Chapter 7 - The Secret Meeting Behind Closed Doors
The autumn leaves outside the Fort Campbell gate had given way to the biting, gray frost of early winter by the time Wednesday morning briefings rolled around at 0430 hours.
I stood before the large tactical map in the operations briefing room, laser pointer in hand, walking my junior flight officers through the upcoming cross-country tactical navigation exercise scheduled for the weekend.
The door at the back of the briefing room clicked open, and Major Cross stepped in quietly, holding a secure landline receiver toward me with a raised eyebrow.
“Major—pardon me, Lieutenant Colonel Mercer,” Cross whispered loudly enough for the room to hear. “Line two. It’s civilian dispatch out of Nashville. A woman named Madison Cole is refusing to leave the base gate security perimeter, and she’s claiming she has an emergency legal summons that requires your immediate signature.”
The room went dead silent. Several junior pilots exchanged amused glances, while Walter Greene, leaning against the back wall with a cup of black coffee, let out a short, gravelly snort of sheer amusement.
“Tell base gate security to process her under standard civilian trespass protocols if she attempts to breach the inner perimeter, Major,” I instructed without missing a beat, turning back to the topographical map. “And if she persists with a fake legal summons, remind her that impersonating a judicial process server on a federal military installation is a federal offense.”
“Copy that, Colonel. Gate guard is already escorting her vehicle back to the civilian turnaround lane,” Cross grinned, hanging up the phone.
Later that afternoon, however, the situation escalated from an annoyance into an administrative nuisance when the base legal affairs office sent down an official memo: Madison Cole had retained a high-priced civil attorney who was attempting to file an injunction against the Department of Defense, claiming that my tactical landing on the Cumberland Ridge Country Club golf course had inflicted “willful emotional distress and deliberate economic sabotage” upon the reunion committee.
General Vance called me into his office at 1400 hours to review the paperwork.
“She’s grasping at straws, Riley,” the General sighed, tossing the thick civil complaint onto his desk alongside a half-eaten turkey sandwich. “Her father is a minor real estate investor in the county, and he’s trying to save face after his daughter became the laughingstock of the regional press following that viral helicopter video.”
“Do you want me to handle it through our JAG liaison, General?” I asked, standing rigidly at attention before his desk.
“No, let civilian courts dismiss it for lack of standing,” Vance waved his hand dismissively. “But there’s a catch. The local district judge—who happens to be a dues-paying member of that exact same country club—has scheduled an informal, non-binding mediation hearing this Friday afternoon in Clarksville. He’s essentially trying to pressure us into a quiet settlement to appease the local country club board.”
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A slow, cold smile crossed my face. “A mediation hearing, General?”
“Yes. And I want you to attend in full Class A uniform,” Vance said, leaning forward with a sharp, tactical glint in his eye. “Not to settle, but to ensure they understand precisely what kind of federal jurisdiction they’re attempting to bully.”
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