Battalion’s companies and the battery.”
“I concur with Major Hilton, sir,” Rattus offered. “Sure, there are a couple of advantages, coordination-wise, to doing it this way. But those guys are generally pros. They’ll work well with us even if we don’t have that constant flow between the two.”
“Also, sir,” offered the battalion’s adjutant, “we’re short as shit on medics. If we can transfer some of them out of Third, Fourth, and Fifth we could be one hundred percent here, even if most of them wouldn’t be Delta”—Special Forces Medic—“qualified.”
“Sir,” said Rattus, “get me control of them back again and I’ll make them into Deltas. Personally.”
“All right,” von Ahlenfeld agreed. “You think it’s that important; I’ll go to the wall with Stauer over this.”
“Won’t be much going to the wall required, sir,” Rattus replied. “He hides it, but he’s been ambivalent about the arrangement for …well, for a good long time. Guaranteed; he’ll only need a nudge.
“And, sir? I guarantee you you’ll make friends for life out of those battalion commanders, especially Cazz, in Third. As much of a pain in the ass this has been for us, for them it’s been worse.”
“There is a downside, sir,” the adjutant offered. “Reilly, in first battalion, is a thief. Of people. That habitual relationship—or whatever you want to call it—has protected the cadres of the mostly Guyanan companies. Take it away, and he’ll be looting them for personnel in no time.”
Building 16, Camp Fulton, Guyana
“Sir,” announced Sergeant Major George, big, red-headed, and beefy, “there’s a captain here, from Third Battalion, who would like a brief word with you.”
“Ah,” Reilly smiled to match his senior non-com, “that would be Captain Coleman. By all means, send him in, Top.”
“I took the liberty of calling Coleman’s operations- cum -first sergeant, sir,” George said before turning away. “He comes highly recommended.”
“Who’s the first shirt over there, Top?”
“Harrelson. He’s good troops.”
Reilly nodded. If George said that X recommended Y and X was good troops, that was good enough for him. “What about Webster?” he asked.
George shook his head. “Nah. I figured you still might not want Coleman, even with your wife in the family way, and if I ask Webster he’ll tell Cazz and then Coleman’s life will be made living hell for his ‘disloyalty.’”
Reilly waved a finger. “See? I knew there were reasons I kept you on.”
“Besides that, without me, you couldn’t pour piss from a boot with the instructions written on the heel?” George joked.
“Right,” Reilly agreed, smiling, “besides that. Send Coleman in.”
“Well, that settles that,” said Reilly, as he and George watched a deliriously happy Captain Coleman walk—no, float—above the asphalt between the headquarters and his car.
George asked, “Does he know what a fucking hard job it is and how bloody difficult it’s going to be to fill Lana’s shoes?”
“I told him,” Reilly replied. “I’m not sure he really understands, but I told him.”
“What are you going to do with Lana?” the sergeant major asked.
“First things first,” Reilly said. “And first I’ve got to do a little finessing and some horse trading to a) find a slot for Lana she won’t find insulting and b) bribe Cazz to let Coleman go. Unless, of course, Coleman succeeds in what I told him to do and gets Cazz to accept the political benefits of having someone from his battalion in a good position to get support from this battalion. I mean, hell, we’ve got more trucks than the rest combined. That alone would make it worth it.”
“Well …it’s true enough,” George said. “There are a lot of potential benefits to Third Batt if First owes them a favor.”
“You know that,” Reilly answered. “I know that. But Cazz is a jarhead …”
“Hey, hey, sir!” George mock-warned.
“I concur with Major Hilton, sir,” Rattus offered. “Sure, there are a couple of advantages, coordination-wise, to doing it this way. But those guys are generally pros. They’ll work well with us even if we don’t have that constant flow between the two.”
“Also, sir,” offered the battalion’s adjutant, “we’re short as shit on medics. If we can transfer some of them out of Third, Fourth, and Fifth we could be one hundred percent here, even if most of them wouldn’t be Delta”—Special Forces Medic—“qualified.”
“Sir,” said Rattus, “get me control of them back again and I’ll make them into Deltas. Personally.”
“All right,” von Ahlenfeld agreed. “You think it’s that important; I’ll go to the wall with Stauer over this.”
“Won’t be much going to the wall required, sir,” Rattus replied. “He hides it, but he’s been ambivalent about the arrangement for …well, for a good long time. Guaranteed; he’ll only need a nudge.
“And, sir? I guarantee you you’ll make friends for life out of those battalion commanders, especially Cazz, in Third. As much of a pain in the ass this has been for us, for them it’s been worse.”
“There is a downside, sir,” the adjutant offered. “Reilly, in first battalion, is a thief. Of people. That habitual relationship—or whatever you want to call it—has protected the cadres of the mostly Guyanan companies. Take it away, and he’ll be looting them for personnel in no time.”
Building 16, Camp Fulton, Guyana
“Sir,” announced Sergeant Major George, big, red-headed, and beefy, “there’s a captain here, from Third Battalion, who would like a brief word with you.”
“Ah,” Reilly smiled to match his senior non-com, “that would be Captain Coleman. By all means, send him in, Top.”
“I took the liberty of calling Coleman’s operations- cum -first sergeant, sir,” George said before turning away. “He comes highly recommended.”
“Who’s the first shirt over there, Top?”
“Harrelson. He’s good troops.”
Reilly nodded. If George said that X recommended Y and X was good troops, that was good enough for him. “What about Webster?” he asked.
George shook his head. “Nah. I figured you still might not want Coleman, even with your wife in the family way, and if I ask Webster he’ll tell Cazz and then Coleman’s life will be made living hell for his ‘disloyalty.’”
Reilly waved a finger. “See? I knew there were reasons I kept you on.”
“Besides that, without me, you couldn’t pour piss from a boot with the instructions written on the heel?” George joked.
“Right,” Reilly agreed, smiling, “besides that. Send Coleman in.”
“Well, that settles that,” said Reilly, as he and George watched a deliriously happy Captain Coleman walk—no, float—above the asphalt between the headquarters and his car.
George asked, “Does he know what a fucking hard job it is and how bloody difficult it’s going to be to fill Lana’s shoes?”
“I told him,” Reilly replied. “I’m not sure he really understands, but I told him.”
“What are you going to do with Lana?” the sergeant major asked.
“First things first,” Reilly said. “And first I’ve got to do a little finessing and some horse trading to a) find a slot for Lana she won’t find insulting and b) bribe Cazz to let Coleman go. Unless, of course, Coleman succeeds in what I told him to do and gets Cazz to accept the political benefits of having someone from his battalion in a good position to get support from this battalion. I mean, hell, we’ve got more trucks than the rest combined. That alone would make it worth it.”
“Well …it’s true enough,” George said. “There are a lot of potential benefits to Third Batt if First owes them a favor.”
“You know that,” Reilly answered. “I know that. But Cazz is a jarhead …”
“Hey, hey, sir!” George mock-warned.
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