A Few Good Men (17 page)

Gonzo glanced at his watch. “Our ride should be here. We better go.”

The others were to continue on to the garrison in Germany while John hopped a flight to North Carolina. He hadn’t known what to tell his men, so he said he was taking leave to visit the States. Technically, that wasn’t totally a lie.

The group of men took turns saying goodbye to John as they each did the one-armed, back-slapping man-hug before parting.

“Let me know how you guys are doing. You’ll have to email me until I get a cell phone,” John reminded them.

“Will do, sir. And you call to let us know when you’re getting back in, and we’ll come pick you up,” Gonzo offered.

“Thanks.” What else could John say to that? That he wasn’t sure if or when he was coming back? That his future very possibly lay in the hands of the man in black and the mysterious teams he would be meeting with?

“Safe trip, sir, and give her a big kiss for me.” Morales watched him closely and grinned.

John was shocked into momentary silence and then broke out into a laugh. He swore he felt his face get hot.

Maybe the R and R story wasn’t such a convincing cover after all. It may have hidden the Black OPS training, but it couldn’t fool his tank crew as to his secondary mission, that being to finally meet Maureen.

His men knew him too well. They knew their tank commander would never take leave simply to rest. John had no family left in the States except for a grandmother who only sometimes knew him. In their minds, there was one reason and one reason only he would be flying off to the US—a woman. They were partially right.

Since he didn’t know when or where he’d see these men who had come to mean so much to him again, he threw them a small bone. “I’ll do that, Morales.”

Morales smacked Gonzo’s arm. “Told ya he’s going to see a girl. You owe me ten bucks.”

Gonzo smirked at Morales then tilted his head in John’s direction. “If it means my staff sergeant is going to get himself a little something to keep that smile on his face, I would gladly pay you a hundred, Morales.” Grinning, Gonzo added, “Give her a big something from me too, sir. Doesn’t have to be a kiss.”

John laughed and tried not to picture that image. “You got it.”

He would miss these guys.

Jazzy hugged him again. “Say hi to Summer for me,” he whispered low enough so the others couldn’t hear.

John smiled. “I will.”

It was kind of nice to have one other person know, as much as he’d resisted that in the beginning.

“We better say goodbye and let you get to your gate.” Jazzy, serious for once, didn’t have a parting joke as he looked sad to be saying goodbye to John.

Jazzy couldn’t know about Commander Miller, but he did know Summer. Perhaps he suspected once John met her in person he’d been requesting a transfer to the States to be near her. Jazzy might be right.

John nodded. “You’re right. I better go.”

The men who had been his constant companions for better or worse over the last year headed off. As they disappeared around the corner, John was completely on his own for the first time in a long time. Even in the midst of the crowded airport, he felt suddenly very alone.

He didn’t have time for self-pity. He had a hell of a buzz from doing that one shot of bourbon on an empty stomach, and his flight would be boarding shortly. John had to find out what gate he would be leaving from. He didn’t even want to imagine what Commander Miller would do to him if he missed this flight.

Finding the gate without incident, John arrived in time to hear the call for pre-boarding. Being in uniform, he was allowed to board the aircraft along with the first group of passengers.

It was a long flight, and compared to military transport, even the coach seats on a commercial flight were luxurious, but he didn’t fall asleep. He only dozed restlessly.

There was far too much on his mind. This training. Maureen. The possibility he’d never see Jazzy and the guys again. Hell, it seemed if there was something to obsess about, John found it. That was in direct violation of his own rule—never worry until there was something to worry about.

The transatlantic flight passed in a surreal blur of dozing and waking moments filled with in-flight movies, airline food and drink services until they finally began to make the ear-popping descent over North Carolina.

By the time John emerged from luggage claim with his duffle, he was exhausted, making it seem even more surreal being on American soil for the first time in nearly two years. John glanced up, looking for a soldier in uniform sent to greet him, or perhaps a man in black with a sign with his name on it. Hell, he didn’t know what to expect.

“Blake. Good to see you.” Commander Miller stepped up and slapped him on the back companionably.

John hid his surprise that the big man had come himself and hadn’t sent an underling to pick him up. He wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. He doubted he was important enough to rate special treatment, so it must be something else. Maybe these teams were so secret the fewer people who knew about them the better.

“Commander Miller. Thank you for picking me up, sir.”

“Not a problem. It was on the way to the training site.”

John raised a brow. Training site. Tonight? After a long flight from Iraq to Germany and then ten hours from Germany to North Carolina, he was about to be whisked immediately off to training. It had to be a test to see what he was made of, to see how he functioned on the fly with no preparation.

Not a problem. Sleep deprivation he could handle. He had been trained by the best in that area—the Iraqi insurgents. Nighttime was their favorite time to play. John could nap for ten minutes and then go for twenty more hours. He wasn’t surprised Miller would try something like this. John’s adrenaline began to pump.
Bring it on.

Miller led the way to the parking lot and his vehicle. No surprise that when the man clicked a key fob, the lights on a plain black van blinked. Miller even drove a black vehicle.

As they walked up to the rear of the long van, John turned to the commander. He held up his duffle. “Sir. I hate to break it to you, but my duffle is filled with nothing but year-old camouflage ACUs and a few tan T-shirts.” Perhaps it was the exhaustion, but John had felt he had to say it.

In fact, after a year in Ramadi they were getting so worn, John should be throwing those uniforms out and getting new ones. He’d look extra shabby next to Miller’s team, but besides that, there wasn’t one piece of black clothing in there.

Miller paused and then broke out laughing. “Don’t worry about it, Blake. Your new uniform is waiting for you at the training site.”

It turned out a whole lot of shit was waiting for John when they finally arrived after a long drive that twisted and turned from the main highway onto roads that John doubted were on any map.

At the training site buried deep in the North Carolina woods, John stood under an outdoor covered pavilion, kind of like the ones picnic areas usually featured. In front of him was a table covered in what apparently was his stuff—at least his to use for however long he was here. State-of-the-art weapons that nearly made him cream in his pants, communications devices, surveillance and GPS equipment worthy of a sci-fi novel.

Then there were the six men dressed in, no surprise, all black. It was called the Black OPS after all, and now John was sure he knew why.

“You going to be okay here?”

John glanced up from the array of mind-boggling items and at Miller. “Uh, yes, sir.”

Miller laughed. “Was that a question or an answer, soldier?”

He resisted the urge to shrug.

“I’m not sure I’m familiar with this particular type of equipment, sir. In the world I come from, we’re happy when our walkie-talkies work.” John might as well have been transported to the starship
Enterprise
and told to take the bridge. That’s how different the stuff set out in front of him was from what he was used to.

“That’s what Coleman’s here for.” Miller thrust a similarly black-clad man in front of him. “Matt here is the team computer god and technology guru. He’ll fix you right up.”

Before John could even respond, Miller was gone and John was left to don his loaner gear under the watchful eye of one of Miller’s mysterious team members.

The man Hank Miller had introduced to him as Matt Coleman, the supposed team computer god, stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Blake.”

“You too.” John shook his hand and then stood there like an idiot waiting to be told what to do since he was totally out of his element here.

Oh well. He’d fail this test, whatever it was, then go see Maureen, then head back to Germany. Why worry about something he couldn’t control? “What now?”

Coleman handed him something that looked like a hearing aid. “Put this in and we’ll test it.”

The device was so small John nearly dropped it, but he managed to slip it into his ear.

Coleman clicked on what looked like a tiny laptop computer then spoke. “Team check in.”

“Bull.” John jumped as a deep voice filled his ear.

“Jack.”

“Jimmy.”

“Williams.”

“BB.”

Every name came through with a distinctly different voice.

“How many did you hear, Blake?”

Shit.
He was supposed to be counting? John did a quick review in his head. “Uh, five names.”

Coleman nodded. “Good. Thanks, guys. We’ll be ready to go in five.”

“Roger that, Matt.” The unidentified disembodied voice filled his ear.

John touched the earpiece with a fingertip, pressing it farther into his ear canal, figuring it was more likely he’d lose it than it get stuck in his ear. Who knew how much the damn thing cost? Then he glanced at Coleman’s ears. “Where’s yours?”

The man was obviously talking to and hearing the team, but John couldn’t see any device. Maybe they had them built into their flak jackets? That would be cool. Save the discomfort of wearing it in your ear.

Matt hesitated, looking reluctant to answer, which only made John want to know even more. Seriously, how secret could it be?

“Okay, Blake, here’s the deal. You’re going to see and use a lot of shit here you’ve never even dreamed existed. And once you leave, that’s where it has to all stay—in your dreams. Got it?”

“Of course.”

“All right. We’ve all had communications devices surgically implanted in our ears, kind of like the cochlear implants the hearing impaired use. Since you don’t have that, you’re using a temporary device for this op.”

John nodded and tried not to look shocked. These guys went in for surgery and got implants just to be on this team? That was some hardcore shit. John wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or terrified. He was feeling a little of both, actually, as well as curious. “Where’s the mic?”

“It’s all in one.” Coleman handed him a black vest. “Better finish suiting up. Team’s waiting.”

He took it and frowned. John thought he’d been impressed with the communicator, but he was even more surprised by the body armor they’d given him to wear. He could barely feel the weight of the thin, light vest.

“This thing is bulletproof?” he asked doubtfully as he fastened it.

Coleman nodded. “Yup. For everything except armor-piercing rounds, but we’re working on that. I got to see the prototype for one that stops anything, but it was bulky and heavy.”

This guy should have worn the armor John had been subjected to daily in Iraq—then he could compare what was or was not bulky and heavy.

Coleman grinned in his direction as he worked on the computer again. “I know what the deal was for you in Iraq. But the reality is, of all of the many things that are most likely to kill us here on the teams, an armor-piercing sniper’s bullet is pretty low on the list.”

That was really encouraging. Not.

Two men walked up to them in the dark. Since they also wore black from head to toe, including facemasks, John wouldn’t have noticed them had they not been arguing the entire way there.

“I’m telling you that guy was asking for it,” one said in a Southern drawl so thick you could cut it with a knife. John immediately thought of Morales and his Texas accent and felt homesick even though he was closer to home here than he would have been in Germany. But then again, home is where the heart is.

“And I’m saying a fellow can’t go ’round punching every man who looks at his girl,” a guy with a twin voice and accent proclaimed.

Without even looking up from whatever he was doing on the laptop, Coleman called out, “Hey, you two Gordons. Stop fighting in front of the new guy.”

They were referring to him as the new guy?

“Don’t mind them, Blake. They’re brothers. They can’t help themselves.” Coleman put the computer back into a pouch at his side and indicated the slightly broader brother of the two. “So this is Jimmy Gordon. He’s heading up tonight’s training.”

“Good to meet you.” Jimmy extended an arm and shook John’s hand. “And you’ll have to excuse us. A little family disagreement about what our little brother back home should or should not be doing while we’re not there to keep his ass in line. This here’s my brother Jack.”