Red Metal

CHAPTER 43

Lieutenant Colonel Dan Connolly had spent a half hour briefing the vice chairman and his staff about the actions of General Boris Lazar and his brigade. Everything from putting his dacha up for long-term rental, to the movement to southern Azerbaijan, to the surprise announcement of the Christmastime snap drill that didn’t look like a snap drill at all but instead a purposeful race across the length of Iran to the southern coast.

Then he outlined the loading of the brigade into the container ships in Chabahar Bay, the formation into a flotilla with Iranian warships, and the cruise south out toward the Gulf of Oman.

Most of the people in the room had begun listening to the lieutenant colonel from Strategic Planning with frustration. They were trying to deal with the crisis in Europe and the other in Asia, after all, and this joker was talking about war games in Iran. But in minutes he had everyone’s rapt attention. This wasn’t a new crisis… This was an expansion of the existing crisis in Europe.

Before Connolly was even finished, someone at the conference table said, “They are going to the REM mine in Kenya. The bastards are going to take it back by force!”

Connolly nodded. “I don’t see any other possibility, sir.”

The vice chairman thanked Connolly for his work and asked him to have a seat at the table. The Marine did so, pulling out a notebook and a pen.

The vice chairman said, “We’ll go to the president with this. He won’t want to expand this conflict with Russia, but he sure as hell won’t allow them to invade Africa and retake Mrima Hill, either. I’ll suggest we attack Lazar’s forces while they’re still on the water.”

A Marine general on staff said, “I concur, sir, but I do think we have to have a plan B: some forces on the ground in Africa in case Lazar gets through.”

“Absolutely,” said the vice chairman. “A MEU at least. How quickly can we make that happen?”

“We have a task force on board USS Boxer. Amphibious Readiness Group, a three-ship unit, and they’re within a day of port in Tanzania. That’s south of the mines but close enough to beat the Russians there, assuming we don’t stop them first.”

The admiral nodded and said, “I need a man on the ground, someone aboard the Navy and Marine Corps amphibious task force who understands this thing from the start and can decompress it if it goes supernova.” He scanned the room quickly. “Connolly?”

Lieutenant Colonel Connolly looked up from where he had been furiously scribbling notes on the admiral’s usual rapid-fire stream of ideas, worried he’d miss a tidbit and be held accountable for it later.

“Sir?” he said, wondering why the hell he was being called on.

“It’s you, ace.”

“It’s me… what, sir?”

“It’s you I want aboard Boxer. I need someone from my office. Someone who understands the whole issue at stake. Someone who knows how to author a plan integrated into our national will.”

There was a long pause. Connolly was dumbfounded, but he finally found the words. “Me? Don’t you want an intel type? Someone who can contribute to the mission? The battalions, the regimental commander… I mean, they won’t be too pleased having a ‘spy’ from the Pentagon along for the ride.”

The admiral said, “Colonel Connolly, you are to report to the commander, RCT-5, once aboard Boxer. Colonel Caster. Know him?”

“I know him well, sir. An old friend.”

“Good. You can tell him you are there as a lead planner, or a headquarters liaison, or whatever… Just remember, you still report to me. I’ll do my part back here as long as you keep me informed. We can stay abreast of any political maneuvering by the Russians that way, and if they sue for peace or some other shit like they pulled in Europe, I’ve got you there to send me a direct feed of ground truth.”

Connolly had recovered from his initial shock. “Copy, sir. I’ll gear up.”

“Hey, and one more thing: I need Lieutenant Colonel Connolly, the strategic planner, reporting and advising a successful Boxer Expeditionary Strike Group. I don’t need Lance Corporal Dan hiding behind the bushes, taking AK fire from the Russians, trying to earn himself another combat action ribbon. Leave the firefights to the grunts.”

“Apologies, sir. I am a grunt.”

The admiral smiled a little. “The younger grunts, Dan. Let them pull triggers. Not you. You got me?”

“I got you, sir. Not a problem.”

“You worthless motherfucker!” Spittle flew from the mouth of Admiral Herbers as he roared, splattering Major Bob Griggs on the chin. “You are the absolute worst piece-of-shit officer I have ever known!”

“Yes, sir.” Major Griggs did not blink. He stood at attention, looking straight ahead.

The admiral’s tirade had been going on for thirty seconds already without any details as to why, exactly, he was mad. Griggs had strong suspicions, of course, and these were finally confirmed by Herbers in his next outburst. “Did you really think you would get by me and get in to see the vice chairman without me knowing about it? I can read his digital calendar, you idiot! You thought I wasn’t going to notice the name Major Griggs on the daily meeting update?”

He went on: “I just knew you’d try to go behind my back. I find it telling that Connolly obviously knew better than to attempt the end around. Didn’t see him on the schedule with you.”

Griggs answered flatly, “No, sir. I did not put Colonel Connolly on the schedule.”

“Do you honestly believe the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs has time for your harebrained concoctions?”

“No, sir,” Griggs said again.

“You’re damn right he doesn’t! Now…” The admiral lowered his volume and said, “Good news. I got ahold of an old pal of yours. Colonel Richter is coming down personally to collect you right now.”

Griggs’s eyes widened briefly, and then they returned to their impassive stare.

Herbers said, “You won’t be a pain in my ass any longer. Instead of getting paid to make my life difficult, the Department of Defense just might get some work out of your lazy ass before you retire.”

A knock at the door halted the admiral’s tirade. A stiff and businesslike full-bird Army colonel wearing a starched white uniform shirt and crisply pressed blue slacks entered from the corridor.

Based on the impressive array of ribbons on his chest, the colonel had clearly seen a great deal of combat, and his face was deeply tanned. It was a given around the Pentagon that when you saw a man or woman with a heavy suntan, they probably weren’t just coming back from vacation in Florida or Hawaii.

No, around here that meant they’d been downrange.

The man’s name plate read “Richter.” “Admiral, am I interrupting anything?”

“Not at all, Colonel. I was just adjusting Major Griggs’s attitude.”

“You’ll find that’s a difficult thing to do, sir. You see,” said the colonel, closing the door behind him and striding into the room, “ol’ Griggsy here just knows more than everyone else around him.” He turned to look at the admiral. “Admiral, Major Griggs and I have worked together on several occasions. He really doesn’t like being out in the field much. Seems he believes the Army life in the field is beneath him. He belongs behind a desk at some big think tank in the sky. He’s just too smart to be among the riffraff of us rank-’n’-file soldiers.”

Colonel Richter stepped into bad-breath range of Griggs’s face. “I’ve had enough of you embarrassing my service up here in the director of plans’s office. It’s time for you to get back into the trenches. And since you’re getting close to retirement, that leaves me just about enough time to get your ass deep into something vital. A crap ton of manuals I need rewritten. You’re going to be my best paperwork monkey. Ain’t that right, Major Griggs?”

“Yes, sir.” A thin bead of sweat rolled down Griggs’s forehead and onto the bridge of his nose. He let it hang there unattended.

“Because if you don’t fulfill your role, even in these last months of service, I think we’ll find that you are just not fit enough to make retirement. It would be a bitch to serve nineteen and a half years just to be bounced out on a profile before you can formally retire with benefits, wouldn’t it?”

The colonel turned toward the admiral. “Sir, I’ll relieve you of the burden of the major. I’ll take it from here.”

“Thank you, Colonel.” The admiral smiled and turned toward the door.

But before he could leave, the executive assistant to the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs walked in. Elena was in her fifties, sharp, stunning, and as shapely as a fitness instructor. She was as much a power broker around the office as she was a peacemaker. A lifelong civilian who had worked for more than eight chairmen in thirty-two years of federal service, Elena had remained the constant in this office for more than twelve years.

Anyone who didn’t know Elena wasn’t worth knowing.

“Hi, Admiral. Was hoping I’d find you here.” She smiled broadly. “The deputy sent me. Seems he had a productive meeting with your man just now, Lieutenant Colonel Connolly, but he’s disappointed you and Connolly’s partner had to miss the meeting.” She leaned to one side, looking past the admiral to catch sight of Major Griggs, who still stood bolt upright at attention in the middle of the room.

“Oh, there you are, Bob. The vice chairman said the intelligence data these two men put together is the tops. Wants to go hot with it ASAP. Needs you and your men to tee it up to brief the chairman himself. He passes along his sincere compliments to you and your planning staff. Your team finally got us one move ahead of the Russians.”

All three men stood in silence.

Elena cocked her head. “I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

“No. Thank you, Elena,” said the admiral softly. “I’ll have Lieutenant Colonel Connolly ready to brief the chairman by this afternoon.”

Major Bob Griggs remained at attention after Elena departed, but he couldn’t conceal the edge of a slight smirk.

“Wipe that fucking smile off your face,” said the colonel, squaring up on Griggs again. “Admiral… is he still going with me?”

Herbers was still fighting off the shock. His face cleared and he said, “Hell yes. I’ve got Connolly. You get Griggs.”

Colonel Richter said, “Be in my office in fifteen minutes, Griggs. Clean out your desk here. Your ass is mine now.”

Without another word, the colonel and the admiral walked out, leaving Griggs still standing at attention.

Griggs’s little smirk faded and more sweat rolled onto his collar. His shoulders fell, he relaxed his posture, and then he headed back to his brand-new, comfortable office to empty his brand-new desk into a cardboard box.

For Bob Griggs, the big leagues hadn’t lasted long, but he and Connolly had successfully achieved what they’d termed “Operation Sacrifice Fly.” Griggs forfeited himself so Connolly could slip in to brief the vice chairman in his place.

It had worked perfectly to plan, and now all that was left for Griggs to do was pay the price.