“Breaking out a message received this morning, sir.”
Colonel Coulder snatched the message out of Boomer’s hand and looked at it, then his eyes swiveled back up.
“Who told you to decrypt a message addressed to me?”
“Colonel Falk, sir. He said to—”
“When my name is on a damn message, major, I want to see it immediately. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who the hell are you anyway?” Coulder demanded, slipping the message into a file folder under his left arm.
Boomer was very glad he had gotten his hair cut yesterday afternoon and shined his boots right after physical training.
“Major Watson, sir. I’m here TDY.”
Coulder searched his mind.
“Are you the fellow Falk told me about yesterday?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“From Bragg?”
“Yes, sir,”
“Why are you here?” Coulder demanded.
“Area orientation, sir,” Boomer answered.
Coulder stared at him for a few seconds, then held out his hand. At first Boomer thought he was offering to shake hands, but his next words corrected that assumption.
“Give me the pad,” Coulder ordered.
Boomer passed over the onetime pad. Coulder glanced at it, then turned and walked away, going into the glassed off conference room at the end of the tunnel. Boomer sank into his chair. The original copy of the message he had transcribed with its six-letter groups was still on the pad of paper.
He now understood Wilkerson’s anger and frustration yesterday. The last person he’d want to talk to after getting relieved of command was Coulder. Boomer hurriedly tore the top page off and stuffed it into his fatigue pocket, not wanting to risk another encounter with Colonel Coulder over the message.
Sergeant Major Skibicki had walked in while Coulder was addressing Boomer. The old NCO slowly sank down into his squeaking desk chair after the colonel departed and kicked his feet up on the scarred desktop.
“Finally met the boss, I see.”
“Is he always so friendly?” Boomer asked.
“You caught him on one of his good days,” Skibicki said.
“Normally he would have locked your heels.”
“I’m getting a little too old for that kind of crap,” Boomer said.
“I am too old for that crap,” the sergeant major said.
“He tried to do it to me once, right after he cacae here and took over.
Right in front of the troops at an inspection formation.
Talk about unprofessional. I told him he could shove that shit up his ass. We haven’t had too many discussions since then.”
“What did he do?” Boomer asked.
“He tried to get me relieved, but SO COM told him he could shove that.
I was the only Special Forces sergeant major on the island and they were damned if they were going to PCS another one here just because he couldn’t get along with me.” Skibicki grinned.
“Besides, the sergeant major at SO COM Billy Lucius, owes me one, and I want to retire here. Don’t need to be getting shipped back to the states and turn right around.”
“How many years do you have in sergeant major?”
“Twenty-nine.” Skibicki gestured around the tunnel.
“I came on active duty in’ sixty-four; then had a two-year break in service after coming back from my third tour in’nam in 72. Back on active duty in‘74, so I seen it all.
“This assignment is my last hurrah. Baby-sitting a bunch of headquarters pukes and making sure the police call outside the tunnel is done property. I’ve got more time in uniform than any other person on this entire island. I’ve got more time in grade than Sergeant Major Finley up at the 25th Infantry Division at Schofield. Yet here I am.”
“How did you—” Boomer halted as Sergeant Vasquez walked in and handed a folder to Skibicki.
“Here’s the duty roster, sergeant major.” She gave Boomer a smile as she exited the tunnel.
The gesture hadn’t been lost on Skibicki.
“Damn Army sure has changed. You saw her at PT?”
“Yeah. Made me feel out of shape,” Boomer said.
“Well, be careful of her,” Skibicki warned.
“We get a lot of people through here TDY, and Vasquez likes playing with’em. Don’t matter if it’s officer or enlisted as long as it has a hard dick. Get your head between her thighs and she’ll crush it like a melon.”
“I’ll keep that in—” Boomer froze, his eyes locked on a figure that had just walked out of the middle side tunnel and was heading for the glassed-in conference room.
Boomer slid his seat back until he was hidden from view by the bank of classified filing cabinets.
“What’s the matter?” Skibicki asked, his eyes following Boomer’s.
“You know that guy?”
“Yeah, I know him,” Boomer answered. The door to the conference swung shut and through the glass. Boomer could see the backs of the people attending the meeting, all facing Colonel Coulder who stood at a podium, a map of the island of Oahu pinned to the easel to his left rear. Sergeant Vasquez walked in, handed a folder to Coulder and left the conference room. She gave Skibicki and Boomer another smile as she exited the tunnel.
Boomer, still hiding himself from direct view of the people in the room, watched as Coulder started talking, wishing he could read lips.
“What are they talking about in there?”
Boomer asked.
The sergeant major shrugged.
“Don’t know. I’m the senior enlisted man in the tunnel and no one tells me shit.”
“Who are they?”
Skibicki looked and checked off people with a glance.
“As you know, the full bull at the podium is our exalted leader.
Colonel Coulder. The guy with the thinning blond hair works in J-3, Operations, up at USPACOM. I don’t recognize the major or the other colonel who”—Skibicki threw a questioning glance at Boomer—“you apparently know, but I don’t.”
“That colonel is from the JCS. He’s the Special Operations liaison.
His name is Decker,” Boomer said.
Coulder was slapping his pointer on the blue marking ocean, off to the west of the island. Suddenly Coulder stopped and looked straight through the glass at the sergeant major. He snapped something and the major stood up and drew the curtains on the far side of the glass, blocking off the view.
“Assholes,” Skibicki said angrily.
“That’s fucking insulting.
I’ve served in this man’s Army since Christ was a corporal, and they’re hiding things from me like they don’t trust me.” He rubbed his grizzled chin.
“Special Ops liaison from the JCS, eh? There’s some weird shit going on around here lately.”
Boomer relaxed slightly now that he couldn’t be spotted, but he was anxious to be out of the tunnel before the meeting broke up and Decker came out. He was absolutely the last person Boomer had expected to run into here.
Boomer turned his attention to more personal matters.
“Hey, sergeant major, is there someplace on post where we can go get a cup of coffee and a donut?” Boomer asked, wanting to get the story about his father out of the old man as much as he wanted to avoid Decker.
“Yeah.” Skibicki stood and grabbed his green beret, squashing it down on his iron-gray hair.
“Let’s go talk. It stinks in here.”
The snack bar Skibicki took Boomer to was an old World War II structure. One of thousands of “temporary” buildings, constructed during the war at dozens of Army posts and then used for the next fifty years by the military, another curious example of the spending practices of the defense establishment. Billions could be spent on a new airplane, but purchasing a new boot or better living quarters for the actual soldier was usually very low on the priority list. Boomer figured it was more a question of contractor and politician than soldier needs.