Termination Orders(73)

Though he had gotten on to the DI’s good side, that distinction made enemies within the platoon. By the fourth week of training, he had already gotten into several fights and into a sustained feud with a loudmouth, idiot bastard named Gibbs. Gibbs was the kind of guy who liked to gang up on the smaller recruits, to intimidate them and smack them around. Morgan had never been able to tolerate petty bullying, and so he had called Gibbs out. They arranged for an after-hours fight in a pit behind the barracks.

He and Gibbs met in the dim twilight, with the whole platoon watching expectantly. Among them was the DI, standing with arms crossed. Morgan stood, facing his opponent, and someone called the beginning of the fight.

Gibbs was big, but he was slow and stupid. Morgan easily ducked his clumsy punches, hitting him with quick jabs in return. After a brief tussle, Morgan made him hit the dust. The others held him back before he could do more significant damage. But during that fight, Gibbs did do some damage—he tackled Morgan, who hit his right knee hard against a rock, the first in a series of blows to his knee that, years later, would continue to give him grief.

He was sent to the infirmary after the fight. After a short stint, during which they tended to his knee, he was told to report to the captain’s office. Oh, shit, he thought. But when he went in, the captain wasn’t there. Instead, there were two suits in sunglasses and fedoras waiting for him.

“Hello, Morgan,” said one of them. “My name’s Wilcox, and this here’s Runyan.” Each shook his hand in turn.

“We’ve been following your brief career here at Fort Jackson,” said Runyan, “and I must say, we’re very impressed.”

“Very impressed indeed,” said Wilcox. “Your test scores are laudable, and you’ve shown real leadership among the other men. You really caught the eye of your superior officers.”

“We’d like to ask a few questions, if you don’t mind,” said Runyan.

“I guess I don’t,” Morgan said.

The questions were vague and circumspect, and when they dismissed him a half hour later, he thought nothing of it. Nobody else mentioned the encounter, and he had learned by now not to ask unnecessary questions. But the encounter gnawed at his mind. All through that week, it was never far from his consciousness. One week later, he was called in again, and the same two men were there.

“Are you considering a career in the armed forces?”

“How do you feel about U.S. involvement in the Middle East?”

“We see you’ve requested to be a Green Beret. What’s your motivation behind that?”

“Tell us, Morgan, do you like the Army?”

“No, not really,” Morgan had replied honestly to the last question. “Maybe it’ll be different once I get out of basic training, but right now, I can’t stand my superiors.”

They left again with no further explanation. After yet another week went by, Morgan was called again to the captain’s office.

“I think it’s about time you knew the score, Morgan,” said Wilcox. “We’re with a certain clandestine government agency, and we happen to be recruiting. We’re looking for exceptional young men, the best of the best. And we are very interested in you.”

“Very interested,” cut in Runyan. “There are just a few more tests we’d like you to undergo, if you accept.”

Morgan agreed. This time, they sat him down with a psychiatrist, who grilled him with questions about his personal life, his political beliefs, his patriotism, and how far he was willing to go for his country, all of which Morgan answered as truthfully as he could. After that, he sat down with Wilcox and Runyan once more.

“We’re with the CIA, Morgan,” said Runyan. “If you decide to come with us, we’ll give you the finest training a man can get, courtesy of Uncle Sam. You’ll travel the world, gather intel, run operations, and help to make history.”

“Just tell me where to sign,” said Morgan, grinning.

Runyan smiled back at him. “Excellent! I had a feeling you would say yes. We’ll get you out of here and into training right away.”

“About that,” said Morgan. “I want an honorable discharge.”

The two men agreed, and they kept their word. Morgan showed up at home a few days later, unannounced, on Thanksgiving, still in his Army uniform. He couldn’t tell his family why he was home. He had already taken an oath of secrecy and signed half a dozen papers. His father had been nervous, thinking he had gone AWOL. It didn’t help that he had told his parents how much he hated putting up with all the basic-training bullshit. So he told them he had torn up his knee during basic training and had received an honorable medical discharge.