Leaving his wife to drift back to sleep, Vennelli carefully got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and closed the door before he turned on the light. Though time was important, the commanders and staff would not be at task force for a while; he had time for a proper shower and shave. As he shaved, he considered the operation, the excitement within him building as he did so. He was finally going to be given the chance to show what he could do. There was no doubt in his mind that he had the right stuff — that he would have a successful command, earn his eagles, command a brigade, and eventually get his star. It was all preordained. His command of a tank-heavy task force was nothing more than a stepping stone, another benchmark toward his ultimate goal. Though Vennelli was not at all content with the current state of affairs in the task force — in particular the attitude of the Iranian veterans — he would prevail. He always had. Those who did not get with the program, his program, were as good as gone. Perhaps, he thought, this exercise would provide just the opportunity he needed to cut away some of the malcontents and dead wood. Once they were gone, he could get down to the serious business of training for war.
The opening of the door to the company orderly room and a loud "Company, a-tennn-hut!" followed by "At ease" announced the appearance of the company commander. From his office, First Sergeant Andy Duncan could see that the commanding officer of B Company, 1st of the 506th Airborne, was in his PT uniform. The CO was looking about the room, filled with soldiers in desert camouflage battle dress. He had a quizzical look on his face. Turning to one of the assembled platoon sergeants, Duncan simply stated, "Looks like the Old Man didn't get the word. There'll be hell to—"
Duncan's comment was cut short as Captain Harold Cerro stuck his head in the doorway of the First Sergeant's office. "First Sergeant, could I see you in my office?"
Duncan slowly got up from his chair, picked up his clipboard, and followed Cerro to his office. He was followed by the tune of a funeral march being hummed by the platoon sergeants. Duncan knocked on the open door of Cerro's office. Cerro flopped down into the chair behind his desk, then told Duncan to come in and close the door. Duncan did so, sat down in a chair across from his commander, and waited for a moment before he spoke. Cerro had his feet up on his desk and was leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "Sir, the CQ called as soon as we got the word, but your wife said that you had already left."
There was a moment of silence. Then Cerro let out a sigh, took his feet off his desk, and swung around to face Duncan. "I know. That's what I get for living so far from post. You remember what the battalion commander said—'One more time and I'll move you into the BOQ, stud.' "
Duncan chuckled. "He wouldn't dare. The last thing he needs is the Italian Stallion running around on post at all hours without adult supervision."
This made Cerro laugh. "Okay, First Sergeant, what have we got?"
Both Cerro and Duncan were veterans of the Iranian war. Though only twenty-five years old, Cerro was commanding his second company. His first had been in Iran, where, as a second lieutenant, he had assumed command of his company when the commander and the executive officer had been killed in action. In that war he had made two combat jumps and earned the Distinguished Service Cross and the Silver Star. Duncan, serving in a light infantry division, had also earned a Distinguished Service Cross, a Bronze Star with V Device, and a Purple Heart.
Looking down to his clipboard, Duncan began to brief his commander. "We were alerted for immediate deployment thirty minutes ago. Our exact destination has not been announced yet, but we were told it would be an out-of-country deployment and to be prepared for desert operations. Units from Fort Carson and Fort Bliss have also been alerted. Smart money says Egypt."
"Good guess, First Sergeant. No doubt the President's visit there and completion of the prepositioning of equipment for that armored brigade at Carson have something to do with this. Besides, we war-gamed a conflict in Egypt last month." Cerro thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Yeah, it's Egypt." For a moment both men looked at each other, saying nothing but thinking the same thing: Shit, not the desert. Anywhere but the fucking desert.
Standing up, Cerro went to the wall locker he kept in his office and began to pull out the appropriate uniform, underwear, boots, and socks. "What have you got for status, First Sergeant?"
While Duncan continued to brief him, Cerro dressed. He didn't hear half of what Duncan said. His mind was flooded with concerns and random thoughts — uppermost a feeling of dread.
First Sergeant Terrence B. Walker, nicknamed Walkman, burst into the orderly room of A Company, Task Force 3–5 Armor. Walker was mumbling to himself — his practice when things were fucked up. Staff Sergeant Maxwell, until that moment the senior NCO present, stood up from the first sergeant's chair and moved out of the way as Walker moved around to take his seat. Only after he sat down did the first sergeant survey the room and acknowledge Maxwell's presence.
"Okay, Jon, what the fuck happened?" Walker grunted, looking up at Maxwell. "Why the hell did it take the CQ over an hour to initiate the alert notification?"
Maxwell, clipboard in hand, sat down and cocked his head to one side. "Top, about the worst thing that you can imagine. The CQ wasn't here, and the CQ runner was asleep in his room." Maxwell waited for this to sink in. Walker, fighting back his urge to slam his fist on the desk, sucked in a deep breath, then let it out accompanied with a long "Shiiiit!" Turning back to Maxwell, he said, "Well, are we on track now?"
Knowing that Walker was in no mood for long stories or explanations, Maxwell just nodded and told him that he had personally ensured that everyone had been notified. For the first time the first sergeant relaxed a bit. "You got any coffee made yet?"
"Sure, Top. On the way." Standing up, Maxwell moved toward the coffee maker. As he poured the coffee into a white styrofoam cup, Walker asked Maxwell how he'd been able to get in so soon.
Maxwell didn't answer until he had passed the cup of steaming coffee over to Walker and had resumed his seat.
"I came in just as the duty officer arrived down here to find out why no one was answering the phone in the orderly room."
"Couldn't sleep again?" Walker, looking at Maxwell through the steam of the coffee, asked in a low, cautious voice.
In a whisper Maxwell, hands folded between his knees, eyes riveted on the floor, simply said, "No, couldn't sleep."
"The leg again, Jon?"
"Yeah, Top. It's the leg."
Walker looked at Maxwell for several seconds. "You gonna be able to deploy?"
A smile lit across Maxwell's face. "Sure, Top. You think I'd let you and the Old Man face Vicious Vinny on your own? Besides, this company needs some kind of adult supervision."
Walker chuckled. Though there was much to do and they were already behind the power curve, they'd make it. A Company was a good company, with a corps of solid NCOs that could make things happen. "Talking about Vinny and the Old Man, did the Old Man make it to the command and staff meeting on time?"
Maxwell looked up. "Yeah, he did. I imagine by now Valiant Vennelli, the Electric Wop, is ripping the captain a new asshole."
For the first time Walker laughed. "You can bet on that. And if we don't get our asses in gear, Vinny will stick his cattle prod up our bung holes. So, what's our current status, Jon?"
Referring to his clipboard, Maxwell began to brief Walker on who was present, platoon by platoon.