The Directives Read Online Free Page B

engine noise. “One second, please.”
    “Yes, sir?”
    Bishop pointed to the tow truck’s cab, motioning for the NCO to follow him over. Climbing up, Bishop opened the door and pulled down the eyeshade. He caught the falling keys in mid-air.
    Smiling, the sergeant took the ring. “Thank you, sir. I wasn’t real sure our little Humvee could move this behemoth anyway.”
    Satisfied with the progress on clearing the roadblock, Bishop took a deep breath and moved off to find Major Baxter. It was time for a serious discussion.
    He found the man addressing some of his troops, the group clustered behind the command Humvee. Standing to the side, Bishop just stared at the major until he was noticed.
    “Yes?” Baxter barked, looking annoyed.
    “We need to talk, Major. We need to have a little chitchat before we enter town.”
    Bishop was surprised at the officer’s reaction. Instead of acting as if he were being pestered, the man actually reared up – almost as if he wanted to get a few things off his chest as well.
    “Let’s take a walk,” Baxter replied, nodding towards a game path leading into the bordering woods.
    “Let’s,” Bishop agreed.
    The two men marched into the underbrush, both remaining silent until they were out of sight. Baxter turned and poked his finger into Bishop’s chest. “I am sick and fucking tired of your constant interference,” he began. “You have done nothing but seek to undermine my authority, question my every decision, and degrade my command’s performance. I want it stopped, and I want it stopped right now.”
    Bishop took a half step closer, bringing his face in tight with the irate officer. “You are the epitome of why I was happy to leave the Army, Baxter. You are thickheaded, unwilling to accept advice, and so wrapped up in your command structure and discipline that you wouldn’t know a good idea if it slapped you up the side of the head. I want you to open your eyes and ears and take advantage of those who have experience. You’re going to fuck this mission up and get people killed if you don’t.”
    “What sage advice, Bishop? What experience? The only reason why you are here is because you r wife is some political bigwig back home. Sure, you’ve galloped here and there with your fancy rifle and civilian kit. Hell, I’ll even accept the stories of your shooting it out with some starving refugees and common thugs. But that don’t buy you shit in my store, mister. I play in the big leagues. My men and I play for keeps, and we don’t need some overpaid night watchman trying to tell us how to go about our mission. We are professionals, highly trained and disciplined. Get the fuck out of my way, and let me do my job.”
    Bishop backed off, the move necessary to avoid butchering the asinine man standing before him. With a calmer voice, he tried to reverse the direction their conversation was heading. “Major, if we were in Iraq or some other combat zone, I would bow to your wisdom, training, and experience. But we’re not. We are in America, dealing with Americans. They don’t give a shit about martial law, military justice or any of that. They care about security, where their next meal is coming from, and how to keep their kids from getting sick and dying. If you roll in to this town like a conquering army, they will resist to the core of their being. They will stall, play dumb, and sabotage anything we try to accomplish. I’m only suggesting a slight modification to your perspective - a minor adjustment to treat civilians with respect and put yourself in their shoes before reacting. Is that so much to ask? Does that slight courtesy endanger the mission?”
    Baxter snorted, “Treat the civilians with respect? Now that’s rich… really rich. I’ve seen how your type treats women and children. When I first graduated from the Point, I worked with contractors in Iraq and Afghanistan. You hired guns would piss off the locals, rambling through towns like cowboys in from