After a long debriefing, I was told I was done forever with Special Operations Command. My clearance was revoked, and I was removed from flight status. They also canceled my promotion. They thought it would be best, however, not to make me retire right away. It would look funny.
There was no way they would want me to stay at MacDill, though, so I spent a few days there organizing my stuff while I waited to hear. I got a call from Creighton.
“Sam. How are you?”
“Good. I’m just packing up. I’m expecting to be put in charge of latrines at Fort Polk, Louisiana, any day now. How about you?”
“Not bad. Still tied up in an investigation of a recent drone mishap.”
“I bet.”
“Had one suffer an engine malfunction while on a mission. Crashed and burned. Wasn’t pretty.”
“It sure as hell was pretty to me,” I laughed.
“I bet that’s true.”
“How do you think you’re going to make out after all this?”
“I’ll be fine.”
Knowing him, I believed it.
“Thanks again for that, by the way. It was the most epic save I can never talk about.”
“You’re welcome, Sam.”
“I hope we get the chance to get together soon.”
“I will make sure of it. Let me know where you land. Go naked, Sam.”
“Go naked.”
Luckily, someone decided that Fort Polk would look funny, too. I was floored the next day when they asked me where I wanted to go.
“Are you serious?”
“Within reason, Avery,” said the major general they had sent from the Pentagon to lay out the deal. “You’re not going to fucking Schofield. And no one wants you within a hundred miles of D.C.”
I smiled. Playing out the clock in Hawaii would have been nice. But it was clear they were determined that this not be too good a deal for me.
I spoke without thinking:
“I’ll take West Point, sir.”
The general blinked a few times. “Are you sure?”
“History department.”
“Avery, I’m going to ask you one more time. I’ve got better things to do than work on your dead-end career. Are you sure about this?”
“Go naked, sir.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“Very well. I’ll give you a week to get your shit together. Then report to West Point.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“And remember: we better not see you on TV, or online, or in a magazine, or anywhere else. Casper the fucking ghost, Avery. That’s you. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That goes for the next week. The next year. The next decade. For the rest of your life. You don’t say shit about your ridiculous mission in the desert. That’s the deal. You break it, your next post is Leavenworth.”
When I told Creighton, he was jealous.
That had been a week ago. Now I sat across from Colonel Anderson. My boss for the next three years, he was wondering what to do with his new officer who was totally unqualified to teach history.
“How about the goat mission, then?” he said, smiling.
“Sir?”
“I heard you were one of the guys who got the goat back in nineteen ninety. That right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then you can tell me about that spirit mission sometime instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Going to West Point. Being a cadet. Serving as an army officer. Looking back now, it all seems like one big spirit mission. Risky. Thankless. A compulsion more than a choice. But for the greater good.”
“Would you do it again?”
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“The sick thing is, I probably would.”
The colonel chuckled.
“You’re not going to make me do plebe year again, are you, sir?”
“No. I’m glad you’re here, Sam. Though I’m not sure how to put you to work.” He picked up a folder from the small table between us and leafed through the papers inside. “It’s been a long time since you were in an academic classroom environment, and you don’t have a postgraduate history degree.”
He didn’t look up from the file he was reading. I could see that it was thick.
“Getting you ready for the classroom is going to be a little bit of a project, Sam. They made it clear to me that there was no budget to send you to grad school with, and the fact is, I’m going to need to get you up to speed quickly. I am shorthanded.”
“I get it, sir. I’m ready to work.”
“Good. Well. If I let you point yourself at an era, what would it be? World War II? Vietnam?”
“Actually, sir, I’d rather not study anything from our enlightened modern times.”
“The classics?” His eyes twinkled.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good man.” He abruptly stood up and walked to a large bookshelf on the rear wall. He looked at his watch, grabbed two volumes, and gestured for me to stand up. “We better get going. They’ll be marching by soon.” He handed me the books.
“Thucydides and Marcus Aurelius.”
“It’s a good place for you to start.”
We shook hands, and I left his office. Exiting Thayer Hall, I strode quickly by the library and passed behind Patton’s statue, taking Diagonal Walk across the Plain. As I walked, I was greeted by upper-class cadets back from summer training. They were everywhere, and my right hand whipped up and down, rapidly returning salutes. They looked so young.
The Hudson yawned to the north, and Storm King Mountain loomed immediately to its west. All these years later, I still looked at the shadowed base of the mountain and tried to calculate where Bill had landed.
The crowd thickened as I neared the superintendent’s reviewing stand. The August sun was bright, and the crowd was festive. It was a happy mix of parents, other family members, officers, and cadets.
I was almost to Mac’s statue when the first company of new cadets rounded the corner on Washington Road and turned onto the final stretch in front of the supe’s quarters. The day was hot and their stride fatigued. I quickly gave up trying to spot Zack’s daughter. The new cadets all looked the same as they sweated through their BDUs. They were anxious, their eyes nervously drilling straight ahead to avoid drawing any attention. Upperclassmen looked on skeptically, arms crossed.
The first company’s guidon snapped down as they presented arms. The next company followed closely behind. And another behind it. And another curving around the corner of Washington Road, like the Hudson flowing around the rocky west point of the mountain.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ted Russ is a graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point. He served as an officer and helicopter pilot, ultimately with the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment. After leaving the army in 2000, he received an MBA from Emory University and now lives in Atlanta with his wife, Anna, and their dog, Henry. Spirit Mission is his first novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
About the Author
Copyright
SPIRIT MISSION. Copyright © 2016 by Ted Russ. All rights reserved. For information, address Henry Holt and Co., 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.henryholt.com
Cover design by David Shoemaker
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Russ, Ted.
Title: Spirit mission : a novel / Ted Russ.
Description: First edition. | New York : Henry Holt and Company, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016001250| ISBN 9781627799669 (hardback) | ISBN 9781627799652 (electronic book)
Subjects: LCSH: Air pilots, Military—Fiction. | Special operations (Military science)—Fiction. | Military helicopters—Fiction. | Suspense fiction. | War stories. | BISAC: FICTION / War & Military. | FICTION / Thrillers.
Classification: LCC PS3618.U746 S65 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016001250
e-ISBN 9781627799652
First Edition: November 2016
Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at MacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.