and told them without looking up, “Take a seat, boys. I’ve got new orders for you.”
Both men sat simultaneously and waited for Cap to tell them what the hell was going on. Cap finally looked up at both of them and sighed. “Orders just came in. You’re both taking off first thing in the morning.”
TD had to ask, “But, Cap, we just got here a couple of weeks ago. We were supposed to start training nubs in less than two weeks. Surely they can’t send us back to the sandbox already?”
Cap cleared his throat and hiked his eyebrows at them. “Boys, I don’t have a friggin’ clue where you’re headed. All I got was this set of orders sent out from the Pentagon telling me to release the two of you for follow-up commands. It doesn’t say where you’re going, what you’ll be doing, or who you’ll be doing it with. It just says to have your butts on the tarmac at 0600 for sendoff.”
Marshal looked up from his coffee. “The Pentagon, sir?”
Cap gave him an exasperated look.
“Yes, Dave. The friggin’ Pentagon. You know what that is? The big five-sided building in DC where all the higher ups sit around with their thumbs up their petunias and try to second guess the men in the field! That Pentagon!” Cap cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, studying the two men. “Either one of you put in a request for a change of scenery lately?”
TD and Marshal exchanged glances, shaking their heads. “No, sir,” TD replied. “I’ve been looking forward to instructor duty for some time now. Actually thought of it as a bit of a break, to be honest.”
Cap nodded his head. “You both have earned a little down time, that’s for sure. But orders is orders and mine are telling me to cargo you boys outta here. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.” Cap reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out his ‘hidden’ bottle of cheap rotgut and three shot glasses. “But I figure if you boys are leaving, then we might as well have at least one drink together so I can wish you boys all the luck in the world...for whatever the hell it is they’re going to do with you.
Cap poured the three shots and handed the men theirs. “Salud,” he offered.
“Salud,” they responded and tossed back the hooch.
Cap grimaced slightly. “Whew. That will put some starch in your shorts, I tell ya.”
Marshal, gasping for air, stuttered out, “Real smooth, sir.”
“Bullshit. I can’t afford the ‘smooth’ stuff. This is rotgut in a fancy whiskey bottle.” Cap sighed heavily. “I hate to get in new instructors and then have them pulled out from under me like this.”
“So this has happened before, sir?” TD asked.
“Nope. First time. Usually once the detailers send you boys to me, I have you for two years.” Setting the bottle back in the bottom of his drawer, Cap said, “This is honestly the first time I’ve had guys pulled out from under me after just six weeks.”
Cap handed the men their orders and wished them well. Both men walked out of their CO’s office confused. Their orders had no destination on them. Just the flight and tail number of the plane they were supposed to board the next morning.
“Something isn’t right here, Dave. I got this eerie feeling,” TD said as they headed to pack their gear.
“Well, the Air Force hasn’t screwed us yet, have they, pal?” Marshal always had a way of at least trying to find a silver lining. “Whatever they have in store for us, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”
Gus Tracy took one look at the orders he had been handed and stated simply, “You’re shitting me, right?”
“Sorry, Tracy. These came in for you just an hour ago. Hot off the printer,” the young specialist said. “No idea what your final destination might be, but these are the weirdest orders I’ve ever seen issued.”
Gus looked it over again. Surely there was a typo somewhere. In his ten years in the Army, he’d never received transfer orders that didn’t have a destination, a command name and at least an offer for using some annual leave in getting there. “Where’s Colonel Baird?” Gus asked.
“He’s in the procurement office. He should be back shortly, though.”
Gus looked at the departure time again. He had less than twelve hours to pack everything he could and be ready to leave. Sighing to himself, he turned to the specialist assigned to the Colonel’s office. “Is he aware of this?”
“To my knowledge, yes. He was confused as hell when he left here. Told me to contact you and make you aware of it as soon as possible.” The specialist turned and retrieved Gus’ service record. “I went ahead and brought everything up to date for you. Your medical and dental records are on their way over here now. Should be here within the hour.”
Gus took his service jacket and tucked it under his arm. “This sucks balls, ya know.”
“I know, Tracy. I’m really sorry. I wish I had answers for you.”
“Jeez. Less than twelve hours to pack up everything and make ready. That’s bullshit. It took me two months to unpack all my crap.” Gus looked at the orders one more time. Nothing had changed, but he hoped there was some small piece of information he had missed. “Fine. Tell the old man I’m getting my shit together. If he needs me, I’ll be in my barracks.”
Gus Tracy, Army Airborne, Green Beret and all around nice guy, once the terror of Baghdad, now being treated like a mushroom; kept in the dark and fed bullshit when all he really wanted was a few simple answers.
Gus took no care while shoving things in his duffel bag. He paused only briefly to admire the SFG pin on his uniform. “Say goodbye to the Fifth, Gus. I guess they don’t need you anymore.” He muttered to himself. The Fifth being the Fifth Special Forces Group, the only real home Gus had known in his twelve year stint in the Army. A career military man, Gus Tracy had been under a lot of commands, been to many foreign places, met strange and exciting new people… and killed them. Yet he never questioned the Army. He never questioned those in authority over him. To him, these men were like gods. They had gone through the ranks, earned the same rights and respect that he had, yet they had the ability to not only serve, but to lead as well. The Army had always taken care of Sergeant First Class Tracy and he wasn’t about to question them now.
Although Tracy’s mind was turning about on where he might be headed, he diligently packed up all of his belongings. Much to his surprise, nearly all of it fit in the single duffel. What little that didn’t, he soon realized he could easily toss out and replace when he got to his new command. Coming from nothing, Gus never was one for acquiring personal things that didn’t pertain directly to his job. The closest thing to a personal belonging that he owned was his father’s straight razor. Gus never tried to actually shave with it, but the shiny metal folding blade brought him a small bit of comfort. He may be alone in the world, but at one time he had family who loved him.
But that was a long, long time ago…during another life that he could never return to.
Gus quietly shifted the duffel over his shoulder, scanned the area one last time to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything then wordlessly left the building. He would just as soon wait at the airport than to sit here and argue over something he had no control over. Besides, most airports had bars in them and Gus really felt the need for a drink.
Maria Consuela Rosalea Sanchez had just come on duty at LAPD. As she finished changing in the locker room and headed to the shift office to log in, her lieutenant approached her. “Sanchez. Captain Rodgers needs to see you ASAP.”
Sanchez paused a moment. Who is Rodgers? “LT?” she asked. “Who is Rodgers again?”
“Admin. She works in personnel.”
Sanchez took the stairs instead of the elevators to help keep in shape. She was one of the first females to make it onto LAPD’s illustrious SWAT teams, and she prided herself on her fitness and shooting skills. Anything and everything she could do to help keep herself in shape, she would do, including taking the stairs to the top floors to the administration levels.
Once reaching the upper levels, she scanned the names on the closed office doors. When she found Captain Rodgers office, she knocked and stepped into the office. “You wanted to see me, captain?”
“Sgt. Sanchez, please have a seat.” Captain Rodgers was shuffling through a pile of records and pulled a thick one out as she sat down behind her desk. She slipped on a pair of reading glasses and began going through the record, nodding and smiling. When she was done, she closed the file and took off her glasses. She looked directly into Sanchez’s curious eyes.
“Have I done something wrong, ma’am?”
“What? No. Not at all, Sanchez,” Rodgers replied. She turned her chair to cross her legs. “But tell me, have you ever served in the military?”
“No, ma’am.”
“I didn’t think so. Your record states that, after high school, you attended UCLA where you obtained a degree in criminal justice, applied to LAPD, went through the academy where you scored in the upper ninety percent of your class.”
“Upper ninety-five percent of my class,
ma’am,” Sanchez corrected.
Rodgers turned to her again and smiled. “Of course. Upper ninety-five percent of your class.” She opened the file again and using her finger as a marker, “You’ve always scored in the upper percentile on the range. You applied for SWAT…how many times, before being given a chance to try?”
“Eleven, ma’am,” Sanchez stated.
Rodgers stared at her. Her face was unreadable. “That is either stone-cold perseverance or stupidity, I’m not sure which,” she said.
“I’m one of the first female SWAT members in the nation, ma’am.”
“Yes, you are,” Rodgers stated. “Is this something you’re proud of?”
“Very.” Sanchez replied. “Is this going somewhere, ma’am?”
Rodgers inhaled deeply and closed the file again. “No. But you are. You are being transferred.”
Sanchez was floored. She couldn’t possibly imagine what she could have done to deserve being transferred. Her record was perfect. “Ma’am?” she asked, “Is this a mistake?”
“I’m afraid not, Sgt. Sanchez. Despite your exemplary record with our department, your presence is strongly requested elsewhere. And it’s signed by the governor on behalf of our military.”
Sanchez was shaking her head, clearly not understanding what was going on. “Ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sergeant, somebody, somewhere at some time has taken notice of you and now, for whatever reason, they want you to come and work for them. I tried to make a few calls to see what this is about, but I’ve been stonewalled. All I can tell you is that we have been strongly urged by the office of the governor to see to it that you accept this offer.” Rodgers was not smiling.
“Wait a moment.” Sanchez was still trying to piece this together in her mind, “Someone, but we don’t know who, wants me, but we don’t know why, to come work for them, but we don’t know what it is.”
“Correct.”