Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“Yes, I would,” Lassiter replied. Then he turned to the soldier seated to his right. She was busy entering data into a computer. “What’s your responsibility, Corporal?”

Mac held her breath. What would Kobo say? She’d been in the slammer for faking records calculated to get her boyfriend a promotion. Kobo stood. “I’m a soldier, sir… My first job is to fight! But I’m a human-resources specialist, too—and responsible for the battalion’s personnel records.”

Mac suppressed a smile. Kobo was playing the colonel like a pro. Lassiter nodded. “Well said, soldier. As you were. All right, let’s find out if the rest of the battalion is as sharp as Corporal Kobo is. Lead the way, Major.”

Mac considered grabbing her poncho on the way out but feared that Lassiter would perceive that as a sign of weakness. So after putting her beret on, Mac led the other officers out into a steady drizzle. The tour took more than an hour. Lassiter spent most of his time talking to the troops. A process that was both nerve-wracking and instructive. Officers might try to bullshit him, but the enlisted folks had a tendency to tell the truth, and Lassiter was paying close attention. Mac filed the process away for future use.

The surprise inspection went well until Lassiter entered Shelter Five, where weary techs were busy using cutting torches to remove OLD BOY’s slat armor. That was when the colonel demanded to know what the hell was going on.

The lighting was poor, so maybe Sergeant Hernandez didn’t realize who he was talking to, although Mac believed he did. It had been a long day, and the noncom was pissed. “What does it look like we’re doing? We’re cutting the fucking slat armor off this fucking vic, so it will fit into a fucking C-130.”

The comment was followed by an ominous silence as Lassiter absorbed the information. Then he laughed and slapped Hernandez on the back. “Well said, Sergeant. Carry on.”

But there was a look of concern on Lassiter’s face as he turned to Mac. He had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the background noise. “Will your Strykers be ready to load by 2100 hours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Your mission is a go… Assemble your officers. I’ll brief them.”

It took fifteen minutes to clear the HQ building and bring all the battalion’s officers in. Except that some of the platoon leaders weren’t officers. They were senior noncoms. A compromise Mac had been forced to accept when it turned out that Leavenworth wasn’t holding enough 01 and 02 officers to meet the battalion’s needs. Just one of the many problems yet to be resolved.

“Okay,” Lassiter said, once all of them were packed into the small room. “Here’s the skinny… Your battalion has been chosen to carry out a top secret mission. Security is extremely important, and that’s why this base is on lockdown. My MPs are on the gate and stationed at regular intervals around the perimeter. No one can enter, and no one can leave until the mission is over. Any questions about that? No? Good.

“Thanks to the information included in your pretasking orders, you already know that it will be necessary to transport a company of infantry and two combat-ready Strykers over a considerable distance. That will require three C-130s. From this point forward, the transports will be referred to as Yankee One, Two, and Three.” The battalion’s officers and noncoms were scribbling notes, and Mac was no exception.

“Yankee One is already on the ground,” Lassiter told them. “And Yankee Two and Three are slated to arrive at 2100 hours. Two will be carrying a nine-person special ops team. They will be split into two groups—one for each of the Strykers.

“Yankee One will depart first and land at Pyote Air Base near Odessa, Texas. The strip hasn’t been used for a long time. And, based on an aerial reconnaissance carried out five days ago, we know that it’s deserted. The runways and taxiways, hardstands and flight-line apron are usable but overgrown.”

Mac took it in. Texas! Holy shit, right in the heart of Dixie! And she wasn’t the only one to take note of the fact. Glances were exchanged, and someone said, “Oh, goody.”

Lassiter nodded. “That’s right, ladies and gentlemen… You are going to land inside enemy territory. Alpha Company will land and secure the base. Once that’s accomplished, Yankee Two and Three will put down and off-load. Then the Strykers, with special ops personnel aboard, will haul ass for Odessa. The trip will take approximately forty-five minutes. The package will be asleep in the Tarlo Hotel when the operators enter and take him prisoner. Once he’s in custody, the Strykers will take him to Pyote Airfield, where he will be loaded onto a C-21A Learjet for an all-expenses-paid trip up north.

“At that point, assuming the tactical situation allows, you will load the Strykers onto their respective planes. The moment they are wheels up, Alpha Company will board Yankee One for the return trip. The enemy won’t be expecting us, and there aren’t any military bases located nearby. So it’s possible that you’ll be able to go in and get out without a shot being fired. Do you have any questions?”

Captain Overman raised his hand. “Yes, sir. What about air cover?”

“That’s a good question,” Lassiter said. “The decision was made to bring the Hercs in low and slow in an effort to evade detection. And if we were to send fighters in high enough to protect the C-130s, they’ll light up every radar screen in Texas. So some zoomies will be on standby with an estimated response time of fifteen minutes.”

Mac suppressed a groan. Fifteen minutes would be an eternity in the midst of a firefight. And she’d been wearing a uniform too long to believe that the special ops people would be able to get in and out without firing a shot. But what was, was.

Once Mac’s people had been dismissed, Lassiter and his companions made their way over to where she was standing. “What did you think?” Lassiter inquired. “Did I cover everything?”

“Yes, sir. I believe you did.”

“Good. You may have noticed the civilian in our midst. This is Cory Olinger. Cory is a war correspondent for the New York Times , and he’s going to accompany you on the mission.”

Mac opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Lassiter raised a hand. “Don’t waste your time, Major… The decision to bring Cory along was made at the very highest levels.”

Mac wondered what “the very highest levels” meant. Had Sloan been involved? Was he trying to justify the Military Reintegration Program? He was rolling the dice if so, because the battalion would look bad if the mission went poorly.

But Lassiter expected the mission to go well. He’d said as much. So maybe the mission was a no-brainer that was calculated to make everybody look good. If so, the reporter would tell readers how good Mac’s Marauders were. Olinger extended a pudgy hand. It was soft and damp. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Major… Maybe you could answer a question for me… Will they have barf bags on the plane? I tend to get airsick.”

Mac looked at Lassiter, who rolled his eyes. “I have to get back to my office. Take care, Major… And make me proud.” Then he was gone.

Olinger looked lost. “I’ll check on the air bag thing,” she assured him. “But I won’t be able to spend much time with you during the next few hours. I have a lot to do.”

“That’s okay,” Olinger said. “I’ll tag along.”

Mac’s attention shifted to the multitude of details that could spell the difference between success and failure. What was it that President Carter had said when asked if he had regrets? “I wish I’d sent one more helicopter…” But he didn’t, and the mission to rescue the hostages in Iran failed. Mac was determined to avoid that kind of mistake.