An Eagle's Vengeance

Since it was Sunday he normally enjoyed sleeping in, even though it was the beginning of the football season. Being on the West Coast the games came on rather early but there were no good games on in the morning. As usual, his mind raced while he was in bed, running through options and possibilities, the previous weeks events and the upcoming week. After a while of tossing and turning, he finally drifted to sleep.

During his first year in the military, the young Ensign Morris was fascinated with the Paint Gun games held in a nearby town, and participated every weekend. Greg enjoyed the thrill of pitting his skills against the locals. Never happy with just playing the game, he usually challenged himself to find new ways to eliminate his opposition in easy fashion. On one such occasion, the owner of the club had called an old friend of his, a Marine Major, to observe Greg's antics, without his knowledge. During the day, Ensign Morris single-handedly managed to subdue 30 people without firing a single shot of his paint gun, smearing them with paint from a play knife. Undeniably impressed, the Major passed his observations to the Colonel on the base that had some friends in Washington, one of them, Commander John Davenport. Before long, Ensign Morris received a call from Commander Davenport. Greg was requested to run through some testing in which he demonstrated his prowess with martial arts, knives, weapons and covert tactics.

After five days of outlasting the best the team had to offer, he was offered a position with a new covert operations unit that was being developed specialize in Anti-terrorist and Ant-Drug operations. The military was taking a new avenue, and the old days of fighting an enemy at sea, had changed to surveillance, long-distance engagements, and participation in Drug Enforcement Operations and Police Actions. This new organization was developed to conduct the type of operations everyone wished we could do but couldn’t outwardly participate in. The operations were strictly covert and definitely of the highest security classification. Only a select few knew of the team.

Greg’s involvement was classified, and required him to pose as a regular Naval Surface Warfare Officer. It was an awkward position, conducting training at night and on weekends in a remote location in Camp Pendleton, while during the week he was stationed to a ship.

Having never married and with his parents still alive, he was assigned to a ship in California, on the other side of the country from his relatives, living out a dual life. If a mission were to occur, the ship he was assigned to would receive word of a relative either dying or severely ill requiring him to come home for a week. During that week, there would be 3 days of preparation training, a one day transit and no more than 3 days for the mission, allowing a buffer of two extra days if needed.

Training was conducted every Wednesday night, Thursday night and Friday night through Saturday morning, usually ending around noon. He usually spent Saturday night with friends, unwinding and still had Sunday to recuperate, never rising early unless he had an early tee time on the golf course, one of his only other favorite pastimes.

This morning he had no interest in getting to the golf course. He preferred to remain in bed and would later move to the couch to watch the football game or the golf match. Shortly after drifting back to sleep, the solitude was broken by the ringing of the phone. He thought about ignoring it but decided he better answer it. No one ever called on Sunday so it was unusual.

"Greg? Tom. Hey buddy, I got the duty today and just learned that Captain Davenport is on his way out here tomorrow to talk to us. It must be important for the old man to come all the way out here from Washington, don't you think?" Lieutenant Tom Franklin was Greg's second in command and was initially trained as a SEAL before being recruited to the unit. Tom had a unique talent with various weapons and could speak seven different languages, claiming his Italian Mother and Spanish Father had wanted him to be a linguist. Both his parents died in a car wreck when he was in high school and was raised by a distant uncle, a retired SEAL, who lived in South Carolina. He never married and had no ties to the outside world, making him a prime candidate for the team. The team had become his family and nothing on the outside interested him.

"Listen Tom, it's Sunday morning, I'm tired and I'm not interested in tomorrow. Call me tonight when I've had a chance to work out the cobwebs."

"A little too much fun last night buddy. Come on, it's the big man himself coming out here. I bet we have a really important mission to go on. He may even come out here to lead us himself. We haven't been in an operation in over 2 months and I'm getting antsy for some action."

That was the last thing Greg wanted. Although Davenport had recruited him, every time Greg operated with him, they were near catastrophes because of Davenport's stubbornness and ego. It had almost cost them dearly during an operation in Pakistan and he had hoped he wouldn't meet with the "Devil's Angel" as he so aptly called him.

"You're way to anxious Tom. One of these days your enthusiasm is going to get you into trouble." Franklin was an outstanding right hand man but he was too excitable. Too often Greg had to pull him away from fights at a local bar. In the field, Greg kept a tight leash on him to prevent him from storming straight ahead screaming the Rebel Yell. He was afraid Tom was getting too caught up in the assignments and was becoming more a hired assassin than a skilled military man.

"When it does, I'll be right there to meet it head on. Until then you're stuck with me. Anyway, he'll be at the playground Tuesday at oh-seven hundred hours. Don't be late. You'll get your notice tomorrow morning. Be at your best."

"I'll be there. Now let me get back to sleep and I'll see you tomorrow." Greg hung up the phone and tried to get back to sleep. The thought of operating with Davenport nagged at him and sleep was out of the question. He couldn't understand why Davenport would come all the way from Washington D.C. to brief them on an operation. It was highly irregular, unless, God forbid, he was going to lead them. He had been up to date on all the latest news and had heard nothing special.