Operation

by Tony Ruggiero

  She stormed back into the bedroom, but quickly reappeared in her jeans and tucking her t-shirt in her pants with one hand. In her other hand, she carried her sneakers.

  “Look, Lisa, I have to make a call and get ready to go. Can’t we talk about this later?”

  “There won’t be a later, John,” she said simply.

  “Lisa, wait…”

  The door made a resounding thud as it closed.

  “Off again,” he said, remembering how he had classified their relationship. This time, he didn’t think it would ever get back to the on stage.

  He exhaled strongly and couldn’t help looking at the chair that Lisa had mentioned earlier. She had been right. The only exception was she thought he didn’t realize the way he was acting or treating her, but he did. He wasn’t in love with her; she was a distraction that he used to unblock his own mind and that was all he wanted at this period in his life. At times they had a lot of fun together and the sex was good; however, he was not looking for anything beyond that at this point. Was he using her? He probably was. He had developed an analogy from his work in dealing with women and relationships: given enough time, the myth either becomes reality, or it fades away. Apparently this current affair had just faded away.

  Reese then remembered he was about to call Captain Clark. He opened his recall folder and looked for the telephone number. This assignment to the Special Warfare Group had introduced him to some new and interesting operations that were different than the regular Navy side of the house, but they did not compare to the strange orders he’d just received. He was in charge of the group logistics, purchasing supplies and services required for use by the Special Operation Units on the East Coast. His work dealt mainly with the SEAL units and similar forces. After a year, he had developed a unique respect for the elite of the Special Warfare Community.

  He found the number and dialed it.

  “Hello,” an alert voice answered.

  “Captain Clark?” Reese asked.

  “Reese?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry to bother you at home but—”

  “The duty officer called you already?” he said, cutting Reese off mid-sentence.

  “Yes, sir. Did they explain to you what this is all about?”

  “Afraid not,” Clark said. “I tried to call you a few minutes ago to give you a heads up. Your line was busy. All I know is that I got a call from Captain Sorbert, Commander Naval Special Warfare Group Two, telling me not to look for you on Monday morning. When I asked him why, I was told to not worry about it; that you would be on special assignment to SOCOM for an undetermined period of time. I pressed him for more information but he was closed-mouth about it. Sorry, Reese.”

  “Do you have any idea what this might mean?” Reese felt that there was some underlying current here and it bothered him. Clark was usually straightforward and upfront with him.

  “I hate to speculate,” Clark began, “but usually when orders are cut this fast, it’s done high up in the chain of command. Whoever wants you there has to have a lot of pull to do this. Must be important.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense, sir.” Reese’s intuition was beginning to twitch. Was he being paranoid or did he hear the emphasis that Clark had placed on the word important?

  “Maybe not to you, but it obviously does to someone else. All you can do is go along for now and when you get there, you’ll find out for sure.”

  Reese was sure he had heard the tonal change in the words this time. He wondered if Clark was trying to hint at something that he couldn’t say directly.

  “Yes, sir. Thanks for your time, Captain Clark.”

  “Have a good trip. Give me a call if you can and be careful.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Reese hung up the phone.

  What was this about? He had to admit that his interest was now piqued as to why he’d been chosen. He mentally ticked off his qualifications: degrees in economics for his business side and ancient history for his personal interest. He was a logistics officer with a diverse background but nothing spectacular that would guarantee promotion, which was why he’d retire in another eighteen months. He possessed a top-secret clearance that was required for the current assignment and his current superior respected him. Logic dictated then that this had to be something to do with logistics in the Special Operations community. Maybe some research and development contractual issues or something had come up on some project and they were looking for some fresh thoughts.

  That’s probably it, nothing too exciting, it was just the community way to issue orders and move personnel around unexpectedly, keeps us on our toes.

  He looked at the clock and decided he better get moving and pack some clothes, even though he was not even sure how long he would be staying in Florida.

  Chapter Seven

  Reese made it on time to the airport and was met by the duty driver. What surprised him—no—what shocked him was that the plane was for him, and only him: a small passenger plane normally reserved for VIPs. Extremely odd that a plane that cost serious bucks to operate would ferry him to Florida; normal procedure would have placed him on a contracted passenger plane. Whatever awaited him in Florida must be urgent enough to warrant the expenditure.

  Greeted by one of the pilots, a lieutenant, he was seated only seconds before the plane rolled down the runway. He took a book from his brief case titled Creatures in Our Lives, opened it to the page he had marked, and began reading.

  “Excuse me, sir, but a book with a title like that must be strange.”

  Reese looked up and saw another lieutenant. By the insignia on his uniform, he was also a pilot.

  “Yeah, it is kind of strange.” He offered his hand. “Commander John Reese.”

  “Lieutenant Sam Kramer. I’m the co-pilot.”

  “You wouldn’t have any idea why I’m being flown to MacDill, would you?”

  “No, sir. They just hand us the paper that says who and when.”

  “I guess I’ll have to wait until I get there then.”

  “So what’s the book about?”

  “A lot of different things concerning folklore and myth.”

  “Really? I had this professor once...I was taking a theology course in college. You know, one of those have-to-take courses. Anyway, he went off on some tangent about folklore and stuff like that,” Kramer said.

  “Well,” Reese began, “you would be surprised how closely theology and myths are related. Obviously the professor you had felt that way. You see, there is a school of thought that to study something based upon myth, legends or folklore, it was considered similar to the study of theology. There is no hardcore evidence that could either prove or disprove the stories in either case. Lacking hard proof, it becomes more of a study of philosophy, whereby one’s faith or belief was the deciding factor. On a more personal level, if it was evident that the individual lacked the courage or determination to become involved in an area that could solidly be disproved such as hard science, it was likely to be determined that the person was a slacker one way or another.”

  “Interesting comparison, it’s a...unique area to get into. How did you get interested in something like that?” Kramer asked.

  Reese slouched back in his seat and got comfortable. “I think I developed this passion for monsters at an early age after seeing the early Dracula and werewolf movies. I was astounded to learn that these creatures were based upon myths that had been documented in some form. My interest grew from there, although when I attended college, I studied in the business field out of practicality, leaving my passion for the unknown and unexplained as a hobby.”

  “Yeah,” Kramer agreed. “It’s a shame how we ignore our true passion while we do things just to earn a buck. The whole concept sounds fascinating. I bet you have wooed many a lady with your stories of these creatures.”

  Reese grinned. “Most women who learned about my favorite pastime assumed I was an immature jerk. I have to admit I spend a lot of time consumed in research. Women ten
d to maintain their distance—guess that’s why I’m still single.”

  Kramer smiled and said, “Personally, Commander, I don’t think there is a whole lot of difference between strange creatures and wives. Take it from someone with experience; I’m on number three.”

  “Can I quote you on that?” Reese asked.

  “Hell no, sir. I can’t afford another ex.”

  Both men laughed.

  “Well, I better get back to the flight deck,” Kramer said. “Nice talking to you, Commander.”

  “Same here. Hope I didn’t ramble on too much.”

  “No, sir. Sit back and enjoy the flight,” Kramer said as he left Reese to himself.

  Reese would have loved to do nothing more then sit back and relax. However, until he got to MacDill and found out what this was all about, he didn’t think there would be much relaxing on his part.

  * * * *

  MacDill Air Force Base was located about eight miles south of Tampa, Florida, on the tip of the Interbay Peninsula in Hillsborough County. After landing, the plane taxied to the receiving end of the runway. Reese noticed a car waiting there. He figured that if someone sent a special plane to retrieve him, then the car was probably there to pick him up. More mystery to dwell on.

  “Commander Reese,” a Marine corporal said as he saluted.

  “I’m your man,” Reese said, trying to be humorous.

  “Yes, sir,” the Marine said in a monotone voice, obviously bypassing Reese’s attempt at humor. “Please get into the vehicle and I will drive you to headquarters.”

  “Let’s go then,” Reese said and got in.

  In a matter of minutes, they arrived at a two-story building. The corporal indicated for Reese to enter the center doors. Reese thanked him and headed into the building.

  The reception area was plain and carried the usual adornments of most military installations. On the walls were the colorful depiction of the individual service logos that fell together under one umbrella of command. They consisted of the Navy SEALs, the Army Airborne and the Air Force Special Operations Forces, all circling a larger emblem of the Unites States Special Operation Command. The main centerpiece was the tip of a lance, sometimes referred to as the ace of spades.

  “Can I help you, sir?” asked the young soldier sitting at the reception desk.

  “Yes,” Reese said as he handed his orders to him. The soldier glanced at the orders and then immediately placed a call.

  “Someone will be right here to escort you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Reese occupied his time by looking at the standard chain of command picture board that resided on the wall of every military command. He didn’t have long to wait. Within a few minutes, a Navy commander appeared.

  “John Reese,” he said as he extended his hand. “I’m Sam Scott.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” Reese struggled with pleasantries while restraining himself from asking Scott what the hell was going on. However, given all they had gone through to get him here, he probably wouldn’t discuss it on the quarterdeck.

  Scott was not a logistics officer; he was a line officer. Reese recognized the two rank insignia on the other’s collars versus the one that he had. Staff corps officers only wore one rank while the other depicted specialty.

  Scott was tall and thin and looked like someone who had been run ragged most of his time in the service. Reese knew the signs of a person trying to achieve promotion and position at an accelerated pace, right down to the darkness under his eyes and a slight nervousness in his demeanor.

  “I know you have questions,” Scott said. “And I apologize for the short notice. If you follow me, we can go somewhere where we can talk.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Reese followed Scott through the first set of doors that took them off the quarterdeck. Reese noticed Scott used a magnetic card to access the doors they went through. He was also surprised at the maze orientation of the facility and imagined he’d get lost in here without someone escorting him.

  As they proceeded, Reese noticed the doors took on a new look; the verbiage on signs became more authoritative. He noticed not only was the card required, but there were Marine guards who verified Scott and his credentials.

  After a few minutes, they entered a small windowless conference room that contained one large circular table with eight chairs around it. Scott gestured for him to have a seat.

  “Coffee?” Scott asked.

  “Sure,” Reese said, as he sat in a chair. He tried to control his anxiousness to hear about his new assignment.

  Scott placed a cup of coffee in front of him, then sat.

  “Why am I here?” Reese asked. “Why the rush?”

  Scott exhaled. “Your background may be of use to us.”

  “My logistics. That’s what I thought,” Reese said, feeling relieved. “You want me to work in the acquisition and logistics center?”

  “No, it’s your other non-Navy interest—ancient histories and civilizations. Your interest in myths and legends.”

  “What? You have to be kidding, right? I don’t understand what that has to do with the Navy or the military for that matter. It’s more like a hobby for me.”

  “It does have relevance in this particular case, or at least we believe it does. We have come across some...well...before I explain any of that, you must understand about General Stone. He is an extraordinary leader and tactician. He is known for his unusual approaches in solving the unsolvable, he’s almost a legend.”

  Reese was surprised at Scott’s tone. It was almost as if he was apologizing for the general. How odd, he thought.

  “I have heard of him and his accomplishments,” Reese said. “General Stone is well-known throughout the services.”

  “Yes. Then you know that he likes to look into the unusual or bizarre events we sometimes come across. Most of them don’t pan out and can be explained by rational means, but every once in a while something unexplainable is found.”

  “Interesting approach, but I still don’t see where I come in,” Reese said. He sipped his coffee.

  “Your background appears to be extensive in the European theater and especially the Balkans.”

  “Yes,” Reese agreed. “Many scholars consider those areas the center of many myth creations, so my interests lie there as well.”

  “With all the happenings in Kosovo,” Scott said, “there have been some unusual developments. The general felt that someone with your background might be useful on his staff.”

  “That’s it?” Reese asked, amazed at the simplicity of it. “You flew me out here on a private jet—with a few hours notice—to be an advisor on what I do for a hobby?”

  “That’s it,” Scott agreed.

  This is bullshit, Reese thought. This guy is trying to blow smoke up my ass. He’s nervous about something. Something he doesn’t want me to know.

  “Then why all the mystery, the cloak-and-dagger orders and stuff?” he asked.

  “Politics. The general doesn’t like others to know that he is looking into any of these…different areas. Rumors can ruin a career faster than anything else in the military.”

  “True,” Reese said. “A good many personnel have been forced—”

  The door opened and General Stone entered like a thoroughbred racehorse that had just shot through the opening gate in a race. Reese almost knocked over his cup of coffee as he stood to greet the general.

  “As you were,” Stone said, not even the least bit winded from his entry. “You must be Commander Reese.” Reese took the extended hand and shook it, noticing in the general’s other hand he had a folder marked TOP SECRET.

  “Yes, sir, pleased to meet you,” Reese said, feeling a little apprehensive about what he was stepping into.

  “Thought you might find this interesting reading on the flight,” the general said, as he handed the folder to Reese.

  “Flight...sir?” Reese asked. “What flight?”

  “Your flight to Kosovo leaves within the h
our. There is something there that I want you to check out for me.”

  Confused, Reese turned to Scott, but Scott had looked away from him and busied himself by getting something from his desk. Reese thought he saw a look of relief on Scott’s face, as if the general springing the bad news had got him out of having to do it. Reese knew then he wasn’t going to get along with Scott.

  Reese turned his attention back to the general. The man glowered over him, his eyes so large and intense that Reese thought they might explode at any minute. The uncomfortable silence was intolerable, and Reese felt they were waiting for him to say something. He said the most logical thing he could think of.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter Eight

  As the plane departed MacDill AFB, Reese sat in awe at the way he was being shuffled around the globe. Seven hours ago, he had been comfortably at home reading a book. A mere hour ago, he had been in a conference room with Commander Scott and General Stone. Now he was on another plane heading to Kosovo, which was in the midst of civil unrest being controlled by NATO peacekeepers. Scott had briefed him that the plane was bound for Skopie, Macedonia via Rota, Spain. From Skopie, he would be driven to Camp Bondsteel in Kosovo. Specific information about his assignment was in the folder that the general had given him, and everything else would become clear upon his arrival at the base camp. Or so he had been told.

  The only difference from his earlier flight was he was not alone on this plane; he had lots of company. This flight was what they called in the military a regular run. Personnel from all branches of the services filled most seats. Their conversations were excited and busied as new acquaintances were made and stories exchanged. Reese had been assigned a seat by himself; the flight captain told him he would understand why when he read the information he had been given.

  At this point, nothing had been explained to him yet and Reese still had a hard time wondering why his knowledge of ancient history and folklore would be of use to the Navy. What would warrant this? It puzzled him. Puzzlement in this case was outweighed by the fact that the more he thought about it, the better this trip was looking. After all, he had always wanted to go to this particular region to study and to look for information for his own work. And now here it was, handed to him; a free trip to his own Disneyworld.