“I’m sure that all of you will want to know where we are going and what we’ll be doing there. I’m sorry I can’t tell you now, because I don’t know, either. All I can tell you is that the friendly aliens, the Psiclopes, have lost contact with their home planet. It might be a bad transmitter, but they think that’s unlikely. What they believe has happened is that another alien race has destroyed the transmitter and is currently looking for our planet. Ladies and gentlemen, these are your worst nightmares. The Drakuls are ten foot tall frogs that like to eat their food, which consists of every living being and sometimes each other, while it’s still alive. We will kill them, everywhere we can find them. These things are evil.”
“Now, you’re probably wondering why all of you are here, right?” asked Calvin. He saw most of the heads nod. “The cover story that we are starting a center of excellence is, at least in part, true. You were all selected because you are outstanding aviators who have shown an ability to think ‘outside the box.’ You all have specialized experience and skills in a variety of backgrounds that might be needed, wherever we end up and whatever we end up doing there. As we train, I expect you to share your experience, so that we all become better. Just like the special forces unit that is training here, how we do things now will probably end up being how the space force of the future ends up doing them, so we need to make sure we do them right.”
Snoqualmie National Forest, Washington State, October 21, 2018
Master Chief O’Leary gave the signal to stop. Sergeant Ed ‘Shadow’ Pesik, United States Marine Corps, and Sergeant Margaret ‘Witch’ Andrews, British Army Special Reconnaissance Regiment, both froze in place, although their eyes continued to search for the threat that Master Chief had seen. What Master Chief had seen was Calvin, standing conspicuously in their line of travel. He had a white ribbon tied around his arm and his helmet, marking him as an observer. He wasn’t on the opposing force…but if an observer was standing in that particular spot, there must be something that he expected to observe, which meant there was a threat nearby. This was bad. Master Chief continued scanning, but didn’t see any threats, nor did he see any place that the ground had been disturbed, indicating a trap. He saw Sergeant Kawika Liu, the ground forces’ medic, come from around the tree Calvin was leaning against to stand next to him. He was also wearing a white ribbon. Why were both of them looking at him? This was very bad.
He looked to his left to Shadow, who gave him a slow shrug. He didn’t see anything. He slowly looked to the right and received the same shrug from Witch. She didn’t see anything, either, although Ryan could tell her senses were on edge. A Jamaican by birth, she thought herself a real witch and usually had a good sense of danger. With a sense of foreboding, Ryan gave the signal to continue the advance. They had made good time and ought to be at the objective, his house, within another ten minutes. Unless they ran into trouble.
He started forward and looked at Calvin. Calvin didn’t move, and his eyes were locked on him. ‘Fuck,’ he thought, ‘something bad is about to happen to me.’ He hoped that the Lieutenant Commander would give something away, like looking to where the threat was, but the officer’s eyes never left him. He stopped again and scanned the forest around him. Still nothing, except for a mosquito that bit him on the cheek.
He slowly raised his hand to brush it away, but his arm stopped working halfway to his face. He tried to look at Calvin but found his neck muscles didn’t work, either. In fact, nothing seemed to be working. The world tilted as he fell to his right, all of his muscles locked up. With a small rustle of leaves, Ryan hit the ground. Ryan could see back to the left and saw that Shadow had stopped advancing and was coming over to see what was wrong with him. Master Chief wanted to scream that it was a trap and to get away, but the only sound he could produce was a small “uh” that he could barely hear himself. He hoped that Witch wasn’t coming over, too.
Shadow went in and out of his sight as he moved closer through the trees. When he was about five feet away, he stopped and looked around, trying to determine why Ryan was lying on the ground not moving. As Master Chief watched, something small and colorful appeared on his neck. Within seconds, Shadow ceased moving and fell backwards. The medic, who had been motionless the entire time, darted over to Shadow and rolled him onto his side.
The only thing worse, Master Chief thought, would be if Witch came over, too. He heard a small scuffling noise behind him and knew that she was approaching. Ryan could see her shadow and knew that she was close. It stopped moving briefly, and he heard a small, female cry of surprise. Her shadow tilted as she crashed to the ground too.
Master Chief would have sighed, if he could have. He heard a small scraping noise, as if a squirrel was coming down a tree, and then saw the ninja, Hattori ‘Yokaze’ Hanzo, walk into his line of sight. He was wearing a gray cloak, the color of the local tree trunks. As Master Chief watched, he drew his tanto, a small knife that looked like a miniature version of his katana, and moved to Shadow, not making a sound. He placed the knife on Shadow’s neck. Shadow was ‘dead.’ Hattori moved over to Ryan and did the same thing before going behind him to where Witch lay. They were all dead.
Yokaze came back to stand in front of him. Ryan had heard that ‘Yokaze’ meant ‘Night Wind.’ He certainly moved like the wind, Ryan thought. Yokaze reached over to Ryan’s face and removed a small red dart. So that’s what it was, thought Ryan. Yokaze thanked him with a quiet, “Domo arrigato,” bowed and then moved off silently, presumably in search of other prey. Aside from a small noise coming down the tree, Master Chief hadn’t heard him make a single sound. The only noise generated by the ‘deaths’ of three people were the sounds of their bodies hitting the ground. Ryan was beginning to really hate that guy.
After another minute, Sergeant Liu came over and gave the three deceased soldiers some kind of injection. The paralysis went away quickly. Calvin sent the medic and the other two soldiers ahead so that he could talk to Ryan privately.
“I take it we’re going to lose again?” asked Ryan with a sigh. This would make them 0-4, with two losses as the attackers and two more as the defenders.
“I don’t know for sure yet,” answered Calvin, “but it’s a pretty good bet. They have several other surprises set up for your squad that it’s probably going to walk right into, especially now that you’re no longer alive to lead them.”
“What did he get me with?” inquired Ryan.
“I think the medic said it was some sort of quaternary ammonium drug called suxamethonium, or something like that,” replied Calvin. “He said that it is often referred to as ‘sux’ in hospitals.” Calvin paused. “I guess it sux to be you.” He chuckled at his pun. “He said it is one of the few curare-like substances that are reversible. Don’t feel bad; I couldn’t see Yokaze once he was in position, either, and I knew where he was. He’s good.”
“I’m getting damn tired of losing,” growled Master Chief.
“No doubt,” said Calvin, suddenly serious. “And why do you suppose that is? Not that you’re tired of losing, but that you’ve lost every single exercise?”
“Since we haven’t won a single round, I would have to say that they’re better than we are,” said Ryan, still growling. “But I know that’s not true. My guys and gals are just as good as Top’s, maybe even better.” He saw that Calvin had a small smile. “Damn it sir, what’s so fucking funny? Do you know something I don’t?” His tone made it sound like he didn’t think that was possible.
“It’s not funny,” said Calvin, “but it has been interesting to watch. Yes, I do know something. Before I tell you what it is, do you remember what the cover story of the platoon is?”
“What?” asked Ryan, slow to adjust to the change in topic. “All of the troops were sent here to form a center of excellence,” he remembered.
“That’s correct,” replied Calvin, “and that’s what Top has done. When he plans an event, he brings everyone together to discuss the situation and invites their input. By doing so
, he takes advantage of the unique skills that each of them brings to the table. Everyone that is here is an expert in their field, and each has shown an ability to use their talents in new and creative ways. Top just lets them put their ideas into action. Would you have let one of your troops climb a tree with a blowgun to defend a position?”
“No,” said Ryan with a sigh, “I would have probably had them use a machine gun and wouldn’t have let them hide in a tree because they would have been exposed there.”
“And that’s the problem,” agreed Calvin. “You need to get past the idea that you’re leading new SEALs that need to be told what to do all the time or that your job is to turn the soldiers under you into your version of SEALs. That’s not what they are, or what they’re here for. You need to embrace the concept that you have veterans with skills that you know nothing about. Take advantage of your squad members’ experience, let them give you their input and adapt the team to be something greater than the sum of its parts. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” said Ryan, “it does.” He sighed. “You know what? You’re not half bad. For an officer.”
Joint Base Lewis-McChord, Tacoma, WA, October 24, 2018
“Hey, Skipper, can I bother you a second?” asked Night. By convention, most of the platoon and the squadron were using the navy term “Skipper’ for Calvin. Although he had been initially uncomfortable with the term for a navy unit commander, it had grown on him, and even the non-navy people were using it almost universally.
Calvin looked up from the paperwork he was working on. 1730 already. Damn. “Sure, XO, what’s up?”
“Well, sir, you’ve been talking about exercising a lot recently, but I haven’t seen you make time for it. We’re finishing up doing some martial arts downstairs, and I thought you might like to join us.”
“Well, I’m not really dressed for it…” Calvin said.
Night looked him over. “Your flight suit will be just fine,” he said. “Just take off the boots. In the unlikely event that you land one, I don’t want to get kicked by someone wearing steel-toed boots.”
The two men went downstairs, and Calvin saw that the platoon had laid out mats to practice on. Good, he thought. I really don’t want to get thrown onto the concrete.
As they walked up, one of the twins pinned his brother to the mat. No one would ever know who won, though, because both of them claimed victory, and no one could tell them apart.
The two officers squared off on the mat. “Have you ever done any martial arts?” asked the XO.
“Yeah, when I was little,” said Calvin. “I made it to yellow belt and then quit because I liked baseball better.”
“Well, let’s start out easy then,” said the XO. He showed Calvin a few blocks and told him when they were appropriate. “OK,” announced the XO when he was done, “I’m going to attack you, and you try to block me.”
He approached Calvin slowly and reached for him. Calvin blocked easily. Night threw some punches, and Calvin blocked all of them. Night began to get a little frustrated that he couldn’t land anything on Calvin and started throwing punches faster and faster. When that didn’t work, he started interspersing kicks and elbow strikes, as well. Calvin either blocked or evaded all of them. With each block, members of the platoon would call out encouragement to Calvin or razz the XO on his inability to hit the aviator. The XO swore that Calvin even used a ‘nine block’ one time, which was a black belt-level move.
Both men had worked up a sweat, and Night called for a break. “You said you only made it to yellow belt?” asked the XO, taking a drink from his canteen.
“That’s right,” agreed Calvin. “I did OK at it. I just wasn’t interested in it.”
“Well, you’re a damn natural,” said the XO. “I’ve never seen anyone as good as you with so little training. Let’s try a few throws.” He showed Calvin a few taekwondo throws, and how Calvin could use his opponent’s force to his advantage and throw the opponent to the ground. Once there, Calvin could follow up with either a controlling or finishing technique; even better, he could pull out a weapon and shoot him.
As taekwondo is equally as concerned with defense as offense, the XO also showed him some freeing techniques, where he could break loose from an opponent and neutralize the danger. “You need to be able to break contact with an enemy if one ever gets a hold of you,” the XO said once he was done. “Are you ready to try some of those?”
Calvin agreed, and they went through some of the moves at half speed. The cheering from the platoon started up again, and shortly both men were doing their best to beat the other. Finally, after several minutes of maneuvering, the XO was able to throw Calvin. “Pretty good, sir,” he conceded. “One more?” the XO asked.
“Sure,” said Calvin, “then I have to go.”
“OK,” replied Night. “Focus and let’s have at it.”
Calvin shut his eyes and focused on what he was doing. When he opened them again, he looked changed; his demeanor calm and supremely focused. They bowed and began circling each other, throwing punches and kicks, while the platoon screamed abuse at both of them.
“Will you give me five to one odds on the skipper?” Top asked Master Chief.
“Five? I’ll give you ten,” replied Ryan. “I’ve never seen anyone throw the XO. That’s easy money.”
“I don’t know,” said Top. “He was holding his own earlier, and he looks pretty focused now.”
As he said it, the XO feigned a kick at Calvin. As Calvin went for the block, the XO reached in and grabbed his flight suit, pulling him off balance. Seeing that the XO was about to toss him over the XO’s hip, Calvin unexpectedly jumped toward the XO, rolling across his back and grabbing the XO’s shirt as he went past. As his feet came back to the ground, he continued the spin, pulling the XO around and over his hip. The XO lost his balance and was thrown to the ground on his back.
Silence echoed throughout the hangar.
Although nearly the whole platoon had been cheering for Calvin, no one had actually expected him to win. No one. Even Top, who had bet on him. He hadn’t been thrown a single time in all of the platoon’s competitions; in fact, not a single soldier had been able to score a point on him. Everyone was stunned, most of all the XO.
Calvin reached a hand down to help him up. “Thanks for the lessons,” he said. “You’re a good teacher.”
“Well, you’re my prize student now,” said the XO ruefully, “since no one has been able to do that before. You need to come down and work out with us more often. Maybe there’s something that you can teach us.”
“I doubt it,” said Calvin, “but I’d love to come join you.” Indicating his sweat-soaked flight suit he said, “I need the exercise.”
On the other side of the hangar, Top held out his hand. “I’ll take that ten dollars now,” he said. “When are you going to learn not to sell the skipper short?”
Top couldn’t hear the response, but thought it sounded suspiciously like “fucking officers.”
* * * * *
Chapter Four
USS Vella Gulf, Norfolk, VA, October 25, 2018
Captain James Deutch, the commanding officer of the USS Vella Gulf (CG-72), stared down at the requisition paperwork on his desk as if that would change what was written on it. It didn’t. He was more than angry. He was livid. His ship was due to deploy in less than five months, and all of his requisitions were being returned with the stamp, ‘not authorized.’ One of the requisitions on his desk was for a key component to the ship’s missile launch system. How the hell was he supposed to defend his own ship, much less an aircraft carrier or any other ship they might get attached to, with a vertical launch missile system that didn’t work? The vertical launch system was the key component to the entire battle group’s defense. If the Vella Gulf couldn’t launch missiles, what good was it? And now their communications gear wouldn’t be fixed in time for cruise, either? What the hell was going on?
He had his executive officer call their superiors at Car
rier Strike Group Eight, but they didn’t know anything about the denial of the requisitions. Captain Deutch had personally called Strike Group Eight’s superiors at U.S. Fleet Forces Command, but they didn’t know anything either. The requisitions had been denied up at the CNO’s office. He looked at the clock and saw it was 1700. There wouldn’t be anyone there at this time of day worth yelling at, he decided. Better to go home, pack, and drive up to D.C. tomorrow. Then he would find out what the HELL was going on.
Too angry to do any further work, he was gathering up his things when eight bells, the number of bells that an admiral received when he came aboard a ship, sounded over the ship’s intercom. A very nervous-sounding voice followed it, announcing, ‘CNO arriving.’ “What the fuck?” he muttered. He didn’t even know that the CNO was in town, and now he was coming aboard his ship? What the hell? This had better not be some kind of fucking joke!
Before he could go down to meet whomever had just come aboard, his phone rang, and the Petty Officer of the Watch told him that Admiral Wright was on his way up to the captain’s in-port cabin. The Petty Officer of the Watch sounded just as nervous on the phone as he had on the intercom system. Within a couple of minutes, there was a knock on the door, and he opened it to find the real CNO standing in his doorway. Too shocked to say anything, his jaw dropped, and he just stood there looking. Finally the CNO asked simply, “Can I come in?”
Captain Deutch regained his senses and replied, “Yes sir, please come in,” while moving out of the doorway. “Please, have a seat,” Captain Deutch offered. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”
“No, thank you,” replied the CNO. “Perhaps on my way out, you can send for a drink. I have many miles to go before I sleep, as it were.” He settled himself onto the sofa in the captain’s office, and Deutch returned to his desk chair. The CNO looked speculatively at him before saying, “I understand that you were wondering why your requisitions were being denied.”
Theogony 1: Janissaries Page 7
