‘You understand,’ the Secretary of Defense said, ‘that we expect our NATO allies to carry most of the burden in Siberia. The President feels very strongly that’s fair since you have the most to gain from starting up the flow in their gas pipelines.’
The Defense Minister looked at him. ‘Your President has much to gain also, yes? In November?’
The Secretary glanced his way. ‘Or to lose.’
The headlights of the Bronco behind them came on. In it rode German and American bodyguards, redoubled because of the terrorism. The Secretary turned on his own headlights in the growing darkness and slowly bumped his way over the uneven cut in the road.
‘Look at that sunset,’ the stout German bureaucrat said. The Secretary looked out the passenger window at the blood-red sun setting over the blue lake.
The heavy Range Rover was lifted straight into the air by the blast. It turned and fell off the road’s shoulder — rolling over and over down the hill. Back on the road behind the now toppled construction signs, the hundreds of rounds of ammunition in the flaming Bronco began to cook off from the heat of the truck’s fire.
Nate pulled up to the Headquarters entrance and parked where he found ‘Lt. Gen. Clark, CBMCUSARPAC’ stencilled on the curb. The front steps were bustling with soldiers in camouflage. The U.S. Army of the Pacific had obviously responded to Nate’s first official order. Full battledress uniforms would be worn till further notice. He got out and was saluted repeatedly by the crowd bottlenecked at the door. An armed detail was checking IDs, but the sea parted and Nate walked through. An MP captain led Nate to his office and turned the overhead light on but remained in the hall.
Nate entered the most spacious office of his Army career. It was twenty by thirty feet. Carpeted wall-to-wall with a map of the Pacific theater. Lined with cherry bookshelves, glass display cases, and flag stands. His personal effects were neatly arranged. Pictures of his family. Books and bookends. Framed field maps with unit positions from Vietnam. Nate would use the office for barely more than a week. Another one was being prepared for him in Siberia.
A man at the door cleared his throat and Nate turned. The deeply tanned officer stiffened. ‘Major Reed, sir,’ he reported — saluting.
‘Yes, of course,’ Nate said. ‘I remember you from SHAFE.’ His return salute went straight to a handshake. ‘You were on operations staff, right?’
Reed laughed. ‘If you can say a captain at Supreme Headquarters Europe was on operations staff, then yes, sir. But I am on operations staff now. I was also tasked to deliver your orientation briefing.’ Nate waited. ‘And’ he finally continued — not looking Nate in the eye — ‘there was one other thing. The thought was I’d deploy with you… to Siberia.’ This time he made eye contact. ‘You see I’ve… I’ve been in the Pacific for eight of the last twelve years — counting Korea. I know my way around the other services.’
Nate noticed the man’s hair was just recently shorn. He had a dark tan, and the distinct line showed his hair had been longer before. ‘I guess you and your counterparts in the other services play tennis and golf — or is it maybe surf, since this is Hawaii?’
He shrugged. ‘I run. There are a good number of us who run before second mess. Some classmates of mine.’ Nate glanced down to see the man’s West Point ring.
Clark nodded and put his files on the desk. ‘As for you deploying with my staff, I could use someone with your familiarity with the command and the theater.’
‘I consider it a privilege, General Clark,’ Reed replied. ‘A real honor!’ Nate looked up at the suddenly buoyant man. ‘You know, sir,’ Reed said, ‘my father was a classmate of yours! Nate arched an eyebrow. ‘I’m Chuck Reed… Jr.’
Nate tried not to register the shock. He held out his hand. Rieed shook it again. Nate was surprised to find how dry his mouth was. He licked his lips, saying, ‘Last time I saw you — your picture, I mean — you were…’ Nate held up his hands in the approximate size of a baby.
They laughed. Nate recalled many things from Vietnam with clarity. The crumpled photo of the pretty wife and newborn child was one of them. Cadet Chuck Reed had gotten married, as allowed, in their last week at the Point. It had been a big affair at the campus chapel with crossed sabers and hurled rice. He’d left for Vietnam with his wife seven months pregnant. It was late in the war. He could have gotten out of it. But that wasn’t what brand-new second lieutenants did. The picture of the baby had arrived in Vietnam with the first mail. The homesick twenty-two-year-old carried it with him everywhere. When he got plowed on R&R, it was shoved in faces.
Chuck Reed and Nate Clark had been fellow platoon leaders in the same infantry company. It was the first and only tour for both of them. Nate would recover from his wounds. Chuck would die from his.
‘We got your letter,’ Chuck Reed’s son said. ‘It was all we really knew about how it happened. My mother still has it.’ Nate had written. He nodded, hanging his head. He’d always meant to visit. ‘We also got some letters from my father,’ Reed said. Nate’s mind was far away. It had been over thirty years since his last deployment to the Pacific. His memories were of heat and dirt. ‘My father wrote us about the Vinh Phuoc River.’ Nate’s gaze rose. ‘That was your first action, right?’ Nate nodded. ‘He wrote my mother that you saved his ass.’
Nate still had trouble accepting that Chuck Reed’s son was a grown man. His own boys were products of a late marriage and years of unsuccessful attempts. Reed waited. ‘Your father’s platoon was all alone on the far side of the river when the NVA hit us,’ Nate said slowly. ‘He’d been covering the company’s crossing after the bridge was blown.’
‘And you crossed back over the river and pulled his nuts out of the fire,’ Reed filled in.
It had been a bad situation for two green platoon leaders to be in. Nate looked up at the framed maps on the wall. Swirling greens and browns of jungles. Contour lines. Grids for artillery. His map of the Vinh Phuoc didn’t survive its several immersions in the brisk, cold stream.
‘We both lost men that day,’ Nate said, almost without thinking. He took a deep breath and looked up at Reed. He thought, but didn’t say, ‘Your father died two months later trying to return the favor!’
Reed looked at his watch. ‘Well, it’s time for your briefing, General Clark.’ He ushered a quiet and thoughtful Nate through the busy headquarters building.
The two dozen colonels, one-stars and two-stars, all stood in unison. Nate knew many of them. He rounded the long table shaking hands. ‘Welcome to USARPAC,’ and ‘It’s a pleasure, sir,’ were the typical greetings. They were introduced by name, rank and job. His heads of Personnel, Intelligence and Logistics — the J-1, J-2 and J-4 — were all brigadier generals, as were the Corps and Divisional Deputy Commanders. The two-stars — major generals one rank beneath Nate — were the J-3 in charge of USARPAC Operations and the commander of the 25th Light Infantry Division. The various colonels were the flag officers’ assistants and commanders of miscellaneous subordinate commands.
When Nate completed his circuit and sat, everyone settled in immediately. They were all aware of the news, he felt certain. All eyes were fixed on him.
‘A little over two hours ago,’ Nate began, ‘the Secretary of Defense was killed in a terrorist bombing in California.’ There was no stir. But none of the officers’ rigid backs touched the padded cushions of their chairs. ‘It’s too early to tell, but all signs obviously point to Russian Anarchists. You’ve all been working hard, I know, on the details of Operation Eastern Order. So let me take this opportunity to make an observation about how our mission furthers the national security of our country. We are headed into the base of operations of the Russian Anarchists — Siberia. We know from national intelligence sources that they are trained there. That they stage for their operations there. And that they return there — if they survive their missions. While Security Council Resolution 919 pursuant to which we will deploy establishes as our objectives humanitarian relief, peacekeeping and securing Russian nuclear weaponry, our rules of engagement allow us to seek out and destroy any Anarchist facilities within our areas of operations.’