Spirit Mission
Page 31
“What do you mean, ‘choose’?”
“Between their friends and honor.”
Zack winced when I said the word “honor.” Turtle’s face twisted with anguish.
MacArthur’s statue looked over Turtle and Zack’s shoulders as they stared at the ground and worked through the problem. The old general’s right hand was in a fist on his right hip, and he held his trademark leather bomber jacket over his left arm. Mac’s determined gaze swept out over the Plain toward Trophy Point and the Hudson. He had seen it all and was ready for a fight. Ready for anything. Quotes from the general were inscribed on large marble slabs circling us at the edge of the statue’s memorial area. One of them finished with “Duty. Honor. Country.”
“I’m sorry, guys, but we can’t put Creighton in a position to have to make that choice. As much as I want to get the goat to Philly and beat Eifer, it’s not worth doing at the cost of Creighton’s honor. Nothing is. He’s a cadet. And he’s our friend.”
Zack held up his hand, cutting me off. “You’re right, Sam.”
I looked at Turtle. He nodded sadly. “Absolutely.”
“I am so disappointed,” Zack said. “I really wanted to be on television.”
“I am too, Zack. But remember, all that matters is getting it to the Corps.”
“You got something in mind?”
“Yes. But we don’t have much time.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
DECEMBER 1990
Hours later, we were back at Mac’s statue. This time, instead of the BDUs being worn by the rest of the Corps, we had donned our full dress uniforms with sabers.
We skipped dinner formation and fidgeted nervously as the rest of the Corps filed into the mess hall.
“There she is.”
Pelly’s old pickup truck turned onto Scott Place. I glanced quickly at the mess hall steps. Most of the cadets were inside now. Soon they would be taking seats for the evening meal. A couple of officers milled around just outside of the massive mess hall doors. But no Eifer so far. That was good.
Pelly stopped alongside Mac’s statue, and we jogged over. Her truck was fitted with a beat-up camper shell. Zack lowered the tailgate and raised the rear door. The Navy goat looked at us, lying on a bed of old, dirty blankets.
“That is one ornery animal,” said Pelly, who had gotten out and come to stand beside Zack.
Zack yanked on the goat’s leash, trying to pull him out.
“He won’t agree to anything unless you offer him food.” Pelly waved a carrot, and the goat moved slowly toward the tailgate.
“Come here, you bastard,” said Zack. “We’re tired of this, too. You might get to sleep in your own bed tonight.”
Zack and Turtle lowered the goat to the ground. Turtle snapped another leash onto his collar. He and Zack could now stand on either side of his head and hold him on course.
“Thanks, Pelly.” I said. “Really appreciate your help.”
“It was my pleasure, cadets. You guys have fun.” She hopped back in her truck and drove off.
I looked at the mess hall steps, then at my watch.
“Anything?” asked Turtle.
“Nope. Nothing yet.”
It would have been entirely like Eifer to suddenly appear from around the corner, just as he had when he’d busted Bill for vomiting. We would be done. Even though we had the Navy goat only a few hundred meters from over four thousand cadets, the Corps would never know. Eifer would make sure of that.
I stared at the mess hall steps. I felt exposed.
Finally William, the rugby team’s captain, stepped out of the mess hall and stood in the middle of the steps.
“There he is. Let’s go.”
We jogged quickly to the mess hall. Fortunately, the goat went along with our plan and picked up an easy gait with Zack and Turtle by his side. It helped that I was in front holding one of Pelly’s carrots.
As we climbed the mess hall steps, William was laughing. “Holy shit! I can’t believe you guys actually did this.” His eyes were wide.
“Focus, William,” I said. “You know what to do?”
“Don’t let anyone get to you. Not complex stuff.” He spun on his heels and leapt up to the center door. He yanked it open as we got to the top, and we stepped into the small foyer and were soon in the midst of the Army rugby team.
“Form up!” yelled William as his guys started to fixate on the goat. “No one gets through us. No one!”
As the team formed a cordon around us, I noticed that there were two captains in the foyer with us. I did not recognize them as tacs. They smiled and shook their heads, but they didn’t do anything to stop us.
The cadets at the tables nearest to the foyer were looking our way now to see what the commotion was. Some of them stood up to get a clear line of sight through the large windows in the swinging doors between the foyer and the mess hall. One by one, as they spotted the goat, they grabbed a buddy, their eyes widening in disbelief. Within seconds, everyone at the first twenty tables was standing up, looking our way. We were so close.
Then I spotted Major Eifer at the far end of the mess hall. He saw the commotion and started walking toward us.
“We need to move!”
As we made ready, the doors suddenly swung open and a full-bird colonel glared at us. It was Colonel Lenz, the head of the civil engineering department. He had graduated from West Point in 1969 and been shipped to Vietnam. There, he’d served as a 155mm battery commander at Firebase Bastogne in 1972, when it was overrun. He was a tall, gruff hard-ass who enjoyed hazing firsties most of all. My heart sank. We couldn’t have had worse luck.
Over Lenz’s shoulder, I could see Major Eifer. He was now striding purposefully our way. We had seconds before he would arrive and shut us down.
If we did not get the goat into the mess hall, the best we could hope for was a persistent rumor that we had gotten it. We were one verbal order away from total failure.
William glanced back at me in terror. I felt Zack and Turtle, just behind me, waiting for my word. Colonel Lenz’s bearlike body filled the doorway in front of me.
I stared at Colonel Lenz. His normally intense face looked like it was about to burst into flames. He was clearly enraged. He inhaled deeply and started yelling.
“Beat Navy!” The old man smiled from ear to ear and started pumping his fists in the air, hollering all the while. He stepped to the side and held the door open for us. He never stopped yelling.
I nodded at William, and the rugby team stepped off in a wedge formation. I drew my saber and held it high in the air as we burst through the doors. I joined the colonel in his chant, bellowing, “Beat Navy!”
Eifer was ten meters away from the door as it swung open and we stepped into the mess hall, but he was too late. Cadets leapt from their tables and exploded in cheers. He was jostled to the side and out of the way as thousands of cadets rushed forward to see our prisoner, the Navy goat. I didn’t see Eifer again in the mess hall.
William and his team were able to keep the path clear for us, and we kept moving forward toward the brigade staff’s table. The Corps went nuts. Since it was the Thursday of Army-Navy Week, there was a mixture of elements in the crowd: cadets, officers, cheerleaders, military police, and civilian VIPs. All with gaping mouths and pie-pan-sized eyes. All going crazy. It was louder than when President Reagan gave the Corps amnesty. My ears were ringing, and my heart was full.
The goat, though, had a different reaction. From his perspective, it must have seemed like hell itself had risen to devour him. Certain of his doom, he collapsed in a pool of his own piss. Turtle and Zack had to drag him the last twenty meters to the first captain. Fortunately, because of the piss, he slid easily across the large stone tiles.
With thousands of cadets watching, I stepped up to the first captain, Cadet Stephens, and presented arms with my saber. He shook his head in disbelief.
“Cadet Stephens, please accept this prisoner.”
Zack and Turtle handed him the
leashes. Stephens smiled as he looked at the goat and returned my salute.
“Beat Navy, Sam,” he said with a nod as he took hold of both leashes.
Zack, Turtle, and I turned, and several of William’s guys led us out. We passed through the E4 area as we jogged out of the mess hall and through the Fourth Regiment wing. As we got to the door, I saw Creighton in the crowd.
Creighton, the cadet whose military bearing never cracked, was going bonkers. He was swinging his cadet scarf like a bullwhip, and veins were poking out of his neck and forehead. He and I made eye contact, and he raised a salute. I returned it at a jog.
We ducked out of the mess hall and walked slowly back to the barracks. Before we entered the Lost Fifties, we stood on the stoop and savored the roar from the mess hall. Despite the stone walls and our distance, it still sounded loud.
“I wish Bill had been able to make it,” Zack said.
“Me, too.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
0513 HOURS, 2 AUGUST 2015
“You are going away for a long time, Avery. A very long fucking time!” The admiral had found his voice and was leaning down over me, screaming into my face in the back of 458. Spit flew from his mouth as he yelled. I wanted to wipe my face, but my hands were bound behind me and one of the guards had his hand firmly on my shoulder, to make sure I didn’t so much as stand up.
“Do you realize we had to cancel real missions tonight because of your fucked-up joy ride?”
“I’m sure you can reschedule the bombing runs on the camels and wagons to tomorrow night, sir,” said Zack, sitting to my right.
The admiral almost came to a three-foot hover in rage. He howled at Zack: “And you, asshole! Do you even know who I am?” The admiral did not wait for a response. “I’m Rear Admiral Brick, task force commander, goddamnit. I’m responsible for JSOC’s resources and responsiveness in-theater. This is my fucking helicopter! I’ve been on the line with MacDill and D.C. all night, trying to explain how and why it was stolen. Do you know how embarrassing this is? And from the looks of it, this bird won’t be able to fly again for months.”
He stopped to take a breath and surveyed the inside of 458. “I don’t know how the hell this thing kept flying,” he said, almost to himself.
The admiral swiveled back to me. “This is a hell of a way to go out, Avery. Steal a United States Army helicopter in a war zone…” He shook his head. Now that the wounded were secure and he had us back under control, he was having a hard time believing what had happened. Truthfully, so was I.
The admiral was interrupted by the medics as they started to move the wounded off the aircraft. One of them looked at Admiral Brick for permission. He nodded and gestured aft, off the ramp. First Turtle’s two commandos. Then the Guru, and then Pete. Once the wounded had been removed, there were eleven of us still on the aircraft, other than Brick and his armed guards: Zack and me, Turtle and his four remaining commandos, Crawford, Wilson, Thomas, and Weber. We all sat, handcuffed, and awaited our fate. Someone came running up the ramp.
“Admiral Brick!” It was Major Obrien.
“Yes. What is it?”
“Sir, you better come see.”
“Okay. Let’s go then,” Brick said over his shoulder to our guards. We started to get up to follow him.
“Sir … um … I recommend you leave them on board for the time being.” Obrien gestured at us, looking terrified.
“What is the problem, Obrien?”
“Sir, it’s better I show you.”
“Fine.” Brick pointed at the guards and me. “Hold them here until I get back.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brick strode out after Obrien. They disappeared off the ramp into the glare of spotlights. As they did, a wave of fatigue swept over me.
“You okay?” Zack asked.
“Yeah. Just tired.”
I hung my head. I looked at the blood smears and hydraulic fluid on the deck of 458. It had been a long night. It had been a long career.
If I could have, I would have put my head in my hands. I could feel my mind and body reacting to the realization that the mission was over. That we had survived. I closed my eyes. My mind raced. I saw the rockets go into the house again. The vehicle with the .50-cal. rounded the corner. It had us. I started to shake slightly and was glad my hands were behind my back so that the guard could not see them twitching. I saw the drone cartwheel into the enemy. Aft rotor disk inches from the building. The impact of 458’s ramp.
I focused on my breathing. My meditation was interrupted by the curses of Rear Admiral Brick.
“Goddamnit!” He stomped back onto the aircraft, followed by Major Obrien. They did not walk all the way in. They stopped under the aft transmission. Obrien was talking to someone on the sat phone.
“Yes, sir. Yes, sir. I will, sir. Here he is, sir.” Obrien handed the sat phone to Brick.
“This is Brick.” His voice sounded agitated. He had seen something that he really hadn’t liked outside.
“Yes, sir. They are. I’d say at least a dozen. Maybe more.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea, but it is clear that they were tipped off. They know a hell of a lot already. It’s a fucking disaster.”
I looked at Obrien. He was fidgeting, his head swiveling back and forth between Brick and whatever was outside of the aircraft.
“Sir, I really don’t think—” Rear Admiral Brick straightened suddenly. Whoever was on the other side of the conversation had cut him off. “Yes, sir. I understand, sir.” His body language was tense, screaming the opposite of what he was saying. “Yes, sir. I will. No … it’s not a problem, sir. I know what to do.”
Brick put his other hand up to his face and kneaded his forehead. “I will, sir. Yes, sir. I will call you afterward.” He handed the phone back to Major Obrien and took a deep breath. Then he walked toward me.
“Stand up, Avery.”
I stood slowly, still sinking into the adrenaline letdown.
“Uncuff them.”
“Sir?”
“I said, uncuff them, goddamnit.”
As the guards worked their way through our group, removing handcuffs, Brick stepped in front of me.
“Now, you listen to me, Avery. You’re going to walk off this aircraft next to me and follow my lead. If you stray one fucking micron, I’ll shoot you myself and bury you out here in the desert. You got that?”
“Not really, sir.”
“That makes fucking two of us.”
“The rest of you are going to stay on this aircraft until we can find a way to get you off. Do not fucking leave this aircraft.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brick pointed to one of the guards. “You stay with them. If they try to get off the aircraft before I come back, shoot them.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s go.” He turned and walked toward the ramp, with Obrien on his heels. I looked around the helicopter at the guys. Weber and I locked eyes for a moment. The expression on his face told me he wanted to go with me to watch my back. I just smiled. He nodded.
I followed Brick and Obrien. Breathing deeply, I walked off 458’s bent ramp and stepped onto the ground, a couple of paces behind the admiral and the major.
The glare of the spotlights was intense, and I slowed involuntarily as my eyes adjusted. Noticing this, Brick reached back to grab me by the arm. He pulled me up even with him as he pushed through a line of armed soldiers, into a throng of civilians.
Then I saw the cameras and microphones. Finally, I put it together.
“Admiral Brick!” said a young woman holding a microphone. “May we speak with you, sir?” She didn’t wait for an answer, decisively moving next to Brick and then fluidly swiveling back to face her cameraman. She was a pro and recognized an easy target.
“This is Linda Cogner, CNN, live from Baghdad. I am here with Rear Admiral Brick whose special operations troops have just completed a daring midnight raid that successfully rescued an American hostage from ISIS. Under the cover of dar
kness, their team achieved total surprise over an enemy that had no idea they were even in the country. It’s a proud night for America, isn’t it, Admiral Brick?”
FIFTY-NINE
DECEMBER 1990
“The Commandant will see you now, gentlemen.”
Zack, Turtle, and I looked at one another and breathed deeply. Zack went in first. We stepped in front of the com’s massive desk, and Zack rendered our report: “Sir, Cadets Dempsey, Avery, and Guerrero reporting as ordered.”
The com eyeballed us gravely, then slowly returned Zack’s salute. Behind the com, to his right, stood a glowering Major Eifer. Cadet Stephens, the first captain, stood behind the com to his left. Several other officers stood off to the side, but I didn’t dare gaze around to see who they were.
General Franklin looked at us for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder slightly, toward Major Eifer. The major handed him a folder. The general placed the folder on the desk in front of him and opened it slowly.
“Gentlemen, you are here to answer for the following behavior.” He read from the 2-1 form: “Error in judgment with major effect: participating in an activity which had been explicitly prohibited by the chain of command—misappropriating the Navy goat. Compounded by repeated failure to rectify the situation as directed by senor officials and return the aforementioned property by the designated deadline.” He exhaled forcefully and leaned back in his chair.
“Gentlemen, not only did you exercise poor judgment when you decided not to adhere to or support command directives…” He raised his hand and stabbed a finger into the air.
“You failed to support your chain of command, the United States Corps of Cadets, and the United States Military Academy by willfully disobeying a direct order.” The second finger extended.
“And, worst of all, none of you displayed the moral courage necessary to halt what each of you knew was prohibited activity.” The third finger extended, and Major Eifer nodded in disgusted agreement.
“That is three strikes, gentlemen.” The general slowly lowered his hand.
Major Eifer shook his head in disapproval. Stephens looked at us with pity.