The warrior code, p.12
The Warrior Code, page 12
part #2 of Seal Strike Series
The right side of the older American’s face was swollen and discolored. His right eye was completely closed, and there was blood crusting over a wound on his forehead. The kid in front of Auger stepped up and jabbed his rifle barrel into his gut.
The strike wasn’t violent enough to drop the SEAL, but it showed that it was time for everybody to resume their roles. He stood straighter and moved in the direction indicated by the guard, deeper into the camp.
Auger concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He had a flash of memory. In the teams, the incremental training process they used was called “baby steps.” You learned to shoot in twenty small movements, to jump, dive, and plan the same way.
He smiled through cracked lips; this walk through the camp was a different kind of baby steps. Auger half stepped and half shuffled ahead and was somehow able to move fast enough to please his handler.
The escorts pushed and prodded Auger and the general slightly to the left for a few minutes and then back again to the right. Auger stopped and took a look around. This pause generated a growl from the guard, who was all business now that everyone was watching. In front of them was a hill rising up from the camp to dominate the FARC position on the river.
They were eased forward, and Auger took advantage of the elevation to look back at the camp from this vantage point. The horseshoe clearing had twenty or thirty huts of various sizes and shapes. His quick mental math put the population somewhere between forty and sixty people; most were men, but there were a fair number of women, too.
He turned his head back around and concentrated on the climb. He and the general were shoved up against the moderate incline until they stood on top of the hill. Auger stood there next to his protectee, looking at the two small cages constructed of crate parts and tree branches, their new home.
“Well, general, I guess we should feel lucky it’s not a firing squad!” Auger’s voice was hoarse from lack of water. His attempt at humor rang hollow, not even eliciting a grunt from the other American. General Alexander stood with Auger, watching the guerillas discuss the guard routine. It was apparently a very difficult thing to organize.
“What do you think they have planned for us, senior chief?” As bad as the general looked, he sounded a hell of a lot better than Auger. Auger realized that somewhere on the jungle trail, he’d started to feel sorry for himself. He silently vowed to follow the old man’s example and suck it up.
“Well, sir, they aren’t going to kill us. I’m pretty sure about that. They went to a lot of trouble to snatch us and bring to this place.” Auger’s logic was self-evident. The guerillas had only recently built the two cages. From the very beginning of their long jungle trek, the objective had been to keep the Americans alive for this, their new home away from home.
“Hostages then? Are we to be pawns in a great game or simply a cash flow asset, bodies for bucks?”
“Yes, sir, I think you might be right on both counts, but I think they want more than just money. Maybe concessions of some sort from the United States, changes in our foreign policy down here in Colombia, or something similar? They don’t kidnap a general as important as you for just money.”
The general nodded. “Are we still keeping the secret? I mean who’s the general and who’s the SEAL?”
Auger looked at the general. “Yes, sir, we are. The story is simple, and you have to commit to it one hundred percent. I’m the general. Whatever they have in store for you, that’s all on me. Understand?”
Before the general could respond, one of the guards pivoted sharply and instructed the two Americans to stop talking. The order was made clearer when he pointed his rifle at Auger. They both got the message. Auger took advantage of the silence by checking out his immediate environment.
He could see just about everything from the hilltop. That also meant everybody in camp could see the prisoners. No dead space, no cover or concealment to assist them if by chance the general and Auger escaped the cages. The closest place to hide was the tree line, fifteen yards away from the cages.
The door of the first cage was opened, and Auger was directed to walk over and crawl inside. He got down on his hands and knees and worked his way into the tiny space. The enclosure was no more than four-by-four feet in size.
He curled up in the fetal position, pulling his knees up to his chest in order to fit and watched through the slats as the guerillas jammed the general into the other cage.
The general was a much bigger man than Auger, and the cage wasn’t nearly big enough. The guards stepped back and then looked at each other. Auger was sure they’d realized the same thing, but would they do anything about it?
Chapter Twenty-Two
The senior chief decided it was time to take inventory. He was alive, he wasn’t severely injured, he knew where he was, and he knew a lot about his adversaries. He must take advantage of staying in one place for a while.
Catch up on sleep and recharge. This was similar, but again so different from his prior POW training. During the navy’s escape and evasion school, he thought the whole fake prisoner drill was pretty much a joke.
All SEALs and navy pilots attended the rugged SERE course fresh from their BUD/S and SQT experience. As a result, most SEAL students in SERE school were able to slide right through. The rough handling and verbal abuse were silly after what they had experienced at BUD/S.
Not so for the navy pilots. For them, SERE school was a traumatic and often life-changing experience. SERE school was a reality check. A harsh demonstration, but only a demonstration, of what a prisoner of war goes through trying to survive.
Cold, heat, sleep deprivation, and lack of food all conspire to break a man down. Even the simple act of standing perfectly still can eventually cause pain and anxiety. All of these were experiences students endured in SERE school.
The difference between SERE school and the real thing, Auger was beginning to realize, was that in SERE school you knew they weren’t going to kill you. The school played games, but then eventually the games ended and you went home. This, the senior chief understood all too clearly, was no game.
Naval Special Warfare Command–Coronado, California
Admiral Fitzpatrick pounded his desk. “Why the hell didn’t we send the ready platoon? Who came up the stupid idea to pick a couple of guys out of a hat?”
The tall SEAL commander absorbed the tirade without flinching. He’d worked with the admiral for two years. He knew that once the emotional blast ran its course, the admiral would become calm and reasonable. It was a process the younger naval officer had no choice but to endure.
“I don’t understand how someone in the Pentagon got involved in the first place. They pick the job; I pick the mission team! Whatever happened to standing operating procedures? Whatever happened to recalling standby units? Do you have a fucking clue?”
Commander White quietly stood his ground in the face of the admiral’s tirade. “Look, admiral, I know I’m the plans officer, but this came down as a SPECAT tasking straight from the tank. Both JSOC and Tampa signed off on this. You know that I, of all people, understand your frustration. I’m the planning officer for the whole SEAL community. I’ve spent an incredible amount of time and resources preparing SEAL troops and task units, on both the east and west coast, for war or contingencies short of war. Testing them. Rating and ranking the various platoons.”
Commander White wasn’t arguing, he was stating facts. The tank was the planning and briefing center in the Pentagon. This mission tasking wasn’t frivolous, and the joint chiefs weren’t jerking the admiral’s chain.
They probably had a legitimate reason for bypassing normal channels; and once his boss calmed down, he knew the old man would salute and do his best to support the mission as directed. He continued to walk the admiral through his own frustration, while at the same time giving him time to calm down.
“You know how it works, admiral. We put our best units on alert status. Those men sacrifice their personal lives by being a cell call away from going to war. But, sir, I have no idea why the national command authority decided to circumvent that process. I do know, regardless of how we were tasked, that every team captain, every officer, chief, and enlisted SEAL will want this mission to be a success, and that includes me, sir.”
The commander saw the admiral raise his hand, signaling the commander to be quiet. “Steve, please sit down.” The admiral had regained his composure while listening to Steve’s speech.
“Look, Steve, you don’t have to lecture me about what should’ve happened. I know what should have happened. And I don’t have to remind you that the national command authority has the right to do whatever they damn well please. But three guys?”
“Hear me out, sir. Three SEALs actually make sense,” the commander interrupted.
The admiral wasn’t in the mood to listen. “The teams are going to get one hell of a black eye if this ad hoc group goes down to Colombia and screws up! Of course, if and when that occurs, nobody will care if I whine that I had no control over the selection of these men. This is still the United States navy, and I will be held accountable! Now, Steve, I want you to focus on figuring out how can we regain control of the operation. If that isn’t a possibility, then I need a plan on my desk to handle the aftermath if this operation goes sideways.”
Commander White studied the floor for a moment. “Well, admiral, one thing we could do is look into the records of these men. If we can find any problems or flaws, then we can be prepared to prove they were poor choices. In essence, sir, you could tell the national command authority we should run the operation and select the players because it failed to vet the talent properly. Ask them to shift operational control to you so we can fix this before it’s too late.”
The admiral pondered the comment for a moment. “Commander, I don’t think you’ll find anything derogatory in the records of these men. I’ve taken the liberty of checking up on them myself. The officer they’ve chosen, Matthew Barrett, is a holder of the Navy Cross. The other two gentlemen are eminently qualified and are both holders of the Silver Star medal for valor under fire. All three have served multiple combat tours; I don’t think attacking the choice of these men is the answer.”
“Well, admiral, if I could inject one or two points. I’ve looked into their records. At least in the case of the officer, Lieutenant Barrett, he was a very poor student in BUD/S, sir. His record shows he barely met the minimum standards to graduate. He also nearly flunked out of SDV minisub school. As a matter of fact, he was placed on probation at SDV Team Two because they believed he was a substandard officer.”
The admiral straightened up. “Drop it, commander! That young officer has the equivalent of a graduate degree in combat leadership, and you’re sitting here rambling about his grades in elementary school. No, we’ve missed the opportunity to take the operation back under our management. That leaves damage control.
“I want another SEAL recon team in isolation by midnight tonight. I want them training around the clock as a backup team, in case they have to go in and take over this mission. I want to have this option in my back pocket, Steve. Meanwhile, I’ll try to pull some strings and get the navy guys in Tampa to push for a SEAL rescue force. I think it’ll fly, considering the navy is leading the charge so far.”
The commander knew when to quit and go with the flow. You didn’t rise to higher rank in the navy by arguing with admirals.
“Alright, sir, I’ll get a four-man recon team into isolation ASAP. I’ll also take the liberty to select a platoon for the rescue phase and get them into isolation, too. San Clemente ought to work nicely. The third-phase BUD/S students left the island last week, so we’ll have good operational security, and the airstrip next to the camp will work nicely as a pickup point for the rescue platoon when it deploys south.”
The admiral moved to the window. From his office, he could see down the Coronado beach. He also could see the West Coast team compounds and the BUD/S facility. “Make it happen, Steve. Do it quickly! The pace of this mission timeline could pick up without warning, and I don’t want to lag behind events. Be ready to act!”
“I’m on my way, admiral!” Commander White picked up the top-secret folders and walked briskly out of the admiral’s office. As he worked his way down the corridor to his office, he reflected on the admiral, the man responsible for every navy SEAL on the planet. What’s happened to him? He mused. Why is he so concerned about how he looks, about his career?
Admiral Fitzpatrick had once been known as an operator’s operator. He first saw combat in Desert Storm and continued to earn a solid reputation for leadership and judgment over the years in Yemen and Iraq. Now, the commander realized, the admiral was only concerned about getting his third star.
Republic of Panama
Boone scratched his head. “I’ll tell you what, boss, these maps don’t help us for shit! I mean, take a look at the overhead photography. All the paths, rivers, or streams we might want to use for navigation are invisible on the photos. They’re all covered up by triple-canopy jungle! I don’t know how the hell we’re going to find any legitimate landmarks.”
Oby slid over to see what Boone was talking about. He studied the overhead photography and then checked the map against the images. “Yep, sure as shit, this is going to be a ball buster. We won’t know where we are, and movement through this crap will be nearly impossible.”
“Every time it rains the waterways all change anyway,” Boone added. “Intel says the small waterways overfill and merge with each other or larger waterways, and that shakes up whatever picture you were relying on for navigation.
Oby leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “If they put a time restriction on us, we won’t be able to guarantee we can keep pace, not in this terrain. LT, you know as well as I do that it takes about two hours to quietly patrol a thousand yards over broken ground, so it will take twice that time to move the same distance through the jungle like this, and that’s in the daytime.”
“Moving at night would double that again--that is if you could keep a steady compass bearing in the dark while avoiding mangrove swamps, streams, and the bush,” Boone added.
The problem set wasn’t overwhelming; they’d all three been involved in hairy missions before, and in comparison this was pretty straightforward. It was the stakes that made this one feel different. The emotion associated with saving one of their own, a man they knew.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Matt listened to their running commentary with interest. This was the process. Weigh each idea, attack it from all sides, and either reject it or absorb it into the plan. “So, what do you guys suggest then, tell them we can’t do this?” Matt asked, stepping up to the dry erase board where he’d begun scribbling a list of unanswered questions related to the mission.
“Now you know better than that, LT.” Oby ignored Matt’s jab. “I know Boone’s the scout guy and all that, but the way I see it, this base camp is supposed to be on the river, correct?”
“Go on. You have my attention,” said Matt.
The SEAL sniper continued. “Well, what if we say to hell with all this jungle patrol bullshit and go straight down the river? You know, like navy guys. SEALs and shit!”
Boone moved to the map table again to take another look. The point man looked at the map for a second, then locked eyes with Matt. “You know what, boss? Oby’s right! If we can get inserted upriver from this base camp, just stick to the river and move downstream under cover of night, then we’ll eliminate a whole lot of problems. Make it easier to find the camp, too!”
“That’s the ticket, LT!” Oby chimed in. “We could use a rubber boat! Hell, we could even swim or use a scuba re-breather like our LAR Fives if we were dropped close enough.”
Boone doubled down. “Hell, sir, they wouldn’t even see us coming if we did that.”
Matt stood there soaking it all in. He loved watching the wheels turning. This is what being in the teams was all about. All SEALs cared about mission success. They were constantly studying, trying to improve their knowledge of the art of war.
Whenever a SEAL troop sat down to discuss a new mission tasking, each man in that group knew he had a vested interest in the success of the mission. Every SEAL, therefore, invested a lot of time, energy, and emotion into pitching ideas and debating possible solutions. The best ideas eventually ended up in the rehearsal cycle.
During the rehearsal cycle, everyone had a chance to give real-time feedback as well as review video imagery of the rehearsals. Most team guys were cutthroat when it came to criticizing each other, but they had to be. This was the best way to bring out solutions that worked. Matt knew he was lucky to have the operating experience of Oby and Boone on this mission.
“So how do we get a rubber boat in there?” Matt asked. “Parachute drop? It looks dense in there and wouldn’t an insert that was close enough for swimming to the camp be close enough to be heard in the camp?”
“I don’t know, boss,” Boone answered, realizing Matt had just approved the river infiltration idea. “I see your point. A helo insert would have to be farther upriver, far enough away to avoid being heard, but too far away for us to swim to the target.”
Boone paused then had an idea. “Look, we could have a larger boat drag or carry a rubber boat down the river to within reasonable launch distance and then release us. Or maybe we could steal a boat from a village upriver, use that to make a longer navigation run to the camp.”
Oby disagreed. “That just ain’t going to work. Everybody up and down that river’s going to be wearing farmer duds, not uniforms, and they hate the Colombian army. If they see anybody coming down that river in a military boat like our rubber F-470s, the word will be out, sure as shit. By the time we get close to the camp, the guerillas will be sitting there eating popcorn, waiting for the light show to begin!”
“What about dropping a boat upriver from the back end of a helicopter?” Boone thought out loud.
