Bio Profile: Sergeant Major Wolfe
Faction: The Exiles
At 52, Battalion Sergeant Major Eric Wolfe is the second-oldest soldier serving in 'the Damned 33rd', except for Konrad himself. Born in 1960 in Denver, Colorado, he grew up idolizing his father, who served in the original 33rd at the Battle of the Bulge. He joined the Army right out of high school in the summer of 1978. He graduated from basic training that fall, his exemplary record as a recruit earned him the rank of Private First Class. He was deployed to South Korea after boot camp, spending the first two years of his career as an '11 Bravo' infantryman serving in the 3rd Infantry Division.
Determined to the point of being hard-headed and possessed of a keen mind, Wolfe applied for Jump School at Fort Benning, like Captain Pilton. Unlike Pilton, Wolfe's determination earned him respect among his peers and superiors, and rose through the ranks, making E-5 in 1983. That same year, he was transferred to the 508th Parachute Infantry Regiment and got his first taste of combat during the Invasion of Grenada. During the action he was wounded by Cuban grenade shrapnel, leaving him with a distinctive scar on the right side of his head and earning his first Purple Heart.
After Operation Urgent Fury Wolfe requested a transfer back to the 3rd Infantry Division, where he was promoted to Staff Sergeant and throughout the rest of the Cold War served in West Berlin. In 1991, while serving as a platoon sergeant Wolfe participated in Operation Desert Storm, the first Gulf War. On February 27th, 1991 during the Battle for 73 Easting his platoon's Bradley IFVs were outflanked by an enemy tank surge, and came under fire from Iraqi tanks. When the lead IFV was struck by a tank shell and burst into flames, Wolfe leaped into action. Under heavy machine gun fire from the enemy tanks, he dismounted his Bradley and rushed to the burning vehicle. With no concern for his own safety, Wolfe pulled the two surviving crewman and his own badly injured platoon leader from the burning vehicle. For this action, he would be awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by President George Herbert Walker Bush.
After the Gulf War, Wolfe continued serving with the 3rd Infantry Division, before making First Sergeant and transferring to the 10th Mountain Division in 1998. The following year, he deployed to Bosnia, followed by a tour in Kosovo in 2000. Wolfe served in the Invasion of Afghanistan in 2002 and Iraq the following year, before finally making Sergeant Major in 2004 and was honored to be assigned to his father's old unit, the 'the Damned 33rd'.
SGM Wolfe quickly gained a reputation as a no-nonsense staff NCO, tough but fair. In one instance involving four junior enlisted men in 3rd Platoon, Kilo Company (a unit known for trouble-makers) who had been caught in a 'noodle incident' involving strippers, farm animals and two illegally-obtained kegs of beer, Wolfe had the group of offending privates hauled up before him at 0500 the next morning. He then gave them a choice, either receive an Article 15, along with the accompanying NJP's and marks on their permanent record, or opt for 'incentive training'. Said incentive training, which all the privates opted for, involved having to sweep all the sunshine off the sidewalks until sundown, and then each had to take turns saluting a tree in the middle of their company's barracks yard until the early hours of the morning. While saluting the tree each private had to thank the tree for making up for the oxygen they, the privates, were currently stealing and wasting. The privates did not turn into repeat offenders.
In spite of his gruff demeanor SGM Wolfe cared deeply for his men, and did stick his neck out for them on more than a few occasions. One such time was when then SPC Omar Torrez who was denied PDTY for the birth of his wife's second child, due to clerical error. Denied leave, Torrez was caught by Wolfe attempting to go AWOL, and instead of summoning military police the sergeant major personally drove the private to the hospital in his own vehicle, and filed the appropriate paperwork after the fact. Because of this balance Wolfe earned the admiration and respect of the bulk of the 33rd's officers and men, and became close friends with both then-Major Long and Lieutenant Colonel Konrad, who was then serving as the unit's executive officer.
In the 2005 the convoy attack that resulted in the death of the 33rd's then-commander Colonel David Harvie and his command staff, Wolfe was again wounded while pulling the wounded to safety. In doing so, he was shot in the chest by an insurgent bullet, collapsing a lung and nearly killing him. For his heroics, he received a Silver Star and his second Purple Heart. Like Konrad, Wolfe took the fall of Kabul very personally, having trained and bled alongside many of the Coalition Forces who helped stabilize the battered country.
Unlike Konrad, Wolfe felt that staying in Dubai to help civilians was against military protocol, but supported Konrad, setting aside his personal feelings about the situation so as to set an example for the men. However, in the brutal aftermath of the failed Evacuation, Wolfe couldn't escape the turmoil that washed over the entire unit. As tempers flared and 'the Damned 33rd' declared martial law, Wolfe watched the growing schism between Konrad and his staff with unease. On one hand, Wolfe privately agreed that the 33rd needed to cut their losses and pull out of Dubai. But on the other, he put his loyalty to his commander above his personal opinions. All the while, he watched as his battalion began coming apart at the seams.
Lieutenant Colonel Long personally approached Wolfe with his plan to leave Dubai with the three companies loyal to him, aware of the Sergeant Major's conflicted state. Despite agreeing that the 'the Damned 33rd' needed to go, Wolfe refused to abandon Konrad and the bulk of the unit, primarily out of concern for the men. However, he had initially agreed to keep quiet about the plan. But, as time passed, Wolfe's conscience and his military bearing conflicted, until, somehow, Bill Pilton found out about his involvement and blackmailed Wolfe into revealing what he knew. It was this act that set the 33rd firmly on it's path to damnation.
When Pilton's confrontation with Long sparked the Mutiny between the Exiles and the Damned, Wolfe's heart was shattered. Unable to stand the idea of his men killing each other, he became withdrawn and distant, spending most of his time in the now empty command center, still going through the motions as if nothing had changed. He also began and kept a detailed log of his life in Dubai, which was later recovered by the rescue team sent to look for Captain Walker's team.
When the Exiles were finally defeated, Wolfe outright refused to attend Konrad's execution of his mutinous command staff. Perhaps he considered Wolfe's decision the 'right' choice, because Konrad didn't press the issue, and Wolfe for his part could see that his commander was broken as well. As a result, when Major Gavin and Lt. McPherson burst into the sergeant major's quarters a few days later revealing that Konrad had committed suicide, Wolfe was saddened, but not surprised.
After Konrad's suicide leadership of the 33rd fell to Major Gavin, who put Wolfe and his battalion 1SG Robert Crosby in charge of organizing the 'Damned' and the surviving 'Exiles' into something resembling coherent units. Having something to do helped Wolfe, but he was a changed man, a hollow shell of his former self. His coping mechanism was largely comprised of overseeing missions assignments and enforcing the Grooming Standards as part of the 33rd's rules of occupying Dubai. He personally oversaw the first stage of Operation Reclamation, that of evacuating the civilian refugees from the sunken ruins of the Radisson Blu Hotel, aka the Nest. He was killed by an avalanche of sand caused by Captain Walker when he used a commandeered .50 cal emplacement to shatter the hotel's massive window. Wolfe's quick thinking did save the lives of 47 civilians, who managed to escape in the the convoy before the hotel collapsed. Alas, his sacrifice turned out to be in vain due to Walker's actions at the Gate.
(AN: Well, I meant to get this out sooner, but had post-holiday stuff to take care of, that and I had to get caught up on my other writing project which I had been neglecting. Hopefully these bio profile's aren't too annoying, I just want to use them as a means to flesh out the characters in this story. And please do comment or PM me and let me know what you think of the story. Speaking of characters, this chapter will be introducing some more players in the 'Exiles' faction, and from there we will be jumping right into the next 'fairytale' arc. I have several arcs already sketched out, but if you guys have any requests, let me know. Now, on with the show!)
(June 26th, 2012, Radisson Blu Hotel, aka 'the Nest', Dubai, 1329 hours local time)
"...Alright, Mr. Singh, now I need ya to flex that elbow and put pressure against that cotton swab for about five minutes, okay?"
The medic, a young private with a permanent lopsided smile, administered an intravenous drip to an older gentleman in a tattered business suit and wearing a turban. PVT. Davis was one of the many medics assigned in the 33rd's latest operation against the Insurgents. Code-named Operation Reclamation, it had been in the works for weeks, but its launch date was moved up due to the Insurgents ending the ceasefire in Dubai. The CIA-backed civilians had ambushed Alpha Patrol doing recon in the Outer Zone, and had taken Lt. McPherson hostage.
The first phase of the operation was to root out the armed insurgents, which the Damned 33rd had done handily. The second phase was more important, and much more sensitive, to provide humanitarian aide to the unarmed civilian population that had been living in the squalorous conditions in the Insurgent's base, a ruined hotel. Several teams of combat medics were dispatched to set up temporary aide stations in the hotel's lobby, where the civilians could be processed and from there transported to 33rd's refugee camp at the Gate.
The medic reached into a crate next to him and gave the man a water bottle.
"Here's some water, if you go follow that big guy over there, he'll direct you to your transport truck."
Davis nodded over to the other soldier, a tall Latino who was sporting SGT stripes and a bristly mustache. He was going down the line of civilians asking questions about their medical histories and allergies. When the sergeant finished he went back to the medic, who had finished placing a bandage over the needle area. The older man hesitated.
"B-but where are you taking us?"
SGT Torrez interjected.
"Sir, this place isn't safe anymore. The Insurgents have started attacked us again, if the War starts again you'll need to somewhere more secure."
The older man's eyes lit up as he pulled on his frayed suit jacket.
"Ah, this is the sanctuary of Konrad? Is he there as well? Will he lead us out of this hell?"
Both Torrez and Davis exchanged a look.
"Ah, yeah...just...just follow that line of people and one of the soldiers will direct you to your truck. We'll get you to safety."
After the civilian left, Davis shook his head.
"Shit Torrez, I forgot how many of these civvies still worship the Old Man. It's crazy."
The medic sat back down as his NCO responded.
"As long as it keeps them compliant, I say let it be, man."
He took a drink from his camelback.
"Any word from McPherson?"
Torrez shook his head.
"Negative, we've been getting sporadic radio chatter and reports of some CIA kill team that's been wrecking havoc on our scouts. Nothing solid."
The medic looked around Torrez's shoulder and chuckled.
"Uh-oh..."
The sergeant cocked his head.
"What is it, Davis?"
Davis shook his head.
"Um, Sergeant Torrez be advised, ol' Big Bad Wolf is coming up on your six and coming in hot!"
Torrez rolled his eyes.
"Shit..."
A gruff, rasping voice growled at him from behind.
"Torrez! About face, I want to see yer ugly mug..."
He turned and faced an older soldier wearing the same ACU's as the rest of the 33rd soldiers. The only thing that distinguished the newcomer was his grim, craggy features that were permanently creased in a scowl, and the SGM insignia on his dark green plate carrier. Sergeant Major Wolfe glared at Torrez, which the junior NCO returned with a grin.
"Problem, Sar'ent Major?"
The senior NCO's frown deepened, and he responded in his low froggy voice that was accustomed to shouting.
"I thought I told you earlier to po-lease them cunt hairs off yer upper lip, Torrez. Or did you think that I predicated that with the phrase 'if it pleases your Majesty'?"
Before Torrez could let out a snarky retort, a third voice spoke up.
"Problem, Sar'ent Major?"
The sergeant major turned and saw a young officer approaching wearing a boonie hat and a balaclava. Lt. Gordon pulled off his face covering, and the senior NCO saluted him. Gordon returned the salute and nodded over to Torrez.
"As you were. What seems to be the malfunction, Sergeant Major?"
Wolfe glanced over to the junior NCO.
"Sir, I was merely informing Torrez here about his blatant disregard of the Grooming Standards."
Gordon made a wry smile and shook his head.
"Really Wolfe? We're battling the Insurgents and this phantom CIA kill team and god-knows-what else, and here you're busting balls about grooming standards? What's next, you're going to smoke Davis because he didn't blouse his boots or tuck his shirttails in?"
The scowl deepened on Wolfe's face.
"With all due respect, sir, you of all people should know the importance of discipline here in Dubai. I wrote those Rules of Occupation for a reason, and why it's so damned important we follow them. Today it's un-groomed faces and rampant moo-stache hairs, tomorrow it's breaking ranks and looting!"
He gestured to the sand-swept landscape outside the ruined hotel.
"Hell we still have a few of our own boys acting fucking crazy, running around hopped up on amphetamines and poking people with their goddammed bayonets!"
Wolfe paused, seeing the look in Gordon's face. He then took off his cover and wiped sweat from his face.
"Ah, shit! I'm sorry for ranting, sir."
Gordon didn't respond but looked over to Torrez.
"Sgt. Torrez, be advised that effective immediately I want all the NCO's to be clean-shaven. That includes you."
The sergeant saluted.
"Roger that. Permission to continue with Operation Reclamation?"
"Permission granted, carry on."
Gordon looked back at Wolfe.
"Happy, Sergeant Major?"
The sergeant major didn't respond, but allowed himself a small smile. The lieutenant looked back at the crowd of refugees.
"Then continue supervising the evac, I have to report back to Base on some intel we've recovered about our CIA friends."
Wolfe gave a curt nod and walked off, probably in search of another victim, Gordon thought. He heard Davis speak up.
"Hey, El-Tee, any more word from Crosby? Or is team Grey Fox even too elusive for the famed Zulu Squad?"
The lieutenant smiled.
"Last radio check I got from Iceman they were closing the net. Only be a matter of time."
He looked back to the steady stream of refugees.
"In the meantime what I said to Wolfe applies to you and everyone else, It's imperative we get these civvies to safety. From what I've heard of this CIA kill team, they're shooting up anyone in their path. If you see them, you shoot to kill."
Meanwhile, Wolfe was in the middle of chewing out another private for his five o'clock shadow, when his radio lit up.
"Shit! McPherson's team has been wiped out! Repeat, that CIA team has taken out our recon team, they're firing on us from higher ground!"
The sergeant major looked up and saw gunfire on the upper levels of the hotel. He wasn't sure who it was, but whoever they were, they were firing on the 33rd and as such were hostile. He looked at the small crowd of civilians cowering in the corner by the concierge desk. Less then fifty still had to be processed. He turned to the soldier.
"Change of plans, soldier. Get those civilians into that truck."
The soldier, a private named Gobbi, hesitated.
"B-but Sarge, they haven't been checked or anything."
Wolfe glared at the private.
"In case you haven't noticed, pri'at, there's people shooting at us. I don't want these civilians caught in the crossfire. Take them to the Gate, we'll get them processed there and then transported to the 33rd's camp by the Marina."
The private saluted, and he along with several other of the 33rd soldiers started herding the civvies into several transport trucks. As Wolfe oversaw it, a loud voice came over some speakers that were strung up in the lobby.
"I know there's a lot of you askin' the same question, why? Well...I'd like to ask you the same thing..."
The senior NCO cursed to himself. That goddamned civvie Robert Darden, aka the Radioman, always has to throw his fucking oar in, he thought to himself.
"There was no reason for any of this. We made a truce. You broke it. We gave you chance to surrender, and you ignored it. Why? Why? I mean, why would you do that?
You chose this. Not us. The only peace I can offer you now is this: the perfect tune to play you off stage..."
Then the speakers started blaring out 'Bad Vibrations' by the Black Angels. Wolfe shook his head. That goddamned Radioman always had a flair for the dramatic. Wolfe's radio began picking up 33rd chatter, as they engaged this three-man team.
"...we need motherfuckin' covering fire! Engage now!"
As he listened he could make out the gunfire, and his trained ears could make out the CIA team's individual weapons. One was a heavy gunner, firing what sounded like a M249 SAW, the other was a sniper. It boggled Wolfe's mind that this team was using American military hardware. Most of the CIA-backed teams the 33rd had encountered up to that point were using AK's or other former Eastern bloc hardware. Then again, those teams were also locals. Once again the sergeant major wondered how in the hell the situation in Dubai had degenerated to such a degree that you had Americans fighting Americans. But, having survived the Mutiny, it wasn't as much of a stretch. He heard more chatter through the static of his radio.
"...set up a defensive parameter and send in more reinforcements, we're bein' overrun!"
Based off that, it didn't sound good. That CIA kill team must have been ex-special forces, to be giving the 33rd such a beating.
"What the fuck is he doing?!"
Wolfe heard one of the soldiers shout and he looked up. One of the kill-team, the leader by the look of him, had commandeered a .50 cal 'Ma Deuce' turret on the 4th floor mezzanine gallery. Rather than fire on the 33rd, he was directing fire from the machine gun onto a massive window that ran the entire height of the ruined hotel. Behind the glass window sand had accumulated up almost to the 10th floor. It took Wolfe only five seconds to parse out what the CIA goon was doing. He turned his head and barked out orders to the nearest soldier.
"Get those civilians outta here!"
When the soldier, a specialist, stared at Wolfe the older NCO shoved him roughly.
"I said hurry the fuck up! That fucker's trying to bring the desert down on all of us!"
That snapped the specialist out of his fugue. The specialist turned and barked frenzied orders to a small squad of soldiers nearest to one of the trucks that was almost full and at the front of the convoy. They began herding the civilians into the trucks. The specialist slammed the tailgate shut and radioed Wolfe.
"Sergeant Major, this truck's full, what're your orders?"
Wolfe turned his attention back up, the kill-team leader was still firing the commandeered Ma Deuce at the window. Several of the 33rd soldiers had also figured out his intent and had opened fire on his position. The sergeant major also noted grimly that cracks had already started to form in the massive window. It had been built to withstand hurricane-force winds, but not a steady barrage of .50 caliber bullets. Thin fingers of sand were already streaming through the bullet holes. He keyed the mic on his radio.
"Specialist, get that truck and get the hell out of here..."
He could hear the hesitation in the specialist's voice through the static.
"B-but Sergeant Major-"
"That's an order, specialist. We'll be right behind you, get going!"
Wolfe heard the truck's engines firing up, sending up twin plumes of black diesel smoke as the driver gunned the engines. The remaining three trucks were getting loaded up, and the pace had begun to take up a more frantic pace. The civilians were no longer hesitating, they must have sensed the urgency in the soldier's demeanor. Wolfe got into the truck at the rear of the column, it's engine was already idling. He didn't need to give the order, the driver had already put the truck into gear and was taking off almost before Wolfe had a chance to shut the door properly.
Ahead of them was a hole where the hotel's concierge lounge was, it was an opening that led to the desert outside. The truck had only gotten fifty feet from the entrance when the entire ground shook from a massive explosion. Wolfe looked into the rear-view mirror and his heart sank. There was a wall of sand, roiling like a tsunami wave.
"C'mon Henderson! Punch it!"
He didn't know who shouted the command, but it didn't matter. He barely had enough time to make peace with the fact that at least one truck was going to make it out of the Nest when the avalanche of sand slammed into the truck. Wolfe blacked out before the truck was rammed into the hotel's wreckage, but before he did, he thought he heard a voice.
It was a musical, feminine voice that whispered in his ear.
"You will not perish, I will not allow it..."
Wolfe had no chance to react, there was a blinding flash of light. For a moment the old NCO was disoriented, and he felt weightlessness. For a moment he was taken back to his parachute training, it was a familiar and unsettling feeling; like free-falling. Then, as abruptly as it started it stopped, and Wolfe's vision cleared. He was in a bright white light, and could make out a figure approaching him. As it approached he heard the same voice echo in his ears.
"Eric Wolfe, you were the dedicated soldier who carries a heavy burden of guilt unearned..."
As his eyes adjusted, Wolfe could see the figure was tall and lithe, with long flowing hair. As she (and the old NCO could see that it was, in fact female) got closer, he could make out a beautiful but sad face, with large green eyes. She paused in front of Wolfe, and continued to speak in that same musical voice.
"You have done and will continue to do more good..."
Wolfe just stared at her, partly in disbelief and partly because, in spite of his advancing years he was entranced by her otherworldly beauty. A warm smile played on the the beautiful creature radiant features, she cocked her head to one side, and her long, flowing tresses swished with her graceful movements.
"Do you know where you are, Eric Wolfe?"
The sergeant major's lips pursed into a small smile as he glanced about him.
"Well, seeing as how I'm not seein' my ex-wife, I know this place ain't Hell."
That caused the lady to place a delicate hand to her mouth and giggle musically, as if the old NCO had told her the funniest joke ever. It sounded pleasing, even though historically Wolfe hated it when women laughed, especially his ex.
"No, you are quite correct, it isn't the Dark Realm. T'is my realm, the Celestial Empyrean, and I am the Weaver of Fate. Here I pluck out threads that are about to be cut, and re-weave them into other Tapestries...Your pattern had ended in that horrid sand-ridden hell, so I chose you for an new purpose, one that will be for good..."
Wolfe chewed on his lower lip for a moment as he considered the Lady's words.
"So, if I'm parsing out your fancy talk, I was about to die, and you're instead gonna stick me, where? Some fairy tale where I battle dragons?"
Once again the Lady giggled. Yep, I could get used to that laugh, Wolfe thought to himself as the Lady continued.
"You are more right than you know, Eric Wolfe."
She came closer to him, until her large green eyes were the only thing Wolfe could see. He felt her slender hands on each side of his face, and heard her voice in his ears.
"You will be of invaluable help to the heroes of this Tapestry, and you will be a force of Good..."
The Lady then tilted his head down, and placed a kiss on Wolfe's forehead. The old NCO felt an electric charge in that kiss, and in a flash he opened his eyes, as if just waking from a deep sleep.
At first Wolfe looked down, and saw he still had his gear and weapon.
"Damn, Sar'ent Major, I though chu were gonna sleep through the whole damned drive, now."
Wolfe turned his head and for the first time realized he was sitting in the passenger seat of a military truck, a HUMVEE to be precise. The driver was a burly man with an oak leaf cluster insignia on his plate carrier, and a grin on his face. Wolfe finally found his voice.
"Gavin, er- I mean Major, sir?"
Major Bruce Gavin grinned at the stunned sergeant major.
"Shucks now, Eric, y'all don't need to stand on rank...Not here anyways..."
Wolfe looked out through the HUMVEE's armored windshield. They were driving through some sort of forest, although Wolfe couldn't tell where, it was clear they weren't in Dubai anymore. The trees and greenery didn't look like anything stateside, either.
"Where's here, sir?"
The major didn't respond right away, and Wolfe heard another voice behind him in the backseat.
"A long way from Dubai, Sergeant Major."
Wolfe turned around and the normally stoic senior NCO's jaw dropped. Sitting in the back to the right of the turret platform, was a man wearing ACU's like Wolfe and Gavin, with a slight stubble and dark hair greying at the temples. The officer was also smiling at Wolfe's reaction, and he heard Gavin chuckle.
"C'mon, sir tell me what ol' Big Bad Wolf's reaction is, I can't see it!"
LTC David Long grinned.
"The sergeant major looks like his eyeballs are going to pop out of their sockets, major."
He turned his attention to the senior NCO.
"What's wrong, sergeant? You look like you just saw a ghost."
Wolfe's jaw finally started working, and he spoke.
"Colonel? Sir, you were dead...I saw, I mean I wasn't there, but..."
A shadow crossed Long's features.
"To answer your question, yes, I remember being executed."
He gestured around with a gloved hand.
"And yet, here we all are..."
Wolfe was about to respond when he heard Gavin speak up again.
"Hey sir, I'd say yer not gonna believe this, but given what we've all seen..."
Both Long and the sergeant major turned. Out in the windshield there was a figure, no scratch that, two figures. One was a Marine, clearly identified by his desert MARPAT utilities, wearing a jarhead cap on his head, a large duffel bag slung over one shoulder and carrying a weapon in his hand. He was also holding up a cardboard sign with the words scribbled on it.
It said Bakersfield?
If that looked odd to the trio of soldiers, the second figure was even more bizarre. He was an older man, with a long white beard wearing blue robes and had a conical hat with an owl perched on the top. He was carrying a simple small leather suitcase and holding his thumb up, as if hitchhiking.
Wolfe was still trying to process what he was seeing, when he heard Major Gavin speak up again.
"Well, looks like things are gonna get a lot more interesting, fellas..."
Glossary:
11 Bravo: US Army MOS designation for Infantry, 11B
Article 15: a section of the Uniform Code of Military Justice allowing commanders to carry out discretionary punishments without judicial proceedings.
NJP: Non-judicial punishment, allows commanders to administratively discipline troops without a court-martial.
PTDY: Permissive temporary duty authorization is an benefit that allows for soldiers to receive excused extended absences for personal reasons, including (as in the case of Torrez) medical emergencies.
(AN: Well, there you have it, the final players on the Exiles' side have entered the field. Next chapter will be up soonish, at least sooner than this last update, and will segue into their real first mission. Hopefully you guys are ready, because it's gonna be a wild ride. Until then!)