Menendez pulled over an Air Force general, a stocky older officer with grey hair cut into a flattop, a similar bouquet of ribbons on his chest, with pilot’s wings with a combat star above them. “Admiral Pacino, this is Lieutenant General George ‘Buck’ Rogers. The recently appointed boss of the Defense Intelligence Agency. We pretend to like him, but he’s actually a son of a bitch.”
Rogers guffawed and shook Pacino’s hand. “Don’t listen to ‘Fedora’ Menendez. I and my boys know the
A solidly built man came into the room, flanked by two of his aides. The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, Air Force General Abdul Zaka, was the senior statesman of the military, older by far than any general officer Pacino had met, surviving in active duty well into his late sixties. He’d come to the Pentagon after commanding the strategic command that controlled the country’s nuclear weapons, and before that, several bomber groups. Despite his background being vastly different than Pacino’s, they’d gotten along famously since they’d met at a seminar fifteen years before. Zaka had invited Pacino to his hunting compound a few years later, an impressive lodge far from civilization in the deep woods of western Virginia, and they’d stayed up late into the night discussing military strategy. Zaka was perpetually curious about naval strategy and tactics, a parallel universe to him, and he considered Pacino the world’s expert after the end of the War of the East China Sea. Pacino always scoffed at that, telling Zaka that in a thousand ways, he and his fleet had gotten very lucky.
Zaka came up to greet Pacino first, grinning his characteristic smile, with what seemed two dozen straight white teeth. He was gray-haired, his hair cut into a crewcut, his face still retaining its youthful shape, although rumors abounded that he’d had plastic surgery several times. He gripped Pacino’s hand in an iron grip. The general outweighed Pacino by at least fifty pounds, all of it seemingly muscle.
“I heard about Little Patch getting exonerated by the board,” Zaka said. “I was glad to hear. Damned shame what happened.”
“I’m just glad he’s okay, but his friends are hospitalized, one with burns, the other in a coma that she may not come out of.”
Zaka shook his head in sympathy.
Pacino looked over at a shorter, slender officer who wore the shoulderboards of a two-star admiral, who seemed too young for his rank and appeared almost lost in this crowd. He wore submarine dolphins over his ribbons, so he must be the head of the sub force, Pacino guessed.
“You must be Wally Patton,” Pacino said, scanning the man’s face for signs of resemblance to John “Blood-and-Guts” Patton, but there were none. Patton nodded respectfully and shook Pacino’s hand.
“Your brother and I go way back,” Pacino said, regretting that he hadn’t stayed in touch with the older Patton. “But he never mentioned you, or maybe I wasn’t listening.”
“I was just the humble chief engineer on the new construction
Pacino nodded as a slender blonde woman walked up, wearing Navy tropical whites with a skirt, her hair pulled back into a severe bun, wearing black-framed glasses, her shoulderboards indicating her rank as a rear admiral. She came up confidently to the group and addressed the male generals and admirals. “Gentlemen, as usual, wonderful to see you.”
Pacino reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Pacino, the new National Security Advisor.”
“Frieda Sutton, head of ONI. And it’s great to meet you, Admiral. Your predecessor was — well, none of us thought she understood military force.”
“Do any of us?” Pacino quipped. ONI was the Office of Naval Intelligence.
He saw Allende with her phone to her ear. She hung up and addressed the crowd. “Everyone, the president is on his way. Let’s get to the room.”
Pacino took his seat, two chairs down from the end seat of the president, the other seats reserved for the Secretary of War and the Secretary of the Navy. To his right sat General Zaka, Admiral Catardi, and next to him, Admiral Patton. Across from them sat Allende, Menendez next to her, then NSA Director Nickerson, with Defense Intelligence chief Rogers on Nickerson’s left, and to his left, ONI’s Admiral Sutton. The seats at the periphery of the room were occupied by various military and civilian aides.
