Chapter 4
Assembly
England - May 3rd
"There'll be dangers, and I can't choose for you," Sheffield was saying to the men assembled before him. "This is strictly a volunteer mission. I can't tell you what it is yet, but I can tell you that you've each been personally selected by me based on your skill and achievement. I have confidence in our ability to execute successfully." He paused, looking each man in the eye. "Is there anyone who doesn't want to go?"
No hands lifted. 'Voluntary' was a peculiar word here. In a strict sense, the mission was voluntary – all of Sir Radcliffe's covert missions were. But failing to volunteer had consequences. You only refused an opportunity once; after that, there were no more chances. That's not to say that they would be bounced out of the military. Far from it, in fact. They would be returned to their normal post for their normal assignment. And that would be that – a normal post with normal assignments for the rest of their career.
But the men assembled here were not ones for whom 'normal' was a way of life. They knew that a few men in far off places quietly fought the real wars; victory was when no one ever knew what had happened. The wars that people saw – the thousands of troops and tanks and planes marching through a country – were what happened when they failed. 'Normal' troops sat waiting in readiness against the time men like Sheffield should fail. No one in the room was big on waiting.
The team assembled consisted of eight men. Sheffield stood in the front of the seven others – calm, cool and collected as usual. They were assembled in a hanger in an out of the way base on the west coast of Great Britain. They had been brought in from various points around the world at Sheffield's request. Sheffield was familiar with all of them – except for Captain MacKenzie. MacKenzie was Sir Radcliffe's personal selection, and like it or not he had to make the man fit in with the rest of the team he had assembled. Sheffield didn't like it.
It wasn't just that he had never worked with MacKenzie before, although that was an issue. MacKenzie was a Captain with a good deal of service time. Sir Radcliffe undoubtedly knew that MacKenzie would outrank anyone Sheffield was likely to select for the mission. That made MacKenzie the Executive Officer of the mission. So it wasn't just that Sheffield didn't know him; Sheffield also had to rely on him as XO – the second in command.
As Commanding Officer, Sheffield held a position apart from the others. He was by both tradition and necessity unapproachable. There was God and then there was him, and there was no one in between. The XO, by contrast to the CO, was responsible for day to day operation of the unit, as well as most discipline. The men would interact with MacKenzie more than Sheffield. And since Mac was an unknown, Sheffield was not in control – that was a situation he hoped to remedy at once.
"All right then," Sheffield said. "Reassamble at 2200 hours." He nodded once to the men as MacKenzie stood up.
"Listen up, lassies," Mac said. "This is no time for picnics. I want bags packed, checked, and repacked by 1700. I want ordinance checked, rechecked and checked again by 1900. Then I want the transport packed, fueled, and ready before you break. That gives you maybe an hour to grab a hot meal before reassembly. Eat one, you're going to need it. Any questions?" No one made any motion to ask anything.
"Good," Sheffield said. "Dismissed." The men began dispersing to their tasks. "Captain, you're with me, please," Sheffield said, and began walking to his office. The Major didn't bother to check whether or not MacKenzie was with him; if he wasn't, he wouldn't be getting on the plane. It was that simple. He walked across the hanger to a small room that had been in use twelve hours ago by the maintenance chief. It was, until 2200, Sheffield's office.
He walked in and sat down at his chair, pleased to see MacKenzie standing at attention when he looked up. The Captain was certainly acting like an XO, which was a good sign in Sheffield's book. He looked at the Captain critically for several moments. Mac looked back calmly, seemingly unaffected by the quiet scrutiny.
Finding nothing in the Captain with which to find fault, the Major cleared his throat. "Mr. MacKenzie, if you wouldn't mind, please provide me your assessment of the men." MacKenzie's opinion of the men would have no bearing whatsoever on Sheffield's assessment of them. It would, however, demonstrate how much their perceptions were in line. If MacKenzie's assessment deviated too severely from Sheffield's own, it would be sign.
MacKenzie looked up at the ceiling for a moment to collect his thoughts. Then looked back at Sheffield, never moving from his rigid 'attention' stance. "Baker, Donald J. Captain. Combat decorated infantryman. Trained as a medic. Operated successfully in Burma, the Congo, and the Mid-East. Proficient in all small arms, hand-to-hand combat, as well as desert and jungle warfare."
"That's his biography, yes," snapped Sheffield. "I want your assessment."
"He'd be second in Command if I wasn't here, but shows no signs of being either bothered or relieved by this. Able to take up command or take orders as required. Cool head, steady hands. As the medic, we may want to keep him in perimeter actions to maximize his chances of survival – and therefore ours." Mac lifted one eyebrow in silent query. Was the Major pleased?
"Your assessment mirrors my own," Sheffield said. "The rest now."
MacKenzie began ticking his way through the rest of the team. Brad Murphy was the vehicle expert. He had a broad set of capabilities, including mechanics and driving. He had done the racing circuit before joining the military, and had never quite gotten it out of his blood. It was a well-known secret that he organized car racing events on nearly every base he'd been on, winning most of them.
James Brody was a classic SAS man. He'd jump out of an airplane at high altitude, free falling for a half hour before opening his chute below radar levels and landing well behind enemy lines. From that position, armed with only what he could carry, he could work his way through hostile territory to destroy a target, steal information, or free a prisoner – whatever the mission required. He was a rock for the chain of command to hold onto.
Arthur Jessup could be James Brody's twin, professionally speaking. He was a born commando. The only difference was that Jessup's experience leaned towards urban combat. He'd worked in Belfast, Sarajevo, and Port o' Prince. Even when hunted by the local populace, he managed to thread his way through strange cities easily.
Michael Johnson was their communications man. He was the only one who knew MacKenzie – a fact which MacKenzie did not see fit to share. The Major obviously had secrets to keep, so MacKenzie could keep one or two of his own. Johnson was an expert at surveillance, as well. A skill that was essential to intelligence gathering.
Benjamin Cook was the last member of the team. He was a washed out RAF intelligence operative. His placement in the SAS was something of a mystery. Since arriving there, though, he'd proven useful – especially to Sheffield. Cook was Sheffield's errand boy, sly as a fox but without the intelligence to make it in the intelligence branch. He could handle a weapon, though, and he always seemed to have a way out. It was this skill at extraction that had earned him Sheffield's favor, for Cook had saved Sheffield's butt on more than one occasion. Mac didn't trust someone who always kept one eye on the exit, though. That was also something that he didn't bother to share with Sheffield.
Sheffield nodded and grunted through each assessment. MacKenzie was perceptive, he could tell. In general, his observations about the strengths of each man mirrored Sheffield's own. But Sheffield could also tell that Mac was holding back; he wasn't being completely open about what he thought.
When the interview was completed, Sheffield dismissed Mac. As the door closed, he contemplated what he knew. MacKenzie was competent, astute, and generally forthcoming. He inherently understood the situation they were going into, even without any knowledge of the specifics. He was a good officer, a good commando, and possessed specific knowledge that would likely prove important to their mission.
MacKenzie, however, was holding back. He had thoughts and opinions he wasn't sharing, specifically about Cook. That made Sheffield wonder. MacKenzie was going to be an excellent XO as long as everything went down as planned. But if things started going sour, he wasn't sure he could count on Mac to follow orders.
MacKenzie had a mind of his own, and therefore he couldn't be trusted.
* * *
Ten hours later, the team was soaring above the Atlantic Ocean in a transport plane. They were sitting in the body of the plane with their gear on jump seats. These seats barely served their primary function; comfort was completely out of the question. As a result, most of them men only stayed in the jump seats as necessary. Most of the time, they mingled amongst their gear, conversing amiably.
Most of the men had served in at least one mission with each of the others; some had been together frequently. All but MacKenzie had served under Sheffield numerous times. That gave them at least a fleeting glimpse at camaraderie; a glimpse which they sought to capture before they were forced to rely on one another in a combat situation. Brody already had his cards out, but most were wary enough of his skill to simply chat while he shuffled.
MacKenzie, though, was an outsider. Sheffield sat alone due to the dictates of his position; MacKenzie through the lack of any meaningful background with these men. Unlike Sheffield, MacKenzie's position was changeable. He worked his way back to where they sat, and smiled cordially at them.
"Well, lads, it seems that someone has the cards out, but no one is playing. How can we possibly correct that error?" Every one laughed at his good manner.
"Well, Mac, you are more than welcome to challenge Mr. Brody's cards," Johnson shot back, smiling. "The rest of us like our money too much."
"You canna put together a decent game with only two, though," MacKenzie countered. No one volunteered to join, though. "Tell you what," he said. "I managed to pack a bottle of good whisky in with the surveillance gear. I'll split it with whoever joins the game."
With such a fine incentive, three more players immediately volunteered. The other two men – Johnson and Cook – decided to act as the color commentary on the proceedings. MacKenzie made a decision to lose for an hour or so in order to break the ice. In truth, he didn't have much of a choice. Brody was good. But Mac was able to keep things even. To everyone's surprise and humor, Baker seemed to be smack in the middle of an extraordinary river of luck.
As the game progressed, good-natured banter was freely exchanged between the men. Slowly, inch by inch, MacKenzie found himself included in their group. Eventually, they even began to ask him about himself.
"Is it true that you won the commando competition three years in a row?" asked Jessup, clearly in disbelief at such an event. The competition pitted SAS officers in teams against one another in a series of war games. That was common enough among all the military branches. The last event, though, was always a one-on-one competition. The top two teams each selected their best man, and the two were sent off into the woods to hunt one another. The competition ended only after one man had 'killed' the other.
"Aye," MacKenzie replied. "What can I say? I'm good at hiding in the trees." Everyone laughed at this reply.
"Wow," said Murphy. "I don't know of anyone who's ever done that."
"Sheffield," said Cook sourly. "Sheffield won three consecutive years."
The lap dog speaks, MacKenzie thought.
"Wouldn't it be cool to see the Captain take on the Major?" Johnson asked. The rest of group heartily agreed and began making a round of bets and predictions on the outcome. Not surprisingly, Sheffield was heavily favored in such a one-on-one confrontation.
"What do you think, MacKenzie?" Brody asked. "Do you think you could take the Major?"
"Well," MacKenzie said, aware that his every word would be reported back to Sheffield by his man Cook. "I canna say as I think I think I can or I think I can't. I can only say that I wouldna wish it to happen, for he and I are both too old to be engaging in young men's sport." That answer earned a round of hoots and laughter from the other men, and even a grunt of humor from Cook. Nothing to report, thought MacKenzie, looking surreptitiously at Cook. Let's just keep it that way.
