Captain Bradley nods, sitting back with a half-grin on his face. “I spoke with the battalion commander last week, and I told him that while it's a challenge, I think it'd be better for the company if you and SFC Pillman are able to transfer out at the same time. It'll give the Regulators a new Platoon Leader and Sergeant that work together flawlessly for the deployment.”
“But that's totally . . .” I start, then shut my mouth. It's not unheard of in the Army, but it's only done to units that have either an unfit platoon sergeant or platoon leader, usually an unfit officer. The theory is that if the platoon is fucked up, by bringing in two fresh faces, the amount of 'pollution' from the previous leadership is minimized. I've heard of it done, but I've never seen it. “You're fucking kidding me. Administrative transfer?”
“Not at all,” Captain Bradley says, a smirk on his face. “In fact, here's your evaluation report. I already submitted it to battalion. You're a one-block, top marks across the board. There's nothing in anything being done to in any way make it look like you're being administratively transferred.”
I take a look and see that the Captain's right. The OER says that I'm Top 10%, recommended for promotion in every category. The only remark that stands out to me is in the comments section. “Lieutenant Simpson shows great leadership skills, and he will be an asset to the Army with proper guidance on keeping his personal matters in check.”
I look up, fuming. “You cold-hearted son of a bitch. You shipped me out because I didn't bend over backward to your threat? Wasn't that week and some change of shit detail enough for you?”
“I told you, Lieutenant. I run things by the book. That the book has many ways to do things is something that you West Pointers don't seem to understand very well,” Bradley says, half snarling as he sits forward, totally confident in his being right on this whole thing. “I told you to break it off with her, Simpson. You're lucky I don't have you up on charges of disobeying a direct order as well as fraternization. What, did you think me being in a pickle about Hardy would stop me from getting rid of a bad officer?”
“I am in no way a bad officer,” I seethe, barely stopping myself from leaping across his desk and slamming my fist into his smug face. Still, my fingers tighten on the arms of my chair enough that I can hear the wood creak under them, and I'm about ready to see if I can rip them off the chair as is. “The Regulators are the best fucking platoon in this company. Or were you just jacking me off when you put us up for the battalion competition three months ago?”
“Three months ago, you had a good platoon,” Bradley says, scowling. “Oh, by the way, here's your new assignment.”
He hands me another piece of paper. I force myself to take it with professional demeanor before I read it, and I feel like I've been punched in the gut. “Tenth Mountain? You're sending me to fucking Fort Drum?”
“The battalion commander checked with division, and there aren’t any slots open for a high-speed First Lieutenant like yourself within the 82nd, especially in an XO slot like I know you're looking for. But, the Pentagon was able to find a slot in the 10th Mountain. You'll have to be quick on your move, however.”
“Why?” I ask, the ball in my gut turning to ice. I know the schedules as much as any other infantry officer, and I'm just waiting for the other boot to drop.
“Your new company rotated last month to Afghanistan,” Bradley says with a triumphant chuckle. “Unfortunately for them, their XO caught himself a very bad case of some disease or another and had to be rotated back to the States. The unit is short-handed now, so they've got priority. You're going to need to clear post by Wednesday. You fly Thursday morning.”
I ball up the paper, growling. “You're seriously sending me into a goddamn war zone with no prep, with Mountain boys? I'm not Mountain, I'm goddamn Airborne!”
“You're an Infantry First Lieutenant who’s qualified for an Executive Officer position,” Bradley shoots back, not offended at all. In fact, I think he's liking this. He'd want nothing more than for me to push it too far so he actually could have me arrested and court-martialed. “You are what the Army says you are. Now, my advice to you is to shuck your ass up to battalion to start the paperwork you need to get done. Oh, and don't worry about your property book. I've already signed it all back over to me. I'll take care of anything missing. I'll be making the announcement to the company at end of day formation. Try not to miss it so that you can say goodbye to everyone. You brought this on yourself, Simpson. Don't make it any worse.”
I stand up, trying to control my temper, and take a deep, shuddering breath. The only thing stopping me from wringing his arrogant neck is the fact that I can't see her in Leavenworth either. “Good fucking day, Captain.”
Lindsey's face is as grave as I feel while she reads the papers again, dropping them on the table. “Tenth Mountain, in Afghanistan. Oh, Aaron . . .”
Lance, who doesn't quite understand the problem, only sees that his Mommy and Daddy are sad, and he gets worried. “Mommy? What's wrong?”