by Harold Coyle
General Palmer, deciding that Delmont's discussion of tactics contributed nothing to what the Secretary of Defense needed to know so as to manage the crisis, let Delmont know that he needed to wrap up as quickly and gracefully as possible by employing his usual nonverbal cues.
Glad to be off the hook, Delmont swiftly finished a point he had been belaboring. Then, rather than concluding with a comment that closed all discussion on this aspect of the issue, he made the mistake of asking, "Are there any questions?"
The Commandant of the Marine Corps brought up something that had been bothering him about Razorback for months.
"Colonel, what role do you think fatigue played in this incident?"
To the Secretary of Defense and most people seated about the table, the question sounded simple and practical. But a few, including Palmer and Delmont understood its significance. The Marine general who posed the question had never been in favor of Razorback from its inception. That he was using this forum to continue this debate angered Palmer and everyone who had pushed it. In the twinkling of an eye Delmont realized that his asking for questions been a mistake on a grand scale.
Even before Operation Razorback had actually begun there Were those who knew that it could not be properly supported.
Manpower shortages and overcommitment of Army Special Ops Units around the world were already creating problems. The dearth of available units and personnel could only be made up by extending the duration of each recon team's in-country time to
six weeks or more, and not the two weeks originally envisioned.
After the first couple of long rotations demonstrated that this was simply too much for the recon teams, the Army had informally asked the Marine Corps if it'd be willing to help by contributing 88
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some marine force recon teams or fleet antiterrorists security teams, better known as FASTs. The addition of marine teams to the rotation would allow all of Razorback's army recon units to maintain a more practical schedule even though their deployment time would still be greater than two weeks. In his response to the Marine Commandant Delmont's Marine counterpart thought that Operation Razorback was basically a sound plan dealing with an important mission. Unfortunately, he continued, the Marines had the same problem as the Army did in terms of manpower.
Their special operations forces were already overcommitted.
Adding some of the Marines' teams to Operation Razorback would help the Army, but only worsen the problem the Corps was already having to deal with elsewhere. And even if Marine special ops teams had been available, the Marine special operations plans officer stated that the extended missions in Syria by both Army and Marine units would be detrimental to their operational efficiency, a state of affairs that could lead to a decline in both the effectiveness of the units and their ability to carry out their assigned missions.
"Protracted exposure to the stress of an operation of this nature, coupled with the corrosive effects of the desert environment in which the teams operate will result in a deterioration of the mental and physical health of individuals assigned to these recon teams. If these teams are not rotated before this occurs, a situation that has become routine in Syria, this deterioration will continue to a point where the ability of a team's personnel to function properly or execute their assigned tasks will be significantly compromised, increasing the risk they face to a level that is unacceptable." Between this conclusion and the fact of special ops team scarcity, the Commandant of the Marine Corps had declined to commit any of his forces to Razorback.
The reason the Commandant was posing his question at this time was clear to Delmont and Palmer. Eventually it would be learned that Palmer had authorized the routine extension of each MORE THAN COURAGE
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recon teams' tours of duty in Syria. This revelation would raise the same concern that the Marine special ops officer had described in his report to the Commandant after studying the Razorback operation. By reminding Palmer of this in front of the Secretary of Defense the Commandant was .putting the Army on notice that if they dared try to blame the Corps for any Razorback-related problems, he would respond by publicizing the warning that he had conveyed to the Army several months ago.
Aware that Delmont was uncertain about how to deal with the live grenade that had been tossed in his lap, Palmer answered the question himself. "As Mr. Writt of the CIA and others have pointed out, we have no way of knowing for sure what happened on the ground. Mr. Secretary, until we have more information and have an opportunity to confirm and verify it, I don't think there's any value in continuing speculation about what happened today. The media, I'm sure, will do enough of that on their own."
Sensing that General Palmer wasn't ready to reveal sensitive information the Army already had and needing time to prepare a report that would protect the Army's operations and interests, the Army Chief of Staff backed up Palmer's conclusion. "I agree with General Palmer's point. Until we know for sure what went down out there we should concentrate on collecting information and intelligence. Speculation on what might have happened is a waste oftime."
The Secretary of Defense sighed. He now saw that he would have to deal effectively with a potentially explosive issue with nothing more than incomplete information. Turning to the Pentagon spokesman, the Sec Def instructed him to draft a short statement based upon what they did know for sure and have it ready for his review in fifteen minutes so he'd have something to release to the press that would keep them at bay for a few more hours. The Secretary of Defense concluded the meeting by saying he needed to call the President and fill him in. Thanking them for 90
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their input, he stood up and left a conference room full of senior officers who commanded the most powerful military force on the face of the earth but were, at the moment, completely powerless to do anything to help the surviving members of RT Kilo.
I
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
14:20 LOCAL (18:20 ZULU)
Diana Burman thought nothing of the strange new sound that roused her from her nap. The slow, rhythmic kerr-plunk, kerrplunk, kerr-plunk, didn't cause her to immediately spring forth from the recliner she had nestled in and seek out the source of the noise. As with so many other problems that plagued the three bedroom government quarters Diana would ignore the sound until the post preventive maintenance folks finally got around to coming by or her husband returned from overseas. With her pregnancy fast approaching its ninth month, Diana could barely keep up with her headstrong two-year-old, let alone a house that should have been condemned years ago. If it weren't for his afternoon naps which allowed her to do the same, she was sure she'd have completely lost it by now.
It wasn't until the steady splashing of water stopped that her suspicions were piqued enough to cause her to pay attention.
When she heard the pitter-patter of sock-clad feet as they emerged from the hall bathroom and- scurried down the bare tile floor to one of the back bedrooms she realized that her midday break was over. Still not fully awake, she waited and listened as the same little feet made the return trip up the short hallway to the bathroom. When the slow, rhythmic kerr-plunk, kerr-plunk, kerrplunk resumed she knew her son was into something she wasn't going to like.
Alex?" The splashing sound ceased but the young boy didn't answer. Again she called out. "Alex? Are you in the bathroom?"
A small boy appeared around the corner that led from the liv 92
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ing room and into the hall. Wide-eyed and pensive, Alex Burman said nothing as he stood there sans training pants, nervously twirling a little plastic Fisher-Price figure in his tiny fingers.
"Alex!"
Flashing a smile that could be endearing or a prelude to mischief, the young boy disappeared around the corner. Diana knew
that she had no hope of matching her son's speed. She therefore resorted to a mother's standard threat. "Alex Scott Burman!
Don't you dare!"
On
e final kerr-plunk issued forth from the bathroom before she heard Alex beat a hasty retreat to the illusionary safety of his bedroom.
Like a beached whale trying to make its way back to the sea, Diana squirmed and wiggled in an effort to return the recliner to its upright position. It took her several tries before she managed to plant her feet firmly on the floor. All of this commotion was not appreciated by the tiny life she carried. Angered at being awakened, a miniature limb stomped on its nearest neighbor, Diana's bladder, forcing out a spurt of urine. Rubbing her distended stomach and trying to calm her next son, Diana spoke to her unborn child as she often did these days. "Keep that up and 1
swear I'll ship you off to your father."
Whether it was Diana's words or her soothing touch, the unborn child calmed down, allowing her to finish rising up out of the recliner. Waddling to the entrance of the hall, Diana decided to investigate the scene of the crime before confronting Alex and deciding the appropriate punishment for Alex's latest adventure.
She didn't like playing the heavy with her young son, but in Erik's absence she had to do what was necessary.
When she reached the bathroom, Diana could see that her suspicions had been correct. There on the floor before Alex's tiny potty chair was the discarded diaper that she had put on him before laying him down for his nap. As she sniffed the air the pungent odor of urine caused her nose to wrinkle. At least Alex had MORE THAN COURAGE
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made it to the bathroom and spared her the chore of changing the bed sheets.
That little courtesy on his part did nothing to mitigate the unpleasantness that fishing out whatever Alex had deposited in the toilet would evoke. To assist in his transition from diapers to training pants as well as making it easier for her to clean out her son's tiny potty, the small nonmechanical commode was located right next to the fully functional adult version. Unfortunately the proximity of the smooth, gleaming white throne to his small plastic pot created a compelling air of mystery. The convenience of this standing body of water was a temptation he was unable to resist, resulting in a proclivity for depositing inorganic odds and ends in the toilet. Despite her efforts to curb this behavior, Diana was forced to post a sign on the toilet tank reminding guests to look inside the toilet before they used it.
Diana was pleasantly surprised to find that today's offerings were a floating group of tiny Fisher-Price people, merrily bobbing up and down in the potty water with fixed smiles. Sometimes one of the figures would bump against the side of the bowl, then bounce back to join the other beaming members of its clan.
"Well," Diana said, as she slowly knelt, "at least you guys seem to be having fun."
She was in the process of scooping out the figures when she heard the squawking doorbell that announced someone was at the
/front door. Diana hoped that whoever was at the door would be patient enough to wait until she finished so she wouldn't have to get up and down from the bathroom floor twice. She had removed two more happy little people when the doorbell rang again.
Alex seized on this opportunity to ingratiate himself with his mother by helping her. In a flash he was out of his bedroom and scampering down the hall like the U.S. Cavalry coming to the rescue, shouting as he went, "I get it!"
Diana caught a glimpse of her bare-assed son as he raced for the front door. "No, Alex! Wait."
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Undeterred, he repeated his battle cry. "I get it, Mama. I get it."
As she endeavored to get up, she could hear Alex struggling to turn the doorknob. Her hope that his effort would take longer than hers did was dashed when she heard the door slowly squeak open and a male voice ask, "Is your mommy home?"
Diana was emerging from the bathroom just as Alex was scampering back down the hall to inform his mother that she had visitors. The collision between his head and her belly sent Alex sprawling to the floor and caused Diana to recoil from the sudden pain as her baby twisted and recoiled within her. Fighting back tears, Diana waddled to where her son was sitting, howling as if he had been beaten to a pulp. Despite the pain and difficulty, she gathered Alex in her arms.
Having been greeted by a naked child and hearing the sudden outburst, the caller at the door hesitantly called out, "Mrs.
Burman?"
A frustrated Diana, fighting back her own tears, replied as best she could, "Just a minute, please." The unseen visitor waited silently as Diana soothed Alex until his sobs had receded to a tolerable level. Putting him down and asking him to stay there until she returned, the pregnant Army wife waddled to the front door and finished opening it.
They were all there. In the forefront was Doug Flanders, a captain from the same Special Forces group to which her husband was assigned. Behind him stood another, more senior officer in dress greens. She didn't recognize him but saw from his unit crests that he was assigned to the post's staff. The silver crosses on the collar of the third man marked him as a chaplain, telling her all she needed to know.
No one knows in advance how they will respond at times like this. While every woman married to a soldier knows the drill, none are prepared for the event. The already stressed Diana Burman snapped. She just couldn't deal this, not with a two-year-old MORE THAN COURAGE
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child and another in the offing. Diana yelled out a crisp, aNo!3> before slamming the door.
The grim trio stared at the closed door before them, wondering how best to carry out their painful assignment as they listened
to Diana waddling away as fast as her incredible burden allowed.
New York City
14:50 LOCAL (18:50 ZULU)
Every aspect of the offices belonging to the law firm of Atkins, Steinburg, and Silverman had been engineered to convey a regal aloofness. With the exception of select clients the partners, senior associates, receptionists, secretaries, and paralegals treated everyone with a cool indifference. This was especially true when it came to the young lawyers new to the firm. Until they had been at the firm five years or more and were entrusted with managing the legal affairs of a prominent client, freshman lawyers were merely tolerated.
None of this bothered Elizabeth Stanton, an ambitious young woman who had been with the firm for less than nine months.
During her time at the prestigious firm, in addition to doing her assigned work she had done all she could to hone those skills that would one day allow her to become part of the wealth and power of a city considered by many to be more than just the true mecca of capitalism, but a universe unto itself. To a true New Yorker all the cities, lands, and people that lay beyond the five boroughs of New York were little more than client states whose sole value was providing it with the raw material and cheap labor needed to keep it running.
Not being a native New Yorker was a handicap that Elizabeth
^tanton needed to overcome. In a city where one in four of its residents had not even been born in the United States and diver- S1ty was publicly proclaimed as a virtue, New York's dirty little Cret was that success did not automatically lead to acceptance by
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the city's elite. Such acceptance was very-difficult to achieve. Even those with the right name, impeccable pedigree, and high-level connections often did not become part of the city's patrician class.
Those who were not born to that rare breed had to successfully pass through a series of challenging gates set up to keep the blue blood of New York City pure.
Initiation into the law firm of Atkins, Steinburg, and Silverman was similarly cruel and unforgiving. On her first day at the firm, Elizabeth had been told by Mr. Steinburg himself that the firm was not anyone's best friend. The practice of corporate law was as uncompromising as it was demanding. He pointed out that mistakes with the business of major clients had consequences beyond the loss of billions or tens of billions of dollars. It meant the wholesale slaughter of a company's senior management, the destruction of carefully crafted careers, and, most
important, damage to the firm's prestige. "Every minute of every day someone in this town is making or losing a fortune. That's what this city is all about. But a reputation is different. It's invaluable, almost priceless. Damage done to it is irreparable. It takes a lifetime of hard work and dedication to build one. This firm has invested decades achieving its current acclaim and recognition. A lawyer in this firm is a force to be reckoned with. If you have what it takes, you will become part of this great institution. Your rewards will be more than money. You will have earned the right to walk with giants. If on the other hand you are not up to our high standards, I suggest you save us both a great deal of bother and leave now."
Elizabeth had not left. The prospect of a six-digit annual income before her thirtieth birthday was a minor factor. The challenge and opportunity to earn the status and power that Mr. Silverman had described were what motivated her. These were the magic keys that would unlock all the right doors and open up a future that was truly boundless.
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job her entire life. Her father was a lawyer who had made his fortune defending the interests of several tobacco companies during the great assault on that industry in the late '90s. While not winning every case, he had legendary talents and skills for negotiating pretrial deals that saved his clients while allowing the other side to create the public perception that it had achieved an overwhelming victory. When Elizabeth began practicing corporate law at the firm she had a huge head start on all the other freshman lawyers.
As her father liked to brag, being a corporate lawyer was in Elizabeth's genes.
Returning from lunch with a distinguished client whose business she was courting with promising progress, she purposefully strode through the maze of narrow corridors to her small windowless cubbyhole. Along the way Elizabeth lowered her eyes and nodded when she passed a senior associate, or lifted her chin haughtily when she saw an underling. Upon reaching her desk, she immediately turned on her computer. Like most modern businesses the firm made extensive use of e-mail for a wide range of communication from routine to transfer of vital documents.