'A' for Argonaut by Michael J. Stedman

Manual, FM 3-25.150, at the Army Combatives School at Fort Benning, Georgia. He remembered it like it was yesterday. Luster made the rough-and-ready guys Maran grew up with in Southie’s projects seem like choirboys. He could not believe it when the scar-faced Luster had clamped down on his wrist, sending the wooden simulated field knife flying off in the air and breaking the wrist‌—‌accidentally. That hadn’t stopped Maran. He’d come back from the hospital with a flexible cast which allowed him to complete his training, even while being taunted about the bird-like yelp he let out when he heard his wrist fracture at the radius. Later, Maran basked in the glory of being the only trainee to graduate from Luster’s program in a sling.
    He also knew that in spite of that humiliation the battle-hardened Luster referred to him as his “clean-up batter.” It had been his job to be the enforcer who could eliminate the bad guys quickly and effectively and still cover his tracks. In the prevailing political environment, there was always the risk posed by lawyers from Human Rights Watch who might step in heroically to prosecute violators of the rules of engagement designed to prevent men like Maran from “the unnecessary use of deadly force.”
    Of course, no one knew what that meant.
    Bull Luster was sixty, built like a refrigerator, thick, and hard. His body would take a deuce-and-a-half ton truck to move if he resisted, Maran thought. The face looked like it had been run over by a half-track, full of ruts and channels with a jaw that shot out over his chest like a cleft hoof. The brown and yellow flecks darkening his lips were testimony to the cigarette and chewing tobacco abuse they had endured since he was a kid recruit. Rojas had called him in as a character witness at Maran’s request.
    Luster stepped up to the witness box with deliberation, exuding confidence, sure of himself, dressed in his starched BDUs. Rojas asked him to explain why Maran had been ordered to turn back. Luster told them the decision had been based on classified satellite intelligence from the Army’s National Imagery and Mapping Agency. Since that agency denied access to their battle space signals intelligence, the judicial panel had no options open. The origin of Maran’s order remained obscure.
    Pleased at his success, Maran’s defense lawyer turned his question-ing to Luster’s estimation of Maran’s record as a soldier.
    Inside, Maran smiled.
    “This’ difficult for me,” Luster testified. “First, you have to understand, Colonel Maran has an exemplary combat record. Sharp soldier, a true leader, admired by superiors, by the men in his command. I myself would follow him into combat. All his training in Special Ops’d marked him for dedication to the mission. Trained to advance. Destroy the enemy. Win the position. ‘ Victoriae !’ achieve victory,” Luster stressed. “It’s all‌—‌all they know. Victoriae !” It was the team’s motto, his motto. He’d coined it himself after he left Delta Force at Fort Bragg to develop SAWC.
    “So I could feel his passion the moment he felt he’d been ordered to abandon the hostages. I have to add, however, that Colonel Maran did the wrong thing. I know Colonel Maran, he’s a victim of his own confidence. Thought he’d overcome all odds‌—‌prevail. That’s what he was trained for.”
    Rojas saw his chance. He took it.
    “So you agree to the extent of his guilt?”
    “Yes.”
    No, not you too! Maran thought, annihilated.
    Bull Luster’s testimony hit Maran like a bayonet in the heart.
    He wasn’t prepared for this turn. Maran wasn’t sure he could take another betrayal. It was all he could do not to scream. He gripped the edge of the chair for support. His knuckles whitened. Luster had been his one hope. He’d expected more help from him.
    At the end, he took the stand himself. He surveyed the room, devoid of emotion. He hunched his knotted shoulders, took a deep breath,