So youre Rick Ranger, my new G-2," the stranger announced with a Texas twang. "Im Jack Fox. Some call me The Gray Fox, but I dont have the foggiest idea why. He took off his cap and slid it under his web belt. Flew in from the Saul Severe as soon as we got in chopper range of Okinawa. Cant stand ships because I get seasick from the instant I step aboard until the minute I leave. Im your G-3."
Ranger gazed up at the older man. His black hair was in a stiff crew cut on top and close on the sides. He had a craggy nose humped over a closely trimmed, black mustache. His short sleeved khaki shirt sagged over a bony chest from the weight of three rows of ribbonsall personal decorations. God only knew how many other rows of "I've been there ribbons he didnt bother to wear.
The decorations kept Rangers attention. The top row began with the white and indigo stripes of the Navy Cross, second only to the Medal of Honor. Next to it was the red, white and blue ribbon for a Silver Star Medal with two little shiny metal stars attached showing second and third awards. The last ribbon in that row was light purple in color, with a line of white on each end, andRanger stared until he realized the Purple Heart ribbon had enough metal stars affixed to announce that Jack Fox had been wounded in combat six times.
I'm your G-2? Ranger had almost called the older man sir. I thought the G-2 and the G-3 worked for the chief of staff."
Fox pushed past Ranger into the room, turned, and trained icy blue eyes on him. Dont get worried, Rick, I know the chain of command. But, hey, Ive been an intelligence officer and Ive been an ops officer in every kind of combat you can imagine. I know how it goes. The CG tells us what he wants done. The chief of staff coordinates. The G-3 makes it happen. Thats me. The G-2 tells me everything I need to know about the enemy, the terrain, and the weather. That's you."
Fox eyed a jumble of uniforms and other gear left on Ranger's bed after he'd dumped out his footlockers and clothing roll and repacked the clothing roll to go to sea. Fox spied Rangers FMFM intelligence manual in an open pocket of the clothing roll, seized it, and thumped it like a preacher pounding a Bible. Course you gotta know everything in this book. But you also gotta be with me all the time. Those other guysadmin, logistics, commthey gotta get out there too sometimes, but you gotta see the enemy, you gotta check the weather, you gotta get over the ground."
Ranger breathed deeply, nostrils contracting against the pungent odor of human fertilizer drifting in from the rice field. Jack Fox had just reduced the complicated tasks of an entire general staff to six people. And he had simplified everything Ranger had been studying in that intelligence manual ever since he'd left the chief of staffs office. But why the big deal about combat?
Fox tossed the manual aside, pulled a panatela cigar from his shirt pocket, unwrapped it, admired it, and clamped it between his teeth. He peered down into Rangers face like he was inspecting a pint-sized second lieutenant who needed a shave. Ranger wanted to say, Okay, Im not as tall as you, but I just maxed the physical fitness test; and I dont even have to take it at my age. But if he spoke, he figured the old rascalas frail as he lookedwould invite him outside to re-take the test on the spot, and might even best himwithout even removing the cigar from his mouth.
Maybe Rangers twelve-month tour was nearing an end. He checked his Seiko wristwatch. No, the damned thing still showed Tuesday, December 20. Unless it was broken, he had 361 days to go. It was only four days since hed left California, got a job, repacked his bags to go to sea, and now met this mustached guy with a Texas drawl who was overactive and underfed.
Samisen notes wafted through the doorway as Fox threw a glance into Rangers eyes like twin bolts of blue lightning. Ranger stared back until Foxs crows feet begin to turn upward and his mouth formed a slight smile around the cigar. The chief has already briefed me about you and shown me your record. Ex-enlisted man like me, 40 years old, been a Marine over 20 years. Infantry, recon, a lot of time out here in WestPac, not a professional intelligence weenie but willing to learn." Suddenly he stuck out his hand. "You want to work with me?"
Sure. He clasped Fox's calloused hand before he realized he had made a pact.
Okay, were pardners. Fox turned to leave. At the door he looked back, framed by the rice field beyond, and lit his cigar. If youve got any questions, Im at Room 2 in the next building.
Before Ranger could think twice, he asked, If you get seasick why are you on an amphibious staff?"
Ive been selected for colonel, and this is the only game in town for that rank at this stage."
Game?"
War."
War?"
"War. You know, pardner. Vietnam. Thats where the ships coming from, and thats where shell return right after Christmas. As soon as we get to the Gulf of Tonkin, you and I are going in-country to be sure we know how to evacuate the good guys if we have to. While were there were gonna get ourselves some buffies.
Whats a buffie?"
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