Still, until those estimates changed, they were all he had to work with.
Dixon, scheduled to brief the concept of GREEN plans to a group of visiting congressmen and their staffers that afternoon, needed to refresh his knowledge and make notes for the briefing. Under normal circumstances, he would have spent little if any time preparing for a congressional delegation. Ordinarily, few, if any, of the members of the delegation would have had any real conception of what was being dis cussed. Today, however, Congressman Ed Lewis of Tennessee would be present. Lewis, a veteran and a member of the House Intelligence Committee, knew his stuff. Dixon wouldn't be able to hip-shoot with him in the audience.
With his feet up on the table, his coffee cup in one hand, the green loose-leaf binder in his lap, the map board showing the operational graphics before him, and the slides to one side, Dixon prepared himself for the briefing.
Jan had so seldom come onto post that she had needed to stop for directions three times before she found the officers club. Embarrassed at being late, she decided to say nothing about why she was late. Instead, she entered the room where the staff of the 16th Armored Division was gathered, careful not to attract attention while looking for Scott. When she spotted him talking to the division intelligence officer, she maneuvered herself until she was able to approach him from behind. Coming up to his side, she slipped her hand around his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you, Scotty dear."
Looking over at her, Dixon grinned. He was about to ask if she had gotten lost again when Big Al came up.
With a loud and sincere welcome, Big Al greeted her. "Well, I see Scott has unshackled you from the stove long enough to come out and join us."
Towering half a head over Big Al, Jan looked at the general then turned to Dixon. "Scott dear, do we have a stove?'!
This caused the general to laugh and Dixon to roll his eyes. Grabbing Jan by the arm, Big Al began to escort her away. "You, my dear, will probably dehydrate if you wait for that tombstone of a boyfriend to get you a drink. Come with me and let a dirty old man buy you one."
"That, sir, would be a pleasure. No doubt Scott has told you I specialize in dirty old men, which is what keeps me going with him."
Again, the general let out an unabashed laugh. "Scott, this is too much woman to be wasted on a tanker. She deserves an aviator, like me."
Dixon threw his hands out in mock surrender. "As always, sir, you know best."
With a smile the general pointed at Dixon. "Damn straight, that's why I'm the general. Now, if you'll excuse us, Colonel, I would like to introduce Jan to some people."
With Jan gone, Dixon headed for the cash bar. En route, he ran across Captain Cerro, who was carrying two bottles of beer. Dixon stopped and looked at the young officer and the beer in his hands, and raised his eyebrows. "A real two-fisted drinker."
Cerro looked at the beers, then at Dixon. "Well, no, not actually. One of them is for someone else, but I can't find him right now." Then as an afterthought, he offered one to Dixon. "Here, sir, might as well before it gets warm. I hope you don't mind Corona. I hear tell that's the official drink of the 16th."
"Actually, I'm a Coors Light man myself, but since division policy states that field grade officers cannot refuse free beer, I couldn't possibly refuse." He took a sip, then held the bottle out at arm's length. "Well, it ain't Coors, but what the hell." Turning back to Cerro, he asked how he was getting on in his new job.
As Cerro began to talk, recounting an incident of several days ago with one of the female infantry lieutenants, he realized that he had been with the G3 section for over a month, and yet this was only the second time he had had the opportunity to talk to the G3 one on one. It wasn't like Dixon had been hiding. Dixon was always there. In fact, sometimes, it appeared that he was everywhere. Even when he was out inspecting training or at a briefing, his presence still seemed to permeate the offices of the G3 section. His majors, and he seemed to have a lot of them, referred to him as El Jefe, Spanish for "the leader." He, in turn, referred to them as his Middle-Aged Mutant Ninja Majors.
The entire section, and how it operated, threatened to cause Cerro to redefine how he viewed staff officers and, in particular, Lieutenant Colonel Scott Dixon. The casual and seemingly relaxed atmosphere that had struck him in the beginning as the sign of a slack organization was, in truth, the outward indication of a well-working machine. It was a machine cast in the image of its creator, Lieutenant Colonel Dixon. Like him, the G3 section always seemed to be in motion, moving forward, in many directions, in a very deliberate and purposeful way. What was most amazing to Cerro was the efficiency of the whole operation. There was little wasted motion. In the month that he had been there, he had heard of only one meeting between the G3 and his majors, and that had lasted less than half an hour. And yet, Dixon seemed to be on top of everything.
Cerro had watched one day as a parade of officers, both G3 officers and officers from other staff sections, went into and out of Dixon's office.
Each officer, with a different subject or problem, had filed into Dixon's office, summarized what he needed from the G3, and, in turn, received guidance or new instructions from Dixon. Without skipping a beat, Dixon had listened, considered, decided what needed to be done, and issued his instructions in terms that even a finance officer could understand.
Cerro had also noticed that Dixon had no patience with people who could not think on their own, were indecisive, or could not keep up with Dixon's physical or intellectual pace. The people in the G3 shop were what someone referred to as high-speed, low-drag majors. Anyone who couldn't hack it, Cerro was told, soon found his way to the door. Though most everyone complained at times about the work load, long hours, and Dixon's treatment of them, they knew they were learning from a master and, when their time came, that they would be rewarded with a choice assignment in a troop unit somewhere in the division.
As he talked with Cerro, Dixon noticed a tall man in a light tan three piece looking over at them. For a moment, he ignored the man's presence and his efforts to attract Dixon's attention. Instead, Dixon continued to listen to Cerro with only an occasional circumspect glance to the tall man in the light tan suit.
Cerro, seeing Dixon's attention distracted by someone behind him, glanced over his shoulder, then at Dixon, who was making no effort at all to acknowledge the presence of the tall man. Instead, with his face locked in an impassive stare, Dixon continued to pay attention to Cerro. Suddenly, Cerro realized that Dixon was intentionally ignoring the man behind them. He was, in his own way, fucking with the guy, making the stranger choose between being rude and breaking in or giving up and walking away. Since Cerro had no idea who the man was, he took his cues from Dixon and continued. Dixon, slowly taking a sip of his beer, watched Cerro's eyes and continued to ignore the stranger. The stranger, for his part, was becoming agitated. Cerro, finally, threw the game by turning to the stranger and ending his conversation with Dixon.
Unable to pretend any longer, Dixon turned to face the stranger. Changing expressions from blank to surprised with well-practiced ease, Dixon acknowledged the man. "Well, Congressman Lewis, how pleasant to see you again. Been here long?"
Lewis shrugged, pretending to ignore Dixon's attempt to rebuff him.
"Not long, Colonel."
Pointing to Cerro, Dixon introduced him. "I'd like you to meet my new acquisition, Captain Harold Cerro, VMI graduate, airborne ranger infantry, and holder of the Distinguished Service Cross, Silver Star, and the Purple Heart."