* * * *
“The more familiar you become with an area, the more useful you become to the mission.” Brandon stood before the men, his focus on them as he plunged them all into the world of military intelligence. His was the baby class, though the men arrayed before him were, to a one, experts at improvising, adapting, and overcoming any obstacle—even if they weren’t all Marines.
They were also, every one of them, more than capable of deadly force.
Brandon’s job was to give them the beginning understanding of the task they were now assigned to perform. Like any specialized training, there were concepts and skills at the base of the mission. This was his last class on this first Friday in March. He gave one tiny thought to the weekend ahead and driving home to his woman. Then he locked that down. Later.
“You can gather information, but until that information has been analyzed and verified, it isn’t intelligence.
“When you’re in country, you need to remember that you are, without exception, on duty the entire time you’re there. I know that sounds basic, and you may be bristling and wondering when the hell I’m going to get to the good stuff.”
Some of the men chuckled, but one of them, a Marine sergeant with black hair and blue eyes and a face that could almost be considered angelic, said, “No, sir, LT. We would never bristle and bay.”
Trust Rogers to put his foot in it.
“Baying. Isn’t that what jackasses do?” another student, this one an army sergeant, asked.
“It is indeed, Sergeant Jackson. In fact, I could have sworn I just heard that very sound.” There were more snickers. Rogers winked at Brandon, likely because he understood that Brandon had been referring to Jackson, and not Rogers.
Despite the seriousness of the topic and the variety of the service branches represented in this class, the men got along well. They’d built a camaraderie in just a couple of weeks, based in no small part by their drive to succeed and devotion to country.
“Let me give you a real-life example of what I mean about being on duty all the time and paying attention all the time. Several years ago, a Marine assigned to a unit in Afghanistan—a man who, by the way, was fluent in both Dari and Pashto—overheard some conversation while he was having lunch at a local eatery. What he heard set off what he referred to as his ‘Spidey senses.’ He recalled other things he’d heard over the last couple of days and also an alert that had been quietly circulated about a missing Air Force officer.
“He reported to his commander, and the information he gave was passed on to an analyst who immediately connected the dots. A rescue mission was mounted, and the missing officer was found.”
“Air Force? What was he, black ops?” Sergeant Jackson asked.
“Of course not.” Sergeant Garwood, a member of the USAF answered, deadpan. “Everyone knows the Air Force doesn’t have black ops.”
More snickers ensued. Brandon nodded. “The missing officer’s mission notwithstanding, he was rescued because a man having lunch when he was, in the eyes of some, off duty, remembered that he was never just a man having lunch and never off duty. He was a soldier having lunch, and soldiers—be they Army, Air, or Marine—are always on duty when in country.
“That’s the first principle you must embrace, and I urge you to do so even if you later choose not to join military intelligence. You’re there, on duty, representing your branch of service and your country. When you come home, when you return stateside, then you can take a break. Now, let’s get down to the rest of today’s assignment.”
Training was a combination of the theoretical and the practical. This stint at Goodfellow wasn’t the first time Brandon had been in front of a class, but it was the first time he’d been put here for a purpose beyond just teaching.
Not altogether certain the brass got their BAMCIS right. The steps in any operation were covered by that acronym, which stood for begin the planning, arrange reconnaissance, make reconnaissance, complete the planning, issue the order and supervise.
He had a meeting at the end of this class, and hopefully, with it, more light would be shed on the situation he’d found himself in.
Brandon thought he did a pretty good job of estimating the time. He hit the last point he’d meant to impart for the day, and he’d finished exactly on time.
He looked at his students, meeting every gaze. “Dismissed, gentlemen.” No way he would add an admonishment about not being an asshole over the weekend, because most of his students were older than he was.
It’s really not the years. It’s the mileage.
“Hey, LT, do you have a minute?”
Sergeant Rogers stood, awaiting permission to speak. Brandon waited until the last student had left the room, next stop weekend.
“Hey, Tommy. What’s up?”
Despite they were the only two left in the room, Rogers drew closer before he spoke, and kept his voice quiet when he did. “Brit, Sean, and Noah are back from their latest trot around the globe, and they invited me for the weekend.” He grinned. “I know your mom lives in Lusty, too, so I thought I’d let you know—so you wouldn’t be surprised if we ran into each other over the next couple of days.”
Brandon had first met Tommy in Lusty, at a Christmas party the senior Kendalls had held at the New House. He hadn’t yet received word of this training assignment at that time. Both men had kept that previous meet to themselves when Brandon had looked up, that first day here, and encountered Tommy Rogers’ smirk.
“I received a text from Mom just a couple of hours ago. I do believe our running into each other this weekend is a given.”
“Oh? Did something interesting happen?”
“You could say that. The population of Lusty has, this day, grown by one.”
Tommy grinned. “That’s great. Sean mentioned how the entire
