Shadow Command

“A ground op? About time,” Macomber responded gruffly. “Almost all I’ve been doing since you brought me here is sweating — either out doing PT or tryin’ to squeeze into one of those damned Tin Man union suits.”

“And complaining.”

“The sergeant major been yakkin’ about me again?” Marine Corps Sergeant Major Chris Wohl was the noncommissioned officer in charge of Rascal, the Air Battle Force ground team, and one of the most senior members of the unit. Although Macomber was commander of Rascal, everyone fully knew and understood that Chris Wohl was in charge — including Macomber, a fact which really rankled him. “I wish that sumbitch would retire like I thought he would do so I can pick my own first shirt. He’s ready to be put out to pasture.”

“I’m the commander of the Air Battle Force, Wayne, and even I wouldn’t dare say that to the sergeant major’s face,” Patrick said, only half jokingly.

“I told you, General, that as long as Wohl is around, it’ll be his unit and his baggage I’ll have to drag around,” Whack said. “All he does is mope around after Briggs.” Patrick couldn’t remotely picture Wohl moping for a second, but he didn’t say so. “Guys die in special ops, even in tin can suits like that robot thing he was in — he better get used to that. Retire his ass, or at least reassign him, so I can spin up this unit my way.”

“Wayne, you’re in charge, so be in charge,” Patrick said, not liking the way this conversation was going. “You and Chris can make a great team if you learn to work together, but you’re still the man in charge whether you use him or not. I expect you to get your team ready to fly and fight, soonest. If it’s not set up the way you want it in time for the next op, put Wohl in charge until—”

“I lead the unit, General, not the no-cock,” Macomber retorted, using his own personal term “no-cock” instead of the Air Force acronym NCOIC, or “noncommissioned officer in charge.”

“Then lead it, Wayne. Do whatever you need to do to accomplish the mission. Chris Wohl, the Cybernetic Infantry Devices, and the Tin Man armor can all be part of the problem or part of the solution — it’s up to you. The men are pros, but they need a leader. They know Chris and will follow him into hell — you have to prove you can lead them along with the NCOIC.”

“I’ll whip them into line, General, don’t worry about that,” Macomber said.

“And if you haven’t done it already, I’d suggest you not use that term ‘no-cock’ in front of Wohl, or you two might be standing before me bloody and broken. Fair warning.”

Macomber’s expression gave absolutely no indication that he understood or agreed with McLanahan’s warning. That was unfortunate: Chris Wohl didn’t tolerate most officers below flag rank and was not afraid to risk his career and freedom to straighten out an officer who didn’t show the proper respect to a veteran noncommissioned officer. If the situation wasn’t resolved properly, Patrick knew, those two were heading for a confrontation. “It would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to train in that Tin Man getup.”

“The ‘getup,’ as you call it, allows us to go into hot spots no other special ops team would ever consider,” Patrick said.

“Excuse me, General, but I can’t recall any hot spot I ever considered not going into,” Macomber said testily, “and I didn’t wear the long undies.”

“How many men would you need to go in and take out an airfield, Major?”

“We don’t ‘take out’ airfields, sir — we reconnoiter or disrupt enemy air ops, or we build our own airfields. We call in air strikes if we want it—”

“The Battle Force takes them out, Major,” Patrick interjected. “Remember Yakutsk?”

“We didn’t destroy that airfield, sir, we occupied it. And we brought in a hundred guys to help us do it.”

“The Battle Force was prepared to destroy that base, Major — if we couldn’t use it, the Russians weren’t going to, either.”

“Destroy an airfield?” The skepticism in Macomber’s voice was obvious, and Patrick could feel the heat rise up under the collar of his black flight suit. He didn’t want to waste time arguing with a subordinate, but Macomber had to be made aware of what was expected of him, not just busted because he was a junior officer. “How can a handful of lightly armed men destroy an airfield?”

“That’s what you’re here to learn, Wayne,” Patrick said. “I told you when we first talked about taking over the command that I needed you to think outside the box, and around there it means not just learning to use the gadgets that you have at your disposal but embracing and expanding the technology and developing new ways to use it. Now I need you up to speed quick, because I’ve got an airfield in Iran I might want destroyed… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? How can that happen, General? I just learned about the target location just now—if we hustled, we might make it off the base by tomorrow, and that’s with no intel and no rehearsals on how to assault the target! You can’t run a successful infiltration on a military base with no intel and no practice runs! I’ll need at least a week just to—”

“You’re not hearing what I’m telling you, Major: you have to start thinking differently around here,” Patrick insisted. “We locate targets and attack them, period—little or no rehearsal, no strategic intel, first-cut organic intel received while en route, no joint support packages, and small but mobile and high-tech ground units with minimal but devastating air support. I told you all this when I first briefed you on Rascal, Wayne…”

“I assumed you got your intel and tasking from higher headquarters, sir,” Macomber argued. “You mean you launch on an operation without gathering strategic intel from—?”

“We don’t get any help from anyone, and we still launch and get the friggin’ job done, Whack,” Patrick interjected pointedly. “Are you finally getting the picture?” Patrick waited a heartbeat and got no response — considering Macomber’s mercurial, almost rabid personality, the silence was a real stunner. “Now I know you’re accustomed to Air Force special ops tactics and methodology, and I know you’re a good operator and leader, but you have to get with the program at the Lake. I know PT is important, but knowing the hardware and resources we have is more important. It’s a mind-set as well as a job. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Macomber said — probably the first real hint of acquiescence Patrick had sensed from this guy. “Looks to me like I’ll need Wohl’s help after all if I’m going out on a mission…tomorrow?”

“Now you’re getting the idea, Major.”

“When can I get the intel you have, sir?”

“I’m sending it now. I need a game plan drawn up and ready to brief to the powers that be in an hour.”

“An hour…?”

“Is there something wrong with this connection, Major?”

“No, sir. I heard you. One hour. One more question?”

“Hurry it up.”

“What about my request to change the unit call-sign, sir?”

“Not again, Major…”

“That was Briggs’ call-sign, sir, and I need to change that name. Not only do I hate it, but it reminds the guys of their dead former boss, and that detracts from their mission focus.”

“Bill Cosby once said if it was up to him he would never have picked a name for his kids — he would just send them out onto the street and let the neighborhood kids name him,” Patrick said.

“Bill who?”

“When it’s time to change the unit’s name, Major, the entire unit will come to me with the request.”

“It’s my unit, sir.”

“Then prove it,” Patrick said. “Get them ready to roll immediately, learn how to use the tools I’ve busted my butt to get you, and show me a plan — drawn up as a unit—that will get the job done and get approved right away. Get on it, Major. Genesis out.” He broke the connection with a stab at the button so hard that it almost detached him from his Velcro perch. For Pete’s sake, Patrick thought, he never realized how lucky he was to be working with the men and women under his command and not true prima donnas like Macomber. He might be one of America’s premier specials ops commandos, but his interpersonal skill set needed some serious re-evaluation.