price for the equipment and supplies we use. Sound okay with
you, gentlemen?” Hal slapped his hands together excitedly, and Paul looked
jubilant—even Chris Wohl nodded in approval, even though he wore his same
expressionless warrior’s mask. Martindale studied their faces, then settled on
Patrick’s. “All right with you, General?” he asked.
Patrick
looked at Paul and Hal’s happy faces. Paul gave his brother an excited slap on
the back—it had been a long time since he had seen him smile like that. “Yes,
sir,” Patrick finally responded. “It’s okay with me.”
“Outstanding,”
Martindale said. He punched up instructions into a computer, and the results
were projected onto a large flat-panel monitor on the conference-room wall.
“The intelligence we’ve received indicates several new Libyan missile bases
scattered around the country. I’ll leave it up to you and your support team to
figure out the best way to proceed, but after speaking with Master Sergeant
Wohl here, he suggests a soft probe of the most likely bases, followed by an
unmanned aircraft strike to soften up the base’s defenses, followed by a
hard-target penetration. It’s up to you—but I hasten to remind you of a
substantial performance bonus for each one of you if the danger to the
consortium’s pipeline is eliminated. Enough said. Good luck, and good hunting.”
As was his custom, Martindale never
stuck around for the details—the planning, training, organization, logistics,
or movement of the Night Stalkers was never something he was concerned about.
He gave marching orders, then left it to the teams to carry out the plan. Within
minutes, they heard his helicopter depart, on its way to his next meeting.
Patrick had little idea what he did, where he went, or whom he spoke to as the
former president of the United States .
“Now
we’re talking serious bucks!” Briggs
exclaimed happily. “Man, I was hoping we’d get into jobs like this—I was
thinking I’d have to go back to Georgia and help my granddad in his kennels and
get a real job.”
“I’m
not happy about accepting this job,” Patrick admitted. “Some big oil cartel is
asking us to put our asses on the firing line to help them keep their profits
safe. We don’t know anything about the cartel; and since the assassination of
President Salaam, we don’t know which way the Egyptian government is going to
go. And I don’t trust any intelligence info we get from private sources. They
answer to investors and bosses, not to the grunts.”
Hal
fell silent, looking at the ground. Chris Wohl nodded. “All good points, sir,”
he said. “Our first priority would be to get our own intel—a few overflights from
some NIRTSats should do it.” NIRTSats, or Need It Right This Second Satellites,
were small, low-Earth orbit photo and radar reconnaissance satellites designed
for a specific mission. They were extremely valuable in passing detailed
intelligence information to tactical units; but because they were in very low
orbits, their duration was usually only a few days or a couple weeks, and they
carried only small positioning thrusters and very little fuel, so their orbits
could not be changed or even fine-tuned to any great extent. He looked at
Patrick evenly, then added, “If you agree to do it with us.”
“You don’t need my approval,
Chris.”
“Pardon
me, sir, but I do ... we do,” Wohl
said.
“
’Fraid so, Muck,” Hal said. “The Night Stalkers may be a private nonmilitary
unconventional action team, but the bottom line is: We’re a team”
“We
don’t do anything unless we all agree to do it,” Paul chimed in. “One person
has veto power. One ‘no,’ even one ‘I’m not sure,’ and we scrub the
you, gentlemen?” Hal slapped his hands together excitedly, and Paul looked
jubilant—even Chris Wohl nodded in approval, even though he wore his same
expressionless warrior’s mask. Martindale studied their faces, then settled on
Patrick’s. “All right with you, General?” he asked.
Patrick
looked at Paul and Hal’s happy faces. Paul gave his brother an excited slap on
the back—it had been a long time since he had seen him smile like that. “Yes,
sir,” Patrick finally responded. “It’s okay with me.”
“Outstanding,”
Martindale said. He punched up instructions into a computer, and the results
were projected onto a large flat-panel monitor on the conference-room wall.
“The intelligence we’ve received indicates several new Libyan missile bases
scattered around the country. I’ll leave it up to you and your support team to
figure out the best way to proceed, but after speaking with Master Sergeant
Wohl here, he suggests a soft probe of the most likely bases, followed by an
unmanned aircraft strike to soften up the base’s defenses, followed by a
hard-target penetration. It’s up to you—but I hasten to remind you of a
substantial performance bonus for each one of you if the danger to the
consortium’s pipeline is eliminated. Enough said. Good luck, and good hunting.”
As was his custom, Martindale never
stuck around for the details—the planning, training, organization, logistics,
or movement of the Night Stalkers was never something he was concerned about.
He gave marching orders, then left it to the teams to carry out the plan. Within
minutes, they heard his helicopter depart, on its way to his next meeting.
Patrick had little idea what he did, where he went, or whom he spoke to as the
former president of the United States .
“Now
we’re talking serious bucks!” Briggs
exclaimed happily. “Man, I was hoping we’d get into jobs like this—I was
thinking I’d have to go back to Georgia and help my granddad in his kennels and
get a real job.”
“I’m
not happy about accepting this job,” Patrick admitted. “Some big oil cartel is
asking us to put our asses on the firing line to help them keep their profits
safe. We don’t know anything about the cartel; and since the assassination of
President Salaam, we don’t know which way the Egyptian government is going to
go. And I don’t trust any intelligence info we get from private sources. They
answer to investors and bosses, not to the grunts.”
Hal
fell silent, looking at the ground. Chris Wohl nodded. “All good points, sir,”
he said. “Our first priority would be to get our own intel—a few overflights from
some NIRTSats should do it.” NIRTSats, or Need It Right This Second Satellites,
were small, low-Earth orbit photo and radar reconnaissance satellites designed
for a specific mission. They were extremely valuable in passing detailed
intelligence information to tactical units; but because they were in very low
orbits, their duration was usually only a few days or a couple weeks, and they
carried only small positioning thrusters and very little fuel, so their orbits
could not be changed or even fine-tuned to any great extent. He looked at
Patrick evenly, then added, “If you agree to do it with us.”
“You don’t need my approval,
Chris.”
“Pardon
me, sir, but I do ... we do,” Wohl
said.
“
’Fraid so, Muck,” Hal said. “The Night Stalkers may be a private nonmilitary
unconventional action team, but the bottom line is: We’re a team”
“We
don’t do anything unless we all agree to do it,” Paul chimed in. “One person
has veto power. One ‘no,’ even one ‘I’m not sure,’ and we scrub the
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