Fair Odds

91.

With little fanfare the mission is launched. After another brief, this time on the three-step tactic of contact, offer and sell, from the cold call to the heat of live action, we take the first of many uncertain baby steps, what we hope to be the foot-strikes of freedom. 

Maria, now referred to as Her Majesty, is provided a secure laptop with the instructions to use her past Axis contacts to send an encrypted message to Mr Big. On the transmission end we would send the communication through a network of International routers making any attempt at tracking the source almost impossible. Maria, Her Majesty, would have her choice of words with the goal of establishing belief and credibility from the onset. To no one’s surprise she chose her boyfriend Cyrus as the recipient of the faux SOS. 

The message read: Bastards couldn’t keep the bird caged. Ready for work. Use encryption key ALICE8 when affirmative. 

And that was that. 

Waiting for the response, we prepped for departure, bags packed, gear loaded and spirits high. My communications with TOM again indicated a high level of probability that The Axis was in an active protocol. I considered their history of terrorism; the crude bombings of heavily trafficked public transportation hubs, suicide bombings inside places of worship, drone strikes and their most recent, and by far most sophisticated, hijacking of two Navy Phantoms along with the crippling of military and civilian radar systems to add a level of stealth previously considered impenetrable. As was my habit, I took pencil to paper and allowed my thoughts to transpose ideas from electrical impulses to elementary sketching, a graphic novel illustration in a free-form process. Upon completion of the ritual I took a quick break to stretch my legs and fill my coffee cup. 

What I saw upon return shook my spine. Vivid on paper, was an unmistakable pictorial indication of an army of motivated and experienced terrorist mercenaries, with a rap-sheet modus operandi  in ascending order of competence and success on the left side of the legal pad and seven names on the right side.

BOGART

SAUNDERS

DAVIS

DRYSDALE

CALAHAN

BROMDEN 

SATRIANO

The tingling in my spine indicated the blatant fact that we stand outnumbered, something we all knew going in, but this time the odds could be 100-1 against, we simply did not know. 

What we did know was that those seven were well trained, well prepared and superbly committed to mission success. I sat down, pawed my pencil and wrote:

FAIR ODDS. 

Off With Their Heads

90.

As good as my memory was in traveling backwards in review, one idealogical tenant stood like a granite statue above the others. It was this: As a coach, leader or political appointee, one must perform the due diligence necessary to reach a workable solution and then act upon it. The three steps being to: 1) Identify, 2) Decide and 3) Act. Any credible form of management or leadership relies on this formula like fish rely on water. As much as I respected Drysdale’s quick assessment of our team weakness and his bold decision to inform me of his opinion, his courageous determination to act was the paradoxical cup of hemlock tea. Simply put, the very thing he intended to strengthen - the unit’s combined power - he weakened by questioning the chain of command. He had found the weak link of that chain - and it was us. 

With this as preface I allowed my mind to float into an exploration of the area between the clear and shallow waters and the wine-dark sea bottom. I remembered the days in Hawaii when we would free-dive in sporting competition, with the contest a simple one of how deep for how long. I recalled my days as a player-coach tasked with the successful motivation of twenty-one like-minded others as I selected certain strategies, some of them, upon further review, questionable, but absolutely perfect as long as their execution was impeccable. I saw in my minds eye field decisions that might have, that did, impact the very lives of the men and women under my leadership. The central question in these three quick examples was the one pointing to the issue of confidence. Do I? Did I? Will I? use my experience, the body of work, my collected acumen in appropriate response to the dynamic real-time circumstances that our jobs require? Or will I succumb to the second-guessing weakness that separates those that lead from those that follow. It all renders to one’s ability to make the best decision possible under often impossible situations with lives at stake. As I walk, these images and their associated lessons follow as my shadow. They are with me now as surely as my heartbeat and peripheral vision. They seem to be hiding the fact that every one of those decisions I have played out a hundred different ways in a form of analysis, a tactic to make better choices, to improve, to take the lesson and leave the remnants of doubt, fear and failure behind. If there is any characteristic common to the storied and successful leaders of history, it is the fact that they each, when pressed, put tough love into play. 

I was en route to visit Satriano after her procedure. I needed to ensure her readiness to resume the final stages of our, now abbreviated, intensive. TOM had informed me last night that the latest intel showed The Axis to be active in another campaign, this details of which remained sketchy. We needed to make initial contact with them and initiate the infiltration process, pronto, or as the Queen of Hearts might put it, ‘like now.’ 

The plan was to launch a three step, initiate contact with a text message, offer services and lastly to meet face to face to discuss terms and conditions. 

This I outlined to Satriano, the Queen, after the brief with the medical staff and communications officer. The bug was implanted under the stunning tattoo of the infamous titular character from Alice in Wonderland. 

As I gazed at the combined artistry and technology framed by her left shoulder I couldn’t help but consider that we had identified (the foe) decided (a strategy) and were now ready to act, to play our hand. I look at Maria, nee Violet, and now the Queen of Hearts. She returns my look and proclaims,

“Off with their heads.” 

Black Jack

89.

Maria is in surgery. Under her stunning new shoulder ink a RFID is being implanted. The decision whether or not to test the latest technology, living bio-metric sensors, allowing undetectable visual and audio data collection in real time was vetoed at the eleventh hour by TOM. His reasoning, conservative and safe, was that we haven’t intel on the Axis level of electronic security and therefore the risk of detection early on, effectively kills the mission. Maria will have to be eyes and ears, however the ‘standard’ bug should give us enough data; GPS, thermal sensing, changes to spatial density and VHF signals as well as counter-detection capabilities to skimming, cloning and spoofing, to have, at the start, a distinct advantage. 

Not wanting to put the cart before the horse, I consider this as we formulate the entry plan. At this point we have not made contact with the Axis, waiting for all the dust to settle in Bakersfield, which by our latest intel, it has. This is the most dangerous part of the play, the salesmanship necessary to counter the obvious questioning that will inevitably arise. There must be an over-the-top, compelling, grenade-proof reason why Maria, now reverting to her street name of Vi Hayes, using the code name of Queen of Hearts, might be considered an asset by the terrorist group she once assisted. We need a quid pro quo cover, a classic, ’I got what you need’ chip with which to ante up and get in the game. I consider the three main selling points from the other side of the felt table; 1) Vi is an expert in her field with game experience, 2) She risked her life in a bold demonstration of loyalty to their cause during the escape, 3) She has additional motivation as a result of her incarceration ordeal, which now includes surgical proof of enhanced interrogation tactics. As I write these on paper I cannot help but think that they alone might not be enough. Vi is going to have to win an Oscar to make this work, and the cameras are about to roll without the luxury of a single rehearsal. 

Drysdale knocks on my makeshift office door and asks permission to enter. I point to the molded plastic chair beside my desk and place my mechanical pencil atop the yellow legal pad. 

“With all due respect, sir, I am a little concerned about Maria,” he tells me in what I take to be complete honesty. 

Already suspecting his response, yet wanting to hear him out, I ask, “How so?” 

“She is a kid, a teenager, and we’re about to insert her into a hornets nest filled with pissed-off, bad-assed, sister-fucking, biting and stinging terrorist wasps. Sir. I am nervous and concerned that we are leading with our weakest link, sending a lamb to slaughter, sir.” 

I take a deep breath, absorb his observations and his willingness to break protocol for the sake of the team and the mission. I get the sense that he knows that he is right and also knows that I know it as well. 

“You are second guessing our strategy and tactics Drysdale, something I, up to this moment, considered beneath you. You have seen her in action, she has worked her tail off to become efficient and competent, she has skills above and beyond those we emphasize, and while she may score in the lower percentile of a few physical tests, she shines in others.” Drysdale starts to interrupt but I raise a hand and continue, “We have this one opportunity to infiltrate and destroy a formidable enemy, one that has already demonstrated its willingness to engage and its ability to acquire sophisticated and deadly weaponry, our sophisticated and deadly weaponry, and she orchestrated that assault, she knows the players and has the chutzpah to volunteer to go back into that ‘hive’ in order to spray it down with fucking bug killer. We have to take the chance. Drysdale, I appreciate your concern and honesty. But I need you to be a good soldier and do your job. Your job is to follow orders without hesitation. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely clear sir.”

“Good. As a result of our little pep-talk here I am assigning you additional responsibilities. You are now the official Queen of Hearts shadow. You are Black Jack. That ’concern’ you have for Maria will, from this moment forward, be your responsibility. Her back is now fully in your care. I need Davis to run a counter operation, so with Satriano in play and Davis and Calahan elsewhere, you have the Queen.” 

He sits silently waiting for the conversational end game. 

“Are you prepared to protect our Queen Drysdale?”

He stands at rigid attention. 

“I am, sir.” 

I Salute Them

88.

In my relentless battle to avoid the hackneyed and cliched like landmines, I mentally dodge this one: “It is when things are at their worst, that we can do our best.” Yeah, yeah, yeah I mutter aloud as I briskly walk towards the galley, starting point for the day. Everything has changed. It only took last night's face time with TOM to obliterate our routine and color the day’s canvas from a warm, comforting saffron to a code crimson. The Queen of Hearts, ready or not, is going into play. 

We meet in the galley, completely empty this time of day, for the brief. Over the standard morning fare I relay the news, condensed and filtered for optimal consumption. 

“The latest intel suggests that we have gone from imminent to active. While not entirely sure that The Axis is behind the activity all arrows point in their direction. Interestingly there has been matching chatter from the Russians as well. We don’t know if they are connected, but HQ is in contact with field agents and informants as we speak to try to decipher. Regardless of their findings, we are now on the accelerated schedule. Satriano will go to medical in one hour for the implants as the rest of you, and let me say this, when I say ‘the rest of you’ I am not talking about an ordinary group of individuals gathering for a campfire sing along, I am talking about an elite, confident, well-trained, optimally equipped and ready to rock team of motivated warriors, chomping at the bit to prove their skills and abilities are superior to those of the spiritually devoid and morally challenged terrorists who threaten our vision of liberty and freedom. We are fighting for the soul of America, and I suspect, no I intend, us, with each at the others six, to keep them from their malevolent undertakings.” Realizing I had slipped into the gray area of the cliched, I back off from the rah-rah and get to pragmatics. 

“Today we are in cram sessions, Conference Room A; Gear, electronics, surveillance, logistics. Keep your focus sharp. During the hourly break sessions we’ll stretch with calisthenics, snack with energy bars and have fifteen minutes of personal time during which I highly suggest you use the relaxation techniques we have rehearsed. If you have any questions, this is the time to pose them to the instructors. I would rather we spend five minutes in clarification here than get caught in a fire-fight without a match out there.” 

“Lastly, have your gear stowed and ready, leave only essentials unpacked. While we don’t know the exact time of deployment, we do know that it might happen in an hour or in two days. Our assignment is to be ready to answer that call, the bird and crew is waiting. HQ is running 24/7," I segue into the casual, "and here we sit, calmly eating a high performance meal and gulping obsidian jet fuel, prepping for a fight. You have my highest respect, and I expect you, every one, to know without reservation that my personal promise is to give you my best, absolute best, in my commitment to this team. I got your back. As I know you have mine. And as we have each others. We in?”

The six members of Team Five stand with sudden propulsion, Drysdale sending his plastic chair screeching backwards across the polished tile floor, and extend closed fists towards the hub of the round table. Nothing more needs to be said. The eyes have it. A solemn vow. 

“Get to quarters and pack, briefing starts in twenty minutes.”

As we leave the galley I glance at the serving area and see a trio of civilian kitchen staff, one holding a giant spatula and the others wood-handled mops. They are standing at attention, evidently overhearing the last part of our group hurrah and smiling with apparent approval. 

I stop and salute them. 

The Queen of Hearts

87.

Prior to complete physical recovery, firmly in the grasp of the adaptation process, my subconscious hears the notes as if played in Carnegie Hall on a Steinway Grand Piano. It is my cell phone alarm set to the opening of Desperado. The game I have played for many years is to be up, out of bed and focused on the day’s initial task, that of making my bed, before the last resonating, pedal sustained note of the fifth measure, an awesome D at 30 Hz. It is 0430 and I should be out riding fence. 

TOM, in another tine-zone relayed information last night, three hours ago actually, that was the icing of the day’s otherwise bland chocolate and vanilla cake. They, as is their routine, had been monitoring and exchanging information, known as ‘chatter’ with the various international intelligence agencies. The volume, intensity and tone of which had been steadily increasing, leading the analysts to suggest that something, up to and including an attack, was imminent. Worse was what followed in that they had no other specific details — no what, where, when or how. This always means in pragmatic terms to ramp up, be prepared and stay at the ready. 

The day’s activities began in the physical readiness center, what we used to call the base gym. I might have been slightly projecting but I sensed a veil of weariness, like a cataract, hanging over the eyes of the team. My decision, based on the immediate circumstances of our intensive and the latest intel from TOM, was an easy one. Anyone who has had the slightest association with my methodology will know that given the option of getting down or resting up, ninety-nine times of a hundred I’ll choose the former. 

“It is crunch time folks,” I began with a throaty-clearing cough, “TOM relays that the bad guys are up to their old tricks again, with a strike of some sort classified as imminent.” 

Like magic the cataracts are gone. Now having their complete attention, I continue;

“I want to applaud your efforts and gumption to this point. You have kicked some serious butt, yet it now appears as if we need to double-time our response in final preparation for the assignment, a mission that remains cloudy and obscure even at this time. As a result we will make a few subtle changes to ensure our readiness, beginning now. The weight circuit will be skipped today and replaced by a high-intensity bike-run indoor duathlon. Followed immediately, you may shower, with a computer and communications brief in Main Conference Room B in ninety minutes. Lastly I want to add how proud I am to be a part of this team. We have yet to hit our stride, to feel what we are capable of becoming, BUT we have been on a trajectory of reaching that plateau of essential mission readiness since that first day in the pool — when Davis broke every rule in the book for the sake of accomplishing the team objective. That was an early running point, there have been many since, critical and key inflections all pointing in one powerful direction, towards the vector of victory. Let’s find that next gear, stay focused and ease into the dynamic flow state you all recognize as your true warrior selves.” 

“Treadmills for thirty, level five, stationary bikes for ten miles at four percent, you have one hour to complete both, douche, grab an energy gel and get to the conf room. Any questions?”

I raise my left arm in an immediately recognizable gesture of starting my chronometer. Like a high-noon duel, Davis, Calahan and Saunders turn to run on my first movement, leaving Drysdale, Bromden and Satriano waiting for the official start. 

I release the men with a ‘go’ and send Satriano a beat later, mimicking the rhythmic motif along with the christening of her new code name;

“The Queen of Hearts.” 

As I watch them all move to their stations, something inside reaffirms this to always be the best bet. 

Walk In - Walk Out

86.

Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape. One hour on each subject meant we were going lights out past midnight. The DoD civilian who led the seminars was well intentioned and an unquestionable master in his area(s) of expertise but dull as dirt. Taking our collective fatigue and time of day into consideration I was surprised the team had the stamina to hold on for so long without nodding off. But they had been surprising me up to this point with amazing regularity. I still had my nightly written report to TOM as my final chore of the long day as we wrapped up and headed for the Q. 

Along the way I got an update from Saunders on Satriano’s progress in the pool, the overall morale of the group and her personal assessment of her own post-surgery rehab. 

“If I am a teacher, I am handing out straight A’s,” she summarized in a proud moment of connectivity. 

Which was the perfect lead-out for the motivational solo I had been rehearsing. 

“You and I know about the challenge, about stepping up and about accepting the reality of what we do. When we first walk in, when I stumbled in and you danced, I should say, we had no idea of actually how hard this was going to be. There is no preparation for this, not football, not the Navy, not degrees in Humanities and Social Science, heck not even marriage. Nothing will prepare you for the workload, this intensity, the degree of difficulty, the insanely long hours, the demands on your body, in your mind and of your spirit. Because if they are not in perfect harmony, something will break, a storm will pelt you with wind, rain and buckets of shit.” As we slowly walk I look at her to make sure she is with me before continuing, “and then something happens, we used to call it second wind but that isn’t precise enough, there comes a time when the miraculous mixes with the magical and we find another gear, some higher level of presence where the impossible seems achievable and the question of ‘can we do this?’ is not even asked because we already know the answer. If we put it all together, that was the moral of the swim story, there can be no weak-link. In the vacuum of this energy force nothing exists that can stop us.” I stop and look at the stars. Saunders stops and looks too.

I continue, “When we walked in we were kids playing in a sandbox. Look at what we have accomplished. Consider what is left to do. We are at the crossroads of human civilization. We have the tools to destroy, the bombs of a thousand suns, technology that would make Shiva blush. We said OK, let’s give it a go, see what we can do. And we started down the path, learning, practicing, developing, surviving, evading, resisting and escaping, living to fight other days. Through it all, leading up to this very moment, we pledged a sacred oath to serve an ideal, one that has come under attack from within as well as from foreign aggressors. Never before has the world been so gifted with prosperity and potential, and never before has if been equally so repugnant and corrupt. Our job is not so much to swing the scales of justice all the way in one direction but find a way to add balance, to keep one side from a monopoly on power.”

“You are doing a fine job with Satriano, as well as with the rest of the team, thank you for your leadership.” I say looking for the appropriate rhetoric with which to end the monologue. 

We reach the BOQ and stand in the glow of yellow incandescent light. 

“My pleasure and extreme honor,” she says with sincerity, “when you talk about the people who walked in to this, please know that you are, to a large degree, responsible for them walking out as completely different people.” 

Silence in the crisp, starry night. 

“Get some sleep, see you in a few hours.”

Her words dance in my head every minute of these precious few hours. 

Can You Become One?

85.

Leveraging the situation to add maximum chaos and stimulate improvisational response, I ordered them back in the water for a five minute tread-water drill with no hands and following that with the infamous brick drill. The brick drill, we substitute kettlebells for bricks, it a fairly simple hand/eye/lung exercise where we place ten pound bells in the deep end of the pool. Each participant must find the correct color, which is verbalized as they dive to retrieve it and carry it to the shallow-end deck without allowing it to make contact (again) with the water. To make things interesting I allowed two minutes for the completion of the task. 

Davis was the last to go giving us a brief opportunity to exchange notes and commentaries as I watch the key inflection points of the drill. I especially keep an eye on Satriano. 

“You would have done the same thing,” he shares, also watching his partner in the water. 

I nod with a neutral manner, head on the diagonal, as if to say, ‘maybe so, maybe not.’

Before he has a chance to respond it is his turn for the brick drill and a shout of ‘blue’ directs his liquid vector. 

Satriano successfully completes the drill and joins the team on the deck as they watch Davis make it look like child’s play. Gathered on the cold, broom-finished concrete I approach them to an obvious conversational ritordando. 

“Outstanding work,” I begin, “let's be clear on one thing. We are a team, in this, through this and after this our number one objective is the success of the team and its mission. I don’t need to remind you of what happens when our weak link is exposed. I shouldn’t have to echo the reasons why Cap, Neumann and Bryant are not with us today. In each of their unique circumstances there came a moment, a split-second of eternity that turned the exercise south in an operational game-changer. Situational awareness distracted, intentional or otherwise, for this long,” I snap my finger with emphatic volume, “is enough time for the success of a mission to turn to absolute disaster. I will remind you of this: We are an elite squad of warriors dedicated to excellence in the execution of our assignments. Each of you, as was just exemplified, has their individual strengths and weakness’, unique skill sets of vital combinations of talents and abilities. Yet it will always be in the sum of our parts that we are judged. Our success will always be measured by the weakest among us. This is natural selection with our first mission that of survival. As teammates you have a responsibility to your partner and then to your team. If one of us loses — or fails to execute the required action — we all lose and we all fail.” 

I can see as well as feel, the sudden and dramatic change of physic energy. As much as it pains me to be the purveyor of bad news, it is a responsibility that I accept, because I know the barter. Give me hard work, solid practice and continual improvement towards mission success any day of the week. You can have everything else, including Sundays. 

I lay out the schedule for the remainder of the day; Breakfast in one hour, steel cut oats with honey and almost slices, one hard boiled-egg and a bowl of fresh fruit with as much water as desired and coffee. A classroom session on communications and surveillance at thirteen hundred hours, free time till seventeen and a boots and utes march starting at the North end of the parking lot at nineteen hundred hours. 

I dismiss the group.

“Davis and Satriano, please remain.” The group leaves as the two approach. 

“I’m not a good swimmer,” Maria says in a sincere tone, head low. 

“The issue is not what you currently are, but what you might become,” I offer, trying to assuage and inspire in one sentence. I look at Davis and then back to Satriano.

“Can you become one?” 

Well Played Mate

84.

I circle the deck watching the team react to the sudden call to action. Saunders and Drysdale have already established commanding leads at the end of the third lap. Davis, Calahan and Bromden are all swimming with various degrees of proficiency. Satriano appears to be struggling, already gasping for air and wildly inefficient. I consider the current situation and its solution as I yell encouragement to her. Davis, her partner, hears my call and stops to locate her in the water and crosses two lanes to perform an aquatic damage assessment. I can hear his attempt at motivation as he advises her to relax, breathe deep and try to stay on his feet. He allows her two deep breath sequences as he looks at his watch. Knowing his history I have a very good idea of the tactic he is considering to accomplish the time requirement of the drill.

As this is playing out I also see that Calahan is beginning to dramatically slow his stroke-count. I watch with interest as he is lapped by Saunders, Drysdale and finally Bromden. I am a bit surprised as Calahan is an excellent swimmer, competent diver and competitive triathlete when scheduling allows. Satriano is now water-drafting off of Davis and they seem to be finding somewhat of a groove as Saunders finishes just ahead of Drysdale, I note their times, both sub-eighteen, and make similar timing notations as Bromden finishes just over twenty minutes. Calahan struggles to a sluggish, for him, twenty-one and change, leaving Davis and Satriano as the last fish in the pond. They have two minutes to finish as their teammates shout encouragement standing on the deck. But even a near sighted non-swimmer could see that Satriano is fading badly, her finish uncertain. With just the return length remaining they are thirty-seconds from the cutoff time. Saunders, Drysdale, Bromden, and Calahan are jumping on the deck screaming encouragement trying to coerce Satriano to kick off the far wall and give everything for just…thirty…more…seconds. 

The drama is deafening. 

Davis, sensing some emergency, stops his pull and turns to see what the issue is. Treading water he looks at his watch and puts a plan into action. He swims back to Satriano, hanging for her life on the wall, turns her around and wraps his huge left arm around her shoulders and pushes off the deck with a grunt. He is going to use the lifeguarding system and tow her the last length of the pool, in twenty-seconds. 

I never expected this exercise to contain so many live, real-time demonstrations of the critical skills we often take for granted, but here, with this grand theatre unfolding as Davis kicks with a powerful and efficient cadence, as their teammates clap and yell their most sincere verbal signals of support, I am moved by the power of the moment. I feel a jolt of electricity as I watch the profound display of athleticism and camaraderie, of valor and grace under fire, of hope and of meaning. Of unity. 

Davis and his partner hit the deck with five-seconds to spare. One might think that they had just won Olympic gold in the team freestyle. Satriano is assisted to the deck where Calahan, the team medic, takes a quick look and provides a positive diagnosis. Davis is out of the water and toweling off. He passes the terry cloth once more over his head and meets my eyes when finished. His gaze is neither asking nor telling, he is not seeking approval nor does he appear to need an explanation. He is completely comfortable with himself and by association, with his decision, his action and its eventual result. I hold his eyes for a beat.

And nod slightly in a silent, congratulatory gesture of approval, the body dialect of, “Well played mate.’

GO

83.

One of the reasons why I like starting new things, now matter how contrived, repetitive or challenging is the reminder that miraculous things happen when we make firm commitments. As I walk towards the base aquatic center I could feel the surge of endorphins start to fine-tune my senses, a state I have always compared to the delightful energy while downing a double espresso an hour before sunrise. If there was ever a doubt about what the feeling of being full alive, present in the moment with a keen appreciation of the now and deep anticipation of what the future might bring, this is it. I could almost see the pure crystals of ice begin their cleanse as I inhaled diaphragmatically, holding each intake to the syncopation of my strides. There is magic in the power of the body — just as there is power in the magic of physical readiness. It is in moments like these that we glimpse the potential of our sacred duties. 

It’s not so much a “why question’ as in ‘why did this happen, why must we do this, or why is it always so difficult’ but a “what” questions, as in “what are we going to do about it, what is the proper response, and what could be the situation should we NOT adequately or appropriately respond.’ 

These thoughts are racing through my head like a track sprinter as I enter the facility, grab a towel from the attendant, change and open the huge double doors that guard the fifty meter pool. I am ten minutes early but Saunders and Drysdale already are putting on a clinic of slippery and graceful free-style technique. I stand on the deck in admiration of their efficient and ballet-like flip turns at the completion of each half-lap. I am greeted by those remaining on the deck, stretching, watching, rehearsing the movements and mimicking the motions that will soon propel them through the cool, clean chlorinated water. I look at the giant timer and see it is 0659. 

“Land those two pool sharks and let’s huddle up,” I announce. 

Calahan tosses two towels and the six encircle my position on the wet concrete deck. 

“You all know what I am going to say - but I need to say it anyway. This is not a drill. This is the real thing. There are bad guys out there, who at this very moment, are planning and plotting to inflict unimaginable carnage on the people we have been assigned to protect. Please accept the truth and reality in my words, there is no difference between what we do today in practice, the focus that we bring to our training, the strength that we build as a team and the actual deployment of those skills and abilities when in combat, virtual or hand-to-hand. They are the same. Every lap in the pool, mile on the track, round at the range, new computer hack or triage format might be the one single action that saves your life, or the life of your teammate or the lives of a hundred thousand civilians that we all swore an oath to protect. So let’s put in the effort, give the respect and build something above and beyond our most grandiose visions of what we are capable of becoming as a team.  Because that is what we do. We overachieve. We do the impossible. And we make it look easy. Like Drysdale and Saunders in the water.”

There is the typical  mixture of guffaws and grunts upon completion of my monologue as I announce the two-person teams that will comprise the buddy-system assignments from this point forward, for better or for worse, as is said.

Drysdale and Calahan.

Saunders and Bromden.

Davis and Satriano. 

The announcement prompts a series of fist bumps and a questioning look from Davis. 

Something I knew was coming. 

“Twenty laps - no fins - in twenty-five minutes.” I hold my watch to my face with animation of intent to begin. 

Go. 

Dismissed

82.

Two days in debrief is about the limit. After that the golden window of opportunity slams shut like a triggered mousetrap. I had been in three classified telecoms with TOM regarding our mission, the two-week intensive and chatter that the agency had been monitoring. There was something building, somewhere and by unknown hostiles. ‘That is all we have’ TOM reported with the pledge to keep eyes and ears on and open. We agreed to a plan of attack in the interim so I called the group together to lay out the new, and hopefully improved, schedule. 

The team; Davis, Calahan, Bromden, Saunders, Drysdale, myself and the new kid, Satriano met at sunrise in the crisp morning air of the Rockies. The goal being to set sail for a new destination, one with the need for all hands to be on deck. I made the opening remarks and turned it over to Drysdale for an update on the teams activities and routine during my absence. Each of the team members was next allowed the opportunity to comment on the status of said routine. Upon completion of the roundtable good-natured roast, I introduced, formally, Maria Satriano to the group. Without need for any further secrecy, I informed her teammates of the plan to work her back into The Axis as a plant along with the mention that her resume also includes several of the basic requirements for this select type of service, the fact that she is a master computer hacker and an accomplished martial artist. This drew a whistle from Davis and a hoorah from Bromden. And like that she was formally indoctrinated into the unit - with the understanding that she would need to prove herself in a plethora of ways over the course of the next fourteen days to become fully ordained.   

After the morale building segment I outlined the structure and format of the two-week intensive. It would include the basics of:

Swimming

Running

Strength and conditioning

Basic underwater skills

Group calisthenics

Academic training

SEAL Ethos

Core values

Exercise science

Nutrition 

As well as refreshers in SERE:

Survival

Evasion

Resistance

Escape

When I announced that the period would conclude with the standard SEAL testing protocols consisting of:

1000-yard swim - with fins (20 minutes or under)

Push-ups: at least 70 (two-minute time limit)

Pull-ups: at least 10 (two-minute time limit

Curl-ups: at least 60 (two-minute time limit)

There was almost an exact number of those cheering as those jeering.

"We have two weeks. And we start in one hour in the pool. Dismissed."   

The Best There Is

81,

'It’s the best there is.”

By their second intensive debriefing session together Sanders and Maria had developed a relationship. Simply put, as Saunders carefully edged her way towards the inner sanctum of Maria’s motivation and intent, Maria allowed deeper and deeper cooperation. It was actually moving towards successful conversation with both parties appreciating the improvements. They had covered most of the major inflection points, the cause and effects, and freely exchanged ideas and opinions on the possible underlying physiological consequences of action taken and options avoided. 

Saunders was intrigued by Maria’s initial purpose for signing up with the fledgling terrorist organization. True the financial bonus was the obvious factor, but her hunch, the instinct built over twenty years of experience, hinted that there were others. Accordingly she lightly applied her foot to the accelerator hoping to speed things up. 

“You told Commander Bogart of your political views and rebellious opinions in regard to the basic history of the United States, true?”

“Yes, I, to this very day, am deeply troubled, ashamed actually, of many of the disgusting things our government has done, and continues to do,” Maria confesses, “It was my, however sophomoric, belief that there was a reckoning, a form of proletariat street justice, necessary for the powers that be to hear the powers that could be. At the time my working theory was that only by fighting fire with fire could we take even the tiniest of steps away from the US being global bullies in a capitalistic game of Monopoly, and towards something, anything, more peaceful, civil and altruistic, up to and possibly including a testing of democratic socialism, you know, power to the people.” 

Saunders allows a time-out to absorb the largess of this to sink. 

“So you are saying that you took the gig as a way to assist in the creation of chaos and havoc, kill people, in order to demonstrate to the government that two could play the game and that by engaging in violent, felonious, para-military action you could broker some type of peace accord?” Saunders asks.

“The hope was that with enough successful computer hacking we could avoid the bloodshed.” Maria responds.

“At what point did you begin to recognize that there was a fly in the ointment?” Saunders presses.

“From my perspective, there never was a fly. We had a great game plan. Everything was running like clockwork. We had jammed the radar, jacked the Phantoms and were prepared to open negotiations with the POTUS, or one of his sycophant ass-sucking staffers.” 

“The paradox of this never struck you as excessive? The fact that there was no possible way you could ever ‘win’ was never an issue? Did your actions and game plan include the consideration that what you were attempting to do was, how do I put it?

“Crazy?” Maria answers the question, “Yes, it was often discussed. But more in the way of it being a poignant, perhaps even perfect example of Catch-22.”

“So you knew it was a crazy scheme and doomed to fail?”

“Yes.”

“And you did it anyway?”

“Yes.”

Saunders asks Maria for her full attention and begins a formal and eloquent recitation. 

“I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter.”

Maria looks across the table waiting for her to continue, but the notion has been presented for consideration. Breaking the silence she finally speaks, “THAT is exactly the point. Can you look me in the eye and tell me that is the MO or policy or standard operating procedure of the current commander-in-chief? THAT is the paradox. THAT is the irony. THAT is the hypocritical fly in the ointment and the entire fucking Catch-22.” 

“Because it’s an excellent definition of the term?” 

“Because it’s the best there is.”