Their next big step was meeting for dinner the next time Wade was in D.C. Megan made sure an important event in the near future would make that trip happen. Secretly, their relationship was already much closer, but always expressed in playful banter. After all, both worked for the same employer – an intelligence agency. Who knew what calls were being monitored?
“I’ve got a tentative commitment for you at Fort Benning. I hope you can appreciate that it took an act of Congress to get you in.”
“I’m not looking forward to that class. I heard it’s a bear. Can I get it waived to graduate?”
“Not a chance. Besides, after all I had to go through to get you in, you’re not going to bail on that class now.”
“You’re so damn determined! You would make an impossible wife.”
“Try me.”
Chapter 6
Fort Benning, Georgia
It was 4:30 on a Friday morning when the phone rang.
“Time to rise and shine.” It was Megan’s mellow voice at a most unpleasant hour of the morning. “Are you awake?”
“I am now.” A groggy response was all Wade could muster.
“You need to be at Fort Rucker in an hour for your flight to Fort Benning. I was able to get you in the Sniper-Navigation Course with Special Forces because of a last minute cancellation. You’re supposed to be in the course with three other intelligence agency members from other groups.”
Wade’s sleepy mind tried to recall whether the Sniper Course was three or four days long and what problems it might create with his class schedule. Megan anticipated Wade’s next questions, already knowing his school schedule better than he did.
“Before you ask, Monday is a school holiday, and you’ll be returning Monday evening for your Tuesday Econ class. This training should be right up your alley - there’s a swamp at the base. In fact, one session is a “No Weapons” cache exercise that will test your mettle. Good luck. I’ll give you a call next week to see how it went.”
Responding while still half asleep, Wade tried to ask what he thought was an important question, but it came out as a dumb observation. “Do I need to take anything other than my normal backpack?”
“Just yourself and your backpack. Anything else they’ll provide – or not provide, as the case may be. I went through the course a year ago. It’s a real challenge.”
A military transport plane was waiting on the tarmac when Wade arrived at Fort Rucker. Several military passengers in fatigues were already seated on board. After the short flight to Fort Benning, an Army bus delivered them to a staging area on base.
The bus unloaded next to a dock below a sign marked with the course name and number. Everyone was arriving on different buses from locations all across the country. Other individuals had already assembled under the sign.
Most participants were dressed in traditional camouflage fatigues. Intelligence training personnel were not required to wear uniforms and stood out as civilians among the sea of drab military fatigues. Wade had dressed in his usual jeans and plain t-shirt, carrying a dark green Navy sea bag.
Wade quickly spotted another individual in jeans and walked over to him. The gentleman seemed lost, mingling among the unfamiliar military crowd. Wade approached and introduced himself. They shook hands. The man said his name was Harold Yankovich, but quickly followed his name with, “Everyone just calls me Yari.”
“When did you arrive?”
“About a half hour ago. I just came in from D.C.”
Quickly Wade surmised that Yari might be NSA or Army computer intelligence from his dress and the studious-looking round metal-rimmed glasses he wore.
“Are you originally from D.C.?”
Yari answered, “I’ve been living in D.C. for two years now, but I’m originally from Indiana.”
“Are you in intelligence?”
Yari responded with an affirmative nod, turning back to Wade with a question. “How about you?”
“Yep.”
Both men scanned the crowd, trying to find anyone else in civilian clothes. There was no other non-military clothing in the camouflage crowd. Yari responded to the observation.
“It looks like it’s going to be all military except you and me.”
“It’s still early. I heard there might be other intelligence folks joining us. We’ll see.”
In the middle of the gathered fatigues, one Army Special Forces guy spoke up loud enough for Wade, Yari, and the assembled crowd to hear.
“Someone said we’re going to have spooks in our class?”
No one replied, but smiles came over many faces that confirmed an obvious shared displeasure.
Wade turned to Yari. “Here we go again.”
“What’s going on?”
Wade didn’t want to respond to the already fragile recruit. He had faced the same attitude in other training sessions. Some military personnel saw intelligence services people as a class below real soldiers, and many were not shy about sharing that sentiment.
Some soldiers took unkindly to sharing training facilities with “spooks.” Wade had found in other instances the negative attitude abated as the group started working together, but this particular guy seemed to be starting with a head of steam.
A surprised look came on Yari’s face when Wade decided to confront the soldier right away. Wade knew from past experience it was best to try to defuse the situation early. He left Yari standing with an “Oh, my God” expression on his face.
Walking directly over to the boisterous soldier, Wade politely introduced himself and extended his hand for a handshake. The soldier turned his head away, leaving Wade’s hand suspended in space.
The patch over the boisterous soldier’s chest pocket read “Lockhart,” and his arm patch insignia indicated Special Forces Recon. Bulging muscles stretched his fatigues, giving him the look of an NFL linebacker covered in camouflage. Lockhart’s massive figure towered over Wade. He turned his head back toward Wade with an aggressive, confrontational glare. Wade casually let his hand drop to his side. It was obvious that Lockhart had something to say.
Turning to look directly into Wade’s eyes a few inches from his face, he started. “Look, spook, I’ve had two tours in ’Nam. On my last tour my platoon got wasted on a mission that a spook determined was necessary. His so-called intelligence was crap. He didn’t have a clue where the enemy was or that my guys were walking into a trap. It got them all killed because bullshit intelligence guys don’t know what the hell is going on in real combat.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friends.”
Lockhart continued his rant. “We’re out in a real war getting our asses shot off, and you guys sit behind desks pretending you know what’s happening in the field. Most of the time your so-called “intelligence” isn’t worth a damn.”
Wade thought better than to continue the conversation, which was becoming louder as Lockhart’s elevated animosity drew the attention of a growing audience. Surrounded in a tight circle of fatigues, Wade excused himself, gently pushing his way out of the circle back to where Yari was standing.
“What was that all about? Is he blaming us for what happened in Vietnam?”
“This is going to be an interesting training session. I don’t think this Lockhart guy is going away.”
Two army transport trucks arrived to take everyone to the barracks area. Wade and Yari were dropped off at one of several four-man housing facilities arranged in a large quadrangle.
They were the first to arrive at LQ-8. Lying on each bed was an envelope containing instructions on where to assemble, times to meet, where to eat, and a general map of the Fort Benning facilities, along with a set of camouflage fatigues in each man’s approximate size.
It was obvious to Wade that Yari was the shy, studious type, perhaps skilled in computer programming, research, or encryption, but without much combat or surveillance experience or interest. Wade had the sinking feeling he might end up on the same team with Yari, and had to find out more about hi
s new-found friend.
The next scheduled activity was an orientation session beginning in an hour. The location was close to the barracks area. The lecture took longer than scheduled because they had to wait for another truckload of trainees to arrive from a delayed flight. After the orientation, Wade and Yari walked back to their barrack.
It was 5:30 p.m. local time, and Wade asked Yari if he wanted to go to the mess hall before it got too crowded. Yari replied, “Sure.” They took their map and navigated down the path from the barracks to the mess hall. Yari kept turning the map in different directions, seemingly disoriented about the direction of the mess hall. Wade thought to himself, This is not a good sign for a navigation-sniper class.
The mess hall was a newer facility, well-appointed on the inside. Wade was anxious to see if there was a real difference in food between this facility and other military bases where he had trained.
The food offering was impressive by military standards. Attractive food layouts included several appetizers, a selection of three main courses, dessert, and fruit. Both men commented that the Army might have gotten an unfairly bad rap for their food service if this was any indication of what food was like on this Army base.
Yari was not much of a conversationalist. His shyness kept him from answering questions with anything more than a minimal response. In fact, talking to Yari was like pulling teeth. Answers to Wade’s questions hung in the air without the offer of new information, comment, or opinions on anything.
Wade thought about topics that might loosen him up. Perhaps he could find something out about his new roommate.
“Did you say you grew up in Indiana?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard Indiana is beautiful, but it gets real cold.”
“The winters can be brutal.”
“Did you live in the city or the country?”
“In the country, about fifty miles outside of Indianapolis.”
“Which branch of Intelligence do you work for?”
“NSA.”
“What do you do there?”
After some silence: “I’m a computer programmer and analyst.”
“Why did you select this particular training class?”
Yari had a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not really sure why I’m here. They assigned me this class as part of a new NSA field-training requirement.”
Yari’s confusion soon also reflected on Wade’s face. Most intelligence analysts Wade knew didn’t set foot in the field. He wasn’t sure why the NSA would suddenly ask an analyst to take field training courses. The only thought Wade had was, Perhaps the NSA is gearing up for some new type of field operations.
The more he thought about it, the less sense it made. They were both confused about Yari’s training directive, and continued speculating on why he was there. Nothing made sense. Maybe someone had checked the wrong box. Yari repeated several times that he just wanted to work behind a computer screen. He seemed inordinately tentative and uneasy about the topic throughout the dinner hour.
Wade wondered how his new friend’s computer background would transfer to a military sniper exercise in the field.
“Have you had much weapons training?”
“No. I don’t really like guns. My father took me out shooting with a .22 when I was about ten years old. I remember the snow in the woods behind our house in Indiana. We shot a few times. I remember it was just too cold. I shot at targets, but didn’t hit a thing.”
Wade shared a few stories about his childhood in the swamp. Yari was stunned that Wade had grown up in the swamps and had already served in undercover operations in addition to active duty on a submarine.
They finished the meal in relative quiet and were ready to leave when Lockhart suddenly approached their table. He had in tow several of his Special Forces buddies.
“Glad to see you guys are leaving because we like this table, and we don’t eat with spooks.”
His comment was followed by loud, unnatural laughter. Wade was about to suggest that Lockhart join them at the table, but saw that Yari was very uncomfortable. He decided to initiate their departure from the table. As they left, Lockhart made a parting comment.
“Can you believe these guys? I can’t wait to get these guys in the field. It’s easy to get hurt out there if you don’t know what you’re doing. You guys should really consider dropping this class.”
Returning to the barracks, Wade tried to engage Yari in more conversation, but could only get a bare minimum response. Yari wasn’t going to suddenly become sociable. It was clear he had been affected by the Lockhart confrontation.
Training on the first day started at the sniper firing range, which was separated into two different sections with short and long-range targets. The class instructor divided individuals into two-person teams consisting of a sniper and a spotter. When assigning teams, the instructor’s finger quickly paired off Wade and Yari.
The spotter did the calculation for wind, distance, elevation, impact point, and sightings after impact. Wade was comfortable in the sniper setting. It was his third military sniper training class, and he’d also had years of experience hunting in the swamps. He understood the technical features of the M-21 sniper rifle and how its 147 grain bullet behaved during its 2,733 feet per second flight.
There was always more for Wade to learn, however, especially how ballistics changed over very long distances and varying weather conditions. Wade also knew from his swamp experience how terrain and shadows played tricks on a sniper’s eye.
Shadows and diffused light in the swamp made targets appear farther or closer, depending on the sun’s angle and time of day you were shooting. Swamp people had spirit names for the mystical aberrations created by light in the swamp. Wade’s natural comfort with the rifle combined with excellent eyesight made the range a familiar place. Unfortunately, the same was not true for Yari. His shyness about the weapon and target protocol were obvious to Wade from the start. Yari wasn’t blessed with good eyesight and clearly didn’t feel comfortable with an M-21 rifle in his hands. He also knew nothing about ballistics.
Covering the role of both shooter and spotter wasn’t a problem for Wade in this exercise. He would teach Yari what he could, hoping the assigned pairing was not a preview of how things would go during the rest of the training. Wade wondered, What score is Yari going to shoot? Will his score be combined with mine for a team score? A combined score might ruin Wade’s rating on this exercise.
They were first assigned to the short range: targets ranging between 150-250 yards down range with a 5-mph wind blowing from left to right. The short range target appeared the size of a frozen ant that could only be seen with strong binoculars or the 5x power high resolution rifle scope.
Wade started explaining the differences in ballistics between the short and long ranges, but got only a blank stare from Yari. After a brief discussion of shooting principles, it became clear Yari was in complete overload. It was so bad that Wade wasn’t convinced Yari knew which end of the gun to hold.
At that moment, Wade was determined to help Yari get out of the class. He did his best to get him through the short range targets, though. Perhaps he would be paired with someone else for the long range.
“I’m going to walk you through each step of the shooting procedure. Listen to what I’m saying and watch everything I do. I’ll do my own spotting and shoot first; then I’ll turn the weapon over to you, and I’ll do your spotting for you. Now, after you get into your shooting stance, the first thing you do is dope your scope.”
As Wade explained, Yari listened, seemingly understanding general concepts and the math about ballistics from what Wade explained. He didn’t seem eager to learn, but at least he was more than happy to comply by following Wade’s instructions.
Handing the binoculars to Yari, Wade explained what he was supposed to be observing. Using the scope, Wade made his own calculations for target distance, windage, and drop. He then adjusted the scope, explaining as he went through ea
ch step.
Wade fired his first round. He was high and to the right by an inch of the center of the target. He took some time to explain to Yari where the round had landed and why his initial calculations were slightly off.
Yari again seemed to comprehend the math, but was clueless how to make the scope adjustments. Wade made two adjustments, and his next round hit the target dead center. He continued making his spotting calculations out loud and shooting while trying to explain to Yari what he was doing and why.
Yari continued to grasp the math and was starting to do some of the calculations in his head as Wade spoke. Wade soon learned he was doing the math without understanding how a round performed when it left the barrel. Except for the first shot, all of Wade’s seven rounds were within a half inch of each other.
The instructor called out for teams to switch positions. Wade got the rifle in Yari’s hands and positioned properly. Yari reluctantly followed Wade’s instructions. Even with Wade’s instruction, Yari’s groupings weren’t very good. Wade tried to coach Yari as he looked down-range through the binoculars.
“You’ve got a 9-inch spread, with one round missing the target completely. You flinch anticipating the kick of the rifle, causing movement just before you fire.”
“I don’t like how hard this thing kicks.”
“You have to ignore the kick. By the time you feel the kick, the bullet has already left the barrel. It’s your flinching before you pull the trigger that’s causing the problem, not the kick itself.”
After several rounds Yari was still anticipating the kick. It seemed like a lost cause. Still, Wade didn’t want to see Yari fail his target test, because they might record the session as a combined team score. He placed a few of his own rounds dead center on Yari’s target. Wade managed to score high on his target test. And thanks to Wade’s helping rounds, Yari got a minimal passing score, but Wade wasn’t sure how much longer he was going to be able to help his friend.
Chapter 7
For the session at the long range, the instructor switched team members, and Yari was sent to someone outside of Wade’s line of sight. He wished Yari well and reminded him of the steps to follow as he turned to leave.
Lethal Authority (Wade Hanna Series Book 2) Page 5