exactly right, no matter
what. The only real difference now was that Ellison had the final word instead
of the colonel, but that didn’t matter either. The men already knew that
Ellison spoke for the colonel whether the old man was there or not, and Ellison
could always count on McCann’s support—at least in front of the men.
Was
it doubt then? Ellison almost laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he
doubted himself or his abilities. No, Ellison knew he was born to lead. He was
always the first one to understand a situation, to know the reasons behind it
and see the consequences moving forward. He could make the tough call and never
flinch—never second-guess himself.
As
for the pressure, if truth be told, Ellison enjoyed it. That feeling of urgency
and importance, just enough to keep him from complacency. Just enough friction
to hone his razor’s edge. Lesser men may have wilted from the pressure and the
stress of leadership, but not Ellison. He was always at his best.
Ellison
knew he would make colonel someday. He didn’t doubt that. He would lead a
regiment of men, maybe a whole battalion, and every day Colonel McCann was gone
was another day of practice. Maybe that was the problem.
These
weren’t his men. Not yet. Not really. They belonged, heart and soul, to
Colonel McCann, and Ellison knew it. They would follow his orders while the
colonel was away, at least any order within reason, but what if he had to ask
them for more? What if his orders required sacrifice? What would they do then?
He
turned and paced back toward the hangar. Certainly there were a handful of
officers he could trust even with the colonel away. Sergeant Mandel was a good
soldier, and someone who would follow orders. Captain Reyes from the command
center had proven himself reliable. But it all took so much effort. For the
colonel it was easy. Loyalty came naturally with the rank.
“Um,
Major—Major Ellison…sir?”
Ellison
looked to the man standing beside him, and tried not to scowl. Everything about
the man appeared grossly out of place. In the cold night air he wore only a
white lab coat, a green flannel shirt, and neatly pressed khaki pants.
Surrounded by soldiers, like tonight, he looked even more squat, soft, and
balding than when he stood in his lab by himself. In short, everything about
the man screamed civilian .
“Do
you know how much longer we’re going to be out here? I mean, do you think we
still have time to get our coats?” Ellison ignored the question.
“Sir?
Major?”
Ellison
turned away without answering. There was, he thought, at least one reason to be
grateful he wasn’t the colonel. The man in the lab coat was Dr. John Langer,
and he was just the tip of the iceberg. As the colonel’s EX-O, Ellison was
responsible for the battalion. That was all. Everyone else at Fort Blaney, all
the civilians, answered directly to McCann.
Dr.
Langer was one of 217 civilian personnel currently residing on base. They were
mostly doctors and researchers, scientists and lab techs. They had all arrived
two weeks after the 5th Battalion redeployed to Fort Blaney, and each one of
them was classified as essential to the mission objectives.
Ellison
had no patience for any of them. They were all so needy. Not like soldiers—his
men could accept their circumstances as part of their job. Soldiers had trained
themselves to exist, even excel, with less. But civilians were different. They
always came with expectations. They thought of Fort Blaney more like a Hyatt
than what it truly was, and that made Colonel McCann their concierge. It was a
headache the major could live without.
*****
Ellison
knocked at the doorframe, but the door was already open. Colonel McCann was
standing behind his desk, still unpacking after their arrival, taking books
from a box and placing them on a shelf.
The
colonel turned and looked when he heard the knock. “Stuart. Come in.”
Ellison
stepped into the room.
“Shut
the door, will
what. The only real difference now was that Ellison had the final word instead
of the colonel, but that didn’t matter either. The men already knew that
Ellison spoke for the colonel whether the old man was there or not, and Ellison
could always count on McCann’s support—at least in front of the men.
Was
it doubt then? Ellison almost laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he
doubted himself or his abilities. No, Ellison knew he was born to lead. He was
always the first one to understand a situation, to know the reasons behind it
and see the consequences moving forward. He could make the tough call and never
flinch—never second-guess himself.
As
for the pressure, if truth be told, Ellison enjoyed it. That feeling of urgency
and importance, just enough to keep him from complacency. Just enough friction
to hone his razor’s edge. Lesser men may have wilted from the pressure and the
stress of leadership, but not Ellison. He was always at his best.
Ellison
knew he would make colonel someday. He didn’t doubt that. He would lead a
regiment of men, maybe a whole battalion, and every day Colonel McCann was gone
was another day of practice. Maybe that was the problem.
These
weren’t his men. Not yet. Not really. They belonged, heart and soul, to
Colonel McCann, and Ellison knew it. They would follow his orders while the
colonel was away, at least any order within reason, but what if he had to ask
them for more? What if his orders required sacrifice? What would they do then?
He
turned and paced back toward the hangar. Certainly there were a handful of
officers he could trust even with the colonel away. Sergeant Mandel was a good
soldier, and someone who would follow orders. Captain Reyes from the command
center had proven himself reliable. But it all took so much effort. For the
colonel it was easy. Loyalty came naturally with the rank.
“Um,
Major—Major Ellison…sir?”
Ellison
looked to the man standing beside him, and tried not to scowl. Everything about
the man appeared grossly out of place. In the cold night air he wore only a
white lab coat, a green flannel shirt, and neatly pressed khaki pants.
Surrounded by soldiers, like tonight, he looked even more squat, soft, and
balding than when he stood in his lab by himself. In short, everything about
the man screamed civilian .
“Do
you know how much longer we’re going to be out here? I mean, do you think we
still have time to get our coats?” Ellison ignored the question.
“Sir?
Major?”
Ellison
turned away without answering. There was, he thought, at least one reason to be
grateful he wasn’t the colonel. The man in the lab coat was Dr. John Langer,
and he was just the tip of the iceberg. As the colonel’s EX-O, Ellison was
responsible for the battalion. That was all. Everyone else at Fort Blaney, all
the civilians, answered directly to McCann.
Dr.
Langer was one of 217 civilian personnel currently residing on base. They were
mostly doctors and researchers, scientists and lab techs. They had all arrived
two weeks after the 5th Battalion redeployed to Fort Blaney, and each one of
them was classified as essential to the mission objectives.
Ellison
had no patience for any of them. They were all so needy. Not like soldiers—his
men could accept their circumstances as part of their job. Soldiers had trained
themselves to exist, even excel, with less. But civilians were different. They
always came with expectations. They thought of Fort Blaney more like a Hyatt
than what it truly was, and that made Colonel McCann their concierge. It was a
headache the major could live without.
*****
Ellison
knocked at the doorframe, but the door was already open. Colonel McCann was
standing behind his desk, still unpacking after their arrival, taking books
from a box and placing them on a shelf.
The
colonel turned and looked when he heard the knock. “Stuart. Come in.”
Ellison
stepped into the room.
“Shut
the door, will
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