Part One Chapter One

Part One is the Backstory of the Novel. Ch1 introduces us to the main character, Marc Krieger.

Lieutenant Colonel Fretk (freh-tick), Army of the United States of America, never thought highly of the officers and enlisted sailors of the US Navy.  He never really thought about the US Navy at all - after all, as the saying goes the Army has more planes than the US Air Force and more ships than the US Navy.  For Fretk, THE US Military Academy (West Point) Class of 199X, there really was no reason to consider the Navy, the Marines or the Air Force.  In his mind, the three sister services served only to steal resources needed for the Army.  Money, personnel, resources, equipment better used for the traditional missions of the Army.

Within the Army, there were smaller armies.  The different branches of Combat Arms, Combat Support and Combat Service Support.  Fretk was a tanker by trade.  Or at least he began his Army service in Armor; so he continued to view himself as a Tanker.  Three years of 24 had been spent in Armor.  Somewhere along the way, depending on who one talked with, Fretk departed the Combat Arms professional command track. 

He might give a different tale depending on who was listening, but the official record was clear.   It happened while he was a Captain (Promotable).  The  Battalion Commanding Officer called him to his office one day, as he routinely did with the Junior Officers of merit, but instead of regaling Fretk with tales of how the younger man had impressed him, he said something to the effect of “Lieutenant, I don’t really see you have much of a future in armor.” 

Fretk was dumbstruck.  He was from The Point! He was Armor!  He had tested through the roof for leadership! 

“Don’t despair Lieutenant,” the CO said, irritating Fretk more because he was a Captain Promotable by God, all he had to do was wait another 12 months to officially pin on the rank of Captain!  “I want you to go down to S1 (Admin) and look over the process of transferring out of Amor and into Support or service Support.  Most of the branches should be open to you.  I’ll approve a transfer … maybe even endorse your package.”

“I could go infantry?”  Fretk offered, sheepishly.

“No.  No.  Not infantry.  I think most of the combat arms areas will …. Be filled this time of year … best to go to a none combat leadership field.” 

And then the meeting was over.  Fretk was informed the CO had nothing further and should leave.

He finally departed after the CO said again “that is all Lieutenant.”

Fretk never could bring himself to go to the S1 that day.  There was so much to think about, decisions to be made.  But like he always believed, change was just opportunity wearing a different mask, and if there was to be change, then there would be glory in the new position as well. 

And was determined from that point on to never not be a tanker. 

The medical fields were out.  There was no way he would go logistics … he remembered (incorrectly) what Napoleon said about the study of logistics … He realized with his incredible understanding of the US Civil War and Napoleons campaigns, making the switch to intelligence was a natural fit.

IT took a few weeks to process the paperwork, but Fretk applied for the transfer to become a 35F (FOXTROT), or strategic Intelligence analyst.  The Battalion CO did not endorse the transfer, but also did not talk with Fretk in the interregnum between the office call and the transfer.

       “He walked into his platoon space the afternoon his transfer was approved, and spoke to his senior enlisted man.  Of course he first had to remind the First Sergeant that when a superior officer enters the space, all enlisted are to rise to the position of attention and salute.  ‘First Sar, I have been requested to transfer from the Battalion CO.”

       “I was aware sir.”

       “Oh.  Well … its approved … so … I will be … uh .. transferring.”

“Understood.  What do you need from the platoon?”

‘Oh?  Well, nothing I guess … I wanted to make sure … and I mean this its not just me saying it in the hope you do the opposite, but I do not want the men making a big deal over my departure.  No going away stuff like you wanted to do when Staff Sar .. oh what was his name? …”

“Gomez-Sanchez sir.”

“Yes! Him.”

“yes sir, you said policy was not special attention to anyone departing or arriving.  I intend to carry out that order sir, to include your departure.”

Fretk ended that meeting too.  He hoped the men would not be disappointed.  He was … had been their leader after all.

Before long, he was in the intelligence field, and remained there for the next 20 years.  The promotion to full Colonel could not be far off.  Surely he should have picked it up by now, but the last two promotion boards, the selections were very competitive, with very few selections … maybe this year would be the year.

         Now he was in command.  Finally!  Obviously, he was now on the right track, and the route to senior officer promotion was again humming smoothly.

As part of his duties as Commanding Officer, Joint Special Intelligence Support Element, US European Command, he ruled over a small team of intelligence professionals. 

But the team did not feel like a team, to him.  Principally it felt disjointed because it included members of all branches of service.  And the attitude of the other services, especially the Marines, just riled him constantly.  Several had been recently deployed to the wars, and were forever trying to utilize what they thought they learned there for the present mission.  They failed, utterly failed, to see the uniqueness of the JSISE mission.

The worst of the bunch was a naval officer.  Fretk tried to be equally harsh and rewarding to all members of his unit, but this one … he was often too much!  All the worse because he was Navy.

The Navy. 

And now he held a set of orders, very special orders, for the navy officer.  HE called out to the Specialist who served as his senior cleark and asked him to “Bring in the Lieutenant.”  There could be only one he was referring to, and within a few moments, surely the Navy Lieutenant did appear.

The Lieutenant knocked as he entered, commenting that Specialist La Plante stated the colonel wanted to see him.

Fretk began the meeting commenting on how he was not sure what the navy needed intelligence officers for; “What is it a navy intel does?  I mean you … like … know about the water?” 

“No sir.  That would be either meteorology or oceanography.”  Replied the Lieutenant, standing-to, mostly, at attention, at the front of the Lieutenant colonel’s desk. 

“Exactly!”  Fretk stopped for a few moments to read some of the papers he held in his hands.  It was as if the LT in the khaki colored uniform was not even there.  Fretk continued with the papers and finally looked up again at the LT with the 1000 yard stare into the depths of the back of the office 10 feet away.  “Well! What are you waiting for?”

“Sir, you called me into the office.”  He answered.

“Exactly again!  And what is it you do when called into the office of a senior officer?”  He still did not make eye contact.

“… Sir … uh report.  That’s’Why’m standing here in front of you.”

“Officers salute when they report to a senior officer!”  His tone was loud and disciplinary.  He intended the entire JSISE to hear his outburst.  In disciplining one, when done correctly, you discipline all.

The navy officer sighed.  “Sir ...  To repeat our commentary from the last several times we have discussed this matter … US Navy personal do not salute indoors, when uncovered, and, or unarmed.  This is per Navy Regulations … ”

“This is NOT a navy Command Captain!”  The disciplinary continued.  HOW MANY TIMES did Fretk have to take this one to task about his insubordinate behavior.  Navy regulations?  Just how fucked up is the Navy not to salute indoors?

“It’s Lieutenant … Sir, agreed.  It’s a joint command.  All four branches of service.”    

But I’m the Commanding Officer and I’m Army ... I mean, s**t, The US Army has more ships than the navy …”

Another sigh, this one drawn out a bit longer than the prior. “… Technically, the Army does not have that many ships.  You have a lot of boats.  Pretty sure we have many more ships.  Especially of the types that count.”

“Boat.  Ship.  Both float.  What’s the difference?”

“Well Lt Colonel, boats general can go on ships,” despite the challenge of dealing with Fretk while in one of his moods, the Navy officer, took on a tone that was definitely on the verge, if not over the edge, of insubordinate, “… that’s the easiest way to look at it.” 

“Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, oh, and I’m still waiting for that salute.”

“Understood sir.”  Time passes with the Navy Lieutenant remaining at a position of mostly-attention.   Fretk doodles something.  Reads some intel messages.  Mostly he just makes the LT stand at attention in front of him.  The scenario plays out a couple times each week due to the salute. 

It is not lost on LT Marc Krieger, United States Navy, that none of the army officers of the JSISE salute Fretk when they enter his office. Fretk has not once spoken with the one marine major in the office. 

“You have some war time right?  Before you got here?” Fretk asks, leaving him at attention.

“Correct sir.  Afghanistan.”

“Never really understood why the navy would be in Afghanistan.  Land-locked country.  What the f**k were you doing there?”

“Intel support sir.  Working with the CJTF (Combined Joint Task Force) HQ.  Mostly supporting actions against the Taliban insurgency in the Pashtu South …” he is ready to continue the discourse, then pauses, knowing he is not being listened to. 

Fretk holds up a hand indicating Krieger should stop talking about 5 seconds after Krieger had stopped talking.  “F*****g desert.  F*****g Muslims.  Had my full of that s**t when I was with Armor during the first Gulf War, part of the vanguard.  Damn desert wars keep popping up and distracting us from the real enemies.”

         “Vanguard?  I was unaware you were with the Seventh?” 

         “Uh … no.  Not with them.  I was with … I was still up in Baumholder, Germany; but we were all prepped and ready to roll to Rotterdamm … in the Netherlands … and board the ships.  You have to remember, in late 1990 we were moving s**t everywhere …. You won’t remember because you were in High School or some s**t … anyway, the brass, every swinging dick thought Who-sayin’, you know … Sad-daam … Hussain … Who-sayin’ … Get it! Ha!  Still love that one.  Every winging dick thought there were gonna be raining missiles, chem warfare.  We would be in the s**t for years.  Next Vietnam!  So my unit was at the Vanguard of being ready to roll in for the next phase of ops.  And it was that phase that would have been the heavy fighting.  Once the initial surge was stopped and we settled in for the long war …”

         “Sounds tense.  Good thing it was over in 4 days.” 

         “Yeah … for the f*****g Rabs!  Saw action again in Bosnia in 1997 and again in 2001 and Kosovo in 2002.  I’ve Seen a lot of s**t!  Working assessments for the NATO movements into Afghanistan when I was a major still at EUCOM .i. in Stuttgart.  Seen some s**t indeed.”

         “Roger.”  Krieger wanted to point out that pretty much Fretk had never deployed in a significant capacity, but held his tongue and his position of attention.  Bosnia was done with the fighting in 94-95.  Kosovo in 99.  Assessments for Afghanistan … from Stuttgart, Germany?  His career was built on a legacy of being a rear echelon MoFo.  Krieger knew plenty of s**t-hot army officers.  Fretk was not in their league.

“Since you won’t salute, you can keep standing there.  Needed to talk to you about this bullshit assessment you did on the maritime CT threat to the Saudi oil platforms.  You make this s**t up?”

“Negative.” Krieger responded, switching his tone from disdain to cold professionalism.  “The sources are all identified.  Part of the assessment you are holding in your hands.”  Fretk threw the report into the waste basket over what appeared to be a barely eaten plate of old spaghetti.  His actions were an unsafe security practice at best; discarded classified is disposed of in special receptacles, not with your lunch.  More so, it was rude.

Krieger’s report contained varied bits of intelligence from regional law enforcement agencies, the US intelligence community, diplomatic reporting and communications intercepts.

“I give two f***s about your sources,” he said.  “You know s**t about CT (counter terrorism).  Your assessments are s**t.  What do you have to say for that?”

“Sir, although I would not claim to be an expert in counter terrorism, or antiterrorism, my last deployment to the Arabian Gulf, and then my time in Afghanistan were steeped in CT as their primary mission.   I have a CT background for at least the last four years of my career, most of it operationally based, and the assessments in this report are built off of that experience, in the war, based on multiple confirmed sources, from multiple agencies..”

“Like I said, its s**t.  I want you to change the assessment to read something like no credible, stress credible, intelligence to confirm the presence of the threat …” Fretk returned to reading a stack of intelligence cables he had the morning watch team prepare for him daily so he could pretend to read them when busy ignoring people he had standing in his office at attention. 

“I could change the report’s assessment to something like that,” Krieger answered, finally breaking the position of attention,  “but that would be an incorrect assessment based on the intelligence presented in the report.”  Krieger held a look that was totally passive.  Not a hint of sarcasm or disdain or disrespect.  It was a look he perfected over the last months.  A look that said you’re a f*****g idiot just as easily as it said nothing at all.  Fretk remained perplexed. 

“Wasn’t a suggestion.  It was an order.  Change the Assessment.”

“Roger.”

“So you’re changing the assessment?”

“No. I am not.” 

         “Then, you’re disobeying an order. Lieutenant.”

         “No.”

         “Come again?”

         “Lieutenant Colonel Fretk, you do not have the authority to instruct me to doctor intelligence assessments contrary to what the intelligence indicates.  No one has that authority.  If you wish, I can provide you the sources for review and you can develop your own assessment.  For now, I am billeted as the senior analyst of the CT branch within the JSISE, and I am going to execute those duties to the best of my ability.  You are the JSISE CO, but you cannot order me to change an assessment based on corroborated intelligence that is validated and believed to be highly accurate.  Especially when you are dead f*****g wrong.  I will submit the report for further review in line with EUCOM guidance prior to publication, but if the assessment fundamentally changes along the lines of what you suggest, prior to publishing this assessment, I will repeat our discussion here with The head of EUCOM Intelligence … who by the way is a member of the US Navy.”

         There was a long pause.

         Krieger was a bit out of line, but far less than Fretk, and they both understood what had been said between them and what it meant.  If Fretk pushed, about the assessment, he would lose.  If Krieger remained insubordinate, he would probably lose.

         “Aren’t you a little s**t!  Good to see you have some backbone for a squid after all!  Stand at ease.  Keep up the good work.  Dismissed.”

         Krieger turned on a heel and was departing to return to his real duties. 

         “Oh, one more thing.”  Fretk added, like it was the last possible thing on his mind.  “Some Navy Captain wanted me to inform you that your application to some HUMINT (human intelligence) training thing has been approved.  What’s that about?”

         Sigh.  This was a big deal.  And Fretk had been sitting on the information.  Classic passive aggressive behavior.  Rather than provide Krieger the good news, he had to take some time to purposefully s**t on him.

         “I applied for training … to become an intelligence collector.  Defense Clandestine Service … DCS … Specifically with a unique outfit  … it will open me up to an expanding intelligence field.  {Probably get me assigned back to Afghanistan, or maybe Iraq after training.”

         “I hope you don’t make as s****y collector as you do analyst.  Dismissed.”   

Author's Note

This part of the story is out of sequence, and is intended for the author to work the rewriting of the storyline as I go through the process of getting the entire story together.