‘Nate, I’m shooting straight with you. No bullshit. I’ve pushed as hard as I can. We’re not going to get any reinforcements out of President Marshall.’
‘How about the Second Infantry?’ Nate asked.
‘What?’ Dekker shot back. ‘Just invite North Korea into Seoul?’
‘We could deploy them to Vladivostok. From there they could hit North Korea from the Russian border if the North attacks the South.’
Dekker sighed audibly. ‘There’s only three days till the Inauguration. Governor Bristol’s people tell me he’s “fully apprised of the situation” and “is sympathetic to our plight.” There’s nothing he can do right now.’
‘That’s bullshit. He could get together with Marshall and Congress and…’
‘I know that, Nate! We’re in a transition period between administrations. From November to January we’re in lame duck limbo. You’re not getting any more troops until after the Inauguration. I can’t get you more troops. But I’ll do anything within my power to help. What else can I do for you, Nate?’ Clark filled his lungs and let the air out slowly. ‘Just tell me why I’m here, Ed. What I’m supposed to be doing? When I can come home?’
There was dead silence on the phone now.
‘I’m ordering my troops to take off their blue helmet covers and put on white camo,’ Nate said. He hung up and gave the order.
It was a purely symbolic act. But changing from ‘blue hats’ to Arctic white at least was something. An act he could take to prepare for war. For blue hats meant humanitarian peacekeepers. Arctic white meant concealment in combat. The significance of the change was lost on no one in his headquarters. The mood changed. The pace of work quickened. Commanding generals, privates in snow holes — all braced for the shock that was coming.
Andre Faulk read his posting from behind the glass-covered bulletin board. After two months of Basic Training and two more of Advanced Individual Training at Infantry School, the recruits were being sent to the swelling ranks. Andre’s smile drained from him upon finding his name. Others were shouting and slapping backs. Andre had to look up the strange number he’d found next to his name on the listings of Military Occupation Specialties.
‘Andre!’ Stempel shouted.
Before Stempel could join up with Faulk, a burly, tanned recruit from California grabbed him. He squeezed Stempel’s neck and rubbed his knuckles through Stempel’s short hair. ‘Did you hear what billet Fuck-Up landed in?’ the muscular beach bum shouted. He let Stempel raise his head just enough to tell Andre himself.
‘11B!’ Stempel said — beaming. Infantry. ‘The 25th Light Infantry Division.’
‘Hawa-ii,’ the surfer added — using the native pronunciation. ‘Hey, Stemp, it’s possible even you might get laid there, troopuh!’ He pushed Stempel nearly to the ground. Harold was grinning from ear to ear. He’d been posted to one of the combat arms like all the others. He’d made it.
Men from their training platoon were gathering around.
‘What about you, Andre?’ Stempel asked on rising. Everyone waited.
Faulk mumbled, ‘2nd Infantry.’
‘Aw ri-i-ight!’ the surfer said. He punched Faulk on the arm. ‘They’re good to go, man. Most combat-ready unit in the army outside the airborne.’
‘What MOS?’ Stempel asked, just like Andre knew he would.
‘71L,’ Andre answered. The laughter and noise slowly ended.
‘What’s that?’ came the expected question — again from Stempel.
‘Admin Specialist.’
The hulking beach boy snorted a laugh. ‘You’re kidding, right?’
Faulk turned and walked away. It was Stempel who ran after him. He fell into place at his side. He seemed at a loss as to what to say. After walking like a puppy halfway back to the barracks — glancing every few steps at Andre’s face — Stempel finally said, ‘You’re still on for dinner with my parents, right?’ Andre frowned. ‘Oh, come on, man! You promised. It’ll be some real good chow. They’re payin’.’
‘All right,’ Andre said. He watched their boots. They now walked in step out of habit.
‘How long you got off before you gotta show up for duty?’
‘Bout ten days.’
‘Cool. I only got a week. My mom’s gonna be pissed ’cause she wanted to take a cruise or somethin’. We’ll pro’bly just park ourselves in some condo on the beach. How ’bout you? You headin’ home to New York?’ Faulk shook his head. ‘Why not? Ten days is plenty of time.’
Faulk stopped and turned angrily to Stempel. ‘Look. I got some things to do, okay?’
Stempel looked hurt. ‘Hey, man,’ he said almost in a whisper, ‘if it’s that Admin Specialist thing, that don’t matter. Shit! We all know you’re the best soldier in the platoon! The Army’s just fucked up. They send you to be a clerk and me to be an infantryman. How stupid is that?’ Stempel softly backhanded Andre’s shoulder. ‘Look, Andre,’ he said, conspiratorially, ‘you could use that letter Sergeant Giles got for you.’
‘Sh-h-i-i. I joined the army, but I didn’t say I’d go jumpin’ outa airplanes.’
‘But that must be what happened!’ Stempel exclaimed. ‘They had a slot open for you in Airborne School. When you told Sergeant Giles you didn’t wanta go, all the combat arms slots were filled! That’s it! So why don’t you just go! You can give that letter to your new CO! It’s supposed to get you straight into airborne school if you change your mind!’ Stempel could tell something was wrong. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
Andre was petrified of heights. He always had been. He couldn’t even get close enough to look out the windows of his mother’s apartment. He turned and took off.
‘I’d never have made it without you,’ Stempel said from behind. ‘Thanks!’ Andre kept walking. He reached up and wiped away the tears.
‘B-r-r-r-r,’ Kate Dunn said. She and Woody descended the stairs from the airliner’s door to the tarmac. Kate quickly buttoned her parka all the way to the top and then put on her gloves, but she was still cold. ‘J-e-e-ez,’ she said through clenched teeth. Her jaw quivered as they walked into the stiff wind that blew across the concrete. ‘It is co-o-o-old!’ Woody seemed completely comfortable. ‘Like I said, you need a hat.’ Kate turned her entire torso to him to avoid exposing any more, of her bare skin. One hand clenched the top of her parka closed under her chin. The other was pressed tight against her side. Woody wore the most stupid-looking fur hat Kate had ever seen. ‘They must’ve had to k-kill twenty or thirty rats to m-make that thing,’ Kate said.
‘It’s rabbit,’ Woody said proudly.
‘Wood-man!’ they heard. The call came from behind a roped-off area where the departing passengers waited. The flight they’d just taken from Anchorage to Vladivostok had been nearly empty. Business was booming, however, on the return trip.
‘O-la!’ Woody yelled. Kate followed him over to the rope. A waiting man had half a dozen cameras dangling from his body. Woody gave him a soul shake. ‘Que pasa, hombre!’
‘How many times do I have to tell you I’m not Spanish?’ the man said with a distinct Irish accent. His white teeth shone through a dark beard flecked with gray. His ruddy face had been turned leathery by the elements.
‘But you’ve got the soul of a Spaniard, man. That’s what counts! Hey, I’d like to introduce you to Kate Dunn, cub reporter.’ Kate shook the man’s gloved hand with a smirk. She quickly grabbed her collar as the cold air poured in like icewater. But it did little good. The chill seemed to have sunk straight through her Orvis cold-weather gear. ‘Mick here is black Irish. His people were washed up on the shore of Ireland by the great storm that sunk the Spanish Armada.’