Whiskey Lima Golf, page 2
“And how would you have carried out the mission differently Captain?” General Adams asks.
“I would have inserted a recon team first before the capture team was deployed. The recon team would have assessed the actual situation and would have provided accurate Intel on insurgent numbers. Then they could have given an early warning about the insurgent reinforcements entering the village as well as providing additional fire support.” George’s voice has risen. “Instead we get half-arsed information and a faulty plan that compromises my men’s lives and the mission.”
“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” Kendrick explodes.
“Gentlemen!” General Adams intervenes, “Kendrick, you can wait for me in my office.”
A red-faced Kendrick starts, “I don’t take orders...”
“DISMISSED!” The General cuts him off.
Trevor grins and holds the door open clearly enjoying the Agency man’s fall from grace.
Kendrick storms from the room. Passing George he hisses, “Kiss your career goodbye Captain, I’ll get you yet.”
“I know an apology is well-deserved to you and your men, Captain Gillies, and I will kick some ass and get to the bottom of this,” General Adams begins, “This theatre of operations is all going to hell and it looks like we will all be recalled soon. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you, was to pass these orders on to you.”
Standing he hands an envelope to Captain Gillies.
George tears the envelope open and scans the document.
“In short Gentlemen,” the General explains, “your government has decided to recall all of its personnel A-sap. I wanted to personally deliver this news and thank you for your outstanding contribution to our operations here.” The General continues, “I won’t repeat this officially of course, but there is no way our Green Berets would have got out of that last mission without more loss of life.”
“Geez Wayne, we’re going home!” Brett exclaims.
George walks towards the General, comes to attention and salutes, “It’s been an honour sir.”
The General returns the salute and extends his hand, locking George’s hand in a firm grip, “Likewise Captain, Gentlemen, a C-17 will be ready to transport you all home this evening.” Looking at Tom the General adds, “That’s including you son, there will be a medical crew on board to make sure you get home in one piece.”
“Well men, let’s get squared away, Devon will you ensure Tom’s personal effects are sorted,” George orders.
“Captain, if there is any interference from Kendrick or anyone else, send them to me, understood?”
“Understood General, sir,” George salutes.
***
Chapter Two – Reality Sets In
Auckland - Middlemore Hospital – Early Spring
A Week Later
HOISTING HIMSELF ONTO his bed from the wheelchair causes Tom another wave of pain to shudder through his hip. Through gritted teeth, he swings his right leg up before gently using his left hand to guide his unresponsive left leg onto the bed. After a deep breath, Tom pulls the starched white cotton sheet up to hide his disfigured legs and eases himself back onto the pillows. His breath hisses slightly as he exhales.
He hears a familiar voice in the hall outside his room, “No I won’t be long.” Devon opens his door and greets him enthusiastically, “Kia ora e hoa! When are you getting out of this dump, eh?”
“Not soon enough, my brother from another mother,” Tom grumbles, “They want to keep me here until I’m on crutches and god knows how long that will be.”
“Knowing you, about five minutes, brother,” Devon grins.
“Hey, it’s only about 1400,” Tom realises, “you’re here early, what’s up?”
“I’ve got all the goss for you. The whole team is breaking up! Okay, where to start?” Devon pauses.
“You’re kidding!” Tom exclaims.
“Nah bro, after the Brass medically discharged you, and stuck you in this rat hole,” Devon gestures to the peeling paint and thread bare curtains in his room, “the whole team got right fed up and we all started looking at our options.”
“Yeah, our public health system sure needs some money spent on it,” Tom agrees, “It’s got nothing on Craig Joint Hospital in Bagram. Those Yanks have all the shiny new equipment.”
“Damned straight there. Okay the news.” Devon sounds excited. “First up, good ol’ George has been seconded to the SIS and is already in Wellington.”
“Wow that sounds cool!” Tom enthuses, momentarily forgetting his pain.
“Brett has resigned and is chasing the big money as a private military contractor. He flies out for orientation in Florida tonight!”
“Far out. Well, he always was reading those old Soldier of Fortune magazines, so I guess it was on the cards.”
“Trevor has also quit and bought a big game charter fishing company up in the Bay of Islands.”
“Whoa! So that’s why he was always penny pinching? Good on him.” Tom looks directly at Devon. “So, what about you?”
Devon beams. “I got a job offer from George and I’m off to spooks school.”
“You’re what?” Tom exclaims, then grins, “Should you even be telling me?”
“No secrets between us, brother.” Devon winks. “Besides, you and Koro are my whanau. Officially I’ve been rotated to some boring Defence Department admin job in Wellington. But my question to you, Tom, is what are you going to do when you get outta here?”
Tom sighs in resignation, “I talked to Koro last night and he said to move back in with him once I’m released. And to have a think about what I really want to do. Maybe go to Vic and get a degree in something.”
Devon smiles his trademark wicked grin. “Good, if you’re staying at the station with Koro then we can hit the gym together. You never did tell me how he scored that flat, such a sweet location.”
“I know right! Wellington Railway station has always been home, but that’s Koro’s tale to tell.”
“And the gym, you up for that?” Devon prompts.
“Sure, why not? I mean that’s if you’re not off with all those sexy foreign agents,” Tom laughs. “It will be great to have a familiar face back home.”
***
Langley, Virginia - Same Day
“Good morning Kendrick. Close the door behind you and take a seat.” The bespectacled overweight man swivels his chair from the expansive view of the trees from his corner office, and faces his visitor. He picks up a piece of paper from his immaculately clean desk. “It appears you had patchy results in Afghanistan. This summary report of yours is obviously incomplete. What I want to know is what you are leaving out and why.”
Immediately on the back foot, the normally confident man knows that he must answer in just the right way to keep his job. “Sir, if I may speak frankly,” he pauses receiving a nod from his boss, “we had so many leaks over there, I couldn’t trust anyone. Not the Intel we were receiving from any of our in-country assets. Our so-called NATO ‘partners’ were too busy with their own in-fighting to be effective. I’m sure someone was hacking into our intranet, so our online systems were compromised, and we know the Chinese and Russians were monitoring our voice Comms and probably supplying Intel to either Al-Qaeda or IS-Khorasan. Our Afghan allies are a joke, you might as well have invited the Taliban to any briefing we held with them. And you always looked twice at any Afghani policeman to see if they were wearing a bomb vest under their uniform. And those Aussies and Kiwis were so goddamned independent you couldn’t trust them to complete a simple job without going all PC, questioning everything and following UN engagement rules. To be honest sir, this was one hell of an assignment.”
“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humour then,” the overweight man smiles briefly, then frowning, continues, “We’ve taken some flack over Operation Crimson Sky. Too many civilian casualties, and just where did that footage come from that Al Jazeera are using?”
“Over a hundred and fifty terrorists dead, about forty civilians and one injured Kiwi are not bad odds. Besides the Kiwis got twenty or so civilians out before the firefight got out of control,” Kendrick summarises. “As for the footage, it wasn’t ours. I’d speculate that from the angle it was taken and the lack of focus, it was probably IS-Khorasan from a hilltop hoping to showcase a victory over our Special Forces.”
“You know that Washington want a sacrificial lamb for the networks prime-time altar over that footage.” The obese man grimaces as he takes his spectacles off and absently cleans them with his handkerchief. “And some voices upstairs are questioning your value.”
Kendrick stiffens, awaiting his fate, not sure how to proceed.
“Kendrick, you saved my neck in Algeria, so I’ve stuck mine out for you now.” He puts his spectacles back on and continues. “You have two options. The first is to retire with a small bonus into your 401(k) retirement plan.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’m only 52, I’m too young to stagnate. What’s plan B?”
“Did you read the latest Council for Foreign Relations survivability report on mass extinction events?”
“Ah, not yet, sir. Are we talking nuclear war or climate change?” Kendrick is interested despite his predicament.
“Both and anything else they could think of, short of an alien invasion.” The stout man grins at his own joke. “The two sensible options are Iceland and one other. Iceland is out, as it’s still in the Northern Hemisphere and will probably be affected by nuclear fallout. The other option is already known as a bolthole for the rich and famous and some Tech giants, who have already relocated some of their technical knowhow there. And there has been a proliferation of new embassies and High Commissions opening.” He smiles. “Kendrick how would you like a new assignment at the bottom of the world.”
“Surely not Antarctica, sir?”
“Almost… Wellington, New Zealand. It’s about to become the hottest spot on the planet in the Cold War right now.” He breaks into a big grin. “Once you arrive that is.”
***
Chapter Three - Homecoming
Wellington – Summer - Four Months Later – Tuesday
THE SIGHT OF the familiar red brick building fills Tom with a strange mix of emotions, sadness that he has somehow failed in his chosen career, and happiness that he is coming home to his only surviving family member, his Koro. Tears prick his eyes as the slowing train rounds the final bend passing the familiar blue Kiwi Connection commuter train and he sees the venerable leathery weather-beaten man, his mouth moving while gesturing with his intricately carved Tokotoko enthusiastically. Tom wonders what Tauparapara Koro is chanting while standing at the end of Platform Nine formally greeting the train’s arrival.
Tom automatically waves and starts gathering his few possessions into his brown leather shoulder bag, headphones, phone and a battered second-hand paperback that a nurse had given him for the journey. The old Northerner train service from Auckland to Wellington had been recently reinstated to run the opposite direction to the Northern Explorer to provide a consistent same day passenger service between the two cities, a small concession to combating climate change from the previous government coalition. He pulls the straps of his small backpack, containing his few civilian clothes, over his shoulders and grabs his crutches. Edging his way out of his seat into the centre aisle he slowly makes his way towards the nearest exit, the train slowing to a stop. He gauges the gap and swings onto the platform, turns and heads towards his Koro.
He hears the deep gravelly voice chanting a familiar karakia;
“Tukua te wairua kia rere ki ngā taumata
Hai ārahi i ā tātou mahi
Me tā tātou whai i ngā tikanga a rātou mā
Kia mau kia ita
Kia kore ai e ngaro
Kia pupuri
Kia whakamaua
Kia tina! TINA! Hui e! TĀIKI E!”*
*Allow one’s spirit to exercise its potential
To guide us in our work as well as in our pursuit of our ancestral traditions
Take hold and preserve it
Ensure it is never lost
Hold fast.
Secure it.
Draw together! Affirm!
“Te hei, mauri ora,” Tom responds, tears openly running down his cheeks. “Koro it’s so good to see you.”
Koro steps closer and puts one hand firmly on Tom’s arm. They both lean forward, their foreheads and noses touching slightly as they inhale each other’s breath through their nostrils, completing the ancient Māori greeting.
“Ah, come here boy and give your Koro a proper hug,” the old man commands.
Tom manages a one-armed hug as he balances his weight on the remaining crutch, nearly toppling them both onto the platform.
As they break their embrace, Koro comments, “Look at the two of us, eh? What a fine pair we make. Hey you’re looking good boy.”
Wiping the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve, Tom pivots on his crutches and starts the slow shuffle along Platform Nine towards the concourse entrance. “Thanks Koro, hope you’ve got some good old-fashioned hospitality waiting at home.”
Koro feigns a look of mock offence, “You wash your mouth out boy, huh, how dear you question my manaakitanga eh?”
Pushing his luck, Tom smiles, “If you call a soft, stale gingernut and a twice brewed tea bag manaakitanga? Then I guess I’ll have to accept it.”
“Bloody cheek! You’ll keep boy!” Koro exclaims, with a big grin.
“Go on, admit it, you’ve missed that cheek.” Tom laughs, “It’s good to be home Koro, I’ve missed you too.”
Once through the entrance onto the concourse, they are intercepted by a waiting black uniformed man with a yellow Hi-Viz vest, sporting a wicked smile, “That was an unsanctioned ceremony on our platform Mr Yelich. I must remind you that you are not permitted to perform such ceremonies without the correct authorisation. I am to inform you that any further breaches of Kiwirail policy will result in your eviction from all Kiwirail property.”
“I was welcoming my mokopuna back from…,” Koro begins before getting cut off.
“Whatever, just know that I’m watching you, Yelich,” the black clad man threatens.
Tom notices the man’s footwear and accurately aims his crutches for his next step.
“…any more breaches of Kiwirail policy and I’ll have you out of that cushy flat of yours so fast, AARRGGH!”
“Oh, aroha mai mate. Still getting used to these sticks here,” Tom mockingly apologies, “You must have forgotten your safety footwear today, I wonder if that’s a policy breach?”
“Come on Tom, let’s leave Mr Dunkell to his policies and get the kettle on, eh?” Koro laughs.
Limping off towards his office, the man shouts, “I’ll get you Yelich, do you hear me? I’ll get you!”
***
With the front door to the noisy concourse closed behind them, Koro states, “You are probably better on the stairs than me, you go first and get the kettle on.”
In the flat, Tom manoeuvres past the storage boxes and old furniture to head up the stairs to the living area, questioning himself, ‘I wonder how big this area actually is? It’s always been full of junk.’
Koro is surprised to see Tom rapidly ascend the stairs to the next level. “Pretty fast boy, is that another Army trick?”
“Nah Koro, I just find it way easier going up stairs on my sticks, going down is a whole other story.” Tom dodges the old furniture in the living area, peeling his bags off his frame, placing them beside his old armchair before making his way into the kitchenette.
Koro gets to the top of the stairs and puffs, “How long are you going to keep using those sticks?”
“I don’t know, the doctors reckon I’ll always need help walking. They were amazed at how fast I got out of the wheelchair. Man, it’s good to be home.” Tom eyes two relatively clean mugs. He pops a teabag and spoon in one, while the electric jug slowly gets up to temperature. He opens the pantry door and scans the contents, hunting for some treasure.
“They’re in the green tin,” Koro grunts taking a seat in his armchair. “Never trust those pākehā doctors. They just want to sell you pills. You know, I think I’ll have a talk to Sheila. She might have some rongoā that will help.”
Tom finds the tin and takes the lid off. Surprised at the contents, he brandishes his prize, waving it towards his grandfather, “Hey, chocolate biscuits. You’ve been splashing out, old man.”
“It’s a special occasion,” Koro defends himself.
The electric kettle loudly clicks as it reaches its climax. Tom splashes the hot water into both the cups. Quickly removing the tea bag from the first cup he stirs the teabag briskly in the second. He is startled as Koro appears beside him, “Sit down boy, I’ll take it from here.”
Obediently, Tom slides his arms back into the crutches and makes his way to his designated armchair, turns and gently lowers himself into his seat.
“I could have done without seeing that halfwit in the station,” Tom states.
“Oh that jumped up little pen-pusher. He’s just trying to make a name for himself.”
“He does seem full of himself. What’s this eviction nonsense he’s talking about?”
Koro puts the tea tray down on the dented wooden coffee table. “You know, I think he’s jealous that we have this flat and he wants me out.”
“But that’s not fair. This is our home. Besides, you have a perpetual lease from the top dog in Kiwirail, after saving all those people’s lives. He can’t evict you, can he?”
