The warrior code, p.6
The Warrior Code, page 6
part #2 of Seal Strike Series
Tracking movement in the dense, triple canopy jungle might be too difficult for even America’s spy satellites. He guessed the intelligence agencies had most of the big FARC camps identified already.
They could detect thermal signatures emitted by fires and even humans. They likely would target all the camps, using their technology to look for the sign a unit was tracking to a camp and then using Intelligence-Surveillance-Reconnaissance (ISR) drones to get a closer look at the camp with a high degree of increased activity.
The drones were a great asset in the desert and mountains; but in the jungle, they were limited. Any attempt to fly directly overhead might be detected and cause the guerillas to scatter. The best the drones could do was monitor thermals from an oblique standoff distance.
Auger realized this caused an issue for pre-attack intelligence collection. The good guys would need to put boots on the ground--a recon team to find, observe, and report the camp activities, capabilities, and vulnerabilities.
It would take more time that way, maybe four or five days before insertion. Snipers made sense, too. They could assist the assault force once the rescue began.
He could’ve planned the entire thing from soup to nuts with ease, but he decided to stop thinking about the possibilities. He knew it was only a matter of time. As long as Auger kept his head, he had a fighting chance to make it out of this scrape alive.
The SEAL scanned the immediate area again for a sign that the general was traveling with him. He seemed to remember there had been another crate in the back of the truck, but nothing had moved inside during the long ride. A sharp jab to the ribs returned his attention to his immediate problem: teenagers with rifles.
The little smiling man in front of him was having loads of fun, prodding the bigger American with his rifle barrel. Auger was rudely pushed onto a narrow jungle trail where his concerns about the general were put to rest. A few steps to the right lay the principal.
The general was lying on a makeshift stretcher surrounded by a bunch of new faces, reinforcements. Great, Auger thought, a new group of guerillas. He seemed okay. At the very least he was alive. The new group of guerillas was older and appeared more seasoned than the ones handling Auger.
The two escort teams met on the trail and, after a brief exchange, Auger’s buddies left and he was handed over to the new boys. Hopefully, they were more professional than the first group, who were filled with teen angst, he thought to himself. May as well find out.
“So, you must be the country folk!” The senior chief’s quip was answered with a sharp rap to the head. I’d better cool it, Auger thought. A few more hits like that and I won’t be able to balance my checkbook anymore.
On cue, two men lifted the stretcher holding the general. The old man moaned. Maybe he’s been sedated, guessed Auger. The senior chief remembered that just before the goons knocked him out, the general had received one hell of a beating.
“Venga! Venga!” The insistent voice belonged to a grizzled old coot he hadn’t noticed before. He urged Auger to start walking while pointing an old bolt-action rifle at his back.
The old man’s coal black eyes spoke volumes, reflecting the harsh life he’d led. Auger nodded ever so slightly in deference to the old man and did as he was told. He may be old and skinny but he’s probably capped a few people in his time. Best to be polite and respectful, for now.
The group moved out, and Auger noted they didn’t seem to be in a hurry. The patrol moved at a casual pace, conserving their strength in the oppressive heat. Auger recognized the indications immediately. This was going to be a long trek.
The guerillas weaved back and forth, dodging tree branches and avoiding washouts in the trail. Auger followed at a leisurely pace and appreciated the low level of effort required. The path was well-worn, and it meandered through the dense vegetation without giving Auger a clear sense of direction.
From time to time, they’d all stop to switch out stretcher bearers, drink some water, and take a piss break. The jungle was so thick it reached out and touched you on all sides. As the morning grew longer, the heavy air became stifling, making it difficult for Auger to breathe.
He was in excellent physical shape, but he hadn’t been in Colombia long enough to acclimate before the protection mission. He was just going to have to suck it up and adjust to the heat and the moist air in real time.
Auger looked up. Maybe his hope that the satellites could find them was misplaced. The triple canopy of vivid green blocked any possible view of the sky. Was the technology good enough to penetrate this shit?
Hopefully, the heat signature of the truck that took him from the city to the jungle had been tracked. Maybe they could look at that point of departure and draw a line to the nearest FARC camp and determine where the guerillas were taking them, that is if there weren’t a shit ton of FARC camps.
Auger knew the spooks back at the national security agency were experts at recognizing routine activity, so they probably could watch the likely camp candidates and identify anything out of pattern, like the arrival of a large patrol with prisoners. They could then pinpoint the anomalies, analyze them, and identify Auger and the general’s location. At least that was the theory. He hoped they were as good as advertised.
The senior chief’s stomach growled loud enough for a guerilla to pay attention. Man, I’m hungry, he thought. I wonder if these guys are planning on ever feeding me. Then again, maybe they don’t want to waste food on a man marked for death. The initial confusion over who was the actual VIP would, most likely, be resolved when they reached their destination. They didn’t go to all the trouble of ambushing a VIP and not have a picture at least.
Auger walked all day without a break. Twice the guerillas gave him water. He pondered the probabilities associated with escaping. Based on the size of the canvas backpacks, his new best friends were expecting to be in the field for two or three days. He knew he could go longer than that without food, as long as they kept him hydrated. He really wished he could speak to the general, assess his condition. So far, the big guy had been silent.
Auger knew he might be able to slip away at night, find help somehow. Or at least make a statement before dying, get hold of one of those weapons and take a few of them with him. Auger knew either fantasy was silly. His mission was the safety of the general. So, unless he died, Auger was on the hook to stay. Auger absentmindedly wondered for the hundredth time if anyone back home was on top of this problem.
Chapter Eleven
The Pentagon, Washington, DC
Matt stood in the waiting room shuffling his feet nervously. This was his first visit to the Pentagon. The feeling of intimidation was overwhelming at first, but the longer he stood there the more relaxed he became. The Pentagon was nothing more than a huge office building, and he was a warrior surrounded by clerks and politicians. Easy day.
It was interesting to watch so many senior officers from the various services moving about the hallways, scurrying up and down the passageways. He noted that most were not in good physical condition, a fact that confirmed Matt’s assessment that he was in the world’s largest nest of staff pukes. Top-heavy paper pushers trying to rule their military kingdoms from a desk, never getting their hands dirty, at least anymore.
He still wasn’t sure why he was there. His orders had been clear as mud, and the sense of urgency he’d felt in Coronado didn’t seem justified considering the long wait once he’d arrived. After three hours, a civilian security guard waved him over to an information desk near the main entry turn styles.
The staff personnel at the information desk confessed they were impressed with the origin of his written orders, but were as confused as Matt as to their meaning. They decided to make a call rather than allow him access. The young lady hung up the phone and smiled. He was given visitor credentials and directed to go back to the waiting area; someone would be arrive shortly to escort him to his destination. Ten minutes later, Matt was greeted by a tall army colonel.
“Lieutenant Barrett?” he asked.
“Yes sir,” Matt replied. “I was told to . . .”
The colonel interrupted Matt, extending his hand. “My name is Colonel Rushworth. Please be patient, you’ll soon know more than you really want to know.” Colonel Rushworth reinforced his mysterious comment with a wink. Matt followed the colonel up the escalator, adding to the stream of people coming in to work in the famous building. It was a long walk, and Matt felt silly about his anger at being made to wait so long. The facility was so large that getting anywhere was a test of endurance. At last, they arrived at a large door.
Matt was directed to drop his cell phone off outside. He placed it in a rack of twenty or so phones already being held hostage and walked through the door. Matt was ushered into what appeared to be a small briefing room. Three men sat around an oval conference table. None of the men stood up to shake Matt’s hand. One of the men, a navy admiral, pointed to a chair.
“Please take a seat, lieutenant.” Matt couldn’t stop staring at all the fruit salad on the man’s chest. Each colored ribbon represented a different military award, and the four stars on the admiral’s collar were certainly impressive. Matt spotted an elaborate badge positioned just under the man’s breast pocket. It suddenly dawned on him that he was sitting across from the Chief of Naval Operations (CNO).
The man to the CNO’s right was wearing a suit. He was in his early fifties, with a touch of gray at the temples. He had that air of authority that comes with access to the top; he was one of the untouchables. The man oozed arrogance from every pore. Matt was sure this schmuck was CIA or maybe NSA. He decided then and there that he disliked him. At the end of the table sat a gentleman Matt recognized immediately. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. His mouth opened a little involuntarily in surprise. What the hell was this all about?
“Welcome, Lieutenant Barrett. I trust your trip from San Diego was pleasant?”
Matt betrayed himself by swallowing hard before answering. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”
The chairman began with introductions. “Mr. Barrett, this is Mr. Collins, the assistant to the director of operations for the CIA.” The suit stared back at Matt before offering his hand. Great, Matt thought. Some insecure idiot that wants to play head games. Matt returned the handshake and then promptly ignored him. The chairman took all this in before introducing the admiral.
“This is the Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Jackson.” Matt smiled and shook the offered hand.
“It’s nice to see the navy here, sir.” Matt wanted the admiral to know he might need an ally. Matt turned his attention back to the chairman. “Please excuse me, sir, if I appear a little confused.”
“That’s understandable, Mr. Barrett.”
The chairman slid a plain, yellow eight-by-ten envelope across the table toward Matt. “Lieutenant, the contents of that folder will explain some of the issues we are going to be dealing with during the pre-mission planning phase for Operation Green Dagger. We have two Americans in jeopardy, lieutenant. They’ve been taken hostage, and we presume they are being moved as we speak to a large base camp south of Bogotá, Colombia. You will find the details and background information in the envelope. All our intelligence resources are at your disposal.”
Matt wasn’t getting it. “Sir, what does this have to do with me? I’m assigned as an instructor at our special warfare training center. I’m not in command of a SEAL troop or platoon.”
“Son, you have been selected by the navy, with SOCOM’s blessing, to lead a very special team. Initially, the team will be responsible for conducting reconnaissance and surveillance of the guerilla base camp in question. The camp is located on a river in the Colombian jungle. You and your fellow SEALs have been tasked with helping find and rescue General Alexander, Commander, US Southern Command, and one of his SEAL bodyguards.” That got Matt’s attention.
“Who’s the SEAL, sir?”
“Actually, I believe you know him. His name is Senior Chief Auger. I understand you two worked together at one time.”
Matt’s heart sank; he couldn’t believe it. “Auger? Are you sure, sir?”
The chairman didn’t change his expression. “That’s right, son. All we know right now is Colombian guerillas, affiliated with or actual members of the FARC, ambushed a vehicle convoy in Bogotá and took General Alexander and your friend.” He paused to allow the information to soak in. Matt overcame his initial reaction and stopped staring at the table in front of him. He turned his head and focused on the chairman’s words.
“Please go on, sir.”
“We tracked the bastards by satellite. They drove into the jungle then we lost contact with them. Lieutenant, we don’t have much time. You need to choose who you want on your three-man team and assemble them in Panama. We have people coming in to brief you on the events that led up to the hostage taking, the capabilities of the FARC guerillas, and their tactics. They’ll also make sure you have all the information you need to plan and execute your mission.”
The chairman looked at the bank of digital clocks on the wall showing times from all around the globe. “You have less than seventy–two hours to assemble and brief your team. Spend a few minutes after this meeting and sketch out your immediate logistics needs so we can get that ball rolling. Remember, lieutenant, if you are able to locate the hostages, you will not attempt a rescue. Your team’s job will transition to rescue support. Do you understand?”
Matt nodded. “Not a rescue, standoff surveillance only. Yes, sir, I understand.”
Admiral Jackson cleared his throat. “Good. We don’t expect three men, even three SEALs, to go up against the FARC on their home turf. There’s a SEAL platoon in isolation right now preparing for the rescue phase of the operation. They’ll be staged close enough to the camp to be able to react to your reporting. They will insert and conduct the rescue once you’ve found the general and your friend. Do you have any questions about the objectives of this operation?”
Matt shook his head. “No, admiral, I think I’ve got it down. You want me to go in and find these bastards and see if our people are still alive. If they are, you want me to report that fact and then roll over to fire support for the raid. Pretty straightforward.”
The chairman got Matt’s attention. “That’s exactly right, lieutenant. You were chosen to lead the way on this operation because of your combat experience and because you have proven you can think under pressure. Your actions in Egypt are proof of that. Good officers, the ones who know how to lead men, are rare, even in special operations. Pick your team wisely. You need to pull this off right, the first time.” The chairman stood up to leave.
Matt jumped to his feet along with the rest of the people in the room. “Yes, sir. You can count on that. I know just the men for this job, and it won’t take long to put the team together.”
“Good, that’s no less than I expected,” the chairman said. “Admiral, I concur with your decision regarding Barrett. He’ll do a great job! I wish we had more like him!” The chairman left the room, followed by the suit and Admiral Jackson. Colonel Rushworth waited until they left, then spoke up.
“Matt, take a few minutes to review the material in the envelope. You won’t be able to leave here with the envelope, but there will be a lot more intelligence material waiting for you in Panama at our isolation area. It’s enough to get you started thinking for now. If you already know who you want on this mission, give me the names. I’ll chase them down and send them to Panama ASAP!”
Matt barely heard the colonel. He knew who his top picks were, but he had no idea where they were or if they were still in the teams. He wrote the names down and slid the piece of paper across the desk to the colonel. Then he sat down and opened the envelope. Colombia wasn’t Egypt or Iraq. He had little to no experience in jungle operations, but he didn’t give a shit about that. He was going to get Auger out of that camp.
Chapter Twelve
Fort Pickett, Virginia
The gloved hand gently pushed the branch aside. The SEAL sniper shifted his weight ever so slowly, adjusting his field of vision. He now had a clear shot. The target area was a simulated urban compound. A training site referred to as a mobile operations in urban terrain (MOUT) facility.
The instructor cadre set up various scenarios to help train students how to deal with the difficult task of fighting in a city environment. American military forces historically learned, forgot, and then relearned the bloody lessons of street fighting because of apathy between wars and an arrogant perspective that the last war would never happen again.
Well, it did happen again. Operation Iraqi Freedom put Marines and soldiers in the urban environment once again. Ill-trained for house-to-house fighting, tactics their World War Two counterparts would have recognized immediately.
The SEAL sniper lay in wait, assisted by a second SEAL who acted as security. They comprised one of four sniper pairs positioned around the MOUT facility, and they were focused on their slice of the MOUT in front of them.
A SEAL assault team was about to attack. The primary mission of the four sniper pairs was to identify which of the MOUT buildings was holding two American pilots, prisoners taken after their imaginary plane crashed.
Once that location was determined, the assault force would swoop in and rescue the two men. The snipers then would transition from surveillance and reporting to direct action mode, eliminating any threats to the assault team outside the walls of the building in the MOUT.
But for now, the SEAL snipers remained hidden around the training town and continued to provide up-to-date intelligence information. Their customer was the ground force commander, who was located with his command and control element on a hill near the MOUT.
They were conducting this raid in broad daylight so the SEAL Team Four training department could videotape their actions on the objective. Video cameras were positioned throughout the MOUT area and inside the rooms occupied by the opposition force role players and the prisoners.
