The Grey Man- Partners

by JL Curtis

  Matt took the package without thinking, “Thanks Mike. I gotta go make some decisions.”

  ***

  Matt didn’t go turn the paperwork in, or go home. He drove down by the LCAC[26] ramp and parked staring out over the water. After an hour or so, he finally started his truck and turned it toward the apartment. Now, he had to have a long talk with Felicia.

  Side Trip

  The old man sat in his office going through emails as Yogi dozed and chased something in his sleep on the floor. The sheriff stuck his head in the door, “Got a minute?”

  The old man nodded, “Sure, what’s up?”

  I heard Aaron is back in town. How’s he doing?”

  The old man grimaced, “Not real well. The Marines screwed him over, and he’s not adjusting well to it, or life here. He’s at loose ends, and he’s having a hard time not doing something productive, at least to his way of thinking. He can’t ride with the prosthetic, or at least not well.”

  “Scared about getting the leg hung up?” The sheriff asked.

  “Yep, he doesn’t have any feeling and he can’t be sure how far in the stirrup his foot is, so he’s real tentative. He tends to try to grip harder with the left thigh, which means the horse turns left when he doesn’t want it to. I’m thinking about trying a stirrup cover for brush popping to maybe limit how far his foot can go in, but I don’t know how to break him of the habit with the thigh.”

  The sheriff winced, “That’s not good. And I can’t imagine how frustrated he must be! What about some kind of ball or something that his foot could attach to? You know, like the bicycle racers use?”

  The old man leaned back, “Huh, hadn’t thought about something like that. Maybe bolt that to the tread cover? Or replace the entire stirrup? Or figure out some way to make a breakaway stirrup.”

  The sheriff continued, “Anyway, what I wanted to let you know is if Aaron is interested, we have openings, and I’d pay half of the cost for him to go through the Peace Officer’s course at HPD, then hire him here as deputy.”

  Yogi woke up, saw the sheriff and sidled over for a scratching as the old man pondered the offer, “I’ll pass it along. This would be patrol, right? Not jailer? I don’t think Aaron would do well as a jailer. He’s too much of an outside type, even if he is having problems getting up to speed on the ranch operations. I guess we’re a little too scatterbrained for him.”

  The sheriff laughed, “Scatterbrained? Where did that come from?”

  The old man shrugged, “That’s what Aaron said to Jesse one night. He’s used to order and knowing what needs to be done, or ordered, or taken care of on a routine basis. He’s not reacting well to how reactive ranching is.”

  Chuckling, the sheriff said, “Oh he’ll learn. Or go nuts, one or the other. Anyway, pass along my offer will you?”

  “Sure! By the way,” waving a request form the old man continued, “I’m taking a couple of weeks off. Gotta take care of some stuff, if that’s okay.”

  He handed it to the sheriff who scribbled his initials on it and said, “I’ll drop it by admin. Is Jesse going to come back to work?”

  “Dunno, I’d give her a call if I were you. She’s an old married lady now, so I’m not responsible any longer…”

  Laughing the sheriff just shook his head and left the office.

  ***

  The old man turned back to his email as the phone rang, punching the speaker he said, “Captain Cronin.”

  “John, it’s Bucky. Can you get down here in the next day or so?”

  “What’s up?” he asked as he looked at his schedule, “If it’s serious, I can probably get loose and come down there tomorrow.”

  Bucky replied, “It’s important. I can’t discuss it on an open line, but it has to do with what you passed to me earlier.”

  The old man grimaced, “I’ll be there at eight. I guess it’s too much to hope for good news.”

  Bucky said, “Well, there is movement…”

  “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Lemme go clear it with the sheriff.”

  “Works. See you tomorrow,” Bucky said and hung up.

  The old man got up, told Yogi to stay, and headed for the sheriff’s office. Knocking on the door, he stuck his head in, “Jose, I just got a call from Bucky in Laredo. He wants me down there tomorrow for a meeting. My schedule is open.”

  The sheriff waved, “Sure, go. How many days?”

  The old man thought for a second, “Dunno, he didn’t say. If it’s more than a day, I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough,” looking up at the clock, the sheriff continued, “It’s slow this afternoon, why don’t you go ahead and bag it now. If you’re going down tonight, that will at least get you in there by ten.”

  ***

  The old man leaned against his car in the CBP parking lot at Laredo, sipping coffee at seven-thirty as Bucky pulled in. Bucky got out shaking his head, “What the hell, John? Did you come down last night?”

  The old man nodded, “Sure did. I figured if it was important enough for you to call me, I needed to get here.”

  Bucky replied, “Okay, come on in. I’ll make some better coffee and explain what is going on.” Bucky lead him into the offices and down to a small secure conference room on the second floor. Leaving the old man there, he came back with two mugs of coffee and sat them on the table, then closed the door.

  “John, there are some indicators you were right. There are also rumors that somebody is putting a team together to go take care of business, so to speak. I’m not going to ask you if you know anything about that, but I do want you to know we are sending Spears down to Cozumel with a Mexican Marine who is seconded to another organization. I’d like you to brief the two of them with whatever you feel you can tell them.”

  The old man leaned back and sipped his coffee, Dammit, he knows. Did Billy let something leak? Or was it somebody else… Too late now. I just hope we can keep Spears out of the middle of this shit… “Sure, I’ll brief them. How did we end up with a Marine?”

  Bucky shrugged, “It came down from higher, with a burn before reading message.”

  The old man looked at Bucky sharply, “Burn before reading? From another organization? Never mind, don’t answer that. Why send them to Cozumel? And what’s the premise?”

  “The oldest one in the book, rich Mex with a blonde on his arm, gonna show her the town,” Bucky said with a grin.

  A knock on the door stopped him from going further as Bucky opened the door, “Come in Lieutenant. Captain Cronin, meet Lieutenant Huerta, Marina Mexicana.”

  Lieutenant Huerta came to attention, “Capitan, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  The old man got up and stuck out his hand, “Lieutenant, John Cronin. I’m just an old county deputy sheriff.”

  The lieutenant shook his hand vigorously, “Tomas Huerta, Senor. I have been told you are much more than a simple deputy sheriff. You have done much to counter both the coyotes and the drug smugglers over the years. I am honored to meet you.”

  The old man nodded, “Thanks Tomas, but it’s been a team effort for years.”

  Officer Spears walked into the conference room, smiling at the old man, “Captain! It’s good to see you.” She gave him a quick hug, prompting a raised eyebrow from Tomas. “The captain took a couple of bad guys off my ass from a helicopter down on the border. I owe him.”

  Bucky stood, saying, “Alright, I’m going to leave the three of y’all together. Captain, please brief them and shoot any holes in their plan you find.” With that, he left, closing the door behind him.

  The old man sat at the head of the table, Huerta on one side, Spears on the other. He looked at both of them, sighed and said, “Here’s the backstory, at least as much as I can reveal. Someone connected to the cartels contacted me a couple of months ago. The gist of the conversation was that at least one cartel, if not more, are increasing smuggling people into America, charging them five thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars then raping the women and youn
g girls. They force them to take birth control pills, and use them until they tire of them. Then and only then are they pushed across the border.”

  Taking a sip of coffee he continued, “Now they want to smuggle Muslims into the US, they have made some kind of deal with somebody in the Middle East, probably some of the terrorists over there. And to make it even worse, they are also trying to smuggle shoulder fired rockets into Mexico and the US.”

  Huerta leaned forward, “Rockets? RPGs? Or MANPADs?

  The old man replied, “Crossbows and Grinchs. Full up MANPADS. The Sinaloa cartel are trading drugs for the Crossbows, apparently at least truckload of them will be here in a couple of weeks at best.”

  Spears asked, “Only Sinaloa? What about Los Zetas, La Familia Michoacana, and the Gulf cartel?

  The old man wrapped a hand around the coffee cup, gesturing with the other at the map on the wall, “Apparently all of the cartels wanted them, but Sinaloa has the money. LFM may do the people smuggling, or Los Zetas as a sideline, but the bigger worry is the MANPADS getting into the wrong hands and being used against the Mexican military or US helos.”

  The old man leaned back, “My contact is afraid this is going to get out of hand, and bring down the wrath of both the Mexican and the American militaries if helicopters get shot down. And he not enamored with Muslims crossing through Mexico. He’s a good Catholic after all.”

  Huerta and Spears both laughed in wonder at the last comment, and Spears asked, “Really? That was his justification?”

  Huerta answered, “Michelle, you must remember Hispanics take their religion seriously, actually pretty much over and above everything else, including drugs and politics. Padres are the real power in the villages and rural areas. Even the cartels don’t screw with the Church!”

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, the old man had yet to find a hole in the plan that Huerta and Spears had put together, and he waved them off saying, “Good luck, and I hope it works out. When are y’all leaving?”

  Huerta answered, “Next Thursday, to be able to hit the parties in Cozumel, I need one day to get invitations.” With that, the two of them left, leaving the old man sitting in the conference room.

  The door opened, startling the old man as a man in his mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair, and a rugged build walked in.

  “John, I’m Larry.”

  The old man recognized the voice immediately, and got up to shake hands, “What are you doing here? I thought you were out of California.”

  Larry chuckled, “I am, but when I heard an off the books team was getting put together to go take care of business, I put two and two together and came up with you. Lieutenant Huerta is one of the ones I trained, and you’re going to need somebody to run official interference sooner or later. The Marines are the least corrupt of the Mexican military and Huerta is part of a special team I’ve worked with for four years.”

  The old man shook his head, “Was I that fucking obvious?”

  Larry smiled, “Only to people that actually know your history, or were willing to do a little research. There are folks back in D.C. who believe you’re absolutely correct and your source is a one-A. That was enough to get some things moving and I got called in.” Holding up his hand in defense, Larry continued, “I’m not going to tell you who or how. Matter of fact, we never had this conversation. I’m not here; I’m a figment of your imagination.”

  The old man laughed, “Okay, I’ll play it your way. I just don’t want to get either of those kids killed.”

  Larry nodded, “Then go in hot every time. Don’t give the cartel scum any chance to get a gun or knife in play. And blow the MANPADS if you get the chance.”

  The old man stuck out his hand, “Will do.” Larry shook it and eased out the door.

  Decision Time

  Matt walked quickly into the range office and flipped the stack of paperwork on the desk. He rooted around until he found the good coffee where Toad had it hidden, and started a fresh pot, then stalked back to his desk.

  Booting the computer, he brought up his links to HQ USMC, and searched them until he found the requirements for retirement. Ticking off what he knew from his record, he nodded to himself, Yep, got the time in service by three months, got two years as a master sergeant, that’ll give me about forty-six hundred and change a month to live on. Not a lot, but I’ve still got all my GI Bill, and I know Felicia is planning on working after the baby is born.

  Filling his coffee cup, he flipped through the POD to see what was scheduled for the range, and confirmed nothing had been added. So it was going to be a maintenance day, and they would probably get a few EMI[27] guys after lunch working off their EMI by picking up garbage and cleaning.

  He punched the speaker on and dialed Mike Brill’s office number, after two rings he heard, “First SOB, First Sergeant Brill speaking. This line subject to monitoring, may I help you, sir or ma’am?”

  “Mike, Matt Carter. You got a minute?”

  “Sure Matt, whatta’ you got?”

  Matt hesitated, then said, “Mike, I’m seriously considering pulling the plug. Would you mind reviewing my record to make sure I’ve got all my ducks in a row before I go to admin?”

  Brill paused, “Damn… Uh, sure, Matt. Is this because of what I showed you?”

  Matt replied angrily, “Yep. I’m not willing to lead guys into a fight where our hands are tied, and I can’t in good conscience let them be cannon fodder just to appease this frikkin’ administration’s BS policies.”

  Brill said, “Understood. You got a copy of your file? How up to date is it?”

  Matt pulled open a bottom drawer, flipped to the last entry and said, “Current up to the last fitness report, which was in June. I’m due for one because of the orders. All the other stuff is current.”

  Brill replied, “Okay, bring it by this morning if you can, I’ll get it back to you by COB. I’m sorry to hear this Matt; you’re one of the good guys.”

  Matt hung his head for a moment, “Thanks Mike, but I just can’t…”

  Brill sighed, “I know. Only reason I’m still around is I won’t have to go into the field again. I still have a couple of years to go, then I’m gone too.”

  Matt heard Toad’s truck pull in and said, “I’ll get it to you in an hour. Thanks, Mike!” He punched the speaker off as Toad walked in, “Morning Toad. It’s a field day today. Check with the brig and see how many they are going to send out, and when.”

  Toad glanced at Matt, then got his coffee and leaned against the front of his desk, “What’s got you spun up Matt?”

  Matt leaned back and looked at Toad, “What makes you think I’m spun up?”

  Toad shrugged, “Matt, how long have I known you? Something’s got your panties in a wad this morning. And if you’ve got your records out, something is going on.”

  Matt looked down at his desk and slumped forward, “I’m seriously considering retiring. I saw the new ROE over at admin, and it’s…”

  “Fucked up? Yeah, I’ve heard that.” Toad said. “There are a lot of rumbles about guys bailing rather than accepting orders and going back downrange.”

  Matt sighed, “That’s it. I don’t want to lead the kids into a situation where they could get killed for that kind of stupidity. And having every interaction reviewed for possible violations just doesn’t sit well.”

  Toad pushed off his desk, “Go do what you need to Matt, I’ll handle stuff here today. If anybody asks, you’re on main side dealing with the orders.”

  Matt grabbed his cover, “Thanks, Toad. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure out what I’m doing.” Matt picked his record up, dropped it in a briefcase and headed out the door.

  Toad shook his head, flopped down behind his desk and booted his computer. As soon as it came up, he ran the search engine for Marine Reserves in Texas, and found both HQ and Company C 4th Recon Battalion out of San Antonio, Texas.

  Picking up the phone, he dialed their number.

  ***


  Matt pulled into the 1st SOB’s parking area, dropped off his record with Mike Brill and drove over the HQ Admin. Parking in the lot, he walked quickly into the building, and headed for the personnel group’s office. He ran into Gunner Price on the stairwell, and said, “Morning Gunner.”

  “Morning Master Sergeant Carter. I hear we’re losing you.” Gunner Price said.

  Matt stopped short, “Uh, yes sir.” How the hell, I really haven’t… Yeah, I have. I’m done. But how the hell does the Gunner know?

  “Is there something you’d like to talk about?” Gunner asked. Seeing Matt’s expression he continued, “Com’on. I’ll buy a cup of coffee,” as he started down the stairs.

  Matt turned, “Yes, sir.” And meekly followed him out of the building.

  ***

  Sitting in a quiet corner of the officer’s club, coffee cups in hand, Gunner Price continued, “Matt, I understand your feelings about the ROE, and I’ve already been to the General about it. He’s got calls into HQ USMC, but I don’t think they are going to buck the Pentagon on this.”

  Matt shook his head, “How can they do that Gunner? It’s going to get kids killed or prosecuted, one or the other. I can’t, no! I won’t take kids downrange under my command with those ROEs. Hell, I couldn’t live with myself if I lost even one to that crap. As far as that goes, I’d probably end up on charges, because I’ll shoot any sumbitch that has a gun and shoots at my troops or me whether he drops it or not. Our job is to break things and kill people until the other side stops!”

  Gunner made a quieting motion, “I know that, you know that. I’d do the same damn thing. So would any Marine leader in his right mind. This is about appeasement, not about keeping our folks alive. Have you decided where you’re going and what you’re going to do?”

  Matt hung his head, “Not yet. I haven’t even discussed this with Felicia. I’m going to do that tonight.”

  Gunner said, “Do that. Make damn sure she’s onboard, although I can’t see any reason why she wouldn’t be. Let me know what you decide to do, and I’ll support it up to the boss.”