Chapter 2

- Daniel-

They were already there when I arrived which was a bit embarrassing since I'd tried to come early specifically to be there before them. There were four in addition to Top and Mike who was hovering around in the background trying to blend into the crowd which in a vet bar wasn't difficult.

"If I'd known I was going to be the last one I'd have made a grand entrance," I quipped reaching down to shake the first hand I could reach.

"Bill Maker, St. Petersburg," said the short, roundish man with the neatly trimmed mustache and dead cold eyes. His body may have been round but he wasn't out of shape and I don't think I'd ever want to meet him in a face-to-face fair fight. I doubted that would ever happen. He was a survivor and survivor's hardly ever fought fair. I know I didn't.

"Colonel, 82^nd Airborne," I replied. "Seven years in Iran, Iraq, Saudi Republic..."

"Eight actually," he said waving to stop me. Then he paused and looked thoughtful. "Or maybe it was seven and it just seemed longer. No, it was eight but that's close enough. Good to finally meet you, Captain." He had the short, clipped tones of a British officer but was American clear to the bone. It wasn't unusual for someone who spent that much time over in the sandbox. I'd met a number of fellow officers who'd adopted their British comrades' mannerisms and speech patters; it was hard not to. Say what you want about the Brits but their officers were professional, competent and as cool under fire as a block of ice; they breed them that way I think. There was a lot to admire in our islander cousins and it had a tendency to rub off. I smiled and he smiled back but there was very little warmth behind it. I moved on to the next one.

"Jim Preston, Tarpon Springs, Marine Forward Expeditionary Forces," he said, his smile was friendly and wasn't forced.

"I think Top mentioned you once or twice," I nodded. "You were in both theaters, weren't you?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "They moved us around a bit. Couldn't find one place bad enough to kill us so they'd try another; almost succeeded once or twice." I could only grunt in agreement.

"Carla Medford, Sarasota," the next said offering her slim, impeccably manicured hand. "US Strategic Air Corp." Even before the war started the Air Force had been split with most of its tactical and logistical wings transferred to the Army or the Navy depending on their intended use. What had been left was mostly the nuclear deterrent arm; the highly mobile strategic stealth missiles and the space-based defense platforms. It was highly unlikely she had ever seen combat in the same manner the rest of us had but I also knew she had been head of one of their security divisions and from what I'd heard they had seen plenty of action against domestic terrorists, infiltrators and idiot peaceniks wanting to eliminate our nuclear protection. Like her hand, she was slim and elegant looking. I knew she had to be in her mid-fifties but she obviously didn't disdain modern cosmetic enhancement; she appeared to be an ageless thirty. She reminded me a little of someone I didn't want to think about.

"Lt. General, I believe. I'm very pleased to meet you." I smiled at her but she gave me little more than a hard, apprising stare.

"Shara Billings, Lakeland," the final one said. Her handshake was firm and no-nonsense. Where General Medford was slim and graceful Billings was squat and mannish. If she had been trying to give the impression of the stereotypical bull dyke, she did a great job.

"A fellow UNer, I believe," I said and she grinned. She had been a Lieutenant in the UN's Special Operations unit. They had been the planners behind the Special Forces. If we were the pointy end of the spear they were the hands pointing us. It's easy for us slope-headed grunting types slogging through the jungle to feel disdain for the REMFs who seemed to do little more than tell us where to go and who to kill since it usually turned out to be the wrong place, the wrong time and the wrong targets.

During the first couple of years of the war that's pretty much exactly how it happened but by the end I have to admit they were doing a pretty damn good job. I'd seen Billings's name on a number of our operational briefings in the last couple of years although I'd never met her in person and have to admit I couldn't think of anything particularly nasty to say about her. Sure there had been a couple of real clusterfucks but during war if anything actually goes right you count it as a blessing; a pooch-screw now and then is just standard operating procedure. Besides, if we didn't get stuck in a good ol' goat-rope now and then we'd probably start believing in all kinds of silly things like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and effective government assistance.

"Hope you don't hold it against me," she said.

"Naw," I answered while sitting down in the one empty chair. "No hard feelings. Although I have to admit there was a time or two if I'd have had one of you SpecOps types out in the field with us ... Well let's just say we might have had a discussion or two as to what the term "minor resistance" really means."

"Are you still whining about that ammo dump?" she chuckled. "What a baby." The dump she was referring to happened to be a big mother-fucking dump and was supposed to be lightly defended by only a platoon of Indents, that's indigenous local militia. What we found was a whole fucking battalion of Vencoms; that's Venezuelan-Communist troops and tough fuckers for sure. The Vencoms were well trained, well equipped, dedicated to their cause and like all Chavezistas willing to die for their supreme leader. It was one of those fur-balls I was talking about and it still gave me nightmares every now and then.

"You got the job done and out of there with all the skin on your ass," she continued. "What more do you want?"

"Fuck you too," I grunted and she sat back in her chair and laughed out loud.

"If you two are finished with your requisite insults and recriminations can we get to the point of this meeting?" Maker asked tapping on the table. "Are we here to talk a little treason?"

"Treason?" I blurted more than a little surprised. "Not that I know of. I mean I didn't ask you here to form a cabal to overthrow the government, if that's what you're asking."

"Pity," he said steepling his fingers in front of him. "I've been thinking lately a little treason might be in order around here. If you've noticed events have been tending a tad toward the chaotic recently." Billings and Preston nodded their agreement while Carla Medford just looked at me as she tapped a long thin cigarette out of a decorative case and lit it.

"Yeah, well, maybe they have," I grunted. "But trying to cure the world's woes isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"What exactly do you have in mind?" Medford asked blowing a cloud of blue, perfumed smoke in my direction.

"Something a little more local," I smiled lighting one of my own Mexican Marlboros and blowing the smoke back at her. She smiled just a little at that. I'd been right; she was testing me, pushing just a bit probably just to see what I would do. Would I blow up, cower or push back? "I'll admit I haven't been paying as much attention to what is going on as I should have. Ignoring it and hoping it would go away and leave me alone, I suppose if you want me to be honest. But unfortunately I can't anymore. A situation arose a couple of months ago that demonstrated clearly to this ostrich that he'd better get his head out of the sand, or out of his ass if you prefer."

"We saw the recording, Captain," Maker interrupted. "Quite a respectable little operation you had there. Nasty bunch, those. I wouldn't have bet a brass penny you would have been able to get the little skirt out alive but you did. Quite respectable." I looked over at Top surprised they had seen the recording. He just looked back at me with that little smile of his that made me want to serve up roast Top for dinner.

"Quite insane is more appropriate," Medford interjected coolly. "If you had been working for me I would have had your balls nailed to the wall of my office for a stunt like that." Involuntarily I squeezed my legs together and just stopped myself from reaching down to make sure the boys were safe. I don't think I was the only one.

"I'm afraid I have to agree with you on that," I said looking at her. "At least about the insane part anyway."

"There were probably a dozen better ways to do it," I admitted as I continued. "But I was a little pressed for time and none of them came to mind right then."

"I told you about these SpecFor guys," Billings smirked. "Crazy doesn't even begin to describe them. You may think they're all insane but that's only by using your own frame of reference. It doesn't apply when you talk about them. It's like wondering why a cat doesn't act like a dog. It doesn't because it's a cat, not a dog."

"You make us sound superhuman or some such shit like that," I snorted.

"Captain, humans don't survive what we sent you into," she responded casually. I was a little taken aback by that but couldn't think of a pithy response so I got on with the business at hand.

"Since you've seen the recording I'll get right on to what we brought you here for," I started. "Now, I'm not against a little bit of smuggling in principle. Done a bit of it myself a time or two so I can't say I'm personally riled up about Juan Carlos or his group even though I wouldn't want them as neighbors or anything like that. For the most part their operation doesn't bother me; the kidnapping shit does and I'm thinking of taking a little harder look at their methods of procuring sex partners for our high and mighties around here. I'm thinking their idea of 'consensual' and mine might not be coming from the same dictionary.

"The fact is if we allow this kidnapping for ransom business to get started here there will be hell to pay getting it out. Now is the time to stop it. As you heard during my little talk with Juan I might have inferred if one was inclined to take it that way, that there was a little bit more of an organization behind me than there really was."

"I'd say that was an understatement, ol' boy," Maker chuckled. "I'd say if their organization found out it was just the seven of you they may believe it worth the effort to remove you."

"Exactly," I nodded. "There aren't just seven of us anymore though. My team has been recruiting a few of the local boys and girls who are of like mind but we're just starting. In a month or two we'll probably have enough signed on so that my slight exaggerations won't have been a complete lie. But that's for just here in the Tampa area; we don't have anything where you live and I wouldn't be surprised to see the same kind of crap popping up there if they think they can get away with it.

"Top has been doing a little research and it looks like the kind of snatch and grabs I'm worried about are beginning to increase all around the Gulf and up the Eastern Seaboard. I'd like to snuff it out altogether but for now I'd be happy with just keeping my own backyard clean."

"So what do you want from us?" Medford asked neutrally.

"Ideas, information, mutual support," I fired back. "I don't even know if it's possible but I'd like to organize the vets around here in a kind of mutual aid society. Look, we all know the local cops don't have the wherewithal to handle these people." Billings and Preston rolled their eyes while Maker and Medford looked at me nonplused. "They've had it too soft for too long now. Even the few vets joining the local cops haven't been able to stiffen the force's backbone up to even jellyfish level. Shit, I wouldn't be surprised if half the force was on the take now with the other half are filling out their applications even as we speak. If someone is going to do it, it's going to have to be us."

"And I suppose you want to lead this ... mutual aid society?" Maker asked.

"Me?" That really did surprise me. What did they think I was trying to do, take over their "territory?" "Not in this lifetime, Colonel. Let me say this very clearly: No. Fucking. Way."

"Then just what are your expectations for this organization?" Maker noticably relaxed. He may have even smiled but I couldn't be absolutely sure; it could have been a trick of the light. "If you aren't to lead then, who will? An army needs a leader, doesn't it?"

"This isn't the army and no offense, General," I nodded towards Medford, "but we don't need or want someone with stars on his or her shoulder bossing us around."