EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📗

I knocked on the door and poked my head inside. “Anybody home?”

The smell of dinner grabbed my attention, followed by the sound of socked feet thumping down the stairs. “There they are!” I said to Andrew and Troy with bear hugs as Beth approached from the kitchen wearing an apron and wiping her hands with a towel.

“Something smells great,” I said and kissed her on the cheek.

“We’re having guests,” she said and accepted the flowers and wine. “Why don’t you help the boys with their homework?”

I admired the furniture and decorations as Beth returned to the kitchen. Every picture and trinket was still perfectly in place. Her attention to detail never ceased to amaze me.

I didn’t know why but I was relieved to see that I was still included in the family photographs hanging on the walls. The boys and I discussed everything but homework—girls, sports, television, when I was moving back, and so on. They had grown up in an environment of soldiers deploying or being separated from their families. It didn’t take a lot of explaining to make my story credible, but it was clear to me that Beth had led them to believe that I would be joining them soon.

I was troubled by the sense that they were getting along fine without me, evidenced by the way their bedrooms were clean and their books and school supplies lay organized on their desks.

I was proud that I had set them on the right path, which included discipline techniques not condoned these days—we spanked them—but I missed the days of giving them baths, helping them eat, or teaching them to ride a bike.

The easy way to fix my situation—foot stomp—of course, was to accept a teaching position with Beth and enjoy the boys’ last years before going off to college. If only life were so simple. I certainly wasn’t the first man who wouldn’t do the reasonable thing.

I was surprised that Beth had taken this opportunity to host a dinner party, but discerned her intentions in no time. The guests included Brigadier General Warren, the Commandant of Cadets, and Colonel Briggs, the senior military instructor of the Department of Social Sciences, where Beth was teaching as a civilian. They arrived in dress shirts and slacks, with cordial handshakes and enough tidbits about my career to suggest that Beth had briefed them.

I was flattered by their attention but it was clear that I was being sold on a teaching position, over a splendid plate of roasted lamb chops and rosemary potatoes with Pinot Noir. She had even taken the opportunity to borrow West Point China, silverware, and linen napkins.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Beth would have been a successful Intelligence Officer. This dinner was motivated by love, to help my career and our future together, and yet she had also taken reasonable steps to manipulate me—well played.

“Edward,” I said after Warren insisted I use his first name, “I’m sure Beth has mentioned that my next assignment will depend on the upcoming promotion panel. I consider myself competitive and I’d love to hear your views.”

“We wish you the best of luck with your promotion, of course,” Warren said, “but there’s only one brigadier general position here at West Point on the academic side, yours truly, and I plan to be here two more years.”

I smiled at Beth and used my fork to pierce my last piece of lamb and potato, then took a sip of wine. “We can cross that bridge when the time comes. What would teaching opportunities look like?” I asked.

Beth took our plates to the kitchen.

Briggs dabbed his mouth. “Beth, that was amazing,” he called to her, and turned to me. “We ideally like our instructors to have a master’s degree, but we all agreed that your overseas experience as a military attaché should be taken into consideration.”

Should be taken into consideration?

Beth knew that nothing irked me more than academics clinging to their paper degrees when they possessed no worldly experience, so I took a deep breath to calm myself.

“I appreciate that. I’ve always thought that an overseas assignment of two to three years was the equivalent of a master’s degree.”

There were smiles around the table when Beth returned with four slices of cheesecake.

Briggs nodded. “I agree, but the academic community tends to disagree, which is why we would be happy to help you work toward a master’s degree or Ph.D. during your time here at West Point.”

Beth raised an encouraging eyebrow, pleading with me to bite my lip and play nice. I knew her intentions were good, but she was railroading me into this.

“Beth tells us you’re focused on cybersecurity now,” Warren said. “What are your thoughts on how this will transform warfare?”

“We’re making good progress on protecting our national security systems,” I said, “so cyberattacks should be less successful in the future, but the country as a whole has a long way to go, particularly with regard to our critical infrastructure and intellectual property. We’re vulnerable.” As soon as I finished speaking, I regretted my response, which sounded cautiously academic.

“With the rise of cyberattacks, unmanned weapon systems, and smart weapons,” Briggs said, “is there still a role for traditional soldiers? Should we rethink the profile of cadets we recruit to attend West Point?”

“No matter what we accomplish with technology to turn war into a video game,” I said, “we’ll always need boots on the ground to win hearts and minds and strong leadership to execute and enforce the terms of war. To answer your question, they’ll need us more than ever because only warriors have enough respect for the horrors of war to be trusted with it.”

I couldn’t decipher how our guests assessed my response, but we finished the cheesecake, raved to Beth about her fantastic cooking, and wished each other well after a fine evening.

After they left, she and I worked efficiently to rinse the dishes and load them into the dishwasher. She left