Tom Clancy's op-center_ acts of war - Tom Clancy [71]
"You're in command of the rebel force in Tokyo that day," August said as he headed for the door. "When I come back, I want each of you to present an alternate plan for staging the coup. This time, however, I want it to succeed. You can retain or jettison the assassination of former Prime Minister Saito and Finance Minister Takahashi if you like. You can also think about taking them hostage. Holding them could have been used very effectively to manipulate public opinion and official reaction. Honda, you're to charge until I return."
PFC Ishi Honda, the Striker communications expert, rose and saluted as the officer left the classroom.
As the colonel strode down the dark corridor of the F.B.I. Academy in Quantico, Virginia, he didn't bother to wonder what Herbert wanted. August was not a man given to speculation. His habit was self-evaluation. Do your best, look back, then see how you can do better next time.
He thought about the class and wondered if he should have given them the hint about hostage-taking. Probably not. It would have been interesting to see if anyone had come up with that.
Overall, he was pleased with the progress Striker had made since his arrival. His philosophy on running a military outfit was simple. Get them up in the morning and push the body to the limit. Have them work with free weights, climb ropes, and run. Do knuckle-push-ups on a wood floor and one-arm chin-ups. Take a good, long swim, followed by breakfast. A four-mile hike in full gear, jogging the first and third miles. Then a shower, a coffee break, and classes. The topics there ranged from military strategy to infiltration techniques he'd learned from a colleague in the Mista'aravim, the Israeli Defense Force commandos who masqueraded as Arabs. By the time the soldiers got to their classes, they were glad to sit down and their minds were remarkaby alert. August ended the day with a baseball, basketball, or volleyball game, depending upon the weather and disposition. of the team.
Striker had come a long way in just a few weeks. Physically, he'd pit them against any crisis, against any strike force in the world. Psychologically, they were healing from the death of Lieutenant Colonel Squires. August had been working closely with Op-Center psychologist Liz Gordon to help them deal with the trauma. Liz had focused on two avenues of therapy. First, she'd helped them to accept the truth: that-the mission in Russia had been a success. The Strikers had saved tens of thousands of lives. Second, based on computer projections for the mission-type, she'd showed them that their losses were well under what the military considered "an acceptable range." That kind of cold, behind-the-lines assessment couldn't cure the hurt. But Liz hoped that it would soothe some of the guilt the team felt and restore their confidence. So far, it appeared to be working. In the last week, he'd noticed that the soldiers were more focused during training, and were also laughing more during downtime.
The tall, lean colonel moved quickly without appearing to hurry. Though his eyes were gentle, his gaze was fixed straight ahead. He didn't acknowledge the FBI officials who passed him. In the short time since he'd taken command of Striker, August had sought to isolate himself and his team from outside influences. More than the late Lieutenant Colonel Squires, August believed that a strike force must not only be better than other personnel, it must think it's better. He didn't want to be hanging from a cliff with a superior force closing in and his people wondering whether they were good enough to shut the enemy down. Fraternizing with outsiders diluted the focus, the sense of unity and purpose.
August's office was located in the FBI's executive corridor. He entered his code on the keypad on the jamb and entered. He always felt a whole lot better when he closed the door on what he called the White Shirts. It wasn't that he didn't like or respect them. The opposite was true. They were smart, brave, and dedicated. They