Extreme Measures

CHAPTER 28

BAGRAM AIR BASE, AFGHANISTAN

LELAND walked through the mess line sliding his tray along as he went. Since he couldn’t use his right arm he chose the pasta Alfredo over the meat, which was difficult to cut even with two good hands and a sharp knife. He skipped the salad bar, grabbed a piece of blueberry pie, and then came the hardest part of all. He turned and looked out across the huge dining hall. This part was never fun, trying to find an open seat, preferably next to someone he actually liked.

The place was barely a third full. Leland looked around for a familiar face but found none. He was usually on duty at this time, but Garrison had given him the night off. Not feeling like making small talk, he picked an empty table, set his tray down, and headed over to the beverage station. He grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and then Diet Coke. Back at the table he sat and took a sip. He thought about his CO and the advice he had given him – to wait forty-eight hours before writing his official report.

Leland was tempted to go over Garrison’s head on that point alone, but he didn’t know whom he could trust. The whole thing was wrong on so many levels, his head ached just thinking about all the compromises he was being asked to make. And then to make matters worse, Garrison had asked to have a word alone with him. Off the record. Academy grad to academy grad. The words stung him more than the brutality he’d suffered at the hands of the fascist from the CIA. Garrison told him that he had a reputation for being difficult. And it wasn’t just his assessment; the previous CO felt the same way. He’d already been passed over once for promotion to major. Garrison explained to him that it came down to the fact that he was not liked by either his superior officers or those he commanded.

Garrison very firmly told him if he ever wanted to live up to his abilities and become a flag officer, he was going to need to stop being such an inflexible prick. The audacity, Leland thought, to turn this into a popularity contest. It flew in the face of everything they’d been taught. This was not high school. Promotions were not based on popularity. They were at war, and during combat it was about results. Talent and results. Who could get things done, and Leland got things done.

There were a couple of ROTC guys who were his same age who had received the bump. Leland took it personally, and wrote it off to the fact that his CO didn’t like him, and here he was again with another CO who didn’t like him.

Leland stabbed his fork into the creamy noodles and found a piece of chicken. He tried to twirl the fork, but couldn’t. He was self-conscious due to his lack of dexterity and looked around to make sure no one was watching him. Satisfied he was safe, he leaned forward and shoveled a forkful into his mouth. He could feel a dab of creamy cheese sauce on his chin and grabbed a napkin. As he wiped his chin, he thought of his previous CO. The man was not an academy grad, so the fact that he didn’t like Leland was understandable. Leland had always felt there was a strong animosity in the officer ranks among those who had learned their skills at lesser institutions. Garrison, however, was an academy grad. Was he one of those officers who bent over backward not to show favoritism? Leland wasn’t sure, but he was thinking that was more than likely the case. Either way, the man was not living up to the standards and ideals of a commanding officer.

The whole situation was so entirely wrong, Leland felt almost disembodied. His wrist throbbed, his eye ached, but worst of all, his honor had been assaulted. Bending the rules was one thing, but this was far worse. These men were snapping, breaking, and trashing the very rules that were the backbone of the United States Air Force. Leland had never felt so isolated, even during the horrible hazing he’d suffered at the academy his freshman year. None of it was fair. He’d done everything by the book. He deserved his promotion to major, but he didn’t want it this way. He wanted his talent and effort to be recognized. He told himself that on a much deeper, selfless level, he wanted justice. The offer of any posting and being fast-tracked for colonel was nothing more than a bribe. Did they really think him so unprincipled?

Leland wasn’t paying close enough attention to his food and he ended up dumping most of a forkful down the front of his uniform. He swore to himself and set the fork down. As he went to wipe his uniform he heard laughter from a nearby table. He looked up to see a major and two nurses laughing at him. He knew the major well enough to dislike him. His name was Cliff Collins. He was a graduate of the University of North Dakota Air Force ROTC program. He was athletic, handsome, witty, and far too full of himself. In fact, he was pretty much the poster child for what was wrong with the promotion boards. In Leland’s opinion, the man was proof that it was more about being popular than having talent.

The stress of the last few days had worn away his patience. He glared at Collins and said, “You find this amusing, Major?”

“Sorry, Captain,” Collins said with an insincere grin.

“You don’t look very sorry, Major.” Leland fixed a laser stare on the man.

Collins changed his expression as well, the jovial smile vanishing.

“I’m glad you find humor in another man’s pain,” Leland added.

Collins nodded. Seemed to hesitate for a second and then said, “Yeah… well, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. Enjoy the rest of your meal, Captain. Ladies, let’s go catch the movie.” Collins and the two women got up and left.

Leland silently watched them leave, his insides slowly turning over, his gut twisting tighter and tighter. What did he mean by that? Did Collins know what happened, and if so, how many others knew? Leland felt his face flush with anger. Military bases were as filled with gossip as an American high school. The thought of others whispering about this behind his back made him want to vomit. They were all so undisciplined. Leland thought of something that had been given to him back at the academy. It was a guide that he went back to from time to time, to help remind him of who he was and what it all meant.

He left the tray on the table and headed straight back to his room. It was located near the bottom of his footlocker and after a few minutes he found it safely tucked away in the pages of his King James Bible. Leland looked down at the Little Blue Book and read the words aloud. “United States Air Force Core Values. Integrity first. Service before self. Excellence in all we do.” The words still had heft after all these years. If anything, they meant more to him today than when he’d first read them as a cadet more than ten years ago. Why couldn’t General Garrison understand their importance? Leland continued to scan the pamphlet that had been given to him back at the academy. He found the quote he was looking for on the second page.

It read:

In 1965 I was crippled and was all alone (in a North Vietnamese prison). I realized that they had all the power. I couldn’t see how I was ever going to get out with my honor and self-respect. The one thing I came to realize was that if you don’t lose your integrity you can’t be had and you can’t be hurt. Compromises multiply and build up when you’re working against a skilled extortionist or manipulator. You can’t be had if you don’t take the first shortcut, of “meet them halfway,” as they say, or look for that tacit deal, or make that first compromise.

– Admiral James B. Stockdale

Leland ran his fingers over the words and recited them again, this time with tears in his eyes. When he was done he told himself that he would not take the first shortcut. He would not meet them halfway. He would not make that first compromise. He would stand up to them. He would show them what it was like to live life with integrity and honor.

He closed the booklet, placed it back in his Bible, and began reviewing his options. If he did not handle this properly, he could easily ruin his career. If done the right way, though, this could catapult him to great heights. But where to go first? He was isolated on this base, thousands of miles from those who were most sympathetic to his cause. Whom could he call? Whom could he turn to? There was the Office of Special Investigations, of course, but that presented a whole other set of problems. A great many people would think of him as a rat, and the old boys’ club that still ran the air force would likely never trust him again. His name would forever be attached to the scandal that was sure to follow. He needed someone else to blow the whistle. To sound the alarm and show him as the true victim in this travesty of justice.

Leland paced nervously from one end of his small room to the other. He went through a mental list of all the commanding officers he’d had and none of them fit the bill. Who would be willing to lock horns with the CIA? Leland asked himself. He suddenly stopped, thought back to earlier in the week, and said, “Of course.”

Leland raced over to the tiny desk he shared with a fellow officer. He moved a stack of magazines and a pile of opened envelopes and letters and pens and junk and then finally, there it was. A beautiful embossed card with a gold eagle smack in the center. Leland snatched the card off the desk and held it up as if it were a winning lottery ticket. He ran a finger over the embossed name and wondered if the person would remember him. After a brief moment Leland decided he would. This was his way out. He would call Washington and sound the alarm and then that arrogant imbecile would have to answer for what he’d done.

Leland grabbed one of his prepaid phone cards that had been sent in a care package and then tried to think of the safest place to make the call from. It was mid-morning in Washington. Probably the best time to call. Leland started for the door. For the first time in days a smile spread across his face. As he raced down the hallway he thought of Rapp and said to himself, “We’ll see how smug you are after I’m done with you. You’re going to wish you’d never laid a hand on me.”