“Forget it—”
“Okay. Okay. I understand. We can double-date—”
“Yeah right, so Riley can see what kind of morons I hang out with.”
“The best kind.” McAllister laughed. “Call her now, hero, or I’ll tell Riley how you let Ballantine get away.”
Zachary studied his close friend and laughed. He knew all along he would set them up but couldn’t pass up an opportunity to give McAllister some grief. McAllister’s mention of Jacques Ballantine referred to Zach’s lieutenancy in the first Gulf War, Desert Storm, where he had personally captured the Tawakalna Division commander, Ballantine. After spiriting him to the Division rear, Zach had learned that the fabled commander had been released in a prisoner exchange shortly after the cease-fire.
“I’ll call her tonight, now beat it.”
“No, I’ll let her do that.” McAllister laughed, stepping out of Zachary’s office. He successfully dodged the brass paperweight that flew past his head and struck the orderly-room wall.
“Get out of here!” Zachary yelled.
“Call me tonight,” McAllister said as he walked across the lanai and into the Hawaiian afternoon heat.
Zachary and his company had been back in garrison nearly a week after an arduous field-training exercise and relaxing company party at the beach. Even though he had no family on the islands — he was divorced — it was nice to be able to enjoy “the Rock,” as he called the island of Oahu. Zachary was a little over six feet, with dark brown hair. Despite the square jaw and green eyes, when his tan was deep, the locals sometimes confused him with one of their own. Regardless, he associated well with the native Hawaiians when many of his peers could not make that connection.
He was a few years older than most of his fellow company commanders because he had taken a break in service. Graduating from West Point in 1989, he saw combat duty in early 1991, fighting with the 101st Airborne Division in Operation Desert Storm. After a few years of peacekeeping duty in the mid 1990s, Zachary took a slot in the Army reserves and pursued some civilian interests. He had nabbed a master’s degree in business from the University of Virginia, then had tried his hand at farming on the family property just north of Charlottesville. With no combat in the offing, Zachary had resigned himself to life on the farm.
The Army had already cost him a marriage. Glancing at the photo of his daughter sitting on his desk, Zach recalled how he had completely focused on hanging on to the thread of a relationship with her when one day, she just quit communicating. His efforts toward Amanda had been so all-encompassing that they had prevented Zachary from developing any meaningful adult relationships. Then, on the way out of his divorce hearing, he had met a child psychiatrist from Atlanta, Riley Dwyer, who was now coming to visit Zach in Hawaii for a week.
“Coming to see me or Diamond Head?” he had asked, smiling into the phone.
“You have rattlesnakes, there?” Riley asked in mock horror.
“Those are diamondbacks — wait a minute.”
“Gosh,” Riley joked. “I had no idea Hawaii was so dangerous.”
“Just get your pretty face over here.” He laughed. “It’s been a while.”
“It has at that,” she whispered into the phone.
And it had been a few months since he had spent any time with Riley. Nine-eleven had occurred, and Zach was on the phone to the Army Personnel Command immediately. The assignment officer opened the gate for Zachary, given his outstanding record in combat and the fact that he had continued to drill with the reserves. The Army brought him back on the active rolls as a captain, which was fine with him. It meant he would have a second chance at a company command.
Not only had he been assigned to company command, but that assignment was in Hawaii’s Twenty-fifth Infantry Division, the quick-response force for the Pacific region. While initially dis-appointed that he had not drawn what he considered a more prestigious unit such as the 82nd Airborne Division, he was nonetheless satisfied to be back in a combat unit when it looked like there was some fighting to do. Besides, Zach considered as he kicked his feet onto his desk, with combat in Afghanistan or even Iraq as a possibility, he would surely get back into the fight soon. Operation Anaconda was still wrapping up, only whetting his appetite.
Sitting at his desk, he opened and read the most recent letter from his sister, Karen. The glint from his West Point class ring caught his eye as he read that his brother Matt was off on another assignment somewhere in Asia, she wasn’t sure where, and Matt certainly couldn’t say. He smiled warmly, thinking of him and the great times they had growing up on the farm hunting and fishing.
The phone rang and he heard the CQ answer the phone in typical fashion, “B Company, Thirtieth Infantry, this line is unsecured, how may I help you, sir?”
Momentarily, the soldier in charge of quarters knocked on his door.
“Sir, the battalion commander wants to see you in his office ASAP.”
“Look, Jackson, if I get relieved, you can be in charge,” Zachary joked.
Jackson was a new recruit and pumped his chest out proudly, saying, “Can do, sir!”
“I bet.” Zachary laughed.
He made the short walk to the commander’s building. The Hawaiian afternoon sun hung over the jagged green Waianaes. He stopped at the battalion adjutant’s desk to try to discern as to why the old man wanted to see him. Glenn Bush, the adjutant, was talking on the phone while sitting at his desk, which was positioned in an office just outside the battalion commander’s door.
“Hey, Glenn, what’s up?” Zachary said, ignoring the fact that Glenn was on the phone. Glenn held up a hand while he finished his conversation. Zachary liked Glenn, who had a reputation as someone who hustled to get the job done, and as a staff officer who supported the company commanders regardless of the circumstances.
Hanging up the phone, Glenn stood up, leaned toward Zachary, and said in a low voice, “I don’t know, but the brigade commander called five minutes ago with a blue-flash message. I answered the phone, heard someone say ‘blue flash,’ and immediately buzzed the old man. Not a minute later, he told me to get you up here right away.”
That was good news to Zachary. Blue flashes meant real missions. Real missions meant high morale for his troops. In the post-9-11 world, everyone was seeking to fight the enemy. With that thought, he knocked on the commander’s door and entered the spacious office.
Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Buck was a young battalion commander. The division commander had frocked him from major to lieutenant colonel, meaning he wore the insignia but didn’t get paid for the rank yet.
Buck was a short man, only about five foot six. He had his black hair neatly cropped around his ears, but did not wear a high-and-tight-style crew cut. He had a youthful face that belied his thirty-six years. He wore freshly pressed army combat uniforms to work every day and possessed all of the requisite badges an infantryman should have: airborne, Ranger, air assault, and the expert infantryman’s badge. Buck had missed the action in Panama and Desert Storm like so many of his peers, who were in jobs classified as “away from troops.” Accordingly, Zach knew that Buck was slightly jealous of the combat infantryman’s badge and right shoulder 101st Airborne Division patch that he wore, signifying his service during Desert Storm. Additionally, Zach was just a few years older than the “fast mover” battalion commander, making their relationship a tad awkward for Buck. Zach was fine with it; perhaps even enjoyed pushing the commander’s buttons a bit.
He stood in front of Buck’s desk and was always mildly surprised at his height. He reported to the battalion commander and assumed a relaxed position of parade rest. The office was situated at the corner of the quad that housed the battalion’s troops. As such, he had almost a panoramic view of Waipahu. The commander had decorated his office with the customary plaques, mementos, and pictures of him with VIPs, as so many officers tend to do.