by Eric Meyer
“Carol, I…”
“Schh, save it. Just take me to bed, Kyle. I want you to fuck my brains out.”
It was the moment of decision, and it was so soon after Grace’s death. But how long should he wait? And tomorrow they’d be briefing for a new mission that would take them into harm’s way, where all bets were off. But still…
“Yeah, okay.”
Afterwards, they lay in bed. Warm and content after the sex that had been, well, earthshaking. He tried to close his mind off and just concentrate on the moment, on what she’d given to him.
“Damn, it’s been so long, Carol. I think I saw stars. You’re quite something, you know.”
“You’re not bad yourself, Kyle. It’s been a while for me too.”
Then they were silent. He couldn’t discuss any future plans. There was too much in his life to be resolved, too much baggage, and the problem of the unidentified Arabs who were still around. He had to take care of the kids. And not forget that they’d have problems too. It wasn’t just that he’d lost his wife. They’d lost their mother. And then there was Columbia.
“This new mission, is it dangerous?” she asked him. “I mean, really dangerous.”
He thought about Columbia, the drug lords, the FARC rebels, the corrupt and maybe a few not so corrupt government forces that may help or hinder them. It was true; the whole country was an armed camp with an economy that relied predominantly on the drug business. They’d have support, sure, but mostly it would be at arm’s length, UAVs, drones, satellite intelligence, overflights, and a few agents on the ground, maybe.
“Yeah, it’s a tough one. But we’ll be okay. We always are.”
“Just be more okay that usual, Kyle.”
“Sure.” But he wasn’t sure about anything.
* * *
The following morning they assembled for the briefing. Admiral Drew Jacks stood on the platform with a Marine Corps General, wearing the Marine Corps MARPAT camo uniform. Jacks introduced Major General Allan Hicks and then began the briefing.
“Men, you should know that the single factor that kicked off this mission was the murder of General Hicks’ nephew by the Salazar brothers. But even so, that doesn’t make it purely personal. Any US citizen, duly authorized by a sovereign government, should be free to walk on foreign soil without fear of murder by criminal gangs. That is not the reality, and you know it. But sometimes, a number of factors come together that enable us to make it a reality. It is so here. The Salazar organization undermines the government of the United States with its pernicious trade in illegal drugs. Our ally, the Columbian government, is equally concerned to put a stop to them. They murdered General Hicks’ nephew, so of course he wants justice. Even the Mexican government is severely threatened by these Salazar brothers’ activities, and I think we all know that the Mexicans have bitten off more than they can chew with the drug gangs.”
There was a rumble of laughter. In December 2006, President Felipe Calderon sent 6,500 federal troops to the state of Michoacán to end drug violence there. It was regarded as the first major operation against organized crime inside Mexico, and was generally viewed as the starting point of the war between the government and the drug cartels. Calderon continued to escalate his anti-drug campaign, and there were now 45,000 troops involved, as well as state and federal police forces. In 2010, President Calderon said that the cartels were looking to replace the government, and were trying to impose a monopoly of their trade by force of arms. In some cases, they were even trying to impose their own laws.
“Lastly,” he continued, “we most of us live and work in San Diego and the surrounding area, and many of us have felt the impact of the drug gangs.”
He looked directly at Nolan, whose mind flashed to a picture of Grace the year before, when he’d never thought that anything could shatter his happiness.
“So this time, we’re going in to finish the job. The Salazar brothers are toast.”
“Hooyah!”
They shouted in unison. Admiral Jacks nodded, satisfied that there was no lack of commitment. General Hicks also nodded, and his grim face relaxed into a faint smile. His nephew, David Lopez, would be avenged. Jacks held up his hand.
“I’ll hand over to Lieutenant Talley who will complete the briefing. Thank you, men. And good luck.”
Talley climbed up to the platform. “Thank you, Admiral. Men, here is the objective. The Salazar brothers’ operation is centered on Medellin. I don’t believe that city needs any introduction.”
Someone groaned. It was going to be tough, even tougher than they’d expected. Talley ignored it.
“Their operation has its headquarters to the west of the city, in an area known as La Castellana. They used to operate out in the countryside, but they were too vulnerable to government sweeps and intelligence from our satellites, so they moved into the ‘burbs. We’ll have support from Creech Air Force Base, and they’ll be putting up a permanent umbrella of UAVs, Reapers, and the MQ-9s. These babies will be armed with Hellfire missiles and 500 lb laser-guided bombs. We’ll be in contact with them the whole time, from infiltration to exfiltration, so any air support necessary can be called in right away.”
Vince Merano put up his hand. “What about infiltration and exfiltration, how’re we getting in there?”
“HALO drop, we don’t want anyone knowing we’re on the way. There’s a…”
“Does that include the Columbian government?” Nolan interrupted.
“I’d guess the answer to that one is yes. It’d be better if they were kept out of the loop. We do have a legal basis for going in, as part of our signed agreement to assist them to fight the drug barons. On the other hand, the less they know of our operations, the better. But this time there is an exception. We’ll be teaming up with one of their Special Forces units, the Agrupación de Fuerzas Especiales Antiterroristas Urbanas. That’s the Urban Counter-Terrorism Special Forces Group, for those of you who don’t speak any Spanish. They’re an elite unit of the Colombian Army, and their primary mission is counter-terrorist operations and hostage rescue. They’re pretty good, and it’s important we work in cooperation with them. So there’s no room for any fights over territory or jurisdiction.”
“Yeah, that’ll be a first, fucking Dagoes! I’d trust ‘em about as far as I could throw ‘em,” someone murmured loudly. Nolan looked around and sighed. Roscoe Bremmer, his eyes bright with anger at the prospect of working with the Columbians, was mouthing off.
“That’ll do, Roscoe. If we’re ordered to work with them, that’s the way it’ll be.”
Bremmer turned his angry eyes on Nolan. He held the gaze for a few seconds and looked away, muttering something inaudible. The men around him shuffled their feet and gave him some space, embarrassed. The Navy Seals was no place for big mouths. Talley went on.
“As I was saying, it’ll be a HALO drop, to our first lay up point ten miles outside of Medellin. Our intel guys, I guess that means CIA, have set up a building for us to use as an FOB, a forward operating base. It’s an old engineering shop, and it’s been abandoned for some time. When we meet up, the password is Flame of Freedom. We’ll carry most of our equipment in with us, but they’ll be able to help with anything more we need. Communications will be the usual commo, and we’ll be constantly uplinked via satellite to Creech and here. We’ll be equipped with cameras that will uplink to HQ, and Chief Nolan and myself will be using e-tablets to receive any updates they consider necessary. We’ll have the use of the RQ-11B Ravens. They’ll be waiting for us in the FOB, so local recon shouldn’t present any problems.”
The Raven was a hand-launched reconnaissance UAV, an upgraded model aircraft, really. The RQ-11 Raven was developed in 2002. Powered by an electric motor, the aircraft could fly at six miles mph at altitudes of up to 15,000 feet, at a speed of up to sixty mph. For troops operating behind the lines in unfamiliar territory, they would put an eye in the sky to locate and pinpoint enemy strongholds. Nolan realized that Bremmer was still mouthing off, and this time th
at ‘model airplanes were for kids’. He turned around.
“Bremmer, can it! Any problems, you take it up later, not at the briefing.”
This time, the black Seal didn’t back down. “Why’s that, Chief? You got some problem with a black guy saying what he thinks? This briefing is just for you and the Lieutenant to say what you think, is that it?”
“I’ll answer that,” Talley called over. “PO3 Bremmer, you’re new to this outfit, so I’ll say it only once. Wise guy remarks will get you beached, as quick as poor performance in the field. Black, white or any other color, I don’t give a shit. If you’ve got something to say that’s worth hearing, say it. Otherwise, button it. Clear?”
Bremmer nodded, but the men around him could see it was anything but clear. Talley cleared his throat. “We’ll need to carry some heavy firepower. I would remind you that these characters are very heavily armed. They’re frequently known to outshoot the military when they come into contact. I’m splitting into three teams, and each team will carry an M240. The weapons will be available in the FOB when we get there, and with as much ammunition as we’re likely to need. You’ll carry your regular HK416s, with the exception of Vince and Kyle, who obviously will carry the MK11 SWS. I want every HK assault rifle fitted with a grenade launcher. I’ll instruct them to put a few cases of grenades in the FOB too. That covers the hardware, and now for the mission objectives. First and foremost, we take out the Salazar brothers, that’s a given. Next, we destroy their personnel and infrastructure. Carl, your explosives will be shipped in, so there’ll be plenty for you to work with. When we leave, I want the Salazar operation to be history, staff, stock, equipment, vehicles, and buildings. That’s it. Oh yeah, exfiltration. Five miles west of La Castellana, there’s a wide landing ground, good for helos. They’re sending in a pair of Boeing V-22s, the Ospreys, to collect us. That’s all.”
“Boss.”
He looked across at Will Bryce. “Yes, Will, what is it?”
“What’s our jump-off time?”
Talley nodded, and smiled. “Yeah, I missed that one, wheels up tonight, Gentlemen, at 2200 hours. Sorry it’s such short notice, but the Brass is worried about any leaks on this one. As from this moment, you are all confined to base. Mission duration is twenty-four to thirty hours. We lay up during the day in the FOB and begin operations as soon as the light starts to fade. We’ll be using our standard night vision equipment, both for the jump and for the operation.”
Nolan was heartily pleased his kids were out of harm’s way, although he was sad he wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. You never knew. He could see on the other men’s faces the mixed expressions. Concern that like him, there would be no farewells, but the adrenaline rush had its effect, and already there was an air of calm determination to locate the enemy and mete out the kind of punishment that the Navy Seals did best. The Salazar organization only had hours left to continue its operations. Then Nolan had a sobering thought.
The Columbian Special Forces, can they be trusted? If not, this operation will get a whole lot harder.
Chapter Four
The ramp of the C-130 had opened to acclimatize them to the external environment, the night sky outside the aircraft. There was little breathable air at that height, and they’d long since switched to the portable oxygen supplies they’d need for the jump. They were ten minutes out, fifty miles from the drop zone, and so far everything was a go. They’d checked their gear, and Talley had gone to the cockpit to signal their contact in Medellin. He came back a few minutes later and nodded to Nolan.
“We’re good to go, and intel says there’s some kind of a fiesta down there in the town, lots of smoke, noise, fireworks, and hombres firing into the air. It couldn’t be better. How’s everything at home, are the kids okay?”
He remembered that he hadn’t called them.
Jesus, what kind of a person am I turning into?
He’d noticed Carol’s sharp and questioning look as he’d left the house. He knew he was cold towards her, but he just couldn’t help it. He felt cold. But the kids, he’d have to make it up, somehow. He realized Talley was waiting for him to answer.
“Yeah, er fine. Maybe it’ll be a tad easier if they’re carousing. We need all the luck we can get on this one. Medellin’s not going to be a bed of roses. It’s full of soldiers, and they carry pretty heavy ordnance.”
“Maybe so, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t be in and out before they even wake up to us being there. It’s gonna be a good one, Chief. I can feel it in my bones. Maybe we won’t even need to do so much shooting this time out. We can leave it to Carl and his C4.”
Nolan smiled at the Lieutenant’s enthusiastic grin. Just as an explosion out on the starboard wing caused the aircraft to buck and lurch, and the port wing started to tip her over into a skewed, nose-down attitude.
“Buckle up, men, hang on,” he shouted along the fuselage at two of the men who were looking around wildly, close to panic. One of them was Roscoe Bremmer. The others were calmer and like him, they were appraising the situation before taking any action. “Boss, we need to know what the hell happened.”
Talley nodded. “Yeah, I’ll go forward and see.”
But as he spoke, the cockpit door crashed open, and the jumpmaster staggered through, grabbing at handholds to stop him from being flung along the cabin by the wild gyrations of the aircraft.
“We’ve taken damage to the starboard outer engine and the control surfaces. The skipper says she won’t make it to the jump off point. We need to lighten up if we’re going to get this baby home.”
“Any ideas what caused it?” Talley asked.
The man shook his head. “Nothing yet, could be anything. It wasn’t a missile. We’d have seen it coming in on the radar. Could have been a fuel leak or maybe something else.”
“A bomb?”
“Christ knows! It could have been anything. Maybe just a faulty component, some kind of fuel leak that exploded. You guys need to bale out here if you’re going, otherwise come back with us and abort the mission. Skipper says he’s turning around in one minute.” He checked his watch. “Make that half a minute, what’re you going to do?”
Talley looked at Nolan. “Chief, what’d you think?”
He calculated like lightning. They’d be thirty miles further out from the drop zone by the time they landed, and the drop zone was ten miles from the first LUP, the lay up point outside of Medellin. So they’d be forty miles out. He thought of Admiral Jacks; he’d told him he’d give it one hundred and ten percent.
“Let’s go now.”
Talley looked at the jumpmaster. “Tell the pilot to hold it for another few seconds, then you can give us the green light.”
The man nodded and staggered back to the cockpit. Nolan began final preparations.
“Okay, you’ve got thirty seconds max. The mission is a go. Make fast checks on your gear, now! Make the LZ exactly thirty miles due north of the previous marker.”
He and Talley checked each other’s gear, in as fast a way as time allowed. They almost ran to the ramp. The aircraft had steadied and was flying more or less straight and level. The jumpmaster came back and shouted at them. “Pilot says he can’t wait any longer, so it’s now or never.”
Simultaneously, the green light came on, and the mass of Seals stepped off the ramp out into the South American night.
They were using night vision gear and wrist mounted navigational systems to plot their descent. Nolan watched the Columbian landscape approach below him as he held the skydiving position and glided into the LZ. He checked his navigation and looked around for the other platoon members. None were visible. All were swallowed up by the dark night, the swirling clouds, and multitude of shapes and patterns that made up the night sky over Columbian. He checked his altitude, 5,000 feet, time to wait before opening. A parachute was a huge sign that said ‘look at me’ to anyone in the area. Even at night, a chance sighting was possible. He checked again, 3,000 feet. It was time. He pulled the
cord and felt the sharp tug as the ‘chute opened and slowed his descent. The jungle canopy came towards him, and he pulled on the cords, steering towards a small, open patch of ground. At the last moment, he relaxed his body and bent his legs at the knees. The landing was gentle, no worse than hundreds he’d done in the past, even though this one was a last minute scratch operation. But he knew that he’d been lucky, finding the clearing, and others may not be so fortunate. He unhitched the shroud lines and stowed away the ‘chute in a small pit that some small animal had dug underneath a fallen tree. All around him he could hear the small sounds of the jungle, insects calling, birds screeching, and here and there the soft footfalls as an animal prowled around, looking for prey.
He keyed the mic. “This is Nolan. I’m exactly on the coordinates for the LZ. Is anyone in trouble?”
There was a silence for a few seconds. Then Vince Merano came down only feet away from him, twisting at the last moment to bring his ‘chute to one side, so he could rapidly stow it away. Then Talley was down, Bremmer, and Winters. They’d used their NVS like him to locate the clearing, even Bremmer, the new boy. More men dropped in beside him, and he counted them off in his head. Brad Rose, Dan Moseley, Dave Eisner.
“Where’s Zeke?”
Zeke Murray, the handsome Latino electronics and communications expert.
“I ain’t seen him.”
“Nor me.”
“Okay, let’s see what happened to him,” Talley ordered. “We’ll start a grid search. He can’t have come down far away. Chief, split the men into squads to cover the four quadrants. Let’s make this quick, we’ve got a fair ways to travel.”
They split up, and Nolan led a team that went south. He recalled Zeke leaving behind him, and that meant he should have glided slightly further, all things being equal. They found him in a tree less than fifty yards from the LZ. He’d been stunned into unconsciousness by a thick tree branch when he landed badly. Dave Eisner shinned up the trunk and cut away his lines, then lowered him gently to the ground, using the remains of the parachute shrouds. Nolan kneeled down to look at him.