Read Online Forty-Eight X by Barry Pollack - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barry Pollack
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McGraw’s file again. “Says here you’re Irish Catholic.”
“That’s who I am now.”
“And did this revelation come to you after two or three bottles of Cuervo Gold?” the general quizzed cynically.
Link smiled. “It’s nonsensical, I know. But some things you just know, and I know I have an attachment to this soul. I was a childhood friend of Alexander; one of his generals in the campaigns of India and Afghanistan; governor of Cyrenaica; and later, pharaoh of Egypt.”
“And you believe that?”
“I do, sir.”
“And, as Ptolemy, what would you say was your best attribute?”
McGraw didn’t hesitate. “I was loyal.”
And with that, General Shell knew he had the right man—even if he was all bullshit.
“Have you ever heard of the Manhattan Project, Colonel?” the general asked.
“The old World War II code name for the development of the atomic bomb?” McGraw quickly replied.
“Exactly.”
The general went on to explain why he had come and why he had chosen McGraw. He needed a soldier who had proven leadership ability but no baggage—no lust for rank, no political connections, no family attachments, no fear, and nothing to lose. When General Shell finished explaining the duty he required of him, Colonel McGraw, the prisoner, stood, came to attention, and said simply, “Sir, I serve at your pleasure.”
There was but one thing about the general’s proposal that bothered McGraw, or at least his ego. Strangely, for a man who had no rank, it was the fact that he was being asked to command merely a platoon of what the general described as “very special forces.” A platoon consisted of just two to four squads, perhaps twenty to forty men, and was usually commanded by a lieutenant with a senior sergeant as second in command. McGraw had been a lieutenant colonel in charge of a battalion, made up of four to six companies, with each company having three to five platoons. A battalion was the army’s main combat tactical unit, with enough manpower, supplies, and administrative self-sufficiency to conduct its own independent maneuvers. A little army, if you will.
Link summoned up the courage to boost his capabilities. “Sir, I can handle the command of more than just a platoon, even if they are special forces.”
“And I expect you will,” the general answered. “But your command will have to evolve. First we’ll crawl on all fours. Later we’ll stand upright.”
As soon as he had decided on McGraw as his choice, Shell thought about introducing him to Quilty, a man who had become the general’s spiritual guide—his guru, sage, counselor, if you will. But that would have to take place at a later time. For now he would speak to him of Lemuria—a past and present place.
“We humans were once, eons ago, very different creatures,” Mack began, speaking of the same things Quilty had spoken of to him years before. “Most scientists believe we’ve evolved. But there are others, like myself, who believe we once had attributes far beyond what we exhibit today. I intend to rediscover those talents and restore what we’ve lost.”
Shell stared hard at McGraw, as if his gaze alone would convince him. “I know you will find it hard to believe,” Shell went on. “But do you want to believe?”
Link McGraw was unsure of what the general meant, but he nodded his assent. Mack Shell was throwing open his prison doors. He was not about to refuse anything his angel asked.
Twenty-four hours later, McGraw found himself at a place the general had code-named Lemuria. After Leavenworth, anyplace would have seemed like paradise, but McGraw found Lemuria to be a real paradise indeed, a place where soldierly dreams come true.
The tragedy of scientific man is that he has found no way to guide his own discoveries to a constructive end. He has devised no weapon so terrible that he has not used it. He has guarded none so carefully that his enemies have not eventually obtained it and turned it against him.
“That’s who I am now.”
“And did this revelation come to you after two or three bottles of Cuervo Gold?” the general quizzed cynically.
Link smiled. “It’s nonsensical, I know. But some things you just know, and I know I have an attachment to this soul. I was a childhood friend of Alexander; one of his generals in the campaigns of India and Afghanistan; governor of Cyrenaica; and later, pharaoh of Egypt.”
“And you believe that?”
“I do, sir.”
“And, as Ptolemy, what would you say was your best attribute?”
McGraw didn’t hesitate. “I was loyal.”
And with that, General Shell knew he had the right man—even if he was all bullshit.
“Have you ever heard of the Manhattan Project, Colonel?” the general asked.
“The old World War II code name for the development of the atomic bomb?” McGraw quickly replied.
“Exactly.”
The general went on to explain why he had come and why he had chosen McGraw. He needed a soldier who had proven leadership ability but no baggage—no lust for rank, no political connections, no family attachments, no fear, and nothing to lose. When General Shell finished explaining the duty he required of him, Colonel McGraw, the prisoner, stood, came to attention, and said simply, “Sir, I serve at your pleasure.”
There was but one thing about the general’s proposal that bothered McGraw, or at least his ego. Strangely, for a man who had no rank, it was the fact that he was being asked to command merely a platoon of what the general described as “very special forces.” A platoon consisted of just two to four squads, perhaps twenty to forty men, and was usually commanded by a lieutenant with a senior sergeant as second in command. McGraw had been a lieutenant colonel in charge of a battalion, made up of four to six companies, with each company having three to five platoons. A battalion was the army’s main combat tactical unit, with enough manpower, supplies, and administrative self-sufficiency to conduct its own independent maneuvers. A little army, if you will.
Link summoned up the courage to boost his capabilities. “Sir, I can handle the command of more than just a platoon, even if they are special forces.”
“And I expect you will,” the general answered. “But your command will have to evolve. First we’ll crawl on all fours. Later we’ll stand upright.”
As soon as he had decided on McGraw as his choice, Shell thought about introducing him to Quilty, a man who had become the general’s spiritual guide—his guru, sage, counselor, if you will. But that would have to take place at a later time. For now he would speak to him of Lemuria—a past and present place.
“We humans were once, eons ago, very different creatures,” Mack began, speaking of the same things Quilty had spoken of to him years before. “Most scientists believe we’ve evolved. But there are others, like myself, who believe we once had attributes far beyond what we exhibit today. I intend to rediscover those talents and restore what we’ve lost.”
Shell stared hard at McGraw, as if his gaze alone would convince him. “I know you will find it hard to believe,” Shell went on. “But do you want to believe?”
Link McGraw was unsure of what the general meant, but he nodded his assent. Mack Shell was throwing open his prison doors. He was not about to refuse anything his angel asked.
Twenty-four hours later, McGraw found himself at a place the general had code-named Lemuria. After Leavenworth, anyplace would have seemed like paradise, but McGraw found Lemuria to be a real paradise indeed, a place where soldierly dreams come true.
The tragedy of scientific man is that he has found no way to guide his own discoveries to a constructive end. He has devised no weapon so terrible that he has not used it. He has guarded none so carefully that his enemies have not eventually obtained it and turned it against him.
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