Again they were on their way and it appeared to Miller that they were headed deeper into the desert. At some point they turned off the two lane highway and entered a secondary road that was just barely visible with the snow falling. They drove for another half hour, not seeing other vehicle, until they stopped at a large area secured by razor wire that stretched as far as he could see.
“If everyone would disembark now and pick up your gear, you will be taken to your next destination,” the driver informed them.
Miller and the others got off and the frigid desert winter air almost took their breath away. A thermometer on the guardhouse said that it was –20 degrees. Somehow knowing that little bit of information made it suddenly seem even colder. He didn’t think it was possible to snow when it was this cold. It was just one of the lessons he was about to learn.
He was thankful his luggage had arrived or he would be standing there in a light weight windbreaker. One of the men turned and said something to the guy standing next to him but the man didn’t reply. He turned to the guy on the other side and asked a question but again he was ignored. Finally he shrugged and put his hands in his pockets and waited.
A few minutes later, two Hummers raced up and skidded to a halt. A heavily bundled up man got out of each of the vehicles and started loading their luggage. They didn’t talk and had the luggage stowed away in seconds. Each one was about the same height and build as the rest of the men Miller had seen so far with the exception of the last guy who got on the bus. He wondered if they had a little machine that spit out carbon copies. They were told to get in and within minutes they were whisked away.
The Hummer headed across the tarmac and was soon bouncing along a dirt and stone road. No one said a word or even looked at the others around him. The snow was falling harder and the road would disappear occasionally but it didn’t slow the driver as they continued deeper into the desert. Finally they skidded to a stop near a large building that was hard to distinguish from the landscape.
“Gentlemen,” the driver said, “This is your immediate destination. Please enter through that door,” he said, pointing to where he wanted them to go.
The building was a square block. It looked like it had just been dropped in the middle of the lot and had no redeeming features that Miller could see. The only windows were on the top floor of the three story building and there were several garage doors along the one wall that he could see.
“We will take care of your belongings. You will be met inside and told what to do,” the driver told them.
The four men climbed out of the Hummer and went inside.
“Gentlemen, welcome. This is the home of Strike–1. We understand that you have questions but please be patient and everything will be explained in time. Now if you will follow me,” he said, turning and leading them down a long cinder block hall.
Pictures of past Presidents were hung every three feet on one side of the wall and pictures of military men on the other. Miller didn’t recognize any of the military pictures but noticed they were from different branches of the service from around the world.
He also noticed the guide had on a camo military uniform but no rank insignia. He was cut from the same mold as the rest of the men he had seen so far but his hair was longer. There was nothing to tell them if he was an officer, NCO or enlisted. He opened the door to a large conference room and they were ushered inside and seated. It was dimly lit and a podium was situated on a small riser. Two new men entered the room. They had on the same uniform but like the other man, no identifying insignia.
“Men, I am Number One. That is how you will address me while you are in this unit. Your names are no longer a means of identification. You may have noticed that no one has an insignia to designate their rank. We have no ranking except for our numbers. Our numbers are our rank and indicate the pecking order. You,” he said, pointing to the man next to Miller, “Are 24A. You are 24B, 24C, and 24D.” Each man would only be called by that designation from this point. 24B was Miller’s new name. He supposed it could have been worse.
“You have been chosen to potentially become a member of the Strike-1 Team. Only one of you will succeed. You are already outstanding candidates simply because you have made it this far. This is only the second time we have had four potential candidates at the same time.”
For the next hour, Number One filled them in on what they would be trying to accomplish over the next few months.
Less emphasis was placed on PT than Miller had thought. It was going to be more stress related, application, and critical thinking skills. That was fine with him, he loved mental challenges.
