Chapter 5: Preparing to Prepare

Joint Base Myer-Henderson Hall, Virginia 4 miles southwest of the White House

1825 Hours (6:25 PM) EDT (Eastern Daylight Time) Tuesday March 20^th 2018

Soon after Lieutenant Colonel Stanislaus Wojciechowski arrived at his quarters at Henderson Hall, a courier from the White House delivered a package. Stan opened it immediately, anticipating it related to his new duties. It contained copies of orders promoting him to Colonel, and command of Task Force Hidalgo; sets of silver eagles, and black subdued eagles, insignia for his new rank. Also letters of congratulations from Mr. Adams, their boss, Mr. Bolton, the National Security Advisor, and from the POTUS; who also included an invitation to join him for a round of golf at Mar-a-Lago, causing Stanislaus to shake his head.

There was nothing in the package explaining what the mission of Task Force Hidalgo was, or what his responsibilities were. He changed into a set of MCCUUs, sporting his old rank, and headed to the Mess Hall for a late dinner. As soon as he returned to his quarters, he fired up his computer, and inserted the thumb drive he had been given by Mr. Adams. Before he reviewed the personnel files, he noticed a digital copy of his promotion orders, and those appointing him the C.O. of TF Hidalgo; which was merely the designation for the personnel assigned to Operation Barbari ad Portis. Most of the folders were reports about what seemed to be going on in Mexico, some of which he had already seen. He then reviewed the personnel dossiers.

Stan always had a “Go Bag” packed, and prepared for many contingencies. His new orders, while unanticipated, was a circumstance he was prepared for. None-the-less, he verified the contents in his bag, checking a laminated card, and an ap on his phone. To the two sets of MCCUUs, some snivel gear, hygiene kit, six pairs of socks and skivvies, two sets of PT gear, and a couple of books; he added an additional set each of MCCUUs, and PTs, as well as four more pairs of socks.

He went down to the Arms Room and signed for his assigned weapons, then stowed them, as well as his magazines and other accessories in some Pelican cases. On the flight he wouldn’t have any firearms on his person, just a folding combat knife that was part of his EDC (Every Day Carry). Atop his bags and Pelican cases, Stan laid out the uniform he would be wearing in the morning. Prepared, he set his alarm for zero-four-hundred, then hit the rack; he had an early morning flight.

Buckley Air Force Base, Aurora, Colorado

0730 Hours (7:30 AM) MDT (Mountain Daylight Time) Wednesday March 21^st 2018

Colonel Wojciechowski deplaned in a light drizzle, as the senior officer on the flight, he had the privilege of exiting first. He had donned a trench coat over his forest green “Charlies” (traditional undress uniform of the USMC), he had considered wearing a set of woodland camouflage MCCUUs (Marine Corps Combat Utility Uniform), reluctantly he figured that his class C uniform would be less conspicuous. Toting his briefcase and a laptop bag; the rest of his luggage had been stowed and was supposed to be brought to him in the passenger terminal. An Air Force Technical Sergeant led him and the other passengers into the terminal facility.

Upon entering the terminal, he saw a USAF Master Sergeant alternating glances between a tablet, and the passengers, he asked him, “Sergeant, is there somewhere my baggage may be secured, while I arrange ground transportation?”

“Colonel Wojciechowski. Yes Sir. Won’t be a problem,” the Master Sergeant said, pronouncing his name correctly.

He hit the head; having avoided using the cramped toilet during the four-hour flight. Being tall and broad shouldered was an inconvenience on most flights, military or civilian. Admittedly, his seat on the C-37B had been comfortable, due to his rank, he had a seat with plenty of leg room. Having taken care of the call of nature, he washed his hands, then checked his gig line, before collecting his trench coat, briefcase, and laptop bag. On the thumb drive it mentioned necessary ground transportation would be provided. An annex included the bumper and serial numbers of more than two dozen vehicles, including NTVs (Non-Tactical Vehicles), HMMWVs, LMTVs, and HMTVs; but not how to locate them.

As he exited the head, a young, mahogany skinned Marine Corporal, approached him and said, “Sir, your gear is loaded Sir. What is the Colonel’s first destination? Sir.”

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “Excuse me, who are you?”

“Sir. Corporal Thomas. Reporting as ordered. Sir. I am to be your driver, and part of your PSD. Sir.” Corporal Thomas said.

The Colonel scrutinized the Corporal’s crisp MCCUUs, perfectly blocked cap, if he had not been wearing the twenty-first century tan suede boots, he would have undoubtedly have had spit-shined boots in the Old Corps. He also had an M-45A1 CQBP in a shoulder holster. Unlike the Army, Marines do not salute indoors. The young Marine was standing at attention, but not rigidly so; he was not relaxed, but seemed poised to pounce. Colonel Wojciechowski sensed he was a fellow veteran, it was something in his eyes, and his posture. The Corporal knew he was being inspected, yet did not visibly react, then again, Wojciechowski was a mere Colonel, not a Gunny, or a Sergeant Major.

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “You are not listed among the personnel assigned to my command.”

“My orders are dated today at 0700 hours, EDT, so you would have been in the air. ‘Gunny’ McLaughlin called my Gunny at home, ‘cept Mac got promoted. Gunny Barr nabbed me just before PT. He presented my orders, and told me what I needed to do before you arrived.” Corporal Thomas said, pulling a copy of his orders out of his left shoulder pocket, and handing them to the Colonel.

Colonel Wojciechowski opened the folded orders, noting they were from MARSOC and CC’d USSOCOM, then said, “Very well. I will tell you our destination in the vehicle.”

Corporal Thomas led the Colonel to a dark blue Lincoln Navigator, with USAF license plates. Colonel Wojciechowski verified that all of his baggage, especially his Pelican cases were on board. First, they drove to the Green Bean coffee shop on base, where the Colonel purchased coffees for both of them; he had inquired if the Corporal had already eaten breakfast. Since he was required to keep his government issued cellular phones with him, Colonel Wojciechowski decided they might as well use the GPS built into the SUV. Corporal Thomas did not seem surprised that their next destination was Peterson AFB.

Rancho Trinidad, 20km southeast of Cuauhtémoc, Chihuahua state (125km northeast of the Barranca del Cobre)

8:30 AM ZPT (Zona Pacifico) Wednesday March 21^st 2018

While several of the females prepared a hearty breakfast, the Federales and the other females loaded their gear, all the food and water they could fit, as well as blankets, cooking gear, and other things that would be useful, onto the trucks. Even if they reached Chihuahua, it was probable they would face an austere existence; both the refugees, and the Federales. Rico had discovered seven four-wheel ATVs, and four motorcycles, under tarps in one of the barns. It appeared several others had been stored here recently. Segundo Garcia mentioned they were used on cattle drives, and for other chores around the ranch.

Before they departed, Sargento Nunez ensured everyone had used the commodes; porcelain would be a luxury they were not likely to enjoy for some time to come. They had loaded three of the ATVs, and the four motorcycles on a pair of flatbed trailers, along with several fifty-five-gallon drums of gasoline, hand pumps, and a variety of tools. They also took all of the tarps. Standing on the roof of the main house, Sargento Nunez had scanned the area with his binoculars. There was no movement, no humans, no cattle or horses, nor any invaders were in sight.

With Federales on two of the ATVs acting as outriders ahead of the column, and two more as rearguard, they headed out at a slow pace to keep down the dust. They headed to the nearby ejido. When they arrived, they found that the remaining folks were loading up several two-ton trucks used by the community to haul seed, produce, and such; there was also a few rickety cars and pick-up trucks. Barely enough to haul the remaining people, and the bare essentials for survival. No one was remaining behind. Lurid tales from the Rurales, as well as some tracks discovered by Juan Lopez shortly after dawn, convinced even the bravest, and the foolish, it was leave, or die.

As they were departing, a cloud of dust to the south heralded a party of cavalry. After making a brief feint, the mounted men merely shadowed the refugee column for several kilometers. Sargento Nunez agreed with the suggestion by Juan Lopez, that they avoid Federal Route 16, and the major roads. Banditos, as well as official roadblocks would be concentrated on those routes. The invaders seemed to be the lesser evil, at least for now. Even sticking to the backroads, they were able to maintain an average speed of almost thirty kilometers per hour, and soon out distanced the cavalry patrol.

Peterson Air Force Base, (near Colorado Springs), Colorado

1000 Hours (10:00 AM) MDT (Mountain Daylight Time) Wednesday March 21^st 2018

Colonel Wojciechowski rode in the front passenger seat on the drive from Buckley AFB. Before they left the parking lot of the Green Bean coffee shop, he told Corporal Thomas that he could choose the station on the stereo, as long as he kept the volume down. Thomas tuned in a PBS station playing classical music. During the drive Wojciechowski re-reviewed the personnel files on the key individuals that had been assigned to him, before scrutinizing the records of the Air Force personnel he would soon be meeting. He had arrived at Joint Base Andrews early, so that he could use a properly classified printer, and a ream of paper, so that he could read the personnel files, without having to use his computer.

When they got to the Main Gate to Peterson AFB, where all vehicles are subject to a search, there was a delay over the issue of Colonel Wojciechowski’s weapons, when they opened the Pelican cases. He probably should have stored them in an arms room back at Buckley, however, he did not feel comfortable unless he knew, and trusted the armorers. Too often curious individuals would check out new and ‘exotic’ items placed in their charge. Tsking over his unconventional orders and authorizations, a Major finally cleared them.

When they parked at the administrative building where Colonel Wojciechowski was going to conduct the interviews, he asked Corporal Thomas, “Did you pack PT’s in your Go Bag?”

“Sir. Yes sir.”

“Why don’t you find the gym and make up for your missed PT. You can pick me up here at noon.”

“Sir, do you think my pistol will scare the Zoomies?”

“Any Marine is enough to scare most of our Brothers and Sisters in Blue. Stay out of Trouble.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

Just before he exited the vehicle, he asked, “What was your rank before you got your orders this morning?”

“Sir. Lance Corporal. Sir.”

Colonel Wojciechowski smiled discreetly as he exited the vehicle. He was batting a thousand, so far.

Upon entering the building, he was confronted by Major Bradley who said, “Cul-nel Wee-Jo-Hoo-Ski, why in tarnation are you interferin’ with th’ operations of NOR-AD? Why ar’ y’all rustling sum trouble-sum galoots fur the You Knighted States Marines?”

Colonel Wojciechowski stared at the Major, and said, “I had thought officers in NORAD understood OpSec.”

Major Bradley seemed exasperated when he said, “Not only is this Un-con-ventional. Y’all are interferin’ with our diss’plin. Cain’t you get sum comp’tent folks from your Raiders or other very special forces?”

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “Do you have a Terp available?

“Turp?”

“An Interpreter.” Colonel Wojciechowski said.

“What’s the matter don’t you unterstand what Ah’m say’n?” Major Bradley said.

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “You don’t seem to understand plain English. Those personnel are members of My Command. NORAD has been requested to provide a suitable location for me to speak to them. Suitable quarters and chow until their transportation is here. Other than that, you have no need to know. You, I, and every other Soldier, Sailor, Airman, and Marine must follow orders. Am I clear?”

Major Bradley led him down a hallway, around a corner up some stairs, down yet another hall, and to a door, then said. “Loo-ten-ant Wer-shing-ten is inside.”

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “Are the other personnel in adjacent rooms, as requested?”

“Yes sir,” using his chin to point, Major Bradley said, “sergeants Brussels an’ Cooper, are ther’ an’ ther’.”

“You may go.” Colonel Wojciechowski said.

Wojciechowski waited until the Major departed, only then did he open the door, resulting in Lieutenant Washington snapping to attention and saying, “I am ready for duty. Sir.”

“At ease. Resume your seat.” Colonel Wojciechowski said.

Once both were seated, the Lieutenant seemed tense, looking at the ribbons and badges on the Colonel’s uniform; Wojciechowski said. “I have reviewed your personnel file, your previous command rated you highly as a pilot; higher than your record during training would seem to indicate. You also have good ratings for physical fitness. You appear to be working hard to improve yourself tactically, technically, physically, and academically. Compared to most of the other personnel assigned to me, you are relatively inexperienced; not unexpected for a junior officer who is not prior enlisted. Nor, have you served with special operations.”

“So, let me explain some things. Discipline, especially Self Discipline is required. However, some things are more relaxed than you may have experienced in your previous duties. Informality is common. You won’t have as long as I would prefer to observe and learn, before assuming your duties. We should’ve been conducting flights last week. Logistical realities and other matters dictate otherwise. Despite the differences in our ranks, I require that you speak frankly to me. For a bit, you must perform duties above your rank. In a moment, you may ask some questions. But first, I have one, can you pilot a UAV now?” Colonel Wojciechowski said.

“Sir, I could probably pilot an MQ-9, however, I might have some difficulties with some complex maneuvers.” Lieutenant Washington said.

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “Not to be harsh, you are not prepared to perform your assigned duties. However, you will be assigned important duties. Duties you may not be fully prepared to execute. If you have questions, ask them. If you don’t understand, ask, be certain I, or others responsible make clear your responsibilities. Don’t boast, don’t obfuscate, never attempt to deceive me, or others in Our Command. I am not criticizing; I am informing you. For you and I to do our duties, I need you to speak freely with me. Hopefully, you will learn my idiosyncrasies quickly. You would do well to take the advice of the NCOs, especially Master Gunnery Sergeant McLaughlin.”

“Yes Sir!” Lieutenant Washington said.

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “do you Understand what it means to be Read-On to something?”

“Uh, yes sir.” Lieutenant Washington said.

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “You weren’t Read-On to things you have been making inquiries about. Officially, there was not a Classification of what has, and is occurring in Mexico. However, you have been receiving information, through unsecure means, information you should have known you were not cleared to know. Just asking others to provide that information is a violation of the UCMJ. Worse, it was foolish.”

Silence stretched for half a minute before Lieutenant Washington said, “So, what are the consequences?”

Colonel Wojciechowski said, “You have been assigned to my new command. That is a consequence. I doubt that NORAD will provide you a flattering fitness report. Fortunately, NORAD has not been made aware of your unauthorized inquiries. If you were not already told, your TDY assignment is over. Your assignment to my command is a PCS. As soon as your bags are packed, and several other individuals are prepared as well, you will expedite to Buckley, then to your new duty station. How much more physical therapy is required to ensure your arm, and your wrist are back to one hundred percent?”

“At least several more weeks. Perhaps ten sessions. They have been sending me to the clinic at the Air Force Academy; they tell me I am doing well. Ahead of schedule. However, they have hedged on when I could return to duty with my Squadron. It won’t take me more than an hour to pack; however, it will probably take at least ten days to clear all of the requirements to PCS.” Lieutenant Washington said.

Colonel Wojciechowski chuckled, then said, “Neither you, nor too many people at NORAD seem to comprehend. Administratively, your transfer is complete. We could walk out of this building, take my NTV to Buckley, and you would be issued everything you require. You may bring any clothing, personal items, books, even a bicycle or POV. Just bundle your linens, and leave them, and anything else you have signed for in your quarters. I doubt you have an issued firearm in your quarters. If you have any sensitive items, turn them over to the Arms Room, or CQ.”

“NTV?”

“Non-Tactical Vehicle. For instance, the Lincoln Navigator designated for my use.”

“Oh. Well, I will be prepared to depart by noon. Sir.” Lieutenant Washington said.

Colonel Wojciechowski smiled, then said, “You should also take time to eat chow. This is your new issued phone, with instructions, do not use it for unauthorized communications. Several numbers have been pre-loaded for you. Contact the clinic, request they have a copy of your medical file prepared for you to pick up. Also, request they recommend the best clinic in the vicinity of Cannon AFB, near Clovis, New Mexico. That is not Classified; however, it is need to know. Understood.”

“Yes Sir!” Lieutenant Washington exclaimed.

“Carry on.” Colonel Wojciechowski said, then he stood up, and exited the room.

Before the Lieutenant entered the hallway, Colonel Wojciechowski was at the next door, and attempting to open it. It was locked. He cocked his head, checked the door again. Locked. He looked up and down the hall this should be the room containing Eileen Brussels. There was no reason why this room should be locked. Scowling, Colonel Wojciechowski reared back and kicked the door open. Part of the door jamb on the inside splintered away! Lieutenant Washington rushed into the hallway to see what was occurring. From the opposite end of the hallway, an armed Air Force Security Policeman rounded the corner, his hand on his holster.

Colonel Wojciechowski growled, “Airman, take your hand off that pistol, or I will be forced to shove it up Your Ass! Report to your chain of command, inform them that NCIS will be investigating this matter of unlawful detainment ... and, other matters. You may go.

Lieutenant Washington, go attend to your duties, I have this situation well in hand.”

A door down the hall that had been opened, closed; softly.

Colonel Wojciechowski calmly entered the room, and said, “At Ease.”

Staff Sergeant Brussels had scrambled to her feet. Blushing; she started to salute, then stopped mid motion, saying, “I am sorry sir.”

Colonel Wojciechowski smiled and said, “Why? Did You lock the door? Sergeant, please, be at ease. Sit down, I won’t bite, I just want us to have an informal conversation. You may not have been informed that you have been assigned to my new command. You are now a member of a JSOC unit, and are beyond anything NORAD may attempt. Pettiness ... Annoys me. Please excuse my dramatic entry.”