Founders

scratched polymer P-MAG. The soldier was well enough trained to know how to salute with his rifle, bringing it smartly parallel with the centerline of his body. Andy returned the salute and said, “I need to talk with your S1.”

The young MP answered, “Yes, sir. You need to go to the longest trailer, there on the left. I’ll get you an escort.”

The brigade headquarters consisted of four single-width trailers of the type that Andy had formerly seen used at construction sites. A generator set whined in the distance. HESCO bastions filled with sand ringed the perimeter. The scene reminded Andy too much of what he had seen in the Middle East. But now he was an insurgent.

Laine was ushered into a spartan trailer office with steel furniture. Two box fans roared in open windowsills. A first lieutenant wearing OCP camouflage utilities, with a “UNPROFOR” nametape, sat behind the desk. A hand- inked sign taped on the front of his desk read: “1LT Taylor—S1.” He rose to his feet when he saw the captain’s bars on Laine’s chest.

The lieutenant offered Laine a seat, and then gave him an expectant look. Laine handed the lieutenant his pink Army Reserve ID card, saying, “I’m here to volunteer to go back on active duty.”

Across the room, the MP brigade commander—a full colonel—listened in on their conversation as he worked sorting a stack of papers.

Lieutenant Taylor asked, “Where did you go to school?”

“Texas A&M.”

“Were you ‘Band’ or ‘Corps’?” Taylor retorted.

Andy flashed a grin of recognition at a fellow Aggie. “Corps of Cadets. I was on a four-year ROTC scholarship. I got branched Ordnance, but after OBC, I was mainly given branch immaterial slots. You know, to fill ‘the needs of the Army.’ I did a tour in Afghanistan with Task Force Duke, as the S4 for a Stryker battalion. The Crunch came down just when my active duty obligation ended.”

Lieutenant Taylor nodded, and said, “I see.”

“So, are you looking for Reserve officers for active slots?” Andy asked.

“Absolutely. We have far more active duty positions than we have qualified officers. There are detached companies out on the frontier that are bringing back every former commissioned officer who is willing—even some retirees in their late fifties. I even met a former Coast Guard officer who’s now a commissioned Army officer, leading troops.”

“So how do I come on board?”

“That’s at the CO’s discretion—any commanding officer of a brigade or higher can make the call. There are no review boards or any of that bureaucratic bravo sierra.”

Glancing down, Taylor continued, “Sir, before we proceed, I have to ask you to surrender that pistol. Civilian pistols are contraband.”

Andy raised his index finger and said, “Wait just a minute, I’ve got a hand receipt for it.”

Andy opened his wallet and pulled out a soiled and deeply creased document. The lieutenant examined it and looked up at Laine. “Sir, this hand receipt is on the Old Army form and it’s dated three years ago.”

“I can explain. Before I left active duty in Germany, I had T.I.’ed my M4 Carbine and TA-50 gear. But since things were so chaotic, I kept the SIG out on hand receipt for my personal protection while I was in transit. You have no idea how FUBAR things were at the time in Germany.”

Lieutenant Taylor nodded, and Laine continued. “At that point all commercial flights were grounded and there were no MAC flights. So I literally got on a bicycle and pedaled across Germany, across France, took a fishing boat to England, got back on my bicycle, and rode up the English coast until I found a sailboat that was heading for Central America. Then, from Belize I rode horseback all the way up through Mexico and back to my home in New Mexico. I haven’t been to a U.S. military installation in three years. So, you can see, I had no opportunity to T.I. this pistol.”

“Well, you can turn it in now, under the general amnesty, since you’ve been living outside pacified territory.”

“I’m willing to do so, but I’d like you to immediately reissue it to me. Again, for my personal protection.”

“That’s the commander’s call.”

Andy said, “Fair enough.” He unholstered the pistol, ejected its magazine, and cleared its chamber, locking the slide to the rear. He handed the well-worn SIG P228 to the lieutenant, butt first.

Taylor examined the pistol’s serial number and compared it with the serial number on the hand receipt. He looked down at the hand receipt’s signature block and gave a blink. “Olds? Colonel Edward Olds? There’s a brigadier general named Edward Olds at Fort Knox. He commands a mech infantry brigade.”

“If that general is the same Ed Olds,” Andy said with a smile, “then he can vouch for my bona fides.”

Taylor nodded.

“So, is there some sort of procedure or reg that I need to follow?” Andy asked.

Taylor gave a dismissive wave, saying, “No, sir. Regs and paperwork have gotten a lot simpler in the New Army. There is no more FORSCOM, no PERSCOM, no more echelons above Corps, and no more Officer Efficiency Reports. All the 201 files are now kept at the brigade level, and most promotions are handled internally. There are basically just six blank forms for everything we do, and beyond that just a few types of cards and passes.”

He passed Laine a blank sheet of typewriter paper. “Take a close look.”

Andy held the paper up to the light. There was a small holographic square embedded in the upper-right corner of the page. Holding the sheet up to the light, he could see that it was also watermarked “UN-MNF” at the top and it had an enormous numeric “1” watermark that covered most of the page.

Taylor explained, “The One watermark is for all personnel paperwork, Two is for intelligence reports, Three is for operations, and so on. The numbering follows all the traditional S-shop numbering.”

Andy nodded.

The lieutenant opened his wallet and pulled out his ID card, a weapons card to show Laine, and continued, “The days of separate cards for TRICARE, for dining facilities, military driver’s license, and all the others are over. Now it all comes down to just an ID card and a weapons card.”

Across the room, the commander looked up from his laptop screen and said, “Go ahead and issue this gentleman both an ID card and a weapons card for his sidearm.”

Taylor answered, “Will do, sir.”

“That’s it—that simple?” Andy asked incredulously.

“Yep, welcome to the New Army. You’ll take an oath of office and have to do some bravo sierra paperwork further up the chain, but as you can see, ‘Commander’s Discretion’ carries a lot of weight these days.”

———

Later that week, wearing a fresh OCP uniform and a new pair of tan boots, Andy walked into the dayroom of the 1st Composite Mechanized Infantry Brigade headquarters. “Captain Laine to see General Olds, if he is available,” he announced.

A gruff voice from behind him shouted, “You bet I’m available. Good to see you, Andrew!”

Ed Olds, wearing starched MultiCams, took two steps forward and clasped Andy around the shoulder. “I always knew that we’d cross paths again. So you’re back on active duty?”

“That’s right, sir.”

Olds looked much the same as Laine remembered him in Germany, except that he had gone completely gray and now had a livid scar running up half the length of his left jaw, starting from just behind his chin. The single star of a brigadier general punctuated the front of his uniform. Olds motioned Andy into his office and he shut the door behind them. He pointed to the chair in front of his desk, and took his own—a massive leather swivel chair that looked antique. He glanced at Andy’s upper arm, and noticed the lack of a unit patch.

Olds asked, “Do you have a duty assignment?”

“Not yet, sir.”