Bump.
Furiously writing a final paper, more on this story later.
Case Study: Sun Tzu, III/31
- Thread starter Marauder06
- Start date
Furiously writing a final paper, more on this story later.
Roger !
OK, so Faith became a towed jumper and has been retrieved inside the aircraft. If you were to advise either Faith or the Air Mission Commander, what would you tell him/them?
Don't let it happen again.
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I would pretend to be a mean, grizzled old NCO and yell at Faith to follow instructions the first time!
Seriously though, I want to say that falls under "shit happens" and he should be allowed a re-jump, either with the next chalk or at the end of the day (assuming they are getting at least 3 jumps) if there is a small group of "guest jumpers" (I forgot the actual term for those looking to keep their jumps up to date).
Seriously though, I want to say that falls under "shit happens" and he should be allowed a re-jump, either with the next chalk or at the end of the day (assuming they are getting at least 3 jumps) if there is a small group of "guest jumpers" (I forgot the actual term for those looking to keep their jumps up to date).
Put him out asap, don't give him a chance to terminate.
New Chute, same f'ing day.
Shit happens, You did things wrong, Things just went wrong... Now, do it right.
Exactly the same thing that happened to a dude that had a total malfunction.
Shit happens, You did things wrong, Things just went wrong... Now, do it right.
Exactly the same thing that happened to a dude that had a total malfunction.
Dear Santa: All I want for Christmas is a fitting end to this story
LibraryLady
Verified Military
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No one said anything to him as the plane descended rapidly to the dirt strip on the drop zone. No one had to; Faith knew he screwed up. Badly. In front of his commander, the Group staff, the SF guys from ODA 225, and worst of all, in front of his troops in the MID. He idly hoped that the rest of the jump wasn’t going to get cancelled because of his screwup.
An FLA (field litter ambulance) met the Casa and it lurched to a halt and shut down its propellers. A medic directed Faith into the rear compartment of the FLA and did a quick physical inspection. Faith assured him that he felt fine, but the medic insisted that Faith remove his shirt in order to inspect where the harness may have broken his bones or abraded his flesh.
“Looks like the diagonal backstraps got you a little,” he said. Faith couldn’t see his back, of course, but he could feel it enough to take the medic at his word. “What about down there?” the medic inquired, indicating Faith’s crotch area. Before he dropped his trousers, Faith knew that it was going to be bad. He could feel the chafing already. Glad he chose to wear underwear today, Faith lowered his pants down to his knees.
The medic let out a low whistle. “Yep, you’re going to feel that in the morning,” he said, grinning consolingly. “Here,” he said, passing Faith a small bottle of ointment. “Might want to put a little of this on now, and every four hours until it heals. Otherwise the scabs will heal against the inside of your pants if you sit down for a long time, and you’ll rip them open every time you get undressed.” That sounded sufficiently unpleasant enough for Faith to accept the bottle. As he hitched up his pants, the back door to the FLA opened and the DCO’s face appeared. His eyes lingered on the marks left on Faith’s back, and then darted over to the medic.
“How is he, doc?” he asked.
“He’ll be sore in the morning, but no permanent damage sir,” the other man replied.
“How do you feel?” he said to Faith.
“More embarrassed than hurt,” Faith answered. Plus, I lost my favorite knife, he thought to himself.
The DCO grinned. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Get your shirt on and come with me.”
Faith did as he was told and followed the DCO back to a knot of Soldiers who had gathered at the rear of the Casa. With the engines off and the propellers still, Faith could clearly hear what was being said. Apparently there was some kind of disagreement between the air crew and the jumpmasters over what happened and who was to blame. Eventually, J.D. noticed Faith and asked him to come up onto the ramp and describe what happened. Even though he described exactly what he thought happened, his description differed from that of both the jumpmasters and the Casa’s crew chief. It was interesting that so many people could see the same thing happen, yet have different versions when recounting it.
Eventually, a consensus determined that turbulence caused the mishap, and that no one was to blame. Faith breathed a silent sigh of relief, happy that he dodged yet another bullet.
“OK, let’s get this show back on the road. The DZ is cleared hot to continue airborne operations. Let’s get the second stick of Chalk One and the first stick of Chalk Two loaded up,” J.D. called out. Turning to Faith he asked, “So what about you, sir?”
Faith was unsure what he was asking. “What about me, what?” he inquired.
“Do you want to try to jump again?” He asked. You can go up again now if you want, or you can give it a pass today.”
Faith hadn’t considered that, he had assumed that he’d be sent home. Faith said nothing. He definitely did NOT want to go back up in that plane again after what had just happened.
“Well,” he answered reluctantly, “I’m a pay hurt, I guess I better get back up there.”
J.D. laughed out loud. “You exited the airplane sir, that counts as a jump. You’re good for pay purposes.”
That was true, but was he “good” for other purposes as well?
J.D. put his hand on Faith’s forearm. “You don’t have to do this, sir,” he said.
Faith let out a deep breath and turned his head to the side while he mulled over what to do. He saw MSG Marion and the cherry jumpers from the MID. The jumpers wore concerned expressions. One of them looked downright ashen.
“Yes I do,” responded. He had to do it, to show everyone, including himself, that he was not afraid, that it was safe to jump. He had to set the example. “This is what we do,” he repeated to himself. Then, clearing his voice, he shouted, “Master Sergeant Marion, have one of those cherries bring me another ‘chute!” MSG Marion’s face broke into a smile and he sent one of the MID cherry jumpers over to get another main parachute.
“Good man,” said J.D., pleased that Faith had made the right decision and not taken the easy way out. Faith noticed the DCO looking at him and nodding ever so slightly.
In what seemed on a matter of minutes later, Faith was back on the DZ, having managed to exit the Casa for the second time today, and this time without becoming a towed jumper. The ground still hurt just as much as he remembered it. Faith struggled out of his harness before placing it inside his aviator’s kit bag. As he walked to the apex of the parachute’s canopy to begin the process of rolling up the ‘chute, the enormity of everything that had happened hit him. His knees began shaking, and he suddenly bent over, vomiting repeatedly. He was dimly aware of other jumpers making their way back to the turn-in point as he plopped down on his butt and pulled out his canteen.
Physically and emotionally, he felt terrible. His back and inner thighs were beginning to ache something awful, and suddenly he had a massive headache. The sun and heat weren’t helping, either. After a few minutes he felt good enough to stand, and he noticed that someone had rolled and packed his ‘chute for him. Specialist Brown, one of the cherry jumpers from the MID, had jumped on the pass after Faith’s, and had enough time to pack his own ‘chute and Faith’s while Faith was recovering. That was a long time. Faith idly wondered if he had passed out briefly sometime in there.
“You all right, sir?” Brown asked.
“I’m fine, just a little dehydrated,” Faith responded as he gathered up his air items and his rucksack. Brown tossed his own kit back over his back, with the reserve hooked to the handles and under his neck in the front. Then he picked up Faith’s kit bag, containing his parachute.
“I’ll hump my own ‘chute back in, thanks Brown.” A few minutes later, he wished he hadn’t said it. The movement of his pants as he walked, combined with the sweat he was building up, made the chafing between his thighs extremely painful. But he gutted it out and made it back to the turn-in point. He noticed a group of MID Soldiers gathering around him as he turned in his ‘chute. They were smiling, in Faith’s estimation, somewhat suspiciously.
On cue, they shouted, “TJ!” They looked very pleased with themselves. Faith, surprised, gave them a perplexed look. “It’s your new nickname, sir!” Degraes exclaimed. Faith thought for a moment.
“TJ- as in ‘towed jumper?’” he said out loud.
“Well, it was either that or ‘Scotty Two-‘Chutes,” said MSG Marion, walking up and extending his hand to Faith. “Welcome to the team, sir.”
“TJ,” Faith said, “I kind of like that.”
An FLA (field litter ambulance) met the Casa and it lurched to a halt and shut down its propellers. A medic directed Faith into the rear compartment of the FLA and did a quick physical inspection. Faith assured him that he felt fine, but the medic insisted that Faith remove his shirt in order to inspect where the harness may have broken his bones or abraded his flesh.
“Looks like the diagonal backstraps got you a little,” he said. Faith couldn’t see his back, of course, but he could feel it enough to take the medic at his word. “What about down there?” the medic inquired, indicating Faith’s crotch area. Before he dropped his trousers, Faith knew that it was going to be bad. He could feel the chafing already. Glad he chose to wear underwear today, Faith lowered his pants down to his knees.
The medic let out a low whistle. “Yep, you’re going to feel that in the morning,” he said, grinning consolingly. “Here,” he said, passing Faith a small bottle of ointment. “Might want to put a little of this on now, and every four hours until it heals. Otherwise the scabs will heal against the inside of your pants if you sit down for a long time, and you’ll rip them open every time you get undressed.” That sounded sufficiently unpleasant enough for Faith to accept the bottle. As he hitched up his pants, the back door to the FLA opened and the DCO’s face appeared. His eyes lingered on the marks left on Faith’s back, and then darted over to the medic.
“How is he, doc?” he asked.
“He’ll be sore in the morning, but no permanent damage sir,” the other man replied.
“How do you feel?” he said to Faith.
“More embarrassed than hurt,” Faith answered. Plus, I lost my favorite knife, he thought to himself.
The DCO grinned. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Get your shirt on and come with me.”
Faith did as he was told and followed the DCO back to a knot of Soldiers who had gathered at the rear of the Casa. With the engines off and the propellers still, Faith could clearly hear what was being said. Apparently there was some kind of disagreement between the air crew and the jumpmasters over what happened and who was to blame. Eventually, J.D. noticed Faith and asked him to come up onto the ramp and describe what happened. Even though he described exactly what he thought happened, his description differed from that of both the jumpmasters and the Casa’s crew chief. It was interesting that so many people could see the same thing happen, yet have different versions when recounting it.
Eventually, a consensus determined that turbulence caused the mishap, and that no one was to blame. Faith breathed a silent sigh of relief, happy that he dodged yet another bullet.
“OK, let’s get this show back on the road. The DZ is cleared hot to continue airborne operations. Let’s get the second stick of Chalk One and the first stick of Chalk Two loaded up,” J.D. called out. Turning to Faith he asked, “So what about you, sir?”
Faith was unsure what he was asking. “What about me, what?” he inquired.
“Do you want to try to jump again?” He asked. You can go up again now if you want, or you can give it a pass today.”
Faith hadn’t considered that, he had assumed that he’d be sent home. Faith said nothing. He definitely did NOT want to go back up in that plane again after what had just happened.
“Well,” he answered reluctantly, “I’m a pay hurt, I guess I better get back up there.”
J.D. laughed out loud. “You exited the airplane sir, that counts as a jump. You’re good for pay purposes.”
That was true, but was he “good” for other purposes as well?
J.D. put his hand on Faith’s forearm. “You don’t have to do this, sir,” he said.
Faith let out a deep breath and turned his head to the side while he mulled over what to do. He saw MSG Marion and the cherry jumpers from the MID. The jumpers wore concerned expressions. One of them looked downright ashen.
“Yes I do,” responded. He had to do it, to show everyone, including himself, that he was not afraid, that it was safe to jump. He had to set the example. “This is what we do,” he repeated to himself. Then, clearing his voice, he shouted, “Master Sergeant Marion, have one of those cherries bring me another ‘chute!” MSG Marion’s face broke into a smile and he sent one of the MID cherry jumpers over to get another main parachute.
“Good man,” said J.D., pleased that Faith had made the right decision and not taken the easy way out. Faith noticed the DCO looking at him and nodding ever so slightly.
In what seemed on a matter of minutes later, Faith was back on the DZ, having managed to exit the Casa for the second time today, and this time without becoming a towed jumper. The ground still hurt just as much as he remembered it. Faith struggled out of his harness before placing it inside his aviator’s kit bag. As he walked to the apex of the parachute’s canopy to begin the process of rolling up the ‘chute, the enormity of everything that had happened hit him. His knees began shaking, and he suddenly bent over, vomiting repeatedly. He was dimly aware of other jumpers making their way back to the turn-in point as he plopped down on his butt and pulled out his canteen.
Physically and emotionally, he felt terrible. His back and inner thighs were beginning to ache something awful, and suddenly he had a massive headache. The sun and heat weren’t helping, either. After a few minutes he felt good enough to stand, and he noticed that someone had rolled and packed his ‘chute for him. Specialist Brown, one of the cherry jumpers from the MID, had jumped on the pass after Faith’s, and had enough time to pack his own ‘chute and Faith’s while Faith was recovering. That was a long time. Faith idly wondered if he had passed out briefly sometime in there.
“You all right, sir?” Brown asked.
“I’m fine, just a little dehydrated,” Faith responded as he gathered up his air items and his rucksack. Brown tossed his own kit back over his back, with the reserve hooked to the handles and under his neck in the front. Then he picked up Faith’s kit bag, containing his parachute.
“I’ll hump my own ‘chute back in, thanks Brown.” A few minutes later, he wished he hadn’t said it. The movement of his pants as he walked, combined with the sweat he was building up, made the chafing between his thighs extremely painful. But he gutted it out and made it back to the turn-in point. He noticed a group of MID Soldiers gathering around him as he turned in his ‘chute. They were smiling, in Faith’s estimation, somewhat suspiciously.
On cue, they shouted, “TJ!” They looked very pleased with themselves. Faith, surprised, gave them a perplexed look. “It’s your new nickname, sir!” Degraes exclaimed. Faith thought for a moment.
“TJ- as in ‘towed jumper?’” he said out loud.
“Well, it was either that or ‘Scotty Two-‘Chutes,” said MSG Marion, walking up and extending his hand to Faith. “Welcome to the team, sir.”
“TJ,” Faith said, “I kind of like that.”
I have never been a towed jumper, and there has never been a towed jumper on any airborne operation I have been on. Nor have I ever spoken with anyone who claims to have been a towed jumper. But they do happen from time to time. It was always the policy in the units I was in that a towed jumper would be retrieved back inside the aircraft, given another 'chute after the plane landed, and put back out on the next lift. The reasoning was, if you gave a guy too much time to think about it he might chicken out in the future. By getting him back in the air and back under canopy, you get him past that mental hurdle right away so it's not out there lingering.
All of you who have been on a Casa know how low the ceiling is and how cramped the interior compartment can be. With boots and a helmet on, tall people have to duck their heads to get in. This gets pretty uncomfortable after standing up and hooking up to the cable. I used my head as a kind of lever to help keep me stable in the aircraft, since the Casa always seemed to bounce around a lot and I had one hand on my static line and the other over my reserve. I never hit my head jumping out, and honestly I don't see how anyone could, you just walk off the ramp at a 45 degree angle, no drama. However, two different people who were still in the unit when I got there told me that when my dad was in the unit, he hit his head at least once. I asked my dad about it and he says he doesn't remember ever doing that, and I think it is something he'd remember if it had happened.
All of you who have been on a Casa know how low the ceiling is and how cramped the interior compartment can be. With boots and a helmet on, tall people have to duck their heads to get in. This gets pretty uncomfortable after standing up and hooking up to the cable. I used my head as a kind of lever to help keep me stable in the aircraft, since the Casa always seemed to bounce around a lot and I had one hand on my static line and the other over my reserve. I never hit my head jumping out, and honestly I don't see how anyone could, you just walk off the ramp at a 45 degree angle, no drama. However, two different people who were still in the unit when I got there told me that when my dad was in the unit, he hit his head at least once. I asked my dad about it and he says he doesn't remember ever doing that, and I think it is something he'd remember if it had happened.
I remember watching a show on HALO school where one of the instructors burned in. They sent the students back up in short order ( I want to say within a couple hours, but I can't remember for sure) and gave the same line of reasoning. Too much time to think, particularly after losing a guy, was thought to hold the potential for a lot of guys to not want to jump anymore.
Faith was VERY sore the next morning. His shoulders and crotch were abraded only superficially, but it still hurt badly when anything at all touched those areas. He also had sore muscles in his thighs and shoulders, deep inside where he had never felt pain before. He managed to shuffle into the bathroom and get dressed for PT without too much trouble, but driving his stick-shift pickup truck in to work was an exercise in agony.
PT this morning was “The Rounds,” a particularly grueling event in which the MID visited all of the Division’s battalion areas and did a set each of pushups, situps, pull-ups, jumping jacks, and a 30’ rope climb. Doing the side-straddle hop and pull-ups were out of the question, and the thought of trying to climb a rope almost made him sick to his stomach. Faith elected not to participate in “The Rounds,” and no one seemed to begrudge him. They all knew what had happened the day before on the jump.
After the MID took off at a double time towards the nearest of the Division’s battalions, Faith went back to the office. Pushups, situps, pull-ups and running were all pretty much out of the question, so he contented himself with doing curls, which for now was probably the only meaningful exercise he could do in the condition he was currently in. A couple of days from now he would probably be able to gut it out, but right now it wouldn’t be smart to aggravate an existing injury. He needed time to heal.
After a couple of sets of curls, Faith changed into his BDUs and sat down at his desk. There was a message from the DCO instructing him to be in the Group conference room at 0830 for an important meeting. Upon reading this message, Faith was almost glad he couldn’t do PT today, if he had gone on “The Rounds,” he wouldn’t have been back in the office until well after 0900 and would have most likely missed this meeting completely.
Faith arrived in the Group conference room ten minutes early. This was easily his favorite place in the entire Group. The focal point of the room was a giant mahogany table, that someone had painstakingly carved a beautiful rendition of the Special Forces branch insignia inlayed over the 2nd Group flash. Different colored wood stains complemented the carving and represented the colors of the flash. The hallway leading in to this room were covered with memorabilia of 2nd Group’s legacy, and inside the room were framed flags either captured by or presented to the Group over the years. In one corner was a set of mannequins sporting all of the uniforms, weapons, and gear of 2nd Group Soldiers throughout the years. In the opposite corner was a collection of weapons that the Group had captured over the years, ranging from an ornately-worked Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle to a modern and very intimidating-looking DhsK heavy machine gun and two RPGs. Someone once told Faith that the machine gun was confiscated from a Team guy who had brought it home and had it at his house, but Faith didn’t know if this story was true or not.
The DCO was already there, along with a couple of other Soldiers that Faith didn’t recognize. Judging from the patches on their left sleeves, they were from USASOC.
Faith therefore assumed that they were here because of the SCIF inspection. The DCO looked up at Faith and smiled slightly.
“Hey, T.J., come over here a minute I have someone who wants to meet you,” he said loudly. It took Faith a second to realize that the DCO was talking to him. He was going to have to get used to having a nickname. The DCO introduced Faith to two dour-looking, late-middle-aged men who, unsurprisingly, said they knew Faith’s father.
Apparently the DCO had brought them up to speed on what happened at the jump the day before too, Faith endured some good-natured ribbing from the two.
As Faith had expected, the two men were from the Group’s higher headquarters, USASOC, and were here to do a pre-brief for a re-inspection of the SCIF which would be held in 30 days. As the DCO had already told him, the preparation for this re-inspection was Faith’s to lead. The success or failure would be on him.
“This isn’t a free ride,” the DCO informed him, “USASOC is doing this one by the book. Pass or fail, it’s on you.” Faith nodded.
“But unlike those clowns over at Division,” he continued, “this inspection is going to be fair and unbiased.
“That’s all I’m asking for sir,” Faith responded.
The four men quickly worked out the details of the inspection. The two from USASOC provided Faith with a copy of the checklist they would be using. Glancing over it, Faith didn’t see anything unusual or would be particularly hard to prepare for. Most of it was stuff that anyone managing the SCIF should be doing in the first place. There was a lot of record-checking that was going to get checked, though, and Faith was concerned about that. Any organization that would have a full safe outside of its SCIF doors for half a year probably wasn’t doing a lot of other things right, either. There was also a lot of blocks on the checklist related to counterintelligence. No way was he trusting that to Chief Dodger.
“So, TJ, this booger is now on your plate,” the DCO stated as the discussion was winding down. “Anything you need from me?”
“Well, sir, most of this is pretty basic stuff,” Faith replied, “But I’m going to need some help on the CI side of the house. I have a vacancy there right now.”
“I heard,” the DCO replied. He did not seem pleased. “Do you have a solution for that?”
“Maybe,” Faith answered.
“OK, let me know what you need me to do,” the DCO said, standing up. Clearly the meeting was over. As the four were walking out, they ran into The Dud, who was rushing in, out of breath and flustered.
“Sorry I’m late for the meeting sir,” The Dud said breathlessly to the DCO.
“We’re done here,” the DCO informed him, “Captain Faith will fill you in on what you missed and what he’s going to need from you and your shop.” Then he and the two inspectors from USASOC departed, leaving Faith and The Dud face to face.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this meeting?” The Dud demanded once the DCO was safely out of earshot. Faith was taken aback a bit.
“Um, first of all, I didn’t know you were invited,” he replied. “Second, I don’t work for you anymore, so managing your schedule is no longer one of my daily duties.”
“Y-y-you did this on purpose!” The Dud insisted.
Faith gave him an exasperated look. “Look, sir, I’m not sure exactly what your problem is with me, but I assure you I have a LOT more pressing things to work on than finding ways to screw you. Like this re-inspection coming up. What do you say we forget about the past and find a way to work together on this, for the good of the Group?” Faith offered his hand to The Dud.
The Dud looked down at Faith’s hand, and then back up at Faith with a look of pure hatred.
“Th-the inspection,” he hissed. “I hope you f-f-f-f-“
“Fail?” Faith offered helpfully. Now The Dud looked enraged.
“F-f-f-“ he began.
“Fuck you?” Faith finished for him. Red faced, The Dud turned and stormed off.
“I guess that’s a ‘no’ on the whole bury-the-hatchet offer, then,” Faith heard another voice say. Turning around, he saw a familiar-looking man approaching. Dressed in BDUs and wearing a huge smile, the man extended his right hand towards Faith. “Simon Cris, Support Detachment commander,” he said by way of introduction. “I’ll shake your hand even if The Dud won’t.” Cris had an easy manner and an infectious smile. Faith had seen him around but had never really spoken with him before. He wore captains’ bars and the collar insignia of a transportation corps officer. Faith liked him immediately.
“Scott Faith,” Faith replied.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Criss replied, “But I heard you go by a different name now, TJ.”
“You heard about that?” Faith asked.
“Heard about it, I was there. That was pretty bad ass. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Yeah, well I never felt anything like that before,” Faith answered, absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand.
“I imagine not!” Criss exclaimed. So, want to head over to the Stab ‘n’ Jab for lunch in a couple of hours, and you can fill me in on what I missed between you and The Dud?”
“I don’t know what that is, but I’m down for lunch. Want me to meet you in the Group orderly room at noon?” Faith inquired.
“Sure! See you then,” Criss replied happily, then he too walked off.
Faith considered the situation for a moment. It was obvious that things between him and The Dud were not going to improve. Ever. So that was at least one major enemy he was going to have for the foreseeable future. Plus Chief Dodger. Plus probably a half-dozen other malcontents and assclowns he’d have to fire out of the MID before it was all over. But he felt good. He felt optimistic. He felt… accepted. It had been a long time since he felt that way about his job in the Army.
Now, he thought, if he just knew where he could find a motivated, detail-oriented CI type, he might be able to pull off this inspection… He smiled as he went back to his office and make a couple of phone calls.
PT this morning was “The Rounds,” a particularly grueling event in which the MID visited all of the Division’s battalion areas and did a set each of pushups, situps, pull-ups, jumping jacks, and a 30’ rope climb. Doing the side-straddle hop and pull-ups were out of the question, and the thought of trying to climb a rope almost made him sick to his stomach. Faith elected not to participate in “The Rounds,” and no one seemed to begrudge him. They all knew what had happened the day before on the jump.
After the MID took off at a double time towards the nearest of the Division’s battalions, Faith went back to the office. Pushups, situps, pull-ups and running were all pretty much out of the question, so he contented himself with doing curls, which for now was probably the only meaningful exercise he could do in the condition he was currently in. A couple of days from now he would probably be able to gut it out, but right now it wouldn’t be smart to aggravate an existing injury. He needed time to heal.
After a couple of sets of curls, Faith changed into his BDUs and sat down at his desk. There was a message from the DCO instructing him to be in the Group conference room at 0830 for an important meeting. Upon reading this message, Faith was almost glad he couldn’t do PT today, if he had gone on “The Rounds,” he wouldn’t have been back in the office until well after 0900 and would have most likely missed this meeting completely.
Faith arrived in the Group conference room ten minutes early. This was easily his favorite place in the entire Group. The focal point of the room was a giant mahogany table, that someone had painstakingly carved a beautiful rendition of the Special Forces branch insignia inlayed over the 2nd Group flash. Different colored wood stains complemented the carving and represented the colors of the flash. The hallway leading in to this room were covered with memorabilia of 2nd Group’s legacy, and inside the room were framed flags either captured by or presented to the Group over the years. In one corner was a set of mannequins sporting all of the uniforms, weapons, and gear of 2nd Group Soldiers throughout the years. In the opposite corner was a collection of weapons that the Group had captured over the years, ranging from an ornately-worked Lee-Enfield bolt-action rifle to a modern and very intimidating-looking DhsK heavy machine gun and two RPGs. Someone once told Faith that the machine gun was confiscated from a Team guy who had brought it home and had it at his house, but Faith didn’t know if this story was true or not.
The DCO was already there, along with a couple of other Soldiers that Faith didn’t recognize. Judging from the patches on their left sleeves, they were from USASOC.
Faith therefore assumed that they were here because of the SCIF inspection. The DCO looked up at Faith and smiled slightly.
“Hey, T.J., come over here a minute I have someone who wants to meet you,” he said loudly. It took Faith a second to realize that the DCO was talking to him. He was going to have to get used to having a nickname. The DCO introduced Faith to two dour-looking, late-middle-aged men who, unsurprisingly, said they knew Faith’s father.
Apparently the DCO had brought them up to speed on what happened at the jump the day before too, Faith endured some good-natured ribbing from the two.
As Faith had expected, the two men were from the Group’s higher headquarters, USASOC, and were here to do a pre-brief for a re-inspection of the SCIF which would be held in 30 days. As the DCO had already told him, the preparation for this re-inspection was Faith’s to lead. The success or failure would be on him.
“This isn’t a free ride,” the DCO informed him, “USASOC is doing this one by the book. Pass or fail, it’s on you.” Faith nodded.
“But unlike those clowns over at Division,” he continued, “this inspection is going to be fair and unbiased.
“That’s all I’m asking for sir,” Faith responded.
The four men quickly worked out the details of the inspection. The two from USASOC provided Faith with a copy of the checklist they would be using. Glancing over it, Faith didn’t see anything unusual or would be particularly hard to prepare for. Most of it was stuff that anyone managing the SCIF should be doing in the first place. There was a lot of record-checking that was going to get checked, though, and Faith was concerned about that. Any organization that would have a full safe outside of its SCIF doors for half a year probably wasn’t doing a lot of other things right, either. There was also a lot of blocks on the checklist related to counterintelligence. No way was he trusting that to Chief Dodger.
“So, TJ, this booger is now on your plate,” the DCO stated as the discussion was winding down. “Anything you need from me?”
“Well, sir, most of this is pretty basic stuff,” Faith replied, “But I’m going to need some help on the CI side of the house. I have a vacancy there right now.”
“I heard,” the DCO replied. He did not seem pleased. “Do you have a solution for that?”
“Maybe,” Faith answered.
“OK, let me know what you need me to do,” the DCO said, standing up. Clearly the meeting was over. As the four were walking out, they ran into The Dud, who was rushing in, out of breath and flustered.
“Sorry I’m late for the meeting sir,” The Dud said breathlessly to the DCO.
“We’re done here,” the DCO informed him, “Captain Faith will fill you in on what you missed and what he’s going to need from you and your shop.” Then he and the two inspectors from USASOC departed, leaving Faith and The Dud face to face.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this meeting?” The Dud demanded once the DCO was safely out of earshot. Faith was taken aback a bit.
“Um, first of all, I didn’t know you were invited,” he replied. “Second, I don’t work for you anymore, so managing your schedule is no longer one of my daily duties.”
“Y-y-you did this on purpose!” The Dud insisted.
Faith gave him an exasperated look. “Look, sir, I’m not sure exactly what your problem is with me, but I assure you I have a LOT more pressing things to work on than finding ways to screw you. Like this re-inspection coming up. What do you say we forget about the past and find a way to work together on this, for the good of the Group?” Faith offered his hand to The Dud.
The Dud looked down at Faith’s hand, and then back up at Faith with a look of pure hatred.
“Th-the inspection,” he hissed. “I hope you f-f-f-f-“
“Fail?” Faith offered helpfully. Now The Dud looked enraged.
“F-f-f-“ he began.
“Fuck you?” Faith finished for him. Red faced, The Dud turned and stormed off.
“I guess that’s a ‘no’ on the whole bury-the-hatchet offer, then,” Faith heard another voice say. Turning around, he saw a familiar-looking man approaching. Dressed in BDUs and wearing a huge smile, the man extended his right hand towards Faith. “Simon Cris, Support Detachment commander,” he said by way of introduction. “I’ll shake your hand even if The Dud won’t.” Cris had an easy manner and an infectious smile. Faith had seen him around but had never really spoken with him before. He wore captains’ bars and the collar insignia of a transportation corps officer. Faith liked him immediately.
“Scott Faith,” Faith replied.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Criss replied, “But I heard you go by a different name now, TJ.”
“You heard about that?” Faith asked.
“Heard about it, I was there. That was pretty bad ass. I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
“Yeah, well I never felt anything like that before,” Faith answered, absently rubbing his right shoulder with his left hand.
“I imagine not!” Criss exclaimed. So, want to head over to the Stab ‘n’ Jab for lunch in a couple of hours, and you can fill me in on what I missed between you and The Dud?”
“I don’t know what that is, but I’m down for lunch. Want me to meet you in the Group orderly room at noon?” Faith inquired.
“Sure! See you then,” Criss replied happily, then he too walked off.
Faith considered the situation for a moment. It was obvious that things between him and The Dud were not going to improve. Ever. So that was at least one major enemy he was going to have for the foreseeable future. Plus Chief Dodger. Plus probably a half-dozen other malcontents and assclowns he’d have to fire out of the MID before it was all over. But he felt good. He felt optimistic. He felt… accepted. It had been a long time since he felt that way about his job in the Army.
Now, he thought, if he just knew where he could find a motivated, detail-oriented CI type, he might be able to pull off this inspection… He smiled as he went back to his office and make a couple of phone calls.
I don't read this thing for a few weeks and what's the first post I see? Faith whining about his crotchal region.
Typical Shadowspear.
Typical Shadowspear.
It's
It'sinterestingtypical that in a two-dozen-paragraph post, that this is what you chose to focus on.
Snap!
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