It's about to go all "broke back mountain" up in this bitch.
Edit: Reading this thread is really making me depressed.
Case Study: Revolution
- Thread starter Marauder06
- Start date
It's about to go all "broke back mountain" up in this bitch.
Edit: Reading this thread is really making me depressed.
"HATE!!!" hatehatehatehateHATE
"HATE!!!" hatehatehatehateHATE
Mara, are you upset about something, Sir? You are not quite clear, because you are not using officerese. :-"
Four days now and no update. Sounds par for the course for case studies :-"
LibraryLady
Verified Military
- Joined
- Sep 7, 2006
- Messages
- 5,071
I posted something like four updates in a row... that's like a month's worth of updates, it's not my fault you read them all at once. :-"
Don't worry, it gets better.
And just so everyone understands, this part of the plot is completely made up. I didn't get fired from Group... nobody did, ever, which was actually part of the problem.
Here's the next installment. Double crossthread / life irony points in this one.
/////
“Ugh, why is it so hot in here?” CPT Criss asked rhetorically as he crossed the room to shake hands with CPT Faith.
“These buildings are all condemned,” Faith explained, offering a seat with a wave of his hand.
“You don’t say?” Criss stated sarcastically, looking suspiciously about the room as he sat down.
“Good to see you again, Simon,” Faith said, and he meant it. “What brings you down to this side of the base?”
“Well, a good friend of mine had a major, life-changing experience a while back, and he hasn’t been answering my emails or returning my calls. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like me anymore,” Criss said accusingly.
Faith smiled, a bit chagrinned. “I’m sorry about that. I was going to call you- really- once I got everything set up and the dust settled. Then things started happening… and with The Dud and MAJ Roberts out there, I figured it would be better off if I just left everyone at 2nd Group alone. That way they’re not going to be collateral damage from people gunning for me.”
“Well, that’s fine and all,” Criss countered, “but I’m not *in* 2nd Group anymore.”
“That’s right!” Faith exclaimed, “How’s the 16th SAVE?”
“I wrapped up Green Platoon and I’ll be reporting to my unit next week,” Criss answered proudly.
“Great work,” Faith said, genuinely pleased. “What’s it been like so far?”
“It’s incredible,” Criss said, “I’ve never felt so… part of a unit before. And the fact that the support guys have to go through an assessment, selection, and training program really makes a difference.”
“In what way?” Faith asked.
“Well, to begin with, the mere fact that the 16th has a process weeds out all the turds that just want to sew Velcro on their sleeves and be CBA,” (meaning cool by association) he answered. “Plus, since all of the enablers are actually in Green Platoon with the pilots, we start working with them right away, so we know what they need, and they understand what we can do to support them. Plus, the whole “shared suffering” thing really helps build a sense of camaraderie.”
Faith nodded. This was exactly the kind of thing he was on the verge of creating before he was driven out of 2nd Group.
“So, how have you been spending your time since you left Group?” Criss asked Faith inquisitively.
“Well, I’m getting very good at racquetball, for one thing,” Faith replied.
“Seriously? I thought you hated that game?” Cris said, surprised.
“I used to, but the DCO from 2nd Group kept bugging me to play with him. And since I have nothing but time on my hands now, I play every day during lunch. In fact, I made my way into the Division tournament next week.”
“Good for you!” Criss responded with enthusiasm. Then he noticed all of the paperwork. “What’s all this?” he inquired, waving his hand over a sheaf of papers spread across Faith’s desk.
“Grad school applications,” Faith answered.
“Oh, you’re going to do Advanced Civil Schooling on the Army’s dime? Awesome!” Criss stated.
“Nope.”
“A Fellowship then, the Olmstead… oh I’ve got it, the Downing! I think they only take combat arms guys, but with your background they may make an exception.”
Faith shook his head.
“OK, I give up… wait, you’re not doing the West Point thing, are you?”
“What ‘West Point thing?’” Faith inquired.
“You know, the thing where they hire you to teach at West Point, then they pay for you to go to any school in the country, and you teach there for a couple of years and then go back into the force. I think that would be GREAT for someone like you.”
“No way,” Faith stated emphatically. “First of all, I didn’t even know you could do something like that. Second of all, screw West Point. It’s a colossal waste of taxpayer funds, and all it produces are douchey, pretentious, socially-retarded, backstabbing ringknockers. I would NEVER go there voluntarily. And definitely not to teach. Ever.”
“Douchey, pretentious, socially-retarded, backstabbing ringknockers?” Criss challenged.
“That’s what I said,” Faith replied.
“Didn’t you tell me once that you applied to go there, and got turned down?”
“Yeah,” Faith said, rather defensively.
“Do you know where I went to school?” Criss asked.
“No, but since you’re not a douchey, pretentious ringknocker, I know where you DIDN’T go to school,” Faith answered.
“Fair enough,” Criss said with a smile, “I can tell this West Point thing is something you’re sensitive about, so I’m going to file that away to use against you later. Now, since my powers of deduction have failed me, what project is it that you’re into that has got you elbow-deep into grad school applications?”
“It’s the Echo Tango Sierra program,” Faith told him.
“The Echo Tango… the ETS program? You’re getting out?” Criss stated more than asked.
“Yep, six more months and I’m out.”
“You can’t do that,” Criss told him, “The Army is your life. You LOVE the Army!”
“Yeah, well the Army doesn’t love me.”
“Holy shit, if I would have known I was walking into a pity party, I would have brought you a box of Kleenex instead of this,” Criss said, rolling his eyes and placing a foot-long rectangular box on Faith’s desk.
“What the hell is this?” Faith said more than asked. Criss didn’t reply so Faith opened the box. As soon as he opened it, Faith immediately recognized the medal as the Bronze Star.
“What is this?” Faith repeated. “Is this yours?”
“You really are a complete dumbass sometimes,” Criss chided him, smiling. “This is yours, dummy.”
“For what? I haven’t deployed in over a year.”
“This is for your little vacation in Iraq.”
“That award got downgraded to an ARCOM because USASOC doesn’t give anything more than that out to red-hats.”
“That’s true,” Criss replied, “It originally got downgraded but then the Group Commander pitched a fit to the USASOC commander, and got it un-downgraded.”
“The same Group Commander that shitcanned me and drummed me out of the Group?” Faith asked, confused.
“No. Definitely not. That guy hates your guts. The old Group Commander,” Criss clarified.
“Ah,” Faith said.
“So are you happy now or what?” Criss asked.
“No… I mean yeah, this is kind of a big deal,” Faith said. “But there were lots of other guys who deserved this more than me.”
“There always are,” Criss countered. “Always. But you deserve this too, so wear it for yourself, and all the others who earned it but weren’t awarded it.”
"I don't know man, that whole Soul Plan thing-" Faith began.
"Dude, why are you always bringing up old shit?" Criss interrupted, laughing.
Faith again said nothing. He was clearly moved by the fact that his last Group commander went to bat for him like this. A Bronze Star was, as he stated earlier, a pretty big deal. Especially for a support guy. Most especially for a support guy in 2nd Group.
I posted something like four updates in a row... that's like a month's worth of updates, it's not my fault you read them all at once. :-"
Don't worry, it gets better.
And just so everyone understands, this part of the plot is completely made up. I didn't get fired from Group... nobody did, ever, which was actually part of the problem.
Here's the next installment. Double crossthread / life irony points in this one.
/////
“Ugh, why is it so hot in here?” CPT Criss asked rhetorically as he crossed the room to shake hands with CPT Faith.
“These buildings are all condemned,” Faith explained, offering a seat with a wave of his hand.
“You don’t say?” Criss stated sarcastically, looking suspiciously about the room as he sat down.
“Good to see you again, Simon,” Faith said, and he meant it. “What brings you down to this side of the base?”
“Well, a good friend of mine had a major, life-changing experience a while back, and he hasn’t been answering my emails or returning my calls. I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like me anymore,” Criss said accusingly.
Faith smiled, a bit chagrinned. “I’m sorry about that. I was going to call you- really- once I got everything set up and the dust settled. Then things started happening… and with The Dud and MAJ Roberts out there, I figured it would be better off if I just left everyone at 2nd Group alone. That way they’re not going to be collateral damage from people gunning for me.”
“Well, that’s fine and all,” Criss countered, “but I’m not *in* 2nd Group anymore.”
“That’s right!” Faith exclaimed, “How’s the 16th SAVE?”
“I wrapped up Green Platoon and I’ll be reporting to my unit next week,” Criss answered proudly.
“Great work,” Faith said, genuinely pleased. “What’s it been like so far?”
“It’s incredible,” Criss said, “I’ve never felt so… part of a unit before. And the fact that the support guys have to go through an assessment, selection, and training program really makes a difference.”
“In what way?” Faith asked.
“Well, to begin with, the mere fact that the 16th has a process weeds out all the turds that just want to sew Velcro on their sleeves and be CBA,” (meaning cool by association) he answered. “Plus, since all of the enablers are actually in Green Platoon with the pilots, we start working with them right away, so we know what they need, and they understand what we can do to support them. Plus, the whole “shared suffering” thing really helps build a sense of camaraderie.”
Faith nodded. This was exactly the kind of thing he was on the verge of creating before he was driven out of 2nd Group.
“So, how have you been spending your time since you left Group?” Criss asked Faith inquisitively.
“Well, I’m getting very good at racquetball, for one thing,” Faith replied.
“Seriously? I thought you hated that game?” Cris said, surprised.
“I used to, but the DCO from 2nd Group kept bugging me to play with him. And since I have nothing but time on my hands now, I play every day during lunch. In fact, I made my way into the Division tournament next week.”
“Good for you!” Criss responded with enthusiasm. Then he noticed all of the paperwork. “What’s all this?” he inquired, waving his hand over a sheaf of papers spread across Faith’s desk.
“Grad school applications,” Faith answered.
“Oh, you’re going to do Advanced Civil Schooling on the Army’s dime? Awesome!” Criss stated.
“Nope.”
“A Fellowship then, the Olmstead… oh I’ve got it, the Downing! I think they only take combat arms guys, but with your background they may make an exception.”
Faith shook his head.
“OK, I give up… wait, you’re not doing the West Point thing, are you?”
“What ‘West Point thing?’” Faith inquired.
“You know, the thing where they hire you to teach at West Point, then they pay for you to go to any school in the country, and you teach there for a couple of years and then go back into the force. I think that would be GREAT for someone like you.”
“No way,” Faith stated emphatically. “First of all, I didn’t even know you could do something like that. Second of all, screw West Point. It’s a colossal waste of taxpayer funds, and all it produces are douchey, pretentious, socially-retarded, backstabbing ringknockers. I would NEVER go there voluntarily. And definitely not to teach. Ever.”
“Douchey, pretentious, socially-retarded, backstabbing ringknockers?” Criss challenged.
“That’s what I said,” Faith replied.
“Didn’t you tell me once that you applied to go there, and got turned down?”
“Yeah,” Faith said, rather defensively.
“Do you know where I went to school?” Criss asked.
“No, but since you’re not a douchey, pretentious ringknocker, I know where you DIDN’T go to school,” Faith answered.
“Fair enough,” Criss said with a smile, “I can tell this West Point thing is something you’re sensitive about, so I’m going to file that away to use against you later. Now, since my powers of deduction have failed me, what project is it that you’re into that has got you elbow-deep into grad school applications?”
“It’s the Echo Tango Sierra program,” Faith told him.
“The Echo Tango… the ETS program? You’re getting out?” Criss stated more than asked.
“Yep, six more months and I’m out.”
“You can’t do that,” Criss told him, “The Army is your life. You LOVE the Army!”
“Yeah, well the Army doesn’t love me.”
“Holy shit, if I would have known I was walking into a pity party, I would have brought you a box of Kleenex instead of this,” Criss said, rolling his eyes and placing a foot-long rectangular box on Faith’s desk.
“What the hell is this?” Faith said more than asked. Criss didn’t reply so Faith opened the box. As soon as he opened it, Faith immediately recognized the medal as the Bronze Star.
“What is this?” Faith repeated. “Is this yours?”
“You really are a complete dumbass sometimes,” Criss chided him, smiling. “This is yours, dummy.”
“For what? I haven’t deployed in over a year.”
“This is for your little vacation in Iraq.”
“That award got downgraded to an ARCOM because USASOC doesn’t give anything more than that out to red-hats.”
“That’s true,” Criss replied, “It originally got downgraded but then the Group Commander pitched a fit to the USASOC commander, and got it un-downgraded.”
“The same Group Commander that shitcanned me and drummed me out of the Group?” Faith asked, confused.
“No. Definitely not. That guy hates your guts. The old Group Commander,” Criss clarified.
“Ah,” Faith said.
“So are you happy now or what?” Criss asked.
“No… I mean yeah, this is kind of a big deal,” Faith said. “But there were lots of other guys who deserved this more than me.”
“There always are,” Criss countered. “Always. But you deserve this too, so wear it for yourself, and all the others who earned it but weren’t awarded it.”
"I don't know man, that whole Soul Plan thing-" Faith began.
"Dude, why are you always bringing up old shit?" Criss interrupted, laughing.
Faith again said nothing. He was clearly moved by the fact that his last Group commander went to bat for him like this. A Bronze Star was, as he stated earlier, a pretty big deal. Especially for a support guy. Most especially for a support guy in 2nd Group.
Capt C should get it to the G2 and make him award it while the dud watches.
Hm, that would have made a better story, rubbing it in The Dud's face and him trying to take it out later on Faith.
OK, I'll try to post one update a day, now that school is almost over. No promises, though...
And just for the record, no I don't think West Point grads are douchey, pretentious ringknockers. But it's important to a later plot line / leadership lesson that Faith thinks so right now.
/////
“So which schools are you applying to?” Criss asked, in order to change the subject.
“Alabama, UGA, Vanderbilt, UNC, and Texas A&M,” Faith answered immediately.
“No schools in the North?” Criss inquired.
“UNC is in *North* Carolina,” Faith answered with a smile.
“Dude, you’ve lived in the South your whole life, how about branching out a little?”
“Why would I ever want to do that?” Faith asked in mock horror.
“Maybe to see a little bit more of the world, you hick,” Criss teased.
“I’ve seen plenty of the world,” Faith told him, “and none of it looks as good to me as northern Alabama.”
“OK, fair enough,” Criss conceded. “What are you going to study?”
“I don’t know,” Faith mused, “History, communication, or maybe international relations.”
“Oh!” Criss exclaimed, “If you want to do IR, Yale has a great program!”
“Yale??” Faith said with disgust. “They are one of the most anti-military schools in the whole country. They booted their ROTC units off campus in the 70’s and have been a radical, extreme leftist, military-hating school ever since. Plus they have some of the DUMBEST gun laws in the whole country. If I went to school there, I’d probably get spit on every day and end up fighting hippies on the green every Friday or something. I will NEVER go to a school like Yale.”
Criss smiled at him. “Never is a long time, bro. Don’t limit your options. And listen, I would have paid EXTRA to fight hippies every Friday at Yale when I went there,” he said, his mind wandering back fondly to his college years.
“You went to Yale?” Faith said incredulously.
“Yep. I had to do my ROTC across town at the University of New Haven, but yeah I graduated from and received my commission at Yale University. It’s not so bad.”
Faith looked at him skeptically.
“Seriously! I did my thing, everyone else did theirs, no issues. I wore my uniform every Wednesday and no one ever gave me a hard time about it. No spitting, no getting called ‘baby killer,’ and definitely no fighting hippies. Although,” Criss added, “that would have been fine with me. As it stood, I had to do my fighting on the ice.”
“So you played hockey… for Yale…” Faith began.
“All four years,” Criss assured him.
“The things you learn about people that you think you know,” Faith said. “How am I only finding out about this now?”
“You never asked,” Criss stated matter-of-factly. “You were probably more interested in hearing about all the girls I Simonized,” he added with a sly grin.
Faith let out a sigh. “I still don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to.”
“Of course you do, everybody does. Especially old, boring, married people like you. So, are you going to drop an application in with Yale or what?”
“No,” Faith intoned, emphatically but not rudely.
“Fine, do you want to go to lunch with me, at least?”
“Yes,” Faith responded with equal enthusiasm.
And just for the record, no I don't think West Point grads are douchey, pretentious ringknockers. But it's important to a later plot line / leadership lesson that Faith thinks so right now.
/////
“So which schools are you applying to?” Criss asked, in order to change the subject.
“Alabama, UGA, Vanderbilt, UNC, and Texas A&M,” Faith answered immediately.
“No schools in the North?” Criss inquired.
“UNC is in *North* Carolina,” Faith answered with a smile.
“Dude, you’ve lived in the South your whole life, how about branching out a little?”
“Why would I ever want to do that?” Faith asked in mock horror.
“Maybe to see a little bit more of the world, you hick,” Criss teased.
“I’ve seen plenty of the world,” Faith told him, “and none of it looks as good to me as northern Alabama.”
“OK, fair enough,” Criss conceded. “What are you going to study?”
“I don’t know,” Faith mused, “History, communication, or maybe international relations.”
“Oh!” Criss exclaimed, “If you want to do IR, Yale has a great program!”
“Yale??” Faith said with disgust. “They are one of the most anti-military schools in the whole country. They booted their ROTC units off campus in the 70’s and have been a radical, extreme leftist, military-hating school ever since. Plus they have some of the DUMBEST gun laws in the whole country. If I went to school there, I’d probably get spit on every day and end up fighting hippies on the green every Friday or something. I will NEVER go to a school like Yale.”
Criss smiled at him. “Never is a long time, bro. Don’t limit your options. And listen, I would have paid EXTRA to fight hippies every Friday at Yale when I went there,” he said, his mind wandering back fondly to his college years.
“You went to Yale?” Faith said incredulously.
“Yep. I had to do my ROTC across town at the University of New Haven, but yeah I graduated from and received my commission at Yale University. It’s not so bad.”
Faith looked at him skeptically.
“Seriously! I did my thing, everyone else did theirs, no issues. I wore my uniform every Wednesday and no one ever gave me a hard time about it. No spitting, no getting called ‘baby killer,’ and definitely no fighting hippies. Although,” Criss added, “that would have been fine with me. As it stood, I had to do my fighting on the ice.”
“So you played hockey… for Yale…” Faith began.
“All four years,” Criss assured him.
“The things you learn about people that you think you know,” Faith said. “How am I only finding out about this now?”
“You never asked,” Criss stated matter-of-factly. “You were probably more interested in hearing about all the girls I Simonized,” he added with a sly grin.
Faith let out a sigh. “I still don’t know what that means, and I don’t want to.”
“Of course you do, everybody does. Especially old, boring, married people like you. So, are you going to drop an application in with Yale or what?”
“No,” Faith intoned, emphatically but not rudely.
“Fine, do you want to go to lunch with me, at least?”
“Yes,” Faith responded with equal enthusiasm.
Dame
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Hey Mara... is the Soul Plan what made the Soul Plane happen?
Friggin Yalies... not worth a damn...
Friggin Yalies... not worth a damn...
Oh God, Faith, don't do IR, nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
- Joined
- Oct 24, 2006
- Messages
- 2,766
Same here. I've been looking at doing IR or area studies for a while.
- Joined
- Oct 24, 2006
- Messages
- 2,766
IR & Security Studies I'm looking at.
Has anyone ever got a job out of that degree? I'm not hearing overly good things about it down this neck of the planet.
If you're not already employed with the government and doing it as postgrad and it's not coupled with a language or something more useful down here it can be a bit of a useless thing. I'm not sure about in other countries. I do know a girl who got an MFAT job right out of uni with an Hons degree in it but I suspect she would be the straight A, A+, above that if it were possible type. I met another girl with had a MA in it, couldn't find a job for years. So yeah, useful if you're already with the government and want to move up within/outside the organisation (to within government). I'm a bit cynical about the subject and its usefulness to me but I think I've just been taught badly and I expected more from the subject than I got- I expected more of a Security Studies type focus.
Worked for me. 
Lunch, Faith had to admit, was a blast. He should have expected it, but Criss pulled a bit of a bait-and-switch on Faith. Criss asked Faith if he wanted to go eat lunch at the Stab ‘n’ Jab, but Faith countered that 1) it was all the way on the other side of post, and 2) it was likely to be full of people from 2nd Group, which Faith didn’t really care to see right now.
“OK, how about the Helter-Skelter?” Criss offered. This was the nickname of McHelter’s Lodge, the gun range/restaurant/recreation area complex where Chief Michaels’ retirement was held.
“Wow, I haven’t been out there since Michaels retired!” Faith exclaimed. “Plus, today’s Schnitzel Day… let’s roll!”
When the two arrived at McHelter’s, Criss led the way back to one of the private banquet rooms instead of the main dining area. Faith thought this was a bit odd… but whatever, Criss was kind of an odd guy. Criss sped up a bit, separating himself from Faith. He opened the door to the private room and let it shut behind him, before Faith could reach it. “Simon must be pretty hungry…” Faith mused to himself.
Faith opened the door and entered the private room. When the door shut behind him, the room was completely dark. “Simon, what the fuck?” Faith called out, blind in the darkness.
“SURPRISE!!” came an enthusiastic yell from several voices inside the darkened and previously eerily quiet room. When the lights flicked back on, Faith was standing just inside the room, slightly crouched, with eyes wide and his hand near his hip, reaching for a sidearm which, of course, was not there. As soon as he realized what was happening, Faith’s face broke into a wide grin. The room was filled with former friends from 2nd Group, including Chief Rollins, Sergeant Major Reynolds, and CW5 (ret.) Michaels. Faith’s wife, Linda, was there as well. She was standing closest to Faith and was the first to speak to him after the surprise wore off.
“What were you reaching for?” she asked him, gesturing to the hand that was still poised near Faith’s hip. “Were you about to text somebody to death?” she teased.
“You about shit your pants, didn’t you sir?” a familiar voice asked.
“Yes, actually,” Faith said, breaking into a broad smile and shaking hands with SFC Rico.
There were perhaps two dozen people in the room; coworkers, friends, and former subordinates from 2nd Group. Faith had been taken by complete surprise. Normally he hated surprises; this was clearly an exception.
“What’s all this, then?” Faith asked out loud to no one in particular as he was led to the head of the table.
“Well, sir,” Chief Rollins explained, “you kind of left Group in a hurry, and you never got a proper farewell. And since you never return anyone’s phone calls anymore, we figured that the only way to get you to come to this was to execute a HUMINT-centric deception plan.”
“But, how did you know I’d pick McHelter’s? What if I would have said… Burger King?” Faith asked as he was seated.
“You wouldn’t have,” Criss assured him, helping Faith’s wife to a seat beside him.
“I could have,” Faith countered.
“You didn’t,” Criss reminded him.
“Ok, so what now?” Faith inquired.
“First, we drink. Next, we eat. Then, we roast you and send you off properly. After, your wife drives you home, because you are going to be too drunk to do anything meaningful after we are done here tonight,” Criss informed him, ticking off his fingers as he talked.
“Sounds like you have this pretty well planned out,” Faith said.
“Yep!” said Sergeant Major Reynolds as he set a pitcher of beer and a glass mug in front of Faith.
“OK, how about the Helter-Skelter?” Criss offered. This was the nickname of McHelter’s Lodge, the gun range/restaurant/recreation area complex where Chief Michaels’ retirement was held.
“Wow, I haven’t been out there since Michaels retired!” Faith exclaimed. “Plus, today’s Schnitzel Day… let’s roll!”
When the two arrived at McHelter’s, Criss led the way back to one of the private banquet rooms instead of the main dining area. Faith thought this was a bit odd… but whatever, Criss was kind of an odd guy. Criss sped up a bit, separating himself from Faith. He opened the door to the private room and let it shut behind him, before Faith could reach it. “Simon must be pretty hungry…” Faith mused to himself.
Faith opened the door and entered the private room. When the door shut behind him, the room was completely dark. “Simon, what the fuck?” Faith called out, blind in the darkness.
“SURPRISE!!” came an enthusiastic yell from several voices inside the darkened and previously eerily quiet room. When the lights flicked back on, Faith was standing just inside the room, slightly crouched, with eyes wide and his hand near his hip, reaching for a sidearm which, of course, was not there. As soon as he realized what was happening, Faith’s face broke into a wide grin. The room was filled with former friends from 2nd Group, including Chief Rollins, Sergeant Major Reynolds, and CW5 (ret.) Michaels. Faith’s wife, Linda, was there as well. She was standing closest to Faith and was the first to speak to him after the surprise wore off.
“What were you reaching for?” she asked him, gesturing to the hand that was still poised near Faith’s hip. “Were you about to text somebody to death?” she teased.
“You about shit your pants, didn’t you sir?” a familiar voice asked.
“Yes, actually,” Faith said, breaking into a broad smile and shaking hands with SFC Rico.
There were perhaps two dozen people in the room; coworkers, friends, and former subordinates from 2nd Group. Faith had been taken by complete surprise. Normally he hated surprises; this was clearly an exception.
“What’s all this, then?” Faith asked out loud to no one in particular as he was led to the head of the table.
“Well, sir,” Chief Rollins explained, “you kind of left Group in a hurry, and you never got a proper farewell. And since you never return anyone’s phone calls anymore, we figured that the only way to get you to come to this was to execute a HUMINT-centric deception plan.”
“But, how did you know I’d pick McHelter’s? What if I would have said… Burger King?” Faith asked as he was seated.
“You wouldn’t have,” Criss assured him, helping Faith’s wife to a seat beside him.
“I could have,” Faith countered.
“You didn’t,” Criss reminded him.
“Ok, so what now?” Faith inquired.
“First, we drink. Next, we eat. Then, we roast you and send you off properly. After, your wife drives you home, because you are going to be too drunk to do anything meaningful after we are done here tonight,” Criss informed him, ticking off his fingers as he talked.
“Sounds like you have this pretty well planned out,” Faith said.
“Yep!” said Sergeant Major Reynolds as he set a pitcher of beer and a glass mug in front of Faith.
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