Mozari Arrival Read online

  “If that’s even possible,” Daniel couldn’t help but say.

  Huntley ignored the comment. “Or you could be a member of a criminal organization or a neo-Nazi group looking to gain access to military supplies or weapons.”

  “I’m not either of those things. I just tried to help my best friend—” Daniel momentarily wondered why the major wouldn’t believe him. Then he realized that the man probably did; it just didn’t make a difference, because there were already established procedures to be followed, and a book to go by, whether it was blue or otherwise.

  “Well, most likely, the truth will come out at your trial.”

  “Court martial?” Daniel’s skin turned to gooseflesh.

  Major Huntley shook his head. “One way or the other, that won’t be happening. Enlistment under false pretenses, with fraudulent documents, is a federal offense. The clue’s in the ‘fraud’ part of fraudulent. If you were an illegal immigrant, we’d give you an Entry Level Separation discharge—no veterans’ benefits—and deport your ass back to whichever banana farm you’d come from. As it is, you can’t be deported, but that ELS discharge will be followed by an FBI inquiry, and federal charges for identity theft, and the possession and use of fraudulent and stolen documentation...” Huntley sighed. “Truth to tell, West, the draft is only going to make this crap more common. If I was in charge of your lazy-ass MEPS supervisor back in St. Louis, I’d be DD-ing him. The FBI background check should have caught this yesterday, before you even got here.”

  The room spun around Daniel. “My friend Cody has a young daughter. I just didn’t want her to lose her dad. But I didn’t want the military to lose a recruit, either. I didn’t do this to get me in for some... nefarious purpose. I did it to get him out.”

  “Conspiracy to dodge the draft, West, is still a crime.”

  Something Huntley had said a minute ago struck Daniel. “You said one way or the other. Is there something else that happens?”

  The major was quiet for a long moment, sizing Daniel up. “There is a choice to be made. Personally, I’m not in favor of offering it, but my orders are clear. Your aptitude scores are pretty high. The maximum possible, in fact. Which suggests that the military can use you. There’s also another factor, which apparently I’m not at liberty to discuss; what I am at liberty to discuss is the offer itself.”

  “You’re offering to cut a deal?” Daniel wondered what had brought that on. What was so valuable about a law student for the Army?

  “You have a decision to make. You can take the ELS discharge, in which case you will be handed over to the civilian authorities for indictment on fraud and identity theft charges.”

  “Or?”

  “Or, you can stay enlisted under your own name, and be transferred to another program.”

  Daniel knew there was a military courts service, and wondered if they might want him for that. “What about Cody? Will he still get drafted?”

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care. He’s not sitting in front of me; you are. They might haul his ass in and put it in uniform, they might prosecute him for draft dodging, or they might let him keep the ELS discharge on his record.” Huntley shrugged. “Makes no difference to me; he’s not under discussion here.”

  “What if I want to bring him under discussion?”

  “You’d be wasting your breath, and whatever happens will happen anyway. I’ve also been told to inform you that because you have a JD from Yale University Law School, you will qualify for a direct commission as a Second Lieutenant.”

  That didn’t mean much to Daniel, but his courtroom instincts suggested to him that it meant the Army was keener on keeping him than losing him. Perhaps it was a legal job after all, since the major had mentioned his qualification. And with that sort of position, maybe he could still help Cody with his draft problem, if needed. He nodded slowly. “How long do I have to pack up my gear?”

  “Gear?”

  “Uniforms and street clothes from my locker.”

  “Where you’re going, Mr. West, you won’t be needing an MP uniform. Your personal effects will be forwarded along in due course.”

  “Then I guess I’ll take the deal.”

  Major Huntley kept a bland expression. “Fair enough.” He pressed an intercom button, and an MP stepped back into the room. “See that West fills out replacement paperwork. He’s leaving us.” The MP saluted, then took Daniel out of the office a lot more politely than he’d brought him in.

  When Daniel was gone, Huntley picked up a phone and dialed a number. “General Carver,” he told the answering voice. A moment later, Carver came on the line. “This is Major Huntley at the 43rd. Your man took the deal.”

  “Good. Transport is on its way.”

  “You sure you want him, all things considered?”

  “You saw his bloodwork; it makes no sense to let him out of our sight if we don’t have to.”

  “General,” Huntley asked hesitantly, “what would you have done if he had taken the ELS discharge instead?”

  “Nothing, Major. That would have proved he’s not suitable.”

  Eight

  Fort Leonard Wood, MO.

  The sergeant didn’t make much conversation as he drove Daniel out to Forney Field, and so Daniel was slightly surprised to see a Cape Air plane landing as they neared it, and even more surprised to see Waynesville – St. George Regional Airport on the sign at the gate, as he had expected this was a military facility, not a civilian one. The sergeant avoided the roads to the terminal buildings, instead getting waved through a military checkpoint and out onto the tarmac apron.

  About half the aircraft Daniel could see were in military livery, and those were mainly transport planes, along with a couple of small executive jets. The others were a mixture of private planes in various colors near hangars covered in advertising billboards, as well as several Cape Air passenger planes.

  The Jeep came to a halt away from the single runway. Ahead, a couple of soldiers in fatigues were carrying crates out of a Humvee and up the ramp of a waiting Chinook helicopter, which was painted in Army green. The helo’s twin rotors were already spinning slowly. “There’s your ride,” the sergeant said.

  Daniel, still in the sweats from his abrupt interview with Major Huntley, trotted up the ramp, past a number of tied-down crates and boxes of various sizes, which were all covered in unintelligible stenciled lettering and numbering. He hoped there was an actual seat somewhere in the hold, as any benches against the fuselage interior were inaccessible. A Latina woman in a flight suit and helmet appeared in the doorway to the cockpit and beckoned to him. She pushed down the cushion of a folding jump-seat against the bulkhead. “Strap yourself in. We lift in thirty seconds.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Daniel managed to say as he dropped into the seat. He fumbled for the lap belt, then realized it was a harness meant to go over both shoulders, like in a racing car. The woman had already disappeared back into the cockpit without waiting for him to get secured, and the cargo door at the rear of the hold clanked shut.

  Immediately, the engine whine changed, and the rotors hacked noisily through the air. Daniel felt himself pressed into the seat with a lurch that bounced his back off the bulkhead wall. He had the strangest feeling of being cast adrift, more so than he had when he’d flown up to St. Louis or gotten off the bus at Fort Leonard Wood. He didn’t think it was the motion of the helo, though it was a little weird to be facing backwards in a vehicle in the air, but more to do with having not been allowed any luggage or belongings. Who traveled to unknown destinations with nothing but the sweats they were dressed in? Prisoners?

  At some point during his train of thought, with nothing else to occupy him, Daniel dozed off. He slept fitfully, constrained by the seat harness, and was finally wakened by the bump of the helo touching down. His watch told him he’d been flying for four hours, as it was now getting on towards 9 AM, but the limited view out of the hold’s windows told him nothing.

  As the engines spooled down, the
rear ramp clanked and descended to reveal a dusky-skinned man in fatigues who stepped up into the cargo hold. He was taller than Daniel by a good couple of inches, and although his cropped hair was graying and his face was starting to show lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, there didn’t seem to be much fat on him; he was still lean-looking and fit. “Daniel West?”

  “Yes, sir.” Daniel stood.

  The man grunted. “I’m Chief Warrant Officer Hammond. Keith Hammond, in case someday you need to know it, but from here on in you’ll address me either as Mr. Hammond or Chief Hammond. Not ‘sir’ and not ‘Warrant Officer.’”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  “Good. You can deplane now.” Daniel nodded and stretched. “That means walking briskly the hell off the vehicle, West,” Chief Hammond said. “It’s not a yoga studio.”

  Daniel smiled in spite of himself and walked down the ramp onto tarmac. Hammond followed. “What sort of Army base is this?” Daniel asked.

  “Who said it was an Army base?”

  “You’re in the Army...”

  “I’m also in the SCA, and this isn’t a ren faire, either. Welcome to the Farm. This is what you might call Spook Central, though officially it’s called Camp Peary. It’s been a CIA tradecraft and fieldcraft training camp since the fifties, when they started trying to figure out how to overthrow Castro. Then the DIA and the Navy got a piece of the pie. Now and then, other Special Forces and... unusual units come here, too.”

  “Why isn’t it called Fort Peary?”

  “Because it isn’t an Army base. Did the rotors deafen you, West? Here at the Farm, you have been assigned to my unit.”

  “What do you—”

  “If I want you to ask questions, I’ll say ‘Any questions?’ If you don’t hear those words, you can feel free to assume that you can keep your mouth shut and listen up. There will be times when you will be given information, or allowed—even requested or ordered—to seek it out. This is not one of those times.” Chief Hammond stopped walking now that they were safely out of the helo’s rotor wash and Daniel had to stop in order to not bump into him. “What I’m ordering—and, please, West, do not mistake my orders for requests or opinions—right now is for you to run.” He pointed across the lake to a patch of woodland beyond the field of long grass, at least a mile away. “To the induction center on the far side of those trees.”

  “But the lake’s in the way. Am I seriously supposed to swim over—”

  “Did I say anything about swimming?! I damn well fucking did not!” Hammond’s face was suddenly barely an inch from Daniel’s, without warning, and Daniel could feel the hot breath on his forehead. “Now, get the shit out of your ears, the lead out of your ass, and run the fuck around to that field and through those fucking trees before I get tempted to punt you over there with my boot!” Daniel flinched back, near deafened, but Hammond’s screaming mouth had kept pace with him, their noses still almost touching.

  Daniel stepped back, blood thumping in his ears, but then reminded himself that this was what he had been expecting from the outset. He was still wearing sweats and sneakers, too, so he started running in the direction indicated.

  At first, he moved at the sort of jog he was used to from a gym treadmill. Then Hammond appeared beside him. “Anytime you want to start running, West. I didn’t bring you out here to stroll.” Daniel sped up as he followed the path skirting the lakeshore reeds. “Run!” Hammond yelled, moving casually past Daniel. Daniel’s legs were beginning to ache, and his lungs beginning to burn, but he pushed on, pounding the ground a little bit harder.

  Hammond, at least a dozen years older than Daniel, was loping along steadily, not even breathing hard. Daniel had run miles on mechanical treadmills, at his own pace, and knew he had decent stamina for cardio, but this speed was something else. The terrain was different, too; sometimes hard, sometimes soft, uphill or downhill. After a couple of miles, the lake beside him began to feel like an ocean, and his heartbeat like a symbol of waves he would never pass the end of.

  His thighs were screaming when he finally rounded the end of the lake and headed towards the trees. “You warmed up yet, West?” Hammond called. “Let’s race,” he added, and then he upped his speed.

  Daniel wondered if the guy had been a professional marathon runner, but he forced himself to keep going, every muscle burning, until he had followed Hammond through the trees and saw the chief standing casually with his arms folded, in the middle of a clearing filled with skeletal wooden structures and ropes that resembled a giant-sized kids’ adventure playground. Daniel slowed and tried to stop, but his legs were now quivering and wouldn’t support him when he tried to walk slowly or stand still, so he collapsed to all fours. His heart felt like it was on fire, and he grimaced as his gut rebelled against the pain and tried to throw up the flame. The acid scorched his throat as it filled his mouth with its foulness, and spitting didn’t get rid of any of the taste.

  Hammond eyed him ambivalently; he didn’t have so much as a bead of sweat on his own forehead. “Well, now we’re here, so you can stop running, West.” Daniel, desperate for breath, barely managed to nod as he dropped to his knees five yards behind Hammond. Hammond stepped over. “Did I tell you to hug the ground?”

  Daniel was just getting his muscles and breath back under control, and he started to get up, but Hammond planted a foot on the small of his back. “Are you hearing voices? I didn’t say a damn word to you about standing up. Stay down, kiss that dirt, and give me fifty push-ups.”

  Daniel closed his eyes but started the push-ups; at least his arms weren’t exhausted from running, so they still had some freshness in them even if the rest of him didn’t. Soon his shoulders and biceps were as agonized as his legs, but he’d been able to use the time to get his breathing and heart rate back to something resembling normal. When he was done, Hammond tossed him a water bottle. “Get some hydration. Then you can try this little jungle gym of mine. Do the course in two minutes, or do it again until you can.”

  While Daniel was making his third attempt to run the assault course of nets, slippery logs, walls, and rope swings, a redheaded woman in fatigues jogged over to Hammond and saluted. “Sergeant Evans,” he acknowledged. “Something up?”

  “Message from Space-com came in. Documentation and orders for the new Homie.” She looked up at Daniel as he passed overhead and sailed from a rope into a scramble-net, then up and onto a narrow beam. “This guy, I assume. You trying to kill him?”

  “No more than I tried to kill you, Evans.” Evans merely nodded. “His test scores, and his medical examination, say he should be able to take it. I want to know that they’re right.”

  “Don’t you trust the paperwork?”

  “Would you?” Again, she didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

  Daniel was beginning to despair of ever getting the course done. His time was getting slower with every repeat, not faster, as his body ached and began to tremble and twitch. He had picked up several painful bruises, and the world swam with every breath.

  Then it occurred to him that maybe, like with any form of vehicle racing, there was a strategy to it; a line to take, angles to spot, and the right and wrong places to speed up or slow down, or to jump or to land.

  As soon as he started looking for them, he started to see them. Half a step further here, or fewer there; launch off the front foot and not the back foot; let gravity do the work on the rope swings...

  On the fifth attempt, Daniel crashed to his knees at Hammond’s feet and heard the magic words, which were as seductive as nothing else in his life had ever been: “One fifty-seven. I guess that’ll have to do.”

  “It’s almost impossible.”

  “Almost what?” Hammond gave him a pitying look. “Look at me, West. I’ll be fifty years old in eighteen months, and a young whelp like you can’t even handle the kids’ jungle gym?” Then he turned around and darted to the beginning of the course. Daniel almost didn’t see him go. Hammond didn’t so much run as just fl
ow around the course; where Daniel had had to take flying leaps against gravity, Hammond seemed to be pulled to his destination with effortless grace. There was no waste of action or movement or energy—just exactly what was required. He simply waltzed across the greased logs that Daniel had had to crawl across and ran up the scramble net as if it was a staircase at home.

  Daniel blinked rapidly, trying to get his eyes to make sense of what was in front of them. He felt as if he were a zombie with his shoelaces tied together next to a ballet dancer. When Hammond returned, Daniel could barely collect enough breath to be able to speak, but finally managed to gasp out his question. “How... You’ve got fifteen, maybe twenty years on me... How the hell could you do all that without even breaking a sweat?”

  “Maybe I just didn’t spend my life at a desk, and getting drunk and disorderly every weekend.”

  “Or maybe you’re just experienced, used to it. Or maybe it’s the training I guess I got sent here to get.”

  “Maybe I don’t waste my breath on backtalk, either. But, you know what? Maybe if you’re lucky enough to survive and put the work in, you might find out for sure.” Hammond glanced at the sky. “Chow time, West. You’re going to need it.”

  Nine

  Camp Peary, VA.

  The buildings at the heart of the Farm were single-story redbrick structures, like any suburban library or doctor’s office, with roofs the green of tarnished copper. There were surprisingly few signs of military activity apart from the signage pointing to armories, the PX, motor pool, and so on, all of which had a DoD notification on them.

  There were only a few people around, mostly in either sweats with a service logo on them or unmarked digital-camo fatigues. Chief Hammond strolled into the main building and walked the slow and shuffling Daniel West up to a long counter with a bored Navy midshipman behind it. “Fresh meat, Horace,” Hammond said. “Second Lieutenant West’s gear will be arriving later. For now, issue him new sweats and fatigues.”