by
Mary J. Rudy
Lieutenant Mary Carlin shifted a pile of papers, still warm from the printer, to
her other side as she unlocked the door to the battalion command offices. She
expected to get a lot of work done today, as she usually did when the colonel
was out of the office, and was pleasantly surprised that the reports she ordered
the night before were waiting for her this morning.
Once inside the command suite, Carlin dropped the papers on her desk and got straight to work, stopping only to accept a courier delivery addressed to her superior. A few minutes later, another man entered the suite. This one was clad in an officer's uniform but looked almost as young as the courier.
"'Morning,
Lieutenant," he said cordially as he unlocked the inner office.
Carlin
seemed surprised to see him. "Good morning, Colonel." She followed him inside
with another pile of reports and the courier envelope. "I wasn't expecting you
here today, sir. Did Captain Donahue cancel the exercise today?"
"No,
unfortunately I was the one who had to cancel." He
paused as he spotted the envelope atop the pile of paperwork in her arms. "Is
the post here already?"
"No, sir.
That came by special courier a few minutes ago."
The young
colonel was about to open the envelope when his telephone rang. He tossed the
envelope into his mail basket and grabbed the handset just ahead of his aide.
"Third
Special Forces Battalion. Colonel Metcalfe." He listened. "It's all right,
Sergeant. I'm expecting him." The handset clattered back onto its cradle as he
turned his attention to Carlin. "That's the reason I'm here. Someone from World
Government headquarters rang last night after you left and insisted that I speak to him today. I was hoping you knew something
about it."
"Sorry,
Colonel, I don't."
"I was
afraid of that. If he's from HQ, it's probably not good."
"Not
necessarily, sir. Maybe it has something to do with the courier delivery."
"Well, send
him in when he gets here and I'll find out soon enough. I'll get some coffee
on." Metcalfe closed the door behind him.
After
starting the coffee, Metcalfe headed for his private washroom where he checked
his appearance in the mirror. He had just finished a quick touch-up with his
razor when his intercom buzzed.
"Your
appointment is here, Colonel."
"Very well,
Lieutenant. Send him in."
A tall,
dark-haired man strode into the office. Although he was dressed in civilian
clothes, there was no mistaking that he had previously served in the military--and an eventful career at that, Metcalfe thought to himself. He
definitely had the military bearing only career officers seemed to achieve,
particularly those who had seen combat. Yet there was something else about him,
something familiar.
"Good
morning, Colonel," the man greeted in a booming voice. His accent could have
been American, Canadian or even English. "My name is Turner, Conrad Turner."
Metcalfe
gave him a hearty handshake, a smile of recognition on his face. "The
Commander Turner of the World Space Patrol? An honor to meet you, sir."
"Actually,
we've met before, a long time ago when I served under your father's command. You
were rather young at the time, so I wouldn't expect you to remember."
"I remember
the occasion quite well, in fact. Meeting one of my boyhood heroes gave me a
thrill."
"And who
would have thought that boy would one day become Colonel Paul Metcalfe, V.C. and
Bar, the hero of the WAAF?"
Metcalfe
smiled awkwardly and waved the older man to a chair as a way of changing the
subject. He poured coffee into two bone china cups decorated with the WAAF
Special Forces insignia. "So what brings you here to WAAF Canada HQ, Commander
Turner?"
"You can
drop the 'commander.' I retired from the WSP when the World Government made me a
better offer as a consultant."
"Ah, living
the comfortable life of a World Military pensioner whilst collecting a World
Government salary. What do the Yanks call that, 'double-dipping'?"
"I wouldn't
know. I directed that all my pension money be donated to the WSP Widows' and
Orphans' Fund."
"A noble
gesture indeed. But I know you're not here to sell me a retirement scheme."
"No,
Colonel, actually I'm here to offer you a chance to get back into the field
where you belong."
Now that
made Metcalfe sit up a little straighter.
Turner sat
casually in the chair, crossing his ankle over his knee. "I thought that would
get your attention. You see, I know all about your aversion to desk jobs and
paperwork. You're a born soldier, not a paper-pusher. And an infantry officer of
your age, with two Victoria Crosses to his name, belongs out in the field with
his troops, not sitting in an office with a bottle hidden in his desk drawer."
Metcalfe
stole a glance at his desk. He really did
have a bottle of Scotch in the bottom drawer, a Christmas present he'd never
opened. Only one person knew about it, the one who'd given it to him....
"Did my
father send you here?"
Turner
laughed. "Good heavens, no! I'm on the selection committee for Project
Spectrum."
Metcalfe
stared at Turner quizzically, his curiosity hiding his embarrassment. "That's
the current effort to reorganize the World Military, isn't it?"
"That's what
we want the general public to think. What we are actually doing is creating an
elite world security force of the same name."
"And what
exactly will make this 'Spectrum Force' so different from all the other elite
forces already in the World Military?"
"Well, for
starters, Spectrum won't be limited to the military. The organization will
encompass all aspects of world security. This will
include the things other non-military
organizations do best, such as intelligence gathering, communications monitoring
and so on." Turner sipped, then took a long pull on his coffee, his dark eyes
conveying his approval of the colonel's brew. "You could say that this
organization will run the 'full spectrum' of maximum security."
"Sounds
exciting." Metcalfe nestled into his chair, resting his elbow on the chair arm
and stroking his chin in the pose that always invoked a comparison to his
father. "Tell me more."
"Spectrum
will not be tied to any one World Government or World Military organization,"
Turner continued. "The commander-in-chief will answer only to the World
President. Our senior staff will be made up of men and women considered to be
the best in their respective fields." He paused and stared directly at Metcalfe.
"That, Colonel, is where you come in."
"Me? On the
senior staff?"
"The
selection committee put your name at the top of the list two months ago."
"And it's
taken you this long to contact me?"
"It's taken
me that long to pin you down for this interview."
Metcalfe
smiled. "Well, I must admit I take advantage of every opportunity to go out into
the field."
"I don't
blame you. I'd go spare if I had to fly a desk the rest of my career."
"But it
sounds like I will be behind a desk the rest of my
career, if Spectrum want me for their senior staff."
"Ah, but
you're assuming Spectrum will be organized similar to the World Army Air Force.
The rank structure, among other things, will be quite different from what you're
used to."
"How,
exactly?"
"For
example, all senior staff such as yourself will also be field officers, holding
the rank of captain."
Metcalfe
glared at him. "Mr. Turner, if you think I've come this
far in my career to--to--" He searched for the vernacular. "--to pack it in and join an organization I
know nothing about, with my only incentive being a three-rank demotion, you are
seriously mistaken!"
"Who said
anything about a demotion? Only your title will change. You'll still retain your
time-in-rank seniority, you'll still draw the same pay--"
"The pay's
not important," Metcalfe snapped.
"--and your
starting rank in Spectrum will be equivalent to your present rank, with the
added bonus of going out into the field whenever you are needed." Turner drained
his coffee cup and held it out for a refill as he continued. "Everybody reacts
the same way as you did, even the civilians. Take the commander-in-chief, for
example. He's a former admiral in the World Navy, and currently head of the
Universal Secret Service."
"Charles
Gray is to head it? Admiral Gray?"
"The very
same. When he first heard he will 'only' be a colonel, you could have heard him
on the moon. But once the
real meaning of the rank was explained
to him, he joined up straight away."
Metcalfe
visibly relaxed and pondered the idea. Gray was the man responsible for last
year's infamous housecleaning of the USS's London bureau, which until he came
along was overrun with double agents and infiltrators. If Spectrum were good
enough for Admiral Gray, perhaps he should
give this a bit more thought. "So I would be Captain Metcalfe, then."
"Not
exactly."
"But you
just said--"
Turner held
up a hand to stop him. "Yes, I did say you would be a captain. No, you will not
be Captain Metcalfe, because all senior Spectrum
officers will have code names."
Metcalfe
raised an eyebrow. "Code names?"
"That's the
other thing that will make Spectrum completely different from the rest of the
World Government agencies. Spectrum field agents will receive a code name based
on a color of the rainbow--the other
reason for calling the organization 'Spectrum.' Your everyday uniform will
incorporate this color."
"I don't
know if I fancy the idea of security officers walking about in brightly-colored
uniforms. You might as well hang bull's-eyes round their necks."
"No one will
know you are an officer. You know how, in Special Forces, you don't wear rank
insignia in the field?"
Metcalfe
smiled slightly. More than one hapless junior officer had mistaken him, in his
late twenties the youngest colonel in the WAAF, for a green recruit. "Of course.
So that the enemy won't discover the mission's importance."
"It's the
same idea. The Spectrum everyday uniforms will be of a completely new design,
with no insignia of rank. Instead of a collar rank badge, you will wear a
color-coded cap, waistcoat and boots. Other units, such as security police, will
have special uniforms as well. No one will know your exact rank or importance."
"It still
doesn't sound like Spectrum will be your usual covert security organization."
"Spectrum's
operations won't be completely covert. It's hoped that the high-profile security
Spectrum will provide will discourage terrorism merely by its presence."
"That's a
possibility, but won't maintaining a high profile
compromise
security? The agents' families may be in danger if their identities are made
public."
"We've
allowed for that. At no time will Spectrum
ever reveal an agent's name to anyone but the World President. The media
will be under a strict gag order for those occasions where news coverage will be
permitted. We're also working on developing a high-tech solution to the problem
of our agents inadvertently being photographed."
"Excellent
idea, that. But what about the photographs of the agents that have been
published over the years?"
"You mean
like that one up there? I think that's an acceptable risk." Turner pointed to a
framed newspaper clipping on the wall of the office. The photo in the article
showed an even younger Metcalfe, as a WAAF lieutenant in full dress uniform,
snapping a salute in the direction of the photographer. "That's when you got
that first VC, isn't it?"
Metcalfe
nodded. "The memorial service afterward. I have it hanging there to remind me
why I'm here." He glanced ruefully at the picture. "I won't bore you with the
story. It must have been part of your background check."
Turner
pulled a rather thick file folder out of his briefcase and laid it on the
colonel's desk. "Not only that one, but dozens of others." He smiled roguishly
as he patted the folder. "Know how much money I would make if I sold this to
Hollywood?"
"They
wouldn't believe half of it. I don't believe it myself sometimes."
"I read one
I'm not sure I believe. It's about a 3-year-old boy
whose mummy would have died of a miscarriage if he hadn't been taught how to use
the telephone."
Metcalfe
stared at him. No one knew about that.
"You are thorough, aren't you?"
"It's my
job. I want to know all I can about my fellow Spectrum officers before I begin
training them--"
Metcalfe
straightened in his seat. "Hold on, I haven't even given you an answer yet!"
"You
surprise me, Colonel. I rather thought I'd get the same reaction from you as I
did that chap over at the World Aeronautic Society." He chuckled. "The poor
devil started his WAS career as a test pilot, but now he's shackled to a desk in
the security department. As soon as he heard he'd go back to flying aeroplanes--
it didn't matter which kind, as long as he was flying again--all he said was
'Where do I sign?'"
"Typical,"
muttered Metcalfe.
"The same is
often said about combat soldiers," Turner pointed out. "I know you're not happy unless you're in the thick of the action. I think
this would be perfect for you."
"But it's
not that simple for me. I can't just resign
my commission and go back to doing what I like best."
"Why not?"
"I'd be
throwing a bit more away than your friend at the Aeronautic Society, wouldn't I?
A lot more is expected of me in my situation. From all the research you've done
on me, you must know that I'm well on my way to becoming the WAAF's youngest
general in a few years--"
"Oh, it
won't take that long."
Turner's
reply was only a hair quicker than it should have been. Metcalfe didn't miss it.
"Do you know
something I don't?"
"Well--er,
no, nothing more than the usual rumors." Turner sighed inwardly. The Special
Forces Commandant had warned him that the kid would be sharp, but Colonel
Metcalfe seemed to be anticipating his every move.
Well, that's why we want him, isn't it? "I just meant that it shouldn't take
you that long to become Spectrum's
commander-in-chief. You will, after all, start your career near the top of the
chain of command--"
"--And I
know of many senior staff officers who find themselves
ending
their careers in that same position. I really don't see where your offer affords
me any opportunity for advancement."
"Oh, we
anticipate a rather high turnover rate. Spectrum senior staff, after all, will
differ from their World Military counterparts in one very important way."
"By their
undertaking dangerous missions no other force would dare undertake?"
"By their
getting shot at on a regular basis." Turner paused for effect, smiling. "And
that's another reason the selection committee are interested in you. Over the
years, Colonel, you have proven yourself very good at dodging bullets."
Metcalfe sat
back in the chair and rocked slowly. "Well, I must say, Mr. Turner, you
certainly have my interest, but I would like a little
time to think it over."
The former
WSP officer stood and set his empty cup and saucer on Metcalfe's desk. "I was
hoping I'd have your answer today, but I can certainly understand your wanting
to discuss it--"
Again,
Metcalfe was waiting for him. "With my father?"
"Oh, I'm
sure you don't discuss every career move with him, but I assumed
you might do this time."
"Since I'll
be breaking with tradition, you mean. Not becoming one of the 'Family of
Generals.'"
"Something
like that."
"I broke
with tradition years ago when I went to the Point instead of Sandhurst. And my
father supported my decision. All my adult life I've made my own decisions, Mr.
Turner, and for the most part they have been with the
blessings
of my father." He stood and straightened his tunic on reflex. "You see, unlike
with most military families, there is no shame in breaking a Metcalfe 'family
tradition.' We look on it rather as starting a new one."
"I admire
that. It can't be easy in this constantly-changing world." Turner reached into
his shirt pocket and handed Metcalfe a business card. "Can I expect your
decision sometime this week?"
"You can
expect it tomorrow, Mr. Turner." He dropped the card on his desk and stretched
out his hand. "It's been a pleasure to see you again."
Turner
grasped the younger man's hand and shook it firmly. "I hope to see a lot more of
you, Colonel."
Metcalfe sat
in the same position for several minutes after Turner left, going over what he
had said. His offer certainly was tempting, but as he'd pointed out to Turner,
the idea of a "world elite force" was nothing new. This was only the latest
version of it. He quickly reminded himself that the young World Government had
attempted several of these reorganizations since he'd received his commission.
While some had succeeded, others had met with disastrous results. Several of his
West Point classmates had chosen this "fast track" to military leadership, only
to cause permanent damage to their careers--and more than one had lost his life
due to bureaucratic miscommunication.
But this one
was a little better thought out than the rest, he admitted. At least Spectrum
were making the attempt to organize all
the components of the World Government, not just the military. That in itself
got his attention more than anything. How many times had his junior officers
reported to him that they weren't able to get the information they needed from
other World Government agencies? How many times did other countries' military
units fail to provide proper mission support for Special Forces ops? If one commander--especially a brilliant naval strategist like Admiral
Gray-- had charge of all the component units, surely the whole operation would
run more smoothly.
He came out
of his reverie when Lieutenant Carlin knocked and entered with the rest of the
paperwork. "Did it go well, sir?"
"Sorry?"
"Your
meeting with Mr. Turner." She knew her commanding officer well enough to know
that the meeting hadn't gone quite as
he'd expected. Something was wrong.
Metcalfe
sighed. "I can't go into too much detail, Lieutenant. Let's just say I have a
big decision to make, and it's not going to be an easy one." He picked up his
pen and started signing the reports, barely looking at them as he did so.
"I
understand, sir. I'll leave you to it then, shall I?"
"Yes,
thanks. I need a little time to think this one over." He smiled at Carlin as she
gathered up the signed reports and closed the door behind her.
Metcalfe
reached for Turner's business card to put it into his pocket, then noticed the
courier envelope still in his mail basket under it. As he picked it up, he saw
it was from the Special Forces command offices and not from World Government
headquarters as Lieutenant Carlin had speculated. Just that moment his intercom
buzzed again.
He punched
the button. "What is it, Lieutenant?! I thought I just said
I wasn't to be disturbed."
"Sorry to
bother you, sir, but I have an incoming video call for you. From your father."
"My father?"
The only time General Metcalfe used the videophone was at Christmas. What the devil does he want?
"Oh, very well. Put him through." He sat back in the chair and relaxed as he
waited for the connection.
The small
screen before him flickered to life, and General Charles Metcalfe appeared,
seated in almost the exact position as his son. Many people remarked on seeing
the two of them together that they bore almost no physical resemblance, Paul
having inherited his youthful good looks from his mother's side of the family.
Their mannerisms, however, were undeniably identical.
General
Metcalfe spoke first, unbridled excitement in his normally stern voice. "Paul! I
am so happy I was able to reach you!"
Paul smiled.
"Hello, Dad. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The general
seemed surprised. "How on earth can you be so calm after hearing
that
sort of news?"
"What news?"
"You're
having me on, Paul. Your uncle George rang me this morning and told me all about
it."
"Honestly,
Dad, I have no idea what you're talking about--" He paused. George Metcalfe,
Charles' younger brother and another of the "Family of Generals," was currently
posted at WAAF Headquarters. Involved with
approving transfers…
Metcalfe
grabbed the envelope, tore it open and cursorily scanned the contents. Inside
was a directive from the Special Forces Commandant, Brigadier General Small:
…It is my pleasure to inform you… accepted into the next class… Command And
General Staff College…
"What
the--?" Metcalfe gasped, sitting upright in his chair and rereading the document
more carefully. "So that's why he was
so intent on speaking to me this morning!"
"Someone
spoke to you? But you just said you didn't know anything about it."
Paul sighed
and looked at the screen, the expression on his face one that the general hadn't
seen since his son's decision to enter West Point. "We need to talk, Dad."
Author's Notes:
This story has been sitting on my PC for some
time. I had actually started it way
before Colonel Chris' site even existed. It was meant to be part of a much bigger
story, but the colonel beat me to it with
All the Colours of the Rainbow!
In it I try to tie up another few loose ends, such as where the idea for the
organization – and the name – Spectrum came from, the reasoning behind the
rankless, brightly-colored uniforms and so on.
But upon re-reading it after all these years I thought it stood on its
own well enough and it was a shame to keep it all to myself. Don't be surprised, however, if you
eventually see it as part of the long-awaited revision of All the Colours! And the title? It's supposed to be a takeoff on the Trooping the Colour
ceremony...
Lieutenant Mary
Carlin is my own character; she made her first appearance in Ferguson's Folly. General Metcalfe is also my own, but he has been around a lot
longer, making his first appearance in
Chance for a Lifetime. The
others, of course, you all know and they're under copyright. I'll leave the legal mumbo-jumbo to the webmaster.
OTHER CAPTAIN SCARLET FANFIC BY MARY J. RUDY
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