"Major Thorpe reporting, ma'am."
Kinsley had a file in her left hand and she kept it there as she returned his salute. "At ease," she said.
Thorpe spread his feet shoulder-width apart and put his hands together in the small of his back. He watched her, waiting, a little surprised at this overly official meeting. He wondered if this was the way the regular army operated. It had been over fourteen years since he'd last been in a regular army unit, in the infantry at Fort Hood, and it was hard to remember. Special Forces usually operated less formally, but more professionally than the regular army, an apparent contradiction that outsiders had a hard time understanding.
Kinsley shook the file. "Quite a record. At least the part that isn't classified."
Thorpe didn't say anything.
"I asked for your classified records. After all, most people who work for this organization have classified data in their personnel files and I do have a top-secret access. My request was denied."
Thorpe wasn't surprised at that. And he didn't see any reason why LTC Kinsley, SOCOM G-l, had a need to know, since he was just here to do two months of active duty to punch his reserve ticket so he could qualify for retirement pay.
"You people," Kinsley continued, "act like you have your own little private armies. I spend my time trying to make sure all the units manning rosters are filled, and then find out some commander decided to move people around the world wherever he feels like it."
Thorpe remained silent. He'd met people like Kinsley before who thought their support job was more important than the job done by the people they were supposed to support.
"Are you bothered to be back on active duty?" Kinsley asked, dropping the file and leaning back in her chair.
Thorpe was surprised at both the question and the tone. It sounded like a challenge. "I'm here to do my duty as ordered."
"You didn't have to," she said. "You could have turned the orders down."
"I'd like to get my retirement benefits, ma'am. I believe I've earned them."
She picked up a cup of coffee and took a sip. Thorpe felt very uncomfortable at his modified position of parade rest while she sat there drinking coffee. He was too old for this. She seemed to be sizing him up. He glanced at a chair to his right, but if she noticed the look, she gave no indication.
"There's a lot going on," Kinsley said. "Tenth Group is heavily involved in the IFOR in Bosnia-Herzegovina and it looks like Seventh Group might have to commit a battalion also to the peacekeeping effort due to recent developments. I've got tons of paperwork making sure the deployed units are up to strength."
Thorpe didn't say a word, waiting. Like I give a damn about your problems, he thought. Tell it to the guys who are on the teams executing those deployments where the bullets are flying. He'd always found that people far away from the firing lines tended to think they were as important as, if not more important than, the people on the cutting edge.
"See Master Sergeant Christie to get your security badge."
Thorpe blinked. Getting a badge meant that he was going to be working in this building. "Ma'am, I'd like to work in one of the groups if possible. My experience is—"
"I've read your file," Kinsley cut him off, "at least the parts they would give me. I know what your areas of expertise are. But I make the assignments here. You're only going to be around for a few months. I just lost my only eighteen-series officer to one of the groups and you're taking his place. There is plenty that can be done in this office. As a matter of fact, I have a major project that will take up most of your time." She reached into her in-box and pulled out another file. She glanced up. "That's all. Christie will brief you and get you set up."
Thorpe snapped a salute and turned on his heel. When he'd gotten his orders, he'd thought about calling some of his old acquaintances and lining up a job for the two months, but he'd decided against going through the trouble. Now he was regretting that decision. He shut the door behind him and Christie was waiting.
"This way, sir."
Thorpe followed him down the hall and to the left. Christie opened a door and a small, windowless room beckoned. There were two desks with computers on them. One of the desks was occupied by a young warrant officer.
"Chief Takamura, meet Major Thorpe. He's going to be working with you for the next two months."
Takamura stood and offered his hand. He was short and chubby. He wore thick-lensed, army-issue, black-rimmed glasses. "Major, good to meet you."
Thorpe shook his hand. Christie turned in the doorway. "Get him set up with a badge and tell him what the colonel wants done."
"Right top."
The door shut. Thorpe sank down at the desk facing Takamura’s and waited.
Takamura pointed at the computer on Thorpe's desk. "Our job is to screen records for the next promotion board. Make sure the photos are up to date, awards, record of service, et cetera."
Thorpe stared at Takamura as if he were speaking a foreign language. He closed his eyes as Takamura went on.
"Per the commanding general's policy letter, 98-2-4, the SOCOM G-l is responsible to make sure that all SOCOM personnel's records are in the best possible shape they can be when they go before a promotion board."
"Isn't that the individual's responsibility?" Thorpe asked. The army, perhaps the largest "corporation" in American, promoted on the basis of time in service and service records that held evaluation reports.
"Yes, sir, it is," Takamura agreed, "but the general felt that so many people were deployed that many soldiers won't have a chance to update their records or even check them, so he wants us to do it for them. He doesn't want any of his troops penalized for being deployed."
Thorpe hated to admit it, but that made sense. He just didn't want to be the person to have to do it.
Takamura smiled. "I was the only one doing it. Now, I guess, it's the two of us."
Thorpe looked at the computer. "Great."
Six hours later, two things were for certain. There were a large number of officers assigned to Special Forces that were facing promotion boards. And most of them had not updated their records. Thorpe wasn't surprised about that — most Special Operators were more concerned about doing their job than making sure their Department of the Army photo was up to date, or the record of their latest award or ribbon was placed in their records. Also, most of them were so rarely in the States that updating files was a low priority. Thorpe's first year in Special Forces he had spent eleven of twelve months deployed overseas.
There was another thing he realized as he stared at the computer screen. Whatever little Thorpe had learned about computers had been supplanted in his brain by other information. He wasn't sure what that other information was, but he spent half the afternoon patiently listening and learning as Takamura showed him how to bring up a personnel record, then review it against the master Department of Defense data file and then update the record. Thorpe's two-finger pecking style of typing didn't help much either.
Thorpe was glad to see the end of the workday come. That was probably the only advantage to this job that he could see. He wouldn't be going to the field, and come 1700 he could walk out of the building like the rest of the staff weenies he'd used to despise while he was on an operational team.