Hudson’s here.”
“Well, shit. Hide the good Johnny Walker booze.… Just kidding, sir.”
“How the hell are you, Bonanno? Hale? Skully?”
“Sir… we goddamn did it, didn’t we!”
“Yes, we did. So far, anyway.”
“Sir! It’s great to see you. Went just like you said it would.”
“Yeah. The
easy
part went great.”
Chapter 24
THE TWENTY-SIX VETS continued to cheer. Hudson shielded his eyes as he stared around at the dingy room where they’d been plotting together for almost a year and a half.
He scanned the rows of familiar faces, the scraggly, homecut beards, the unfashionably long hairstyles, the drab green khaki jackets of the Vets. He was home. He was home and he was obviously welcome.
He could feel the vibrations of unadulterated warmth that these men felt toward him. And for one brief moment Colonel David Hudson almost lost control.
Hudson finally offered a wry conspiratorial smile. “It’s good to see you all again. Carry on with your party. That’s
an order.”
Hudson ambled on, gripping hands, greeting the rest of the Vets group: Jimmy Cassio, Harold Freedman, Mahoney, Keresty, McMahon, Martinez—men who hadn’t been able to fit back into American society after the war, men he’d recruited for Green Band.
As he walked, Hudson thought about his men; his final combat command; the final mission.
The Vets were antisocial, chronically unemployable; they were dramatic losers by the standard American measurements of success and accomplishments. At least half of them still suffered some form of PTSD, the Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome so common among war veterans.
The men packed into the cabdrivers’ locker room had performed spectacularly. Every one of them had served under Hudson at one time or another. Each was a highly trained technical specialist; each had a totally unique skill, which no one other than Hudson seemed to want or need in civilian society.
Steve “the Horse” Glickman and Pauly “Mr. Blue” Melindez were the finest rifleman-sniper team Hudson had ever commanded.
Michael Doud and Joe Barreiro were experts at ordnance, at assembling and creating complex plastique explosives.
Manning Rubin could have been making a thousand a week for either Ford or GM.
If
his skill at fixing automobiles had been matched by patience, just a little ability to handle bullshit…
Davey Hale had an encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything, including the Stock Market.
Campbell, Bowen, Kamerer and Generalli were high-caliber professional soldiers and mercenaries.
“All right gentlemen. We have to do some homework now,” Hudson finally spoke. “This is the last time we’ll have the chance to review these details and any of our operating schedules. If this sounds like a formal military briefing, that’s because
it damn well is.”
Hudson paused and looked around at the circle of assembled faces. Each was turned toward him with intense concentration.
“Personal anecdote, gentlemen…. At the highly thought of JFK School at Fort Bragg, they repeatedly told us that ‘genius is in the details.’ When the truth of that finally sunk in, it held like nothing I’ve ever learned before or since…
“So I want to go over the final details one last time. Maybe two last times with all of you. Details, gentlemen…”
Vets One had purposely modeled his presentation after the concise and technical Special Forces field briefings. He wanted the men to vividly remember Viet Nam now. He wanted them to remember how they’d acted: with daring and courage, with dedication to the United States.
Hudson could feel his body pulsing and tingling lightly. He spoke to the men without using written notes.
For nearly two and a half hours, Hudson painstakingly reviewed every scenario, every likely and even unlikely change that might occur up to and including the end of the Green Band mission. He used memory aids: reconnaissance topographical maps, mnemonics for memorizing; Army-style
“Well, shit. Hide the good Johnny Walker booze.… Just kidding, sir.”
“How the hell are you, Bonanno? Hale? Skully?”
“Sir… we goddamn did it, didn’t we!”
“Yes, we did. So far, anyway.”
“Sir! It’s great to see you. Went just like you said it would.”
“Yeah. The
easy
part went great.”
Chapter 24
THE TWENTY-SIX VETS continued to cheer. Hudson shielded his eyes as he stared around at the dingy room where they’d been plotting together for almost a year and a half.
He scanned the rows of familiar faces, the scraggly, homecut beards, the unfashionably long hairstyles, the drab green khaki jackets of the Vets. He was home. He was home and he was obviously welcome.
He could feel the vibrations of unadulterated warmth that these men felt toward him. And for one brief moment Colonel David Hudson almost lost control.
Hudson finally offered a wry conspiratorial smile. “It’s good to see you all again. Carry on with your party. That’s
an order.”
Hudson ambled on, gripping hands, greeting the rest of the Vets group: Jimmy Cassio, Harold Freedman, Mahoney, Keresty, McMahon, Martinez—men who hadn’t been able to fit back into American society after the war, men he’d recruited for Green Band.
As he walked, Hudson thought about his men; his final combat command; the final mission.
The Vets were antisocial, chronically unemployable; they were dramatic losers by the standard American measurements of success and accomplishments. At least half of them still suffered some form of PTSD, the Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome so common among war veterans.
The men packed into the cabdrivers’ locker room had performed spectacularly. Every one of them had served under Hudson at one time or another. Each was a highly trained technical specialist; each had a totally unique skill, which no one other than Hudson seemed to want or need in civilian society.
Steve “the Horse” Glickman and Pauly “Mr. Blue” Melindez were the finest rifleman-sniper team Hudson had ever commanded.
Michael Doud and Joe Barreiro were experts at ordnance, at assembling and creating complex plastique explosives.
Manning Rubin could have been making a thousand a week for either Ford or GM.
If
his skill at fixing automobiles had been matched by patience, just a little ability to handle bullshit…
Davey Hale had an encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything, including the Stock Market.
Campbell, Bowen, Kamerer and Generalli were high-caliber professional soldiers and mercenaries.
“All right gentlemen. We have to do some homework now,” Hudson finally spoke. “This is the last time we’ll have the chance to review these details and any of our operating schedules. If this sounds like a formal military briefing, that’s because
it damn well is.”
Hudson paused and looked around at the circle of assembled faces. Each was turned toward him with intense concentration.
“Personal anecdote, gentlemen…. At the highly thought of JFK School at Fort Bragg, they repeatedly told us that ‘genius is in the details.’ When the truth of that finally sunk in, it held like nothing I’ve ever learned before or since…
“So I want to go over the final details one last time. Maybe two last times with all of you. Details, gentlemen…”
Vets One had purposely modeled his presentation after the concise and technical Special Forces field briefings. He wanted the men to vividly remember Viet Nam now. He wanted them to remember how they’d acted: with daring and courage, with dedication to the United States.
Hudson could feel his body pulsing and tingling lightly. He spoke to the men without using written notes.
For nearly two and a half hours, Hudson painstakingly reviewed every scenario, every likely and even unlikely change that might occur up to and including the end of the Green Band mission. He used memory aids: reconnaissance topographical maps, mnemonics for memorizing; Army-style
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