Changing of the Guard

Fernandez said, “So, tell me about Colonel Jarhead. Why’d you put him up for the new honcho?”

“Ah. Back when I was still a light colonel and in the RA, and you were probably being busted back to corporal the second or third time, you might recall that I did a rotation teaching ROTC at a U down in Georgia.”

“Yes, sir, I recall that. Goofing off at the student union, eyeballing the coeds, and grading papers. Hard work.”

Howard shook his head. “Abe Kent, a full-bird colonel, had been rotated out of the latest middle east conflict where he’d served with distinction, and stuck in charge of a shiny new Marine officer training facility outside Marietta. I’d bumped into him a few times before, various places.”

“That’s the Marines’ idea of R and R — a couple months out of the war zone teaching officer wannabes.”

Howard nodded. “So Abe is down South, dealing with the best and brightest of the jarheads.”

“Which ain’t saying much,” Julio observed. “And a full-bird back then?”

“Keep listening. One of the trainees is a very smart kid — let’s call him ‘Brown’—a champion swimmer in college before he dropped out, a black belt in karate, and sharp as a warehouse full of razor blades. He apparently joined up primarily to piss off his father, who was a millionaire, well-known U.S. Representative — and a major antimilitary dove. Guy had been in Congress for ten or twelve terms, and would go on to be reelected half a dozen more times before he retired. He had amassed major clout by this point.”

Julio nodded again. “Lemme guess — the kid had an attitude?”

Howard grinned. “Can’t get anything past you, can they, Lieutenant?”

“Smart people can.”

“Better shooters can, too.”

Julio held up his hand. “Pick a number between one and five. Sir.”

Howard ignored him. “So Brown is setting the grading curve for the recruits, first in the classroom, first in PT, kicks ass in the unarmed combat course, even outshoots the country boys on the rifle range.”

“He sounds like the perfect Marine — except for the smarts,” Julio said.

“Yes. It was too good to last, of course. Eventually, trainee Brown ran into some boneheaded hillbilly career DI who’d dropped out of the third grade to work his daddy’s moonshine still and joined the Corps the day he turned seventeen. Words were exchanged. Things got physical. Brown decked the sergeant quite handily, and decided that if he had to take orders from dillwits like that, he wasn’t going to play anymore.”

“He washed out?”

Howard shook his head. “No, he saw Colonel Kent and informed him that he was not only leaving Officer Candidate School, he was leaving the Marines altogether. It had been fun and all, but, after careful consideration, he couldn’t continue on, what with the morons with whom he’d have to serve.”

Julio laughed. “I bet that went over real well with a decorated colonel just back from combat.”

“Abe Kent informed officer-trainee Brown that, while he could bail from OCS if he so chose, he would be serving the remainder of his hitch in some way, shape, or form, period.”

“Lemme guess again: Brown dragged out his father’s clout and clonked Colonel Kent over the head with it?”

“That came later. First, he took a swing at Kent.”

“He didn’t.”

“He did.”

“What happened?”

“Kent had spent a big part of his career in combat zones and sleazy bars around the planet. He was not impressed with a would-be shavetail karate expert throwing a punch. As I understand it, he, uh, sat the boy down in his chair with some force — banking him off a wall and a file cabinet in the process. Some medical attention was required, having to do with teeth implants and resetting a broken arm.”

Julio laughed.

“Brown then informed the colonel, and with a bit more respect, I imagine, that his old man was rich, influential, and that Colonel Kent would be very sorry.”

“Got Kent’s back up,” Julio said.

“Yes. He threw the kid into the brig for decking the sergeant — he didn’t mention the altercation in the office — and told Brown that he could spend the rest of his hitch on the line or in the stockade, it was all the same to the Marines.”

“So what happened?”

“What do you think happened? Daddy sat on some big committees. He had favors to extend, money to grease anything squeaky. Even so, it took him six months to pry Brown out, and even with all his clout, the best he could get his son was a general discharge and not an honorable one.”

“Should have been dishonorable.”

“In my opinion, yes.”

“So Colonel Kent stood against the kid’s rich and powerful old man in career harm’s way all that time,” Julio said.

“Exactly. He’s a man of principle. He’d been around long enough to know the chain of command is only as bright as the dumbest link in it, and that sooner or later the kid would be sprung. But he fought every inch of the way.”

“Which is why he’s still a colonel,” Julio said.

“Yes. He resisted pressure from people with long memories. They couldn’t throw him out — he was a decorated war hero in five different theaters, and had worked his way up through the ranks — but they could make sure he never went any higher.”

Julio said, “Bastards.”

“No question. But even knowing it was going to cost him his star, he did it anyway, because it was the right thing to do.”

“Brave. Maybe not so clever.”

Howard chuckled. “And we both know we’d rather have a brave man willing to go against the odds covering our asses in the field than a clever one.”

“Amen.”

“So, that’s the reason I put Abe Kent up for the job. Net Force operations aren’t always by-the-book, and this job requires a man willing to go out on a limb for his people. Whatever else you might say about him, Colonel Kent is not a man ever going to be shot in the backside.”

Julio said, “Thanks for telling me, John.”

“Does it make any difference?”

“Well, he’s still a jarhead, but at least he’s my jarhead. For as long as I’m stuck with him, he’ll get whatever I can give him.”

“I knew that all along, Julio.”

Both men smiled.

“Sir? General Howard?”

Howard looked at the doorway and saw a young FBI agent he thought he recognized come into the room. What was his name? Rogers? Not a field guy, but a tech. What was he doing here?

“Sir. We transferred Operative Gridley’s car from the state police and went over it, just a matter of routine.”

Howard nodded. “And?”

“Sir, we found a wireless transmitter affixed under the automobile’s rear bumper.”

Howard exchanged a quick glance with Julio. “A bug?”

“And not one of ours, I take it?” Fernandez said.

“No, sir, Lieutenant. Not one of ours.”

Fernandez said what Howard was thinking: “So we’re not talking about road rage. We’re talking about a stalker.”

The agent said, “We don’t know that. Could be a coincidence.”

“You believe that?” Howard asked.

“We tend to look askance at coincidence in the labs, General.”