Chain of Command (6 page)

What he needed more than ever was a shred of hope, a clue as to where the next attack would come. It wasn’t like he could close ranks and tell his Marines to seek cover and be at the ready. No, this was a nefarious foe who’d already shown a penchant for surprise.

His mind wandered as he gazed out the window, Marines going about their morning routines as they had for hundreds of years. What would they think if they knew what they were up against?

They passed by a set of pull-ups bars. The sight of a Marine attempting to do a one-armed pull-up reminded him of an old friend, one of his mentors who’d taught a bitter young Marine captain what the Marine Corps should be.

He pulled out his military ID card from his wind-breaker pocket. It was wrapped in a rubber band. Winfield flipped it over and pulled a frayed laminated yellow card out from behind his ID.

The card had a faded note on the front next to the FMF-PAC (Fleet Marine Forces Pacific) Command logo. It said, “Keep that candle high and you’ll always have your troops with you.”

Below the logo was a simple title:
Band of Brothers
. The card’s content had been written long before the popularity of the
Band of Brothers
book or movie. It was penned from a military hospital in 1951 by a wounded Marine second lieutenant who’d just been told his wife had given birth to a healthy baby boy. It had started out as a letter to his newborn son, sort of a “this is how to live your life” thing that a father should pass on to his children, especially his firstborn son.

But the birth wasn’t the only reason the lieutenant wrote it. He’d also been told that he would be forever paralyzed from the waist down, never to walk again. His Marine Corps career was over.

And so he’d written the letter to his son, trying to imagine what life would be like without his beloved Corps, without the ability to walk like a man, like a warrior. Something about the simple act of writing emboldened him; it made him realize that the fight was not yet lost. The thought of seeing his son only heightened his resolve.

He wrote his rules to live by and secretly enlisted the aid of his hospital ward compatriots. The mission was simple: he would walk again.

And walk he did.

Despite the intelligence and prognoses of a dozen doctors, that Marine lieutenant shuffled to the hospital door with a box of cigars in hand, shouted the announcement about the birth of his son down the hallway as he tossed the cigars in the air, and then passed out cold.

When he came to, the lieutenant was surrounded by medical staff demanding to know how he’d done it, how he’d walked despite his seemingly irreparable spinal injuries.

He would go on to win the Silver Star for his exploits in Korea, and would serve thirty-five years in his beloved Corps.

Captain Winfield had met LtGen. C. G. Cooper when he was at a crossroads in his own career. He was bitter about where his tour was headed, and the caliber of Marine officers in general.

Gen. Cooper had seen the pain on his disgruntled face. He’d requested to see Winfield and they’d taken a long walk along the coast of Kaneohe Bay. The general didn’t say much, he mostly listened. He trudged along asking questions, and for some reason, Winfield poured out his guts.

When they finally reached a point overlooking a beautiful slice of the shining Pacific, Gen. Cooper reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellow card. He told Winfield the story about how it came to be, and the solemn promise he’d made to God should he be allowed to walk again. “I told God that I would spend the rest of my life giving our young Marines the kind of leadership they needed and deserved. You’re part of that legacy, Scott.”

Gen. Winfield, now the Commandant of the Marine Corps, wondered what his now-deceased former commander would say if he knew what Winfield was facing. He knew what the Mississippi general would say. He’d tell him to keep his candle lit and live by the words on that tattered card.

Winfield smiled and read it:

BAND OF BROTHERS

1. All Marines are entitled to dignity and respect as individuals, but must abide by common standards established by proper authority.

2. A Marine should never lie, cheat, or steal from a fellow Marine or fail to come to his aid in a time of need.

3. All Marines should contribute 100% of their abilities to the unit’s mission. Any less effort by an individual passes the buck to someone else.

4. A unit, regardless of size, is a disciplined family structure, with similar relationships based on mutual respect among members.

5. It is essential that issues and problems which tend to lessen a unit’s effectiveness be addressed and resolved.

6. A blending of separate cultures, varying educational levels, and different social backgrounds is possible in an unselfish atmosphere of common goals, aspirations, and mutual understanding.

7. Being the best requires common effort, hard work, and teamwork. Nothing worthwhile comes easy.

8. Every Marine deserves job satisfaction, equal consideration and recognition of his accomplishments.

9. Knowing your fellow Marine well enables you to learn to look at things “through his eyes,” as well as your own.

10. Issues detracting from the efficiency and sense of well-being of an individual should be surfaced and weighed against the impact on the unit as a whole.

11. It must be recognized that a brotherhood concept depends on all members “belonging” — being fully accepted by others within.

The Commandant closed his eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks. He knew the coming battle wouldn’t be easy, but he once more had his resolve, and possibly the answer.

Chapter 11

Disney Yacht Club Resort

9:03am, December 6
^th

Cal was just leaving. He’d spent the last two hours trying to help the Ellwood family in any way he could. It turned out that the best thing he could do was entertain the kids as the adults went about their duties. The little girl, Lily, had taken an instant liking to him, saying, “Up, up, Cow,” every time he put her down.

The adults had finished their packing with drawn faces and puffy eyes. More than once Cal felt their stare on the back of his head. He knew the healing would take time, and judging by the tone of Gen. Ellwood’s sons’ voices, they were far from understanding what their father had done.

Cal sat down and waited for the bus that would take him to Downtown Disney. From there he would walk to the Hilton where he and Daniel were staying. They were supposed to be calling the Commandant at noon. He hadn’t heard from Daniel since he’d left earlier that morning, but that wasn’t unusual for the sniper.

The bushes behind the bench rustled. He turned to see what animal was there, but was surprised to find Daniel’s face instead. Cal noticed faint traces of mud along the sniper’s jawline, like he’d tried to clean off his face but missed a few remnants.

“What are you doing back there?”

“We’ve got a problem,” said Daniel. His calm face was a stark contradiction to the comment.

“What happened?” Cal asked, rising to join his friend. He took in the rest of Daniel’s appearance. His jeans were scuffed and wet at the ankles. They moved deeper into the tree line, Daniel not answering the question.

They came upon a man sitting on the ground, his head between his legs. He was rocking slowly and looked up when he heard the two Marines approaching.

Cal scowled. The man looked ten times worse than Daniel. His preppy clothes were soaked through and there were multiple tears on both his paisley shirt and his tailored pants. It took a moment for Cal to recognize the guy. It was that NCIS agent. Cal frowned.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Cal asked.

“They tried to kill us,” blurted Special Agent Barrett, wiping a droplet of blood from the gash on his forehead.

Cal looked at Daniel. “What’s he talking about?”

“My hunch was right,” replied Daniel.

“What hunch?”

Daniel shrugged. “I told you I was going back to take a look at the crime scene.”

“And?”

“I found a sniper’s nest.”

“What? You never said anything to me.”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Cal shook his head, trying to come to grips with what his friend was saying.

“Are you telling me that General Ellwood was shot by a sniper?”

“No way,” interrupted Barrett. “The ballistics all came back positive for a self-inflicted wound.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “I’m not saying that anyone else took the shot.”

Cal exhale almost came out in a huff. “So what are you saying? How do you even know it was a sniper’s nest?”

He knew it was a stupid question as soon as it left his mouth. Daniel wasn’t just any Marine sniper. He was
the
Marine sniper. Cal had never seen or heard of anyone better.

“First, from the faint markings and general settling in the area, I’m eighty percent sure whoever was in that nest was there when General Ellwood pulled the trigger. Second, whoever it was, and it was one man without a spotter, he knew what he was doing.”

“You didn’t say anything to me about that!” said Barrett. “Are you telling me that there’s a sniper running around Orlando?”

Daniel cocked his head, regarding the disheveled NCIS investigator. “Who else did you think was shooting at us?”

Barrett’s mouth dropped open.

“Hold on. You’re telling me that a sniper took the time to infiltrate the area, setup a perch, watch the general shoot himself, and now he’s dumb enough to come back and shoot at you guys?” Cal shook his head. “It doesn’t fit, Daniel. Why would he do that?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe he left something. Maybe he was checking in on the investigation. Who knows.”

Cal tried to imagine what might possess a professional to risk detection by revisiting the location he’d successfully exfiltrated. It didn’t make any sense.

“Okay. Let’s assume it was the same guy. Let’s assume that he’s just dumb enough to snoop around again. Why was he there in the first place? Why didn’t he kill Ellwood himself?”

Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Because he was only there to make sure General Ellwood took his own life.”

+++

The sniper cursed as he watched the smoke from the small fire he’d lit at his former hide. He’d misjudged the Commandant’s emissaries.

If it hadn’t been for that Boy Scout troop who’d literally almost tripped over him the morning of Ellwood’s suicide, he wouldn’t have even considered coming back. He heard them before Ellwood took the shot, and assumed incorrectly that they’d take a more circuitous route, or even run away from the gunfire. Instead they’d found the highest point they could. That spot happened to be right where he was gathering his gear and preparing to leave.

The six Boy Scouts and the parents hadn’t seen him. He was too good for that. But in his rush he hadn’t had time to fully cover his tracks. That had necessitated the return trip. If he hadn’t it would have nagged at his fastidious brain for months.

What he hadn’t counted on was Daniel Briggs making his own visit. The sniper had hoped that Briggs had already had his fill of the scene. Briggs and Stokes were reportedly booked on a three o’clock flight back to Virginia. But once again all his planning was for naught.

Luckily, his rifle was in the trunk of his car. He’d stalked his prey and whomever the companion was. His shot was ready, crosshairs leveled. But at the last moment he’d recognized the other man. It made the sniper hesitate. Killing Briggs and stashing the body was one thing, but getting the NCIS even more involved could mean real trouble, trouble he and his employer didn’t need. His hesitation not only cost him the killing blow, it also complicated the situation. They’d gotten away, somehow disappeared. He didn’t dare chase them down. Not now. It would have been too risky. 

But his employer would understand. He knew the uncertainties of the battlefield and the fog of war whose untimely presence rarely failed to make itself known.

He smiled as he put his car in drive and pulled out onto the dirt access road. If he and his employer could make a Marine three-star general take his own life, it would be easy to take care of Daniel Briggs and Special Agent Barrett.

Chapter 12

The White House

Washington, D.C.

10:49am, December 6
^th

The Christmas decorations adorning every nook in the White House were extravagant as ever. A pile of holly here and an enormous handmade wreath laced with silver and gold threads there. Some days the scent of cinnamon or peppermint wafted in from some hidden location. Today it was the smell of fresh pine needles. It reminded President Zimmer of family holidays in the mountains, something his U.S. Senator father always insisted on, despite whatever crisis gripped Washington.

The White House staff continued to set the bar for contemporary yet tasteful decor. To Zimmer it felt like they’d somehow tailored it to the tastes of their president, even though he hadn’t lifted a finger to help. As he half-listened to a former colleague from the House, he realized that they’d placed little mementos like the painting of a snow-covered wood cabin in the hall, the requisite tail of smoke rising from its chimney into the still sky. It looked remarkably like one he’d stayed in during his teenage years. They’d done that for him, taken his childhood memories and crafted the holiday to his image. He’d have to remember to thank them personally. It touched him that they would go to such extremes.