The warrior code, p.7
The Warrior Code, page 7
part #2 of Seal Strike Series
The opposition force consisted of reserve army personnel. As infantrymen, they were competent ground fighters, but they knew their task today was to die. They would follow those orders, but they planned to make it as difficult as possible for the SEAL rescue team.
The SEAL snipers also were being observed and graded by the training department on their ability to coordinate their marksmanship skills. Upon hearing the execution code word over the secure radio net, the four sniper pairs would execute their shots simultaneously, taking out their assigned sentries before picking up squirters, enemy soldiers running out of the buildings or trying to escape the MOUT.
The sniper fire was also the signal for the rescue team to leave their concealed position on the edge of town and move rapidly to the target building. Once there, the breachers would separate from the assault team and place high explosives on two ground floor windows as well as the main door to the building where the prisoners were held.
Once the explosives opened the way into the building, the assault team would rapidly enter through all three breached access points.
From his vantage point, the SEAL ground force commander could observe the evolving attack and orchestrate solutions to problems as they arose. The mission commander was assisted in his efforts by two SEALs, a radioman and a rifleman responsible for the element’s security. Code words and critical information flowed back and forth via scrambled SATCOM radios.
From time to time, the radioman passed the information updates along in the form of intelligence reports to the SEAL task unit commander, who was in orbit five miles away in a supporting air force AC-130-gunship.
During the mission-planning phase, the SEALs were provided with critical information from SEAL Team Four’s training cell. The key to the tactical puzzle was the location of the two American hostages. The training cell’s initial intelligence was wrong, something the seasoned operators expected.
That’s why having eyes on the target always trumped pre-mission information. The snipers confirmed to the ground force commander that the hostages were being held on the second story of the hotel near the center of town.
The SEAL snipers also verified the location of all enemy targets operating outside the buildings. There were men on two or three of the rooftops in the immediate vicinity of the hotel, armed with Romanian-produced AK-47 assault rifles.
Petty Officer First Class Sam Oberman watched one of the men on the nearest rooftop scanning the trees intently with his binoculars. Oby had the wind and knew the range using his laser range finder. This guy was toast.
The man on the roof seemed to be focusing most of his attention toward Oby’s position, but his demeanor indicated that he was completely unaware of the danger. “What time is it?” Oby didn’t want to take his eyes from the scope.
Petty Officer Third Class George Donaldson was scanning their side of the MOUT facility with a pair of high-powered German binoculars. He glanced at his watch. “Two minutes to eight. I can’t see the assault team, Oby. They should’ve been in position by now.”
“The assault team’s coming through the sewer. They’ll enter the MOUT, then use a side street to approach the target building. My guess is they are coming up through the manhole covers right around now.”
Donaldson knew the plan. The rescue team was going to stage next to the target building sixty seconds prior to the assault. The side street chosen was unobservable from the roof of the target. A natural blind spot in an otherwise open urban plan of streets and common areas.
If everything went according to the rehearsal, at exactly eight o’clock the demolitions breaching team would lead the SEALs as they rushed across the open space from their hiding place and execute the takedown.
Upon their arrival, the demolitions team would place a special light breaching package on the two windows on the side of the target building. Then they would creep up and place a larger charge on the main entrance. Small, hand-held shields were carried to protect the breachers from the blast.
The explosions would stun the occupants of the building for a moment or two, just long enough for the assault team to enter through the smoking entry point created by the breachers and take down the first floor. The breachers would stay out of the way until the assault team entered, then join the tail end of the flow of special operators.
“Yeah, Oby, I know how it’s supposed to go down,” the young scout said. “I just wish I could see that they were in position.”
Oby snorted. “Did you ever stop to think that if we could see them, the bad guys could see them? Don’t worry about the assault team. They know what to do. Just focus on helping me identify secondary targets once the shooting starts. What time is it now?”
“Forty-five seconds to execute.” Donaldson’s voice was all business now. Oby was right. Each SEAL was responsible for his own piece of the action. BUD/S taught you that. The team was well-briefed, well-rehearsed, and well-led.
He knew the assault would be successful unless Murphy got involved. Murphy’s Law stated that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong. In special operations, it was wise to say a small prayer to Murphy to hedge your bets.
Of course, mistakes were bound to happen. The two SEALs had witnessed quite a few during complex exercises like this one, and Oby was a combat veteran who could attest it happened in real combat, too.
That’s why they practiced all the time. There is no such thing as a perfect mission when you pushed the performance envelope every training day. Most SEALs believed a perfectly executed exercise was a waste of training time, since nobody learned anything when nothing went wrong.
Donaldson swept his binoculars back toward the target building. “Thirty seconds, Oby.”
“Roger that,” acknowledged the sniper. “Watch for the assault team moving from their first breach position to the door.”
“There they are!” The scout could see a line of men snaking around the corner of the MOUT hotel. He shifted his view to the rooftop sentries. “Everything’s still cool topside! Ten seconds to execute.”
Oby pushed the selector switch to the FIRE position. “Heads up,” he whispered. The scout didn’t respond. Oby inhaled fully, then slowly let air escape from his lungs. He stopped halfway through the exhalation and held his breath. Oby began squeezing the trigger.
Chapter Thirteen
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The three breaching charges detonated two seconds late. The explosions were amplified by the proximity of so many empty cinder block buildings in the MOUT, and the sound echoed off every building.
Oby didn’t wait to confirm he’d nailed the first of four mannequin targets representing the enemy on the rooftop. He smoothly shifted his crosshairs to rest on the head of a second sentry dummy. The weapon jumped in his hands. This time he saw the plastic head explode.
“Topside targets waxed!” Donaldson scanned the windows and then looked at the base of the building. “No secondary targets in sight.”
Oby didn’t answer. He shifted his scope to each window on the target building, methodically moving from window to window. Donaldson was correct. He couldn’t find any new targets to shoot.
He kept his eyes on the windows anyway. The dumb shits always wanted to come out and take a look. Sure enough, a mannequin’s head slid slowly into view, just high enough for Oby to take a shot.
These training guys are great! It was tough to set up a training evolution where all the players participated fully. Oby took the shot. The mannequin flipped back out of sight.
He could faintly hear shattering glass and the sounds of struggle emanating from the hotel. So far, so good. Everything was going according to plan. After the assault team entered the building, they quickly secured the ground floor.
Meanwhile, the other sniper pairs were executing their tasks. Dropping all the exterior targets in their field of view. The assault team “killed” two more enemy combatants as they ran up the stairway toward the second floor. In the first fifteen seconds of the assault, the SEALs eliminated eleven bad guys, a very respectable body count, considering none of the SEALs were yet killed or wounded.
Oby heard the assault team firing a rapid series of shots as they cleared the second floor. “How does it look?” he asked.
“Still clear everywhere I can see,” responded the scout. “Our kill zone is empty. There are no visible targets.”
The firing suddenly increased dramatically. “Sounds like they found the hostages,” observed Donaldson.
“Yep,” remarked Oby. “Unless those crafty training guys set a trap for our boys over there.”
Donaldson lowered the binoculars. “You really think so? What a bunch of bullshit if they did.”
Oby continued to sweep the crosshairs of his high-powered scope back and forth, looking for fresh targets. “I was on an assault last year. We went charging in there and started clearing the rooms one by one until we hit the fifth floor. The training department had a wall of desks and chairs piled up in the hallway. Every time we tried to take it down, they opened up on us.”
“So, what did you guys do?” Donaldson said, placing the binoculars back in front of his eyes.
“We sent a six-man team up the stairs to the sixth floor. They cleared that deck and used ropes to lower themselves down to the fifth-floor windows behind the barricade. They tossed in a few flash crash grenades and came in through the windows shooting. We had the floor, but no hostages.”
“They weren’t on the fifth floor?” Donaldson was having a hard time keeping up.
“No, they weren’t,” Oby continued. “The training guys moved them just before the attack. They moved them through a sewer access door in the basement of the target building. It took a while, but we found them alone, tied up in the building next door.”
“Man, that’s bullshit!” Donaldson had less experience than his sniper partner, but he’d been a SEAL long enough to know how the game was supposed to be played. The hostages were always in a bad position when a team came in hard, fast, and in broad daylight.
During such a dynamic entry and assault, there was nothing to stop the hostage takers from putting a bullet into their hostages out of spite or a desire for vengeance. The SEALs counted on hard-hitting action and speed to overcome even a prepared enemy, hoping they would be more concerned about dying than killing hostages.
“Violence of action” was a tactical concept crucial to the success of small unconventional units. It meant never letting the other guy have the drop on you. Hit him first and hit him hard. Never give your adversary a chance to fight back.
The bottom line was simple. It was far better for a small team of SEALs to go in and eliminate the bad guys in their sleep rather than call them out onto the street like an old western movie to determine who had the fastest gun.
Any biker who’s survived a bar fight knows that violence of action works. In a bar fight, if you start to shove and poke while talking trash to a seasoned street fighter, then they’ll just hit you over the head with a stool or a beer bottle mid-sentence. Fight over.
Immediate escalation of violence is so shocking and so unexpected that virtually every opponent falls victim to the tactic. Applying violence of action to hostage rescue scenarios entailed using the rude impact of shock, combined with precision firepower, in a coordinated and deliberate fashion.
Ideally, that put shooters everywhere at once. The element of surprise wasn’t always enough. You had to get the other guy to stop and wonder what was going on. Make him blink. Then it was much easier to take that guy out of the equation.
The assault team brought the rescued hostages downstairs to the main entrance. The team leader was on the radio net, methodically sending out a detailed status report to the command and control element. They, in turn, passed the report to higher authority circling above.
The earpiece crackled to life in Oby’s ear. “Stand down; the exercise is over. All players muster at the target building’s main entrance.”
“Roger that,” Oby said out loud. “It’s quitting time, buddy!” Oby started packing up the equipment staged all around him.
“That’s cool,” Donaldson commented. “Because I desperately need to get a big ass, ten-legged bug outta my shorts!” Oby laughed.
If this exercise had played out to the end, the assault team would’ve gathered all the sniper and breaching teams together at a control point identified in the mission brief. The ground force commander’s element would join them and get a final headcount before patrolling to an off-target helicopter extraction site.
The preferred formation shape for tactical travel on this mission configuration was an oval. The hostages would move in the middle, protected on all sides by members of the assault team.
The ground force command element also would occupy the center, communicating with the extraction helicopters and coordinating ground markers, such as colored smoke during the day and pop flares at night.
The extraction birds would be called in, and the SEALs and hostages would load up and depart to a safe zone. Today’s exercise, however, was different. It focused only on actions in the objective area. The training staff only intended to debrief the attack and rescue sequence in and around the target building.
Oby and Donaldson slid backward out of their sniper hide and threw their heavy packs over their backs. The two SEALs casually walked down the steep hill toward the MOUT facility, carrying their rifles and watching the ground to avoid getting tripped up on the way to the base of the hill.
SEALs were flowing into the center of town from all around. A good many were exercise graders, safety personnel, or role players.
There were a few third-party observers, too. The SEALs were an important national asset. It wasn’t out of the norm for a congressman or a senior executive from one of the three-letter intelligence agencies to want to watch SEAL training.
The general collapse of formality in the MOUT was referred to by SEALs as “going admin.” The term also was used to taunt a fellow SEAL who cheated, slacked off, or tried to cut corners during training exercises.
“Oby!”
Oby recognized the voice of SEAL Team Four’s assistant training officer, Lieutenant White, coming through his earphone. This couldn’t be part of the exercise. The training officer wouldn’t be using Oby’s real name over on the radio. “Yes, sir, this is Oby,” Oby replied.
“You and Donaldson get down here ASAP. I need to talk to you, Oby. I have a priority message from the commanding officer for you. I already told the team leader and ground force commander that you aren’t going to be with them for the final headcount and debrief.”
Oby was puzzled by all the cloak and dagger stuff. “Whatever you say, boss,” he replied, pressing the talk button on his small radio.
“What’s up?” Donaldson could see Oby was troubled.
“Don’t know. They said the old man sent me a message. Lieutenant White says it’s important. We need to find him down there. He told me to ignore the post-mission muster.”
“That’s weird!’ Donaldson observed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“Not that I know of,” said Oby. “I guess we’ll find out when we get into town.” The two SEALs picked their way through the thick underbrush. At times both men cursed the tangle of vines and dead plant life. Eventually, they broke into the open, clearing the tree line forty yards from the edge of the MOUT facility.
Chapter Fourteen
Oby spotted Lieutenant White standing, hands on hips, next to the concrete building directly across from the target. He also observed the rest of the troops gathering for initial feedback from the graders. This would only last ten minutes. A full detailed review would be held the next day and those often lasted for several hours.
The assistant training officer saw them and waved. Oby gave a little wave back. He was starting to worry. Did something happen to one of his parents? His sister? He’d been around long enough to suspect the odd request wasn’t anything good.
The training department was diligently moving about, cleaning up grenade canisters and spent brass. Some of the instructors headed upstairs to dismantle the barricade in front of the hostage room on the second floor. Still others were picking up the pieces of shattered cinder block where the breaching team blew the wall.
The gooey grease used to stick the charge against the door had splattered all over the wall. The SEALs were responsible for cleaning up any mess made in the army’s training facility. Soon, an army range control sergeant would arrive to clear the MOUT and certify it clean and ready for use by the next unit. There was a lot of work to do.
Oby and Donaldson walked over to where Lieutenant White was waiting. “So, what’s up, boss?” Oby asked, closing the distance. “Well, Oby,” the lieutenant started, “It seems you’ve received special orders back at Little Creek.” Oby stopped dead in his tracks.
“Special orders?” he asked. “I thought I was in trouble!”
“No, you’re not in trouble. The orders were SPECAT. Nobody but the old man and you can look at them. I’ve told the troop you’ll be heading head right back to the creek. When you get there, go straight to the CO’s office, he’s waiting for you.”
“If it’s SPECAT, its real-world shit!” Donaldson blurted out. Oby thought for a moment.
“I need to take my long gun, sir. Especially if it’s the real deal.” All snipers are issued five different specialized weapons. Oby’s other weapons were in the team armory in Little Creek.
“Fine, Oby, you do that. But promise me you’ll get your butt on the road right away. My ass will be in a sling if you don’t show up soon.”
Oby stuck out his hand. “Sure thing, sir. I’m moving as we speak.” Oby shook hands with Donaldson and said a quick goodbye. A pickup truck, the driver at the ready, was idling nearby. Oby jogged to the truck, threw his gear in the back, and jumped in the front seat.
