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Instilled into him by his father, who probably made Josh read Herodotus.
If so, then it was probably what Herodotus wrote about the Persian method of raising a boy…
And the title of one Jeff Cooper's books. Which is where I got it from.
Which is most of your characters.
BTW, I meant as a compliment.
Growing up, I had three surrogate fathers: Robert Heinlein, Jerry Pournelle, and Jeff Cooper.
Oddly enough, they all taught me the same thing my father was trying to teach me. Sometimes, it's easier to hear it from someone other than your father.
If so, then it was probably what Herodotus wrote about the Persian method of raising a boy…
And the title of one Jeff Cooper's books. Which is where I got it from.
Which is most of your characters.
BTW, I meant as a compliment.
Growing up, I had three surrogate fathers: Robert Heinlein, Jerry Pournelle, and Jeff Cooper.
Oddly enough, they all taught me the same thing my father was trying to teach me. Sometimes, it's easier to hear it from someone other than your father.
Nobody under thirty wants to admit their parents are right.
It’s amazing how they get smarter as we get older.
Great story.
One major linguistic nitpick: Major Hummel indentifies herself as an Obersturmbahnführer during the interrogation in German.
I know what you wanted her to say, we all do, but this word means that she is a senior assault train leader. Train as in choo-choo
It is Obersturmbannführer. Two n's.
Jotun wrote: ↑Wed Mar 01, 2023 7:14 pm
Great story.
One major linguistic nitpick: Major Hummel indentifies herself as an Obersturmbahnführer during the interrogation in German.
I know what you wanted her to say, we all do, but this word means that she is a senior assault train leader. Train as in choo-choo
It is Obersturmbannführer. Two n's.
23 May 1988
HQ 7th Special Reconnaissance Squadron
Williams AFB, AZ
Mantell stepped into the secure conference room to see Ishizake, Zens, and Master Sergeant Ojeda seated at the table, both frowning, and General Lodge standing at the briefing rostrum.
"Good afternoon, Chief. Sorry to lay this on you."
Ishizake gestured to a seat with a folder in front of it.
Mantell sat down, and Lodge said, "Chief, I need you to sign those NDAs, please."
Mantell opened the folder and saw that the first document pertained to a compartment known as AGILE DANCER. He scanned the document, initialed and signed the appropriate blocks, went to the next document, and saw it was for a compartment named COBALT THUNDER, repeated the initials and signatures, and closed the folder.
Lodge nodded. "All right, the bad news: all four of you are now restricted from operations on or over enemy-held territory until further notice. You're also not allowed within 50 miles of the FEBA. This is because you three are now privy to World War III's equivalent of ULTRA. AGILE DANCER is the compartment pertaining to the Baja Insurgency and anything we are or might be doing in connection with it. This decision was made by the guy living in the Ritz-Carlton, so don't bother appealing it. At some point in the next 15 days, the 7th will be assigned to TASK FORCE COBALT THUNDER, along with a detachment from MACROSS and part of the JSOC planning cell. This squadron will be the focal point for COBALT THUNDER operations. COBALT THUNDER will be a BRICKBAT priority operation, green sheet must ride."
Lodge paused, then said, "I'm not going to blow sunshine up your asses. If this works, the best you can hope for is a classified citation award that you're allowed to wear, and maybe your grandchildren will be allowed to read. At worst, you're going to be on national television before a Congressional investigation special committee, being asked what in the hell made you think this was a good idea. Success has many fathers. failure is a bastard orphan." Lodge paused, then said, "That said, I now have a question to ask Chief Mantell regarding the future of Air Force manning policy, and I believe he is uniquely qualified to answer it. Chief, would you be comfortable answering them in front of everyone, or do you want to go unter vier augen?"
"Ask away, sir."
Lodge stepped over to the table and sat down. "The question is warrant officers. I am hoping to influence the Air Force to retain them and expand them to cover all occupational fields. You've got an outsider's view, and now an insider's as well. First, should we keep them? Second, why, or why not?"
Mantell worked to recall a quote. "First, I think we should have a warrant officer program across the entire Air Force, for several reasons. First, we are technical specialists, the pros from Dover that are called in by the experts when they get stumped. A retired Marine officer, a man whose opinions I've come to respect, gave an answer that I think sums up the purpose of warrant officers. I'll adapt it to the Air Force. 'God created the Air Force Warrant Officer to give the junior enlisted airman someone to worship, the senior enlisted airman someone to envy, the junior Air Force officer someone to tolerate, and the senior Air Force officer someone to respect.' We need that depth of technical expertise, a career path devoted to developing that deep expertise, a culture that honors and respects that sort of knowledge appropriately, and the professional network that sustains that expertise.
Lodge wrote in his notebook, verifying the quote with Mantell. "All right. Technical expertise, and a career path devoted to that. Got it. Next reason?"
"Sir, jointness is here to stay. And that means that there will be pressure to develop joint solutions to common problems. And that in turn means that our present personnel policies will leave us bringing NCOs to a warrant officer fight. That means we're going to lose arguments before we know there's even an issue."
Lodge wrote it down. "Damn, Chief, you just blind-sided me. I hadn't even thought of that."
* * *
14 June 1988
Doubletree Suites
Phoenix, AZ
It was early evening.
There was a knock at the door. Mantell got up, went to the door, and opened it.
General Lodge was standing there with a grim expression, and a chaplain was with him.
* * *
"What happened?"
"Hit and run."
"Operational?"
"I can't answer that." Lodge paused, then said, "Draw your own conclusions."
The general pulled a couple of letters out of his briefcase. "This one is for six months from now, and this one she wanted you to read immediately."
Josh took the letters, and opened the second one.
It read:
Sireli,
I'm sorry.
Something happened, and I'm not here. All I ask is that you promise me you won't do anything stupid in your grief. You're a good, loving man. You'll find another woman to love, and I want you to let go of me and make yourself ready to find her. Don't let my memory be a destroyer of your own life.
I want you to know that, had I survived the war, I would have said to you, "Whither thou goest," and followed the law, and I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth as your wife, even to Oceanside (ugh!), if you had but said the word.
Please remember me to the staff at Patrick Henry, especially Dr. Kennedy, Ms. Hanson, Ms. Parks, and the assistant librarian--if only I could remember her name!
I will always love you. I hope you find your slice of paradise.
Love,
Kathy
Josh reread the letter.
And smiled.
"Chief, what is it?"
Mantell said, "You're looking for something she had, right?"
"Yes. Her apartment got trashed."
"I know where it is."
* * *
"Chief, why are we in the Navy part of the library?"
Mantell flipped through the U.S. Destroyers: A Design History, looking through the appendix. Satisfied, he said, "Now over to squadron."
* * *
When they reached the 7th SRS, Mantell first went to his equipment locker and grabbed his war ruck, plate carrier, and a suppressed rifle, then took one of the three available Compaq laptops and said, "Over to logistics."
Mantell picked the lock on the logistics office, turned on the lights and the security monitors, plugged the portable computer into the wall and the network sockets.
"Damn it, Mantell, what are you up to?"
Mantell wrote down the hull numbers he'd memorized, in the sequence of the names.
850.832.884.710
"All right, now for a little transformation."
He did modular arithmetic, using 255 as the modulus.
85.67.119.200
"What's that?"
"Internet Protocol address in dotted quad format."
He typed into the computer, telnet 85.67.119.200.
The screen lit up, "UCSD DIVISION OF ENGINEERING. PLEASE PROVIDE USER CREDENTIALS OR LOG IN AS GUEST. PRIMOS 19.4.2"
Mantell smiled. "And the proof is in the pudding."
"How did you know all that?"
"In the Old Testament, Ruth follows Judges. Oceanside is best known for Camp Pendleton. Ruth Pendleton runs St. Therese's Religious Education program, and her husband teaches computer science at UCSD." Josh smiled. "The assistant librarian's name was Gearing. I simply looked up the Gearing-class destroyers with those names."
Mantell logged in on the guest account, then wrote a script that pushed too much data into the buffer, with arbitrary commands on the end.
"And we're in, with read/write privileges."
"Make this fast, Chief. We have visitors. Looks like two guys from AFOSI."
Mantell scanned the directories until he found a file titled "monterey.txt." He began downloading the file, noting the file was over two megabytes.
"What if they cut the phone line?"
"Won't do anything. This is a broadband pipe, and it goes into the ground through the foundation slab, then over to the data center. They'd have to get a backhoe."
"They're breaching the admin office."
Alarms shrieked.
"Not very subtle, are they?"
"They're going to BS their way past the CSPs. They think."
Mantell looked at the video one last time, then swapped magazines on his AR-10 and cycled a new round in.
Lodge noticed the silver tape on the magazine and the extra thick barrel.
"What the hell is that thing chambered in?"
".510 Whisper Mode." He unscrewed the silencer. "They're wearing body armor."
"Why'd you pull the can?"
"Shooting through the remains of the can after this load blows it up is less than aesthetic, sir."
Mantell tried the phone.
"Phone's dead. Looks like we're shooting our way out."
Lodge smiled thinly as he drew his Colt General Officer's .45 from his shoulder holster.
"Great weapon if you're fighting in an elevator, sir."
"This is the Lord's caliber. Two world wars, one police action, and the biggest clusterfuck in American history, sonny. Show some respect for your elders."
Last edited by Poohbah on Thu Mar 02, 2023 1:48 pm, edited 1 time in total.
I'm starting to get the feeling that a certain "Cylon Number 6 Lover" has just f*cked up, bigtime. I wonder whether or not he realizes Josh has actually met him, just before the balloon went up and the war started.
Kendog52361 wrote: ↑Thu Mar 02, 2023 7:01 am
I'm starting to get the feeling that a certain "Cylon Number 6 Lover" has just f*cked up, bigtime. I wonder whether or not he realizes Josh has actually met him, just before the balloon went up and the war started.
He's going to have a come to Jesus with Josh any way. I feel sorry for Josh's dry cleaner.
"Good evening. I'm Marjorie Harris, and this is KTVK's Evening News. Tonight's lead story: law enforcement agencies across America are on the lookout for war hero and fugitive Joshua Mantell. The Air Force has stated he is the prime suspect in the shooting deaths of two Air Force Office of Special Investigation agents at Williams Air Force Base Tuesday evening. Mantell, who was assigned to the Air Force Special Operations Command, is described as 6' 3", 197 pounds, brown hair, and blue eyes, is extremely fit, and is believed to be armed. He is a combat veteran and is a special reconnaissance operator. He should be considered extremely dangerous even if he is not armed; if you see him do not attempt to approach him; call 911 immediately . . . "
17 June 1988
Union Station
Chicago, IL
Joshua Mantell continued talking into the phone and glanced at his watch.
0137.
The briefing had been simple. At 0138 precisely, he would start walking from the payphone with his orders folio under his left arm. He would see an Air Force Chief Master Sergeant approaching from the station diner with a similar folio.
As the second hand headed up toward the top of the minute, Mantell laughed, then said, "God, I miss you. I can't wait until I see you again. Take care."
He paused, then said, "Gotta go. Bye, I love you."
He hung up the phone and began walking at a marching pace, scanning the station waiting room for any sign of surveillance--people looking away too slowly, or looking away too quickly. He let his eyes wander around, looking at a mural here, a pretty young lady in Navy crackerjack whites there.
A Chief Master Sergeant was walking toward him, with an orders portfolio identical to his own tucked under his left arm.
Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Five.
A fight broke out between a sailor and a Marine on the other side of the lobby as they closed the range to one step, and Mantell moved his folio to his right hand and brought his left arm up as if to stretch it slightly--just as the other man did the same. As they came abreast, they traded folios and continued walking.
Mantell sat down in the waiting area and waited for the boarding call for the Cardinal, and mentally reviewed the next leg of his plan.
He was covered as Technical Sergeant Greg Coleman, an Air Force computer technician being transferred to McGuire Air Force Base.
"Excuse me, Staff Sergeant?"
Mantell looked up and saw an Air Policeman staring at him. A second man was back a little ways.
"Yes, Airman?"
"May I see your ID and your travel orders, please?"
"No problem." Mantell said, "My wallet's in my left front pocket."
"All right."
Mantell fished out the wallet and handed over the ID card. He then unzipped the folio and pulled out a thick sheaf of paper. "And my orders."
The airman looked over the ID and the orders, comparing specific elements.
"Pitsenbarger Air Force Station? I've never heard of that one."
"It's out by Midland, Texas, got built right after we liberated the place. It's two air-conditioned Quonset huts for the computers and some tents for personnel and the mess hall. Named for a guy who was awarded the Air Force Cross in Vietnam."
"I see. And you're headed to Philadelphia?"
"McGuire. I'm passing through Philly."
The airman looked at the second man, who shook his head fractionally.
"Thank you, Staff Sergeant. We're looking for Warrant Officer Mantell, and you sort of look like him. Hair's the wrong color, but there's hair dye. But your face looks different."
Josh put on alarmed expression. "You don't think he's here, do you?"
The airman chuckled. "God, I hope not. Guy would probably kill me before I could finish saying 'Oh, shit!' He's hardcore."
* * *
17 June 1988
Bala Cynwyd, PA
Mantell slipped into the safehouse shortly after sunset. After locking the door behind him, he opened the inner door on the light lock and stepped into a small living room.
"Outstanding, Josh, you threaded the needle."
"Thanks, Adam."
Adam Lodge said, "Let's get some dinner in you."
Mantell took the padding out of his cheeks that had rounded his face, then drank some water.
They had a simple meal of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. After they'd done the dishes and cleared off the table, Josh took the Compaq laptop out of his duffel and plugged it in. "Not sure how long the battery lasts. And the files is two megs--let me set up the memory on this thing."
Mantell fired up the computer and loaded MS-DOS, tweaked the memory parameters, and then opened the monterey.txt file.
* * *
Five hours later, Mantell and Lodge stared at each other, then Lodge looked through 26 pages of notes.
"Josh . . . RamDyne. Remember who was sponsoring ROVING DAWN?"
"CIA."
"Yeah, but what was the company that delivered our paychecks?"
"Robust Aerial Mission Dynamics . . . shit. RamDyne. And there was a guy named Greenberg who was the site rep."
"Don't remember him."
"He showed up right after you left on the last mission. Seagull leadership at its finest."
"How's that?"
"Fly in, make a lot of noise and crap all over everything, fly out."
Lodge frowned. "When did he fly out?"
"While we were out doing the extract . . . "
Mantell's voice trailed off, and then he said, "Sonofabitch. It's him. He shows up right before things go to shit, and disappears while we're trying to get what was left of your team out of there. He blew the mission."
Lodge sighed. "He's a good fit for BALTAR."
"BALTAR? Cheesy bad guy from a cheesy sci-fi show?"
"That's how they picked the code name. He could be World War III's Man Who Never Was, or maybe the Soviet equivalent of BONIFACE, the cover story the British used to launder ULTRA-derived intelligence. Or maybe he really did exist. We've picked up hints of rumors and rumors of hints that SOMEONE was passing high-grade stuff to Ivan, and blinding our own indicators and warnings. We got completely blindsided at the strategic level. Down at the tactical level, everyone across all branches was expecting something to go off. The Navy was having entirely too many close encounters with Soviet submarines, and reporting them up the chain. ROVING DAWN was collecting solid intel that Soviet forces had moved north. Border Patrol was reporting a LOT of illegal crossings, far more than they could reasonably expect--except they were finding it after the fact, not before, like they were ghosts."
"How'd our BALTAR keep all that under wraps?"
Adam sighed. "Rock solid stuff--like what we got from ROVING DAWN--that should've been A-1, completely reliable source passing information that has been confirmed independently, got slotted as C-3, some doubts about the source and consistent with only some of the information we have, and otherwise not confirmed. Other A-1 stuff got coded as F-6--no idea as to source or information validity. How did he do it? Probably played head games on multiple analysts. Corridor gossip, asking 'you sure you want to take this looney toons conspiracy shit upstairs,' or just hinting that no one ever got fired for being a tad too cautious, et cetera."
"And then Kathy got onto this guy's trail from the whole Guy Fawkes op. Gets killed in a hit-and-run, and only the fact that she did some seriously out of the box thinking preserved the information."
"So now what?"
"Now? We capture him and let the Justice Department earn their keep."
"Hanging for treason? Sounds good to me."
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
* * *
Lodge looked at his old friend's chill smile.
"Wait, you don't want him to hang?"
Mantell's smile grew wider. "Death by hanging is far too merciful a fate for him. I want him to get life in prison. And a cellmate."
Lodge considered this, then said, "For the record, I approve."
Adam sipped his coffee and asked, "So what's the endgame they're aiming for?"
Josh tapped a finger on the kitchen table. "Something was always half-baked about the bombing--except it wasn't."
"Too early for riddles, Josh."
"The plan was meticulously put together. Even a covering force. But why'd they have a covering force to begin with?"
Adam stiffened slightly. "Because they didn't trust the sponsor, of course."
"So, let's suppose that the sponsor was going to double-cross them. Why go to the trouble of spinning up an elaborate assassination plot if you're going to blow it?"
"Because it enhances your credibility when you 'discover' the plot."
"Except that they didn't."
"Josh, you had something to do with that."
"They got a truck bomb parked next to the Presidential Residence, and it would've brought the entire damn building down."
"Josh, with respect to our lovely architecture and civil engineering expert . . . "
Adam's voice trailed off, and he looked carefully at Josh.
"Adam . . . what's done is done."
Lodge nodded. "All right. It seems that the building would've survived just long enough to evacuate Timberwolf. Probably off of the helipad. Someone would've gotten a Distinguished Flying Cross."
"Timberwolf?"
"Secret Service code name for the President."
Mantell nodded.
"All right, so the plot comes and goes."
Lodge nodded. "It came, and it went. Not quite tracking."
"What happens to readiness immediately after an alert or a major op?"
"Well, it naturally goes down . . . sonofabitch, they're spinning up round two."
"Right. Which brings us to the half-baked end of things. Suppose you kill the President. What happens next?"
"The Vice-President assumes the office."
"Exactly. We've got continuity of government down to a fucking science, bro. Why do you think there's always a couple of cabinet secretaries popping up randomly here and there across the fruited plain to give a speech?"
Adam blinked. "So you can't decapitate the government, because you have no idea where all the players are . . . unless you're on the inside."
"And RamDyne probably isn't that far inside. Even if they were, I suppose it's impossible--because it's like stepping on ants. And whoever ends up as acting president gets sworn in as President, has all of the power and authority of the President, and nominates the new chain of succession, and you're back at square one. So assassinating the President is worthless, unless you're doing a time-on-target with ICBMs."
Adam nodded. "Right." He frowned. "So what's the game, then? Chaos?"
"Probably--but not in the way you'd think. What if you kidnapped the President?"
"25th Amendment, President unable to exercise duties of office--"
"--and any action the Vice-President takes that might be inimical to Hostage One's well-being gets second-guessed forever and a day. Especially if the bad guys are a renegade spook outfit, and everyone on the inside knows that they are."
Adam blinked.
"Holy shit. Everything comes to a screeching halt. Drop rumors here and there, everyone ends up pointing fingers at everyone else . . . hell, this might be a recipe for a civil war while we're still trying to fight the Soviets." Adam stood up, went to the coffee pot, and poured himself another cup of coffee, then held up the pot in a "you, too" gesture. Josh got up and brought his cup over.
"Listen, Josh, this tracks."
"With what?"
"I was brought in on some material Six developed last year, from a source named WITCHCRAFT; they wanted a recruiter's assessment. Bottom line: there are people in the USSR who think that they got suckered into starting a war with the US."
"Oh, poor, pitiful me, I got talked into invading America by the Sinister Forces of Darkness . . . give me a break, Adam."
"They aren't blaming us. They're blaming Chebrikov's successor at the KGB, a guy named Kosov. He was always an optimist, but he got some stuff from a walk-in that proved extremely reliable. If anything, it showed Kosov was a pessimist. We'd built an insanely complex indicators and warning systems that had bottlenecks here and there. The initial attack plan exploited those bottlenecks."
"And then, surprise over, after-action reports written up, bottlenecks fixed, and then everyone in the Defense Ministry realized that they'd shoved their dicks into a buzzsaw, and they're trying desperately to get them out, so now they want to throw Kosov under the bus."
Lodge nodded.
"But what's the damn point? What's BALTAR's motive?"
"During one of my trips to England last year, I had a chance to talk with a guy at Five, their internal security outfit. Alfred Pennyworth, a very sharp guy with lots of real-world experience with people. He told me a story about how he'd been working with the government in Burma, who were trying to buy off the local tribes here and there with precious stones. But their caravans were being raided in a forest north of Rangoon by a bandit. So, they went looking for the stones. But in six months, they never met anybody who traded with him. Then he saw a child playing with a ruby the size of a tangerine. The bandit had been throwing them away."
Josh sipped his coffee. "So why steal them?"
"Because he thought it was jolly good sport. That was the point Pennyworth was trying to make to me, because I couldn't quite see it, just like you couldn't understand it just now. Because some men aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, reasoned, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."
Josh sipped his coffee again. "So, you're saying this BALTAR guy is a damn lunatic." Josh took yet another sip. "Greenberg wasn't the most stable dude on the planet, but that could've been an act."
"Or maybe he's acting when he seems normal, and you saw the real deal leaking through."
"I dunno. Someone that crazy--"
"Not crazy. Focused on one goal. BALTAR is rational--if only within his own framework. He sees things as they are, and he has his intended endgame."
Josh drained his coffee cup, went to the sink, and washed it. "So, let's assume we're on the right track. How would we go about kidnapping the President?"
* * *
b]18 June 1988
7th Special Reconnaissance Squadron
Williams AFB
Phoenix, AZ[/b]
"Colonel Ishizake will see you now."
Lieutenant Roberta Kreider-Zangas stood up and marched into the office.
"Thank you for seeing me, sir."
"Please, have a seat."
Roberta sat.
"Lieutenant, I understand that this is a difficult time for you."
"Especially when people are being idiots, sir."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sir, there's roughly 4,500 people who know that the allegations against Chief Warrant Officer Mantell are pure, Grade-A bullshit. I'm one of them; my wife's another; and two of my friends who've . . . been intimate with him . . . are in that group. And I've heard from a few others as well."
* * *
Ishizake stared at the woman before him. He supposed that the Medal could make a lamb into a lion, but he got the sense that Lieutenant Kreider-Zangas would have gotten in his face if the only medal she had was the National Defense Service Medal.
"As I said, I understand this is a difficult . . . "
Kreider-Zangas' face was set in stone.
"And you're not buying one word I'm trying to sell, are you?"
* * *
"No, sir, I'm not. And there are people already running their soup coolers about it. None from this squadron; but there's a guy at the 20th TFW, fixes airplanes, he's saying it's some kind of covert op, and I told him to shut the fuck up before he gets Mantell killed."
"How did this airman come to this conclusion?"
"Patrick Henry High School, San Diego, Class of 1984, sir. Two years behind me, one year behind Mantell. Didn't like Mantell overmuch, but respected him. Figure all of the Henry alumni who met him are calling bullshit, and if they are, they're talking about it to anyone in earshot. And if any of those people are bad guys, your op, whatever the hell it is, is blown."
Ishizake sighed. "Damn. All right. You need to be read in, now. I hate to do this, but I need a plausible reason to take you to the stockade."
* * *
Major Theresa Johnson's expression was one of quiet fury. "General, you are supposed to be resting."
"I am not moving. I am merely reading and writing notes."
"And you should be getting more sleep."
"Major, I'm blaming the Air Force for this to begin with, by requiring me to stay in shape. If I'd spent more time in my damn office getting swivel-chair spread, that bullet would've bounced off. I have a job to do, Major."
"Is it worth risking your life to do that job?"
"I seem to recall that dying was listed as an occupational hazard back on Day One of ROTC."
Johnson stared at him for a long moment, then said, "I am enforcing lights out tonight, and you are to get good sleep. That is an order from competent medical authority, is that understood?"
"Perfectly, Major."
Ishizake stepped into the room.
Johnson whirled around and said, "Go. Away."
"Sorry, Doc, but the boss has got to know this. Sir, we have a problem."
Ishizake summarized his conversation with Kreider-Zangas.
Johnson laughed. "Oh, dear lord, you also forgot Karen and Michael Mantell."
Lodge blinked. "You know--"
"Class of 1976. The Mantell kids were all at least OK--Michael was an arrogant ass until plebe year at Annapolis, and then he learned humility. Karen and I were in the flute section of the band at Lewis and Henry, and I babysat Josh a few times while I was at Lewis. Good kid, it was easy money."
* * *
18 June 1988
Bala Cynwyd, PA
Mantell looked at the org chart carefully.
"They had people able to come up with phony AFOSI travel orders and credentials, but not able to do a false inject of personnel into AFOSI. Figure they can manipulate information, at most."
Lodge nodded. "Got it."
"But they need real bodies to do a kidnapping. Now, there's three outfits I gotta worry about. Secret Service, Air Force, or Marines. Secret Service would require a convincing LEO background and time in the Secret Service on the counterfeiting and financial crimes side."
Lodge said, "And guys like that aren't going to be cowboys. The cowboys are going to reveal themselves as not being experienced cops pretty quick."
Mantell considered this, then said, "Agreed. Secret Service is out. Now, the Air Force requires multi-engine qualifications and/or aircrew quals for the VC-135 aircraft."
"They get checked out."
"They do."
Lodge said, "And 135 crewdogs aren't known for being cowboys, plus you'd need to subvert about a dozen people. But helicopter pilots have been known to do some crazy shit. Remember ROVING DAWN, we had some headcases flying us around."
Josh nodded. "And the crew chief I usually flew with was even crazier. He was a late-Vietnam burnout who was too crazy for the peacetime military. Also, I don't think the Secret Service has a helicopter pilot on the detail."
Lodge nodded. "The more I look, like the helicopter option."
"OK, I need an alpha roster for HMX-1. Probably be easier to get it from 1st Helicopter Squadron over at Philly International."
Lodge nodded. "Right. But that just gives you a list of names."
"I want to see if we have any friendlies. Or oddballs."
"Just avoid those negative waves, Josh."
* * *
18 June 1988
Stockade
Williams Air Force Base
Phoenix, AZ
Jeanna said, "Roberta."
"Yeah?"
"Next time you have a bright idea, honey, just lie down until it passes."
Debs chuckled. "This is just the least bad option for handling us. I'm just trying to figure out how they get all of your classmates and friends to shut up.
Helen nodded. "Not our problem, thank God. In the meantime, anyone up for a game of bridge?"
Craiglxviii wrote: ↑Sun Mar 05, 2023 8:51 am
Pooh, this may - may - be the best story you’ve written yet.
OOC- the Josh that runs around banging hot chicks is more engaging than the Boy Scout version
I think it's a case of more opportunity than lust. Once he confirmed Roberta was off the table, he was able to move on. Face it, he's smart, polite, and a good listener.
"Hey, we got a guy from I knew in Meridian who's now on White Side--he was in Aviation Ops, I was Maintenance Admin. Sergeant Peter Clayton."
Lodge wrote it down. "Personal contacts are always useful."
"And the XO when I was in Marine Wing Headquarters Squadron 3 at El Toro is now the CO, Colonel Essing."
"He know you?"
"No."
"Good. Anyone at the headshed knowing you when you're an E-1 or E-2 is bad news."
Mantell nodded, then kept scanning the list.
And then it jumped out at him.
"Check this shit out, bro. Major Harlan C. Porter."
Lodge's jaw dropped open. "You've gotta be shitting me. Hell, anyone who was flying airlift for ROVING DAWN is the absolute LAST guy I'd consider for flying the President around. I'd want an insurance salesman kind of guy. Drives a Buick 5 under the speed limit in the right-hand lane, takes every turnout to let traffic pass, that sort of thing. No cowboys, damnit!"
"Can't be the same guy, though. Porter said he was in the Navy before he got cashiered."
Lodge "OK, let's walk through the logic on this. What are the chances that two guys with the same first name, initial, and last name both just happen to be qualified to fly the War Winnebago?"
Mantell leaned back in his chair. "Slim, None, and Fat, but Slim's TDY to Nellis, and None's on leave."
"Keep going. You need two more guys."
Mantell kept looking.
"What the fuck?"
"Whatcha got?"
"A dead guy."
"Seriously?"
"MOS 6115, CH-53E flight line mechanic. Sergeant William A. Prentiss. Bill bought the farm at 49 Easting with 2nd platoon, Hotel Company, 26th Marines. Everything here matches Bill's particulars."
"You sure?"
"I had to send his effects to his family and close out his service record. You remember that stuff."
"There's the crew chief. Now all we need is another pilot."
Nothing came up, so Mantell handed the Alpha roster over to Adam. "Any names jump out at you?"
Adam began reading. "Hey, Josh. What's your take on a guy flying white side with a commissioning date of 1983?"
Mantell blinked. "You sure about that?"
"Yup. Captain Drew Fairmont. Here's the kicker: he was 29 years old when he was commissioned. What's a 7568?"
Mantell riffed through a series of files folders until he found the MOS chart. "MOS 7568 is . . . Cobra driver. That is . . . odd. Cobras don't carry passengers, you don't have to coordinate with anyone in the back--hell, if you're piloting a Cobra, you ARE the guy in back . . . "
"I'm smelling sheep dip, Josh."
"I'm smelling something, that's for sure. All right, we have the crew . . . where would they take him?"
* * *
19 June 1988
The Walnut Room
Philadelphia, PA
Kate Jensen saw the Marine with "CLAYTON" on his name tape and Sergeant's stripes, and moved in.
In moments, she'd gotten him to talk to her and believe it was all his idea.
* * *
They'd adjourned to the Clarion Hotel. She opened the door to the hotel room, and they walked in together.
An unfamiliar man with brown hair and wearing an Air Force uniform said, "Good evening. I apologize for the subterfuge, but I really need to talk to you."
"Who are you?"
"You may call me Master Sergeant Sandoval. I'm attached to the Defense Intelligence Agency out in King of Prussia."
Sandoval handed over a credentials folder. Clayton examined it, then handed it back. "Looks legit--we're the only people using that hologram process right now, so I guess you're OK."
Sandoval looked up and nodded to Kate, who left the room.
Clayton asked, "What's going on?"
"I'm assisting with the Mantell business."
"Now, look here, anyone who knows Mantell knows that whole renegade thing is bullshit."
Sandoval smiled.
"What's so damn funny."
"I know Mantell. You're absolutely right. I need you to keep your mouth shut."
The closet door slid aside, and Pete Clayton watched another man come out. He stared for a few minutes, then said, "Josh?"
"In the flesh."
"What the hell is going on?"
"Someone's gearing up to kidnap the President, and we figured out how they intend to do it."
Clayton frowned. "How?"
"When is the President most vulnerable?"
Clayton said, "In transit. Anyone can take a shot at him--"
"And Marine One is your best bet for grabbing him and disappearing. Secret Service can't do shit."
Clayton sighed. "Jesus. I never thought I'd never hear anything like this."
Mantell nodded. "Neither did I. Listen, the night they tried to bomb the Ritz-Carlton. I'm guessing the duty crew for Marine One was Major Porter, Captain Fairmont, and Sergeant Prentiss."
Clayton stared at Mantell. "That is either the luckiest damn guess I've ever heard, or you've figured out who the bad guys are."
General Tanner glared at the young woman. "Airman, do you have any idea how much damage you've done?"
"Sir, whatever the operation is, it's not worth killing a good man like Josh Mantell."
"I think the Air Force senior leadership is supposed to make that determination."
And I can't tell her what I actually think.
"Airman, you are relieved of duty, and you are being transferred to the stockade at Williams Air Force Base."
* * *
Colonel Daniel Essing stared at Josh Mantell.
"If I hadn't been watching the Howard George show tonight, I'd gladly try to tackle you and take you into custody, even though you and you friend here would probably cold-cock me before I could get two steps out of this recliner."
Mantell blinked. The Howard George Show was the product of a Las Vegas shock jock. It specialized in gonzo news and political coverage, leavened with news of crazy doings around the country. The 'Florida Man' segment was always good for a laugh.
Essing said, "Well, he had a guest on. Know anyone named Christine Batchelder?"
"Cute redhead?"
"Yeah, kinda cute, now that you mention it."
"I've known her since kindergarten, sir."
"Well, she came on and proclaimed to the entire damn world that the whole Mantell Manhunt is some crazy-ass covert operation. She gave a glowing testament to your character. Said you were frequently stupid, but never dishonest or malicious."
Lodge said, "Colonel, candor compels me to report that Ms. Batchelder had a major crush on Josh."
Josh swung his head around. "She did?"
"Well, everyone assumed she did. She definitely got the goo-goo eyes whenever you were within fifty yards of her."
Essing said, "Neither here, nor there. I'm going to take her word for it. Besides, I've got another datum for you. Those three showed up at about the same time, after we lost a couple of Yankee White aircrew to non-operational off-duty mishaps. I don't buy coincidences, and this one's got way too many. So, I can pull the crew--"
"And the support structure for the mission is still out there. I want to dig the roots out, sir."
Essing smiled. "My wife would love you, and put you to work pulling weeds in the backyard. And you're absolutely right. So, how do you propose to do that?"
"Let the whole thing go forward as planned."
Essing glared at Mantell. "And now I have to go get a new audiogram, because my hearing has gone to shit. I could've sworn I just heard you say to let the whole thing go forward as planned."
"Sir, let me explain."
* * *
President Bush listened to the concept put out by General Lodge. He glanced at Special Agent Helen D'Agostino. "Daga?"
"General Lodge, this is the craziest idea I've ever heard." She paused briefly, then asked, "Do you think Mantell can actually do this?"
"Agent D'Agostino, let me flip that question around on you. Suppose Chief Warrant Officer Mantell became a threat case."
She sighed. "There's no way I could stop someone like Mantell from killing the President."
"Do you think he could get away afterwards?"
D'Agostino sighed. "I want to say 'no way.' And then I remember what he did a couple months ago. Honestly . . . I don't know. What do you think?"
Lodge's voice was steady. "Even money."
* * *
Lodge hung up the phone. He then said, "Major Johnson, I'm going to go to sleep now. I need to be awake at 0330. That should give me nine hours of sleep. Good night."
Johnson was about to say something snarky when Lodge closed his eyes . . . and the vitals on his monitor slowed significantly, indicating he was, in fact, rapidly falling asleep. She went to the door and turned off the lights, then stepped out into the hallway.
Goddamnit, General, after this crisis is over, I am forcing you to take convalescent leave.
* * *
19 June 1988
East Lampeter Township, PA
The call had come in to the sheriff substation: there was apparently a prowler in the area of Mill Creek, near the community park.
Ten minutes later, a deputy on patrol apprehended a man without incident.
* * *
Sheriff James Booker was working late to allow himself some time off for his daughter's birthday later that week. A man in Air Force camo was in his office, sitting on the couch, reading a history of the Gettysburg campaign.
"Some more coffee, Chief?"
Chief Master Sergeant James Walton looked up, then shook his head no. "No, thanks, Sheriff. I'm--"
Just then a deputy stuck his head in. "Sheriff, we've got a live one. Our fugitive just identified himself as Joshua Mantell."
"Thank you, Frank. And you understand--"
Booker glanced at Walton, and the deputy said, "He's not here, sir."
