History, Politics And Current Affairs

19 November 2010
VOQ, Hill Air Force Base
Ogden, UT

The screen of Josh's laptop lit up with the image of Dana.

"Hi, Dad!"

"Hi, Dana. How's school?"

"Aced my math test yesterday, got a B+ on my book report."

"What book?"

"The Lonely Ships. Ms. Harmon thought I focused a little too much on the lessons learned instead of how the author wrote the book."

"What'd you say to that?"

"I said that she can read history however she wants, but I read it because I want to avoid making the same mistakes."

Josh sighed. "Is this going to end up in a parent-teacher conference?"

"Her call, not mine."

"All right." Josh mugged for the camera, shifting his eyes left and right. "Ya wanna get into some shenanigans?"

Dana giggled. "Sure!"

"You know that Mama Jeanna and Mama Roberta are talking to a security expert this morning, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, his name is Mr. Creasey. If he takes the job, call him Creasey Bear."

Dana asked, "That's not going to make him mad, is it?"

"No, he's used to it. I met him after the war, and one of his friends clued me in on the story. It involved a farmhouse in New Mexico, a Special Forces team on the run, and a little girl who'd had to grow up way too soon. Creasey was wounded, this little girl had to help patch him up, and they bonded while he was healing. She ended up nicknaming him 'Creasey Bear' because, for all the special operations commando stuff, Mr. Creasey's a teddy bear around kids."

Dana giggled. "Just like you, daddy?"

Josh nodded. "Just like me. Give him your Daddy's regards."

"I will."

* * *

John Creasey stepped out of the car and looked over the house.

Somebody's hardened the place--and a good job of it, too. All right. I can work with this.

He went to the front door and knocked.

The door opened, and a tall, lithe woman said, "Mister Creasey, welcome to Estancia Mantell. I'm Jeanna Mantell."

Creasey smiled. "Well, so far, so good. You're using all of the resources available to you."

* * *

Jeanna and Roberta Mantell had discussed the situation with Creasey, and he'd accepted the assignment.

Jeanna said, "We do have something to show you, Mr. Creasey."

Jeanna led him out of the house to what looked like a bunker. She tapped a combination on the keypad next to the door, and the door unlocked, then slid back.

Creasey looked into the bunker and felt his smile threaten to crack his face. "Mrs. Mantell, I'm sure we can make good use of this material. Waste not, want not."

* * *

19 November 2010
Lodge Estate

Adam picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Lodge, this is Special Agent Ishtasapa."

"Ah, Ms. Ishtasapa! Have you had a chance to review the material I sent you?"

"Yes, I have. You're right, this doesn't reach the level of probable cause. There's some reasonable articulable suspicion here, but my superiors are having an argument about what to do next."

"You might want to tell them that the Mantell family is taking some self-protection measures. Now, I happen to know Josh. And I know his wives. All five of the adults are combat veterans, and they have an awful lot of money available. Between hiring experts and supplying those experts with firepower, well, they're gonna do what they think they need to do."

Ishtasapa said, "I'm not sure what you're getting at."

Lodge kept his tone light and cheerful. "Dead men tell no tales, but prisoners can be made downright talkative. Anyone who hits Estancia Mantell is going to be dead long before he reaches the house. I think it'd be better if somebody took action with an eye to having prisoners to interrogate."

"Not sure that's going to shake anything loose. So what are we supposed to do?"

"I don't know about you, but my training tells me that the smart play here is for the Lodge Family Trust to start looking for local investment opportunities. Y'know, stuff like real estate development deals that could use an angel investor."

"Let me see if I have this straight, Mr. Lodge. You're just going to walk up to Ms. Alton--who you believe is likely to be emotionally involved with her handler--and just offer to buy in on the West Chubbuck project?"

"I plan to offer the lady what she perceives she needs."

There was coughing and spluttering, and then a stream of random noises from Ishtasapa.

Lodge smiled. "The phrase you're looking for is, 'The balls on that fucking guy,' ma'am."

Finally, Ishtasapa yelled, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST, YOU ARE A REAL PIECE OF WORK, YOU KNOW THAT?"

Lodge was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Feel better?"

"I do, actually." Ishtasapa sighed. "This is one of the crazier ideas I've ever heard. What happens when you do it?"

"Well, the black hats might decide to bug out. But that means their operation is blown, and they're not going to have time to get another one rolling--in an area that will be under intense FBI surveillance, remember--until well after the New Year, and I'm convinced this is tied to Baja becoming the 51st state. Once statehood is firmly established, that's all she wrote. So that's a win."

"All right. What else can happen?"

"They might try to have a go at me."

"That's the part that's going to make my bosses unhappy."

"I've got a plan to deal with that, and it even includes bringing in at least one enemy operator alive. And last, but not least, I might actually recruit Ms. Alton. I figure at least 75/25 in favor of that happening."

"Why?"

"She's been shut down since July. A couple of her friends posted to her wall, asking if she's OK. No answer."

Lodge could practically hear the wheels turning inside Ishtasapa's mind.

Ishtasapa said, "All right, let's see how my logic works. Your working theory is that she got into this courtesy of a nice tumble in bed, she went all in on whatever her new boyfriend is involved in, she's seen some odd things of a questionable nature, and now she's wondering what the hell she's gotten herself into."

There was a long pause, and then Ishtasapa added, "You're thinking that she's perceiving a need to get out of this mess."

"That's my working theory. And I'm seeing an opportunity, because my operational instincts are telling me our guy--let's call him Professor Moriarity--is also covering the Mountain Home missile field operation."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because it's exactly the sort of false economy that my old unit would've engaged in without spirited pushback from the operators--which we always gave, and were encouraged to do so. There's always more tasking available than worker bees to do the tasks, so there's a push to maximize utilization. I'm willing to bet that the Mexican military doesn't encourage its operators to say 'stop,' even when it's vitally necessary to the success of the mission. Mission failure, from their point of view, is far less troublesome than loss of positive control over their people."

"OK, so if Professor Moriarity is running ops in both areas, what's the issue?"

"Recruiting your people for the operation is only half of the job. The other half is keeping them on task, and that means being there, taking their temperature, holding their hands through the rough times, and reinforcing the key aspects of the relationship that you've built. Those skills are scarce. And you can't do that while constantly shuttling back and forth between Mountain Home and Pocatello."

"So you're going to just show up and recruit Ms. Alton out from under Moriarity's nose?"

"That's the game plan."

"I thought you were glad to be out of the business."

"I was. The Mexicans insisted on dragging me back in, by threatening me, my wife, my family, and my friends. Which means I'm not particularly happy to be back on the clock, and that might lead to me applying the Cue Ball Theory of Interrogation to anyone I get my grubby little mitts on. Tell your bosses that, too."

Upset Adam = 1903 San Fran Earthquake

Angry Adam = Mount Saint Helens

Cold Angry Adam = Chicxulub impactor

jemhouston wrote: ↑Fri Apr 12, 2024 11:35 am Upset Adam = 1903 San Fran Earthquake

Angry Adam = Mount Saint Helens

Cold Angry Adam = Chicxulub impactor

May God have mercy upon your immortal soul if you get Adam to Stage 3… for he will have no mercy…

Wolfman wrote: ↑Fri Apr 12, 2024 2:09 pm

jemhouston wrote: ↑Fri Apr 12, 2024 11:35 am Upset Adam = 1903 San Fran Earthquake

Angry Adam = Mount Saint Helens

Cold Angry Adam = Chicxulub impactor

May God have mercy upon your immortal soul if you get Adam to Stage 3… for he will have no mercy…

Adam won't have mercy at stage one. He wants to get the right people so they can talk. He won't do anything very illegal, but they'll know if do anything, the line is where he'll start.

Critters need to eat too.

That latter phrase is what the Mescalero Apaches felt when they left downed ComBloc aircrew and SOF out in the desert-after they had been scalped, staked out, and flayed alive...

It took some convincing to get them to realize "Prisoners can be interrogated. Corpses can't."

19 November 2010
Pocatello, ID

Adam Lodge walked up to the house on Curtis Street, attired in a suit, with a briefcase. The backyard abutted Hawthorne Park.

He rang the bell.

Diane Alton opened the door.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so, ma'am. My name's Adam Lodge, and I am the chief investment officer and bottle-washer of the Lodge Family Trust. I'm interested in your West Chubbuck resort proposal." He looked over her shoulder into the house. "Is now a good time?"

Alton sighed, then said, "Yes, actually. Please come in."

Lodge followed her into the living room, leaving the front door unlocked. He set the briefcase down on the sofa, then looked carefully at Alton. Her body language radiated tension.

Shock approach should work nicely.

"How many men are sleeping on the property right now?"

Alton blinked, then collapsed into a chair.

"How did you know?"

Sandoval sat down on the sofa and said, "Tell me where I'm getting it wrong." He paused, then said, "He's about your age, plus or minus a few years--and I'd guess 'minus' being more likely. Charming as hell, if not especially handsome. If he's not turning on the charm, he just kind of disappears into the crowd--even if there isn't one. He showed up with just what you needed--romance, affection . . . even some good old-fashioned lust. But he needed something from you--arranging a bed-down for some of his work crew. They're trafficking, say, Mendocino Purple--and sometimes the competition plays rough, so he needs a place that isn't obviously tied to him. But now you've seen things that are just wrong and you're wondering what you've gotten yourself into."

Alton stared at Sandoval. "How did you know all that?"

"I did all that during the war. If it works, great. If it doesn't, not so great. And if the oppo ever figures it out, it ends up being kind of hard on the hired help--in this case, you--but I always bugged out before it got to that, so I had that going for me."

There was a knock at the door.

Lodge called, "It's open, Agent Ishtasapa."

Angela Ishtasapa entered the house and made her way into the living room. She presented her credentials.

"Ms. Alton, I'm Special Agent Angela Ishtasapa, with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Let's get the important stuff out of the way: you have the right to remain silent; anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, and to have an attorney present both before and during any and all questioning. If you decide to answer questions, you may stop answering them at any time. Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you?"

"Yes."

"With those rights and warnings in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

Alton nodded, then said, "Yes."

* * *

Adam looked at his notes, then said, "Agent Ishtasapa, you're going to need her as an agent in place. There's not enough people onsite to execute any operations--I am assuming it will be happening on or about January 1st."

"I'm not skilled at running CIs."

"Well, how about I become the CI, and I run my agent in place?"

"Do you know how many loose ends this whole exercise has at the moment, and you're proposing more?"

"I don't think the Bureau had "Running enemy SOF and support infrastructure to ground across half of Southern Idaho' on its 2010 bingo card, but here we are, Agent Ishtasapa."

"Point taken. Let me make a phone call."

* * *

"Boss, he found our person of interest." She summarized her findings.

Ezra Young asked, "And he's willing to do this?"

"Yes. He's one of the targets, and the other targets in the area are close friends of his. He's outlined his role to me, and it's well inside the law--he will monitor Ms. Alton under the pretense of an alleged extramarital affair, and relay her reports to us. She will do what she's been doing. And he pointed out that he's got a good deal more experience with this kind of work than we do."

There was a brief pause, and Young said, "Do it. On my authority. I'm writing a memo for the file right now."

Bosses are covering their people, which is a good thing.

Then again, if any of this goes south, everyone will get hit.

jemhouston wrote: ↑Mon Apr 15, 2024 12:40 am Bosses are covering their people, which is a good thing.

Then again, if any of this goes south, everyone will get hit.

That’s why the bosses get a minimum of 5% above their subordinates - your job is to back them up when it’s their call to make and take the flak that comes their way.

23 November 2010
MV Azalea
Off the coast of Oregon

Captain Ernesto Hernandez, People's Republic of Mexico Navy, watched the stars form a brilliant carpet overhead, then frowned at the unseasonably clear weather. For this kind of work, he preferred cloud cover--ideally, without a storm accompanying the clouds.

The Azalea was owned through a simple, no-nonsense holding company, Tradewinds West GmbH, set up in Geneva, along with a dozen sister ships. Only a detailed examination of the bank transactions would reveal that the money for Tradewinds West had come from Mexican intelligence.

Of the thirteen ships owned by Tradewinds West, only two were used for clandestine insertions--[/i]Azalea[/i] and Forsythia. The rest simply carried cargo at broadly competitive rates.

The United States was off to his starboard side. The ship had slowed to bare steerage to allow for launching the rigid hull inflatable boat with a nine-man Mexican Navy maritime commando team aboard.

The commando team had maneuvered the RHIB into the davits and climbed in.

In minutes, they were away. Hernandez rang up ahead standard. He checked the navigation again, and was satisfied that they'd arrive on time in Vancouver with their load of Colombian coffee.

* * *

23 November 2010
NAS Whidbey Island, Washington

The video feed from the MQ-4 Global Hawk UAV was crystal-clear. One monitor showed low-light imagery, the other thermal.

The sensor operator said, "And there they go. Looks like they're headed to Gitchell Creek, ETA should be forty minutes."

The commander of SEAL Team Five got on the radio. "RAVEN Flight, this is BLACKBIRD Actual, Option Golf, be gone by plus twenty, over."

"BLACKBIRD, RAVEN 51, copy."

* * *

RAVEN Flight

The MH-60R helicopters headed south along the coastline and dropped Alfa and Bravo Platoons of SEAL Team Five on the beach at the mouth of Gitchell Creek, then disappeared into the night.

* * *

Teniente Cesar Padillo looked up and down the beach through Elbit Systems NVGs that had taken a long and circuitous route to Mexico.

No movement, no noise aside from the surf . . .

No movement.

Suddenly, a helicopter roared out of the night and fixed Padillo's team with a NiteSun spotlight.

A voice called in Spanish, "THIS IS THE UNITED STATES NAVY. LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS IMMEDIATELY--"

One of his men opened fire in the direction of the spotlight.

The treeline lit up with muzzle flashes, and that was the last thing Padillo saw.

* * *
24 November 2010
10th SRS, Hill AFB

Joshua Mantell looked at Captain Dunn. "So, we didn't get any prisoners."

Dunn sighed. "No, sir, we didn't. And given that they were carrying three days of rations, I'm thinking that they were a good thirty miles or so from their pickup point, so we don't have solid intel on who was supposed to meet them. Some outfit called MACROSS--yes, sir, that's really their name--"

"I'm familiar with them. Details are beyond your need to know at this point, just treat their info as gospel."

"Yes, sir. Well, they're maintaining surveillance on the general area."

Mantell nodded. "Very well." He sighed. "All right, I'm calling a squadron formation in 15."

* * *

The hangar was closed up, and the squadron was formed in ranks.

Mantell said, "All right, ladies and gentlemen, the situation is what it is, and we can't do anything about it. Today is Thanksgiving Eve. Tomorrow, if you don't have family in the immediate area, be at the Ogden Hilton, main ballroom, at noon. It is an open bar, we will have sportsball on a bunch of big screens, and at 3 PM, there will be a catered Thanksgiving dinner with all of the trimmings for all hands. I am arranging for those on duty to have the same food as everyone else, minus the booze, of course."

There was a polite round of laughter.

Mantell looked around and said, "This is supposed to be a time for family, and most of us can't be with our families right now. So we're going to be family to each other. Let us all be thankful for whatever blessings we have in our lives, and let us break bread together as one family and share in each other's joys and sorrows. Flight leaders, take charge of your flights and sound liberty call."

The GIANT VOICE speakers at Hill chose that moment to sound the general lockdown alarm.

"All personnel, to the second floor NOW-NOW-NOW!"

The squadron raced upstairs, the last person at each stairwell locking the door behind them.

* * *

Mantell turned on the TV in his office, which was present to CNN. The squadron staff was with him.

"--this footage is from out partner station in Tucson, KGUN. They were covering a story at the Tohono O'odham reservation when gunfire came from nearby."

The screen showed footage that Mantell found intensely familiar. The camera operator was hugging the ground as bullets flew by overhead, and the news team was having the Devil's own time trying to figure out where the gunfire was coming from. A BORTAC team, backed by a few deputies from the Pima County Sheriff's Office, was laying down covering fire for a group of men and women who slipped through the terrain like ghosts.

"The people moving on screen are from the Tohono O'odham Nation's own Ranger Scout unit. As you can see, they're extremely familiar with the terrain."

Soon, the tribal rangers formed a skirmishing line to the right and proceeded to flank the enemy. Within minutes, the fight was over."

"Sources in Philadelphia characterized this as yet another ceasefire violation--"

Mantell turned the TV off.

He looked at his staff. Everyone's expression said, We ain't buying that happy bullshit, either, Boss.

"Captain Dunn, I want you to review the squadron security plan with Senior Master Sergeant Harrison. I want a solid plan for our squadron area here at Hill, and whatever facilities we're getting at Barzanian AFB if we deploy. Liaison with Captain Merida for logsitics. I want it so that when we arrive at Barzanian, we have the squadron area swept for intruders and locked down in fifteen minutes, and deloused for surveillance within 12 hours."

"Yes, sir."

They'll need to touch base with the 388th Combat Security Police Squadron and the 419th CPS-and maybe Mountain Home's 366th as well.

Mexico City will soon find a new use for their lamp posts.

jemhouston wrote: ↑Wed Apr 17, 2024 10:05 am Mexico City will soon find a new use for their lampposts.

You mean for disposing of inconvenient politicians? Yes, I can see it.

Wolfman wrote: ↑Wed Apr 17, 2024 1:30 pm

jemhouston wrote: ↑Wed Apr 17, 2024 10:05 am Mexico City will soon find a new use for their lampposts.

You mean for disposing of inconvenient politicians? Yes, I can see it.

Not limited to politicians. The next Mexican Revolution will have more in common with the French Revolution's Reign of Terror than normal Mexican Revolutions.

The steam vessel has been at redline pressure for too long.

25 November 2010
Hilton Hotel Main Ballroom
Ogden, UT


Josh watched his friend of thirty years come up to the podium.

Chaplain Rabbi Judith Levy said, "Happy Thanksgiving, all!"

The men and women of the Blackhorse said, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

Gold bowed her head, and all fell silent.

"Let us pray."

All bowed their own heads.

Levy prayed:

For the laughter of children,
For my own life breath,
For the abundance of food on these tables,
For the ones who prepared this sumptuous feast,
For the roof over our heads,
The clothes on our backs,
For our health,
And our wealth of blessings,
For this opportunity to celebrate with one another,
For the freedom to pray these words
Without fear,
In any language
In any faith,
In this great country,
Whose landscape is as vast and beautiful as her inhabitants.
Thank You, God, for giving us all these. Amen

Josh felt himself tearing up as he said, "Amen" with the rest of the squadron.

* * *

25 November 2010
Clovis, NM

Becky Parkinson said, "Father, this is Kathy Mantell. Kathy, my father, Mr. Parkinson."

Mister Charles Parkinson looked as if he'd had the constitution of a good-sized ox at one point, but was now somewhat peaked and thinner than he should've been.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Mantell."

"Please, sir, I'm Kathy."

Parkinson smiled. "Kathy it is, then."

They sipped champagne mimosas. Becky excused herself to the restroom, and Parkinson watched her leave the kitchen.

He sighed. "Kathy . . . I need to know if your intentions are . . . "

Kathy said, "Honorable?"

Parkinson chuckled. "Yes."

"My father gave me the same advice he gave me when I was dating a girl back in high school: don't break her heart." She sighed. "And I won't. We've been together six weeks . . . and it's the best six weeks of my life to date. I'd sooner die than hurt her."

Parkinson nodded. "And your father is otherwise okay with you dating a woman?"

Kathy chuckled. "Yeah, he's fine with it. His father told him love is blind, stupid, and crazy, and he's fond of saying that his marriage is proof of that--I have four moms and a dad."

"What's that like?"

Kathy laughed, startling Becky's father. "Oh, dear Lord. I couldn't get away with anything--there was always adult supervision. And when it came to arguing with my parents . . . look, if Dad said no, but I could make a reasoned case, I could change his mind. If my moms were united on 'no,' I didn't bother arguing, I'd get better results from talking to the wall. But I knew that all five of my parents loved me and wanted the best for me. And Dad made a special effort to spend time with each of us--me and my eleven siblings and half-siblings--helping us grow and develop, even as we were having fun."

* * *

25 November 2010
Ogden, UT

Josh turned toward the squadron staff table--and saw his family sitting there.

He turned to the staff, trying--and failing--to suppress a grin. "All right, which one of you reprobates did this?"

Men and women were standing up across the ballroom, and soon the entire squadron was on its feet.

Clare Jorgensen said, "Sir, it was a squadron effort. I may have been the one quarterbacking this, but every last one of us really wanted to give you a chance to be with your family tonight, sir."

Chief Morton gestured, and everyone in the ballroom shouted, "HAPPY THANKSGIVING, SIR!"

* * *

Mantell savored gourmet turkey breast, and smiled across the table at Judith Levy.

"How have you been, Padre?"

Levy chuckled. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Mantell laughed and said, "Tradition."

Judith said, "How did this tradition get started?"

Josh said, "I'll tell you." Pause. "I don't know."

Helen said, "Are we going to get a rousing rendition of 'Tradition' from Fiddler on the Roof?"

Josh winked at Judith and said, "I'm game if you are."

"Josh, there's a reason I'm a rabbi and not a cantor."

The entire table joined in the laughter.

* * *

Clovis, NM
25 November 2010

When Kathy excused herself to use the bathroom, Parkinson looked at his daughter and said, "Becky . . . I'm praying for both of you. She's a wonderful girl." He sighed. "I hope I can meet her father."

"I'm sure you will, Dad."

Parkinson shook his head. "I'm not so sure of that."

"Are you still in remission?"

"Yes. But that's not a guarantee, and I'm still not back to where I should be." He paused, then said, "Life is . . . it's an exercise in coping with uncertainty. Man proposes . . . and God disposes. I've done what I can to raise you to adulthood and prepare you for your duties; I'm content in that regard. All I'm going to ask is for you to trust your heart."

Becky nodded.

* * *

25 November 2010
Ogden, UT

Roberta, standing next to Judith, gave Josh the high sign from across the room.

Josh came over, and Roberta said, "Judith's got a couple of things to talk about with you."

She walked away, and Josh asked, "You OK?"

"As OK as I ever will be." She sighed. "I still miss David."

Judith had met David Gold while she was at yeshiva, doing her rabbinic training and formation. They'd married in 1991 and had a daughter in 1992; he'd died in a plane crash at LAX in 2006. Karen Gold was now studying civil engineering at the University of Minnesota's Duluth campus.

Josh bowed his head and prayed again for David's eternal rest.

"Well, I need to clear the air with you. Last year, Roberta and the rest of your wives issued me an invitation."

Josh frowned. "An invitation?"

Then it hit him.

"You gotta be kidding me."

Judith shook her head. "Not joking at all. I down-checked it, and that was the end of it--it would've gone to you for final approval next. I said no, not because I don't find you attractive--I do, trust me, and I'm sure I would've been able to enjoy conjugal life with you and the rest of your wives--but because I have obligations to my congregation and to the Air Force as a rabbi and chaplain that I cannot set aside for my personal pleasure. 'I couldn't love thee so much, loved I not honor more.' I didn't understand that phrase from Tennyson until I was confronted with that choice."

Josh nodded. "And that makes me love you all the more." He paused, then said, "In a purely platonic way, of course."

Judith laughed heartily. "Of course!" She sighed, then said, "The reason I have to clear the air with you is pretty simple: you're getting chopped to 12th Air Force on the 1st, and you're deploying forward on the 10th. The Blackhorse needs religious support, so I volunteered to be the squadron chaplain."

"Why you?"

"Because you're my friend, you're my best friend's husband, and someone needs to look out for your mortal soul." She paused, then said, "And Roberta's worried this time. You're going to the well for the third time in as many years."

"I see." Then the deployment date hit him. "Wait, we're flying out on the 10th?"

"Let me guess, you had tickets to the Air Force Reserve Pipe Band performance that evening?"

"Indeed I did."

Judith smiled. "As Karen would say, I got ya, fam. Don't worry."

Clearing the decks for action.

Even if Mexico City doesn't do anything stupid, accidents still happen.

29 November 2010
HQ, 116th Cavalry Regiment, Idaho NG
Gowen Field, ID

Lieutenant Colonel(P) Helen Mantell sipped her coffee and reviewed the morning message traffic.

The phone rang.

"Unsecure line, 116th Cavalry, Colonel Mantell--"

It was Brigadier General Van Dyne. "Helen, the 116th is being mobilized into federal service. Get ready to deploy down to Fort Hood, you're replacing the 3rd ACR in III Corps."

Helen grabbed her cell phone and logged into the command group text. She typed, "M-DAY, federal service, all personnel report ASAP with full kit. Time on is 1436Z. MOVE."

"Sir, is this a gyroscope rotation--"

"Negative. Get your entire regiment loaded onto the trains. All 3rd ACR equipment has been impounded by the JAG pending a complete Title 10 inventory."

Helen chuckled. "What, did they lose a tank last month at NTC?" She sipped her coffee.

"No, a keyfill device. And they covered it up. The command triad and all the staff officers are cooling their heels in the stockade."

Helen choked on her coffee.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. Apparently CID got tipped off. The rest of the regiment is getting sent back to NTC to walk everywhere the 3rd ACR went and find the damn keyfill unit. Big Army is extremely pissed." Van Dyne paused, then said, "Helen, you're the one in the hot seat. Are you guys ready?"

"Sir, we're ready. We won't let America down."

"Very well. Deploy to Fort Hood, chop to III Corps, and show 'em how it's done."

* * *

29 November 2010
Pocatello, ID

Adam sipped his coffee as he drove Susan to school.

"Dad . . . what the hell are you playing at with that woman in Pocatello?"

Adam said, "I'm not going to tell you because I need you to be very pissed off. Officially . . . I'm having an affair."

"What's Mom going to say?"

"Mom knows. And approves. But you have to act as if she doesn't."

"So what are you playing at?"

"Catching the bad guys. I'm running her as an agent. The apparent affair is cover for status."

Susan stared ahead, then asked, "How did you live with this during the war?"

Adam sighed. "The hope of victory . . . the hope that Sophie and I would be together." He sighed again. "The hope for a better future."

* * *

29 November 2010
Ogden, UT

Armando Padilla, covered as James Martinez, tapped on the door of the motel room twice, then once, then twice again.

The door opened, and Padilla slipped inside.

The woman he knew as "Elizabeth" said quietly, "Report."

"Pizza deliveries are up at Hill. One of my assets saw some known Blackhorse guys doing Christmas shopping at Newgate Mall. They're on the buddy system, watching each other's backs. And not just one by one, but pairs of pairs watching each other. And an asset on base says that Colonel Mantell has radically increased his personal security."

"Elizabeth" sighed. "All right. Any idea where the Blackhorse is going when they deploy?"

"A guy at the air terminal says there's a flight getting manifested on the 10th for Barzanian AFB."

"Where's that?"

"Fort Stockton, Tejas."

"Very well. From now on, you're working with Carl. I'm out of here."

* * *

After Padilla/Martinez left, "Elizabeth" took out a deck of playing cards and the East Coast Times' daily bridge column. Using the bridge column as the key, she encrypted a brief message, then shuffled the deck several times.

She logged on to a VPN, then logged on to a Gmail account, typed up the message as an email, and saved it to the drafts folder.

* * *

29 November 2010
National Security Agency HQ
Fort George Meade, MD

Darlene Cossan set down her coffee and looked at the report.

Chrysalis AG VPN login from OGDEN UT, correlated to Gmail account peytona1158383@gmail.com. Message as follows:

A series of five letter groups appeared.

Message saved in drafts.

Cossan smiled, and ran a program she referred to as Pontifex. In seconds, clear text appeared:

Marigold ha aumentado la seguridad personal. Nos mudamos el diez de diciembre a la ubicación COBRA. Me mudo para seguir. Isabel

Cossan frowned. Who is MARIGOLD, and why did that individual increase their security And where is Cobra? Why are you so hot to go there, Liz?

People aren't talking to each other again.

01 December 2010
11th Special Reconnaissance Squadron
Hill Air Force

Chief Morton called, "SQUADRON, A-TEN-SHUN!"

The headquarters staff and the squadron flights snapped to attention.

Mantell marched into the hangar and went to Chief Morton, who saluted.

"Sir, the squadron is formed!"

"Take your post."

Morton marched to a postion to Mantell's left and behind, and executed an about-face.

Mantell said, "Good morning, airmen!"

"GOOD MORNING, SIR!"

"All right, I have the following orders:

From: Commander, Joint Special Operations Command
To: Commander, 11th Special Reconnaissance Squadron
Cc: Commander, United States Northern Command
Commander, 23rd Air Force
Commander, 12th Air Force
Commander, 2nd Special Reconnaissance Operations Group,
Commander, 26th Special Operations Wing

1. Effective December 1st, 2010, your squadron shall be under the operational command of Commander, 12th Air Force, for duty in support of OPLAN 3422, Theater Missile Defense of the Southwestern United States. CC 12th AF is the proponent and Joint Forces Air Component Commander for OPLAN 3422.

2. Personal for Commander, 11th SRS: Good luck and good hunting. Vice Admiral McRaven sends.

Mantell looked over the men and women of his command.

My responsibility. Mission first . . . people always.

"Our wartime station under OPLAN 3422 is Barzanian Air Force Base, Fort Stockton, Texas. We've got nine days to be ready to go. Plenty of time, take the time to do everything right. I am hoping and praying that the Mexican government doesn't do anything stupid, but I am not optimistic." Mantell paused, then said, "Looks like we're spending Christmas away from our loved ones. I'm sorry." He paused, then said, "Flight leaders, take charge of your flights and carry out the plan of the day. Allons!"

The squadron roared back, "ALLONS!"

01 December 2010
Pocatello, ID

Adam Lodge looked at the text message from Kelly Ray and sighed.

Can you meet me for coffee at Rigg's?

He got out of the car, went into Rigg's, and ordered their Sumatran Blend, black.

Twenty minutes later, Deputy Ray arrived and ordered some coffee. She made her way to Lodge's table.

"Adam, just what in the hell are you playing at?"

"I'm running an agent. Yes, Sophie knows the score. She's got a bullseye on her back, just like me and the Mantell family. And the guy I'm stalking is about 28 years old, 6-foot-one, very fit, not a gym rat but can handle himself in a fight. He's a very light-skinned Latino like me, dark brown hair, and I'm officially too old for this shit. I'm working with the Fibbies. Unofficially. I suppose that if this goes well, they'll cheerfully take the credit, and if it doesn't, they're shoveling all the blame on to me. So it goes. Please continue to look pissed off."

Kelly asked, "So what happens next?"

"Immediately? You dump your coffee on me and tell me off. In the longer term? I'm hoping to catch our boy meeting with the guys stalking the missiles over in Mountain Home, at which point the Air Force will take them down."

"And your family and the Mantells?"

"New Years' Eve, I'm staying with the Mantell family, bringing my kids along. We're gonna be just fine. I wouldn't try taking that place without an infantry company and a 155 battery in support. At least. Josh and his family have a lot of surprise tools that can help us later. Now, if you would be so kind as to tell me off and throw your coffee at me, por favor?"

Adam watched as Ray's face grew dark. She stood up and screamed, "YOU SONOFABITCH, I'M CALLING SOPHIE!"

The coffee flew gracefully into his face, just shy of scalding hot.

* *

01 December 2010
Headquarters, 12th Air Force
Hill Air Force Base

Mantell and Jorgensen stood to attention when Brigadier General Hildebrand opened the door to his office.

Hildebrand said, "Come on in."

Mantell and Jorgensen marched into the office and up to the desk, stopping six inches from the edge. "Sir, Colonel Mantell--"

Hildebrand said, "Fergawdsake, there's a time and a place for that, and this ain't it, not with those idiots down in the Dee-Eff . One important bit of business up front." Hildebrand held up an email printout. "Major Jorgensen, you're going to need to edit your email signature a bit to indicate that you are, by the grace of God, the Air Force Reserve, and the United States Senate, promotable. Congratulations."

Jorgensen blushed. "Thank you, sir."

"All right. Now, let's pretend that I know absolutely nothing about the special reconnaissance mission space, what skills and abilities you bring to the table, or your concept of operations. Enlighten me."

Mantell looked at Jorgensen. "Major?"

Jorgensen said, "Sir, the mission of special reconnaissance is to be the eyes of the numbered air force commander--not just in terms of literally getting eyes on target, but across multiple domains, including cyberspace and the electromagnetic spectrum . . . "

* * *

Hildebrand looked up from his notes. "That was a damn good briefing. I've got some ideas on how to use you guys. I'm going to need some sanity checks. You guys up to it?"

"Yes, sir. Are you gaining the 10th and the 3rd as well?"

Hildebrand said, "I have everything from Texas to Cabo San Lucas for OPLAN 3422, so I'm apparently getting everyone except the 7th and the 116th--they're going to be in theater reserve."

"May I suggest another set of eyes to sanity check your plans?"

Hildebrand smiled. "I'm all ears."

"Colonel Lodge down at LeMay. She's been putting the Brave Rifles back together after the previous CO knocked up one of his enlisted women, sir."

Hildebrand nodded. "How well do you know her?"

"I've known her since 7th grade, sir--and her husband since 6th grade. Served with her a few times during the war. She's my boss in civilian life. I'd trust her with my life, my money, and my wives, sir."

Hildebrand nodded. "High praise, indeed. I'll reach out to her." He sighed, then said, "Break-break. Colonel Mantell, I want your candid opinion on how this is going to go. Major, I want you listening in for training purposes."

Mantell said, "Sir, they're going to go for it. You can't talk that kind of smack and then back down. Figure either New Year's Eve or New Year's Day, we're going to be at war, and I suspect there's going to be missiles landing in the Southwestern US. Maybe some artillery barrages in the border strip, clandestine agents going after various targets--including me and one of my wives, and some of my friends, et cetera. There's one piece I can't figure out, though."

Hildebrand raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"They act as if they think they're going to win, sir."

"How?"

Mantell said, "Sir . . . that's what I can't figure out. They have to know that they're all out of friends, they're nowhere near our level of capability, and we will probably overreact so thoroughly that by the time anyone--including us--realizes what's going on, we've grabbed all the way down to the SANDLINE-5 stop line, and we'll be wondering if we should send the Marines to guard the Halls of Montezuma again. But the Mexicans are acting as if they really believe they have an ace in the hole."

Hildebrand nodded. "But what could it be?"

Mantell said, "I can't think of anything that would let them win--or, more correctly, force us to allow them to win."

Hildebrand nodded. "A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma." He glanced at Jorgensen. "Major, do you have any ideas?"

Jorgensen said, "Sir . . . Colonel Mantell uses Liar's Poker as a metaphor for Mexican strategy."

Hildebrand nodded.

"But he's committing the same fallacy that's been blinding people to whether Mexico will go for it or not. He's assuming that they're rational by our standards. What we should be looking for is something that would make sense for winning another round of Liar's Poker. Now, it may not be enough to win a real-world war with America, but I'm starting to wonder if they're sufficiently connected to reality to understand that. They've gotten away with all kinds of crap for twenty years because they've avoided going over the line--but that was pure dumb luck on their part, not strategy. They're in their own little world down there in Mexico City, and they don't understand that if they drop ordnance on US soil, it's game on, sir."

Josh blinked, then said, "Major, I think you just found the missing link."

Hildebrand was grinning. "Damn good thinking, Major."

* * *

03 December 2010
III Corps Headquarters
Fort Hood, Texas

Major General Joseph del Arroz, the Deputy Commander of III Corps, stood to attention and saluted crisply as Helen walked into his office.

Helen stopped six inches from his desk, saluted, and said, "Lieutenant Colonel Mantell reports!"

del Arroz cut his salute and gestured to a chair. "Have a seat, Colonel."

"Thank you, sir."

After they were seated, del Arroz said, "Sorry to drop this on you like this. General Porton is up in Philly, Grand Island, getting the skinny from NORTHCOM Actual. He's also meeting with the NORTHCOM Staff Judge Advocate to get some help prosecuting the 3rd ACR's command staff. He's less unhappy about losing a keyfill device--these things do happen--than he is about everyone trying to cover it up."

"So how'd he get us?"

"He asked for the 116th specifically, and merely became more vehement when he heard that you were the new CO of the 116th--he knows he can trust you."

Helen chuckled. "General Porton and I go back to when he was the CO of the Quarter Cav. He handed Bravo Troop to me with roughly the same facial expression my Dad had when he handed me the keys to the new Fairmont after I got my license." She sighed. "I never got a chance to apologize to him for getting Bravo Troop so badly shot up."

del Arroz said, "He figured any other officer would've gotten Bravo wiped out, and VII Corps would've been flanked as well. You done good. So, the mission's pretty simple: park on the border, make it clear that if Pedro insists on fucking around, he will find out, and be ready to execute any orders issued by the National Command Authority."

"Sounds pretty straightforward."

"Well, except for the part where we might be doing SANDLINE with about half the forces originally planned. We're getting the 3rd and 5th Mech Divisions attached--NCA just cut those orders as of yesterday, and they're loading up the trains now."

"My people are getting the trains loaded in Boise, but we do have an additional challenge--we might be the last ones at the party."

"What challenge is that?"

"We're moving an entire armored cavalry regiment over the Rocky Mountains. Union Pacific got caught flat-footed with how this crisis blew up, and the UP reps are telling me that they may not have enough locomotives available to move the 116th until after Christmas with their current obligations."

del Arroz wrote a quick note. "I will pass that to General Porton, who will talk to TRANSCOM, who will in turn tell Union Pacific that Fedex and UPS can kick rocks this Christmas."

Helen smiled. "Works for me, sir."

* * *

That evening, Helen was in the officer's club when she heard a familiar voice. "Helen? Is that you?"

Helen turned and gasped when she saw the tall redhead. "Fiona?"

Colonel Fiona MacKinnon embraced her old Armor School classmate and one-time lover, and Helen returned it.

Helen asked, "So, what brings you to Fort Hood?"

"I'm the CO of the 194th Armored Brigade. We're getting loaded up at Fort Knox."

* * *

The two women talked over dinner. "So, I know you've been in an absolutely scandalous relationship--"

Helen chuckled. "Twenty years of wedded bliss with Josh and three sister-wives. How about you?""

Fiona sighed. "I married after the war . . . and he divorced me after the second miscarriage."

"Oh, jeez--"

Fiona shook her head. "Since then . . . well, there's been the Army. And the odd relationship with some townie guy or girl. Nothing permanent." She sighed. "And I'm retiring in April. I've had a good run . . . but I need to be properly married to go past full bird. And I want to see if I can restart my life."

"What will you do?"

"Well, I have the 194th because I have a master's in operations research and two doctorates--in history and education. So, I've been putting out feelers to school districts across the fruited plain, and I'll see who needs a JROTC instructor."

Helen nodded.

* * *

They were talking at a secluded table in the bar.

"Helen . . . I envy you. You found contentment."

"Well, it helps that he makes damn good money--"

Fiona smiled, and Helen stopped talking.

"Helen . . . I know that expression. You once had it for me--even though I knew there was someone else who'd grabbed your heart first. You'd be content if all you all had were dead-end lower-middle-class jobs."

Helen smiled. "You know something? Josh would like you."

Fiona blushed. "Really?"

"Really. He loves reading and learning. He's almost a Renaissance man in that he's fascinated by how things work, by history, by new ideas . . . and you're a sparkling conversationalist." Helen grinned. "And he's flamingly heterosexual, and would appreciate your beauty."

"Except that he's a married man."

"That he is."

Helen smiled again. Doesn't mean he can't marry another bride, honey.

Once trains start getting loaded with division sets, the news media will get wind of it.

Matt Wiser wrote: ↑Wed May 08, 2024 4:32 am Once trains start getting loaded with division sets, the news media will get wind of it.

Especially at Christmastime. There's barely enough motive power for the double-stack container trains as it is: when TRANSCOM starts demanding that tank transporter cars move from Idaho, Colorado, Kentucky, and Louisiana to various forward assembly areas, a bunch of Christmas packages will end up arriving in mid-January.