by Ted Russ
I nodded. Zack was right. They would have riddled us as we tried to accelerate away. The RPGs alone could have easily destroyed the aircraft.
A few minutes later, two crewmen moved Pete out of his seat and to the rear. His left forearm had started to hurt like hell as the shock wore off. The medic gave him painkillers. SSG Crawford took Pete’s seat in the cockpit. Crawford couldn’t fly, but he could back me up on radio transmissions and other cockpit tasks. Still, I didn’t want to fly any longer than I had to like this.
After Crawford had gotten himself settled, Zack leaned back into the cockpit. He seemed to want to be close by. Like me, he was digesting all that had just happened.
“I’ve never seen a drone used to clear a street like that,” Zack said.
“Neither have I. But it sure as hell worked.”
“Creighton is going to have to answer for that, I am sure.”
“I think we’re all going to have things to answer for tonight.”
FORTY-EIGHT
DECEMBER 1990
“Sir, today in the New York Times it was reported that Iraqi president Saddam Hussein announced that he has decided to release all of the foreigners held by his forces in both Iraq and Kuwait. This decision would apply to the approximately nine hundred hostages who are Americans. This decision is viewed by most as an attempt by President Hussein to seize a moral high ground to blunt the current momentum toward war in the region.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” said Zack as we walked by plebes reciting knowledge to their yuks in the hallway. “Guy is a fucking Clausewitz over there.”
As we walked out of the barracks, onto the stoop, Major Eifer was already talking to Creighton at the bottom of the stairs, behind the accumulating company formation; he had already held a meeting with all the company commanders that morning.
Zack and I walked quickly to our spot in formation and tried to be invisible.
“Echo Company, fall in!”
The company shuffled to attention as the platoon sergeants took accountability. I imagined Creighton and Eifer behind me at the base of the formation with their eyes on Zack and me. Eifer would let the formation run its course, and when we were dismissed for breakfast Zack and I would be called over and it would be done.
At that point, the executive officer posted the first sergeant and took command of the formation. Telling his XO to take the formation meant Creighton was still talking to Major Eifer. Not good.
Soon the regiment was released for breakfast. The platoon sergeants dismissed their platoons. Most of the company began to shuffle toward the mess hall. I hung motionless. Zack approached me, but I silently gave him a frown that warned him off. He continued on.
Creighton was nodding as Major Eifer spoke. Then he snapped to attention and rendered the major a salute. Creighton walked toward Second Platoon. I caught his eyes as he crossed in front of me. They were intense, but he made no outward sign of having seen me.
He caught up to Emily, who had started toward the mess hall. I stood still as they passed me. I caught Creighton’s eye again and, imperceptibly, he shook his head at me. I looked back to the ground and let them go on ahead.
I fell into the midst of the gaggle of cadets about twenty meters behind Eifer, walking toward the mess hall. Eifer strode ahead in a deliberate and slow overwatch of Creighton and Emily, about ten meters behind them.
I studied Eifer’s peculiar stalking of Creighton. His gait was a humorous mix of a hunched prowl and his normal, super-erect carriage. This is how an uptight asshole sneaks up on someone, I thought.
Creighton and Emily were now only about ten meters from the mess hall. Eifer accelerated.
Eifer reached out and tapped Emily on the shoulder. The two of them stopped, spun on their heels, and snapped to attention.
As I passed Major Eifer, I looked the other way but listened intently. I heard him say, “Cadet Patterson, you are dismissed. You may go to breakfast.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Creighton fell in behind me as I hopped up the short flight of steps into the mess hall.
I resisted the urge to turn around and demand to know what had been said between him and Eifer. Instead, I went directly to my table, and at “Take seats” I sat down, spoke to no one, and ate quickly. When we were dismissed, I left immediately. I wanted to beat Zack back to the room so I could grab my books and get to class without having to debrief him. I wasn’t ready to deal with that yet. My mind was racing. I was having a hard enough time not panicking myself.
I bounded down the stairs, out the door, onto the stoop, and nearly directly into Creighton, who was waiting for me.
We set off across North Area in silence. Weaving between the hundreds of camouflage-clad cadets now spilling out of the mess hall, we stepped onto the apron, walking quickly. The steps of the mess hall rose above us to our right, and the Plain extended under a thin layer of snow to our left. Past the Plain, the morning sun crested the eastern mountains but left the Hudson still in shadow. I walked at an even pace, waiting for him to speak. He remained silent until we got close to Ike’s statue.
“So, you might have noticed that Major Eifer met me at formation this morning. I had to give the formation to the XO.”
“I noticed that.”
“He actually called a meeting with all company commanders prior to breakfast formation, at which he informed us that an unauthorized spirit mission has taken place. Apparently he has been tasked by the commandant with apprehending the cadets responsible.”
I focused on taking casual and even steps as Creighton spoke, so as not to betray my anxiety.
“After the meeting he followed me back to E4’s area and interrogated me about the status of my own investigation into the possible participation by E4 cadets in said unauthorized spirit mission.”
“What did you tell him?” I stopped walking.
Creighton stopped walking also. Behind him stood Ike’s reproving statue. Hands on his hips. Left knee slightly bent forward. Ike was a dark silhouette against the white Plain and sunstruck Storm King Mountain. I thought of Bill. We tried, I said to myself.
“I told him I had nothing to report. That there were many rumors involving many cadets of many companies but that I had nothing actionable.”
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“Then what happened?”
“He proceeded to ask me the same question in multiple other formats, to which I gave the same answer: Lots of rumors, sir. Nothing actionable.”
Creighton stopped talking to allow a couple of cadets to pass nearby. When they were safely distant, he continued.
“During his extensive questioning, I got the feeling he was not convinced. And, since the man is such a predictable officer, I knew that he would be watching me closely. Had I known anything, it would be a natural reaction for me to go immediately to those persons to warn them about Major Eifer.”
I started to chuckle. Creighton allowed himself the slightest of smiles.
“So, after formation I picked a random firstie to walk to breakfast with and engaged in a conversation about our upcoming history term-end exam.” He stopped and regarded my broad smile.
“I only did this to test my theory, Sam. And for no other reason.”
“Right.”
“Anyway. As Emily and I were talking, Major Eifer stopped us from behind. He then dismissed me. Emily told me later that Major Eifer interrogated her about an unauthorized spirit mission involving the Navy goat. Emily, of course, did not know anything. She said this seemed to frustrate the major. She said she was gruffly dismissed after only a few minutes.”
I nodded slowly.
Creighton gestured toward Mahan Hall, and we started walking again.
“The truth is, Sam, I have not investigated anything. I don’t have any actionable information.” He sounded troubled. “I hope it stays that way.”
I didn’t respond. I understood.
FORTY-NINE
DECEMBER 1990
<
br /> I walked excitedly back to the barracks for our pre-lunch huddle. I hadn’t been able to focus at all in class that morning. Creighton had come through for us more than I ever could have expected. I was convinced he had bought us sufficient time to get through the week to the weekend and the game.
“We are so fucked!” said Zack. I smiled. I was sure he had stewed all morning about the portents of Major Eifer’s visit to our breakfast formation. I almost felt bad that I had waited until now to tell him.
“Relax, Zack. It’s under control.”
“What do you mean it’s under control? How can you call this under control?” He waved his long arms around.
“Just give me a minute to explain. I actually think we’re in better shape than ever now.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Sam, I’m not following you,” Turtle said dejectedly.
“I spoke with Creighton after breakfast. Believe it or not, he did great.” I smiled smugly.
Turtle’s head sagged, and he rubbed his temples while Zack went wild-eyed and hissed at me. “What the fuck are you talking about? Does Creighton know Ambizo or something? You’re not making any fucking sense!”
“Ambizo? What?”
“Ambizo! Turtle’s friend who we let in on our mission. What are you talking about?”
“I haven’t told him yet, Zack,” said Turtle. “He doesn’t know.”
“Then why are you trying to tell us it’s under control?”
My heart sank.
“Well, Turtle, tell him,” growled Zack.
“It’s Ambizo. He called me this morning. He said the commandant of the naval academy called all of the exchange cadets into a room this morning and told them that they know one of them was involved. The com said if that cadet turns himself in and the goat is given back, there won’t be any punishment. He said failure to do so will result in the naval academy equivalent of a first-class board.”
“Their com is bluffing,” I said. “How would they know that?”
“I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. Ambizo believed him.”
“Well, he’s going to have to suck down a first-class board then.”
“Not this guy, Sam. You got it all wrong!” said Zack loudly.
“Seriously, Turtle. This is exactly what we all talked about. You have to be willing and able to take a first-class slug.” I tried to talk around Zack’s rage.
“Tell him, Turtle! Tell him what your buddy is all about!”
“Zack, please!” I gestured at him to shut up.
Turtle looked at me with dread and said, “Ambizo says he is on the short list for first captain and doesn’t want to jeopardize that.”
“Shit,” I said quietly.
“That’s right,” Zack spat. “We didn’t know we were on the mission with royalty.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
I tried to think. “When is he going to do it? When is he going to turn himself in?”
“He said the com gave them until tomorrow noon. So he was going to do it tomorrow after breakfast formation.”
The three of us stood in a tight circle. Zack’s head was shaking with anger. Turtle looked despondent. I glanced at my watch. For some reason, I felt at peace. I wasn’t mad or even surprised. I was grateful.
I put my hand on Turtle’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Turtle. Your buddy did pretty good.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” demanded Zack.
“Think about it. In spite of being jacked up by a one-star admiral, he bought us twenty-four hours. He could have turned us in right then.”
Zack looked at me as Turtle smiled.
I appreciated what Ambizo had done. Balancing the demands of the institution against those of friendship was a constant task for every cadet. But Ambizo had just faced a greater test than most. Ninety-nine percent of cadets go through their careers with a captain being their highest-ranking menace. Ambizo had had to stare down a one-star and tell the commandant to wait while putting his own potential to reach the highest position in the Corps on the line. The easiest thing to do would have been to give us up on the spot, but he didn’t. He found an honorable path he could live with. And, in the process, he bought us precious time.
Zack started to smile as well. “What are you thinking, Sam?”
“We’re going to steal that fucking goat again. Tonight.”
FIFTY
0248 HOURS, 2 AUGUST 2015
“Sam, Creighton just called on my sat phone,” said Zack on the intercom. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Okay. Bring him up.”
Zack came forward and leaned into the cockpit. He handed me the wired earpiece to his sat phone, and I jammed it under my helmet ear pad.
“Creighton?”
“Sam. Good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too. Hell of a thing back there. Thanks.”
“Listen, I don’t have much time, and I no longer have eyes on you. Can you make it to Baghdad?”
It was a strange question, but I ran through the calculation. We had about two and a half hours of fuel, including our twenty-minute reserve. At 120 knots, we were a little over two hours from Baghdad. Throw in some hover time and it would be tight but manageable.
“We’ve got enough fuel. Barely. Why?”
“I’m working on something. Stand by.”
“Okay. But I also need to check on our medical status. I don’t know if they can fly another two hours.”
“Find out.”
“Zack, what’s our medical status?” I asked on the intercom. “Could they fly another two hours if we had to? We might divert to Baghdad.”
“I think so. Everyone who needs an IV has one and has been stabilized. I’ll check with the medic.”
I waited while Zack checked. The sat phone earpiece felt heavy in my ear, and I smiled at how pissed off Brick and the rest of SOCOM must have been at that moment. The CIA’s control of the majority of the country’s drone operations was a source of major frustration for the Pentagon. Coordination and communication were not the CIA’s strongest suit. Several times in the past decade, some in Congress and even the president had tried to transfer control of the CIA’s drones to the Defense Department. Each time, they’d been thwarted by the CIA and its bureaucratic allies. The turf wars in Washington had not interested me in the past, but tonight I was damn glad for the dysfunction. Creighton had exploited it to not only make our mission possible but to save our lives.
“Medic says if we have to go to Baghdad, we can do it without endangering the wounded,” Zack announced. “But he wants assurance that medical staff will be waiting for us there.”
“Creighton, we have the fuel and our medic says we can make it, but can you confirm there will be medical assistance waiting for us?”
“Roger that, Sam. You’ll have more waiting for you there than you would have back at Kirkuk. They’ll be in the hospital within five minutes of your landing.”
“Okay, then. Baghdad it is.”
“Very good. I will call you with a lat/long to land at in about half an hour.”
“Roger that.”
“Wilson, what’s 458’s status?” I asked over the intercom.
“We’ve done a thorough check, sir. I stopped counting at two dozen bullet holes. Couple decent leaks but no major damage. The ramp is fucked, though. You really did a number on it when you backed us into the building. Otherwise, 458 is in pretty good shape. She’ll keep flying.”
“Sorry about the ramp.”
“No problem, sir. We know you’re rusty.”
Crawford shook his head. “It’s not okay with me, sir.” Damage like this would keep 458 out of the air for a while, and it would take a couple of weeks of work on his part to repair. I didn’t have the heart or the energy to tell him they were going to take 458 away from him when we landed.
After a minute of silence, Crawford said, “Your buddies are something else, sir.”
“I know.”
“How close do you
think that drone came to us?”
“I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Zack leaned into the cockpit. I yanked the earpiece out of my helmet and gave him back his sat phone. “Creighton says go to Baghdad. Says he’ll call with a lat/long for landing.”
“What do you think?” Zack asked.
“I trust Creighton.”
I put the lat/long for the center of Baghdad into the flight computer, and 458 gracefully entered a standard rate turn to the south. I was letting her fly on autopilot so that I could do other things.
Now that we had the Guru and the bullets had stopped coming at us, my thoughts were turning toward the aftermath. I focused on the course change and managing the rest of the flight and tried not to get nervous about the reception we would receive when we landed. Wherever that ended up being.
I looked over my left shoulder at Zack. “I wish I knew what he was up to.”
“I bet he’s trying to keep us out of jail.”
“Just like old times.”
FIFTY-ONE
DECEMBER 1990
“Sam, there’s not enough time,” said Turtle. “No way to get there and back before taps and bed check at midnight.”
“It’s just a little over three hours there. Figure we leave after dinner formation…” My voice trailed off as I realized the math didn’t work.
We stood silently in a small, sad circle and stared at our feet.
I realized that I had never even debriefed them on how close we had come with Eifer. It seemed like months ago that Creighton had misdirected him at formation. It had only been this morning. It was only Tuesday. This week was going to kill me.
Zack started to speak slowly: “Turtle, it would be great if tonight there was a spontaneous midnight rally of some kind.”
Turtle looked at Zack and smiled. “I think you’re right.”
I started to catch up. I smiled at my amazing friends and said, “Ideally, it would pull the maximum possible number of cadets out of their rooms tonight right at taps, for an hour or so. It needs to really screw up everyone’s bed check.”