Target America

21

The steel door around the corner opened and then clanged shut. A few moments later, Crosswhite looked up from his bunk to see a “full bull” Green Beret colonel standing in front of their cell with a chest full of ribbons — including the sky blue ribbon of the Medal of Honor.

“Christ,” Crosswhite muttered. “I see it and still don’t believe it.”

“Holy shit,” whispered Tuckerman.

Gil Shannon stood in the corridor, staring at them through the bars, his blue eyes hard and cold as he took in their combat boots and the black fatigues.

He crossed his arms and looked at Tuckerman. “What the fuck are you two made up for? And you’d better not lie to me.”

Crosswhite said, “It’s my fault, Gil. We were—”

“I didn’t ask you a goddamn thing!” Gil said, not taking his eyes from Tuckerman. “I asked you a question, sailor.”

Tuckerman sat up fast. “We were prospecting, Master Chief.”

“Colonel!” Gil snapped.

“Yes, sir, Colonel,” Tuckerman said, withering slightly beneath Gil’s gaze. “We were prospecting, Colonel… knocking over drug dealers and taking their cash.”

“How many civilians are dead?”

Tuckerman looked at the floor. “Counting tonight, sir… ten. Tonight was a goat fuck.”

Gil stood glaring at the younger former Navy SEAL, his jaw muscles flexing beneath his chiseled features. He looked as though he wanted to say something vile but was thinking better of it.

Crosswhite cleared his throat. “Permission to speak, uh, Colonel?”

“Denied,” Gil said, cutting him a menacing glance and refocusing on Tuckerman. “Why are you not at the VA getting treatment for your PTSD?”

Tuckerman seemed to shrink even more, shaking his head. “I got—”

“Look at me when you’re talkin’ to me!”

He looked up. “I got… I just… I dunno. I just couldn’t take it around that place, Gil. All those fucked-up vets and their bullshit problems.” He shook his head again and looked back at the floor. “Hell, half of ’em never even saw any real combat.”

“So you’re sayin’ you were the only real motherfucker in the place, is that right?”

Tuckerman lifted his head. “No, that’s not what—”

“What you’re saying,” Gil went on, “is that this is what real men do after they come home from combat. You’re saying real motherfuckers go out and murder civilians—American civilians.”

Tuckerman lowered his head in shame. “Gil, I… I got lost.”

“You bet your fuckin’ ass you got lost, boy! And you!” Gil said, turning on Crosswhite. “Winner of the Medal of Honor leading a goddamn vigilante hit squad — despicable!”

Crosswhite held his gaze. “We saved a child, Gil.”

“Yeah, and then you executed her captors without a trial!” Gil retorted. “I know all about it. Detroit PD is shaking every fucking tree in that city looking for you two clowns. Now that I see you, I got half a mind to call and tell them right where to look.”

Crosswhite got to his feet and grabbed the bars. “Then do it!” he hissed. “But don’t you forget that I jumped into the Valley of the Shadow to save your ass when nobody else could. So either let us outta this fucking cell or call the Detroit heat. Either way, I’ve listened to all your shit I’m gonna! You wanna hear we did wrong? Fine. We did wrong! We fucked up! We both deserve the goddamn chair! What else you do want? You wanna hear it’s my fault? Okay. It’s my goddamn fault! Anything else—Colonel?”

Gil stared back at him. “I think that about covers it, Captain.”

“Good!” Crosswhite dropped down on the bunk, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands as he stared at the floor. “Fuckin’ Green Beret. Fuckin’ colonel, no less! Shit, Shannon, you don’t make a pimple on a Green Beret’s ass.”

Gil looked at Tuckerman, who dared to crack a smile. “I gotta admit, though, Master Chief… the uniform, the rank — it’s you.”

Gil let some of the hardness out of his face. “You two both better understand something,” he said quietly. “If it wasn’t for that little girl you rescued, Pope would have left you both right here to rot.”

Tuckerman looked over at Crosswhite. “Told you.”

Crosswhite sighed, his anger spent, leaving only tired resignation in its place. “So what now, Gil?”

“We got a goddamn suitcase nuke to find.” Both men perked up. “Pope needs operators he can easily disavow in case the White House needs plausible deniability. Either of you two clowns know anybody I might suggest to him?”

Tuckerman got to his feet. “I’m on board, Chief.”

Crosswhite was only a half instant behind him. “So am I.”

Gil’s face became hard again. “I’m in command. Understood?”

“Roger that,” Crosswhite said. “As a Green Beret or — or what?”

“Are you kidding? This army rag is already givin’ me a fuckin’ rash. Pope thought it the best way to keep this dogface major out front from making waves.” He looked at Tuckerman. “ST6/B has been reactivated, but no active-duty personnel can be part of it.”

“What’s the B stand for?” Crosswhite asked, slightly mystified.

“Black,” Tuckerman said. “Domestic ops.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, right up your fucking alley,” Gil said grimly. “So congratulations, pogey bait. You’re the first man in the history of the United States Navy to be made a SEAL without having to pass BUD/S.” Pogey bait was typically a Marine Corps term dating back to the days of the China Marines, US Marines stationed in Shanghai prior to WWII. It could be used to describe a number of things, one of them being a nongrunt who was afraid of getting his uniform dirty. BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) was a six-month course at the Naval Special Warfare Training Center in Coronado, California.

“I got your fuckin’ pogey bait right here,” Crosswhite said, grabbing his groin.

“Listen,” Gil said. “When we get out front, I don’t want any horseshit. Maintain a strict military bearing until we get on the helo. Got it?”

Crosswhite frowned. “I can’t tell that fuckin’ major to kiss my ass?”

“You can if you don’t mind spending the rest of your life in one of these fucking cages.”

“Well, if you put it like that,” Crosswhite said glumly, “I don’t guess it’ll be necessary.”

“I didn’t think so.” Gil took a big brass Folger Adam cell key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “Remember, I do all the talking.”

“Got it,” the other two said in unison, and they followed him down the corridor.