Phantom Squad, Page 3

  Chapter 3

  The four remained at attention.

  Brent was called outside.

  “I’d like an explanation as to why you dropped out of the exercise, Lieutenant.”

  Brent answered in the calculating, non-emotional tone he always used. “We’d been standing there since a little after o-four hundred hours. By my estimation, it was approximately eleven hundred and thirty hours. I knew that the day was young and that a full day of training lay ahead,” he said. “I felt as if we had all proved our stamina and that it was pointless to continue.” Brent looked his training officer directly in the eyes. “Winning the exercise didn’t seem as important as having enough energy to last the day, sir.”

  With a slight head nod, Brent was sent back to stand with the rest.

  A man dressed in black jeans and a black tee shirt remained in the shadows standing near the training officer.

  “That’s the officer of the group?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The man in civilian clothing sucked on the tobacco that was tucked between his lower lip and gums. He spit on the ground before speaking. “Doesn’t seem to be as tight assed as most officers.”

  The colonel he was speaking to flinched at the words. “No, sir, he doesn’t,” he answered through gritted teeth.

  A tobacco stained smile appeared on the stranger’s face. “Take them to hell and back today. Tomorrow, I’ll take over their training.”

  “But I’ve been in charge of this exercise since the beginning and I…”

  He spit once again, turned, began to walk back into the shadows, and drawled, “If you got a problem with the orders, take it up with the Joint Chiefs and President Mitchell.”

  The rest of the day was physical and mental hell. The officer ran them into the ground, literally, deep into a subterranean cave system and then up the side of a mountain. All the while making them perform and yell out calculations and as well as repeat the information they had been learning while in class since their arrival.

  By twenty hundred hours the men were so exhausted, so dehydrated that they were no longer sweating.

  “Give them each a saline drip, have them shower, and put some food in them,” barked the officer. He took a final look at the lump of humanity that lay in front of him. “Good luck gentlemen,” he said, “you’re going to need it.”

  It was another long sleepless night which seemed to go on forever until unconsciousness took control. Almost immediately, Brent was awakened by the all too familiar boot in the ribs.

  “Fatigues, no equipment, and in the hangar in fifteen.”

  The four stood at attention, in the same spot, at the same time of the day as yesterday, in the dark once again.

  Jefferson eyed his fellow soldiers and mumbled, “De ja vu.”

  In a voice barely audible, Jensen said in retort, “I wonder what I get to kick your ass doing today.”

  Everyone ignored Jensen’s comment. Silence engulfed the hangar for the next thirty minutes.

  Fitz broke the silence. “Rumor has it we get to meet the head of black ops.”

  “I heard the group called Phoenix is running this party,” Malcolm responded.

  Brent saw a figure, short and dark lurking in the shadows.

  “Quiet,” Brent said.

  “Your rank don’t mean shit here. Don’t tell me what to do,” Jensen said.

  The figure emerged from the darkness. “His might not, but mine does, Private. You’d be smart to listen when someone who knows what’s going on tells you something.”

  A man with a shaved head, standing all of five foot seven and talking in a heavy southern drawl walked up and stood in front of them. He pulled a tobacco tin out of his jeans back pocket. He continued to eye the soldiers as he tapped the tin five times, opened it, and pinched off some of its contents. He placed the tobacco inside his lower lip and sucked on it, placed the tin back in his pocket, and pulled a collapsible tin cup from another pocket. With a snap of his wrist, he opened it and spit.

  “How about I start off by answerin’ some of your questions.” He paced back and forth in front of the men and stopped in front of Jefferson. “It does seem just like yesterday, doesn’t it, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said.

  The stranger smiled and continued to pace. This time stopping in front of Jensen. “You don’t get to kick anyone’s ass today, Private. I get to kick yours.”

  Jensen didn’t respond, but his facial expression did. He clenched his teeth, causing his facial muscles to tighten. He began to squint and his eyelids fluttered.

  The civilian took a step closer to him and spit in his cup. “You got something to say, boy.” He didn’t give Jensen a chance to reply. “I didn’t think so.” He once again began to pace in front of the men.

  The next time he stopped, he stood in front of Fitzpatrick. “There ain’t no ops blacker than the ones you’ve been a part of Corporal.”

  Fitz looked him in the eyes and nodded.

  The training officer once again began to walk back and forth in front of the group and once again he stopped in front of Malcolm. “There ain’t no squad called Phoenix.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jefferson said, “no Phoenix.”

  He spit one more time and laughed as he again moved back and forth. This time, he stopped in front of Brent. “What made you say, quiet, Lieutenant?”

  “I saw movement in the shadows, sir. I thought it best if everyone remained quiet.”

  “Smart man.” He stepped to his left and stood in front of Jensen. “Maybe you’d be better off listening when a man superior to you tells you what to do.”

  Jensen’s jaw again tightened.

  The training officer stepped back and addressed the entire group. “I’m not in uniform. What does that tell you?”

  Jensen trying to up the others, responded first. “It tells me, you’re in command and you can dress any way you want.”

  Again he spit. “Anyone smarter than him have an answer?”

  “You’re not military,” Brent replied.

  “Pff.” Jensen shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

  “So stupid, it’s right,” the stranger drawled. “Sometimes things are just what they appear to be, ain’t that right, Lieutenant Venturi?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So tell me, Lieutenant, what else does that tell you?”

  Brent looked at him for the first time. “It tells me that when this exercise was put together, the Joint Chiefs searched the ranks and decided someone from the outside was better suited to head it up.”

  He smiled and spit. “You’re a smart man. Why would they do that, Professor?”

  “Because this exercise crosses all the Armed Forces,” Brent replied. “We started out with Navy, Army, Marines and Air Force personnel. Anyone from within the ranks would be prejudiced towards their own.”

  “It’s amazing what rank and an Ivy League education can do for someone, isn’t it, Private?”

  Jensen looked straight ahead.

  “I asked you a question, boy. I expect an answer.”

  Jensen’s muscles twitched.

  The civilian grinned. “The private here, don’t like being called boy.” He looked over at the sergeant. “Jefferson, did you know Jensen was prejudiced.”

  “No, sir,” Malcolm said.

  “How politically correct of you.” He moved in front of Jefferson. “Here’s the thing. Since I’m not military and can’t be fired, I don’t give a rat’s ass about political correctness. What I expect is honesty . . . from all of you. So I’ll ask you again, Sergeant. Did you know Jensen was prejudiced?”

  Jefferson looked down the line at the private. “Yes, sir. I knew the peckerwood was prejudiced.”

  The commanding officer nodded. “One more thing. Don’t call me, sir.”

  “What should we call you?” asked Fitzpatrick.

  “Seven,” Brent said.

  “Seven? What the hell kind of name is that,
Professor?”

  “It just fits,” Brent answered.

  “Why?”

  “It’s the number of fingers you have left,” he answered.

  A smile, a real smile encompassed the man’s face. “I like it. For now on, I’m Seven.” He walked down the line. “You’re Professor, you’ll be Jefferson, you’re Fitz, and you . . .” He stopped in front of Jensen, “will be Peckerwood.”

  He could hear Jensen’s teeth grinding as he walked away.

  After the men were dismissed, Seven joined the other training officer in the back room.

  “What do you think of the men?” the colonel asked.

  Seven looked at the colonel. “Jefferson and Fitzpatrick are born soldiers. They will make good squad members. The other two, I’m not sure about.”

  The colonel looked at him incredulously. “Why’s that. Jensen has an impeccable record and Venturi has proven himself time and time again in dangerous recognizance missions. I thought they were your two best candidates.”

  Seven spit in his cup. “Emotion,” he said.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “The assignment these men are prepping for is as dangerous as they come. Emotion can’t be part of their psyche. Jensen has too much of it and Venturi seems impervious to any of it. At this point, both scare me. The psychological testing should give me a better handle on both of them.”

  The colonel looked back at him and shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re here or what the hell you’re doing. I just hope the brass knew what they were doing when they sent you here.”

  Seven smiled. “Me too.”