Z by Bob Mayer Page B

was prepared to deploy. Unlike a normal mission briefing, this one was short because no one really knew what was going to happen until they arrived at the AOB and the commander on the ground there gave them their specific mission taskings.
    At the end, Captain Dorrick stood back up. “Sir, as you can see, ODA three one four is prepared to conduct any and all missions it might be assigned. What are your questions?”
    Colonel Burrows nodded. “It sounds like you have prepared well, Captain. I notice you’re short a team executive officer and an intelligence sergeant. Will that affect your ability to perform your mission?”
    “No, sir. Sergeant Comsky is qualified to act as the team’s intelligence sergeant.”
    “What about the possibility of contact with rebel armor that Sergeant Comsky mentioned?” Burrows asked. “Are you prepared for that?”
    Staff Sergeant Oswald, the senior weapons man, popped to his feet before Dorrick could answer. “Sir, we will be carrying AT-4 antitank rockets. I have trained every member in the use of the rockets, and it will stop the types of armor we have been told the rebels might possess. Every member is also trained on laser designation of targets for air interdiction and how to call for fire support from air assets.”
    Burrows opened the floor up to the rest of the staff, and they asked several questions. Riley could tell it was mainly a show for Conner’s sake. He wouldn’t be surprised if the team hadn’t done a briefback earlier in the day for Colonel Waller to make sure that they didn’t screw up in front of the reporter.
    By the time it was over, it was past eight at night, and Colonel Burrows escorted Conner out of the isolation area, back to Group headquarters. Riley waited as the rest of the hangers-on filtered out, until only the team was left. Comsky walked over and gave him a bear hug, lifting him off his feet.
    “How the hell are you, Dave?” Comsky asked.
    “I’m doing good, Ape Man. Nice show,” Riley commented. The nickname was one that Riley’s team in Korea had given Comsky. Both for his looks and his attitude. “I can’t believe they’ve got you as intelligence sergeant. Talk about a contradiction in terms there.”
    “Keep it up, smart-ass. I can call you that, now that you’re a civilian puke.”
    Riley pointed at the maps. “Sounds like you all are squared away.”
    Comsky grimaced. “Shit, you don’t know the half of it. This is the biggest jug-fuck I’ve ever been associated with.” Comsky scratched his underarm idly. “Well, maybe not the biggest,” he amended, “but close to it. It sounds good but this place—”
    “Comsky!” Lome was suddenly there, towering over the two men. The team sergeant looked at Riley. “We’ve got some things to go over,” he said, pointedly shifting his gaze to the door.
    Comsky slapped the senior NCO on the arm. “Hey, Top, Dave here was my team sergeant in Korea. He’s all right.”
    “He’s not wearing a uniform now, as far as I can tell,” Lome said. He stared at Riley and the other returned the look. They remained like that, visually locked together, until Captain Dorrick walked up and stepped between them. “You’ll have to leave now,” he told Riley. “We may have had to let you civilians into our briefback, but we don’t have to let you hang around.”
    Riley broke his gaze away from Lome and looked at the captain. “All right.” He tapped Comsky on the shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.”
    “Sure thing, Dave.”
    Riley walked out of the isolation area deep in thought. The SNN van was waiting for him, Seeger at the wheel and Conner in the back. She was looking at the screen of her laptop. Sometimes Riley wondered if she wasn’t surgically attached to the computer.
    “Well?” she asked.
    “Well, what?”
    “Come on, Dave.” Conner turned off her computer. You’ve attended a lot of those briefbacks. What was your feel?”
    “I think the team is screwed up,” Riley