Clear and present danger - Tom Clancy [204]
"Yo, how's life out in wine country?"
"Humpin' the hills, boy. How's the family?"
"Doing fine, Mitch. And yours?"
"Annie's turning into quite a little lady. Hey, the reason I called, I wanted to check up to make sure one of our people got out to you. Staff Sergeant named Domingo Chavez. You'd like him, Ernie, he's a real good kid. Anyway, the paperwork got fucked up on this end, and I just wanted to make sure that he showed up in the right place."
"No problem," Ernie said. "Chavez, you said?"
"Right." Mitchell spelled it.
"Don't ring a bell. Wait a minute. I gotta switch phones." A moment later Ernie's voice came back, accompanied by the clicking sound that denoted a computer keyboard. What was the world coming to? Mitchell wondered. Even infantry sergeants had to know how to use the goddamned things. "Run that name past me again?"
"Chavez, first name Domingo, E-6." Mitchell read off his service number, which was the same as his Social Security number.
"He ain't here, Mitch."
"Huh? We got a call from this Colonel O'Mara of yours -"
"Who?"
"Some bird named O'Mara. My ell-tee took the call and got a little flustered. New kid, still got a lot to learn," Mitchell explained.
"I never heard of no Colonel O'Mara. I think maybe you got the wrong post, Mitch."
"No shit?" Mitchell was genuinely puzzled. "My ell-tee must have really booted this one. Okay, Ernie, I'll take it from here. You give my love to Hazel now."
"Roge-o, Mitch. You have a good one, son. 'Bye."
"Hmph." Mitchell stared at the phone for a moment. What the hell was going on? Ding wasn't at Benning, and wasn't at MacDill. So where the fuck was he? The platoon sergeant flipped to the number for the Military Personnel Center, located in Alexandria, Virginia. The sergeants' club is a tight one, and the community of E-7s was especially so. His next call was to Sergeant First Class Peter Stankowski. It took two tries to get him.
"Hey, Stan! Mitch here."
"You looking for a new job?" Stankowski was a detailer. His job was to assign his fellow sergeants to new jobs. As such, he was a man with considerable power.
"Nah, I just love being a light-fighter. What's this I hear about you turning track-toad on us?" Stankowski's next job, Mitchell had recently learned, was in the 1st Cavalry Division at Fort Hood, where he'd lead his squad from inside an M-2 Bradley Fighting Vehicle.
"Hey, Mitch, my knees are goin'. Ever think it might be nice to fight sittin' down once in a while? Besides, that twenty-five-millimeter chain gun makes for a nice equalizer. What can I do for you?"
"Trying to track somebody down. One of my E-6s checked out a couple of weeks back, and we have to ship some shit to him, and he ain't where we thought he was."
"Oooo-kay. Wait while I punch up my magic machine and we'll find the lad for you. What's his name?" Stankowski asked. Mitchell gave him the information.
"Eleven-Bravo, right?" 11-B was Chavez's Military Occupation Specialty, or MOS. That designated Chavez as a light infantryman. Mechanized infantry was Eleven-Mike.
"Yep." Mitchell heard some more tapping.
"C-h-a-v-e-z, you said?"
"Right."
"Okay, he was supposed to go to Benning and wear the Smokey Bear hat -"
"That's the guy!" Mitchell said, somewhat relieved.
"- but they changed his orders an' sent him down to Mac-Dill."
But he ain't at MacDill! Mitchell managed not to say.
"That's a spooky bunch down there. You know Ernie Davis, don't you? He's there. Why don't you give him a call?"
"Okay," Mitchell said, really surprised by that one. I just did! "When you going to Hood?"
"September."
"Okay, I'll, uh, call Ernie. You take it easy, Stan."
"Stay in touch, Mitch. Say hi to the family. 'Bye."
"Shit," Mitchell observed after he hung up. He'd just proved that Chavez didn't exist anymore. That was decidedly strange. The Army wasn't supposed to lose people, at least not like this. The sergeant didn't know what to do next, except maybe talk to his lieutenant about it.
"We had another hit last night," Ritter told Admiral Cutter. "Our luck's holding. One of our people got