But right now it’s manipulate, not march.’
Cain was grateful for the introduction although it had little to do with what he intended to say. He could still see the dead woman, staring at him from the floor that morning as he’d dressed. He tried to tune the picture out, concerned about yesterday’s fracas at lunch and the impression it had given the cadets.
He glanced at Rhonda. Her sober face revealed how important it was to pull things together.
‘The North Arabian Sea,’ Spencer continued, ‘is within range of Soviet aircraft, so our carriers are deployed there to cover any air-strike on the Gulf. Both fleets are in the Indian Ocean projecting forward presence and forward pressure. It’s political, vastly expensive and supply lines are long.’
Cain glanced around the room but couldn’t see Zuiden. Had Vanqua grounded him or was he cleaning?
Spencer was winding up. ‘There’s a CentCom stockpile at Oman and they allow recce flights to operate from Masirah. But Diego Garcia’s the nearest US base. It can handle carriers but it’s a three-and-a-half-day steam from the Gulf. That’s the strategic outline. Now let’s hear it from the coalface.’ He stepped down and Cain mounted the podium.
He surveyed the expectant audience. He had to go for the gut.
‘I’ve just finished my assignment so this is off the cuff. For most of you here, I’m your future. And Rhonda makes that sound impressive. But she’s also told you I’m through.’
He looked at the worried faces, the young ones in his ‘family’. He took them through his years of training and told them he’d worked for an aim — had suffered the punishing schedule because he believed EXIT’s credo to be true.
He moved on to his time in the field, the complexity and detail needed to convince scores of people that an impostor was the person they knew. The need to act a part and probe into the target’s life. The need to replace friends with facsimiles, to pay off others. He then gave specifics about the replacement of Zia ul-Haq, the stress, the dangers. The cadets sat enthralled.
He finished with an appeal. A rock was needed to stand against the waves of national selfishness. He believed in EXIT and its credo because he believed in humanity and the attempt to be impartial. As he concluded, several cadets were close to tears. Allah be praised, he’d done it, got the thing back on track. He felt emotional himself. He turned to Rhonda, shrugged. ‘Enough?’
She stood up, ‘Thank you, Ray,’ came forward and hugged him.
The cadets were up. A storm of fervent clapping.
She smiled and gestured for quiet. ‘Well, we intended to have questions but we’re now over time, so you can talk to him individually later.’
Although the cadets were sitting again, a score of hands waved in the air.
‘All right. Three questions?’ She looked at him.
He nodded and pointed to an intense-looking Chinese girl. ‘Yes?’
‘You’re at the top. A Grade Four. Now you have to leave. Isn’t that an enormous waste of training?’
‘It’s not restricted to us. It’s a typical situation in the services. Consider the captain of this ship. He may have trained all his life for the job and he might hold it . . . how long, Commander?’ He glanced at the sailor.
Spencer piped up. ‘Two years.’
He turned back to the girl. ‘And remember, when you’re my age, you won’t have the physical drive you feel now.’
‘But won’t you miss this?’
He laughed. ‘I’ve slaved nonstop for thirty years. Constant stress. You burn out. Yes . . . ?’
A Malaysian-looking youth with a punk haircut. ‘The thought of killing people still grosses me out. How do you cope when you actually have to do it?’
‘Yes.’ He paused, last night raw in his gut. ‘I’ve been taught how to kill but it still sickens me. You could say I’ve absorbed the techniques but not the attitude. The short answer is that combat readiness requires compassion fatigue. But
Cain was grateful for the introduction although it had little to do with what he intended to say. He could still see the dead woman, staring at him from the floor that morning as he’d dressed. He tried to tune the picture out, concerned about yesterday’s fracas at lunch and the impression it had given the cadets.
He glanced at Rhonda. Her sober face revealed how important it was to pull things together.
‘The North Arabian Sea,’ Spencer continued, ‘is within range of Soviet aircraft, so our carriers are deployed there to cover any air-strike on the Gulf. Both fleets are in the Indian Ocean projecting forward presence and forward pressure. It’s political, vastly expensive and supply lines are long.’
Cain glanced around the room but couldn’t see Zuiden. Had Vanqua grounded him or was he cleaning?
Spencer was winding up. ‘There’s a CentCom stockpile at Oman and they allow recce flights to operate from Masirah. But Diego Garcia’s the nearest US base. It can handle carriers but it’s a three-and-a-half-day steam from the Gulf. That’s the strategic outline. Now let’s hear it from the coalface.’ He stepped down and Cain mounted the podium.
He surveyed the expectant audience. He had to go for the gut.
‘I’ve just finished my assignment so this is off the cuff. For most of you here, I’m your future. And Rhonda makes that sound impressive. But she’s also told you I’m through.’
He looked at the worried faces, the young ones in his ‘family’. He took them through his years of training and told them he’d worked for an aim — had suffered the punishing schedule because he believed EXIT’s credo to be true.
He moved on to his time in the field, the complexity and detail needed to convince scores of people that an impostor was the person they knew. The need to act a part and probe into the target’s life. The need to replace friends with facsimiles, to pay off others. He then gave specifics about the replacement of Zia ul-Haq, the stress, the dangers. The cadets sat enthralled.
He finished with an appeal. A rock was needed to stand against the waves of national selfishness. He believed in EXIT and its credo because he believed in humanity and the attempt to be impartial. As he concluded, several cadets were close to tears. Allah be praised, he’d done it, got the thing back on track. He felt emotional himself. He turned to Rhonda, shrugged. ‘Enough?’
She stood up, ‘Thank you, Ray,’ came forward and hugged him.
The cadets were up. A storm of fervent clapping.
She smiled and gestured for quiet. ‘Well, we intended to have questions but we’re now over time, so you can talk to him individually later.’
Although the cadets were sitting again, a score of hands waved in the air.
‘All right. Three questions?’ She looked at him.
He nodded and pointed to an intense-looking Chinese girl. ‘Yes?’
‘You’re at the top. A Grade Four. Now you have to leave. Isn’t that an enormous waste of training?’
‘It’s not restricted to us. It’s a typical situation in the services. Consider the captain of this ship. He may have trained all his life for the job and he might hold it . . . how long, Commander?’ He glanced at the sailor.
Spencer piped up. ‘Two years.’
He turned back to the girl. ‘And remember, when you’re my age, you won’t have the physical drive you feel now.’
‘But won’t you miss this?’
He laughed. ‘I’ve slaved nonstop for thirty years. Constant stress. You burn out. Yes . . . ?’
A Malaysian-looking youth with a punk haircut. ‘The thought of killing people still grosses me out. How do you cope when you actually have to do it?’
‘Yes.’ He paused, last night raw in his gut. ‘I’ve been taught how to kill but it still sickens me. You could say I’ve absorbed the techniques but not the attitude. The short answer is that combat readiness requires compassion fatigue. But
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