One of them, dressed in slacks and a polo shirt, stepped forward, on to be greeted by several of my bodyguard stepping in front of him, weapons pointed at his chest. He seemed surprisingly unbothered by it. “As you were, boys. For that matter, who’s guarding my backdoor while all of you are gawking at our visitors?” Most of them looked a little sheepish, and left quickly to return to their assigned posts.
“What can I do for you, Mister…” I prompted.
“You are the commanding officer of the troops who have invaded our lands?” He sounded pretty arrogant.
“Right now sir, I’m the pakeha asking you who you are.” I wasn’t taking shit from anyone, I don’t care how much of a bigshot you are. I’d done my homework, too – ‘pakeha’ was the name they gave to the white man who came from Europe – settlers, invaders, take your pick. They weren’t locals.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, and I could tell his attitude had shifted by the look on his face.
Major Imbolt, Get me your best parade-quality platoon cleaned up and ready for some really oddball duty. Research ‘haka’ and coordinate with the platoon. Be ready inside the hour.
- Colonel Wolf
On it sir!
- Major Imbolt
Imbolt ran a pretty tight company; I remembered him since he was on a change of command parade I’d attended shortly after joining the 82nd.
I figured they’d be able to follow choreographed dance better than anyone – I could be entirely wrong, but I figured it would work out okay, one way or another.
“You still haven’t identified yourself, bub. I suggest if you want any more of my attention, you get on with it.” I had work to get done, and I honestly wasn’t about to waste my time on this guy. If he was here for what I thought he was, though…
“aku tatarahapa mo te roa, e te Ariki.” AHA! My implant translated for me – ‘My apologies for the delay, sir.’
He went on. “My name is Mwata Ngata, and I am a tribal chief of the Maori of the north island. Are you the commanding officer of the troops who have invaded our home?” He sounded a little less cocksure, which is what I was after.
“Any relation to Sir Āpirana Ngata?” I asked.
“Yes sir, he is a direct ancestor of mine.” Ohhhh I couldn’t believe my luck. His ancestor was the reason the Maori hadn’t lost all of their ancient art – and one of the reasons why the Haka still existed, although it was an art form now, rather than a prelude to war.
Major Imbolt, belay that last. Find ‘Ka Mate’. Have your boys ready. I’ll lead it.
- Colonel Wolf.
Wilco Sir.
- Major Imbolt
“I am Colonel James Wolf, 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment. We are here to assure there will be no threat to American interests in the region.”
“We are concerned, Colonel James Wolf, that you are here to replace those whom we have come to live with, in peace, and oppress us once again.” Poor guy. I wondered if he was put up to coming out here, or if he was doing this on his own… I had a suspicion as to where this was going.
“Pōwhiri at Sunrise, tomorrow, one hundred meters outside the camp’s gates. Bring your boys, I’ll have mine.” I turned and walked away.
Major Imbolt, stand down for now, but tell your guys to get some good rest; we’re on outside the camp gates at sunrise in PT gear – expect it to get trashed. Have them in formation, facing away from the sun.
- Colonel Wolf
The next morning I woke shortly before first light, and got into PT gear – boots, as we were deployed, but thin shorts and a light t-shirt. I strapped Rage onto my waist, behind me, hoping it would stay there. I walked out to the front gate and saw that most of the platoon was there already, and by the time I got there, they’d seen me coming and had formed up. That was okay with me; we had time still, and it was time for them to see a new side of their old man.
I stretched briefly, then started into one of the more violent katas I knew. It wasn’t meant to be intimidating, other than the fact that it showed there was more to me than what you saw at first glance. The movements helped clear what few cobwebs of sleep remained in my head, and when that was done, I started into one of the gentler ones that, the first time I’d seen it, made me think it was some sort of dancing – no screaming, no violent kicks or punches.. just slow easy movements.
I saw the Maori contingent coming – well, *I* knew they were Maori, I don’t think any of the rest of the boys did – and I finished up my kata and came to a position of at ease, waiting for Mister Ngata to show up. He did, although not in his nice pretty clothes this time – I almost missed that it was him; he had drawn some pretty interesting lines on his face, and was bare-chested like the rest of the dozen or so men he led. Everyone had those staff/sword combinations I’d seen when I did my research the night before, Ngata included.
Steady up, soldiers. Time for some ceremony, then we’ll do our dance. Wait for my cue.
- Colonel Wolf
I stood there waiting, and Ngata and his men dropped into a low stance, several posturing with those little spears like they were going to throw them.
Corporal Jenkins, do me a favor and tell my guards to relax. I can feel their tension all the way over here.
- Colonel Wolf
They’d insisted on a protective escort, I’d insisted to the contrary. Since my Colonel’s rank trumped their enlisted rank, they were snuggled up nice and close to several trees but still with a good line of sight. I didn’t think they’d be needed, but better safe than sorry.
Ngata did the oddest little hopping and skipping dance, spinning and twirling that staff/sword combo of his in one hand, something else I couldn’t see, in the other.
Turns out, he’d actually brought the Taki – the offering from host to guest – as an actual dart. Rumor had it that the guest – manuhiri - was supposed to pick up the Taki by the business end, to indicate that they weren’t hostile to the tangata – the hosts, in this case, the Maori.
He danced closer and closer to me, until he finally stopped, his face an awesome picture of concentration and focus, and the Taki was laid carefully on the ground not three feet in front of me. Fuck it. Time to show off.
He kept doing is crazy-eyes-and-tap-dance as he backed away, still watching me. I had my “war face” on – jaw clenched, and teeth gritting so he’d see the muscles in my jaw flexing. In one smooth, fluid motion, I dropped into a low stance, sweeping one leg out and leaving that foot stretched out in front of me as I drew rage and threw it down, blade piercing the little dart. I wasn’t sure if I could make that connection without focusing on it, but I lucked out. My hands were raised in a defensive stance, with zero change in my expression, as I reached down and pierced the ground with my fingertips, bringing up a handful of black loam, squeezing it with my fingers, getting them good and muddy – and then bringing my fingertips up and drawing circles around my eyes, with lines going back onto my neck – as I’d seen drawn on the Maori chiefs of old. My hands gripped my shirt and tore it away from my torso, leaving the tatters barely hanging from my chest.
Showtime, boys.
- Colonel Wolf
Behind me, an entire platoon’s worth of troops ripped t-shirts to shreds, while they had the same wide-eyed ‘I will eat your heart of your chest while it beats’ look on their faces as they half chanted, half screamed along with me.
Ka mate, ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!
Ka mate! ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!
Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru
Nāna nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā
Ā, upane! ka upane!
Ā, upane, ka upane, whiti te ra!
'Tis death! 'tis death! (or: I may die) ’Tis life! ‘tis life! (or: I may live)
’Tis death! ‘tis death! ’Tis life! ‘tis life!
This is the hairy man
Who brought the sun and caused it to shine
A step upward, another step upward!
A step upward, another... the Sun shines!
The motion,
the facial expression… I had one of the guards deployed to the rear area doing an implant recording of this because I wanted a copy for my own records.
As we finished the haka, the Maori just stood there, stunned. I don’t think they were expecting us to do much other than wonder about their strange visitors from across the ocean – well, we gave them something to talk about.
I walked quietly over to where Rage was pinning the dart to the ground. History said that the visitor was supposed to pick it up but by the pointy end, not the shaft, so as not to show any warlike intentions.
I picked it up by the shaft, pulled Rage out of it and stomped towards Ngata who was now standing upright. I crouched down and laid the dart at his feet – also deviating from custom, turning the ceremony around and making it look like the Maori were the visitors, coming to us, “the people” who live here.
He started to pick it up by the point, and I hissed through my teeth, pointing Rage – still in my hand – at him as I did. He looked up at me, alarm clearly evident on his face, and his hand visibly shook as he curled it around the shaft of the dart.
I grunted at him, and he stood. I strode the last few steps between us and grabbed his hand and curled my own around his and murmured, “by your traditions, this means war. By my traditions, this means we meet as equals. Now you get to try to explain it to your people.”
I let go of his hand and walked backwards a dozen steps, then turned and strode towards my platoon, smiling inwardly. I could hardly wait to see the video.
We had no issues with New Zealand after that. For that matter, we had no issues with ANY of the islands, despite perhaps antagonizing them even more than we had with the New Zealanders. Most other islands, we did a full envelopment, then dropped additional troops inside the perimeter we’d formed, and then systematically ripped out any weapons we found, and made it abundantly clear that we’d left the artillery at home, but if they fucked with us, we’d kill them all.
By the time the year was up, all of Polynesia was secure. Not “ours”, but well on the way to it.
30 NOV 2105
In Re:Colonel James Wolf
S/N 20690401142857
Pursuant to general orders of the Commander, and in accordance with operational needs, subject soldier is promoted from O5 rank to O6 effective 01 DEC 2105.
Subject soldier ordered to stand down active counterinsurgency operations and order troops to shelter in place effective immediately.
Subject soldier to return to the 82nd Airborne Infantry Division, Fort Gibson, North Carolina, to assume Command.
Transport to new command to be effected as soon as possible.
…
What the hell? I was ten years too early into the Colonel rank; I’d never heard of a colonel promoted to General rank before they were fifty or older!
Chapter 32: Climb That Ladder
As it turns out, there was a bigger reason why I’d been called back – the promotion wasn’t exactly a good thing.
Remember that video that I’d gotten one of my bodyguard detail to record? It leaked. It leaked bigtime. I was even more of a hero in the eyes of my troops – and I was a pariah as far as command was concerned.
I didn’t understand at first, since I was from the streets. It had to get beaten into my head – Brigadier General Bobby McFarlane had been forcibly retired, which was a part of why I got yanked back, but the bigger part of it was that damned video. It made no sense to me, since the results were all that really mattered, wouldn’t you think? I’d taken some risks, yes, but the outcome was that the Maori – at that point, the majority of the population in New Zealand – not only got along with me, they LIKED me. I had spent the last year as something of a military governor, largely hands-off since they already had their society mostly under control. We were there to assure they weren’t a threat to American Interests, and we’d done that.
“Look, James, it’s not that you didn’t do a good job – you did. The problem is that you took their culture, you stole from them.” Major General Simmons, my new boss and the commander of Central Command was an older Caucasian man who I suspected had designs on a nice cushy Intendancy job after he retired from the military.
Oh, yeah, that Intendancy crap. Somewhere along the line, we’d had to make a major uniform change… All of these Arkie kids playing government had decided they needed “rank” to organize civilian status, like we had in the military. I don’t think they really grasped what that was about – they simply saw it as a way of measuring status and streamlining organization. It did that, but it just wasn’t appropriate in a civilian environment.
I’m biased of course, and not a small part of my frustration as due to the fact that we spent a ridiculous amount of money to replace all enlisted and officer insignia with new insignia. The designs were the same, but we had to push everything to a gold design – gold, thanks to the mining that the spacers were starting, had ceased to hold the value it once had, and the higher echelons of the “intendancy” had decreed that their rank would be silver, and it was a federal felony to be caught wearing silver rank. So? We all went to gold. Whatever.
“Yes, James, you stole from them. Their heritage, their art and dance and song – that’s their heritage and it wasn’t at all appropriate for you to make a mockery of them by taking it like you did.”
“Sir,” At least this guy wasn’t a fan of being overly familiar, “I didn’t steal it from them. It was a calculated measure that, the way I did it, honored them and praised them by the best possible measure that they could ever have realized.”
“I’m sure you feel sincerely about that, James, but they wouldn’t even have realized what a disservice that you had done them – they are, after all, natives from a lesser-evolved society without as advanced an understanding of cultural mores and societal interactions.” He was so sincere that I nearly believed him. “All of that said, I don’t think too much harm has been done – but we do need to put a stop to that horrid video you took of it. If the Intendancy saw that released state-side – and yes, I’ve already sent out an order to all of central command that that video is to be deemed classified and not available to the public at large without prior authorization from me – or higher.”
I’d watched the video. It was fucking terrifying, while simultaneously giving me chills and making me want to do it all over again. It’s not often you can meet someone on a field of battle like that, utterly dominate and overwhelm them by their own rules, and then teach them your own – all without shedding a single drop of blood.
“I understand, sir. I’ll issue orders to that effect immediately. It wouldn’t due to cause any unnecessary concern within our civilian leadership’s minds over our deployment methods and specific tactics.”
“There, there, good man, that’s precisely the right attitude to have. I knew you were something special, James, which is why I insisted you should be promoted and brought home. Your record is exemplary, both within special and standard forces, and you simply need the benefit of guidance to help you grasp some of the finer nuances of our society.”
“As you say, sir.” No, not at all as you say, you’re an idiot and your combat record – what pitifully little of it there is – pretty clearly says as much. “I’ll apply myself toward learning everything I can, as I have in the past.”
He beamed at me, smiling beatifically from me from under his snowy white hair and slightly kyphotic shoulders.
I’d had to leave Pangan deployed with the 501st; at least they had some decent leadership; one of my battalion commanders had been promoted to my old position, and still reported to me as the division commander. That felt a little awkward, but not as much as it could have been otherwise – however, that was more due to the fact that at this level, I really couldn’t afford to spend much time at the pointy end. The two years I’d spent as a regimental commander were helpful to me, but I’d wished I’d had more time there. Now? I wished I’d had less time as a Colonel, and more time as a Lieutenant Colonel.
Hell, I wished for more time as a Major.
Funny, isn’t it? For the longest time, my intent had been to be in a position of power, a position of command – and here I was, wishing for less of it.
When I realized that myself, I gave myself a shake and started looking at precisely where I was and what power I really had.
I was the commander of one of the most storied units in the US Army – the 82nd Airborne. As a commander, I had nearly fifteen thousand troops under me, actual fighting troops, not pencil pushers and water carriers. How ironic that it had taken me twenty years to come back to the place where I had been previously! Okay, maybe not quite the same place – but I couldn’t help but laugh at the similarity of my present circumstance, to that of almost twenty years prior where I led an organization nearly as big as this one.
I had to re-evaluate not only my present circumstances, but also what had led me to this point in my life.
I’d left the streets because I wanted power. I joined the military, losing all of the power and control that I had, starting back at square one. I learned to be more dangerous, both on my own as well as with a lot of different weapons – weapons that I wouldn’t have really had access to, had I not joined the army. I’ve gained rank faster than most people have – in some cases, I’m the youngest officer to reach this rank, this fast. I’ve served on every continent on the planet, in regular and special forces.
Rage & Fury Page 32