Spirit Mission

by Ted Russ

  Baghdad at night under goggles is a blinding constellation of lights in the desert cut in half by the snaking Tigris River. I had 458 pointed at the city’s center and was ready to put her down. She was ready to be done as well. The whole way from Tal Afar, her vibrations and roughness had gradually worsened. Her one good engine ran hot most of the flight. She was tired. “Almost done,” I told her.

  Creighton had given us a lat/long. Zack laughed when I showed it to him on the map display. He looked at the imagery of the parking lot about half a mile to the west of the American embassy. “In the Green Zone? Well, that’s convenient for our arrest, I suppose.”

  “Let’s get ready to land, Crawford.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Crawford started working through the landing checklist as I drove 458 down to rooftop level and kept her speed at 120 knots. We weren’t making any radio calls, and I wanted to minimize any chance of us getting hit, at the end of our journey, by a pissed-off air defense site or a just a lucky bastard.

  “What is that, sir?” said Crawford. “About nine o’clock. Same altitude. Closing rapidly.”

  I leaned forward and craned my neck to see around Crawford. The glare of two landing lights flying in close formation approached quickly from our left. They separated gracefully as they got closer, and one passed behind us. The glare of the other shifted as the aircraft banked and its light swept ahead of us.

  “Where were those guys when we needed them?” I grumbled as the two Apache gunships assumed a tight escort formation on either side of us.

  “That’s a little fucking dramatic, isn’t it?” said Zack from the rear.

  “Oh joy,” said Crawford. “Regular army aviation saves the day.”

  I scanned my navigation display. We were five minutes out.

  “Looks like he wants to talk to you, sir,” said Crawford.

  I glanced out my window at the Apache on our right. The pilot was waving furiously and pointing at his ear. He wanted me to get on the radio.

  “Fuck him. They’re not going to shoot us down.”

  Our reluctant formation of three flew over the heart of the city. Lining up on the assigned landing spot, I could see the Crossed Swords and Unknown Soldier Monument off to our left.

  “Lot of activity at our landing site,” said Crawford. A dozen vehicles ringed the landing area. Numerous armed soldiers stood at the ready around them.

  My pulse quickened, and I tried to focus on putting the aircraft down safely. I raised the nose and dumped more power. Chinook 458 decelerated and sank toward the earth. The Apaches slowed but maintained their altitude. They started doing easy clockwise laps above us.

  The Qadisaya Expressway was empty as we passed over it, flying slow and descending. “We are clear of obstacles,” called Wilson. The vehicles’ headlights combined with the streetlights in the area to wash out my night-vision goggles. I brought 458 down to the asphalt for a landing.

  She hit too hard, and a bouncy jolt went through the aircraft.

  “Damnit, sir!”

  “Sorry.”

  I set the brakes and started to run through an abbreviated shutdown checklist with Crawford.

  “Soldiers approaching the rear of the aircraft,” said Thomas. “Looks like a medical team.”

  “Let them on.”

  “Roger. There are also armed soldiers surrounding us.”

  I looked out to see ten armed men encircling the front of the aircraft, just outside the spinning rotor disk.

  “What do we do, sir?” asked Crawford.

  “We shut her down and face the music.”

  We quickly shut the number two engine down, and I jammed the rotor brake forward. As the forward disk came to rest, I noted several ragged bullet holes in each blade.

  After switching off the APU, I removed my helmet and unstrapped. I motioned to Crawford. He nodded and headed aft. I ignored the commotion in the rear of the aircraft and looked at the tail number badge on 458’s center dashboard. “Thanks, old girl,” I said softly and switched her battery off. All of her systems went dark, and I left the cockpit.

  The rear of the aircraft was jammed with people in motion. Each wounded man had two medics working on him. Chinook 458’s floor was slick with a mixture of hydraulic fluid and blood. At least a dozen spent IV bags were strewn on the deck and seats.

  Pete was the farthest forward toward the cockpit, sitting just behind the right minigun. He had an unlit Backwoods cigar in the corner of his mouth. He smiled crookedly and gave me the middle finger with his good hand. I saluted him slowly. He nodded.

  Next I caught the Guru’s eye. He waved me over.

  Seated midship on the left side of the aircraft, he was filthy. Dust and grime covered his clothes and skin. An IV bag hung just above his head, feeding fluids into his left arm, while his right hung in a sling. His face looked weary. Gone were the crazy curls he had maintained even as an officer, replaced now with stubble. His ragged, closely cropped beard was matted with dirt.

  He stood up as I approached. He was wobbly and almost inadvertently yanked the IV out of his vein. I steadied him by the shoulder, and he reached out to grab my arm.

  “Go naked, Sam.”

  “Go naked, Guru. Now sit back down.”

  “No. I’m fine. Just as I told this young man, who pestered me the whole flight, trying to get me into a stretcher.”

  I looked at the medic. He shook his head disapprovingly at Stillmont.

  “You outdid yourself tonight, Sam.”

  I smiled. “Does it rank with moving the reveille cannon?”

  “It sure as hell does for me.” He smiled. It was his Loki grin, only much older. The muck on his face crinkled at the corners of his eyes, making him look a hundred years old. But he was still as charismatic as ever, and it still made me chuckle.

  “I doubt you’ll get off with just a few hours on the area for this one, though,” he said.

  I nodded. I didn’t know what was going to happen next. Truthfully, I was starting to get nervous about it. True to form, he read me immediately.

  “I’m honored you came for me, Sam. Thank you. I’m sorry for what it’s going to cost you.”

  I shook the apology off. “Bullshit. I can’t think of a better final flight. It’s not every day you get to save a guru.”

  The grin vanished, and he shook his head. “There are no gurus over here. You saved Henry Stillmont tonight, my friend. And I am very glad you did.”

  Then I heard Admiral Brick’s voice. He must have caught a quick flight to Baghdad when our destination became obvious.

  “Roger that, sir,” he said. “I am on board the aircraft now. I think they got him. Confirming. Stand by.”

  He approached while holding a secure sat phone to his ear. Two armed guards followed behind him. He alternated between barking commands to the team on the helicopter and speaking into his phone. Henry and I dropped our arms to our sides.

  “You Henry Stillmont?” Brick asked.

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “What is his status?” he asked.

  The medic gave Brick a thumbs-up.

  “I’ve got eyes on him,” Brick said into his phone. “He’s good, sir.”

  Brick began to work his way aft, checking on each of the wounded. I watched him and then waggled my eyebrows at Stillmont and followed Brick.

  Turtle’s guys were stable and doing well. One had taken a bad hit to leg and had nearly bled out. He was moving now, though. Across from him, the man with the shoulder wound was bound and leaning back in his seat, enjoying his pain meds.

  I eased past the admiral as he spoke into his sat phone.

  The commotion outside to the rear of the aircraft began to come into focus as I moved aft. There were several spotlights, and I could barely make out what looked like dozens of people. Zack and Turtle stood under the aft transmission, gazing off the ramp, out into the lights.

  Turtle had a hand on Zack’s shoulder to balance himself. His prosthesis had been s
evered a couple of inches below the knee. They had cut back his pants leg. Fragmented carbon fiber dangled beneath the opening.

  “That hurt?” I asked, stepping next to them.

  “Not like in 2003.”

  “Good.”

  “Sucks, though. It was my best one. Going to take months to get a new one made.”

  “Any regrets?”

  “None. You?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  Admiral Brick stepped up behind us, still speaking into his phone: “Roger that, sir. We are all accounted for here, and the wounded are being moved to the medical facility now.… Yes, sir.… Brick out.”

  He put his phone into his cargo pocket. Even in the glare and shadows, I could see the transformation take place. Brick was a good officer. His first concern was the welfare of the wounded. But now that they were secure and receiving treatment, anger overtook him. By the time he took the last step in front of us, he was steaming. The two armed men followed closely behind him.

  Brick didn’t slow down until he was inches from me. One of the armed men actually reached out and grabbed his shoulder to stop him. Brick shoved the guard’s hand away and jabbed his finger into my chest. He started to speak a few times, but he was too mad. He couldn’t get anything out. Giving up, he gestured at the guards. The medics and wounded men pretended not to notice as Zack, Turtle, and I were handcuffed and shoved down onto the bench seats.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  DECEMBER 1990

  Creighton sat at my desk, holding his saber and still wearing his gray hat.

  “Hi, Creighton. What’s up?”

  He stared down at his saber.

  “You okay?”

  “Why did you guys leave me out?” he asked without looking up.

  “Leave you out of what?”

  He shook his head and took off his hat, still without making eye contact. He put his hat in his lap and rubbed his eyes. He kept his hair closely cropped, and I could see the muscles on the side of his dark head ripple with tension. Then he looked at me. “Don’t insult me, Sam.”

  I pulled Zack’s chair out and sat down facing Creighton.

  “I’m not the oblivious idiot you and Zack think I am. Turtle is involved too, right?”

  “Involved in what, Creighton?”

  “Don’t insult me, Sam! I can’t believe you would do this!” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. I started to get nervous.

  “If you’re going to do something like steal the Navy goat,” I said, “you have to keep it secret. You can’t let anyone figure it out. Even those who don’t want you to get caught.”

  I looked back at him, unsure of what to do. I didn’t want to admit to what we had done yet. I wanted to find a path through this.

  “I thought we were friends,” Creighton said.

  “Of course we’re friends. Why would you say that?”

  “Why didn’t you guys ask me to go on the spirit mission with you?”

  The question surprised me.

  “First of all, I’m not admitting to anything here. But you would never do something like steal the Navy goat, Creighton.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Would you ever disobey a lawful, direct order from a general officer?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You ever willfully broken a regulation?”

  “Never.”

  “You don’t see how that might make someone overlook you when they recruit for an ‘unauthorized spirit mission’?” I wanted to yell, but I spoke as deliberately and kindly as I could. “For fucksake, Creighton. We’re all going to work for you someday anyway … that’s not enough?”

  “No.”

  His anger started to anger me.

  “This is a ridiculous conversation.”

  “I agree.”

  “Here’s a tip: if you want someone to pull you into a spirit mission, try not to be the perfect robo-cadet.”

  He glared at me. Angry and hurt. I suddenly felt sad. This was an unanticipated consequence. Now we were in a difficult spot.

  Creighton was an army brat hoping to become a second-generation armor officer legend. He loved the military and thought of nothing else. He excelled because he’d gotten here already living by a code. Violating regulations was something he simply could not do. So when his good friends did it for a cause he viewed as worthy, he was stuck. And now he was in a double bind. Not only did he feel hurt because of being left out; he also had to decide whether or not to turn us in. I was confident I could talk him through this.

  “Creighton, I thought that after Eifer questioned you at formation, E4 was in the clear.”

  “Unfortunately not, Sam. His attempt to bind the entire Corps to a sign-out statement backfired. The Corps’ refusal only temporarily saved you. He has regrouped.”

  “I expected nothing less.”

  “And it has been another forty-eight hours. A lot more has happened. You guys have been sloppy. He is calling company commanders in one at a time now. He is interrogating them and making them sign an official report that they do not have any knowledge of the stolen goat.”

  He stared at me. He was searching for a sign. I didn’t even blink. I regarded him passively as my mind raced.

  “He is starting with First and Second Regiment tonight after dinner. Third and Fourth Regiment commanders will go first thing in the morning after breakfast.”

  We looked at each other for a moment. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do or say. It was a good move by Major Eifer. His Corps-wide honor-focused approach had been heavy-handed and was a sign of how much pressure he was under. But now he had dialed into the cadet chain of command. Though Zack, Turtle, and I were dismissive of the posts, we understood that they carried a real burden. The hardest people in the world to lead are your peers. The cadet chain of command was leaned on constantly by the tactical department. They often had to mete out punishments to and take privileges away from fellow cadets. Their roles were hard. Particularly in a company like E4, where the ethic often put the company at odds with its cadet commander. Creighton had navigated the role well because he understood the company and we understood him. Neither side took any of it personally. Until now.

  Eifer’s pivot now put the concept of command behind his effort. In the army, a commander is responsible for every aspect of his unit: military proficiency, physical fitness, mental soundness, family health, morale, everything. West Point makes the same demands of its cadet company commanders. The fact that the goat had been stolen meant that it was fair game to ask every company commander if they knew anything. And not just in the investigative, conversational way in which Eifer had engaged Creighton after Tuesday’s breakfast formation—also in the focused, “on your honor” way that Eifer was shifting to now. Eifer could also leverage the fact that the Corps is so tightly woven that in a cadet company it is hard to miss the slightest change in your company mates. The fact is, a good company commander should have figured it out by now. And Creighton was one of the best.

  By making all the commanders sign and swear to a report, Eifer was exploiting the dynamic that Creighton and I were dealing with now. Creighton knew. Period.

  Creighton looked away from me and back down at his saber. “I just really wish you guys had asked me to be on the spirit mission.”

  He stood up and left the room as the realization hit me.

  “Creighton, wait,” I called after him, but he didn’t stop.

  I sat and continued to stare at the spot where he had been. I was paralyzed by shame. Had I learned nothing? I was doing to Creighton what Bill had done to me.

  FIFTY-SIX

  DECEMBER 1990

  We stood in a tight circle under Mac’s statue after lunch. I didn’t want to have this discussion in the barracks. Zack and Turtle were nervous. They could tell this was going to be bad news.

  “We have a problem,” I said hesitantly. “Major Eifer is interrogating the company commanders one by one. He is making them s
ubmit an official written report regarding their knowledge about the goat. Creighton goes in front of Eifer first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Fucker,” said Zack quietly.

  “What is Creighton going to do?” Turtle asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” interrupted Zack. “Creighton is a big boy. He can take care of himself. Do the math. Even if Creighton does give us up tomorrow, it will be Friday morning. Too late for Eifer to get to us.”

  “That’s right,” Turtle joined in. “If we skip out immediately after breakfast and get on the road, he won’t be able to get us. He’ll never find us in Philly before the game. We’ll have the initiative. At that point, we just execute the plan. Sneak into the stadium. Get on the field. Heroes.”

  “Exactly,” agreed Zack. “We’d be adding a missed formation to our offenses, but at this point that’s just a rounding error. It’s a good plan. We can still do this. I’ll call Pelly and let her know we’ll be grabbing the goat earlier than planned tomorrow.”

  “What do you think, Sam?” asked Turtle.

  “No.”

  They looked at me, startled.

  I understood what they were going through. The overwhelming desire to succeed. Fuck Eifer. We are so close. We can do this.

  “Are we going to put Creighton in that position?”

  “He did fine at formation the other day, didn’t he?”

  “This is different.”

  “How so?”

  “It’s more than forty-eight hours later. We didn’t hold things close enough. With all of the running around we had to do—sneaking off the post again, re-stealing the goat, Turtle’s late-night diversion—there was just too much going on. Too many opsec violations. Creighton knows. And not because he was trying to figure it out. We allowed it to happen. And now he knows.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  I let it sink in for a moment.

  “We’ve said from the beginning that we had to be ready to take a big slug to do this. The Guru taught us that a spirit mission like this is going to demand a price of everyone who participates. But we never said that our plan would be to have friends cover for us. Or that we would put them in a position of having to choose.”