Standing the Final Watch

by William Alan Webb

  Chapter 19

  Strong leaders listen to cautious advice, weak ones take it.

  Nick Angriff

  June 18th, 2218 hours

  Ben Walling could not believe he had forgotten his most important duty. Sure, being Officer of the Watch had been hard and Temporary Officer Commanding even more so, and then getting handed the responsibility for the brigade’s deployment was the most difficult thing he had ever attempted. He prided himself on doing a superior job, no matter the task, but damn, how could he forget that?

  When Schiller waved him in, Angriff pushed back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He looked tired. “What is it, Colonel? Something gone wrong?”

  “No, sir,” Walling said. “Well, yes, sir, but that’s not why I’m here. In an effort to deploy this brigade as fast as possible, I forgot one of my duties. As Officer of the Watch upon activation, I was supposed to hand this envelope to you as soon as possible.” He passed over the large white envelope. “I’m sorry, General. I don’t like letting you down.”

  The envelope was marked COMMANDING GENERAL ONLY. Angriff picked up a bush knife, since of all things it appeared the planners of Overtime had forgotten letter openers, and slit the envelope’s flap. A small lump lay at the bottom, wrapped in foam, along with a single sheet of paper. He read the paper and his eyes opened wider. Finishing, he ignored Walling and called for Schiller.

  “Yes, General,” Schiller said.

  “It appears there’s another promotion, Sergeant. Would you handle the paperwork?”

  “Of course, General.” Schiller accepted the sheet and went back to his desk.

  “Well, Colonel, that’s something I never expected.”

  “Good news, sir?”

  “I’ve been promoted. Actually, double promoted.” He held up the small object and carefully cut away the foam. Walling could see gold. Holding the objects in the palm of his hand, Angriff displayed it so that Walling could see the two sets of five gold stars.

  Howard Wilson Dupree worked in the shadow of the Crystal Palace and several times overhead General Angriff’s exchanges with others, so he wanted to be certain of his suspicions before he reported them to the NCO. Nobody wanted to meet Nick the A the way Major Friedenthall had, although General Angriff’s reputation toward lower ranks was reported as being far more sympathetic. Nevertheless, the brigade had not even fully deployed yet, so who could say for certain how the commander would react in different situations?

  At some point, however, you had to do your job and take the consequences. After running the numbers seven times, just to be sure, Dupree approached Sergeant Schiller.

  “What have you got, Dupree?” Schiller said.

  “I don’t know, Sergeant. I think it’s a problem, but I’m not sure. I don’t want to bother anybody in the middle of the deployment, but I don’t want to keep quiet if it’s something to worry about.”

  “Show me.”

  Dupree led Schiller to his work station and went over the troublesome figures, showing in detail the actual numbers and what they should have been.

  Schiller waited until Colonel Walling walked by and explained Dupree’s conclusions, asking whether to bring it to Angriff’s attention.

  “It’s a good catch, Dupree,” Walling said. “But this isn’t the best time. Do this — put all of that in a file, then try to see if there are any other similar anomalies. Give your results to Sergeant Schiller in three days. Sergeant, I’ll leave it to your discretion whether I need to see the results. And again, Private, good work.”

  They watched Walling exit into the hallway and Schiller gave Dupree a shrug

  “I think it’s a big deal, Sergeant.”

  “It doesn’t matter what we think. We’ve got our orders. You keep digging, but if you turn up something else, let me know right away.”

  “Roger that, Sergeant.”

  Schiller walked away, trying to seem unconcerned, but Dupree’s findings troubled him a lot. He could not override a colonel’s direct orders without evidence of imminent danger, and he didn’t have that. All he had were Dupree’s calculations.

  But it bothered him. Oh, yeah, it bothered him a lot.

  “This is ingenious.” Green Ghost examined the blade under a high-powered lamp.

  They occupied a small room on the northern fringe of the base, a place of convenience, not permanence. None of them had been awake for more than twelve hours, so there had been no chance yet to set up a proper operations room or even take a shower. Hangover effects ranged from a throbbing headache for One Eye to mild nausea for Vapor.

  Green Ghost felt fine. “I’m guessing that’s a batrachotoxin in there. What do you think, Vapor?”

  “Poisons are your thing, Ghost. You know I prefer sharp stuff. But aren’t batrachotoxins contact poisons?”

  “Not necessarily. Oh, you’re thinking of the frogs in Central and South America, the ones with poison on their skin. IPs smear it on their spears and arrows, and it works. Yeah, that’s probably what we’ve got here.” Ghost held up the strange knife. “If it is what I think it is, I have no idea how they kept it potent this long. That’s something I’d really like to find out.”

  Crafted of blown glass, about six inches long and two inches wide at the base, the knife blade tapered to a narrow point. The substance on the tip appeared, to Ghost’s trained eye, to be one of the most powerful toxins known to man.

  What made the weapon even more dangerous, however, was the pale fluid inside a small chamber at the tip. Undoubtedly it was a second toxin, probably from a different source. Because of its glass composition the knife had no hope of penetrating even the thinnest clothing, but stabbed with force against exposed skin, such as the neck, the poisons would prove fatal.

  “That is one nasty piece of work, Private Watts. I don’t suppose you’d care to save us all a lot of trouble and tell me where it came from?”

  Watts stood on her tip toes, with both shoulders pulled back until the muscles could not stretch any more. Wires tied her wrists to pipes running along the far wall near the ceiling, slicing the skin so that blood ran down her arms and dripped from the elbows. A second wire looped around her waist was tied off to a large hook set into the concrete floor in front of her. If she relaxed to take the strain off her legs, it increased the pain in her shoulders, and vice versa. Ghost knew more complex and painful tortures, but on short notice and without the proper instruments, he’d improvised.

  “What kind of dumbass are you?” She grimaced . “I’m willing to swallow cyanide and you think I’m gonna spill my guts to you?”

  “Oh, you will. There’s no question about that,” Ghost said. “See, I don’t believe you’re just a fellow traveler in whatever group you’re running around with. I believe you’re a doer. You’re willing to kill or be killed. I can respect that. Not that I care about your agenda.”

  “You wouldn’t understand it anyway,” Watts said. “It takes more than five brain cells.”

  “That’s the best you’ve got? Bravado in the face of death, martyr for the cause, hero of the revolution, et cetera, et cetera… I get it. You’re willing to die before rolling over on your buddies. You’re in deep and you bought into their belief. But you know, to them, you’re probably the Saturday night entertainment. Drink beer, plan an assassination, get a blow job from Watts, and just because they’re willing to blow a load on your face you think they’re in love with you.”

  Green Ghost’s friendly and conversational tone stopped. He leaned into her ear, holding her head between his hands so she could not bite or spit at him, and dropped into a low, hissing tone.

  “But we both know they don’t give a shit about you. They never did. So now the only question is when you spill your guts, not if, and whether that’s a literal statement or not. Vapor over there really does like sharp instruments, and he likes to cut little girls like you into small pieces. He calls it research. “

  Leaning against the wall, Vapor smiled at her. “Please tell him he’s full of shi
t. We can have so much fun together.”

  “It won’t be just you, buddy,” Ghost said. “I’ll get Nipple in on this.”

  “Ah, shit, Ghost. Not that psychopath.”

  “She deserves some fun. See, what’s worse for you, Watts, is that I’ve got somebody else who’s a real artist at inflicting pain. She lives for it. Like Vapor here, people think she’s a psychopath, and they’re probably right. Me, I’m not so bloody-minded. I want to give people a different path to walk before hearing them scream to be killed. So which is it going to be, Private Watts? Me, or the psychopath?”

  Watts managed a tight grin as her body spasmed from the lactic acid building up in her muscles. “You’re both full of shit.”

  “Have it your way,” Ghost said.

  Vapor winked at her and picked up a long pipe cleaner with metallic bristles, the kind plumbers used to unclog large drains. He twirled it a few times. “Nipple likes this kind of thing. How long before she gets here?”

  “Not long. I’m glad you two will enjoy it. This kind of thing doesn’t get me hard,” Ghost said. “But do whatever you’ve got to do to make this bitch talk. Got it?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?” Watts said, breathing hard. “I’m not telling you shit.”

  “Me? Maybe not,” Ghost said. “My sister? That’s a different story.”

  Chapter 20

  Never waste your pain… you paid a high price for it.

  Janine Angriff

  June 19th, 0833 hours

  She blinked and rubbed her eyes, then rubbed them harder. Looking straight ahead, things were blurry, but the images had sharpened a little. Her peripheral vision, however, was a halo of spinning colors which created a tunnel effect. When the medical technician spoke to her, she had to twist her head to see him.

  “Other than your eyesight, how do you feel?” he said.

  Even though she sat on the edge of the diagnostic table, she put her hands out, palms down, to try and keep her balance. Nausea welled in her throat, and she hoped she wouldn’t vomit. “Dizzy.”

  “Vertigo is normal. It should go away pretty quickly.” He moved the large waste barrel closer to the table. “Puke in there if you need to. Now, lie down and close your eyes. We’ll give it half an hour and check again, but I don’t think your vision is anything to worry about.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “No, but all cases get reviewed by one. Think of this as triage, when not seeing a doctor is good. I’m going to kill the lights. Don’t open your eyes until I tell you to. It could slow down your recovery.”

  At first the vertigo bothered her — she kept imagining rolling off the table — but after a while it subsided. The nausea also eased. Several times she almost opened her eyes, but decided not to. After sleeping more than fifty years, and as ridiculous as it seemed, she was soon snoring.

  Then faint voices filtered into her brain. A gentle shake startled her, and she sat up so fast the doctor leaning over her stumbled backward. His rank insignia identified him as a lieutenant colonel.

  “Congratulations, your reflexes are perfect,” he said. “I’m Dr. Friedenthall. How’s your vision?”

  Blinking, she scanned the room. The lights seemed bright, and a few sparkles lingered on the edge of her vision, but focus had sharpened to normal. The clock on the wall indicated two hours had passed. “Not bad, doc. I mean, Colonel. In fact, pretty good. Maybe ninety percent normal. Damn, that’s a relief.”

  Friedenthall looked her over, reviewed her chart, and nodded. “Good, we’re about done here. The psych officer has to sign off, then you can get your duty assignment and find a bunk. It’s just a formality. She should be in soon.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The wait was quite short. A stout lady in her late thirties or early forties came in, followed by an aide, who handed her a chart.

  “My name is Lieutenant Wanda Noshimura,” she said, then stopped and started over. “Excuse me, I’m Major Wanda Noshimura and I’m the psych officer. I am required to perform a basic evaluation before you can be released to duty. Welcome to this side of warm, Lieutenant—” She flipped the chart back to the first page. “Randall?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Morgan A.”

  “That’s strange,” Noshimura said. “What’s your middle name, Lieutenant? We need a name for the chart. The computer isn’t supposed to accept initials; it’s a security thing. I wonder how that slipped through. Your middle name isn’t Alice, is it? I had a niece named Alice.”

  “That’s not actually my middle initial, ma’am. My middle name is Mary. That’s the initial of my maiden name.”

  “You’re married?” The doctor sounded shocked. The whole concept behind the brigade centered on unmarried volunteers with no close relatives. “Widowed, I assume? Or divorced?”

  “No, ma’am. I mean, that’s why I’m so anxious to get out of here — my husband also volunteered for the battalion. I haven’t seen him in a long, long time.” She smiled.

  Noshimura smiled back, but weakly. “A married couple? From what I was told, that wasn’t supposed to happen, either. Oh, and it’s a brigade, by the way, not a battalion. What’s your husband’s name? Maybe I’ve already cleared him.”

  “Joe,” she said. “Joseph Peter Randall. He’s a helicopter pilot.”

  Noshimura cocked her head. “Captain Joe Randall?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s him. Know him?”

  “He’s been the Ready Response Team Leader for almost a year. I see him every day. We like the same music, rock and roll.”

  “That’s Joe! So he’s in good shape, then. Am I free to go?”

  “I can’t imagine Joe Randall being married…”

  “I’m not sure he could either, Major. May I go now?”

  “I still don’t understand the army approving a married couple for this assignment. There’s something you’re not telling me, Lieutenant.”

  She paused. “I’m being honest, Major.”

  Noshimura’s face hardened. “I’m an accredited psychiatrist and a combat psychologist. I’m paid to read people and I know when somebody is lying to me, and you can’t go on active duty without my say-so.”

  Randall rubbed her lips, thought about it, and nodded. “Okay. I’m not exactly lying, ma’am, and it’s not like you can send me back, so here it is. Joe wanted this assignment and I wanted Joe. He didn’t have any close family, so he was good to go on that end, but by the time he spoke with the recruiter we had been talking marriage for months. He was the best gunship pilot in the Army and the recruiting officer said they would do anything to get him to sign onto this mission.

  “So we made it clear that first, we were a package deal, and second, we had to be allowed to get married, and then we would both go cold together. And the whole thing had to be kept secret. My father would have gone berserk and tried to stop it, and I couldn’t face saying goodbye to my mom. So they were told that I died in combat, and they never knew about Joe.”

  “Dear God, you left your parents behind?” Noshimura said, aghast. “That violates every protocol for this assignment and it jeopardizes your combat efficiency. Not to mention it was a terrible thing to do to your family. What were you thinking? Didn’t it bother you, letting them think their child was dead?”

  Randall looked down. “It did. A lot. It still does. But I’m a tank commander. They knew I could die at any time. Nobody knew it better than my father. I was torn up about it, and Joe would have turned Overtime down if I had asked him to, but he really, really wanted this assignment. He really believed in the mission statement, so I did what I did, the army met our demands, and here we are.”

  “And your parents never even knew you got married?”

  “No, ma’am, it was better that way. They still had my little sister and she wanted the whole big family thing, baby seats in the SUV, barbeques in the back yard. My dad must have loved playing with his grandkids.” Tears filled her eyes, but she fought them back. Tank commanders did not cry. “So now it�
��s time to start the mission, including the mission of being a wife.” At that, she smiled.

  Noshimura clearly did not like any of this. “Wait a minute. Are you Tank Girl?”

  “Oh, that. Yes, ma’am. At least that’s what Joe’s co-pilot called me. He thought it was funny.”

  “Don’t tell me. Bunny Carlos.”

  Morgan nodded. “He’s quite a character. So Bunny is here, too?”

  “He is. You’ve got quite the welcome committee waiting on you. I will provisionally clear you for duty, Lieutenant Randall, but we are going to have mandatory follow-up sessions later. Is that clear? Mandatory. I think you’re going to find that you have more guilt about leaving your family behind than you believe you will. And if you have any issues before we get together, any at all, you come see me. About anything.”

  “Thanks, Major, will do.”

  “Just give me your maiden name for the chart and you can get out of here. I don’t know how they did it on the front end, but my file won’t load without it. Corporal Townsend can direct you to the hangar deck. You should find your husband there.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” she said, sliding to the floor. “And the A is for Angriff.”

  Dennis Walling liked being a colonel, even if he did not yet have a bird for his collar. In the middle of deployment, Supply had better things to do than look for spare insignia, so he’d had the metal shop grind a rudimentary nameplate reading COLONEL WALLING and pinned it to his left breast pocket. But as he stood waiting outside the office of his commanding general — a place that already had two nicknames, with the Crystal Palace beating out Heaven’s Gate so far — he feared his new rank would prove to be temporary.