Free One Killer Force: A Delta Force Novel by Dalton Fury Page A

She—”
    Still reading from the file and without even a courtesy look toward the Navy SEAL, Mason interrupted, “School of Advanced Military Studies grad and Best Monograph saber awardee for his paper on ‘The Equity and Efficiency of Conventional Military Units in a Shifting Global Framework.’ And two years on the joint staff.”
    Webber bit his tongue. Jousting with Mason now wouldn’t be doing any favors for his man Raynor. Webber knew this board was unique from the rest of the military. Besides the fact that background checks of each nominee had already been completed, unlike on other boards, open discussion and personal firsthand knowledge were encouraged and authorized for consideration during voting.
    “Sir, I think we all recognize Major Shents’s outstanding service record and accomplishments in CONUS over the past what, three, four years that we have been at war,” Yost said, trying to hide the obvious sarcasm.
    Webber pushed his glasses back to the top of his nose and went back to the file. He was careful not to seem too interested in the verbal tilt between Mason and Yost.
    “Gentlemen, I agree, we are here to give all the nominees due review before we vote,” General Swacklion said, subtly reminding everyone he was the president of the board.
    Webber noticed Swacklion opening up a second folder and pulling out what he was certain was one of the other nominees’ official photo and ORB. He aligned them on the table and leaned forward with the issued magnifier.
    “Major Raynor have a hard time figuring out the rest of his ribbons, Webber?” General Swacklion asked without showing any signs of sarcasm.
    Not knowing exactly how to respond, Webber went all in. “I recall a bit of a wardrobe malfunction at our organization not long ago, sir.”
    That didn’t sound right.
    “Impressive number of valor awards,” General Swacklion said, shaking his head and obviously not hiding the fact that he was impressed. “Very Audie Murphy–like indeed.”
    “Gentlemen, we can’t base these critical decisions off of any perceived, or otherwise, combat actions,” Mason barked as he stood up for all to see. “This process is too important to the nation.”
    “We got that, Bill, relax, please take your seat,” General Swacklion said, holding his hand up to Mason from across the mahogany table.
    “Am I counting those oak leaf clusters correctly, Colonel Webber?” Swacklion said, lowering his face closer to the magnifier. “I count seven Purple Hearts.”
    “I believe it’s actually eight, sir,” Webber replied.
    Webber took a quick sip of lukewarm coffee before reaching for Raynor’s unmarked manila folder. He started to place Raynor’s photo and ORB back inside.
    “God damn it!” Admiral Mason said. “With all due respect, Mr. President, this file is indicative of the crass nature of this officer. I can attest to Major Raynor’s repetitive and consistent bouts of insubordination over the past four to five years alone.”
    “I see, Bill,” General Swacklion said calmly. “You have history with Major Raynor you’d like to share?”
    “Raynor is hardly someone we should be seriously considering to lead a Delta sabre squadron, particularly in light of the White House’s proposed merger initiative,” Mason said.
    Webber quickly looked at Admiral Mason with a faint look of disgust. Even in retirement, Mason’s hair was picture perfect, slicked back and thick, not a brown hair out of place topping the fade of gray around the ears. A diet of apple fritters and full-sugar Coca-Colas like Mason had lifted from the snack table before taking his seat most likely accounted for the ten, maybe fifteen pounds the former JSOC commander had put on since Webber last saw him.
    I wish that goofy bow tie would choke him out.
    Webber looked up over his glasses at Lieutenant General Swacklion. “Sir, Admiral Mason is right. Major Raynor is a little eccentric. I’m not going to sit here and tell this board that he