Guardians of Honor: the Yearlings

By J.E. Bandy Jr.

J.E. Bandy, Jr. has written an engrossing, exciting sequel to Cadet Casey Sullivans first year at West Point. I highly recommend this book and am anxiously awaiting volume III.
--John Raymond, USMA 1964, Attorney at Law.

When old enemies form alliances with new and more treacherous adversaries, Casey Sullivans undercover assignment becomes more complicated and more dangerous in part two of this exciting Christian Thriller. With Caseys help, the United States Military Academy scored a major victory against right-wing extremists attempting to infiltrate West Point during the previous academic year. However, unknown to the academys leadership, its victory only strengthened the enemys resolve. In Guardians of Honor: the Yearlings, the US Intelligence Community and the Israeli Mossad become increasingly aware of a larger and deadlier plot against the American homeland, a plot with deep roots and international implications; a plot that Casey learns has a name--Operation Patriot.

Once more, Casey finds herself engaged in a delicate dance between her Christian values and operational necessity, and between the high standards of West Points Honor Code and the murky chasm of moral relativism. Casey gains mentors in unexpected places and on opposite sides of critical ethical issues, edging her closer and closer towards a dark night of the soul.

The Guardians of Honor series is a groundbreaking exploration of West Point and the Intelligence Community seen through the eyes of female officers and cadets on the firing line.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Dec 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490852850

J.E. Bandy Jr.

J. E. Bandy, Jr. is an Intelligence Analyst with the United States Government and a former Naval Intelligence Officer. He is also an evangelical Catholic who hopes to inform, entertain, and inspire through his novels. He resides with his family in scenic Fredericksburg, Virginia. His favorite author is spy novelist John le Carre.

Book preview

GUARDIANS

OF

HONOR

The Yearlings

A WEST POINT FICTIONAL SERIES

J. E. Bandy, Jr.

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Copyright © 2014 J. E. Bandy, Jr.

Guardians of Honor: The Yearlings

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

The views expressed in this novel are not necessarily those of the United States Military Academy at West Point, the U.S. Army, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, or the United States Government. The characters are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual people (living or dead) is purely coincidental.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5283-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5284-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-5285-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2014916938

WestBow Press rev. date: 12/9/2014

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1 Home Fires

Chapter 2 School Circle

Chapter 3 Ravens

Chapter 4 Chutzpah

Chapter 5 Genome

Chapter 6 Flight

Chapter 7 Wires

Chapter 8 Black and Gold

Chapter 9 Noel

Chapter 10 Erin Go Bragh

Chapter 11 Guardian Angel

Chapter 12 New River

Chapter 13 Crabtown

Chapter 14 Friends and Countrymen

Chapter 15 Blowback

Chapter 16 Texas Brushfire

Epilogue

Series Glossary of Terms

DEDICATION

T HIS BOOK IS dedicated to graduates of the United States Military Academy, as well as to my family, friends, and colleagues whose encouragement and support sustain me, and to Almighty God whose ever present Spirit guides and enlightens me.

PROLOGUE

H OUNDED, AND SICK with fear, a tanned young woman in yellow shorts and a white button-down blouse hastily purchased then surreptitiously donned a turquoise wraparound skirt and a large floppy sunhat from a vendor in a crowded open-air market in Western Jerusalem. She next slid on sunglasses and tied a multicolored scarf about her neck, pulling the items from her purse while anxiously taking a seat in a busy outdoor café on Ben Yehuda Street. She intentionally sat with her back to the road, using the reflection in the café’s large plate glass window to monitor the activity behind her. Her hands were trembling, and she tried desperately to slow her breathing and steady her nerves while pretending to study the menu. Using the window and a variety of other reflective surfaces, she cagily watched for the trio tailing her.

Two men and a woman - Sephardic, all in their late twenties, and all armed, she thought. How can an American run afoul of the Israelis? All too easily … Heavenly Father, give me strength.

A waiter arrived, and in flawless Hebrew, the woman ordered frozen lemonade with lime. To her left, several Israeli elders were having a fervent political discussion. Two tables to her right, three college girls were chatting happily about their recent shopping acquisitions. From their t-shirts, backpacks, and complexions the woman took them to be of Greek extraction; and from their general deportment, tourists. Two wore Stars of David, one a crucifix. Although she could not hear much of their conversation, the girls’ body language suggested that they were close friends.

Ten minutes then I’ll resume my counter-surveillance route to the clandestine meeting with my contact. If Tolstoy produces even half the material promised, it’ll make my career in the spy trade. If Shin Bet catches either of us … the woman suppressed a shudder. … Failure is NOT an option.

Across the bustling street behind her, the woman noticed an Arab merchant closing up shop.

That’s odd, given the early afternoon hour. Then again, there could be a million reasons for what he’s doing. … Stay sharp, but don’t be paranoid. … The Israeli summer heat is merciless this year, the woman thought a moment later, sipping her frozen lemonade and brushing blonde hair from her boiling brow.

The college trio then burst into laughter about something, causing the woman to vividly recall another school summer … a summer when the words duty, honor, country and friendship were seared onto her bourgeoning consciousness … a summer when personal integrity and practical Christian morality began to mean something to her … a summer not so long ago.

CHAPTER 1

Home Fires

C ASEY SULLIVAN RETURNED to Austin in the midst of a sweltering heat wave. The Texas climate was quite a change from what she had grown accustomed to as a West Point cadet in New York’s Hudson Highlands. Nevertheless, Casey was looking forward to a well-deserved break from the perilous deep cover activities she had conducted on behalf of the US Military Academy for the past year. Her Christian commitment had been tested in the fiery furnace of adversity, and with the Lord’s help, she had passed the first election. Little did Casey know, the next round of testing was about to begin.

On her first night back, Casey’s oldest friends Jennifer Podowski and Tracey Potts (both sorority aspirants) took her to the University of Texas at Austin to have some fun. Tracey’s dad had bought her a jeep to celebrate the completion of her first year in college, so the girls decided to do a little cruising to test out Tracey’s new wheels. While out-and-about, they stopped at a popular college watering hole a couple of blocks from campus. The pub was not as crowded as it usually was during the academic year, but a sizable group had gathered there nevertheless.

Casey felt very strange. Not only was she unaccustomed to the bar scene (for lots of reasons, not the least of which was her conservative Catholic upbringing), but it was the first time in months that she had worn civilian clothes, and the first time in over a year as a cadet that she had actually dressed to impress guys. Both Jennifer and Tracey were wearing shorts, daring t-shirts and cool cowboy hats. At their urging, Casey decided to wear a short skirt and a cute midriff top she had bought that afternoon. Casey was surprised at the change in her friends.

What do we do if they card us? Casey asked.

They won’t, Jennifer replied.

We’ll just order wings and Cokes, Tracey added. If any beer gets bought, it’ll be the guys who buy it.

Sounds like you’ve done this before, Casey said.

Trust us, Jennifer smiled. All you’ve got to do is prance around a little, and hormones will do the rest.

Just promise me this night won’t end with us in the city lockup, Casey quipped.

No promises and no regrets! Tracey and Jennifer whooped in stereo.

Uh-oh, Casey smiled.

The pub was old and prosaic, Casey observed. However, there were some exceptionally cute fellows there. Within minutes of their arrival, a handsome fraternity man invited Casey to dance. He seemed nice enough, and it wasn’t a slow dance, so Casey accepted. When she returned to the table, the hot wings had arrived, and there were a couple of other guys standing there talking to Jennifer and Tracey.

Case, Tracey said, I’d like you to meet Andrew and Thad. They’re juniors.

Hey, Casey smiled, taking a seat.

We hear you’re a West Pointer, Thad said.

That’s right, Casey replied.

Are all the women at West Point as pretty as you? Andrew flirted.

Ignore him, Case. He’s made a play for every girl in the place, Jennifer said.

I’m simply being sociable, Andrew countered.

As they talked, Casey couldn’t get over the difference in Jennifer and Tracey.

They seem older somehow … worldlier, Casey thought. I wonder what they did to become so popular so quickly. On the other hand, the attention is nice.

The girls stayed at the pub for about an hour and a half.

During that time, a variety of boys joined them, and as promised a couple of benefactors provided pitchers for the table. Casey stuck to Diet Coke. Casey danced several times, received invitations to several parties, and received a number of phone numbers and e-mail addresses from would-be suitors. It was wonderful for her ego, and she had to admit that the evening had been fun. After a year of feeling invisible, it was nice to feel desired. The girls then took a moonlight tour of the campus, which ended at Jennifer and Tracey’s dorm room, where they all kicked off their shoes and caught up on the news.

Later, as Casey lay awake in her own room at home, she wondered whether she had made the right decision in attending West Point. Although admittedly a reluctant Academy recruit, Casey astonished herself by deciding that she had. Jennifer mentioned UT had a student honor code that prohibited things like cheating and plagiarism. However, it was tame in comparison with West Point’s all-encompassing Cadet Honor System.

Joe College students have a lot more freedom, and a lot more social opportunities than cadets do. But, most have no guiding moral code, and the code is what makes all the difference. Anybody can take classes and play around. However, it takes a lot more to strive for something higher - for something honorable – for something greater than one’s self. And that striving ethic is what West Point attempts to instill. I guess I’m changing too, Casey thought.

The next morning, Casey and her mother Sallie had a long talk over breakfast.

Your dad says you’re doing great things, Sallie began.

I’m terrified, and I feel like a hypocrite, Casey replied.

What do you mean?

West Point is nothing like I thought it would be, Casey confessed. I mean, it is and it isn’t.

I’m listening.

I hate all the soldier stuff. I mean I REALLY hate it. But, I love their code of ethics. It’s very Christian in an unexpected sort of way. Working with the Honor Committee has changed my life.

Well, that’s good, Sallie smiled.

But, that’s why I feel so rotten. I don’t know how to put it into words exactly. West Point is like no other place I’ve ever been, Mom. It’s like honesty and morality actually matter there. And, the closer I get to the heart of it, the more I realize that I don’t measure up.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sallie said. You’re a great kid. That’s why the Academy picked you in the first place.

I don’t feel great, Casey said. You should see the cadets, Mom. They’re smart; they’re committed; they’re honest and hardworking. They’re what America should be all about. And, the main reason I’m sticking with this horrible undercover assignment is that something inside me wants to protect them and all the positive things they stand for.

That’s the Texas Ranger in you talking, Sallie said.

What do you mean?

Have you ever heard the saying, ‘Being a Texas Ranger isn’t a job, it’s a calling?

Yeah …

Well, considering both sides, there have been three generations of Texas Rangers in your family. That’s bound to affect the way you see things.

Then why am I so scared all the time?

Because you’re smart, Sallie replied. These right-wing fanatics trying to infiltrate the Corps of Cadets are dangerous people, Case. You can’t afford to have illusions about who you’re dealing with. Working undercover is a tough life. Your dad told me once that what’s helped him stay on the trail all these years has been having someplace safe to come home to … having people in his life he could trust, no matter what. That’s why he pushed the Academy so hard for you to keep rooming with your friends Santos and Lucci. And, that’s why he came up with ‘Aunt Rose’ as a danger signal. We’ve been where you’re at, Honey.

How do you handle it? Casey asked.

Prayer, Sallie said, and a belief in the rightness of what your father is doing.

Casey had never heard her mother talk like that. It seemed the more she learned about her parents, the more remarkable she came to realize they were.

Thanks to the kind efforts of Jennifer and Tracey, the first two of Casey’s four weeks in Austin were the most socially active of her life. As usual, the young men were very impressed with her. But, Casey found them too dim, shallow, or insecure to justify any second dates. It also didn’t take long for her to realize that Jennifer and Tracey weren’t looking for commitment from their beaus; hence, their instant popularity.

I want more from life than that, Casey thought. I know in my heart, the good Lord has more in store for me than that.

Casey was certain she could do better if she just bided her time, kept her faith in God, and played her cards right. It was a frustrating situation. Still, it was nice to feel feminine again.

In the middle of her third week at home, Casey received an unexpected e-card from her ‘Christian’ extremist connection at Heritage Concepts, informing her of an upcoming barbecue at a local park. The card featured a collection of good-looking Nordics in swimsuits, one of whom was holding a volleyball with a stylized swastika on it. Casey laughed as she reflected on the situation.

Yes, I’m on vacation. But, this is too good an undercover opportunity to pass up. I’ll send up a flare so the Texas Rangers can set up surveillance, but there is no way I’m going to miss this party. Someone is leaving me a trail of breadcrumbs that I hope will lead to some real evidence against the Cell, and allow me to get back to my normal life. Dear Lord, don’t let me screw this up.

On Saturday afternoon, Casey drove out to the park, found the designated shelters, and joined the lines for a hot hamburger.

It’s time to get into character, she smiled. Just remember to bathe afterwards.

For the sake of her undercover legend, Casey decided to wear sandals, blue jeans, her ‘America for Americans’ t-shirt, rebel flag bandanna, and a pair of really cool sunglasses. She actually looked like a hip, young, Southern racist. As Casey glanced around at the attire of the one hundred or so other guests, it was clear that she had made the right wardrobe decision. To the untrained observer, this gathering might well have been a bunch of college kids out for some fun in the sun. And, Casey suspected that was probably what the locals thought. But, a closer inspection of their logos, tattoos and jewelry told a very different story.

Looks like a pretty nice turn out, an attractive, strawberry blonde girl said to Casey as they waited.

Yeah, Casey nodded. I’m glad the weather cooperated.

Me too, the girl said. Nice t-shirt.

Thanks, Casey smiled. I like yours too. What’s it say?

‘Aryans Awake,’ the girl replied.

Cool, Casey said.

I’m April, but everybody calls me Skeeter.

I’m Casey. Did you get an e-mail about this thing too?

No, some friends told me about it. Do you go to UT?

No. Do you?

Yeah … I just finished my first year.

Congrats, Casey smiled.

Thanks. Do you work?

Actually, I go to school in New York.

Really? That must be awesome.

It’s ok, Casey shrugged.

What school?

West Point, Casey answered, feeling suddenly awkward about mentioning the Academy to these people.

I think I’ve heard of you, Skeeter said. Do you know Gunter and Greta Schmidt?

Yeah, Casey answered, remembering her terrifying initiation experience a month before. I just met them not too long ago.

They’re really nice folks. Gunter and my dad go way back.

Is everybody here a member of the Unit?

Unfortunately not, Skeeter confided. Kyle Morgan, the one who organizes most of these shindigs, has this thing about numbers. So, all of his parties are open to the local affiliates as well. That means the losers, dopers, and low lives get to slither in here too. But, there are a few of our people here. I’ll introduce you around.

Great, Casey smiled.

Kyle is gorgeous, Skeeter added. It broke my heart when I found out he was married.

Casey noticed that Skeeter was wearing a tasteful tennis bracelet, with a small, dangling medallion that featured an iron cross and two lightning bolts.

Skeeter is definitely with the ultra-secret Aryan Unit. And they’re still clearly interested in bringing me into the fold. These people haven’t missed a trick, Casey smiled. Lord, give me wisdom.

After collecting their burgers and fixing their plates, Skeeter led Casey to a semi-private table in one of the reserved park shelters. They had just begun to eat, when a lanky young man in baggy, Bermuda style swim trunks approached them.

Afternoon ladies, he smiled. I’m with KG-7.

Hi, Skeeter smiled. We’re with the Unit.

Awesome. … Uh, my name’s Trey, he stammered. My buddies and me, we’re about to go canoeing. Well, not right now, but in a little while. And, we were wondering if you two wanted to come with us.

Well, thanks, Trey, Skeeter answered. We’ll think about it, ok?

Cool, Trey grinned, happily trotting back to the horseshoe pit to high-five his waiting comrades.

When pigs fly, Skeeter mumbled to Casey, as soon as he was out of earshot.

I take it those are people I DON’T want to know, Casey said.

Please, Skeeter chuckled, rolling her eyes. You might as well get yourself pierced, ink up, and join a street gang. They’re Storm Troopers … strictly muscle.

Who else is here?

Over on the basketball court are a bunch of Freikorps people, Skeeter replied. They’re a little better – middle management. They still mix it up occasionally, but at least you can have an intelligent conversation with them. Then there are the Abwehr folks. But, most of them are with the Unit.

What’s the Abwehr?

Intelligence, Skeeter said. But, I’ll let Gunter and Greta explain about that.

Are they Abwehr?

This isn’t a good place to talk about it.

Are you? Casey pressed.

No. But if I were, I wouldn’t tell you, Skeeter replied. How do you like the food?

It’s good, Casey smiled.

Throughout the course of the afternoon, Skeeter introduced Casey to a variety of Unit members, as well as to the event organizers. Casey couldn’t believe how many of the Hitler Youth were in her age group. It was frightening.

Skeeter persuaded Casey to join a Unit versus Freikorps volleyball challenge. And, she later introduced Casey to her parents who had been doing most of the cooking that day. Casey was overwhelmed at how civil it all seemed.

My buddy Gunter tells me that we’re to take very good care of you, Skeeter’s father Walter said with a smile.

And Greta says you’re just as sweet as you can be, her mother Carol added.

Well, thank you. That’s kind, Casey smiled.

I’ve been showing her around, Skeeter informed them.

I’m glad to see that you two are hitting it off, Walter nodded.

We should have you out to the house, Carol smiled. What are you doing for supper tomorrow?

Nothing special, Casey said.

Then you should join us, Carol replied. Skeeter will give you directions.

That is, if your folks don’t mind, Walter said, testing the waters.

No, Casey answered. I’m sure it’ll be ok.

Terrific, Skeeter smiled.

When Casey returned home that evening, Bob was waiting.

Let’s go out for some ice cream, Slugger.

No thanks, Casey smiled. I’m stuffed.

Your mother and I are going. Why don’t you freshen up and ride along anyway?

Alright then, Casey said, taking the hint. I’ll be just a minute.

Something’s up, Casey thought as she quickly changed into a blouse, and got rid of the stars and bars bandanna. Her loving parents rarely went out for ice cream, and when they did, she almost never went with them. They wanted her to tag along for some reason. But why?

Bob drove them to a little ice cream shop across town. When they arrived, he ‘just happened’ to run into a couple of friends from work. So they all decided to sit together outside at an umbrella covered table to enjoy their ice cream.

At least, that’s what they want someone to think, Casey reflected with amusement.

Case, Bob began, I’d like you to meet Sam and Elizabeth Gregory. Sam’s with the Texas Ranger Intelligence Division, and Liz is with the Texas Attorney General’s Office.

Hey, Casey smiled, sipping on her root beer float.

Kid, you’re a goldmine, Sam commented.

What do you mean? Casey asked.

We monitored that little barbecue this afternoon, Sam replied, and you’ve definitely hit pay dirt.

We’ve known for some time, Liz said, that there was a philosophical Mecca for the American White Power movement epicentered somewhere in the Western US. What we didn’t know until today was that there was local involvement at that level.

Case, Sam continued, the people you met today are some of the most powerful folks in the Southwest. Skeeter’s father, Walter Stebbins, is an oil tycoon. The event organizer, Kyle Morgan, is CEO of a highly successful public relations firm. And, that’s just the beginning.

If people like these are involved with the Aryan Unit, Liz said, it’s logical that they could influence members of congress to nominate their people to the US Military Academy.

And, if it’s happening at West Point, Sam continued, you can bet dollars to doughnuts that it’s happening at the other service academies too. Or, it soon will be.

Holy smoke, Bob groaned. What did you step into, Squirt?

A bear trap, Casey mumbled, as Sallie put an arm around her shoulder.

We’ve spoken with the FBI, Liz said, as well as to Senator Abington’s office. And, they’re planning to quietly expand the investigation to include the other service academies. But for now, it’s all conjecture. You’re their only real link to the Unit.

Texas Ranger Captain Fritch is adamant that we extract you as soon as humanly possible, Sam said, so is your Commandant at the Academy. And, believe me, we’re going to do that. But, the Feds need you to hang in there for a little while longer.

Be honest, Case, Liz said. Do you think you can do this?

I suppose, Casey answered.

The Texas Rangers are very proud of you, Kiddo, Sam smiled. You’re one tough cookie, and we protect our own.

I don’t feel tough, Casey replied.

The following afternoon, Casey telephoned the Stebbins. However, instead of asking for directions, Casey asked Skeeter if she would come by the house, so that she could meet her parents. Skeeter agreed and pulled into the Sullivan driveway at about a quarter to five. She was behind the wheel of a beautiful, two-seat BMW convertible with ‘Skeeter’ on the tags.

Sweet ride, Casey smiled, opening the storm door.

It gets me where I’m going, Skeeter replied, walking up the driveway.

Come on in and meet the family. They’re out on the deck pretending to be genteel.

Nice curio collection, Skeeter said, stopping briefly to admire the delicate porcelain figurines in the living room.

"My mom has been collecting them