by Jim Riley
“Go, TOC, this is Dog One.”
“Okay, here it is. Your primary mission is still the bomb, but we’re going to take a side trip. The first thing we need to do is hide the thing, so no one can find it. If things go bad, we’ll assault the building and get it.”
Sarge directed me to an office down the hallway, back toward the elevator. It was large and nice, like the one I had just been in, only without any bodies and blood. It also had a large safe in the corner. The location of the safe had been rendered from the building’s Security Director, who was still on scene for little bits of information like that, and the combination was secured over the phone from the owner after some persuasion from the Feds. The safe was barely large enough for the bomb, and I had to unload all the occupant’s papers to make it fit. I was sure the owner was going to have a cow, but if I succeeded with my mission, I wouldn’t care, and if I didn’t succeed, no one would care.
The new plan was to first take out the two teams on the seventh floor. There wasn’t anyone left on the sixth floor, and that would leave the access open to a roof assault. It would also put the assault team waiting in a chopper a short ride away, only minutes from the office where the bomb was hidden if things went wrong. Assuming I cleared the top floor successfully, I could then go back to the second floor where the last of the patrols were, except for the patrols guarding the prisoners, of course. It had been decided that HRT would come in and do the hostage rescue at that point, should everything else go as planned. I hadn’t been asked my advice on any of the decisions, but I agreed with all of it, including using HRT to get the hostages. It was definitely a team job, and not one for a lone operator. HRT Blue Team had already breached the building by this time and was waiting, stacked at the stairwell on the first floor.
Sarge and I decided not to mess with what had been working, and determined I needed to sneak up on the next two teams on the seventh floor similar to the way I did last time, except this time I was going up the stairwell. The satellite was getting at least intermittent thermal imagery there at the moment, and it looked clear. I made my way to the seventh-floor exit door and waited. Sarge didn’t bring the floor plan up, so I pushed the button on my helmet. It confirmed my last information that the first team, now designated Tango Team One, was not in the hallway where the door opened. I eased it open and moved to the first corner. According to the dots on my HUD, they were a short way down the hallway and moving away from me. I kept the floor plan up until I almost reached the corner. The dots were still moving away from me, and I turned the floor plan off while still moving. I moved to the corner and popped around it. Sure enough, the pair was walking away from me about thirty feet down the hallway. It was an easy shot, and I took it.
“Two tangos down in the south hallway.”
“Roger, two tangos down.” Sarge paused. “You should have used the camera to confirm they were looking away from you.”
I started to tell Sarge to keep his mind on his job, and I’d take care of mine. But I knew he was right. The facts were that I had taken an unnecessary risk, and it was his job to keep me on track. I took the criticism for what it was worth.
“Roger that. I’ll slow down.” He didn’t respond. That meant the issue was resolved, and it was time to move on.
“Your other patrol is stationary, about three quarters of the way down the next hallway and separated by about ten feet, it looks like.”
He popped the floor plan up, and I checked it. I was getting to where I could visualize the situation pretty well, based on what I was seeing on the HUD. I wondered how good an operator could actually get using this equipment. I stopped at the corner and thought about how I wanted to take the pair. I knew I needed to see how they were facing and slipped the camera on the end of the M28. I eased it out and saw that the men were, in fact, separated by some distance but couldn’t really determine how much by the camera. Not that it mattered, really. One, the man closest to me was leaning against the wall with his weapon slung across his chest. His hands weren’t on it. The other had his weapon in his hands and was facing toward me. That meant I would take him first unless he changed positions. After a minute or so, he was still in that position. He and his partner were talking and probably wouldn’t move for a while, so I decided to take them like they were.
I popped the corner just as the man leaning against the wall pushed himself off. For whatever reason, that drew my attention, and for reasons I can’t explain, I suddenly made him my primary target instead.
It took me a split second longer to acquire him than it would have if I had planned it beforehand. I brought him down with the first three-round burst, but the second man, who was already facing me with his weapon in his hands, responded quickly and sent a volley of 7.62 rounds my way from his AK47. I saw the first man fall as I ducked behind the wall for cover. The rounds were bouncing off the wall and hitting the end of the hallway to my right. The guy was laying down lots of fire, and although it wasn’t very controlled, it was a small hallway and lots of rounds were funneling in my direction. I knew if I moved from my cover, one would probably get me.
“Put the 28 out there!”
It was Sarge. That’s when I realized I didn’t have to show my face. I went down low to try to get below his line of fire and stuck the M28 around the corner. Through the HUD, I saw the man firing. I lined up the crosshairs and pulled the trigger. The bullets hit him in the stomach and chest area. He went down to his knees and stopped shooting. I put another burst into him, and he collapsed.
I could hear Sarge telling someone to stand by. I knew it wasn’t me and assumed it was one or both of the assault teams. I stood up and broke cover around the corner. I had to make sure the guy was dead. He was.
I stood by, waiting to know if the plan had changed now that it had gone noisy. It was dreadfully quiet on the air. I finally spoke. “TOC, Dog One. What’s the sitrep?”
It was a long five seconds or so before Sarge answered. “Looks like we’re still on mission. No movements indicating anyone heard what happened.
“You’re shitting me! I would’ve thought they’d have heard that back in Logan County.”
“Nope. Murphy loves you, man.”
“Good thing someone does.”
Before leaving the top of the building, I went and made sure that the exit door to the roof had been relieved of its grenade. The booby trap was exactly like the one I had disarmed on the first-floor door. One more team, and I could turn it over to HRT. I started letting myself consider the possibility that I would live to tell the tale. I thought about Tish and decided I had to get things right with her. How could I not look at this as an opportunity for a second chance at life?
There was only one roving two-man team left in the building that was of concern to me, and that was on the second floor. The rest of the bad guys were either watching the hostages, or someplace else the TOC hadn’t felt the need to inform me about. Either way, they weren’t my concern. Sarge told me I would get to ride the elevator again, but we needed to wait a few minutes while the patrol made its way toward the other side of the building. I kind of liked the idea of a few minutes of down time. The adrenaline had been pumping steady for about an hour now, and my body was starting to feel abused. I was tired and fatigued. I knew that if I rested too long, it would be hard to get going again, but a few minutes felt good. I sat down on the high-dollar carpet and rested my head against the wall. All too soon, the brief reprieve was over, and Sarge had me up and moving.
I was waiting in an office a few doors down from the southeast corner on the second floor and watching the two moving dots on my HUD. They seemed to be the only team that actually secured their floor by constantly walking the same path around the circular hallway. That made things easy for me. The dots passed in front of the door I was standing behind and didn’t slow down. About ten seconds later, they were a sufficient distance down the hall that they wouldn’t hear the door open.
They also didn’t hear the bullets that struck
the back of their heads and stopped all of their bodily functions.
“Two tangos down. Second floor clear,” I said with a sense of relief.
Sarge told me that I would be traveling back up to the sixth floor. Nothing else was going to happen in the building until I had that bomb in my hands again. I stepped in the elevator and pushed the number six on the panel. The doors starting closing.
“Stand by, Dog One. We have unknowns on the third floor.”
“What do you mean unknowns?”
“Unknowns. Go to the third floor. Now,” he added.
I quickly pushed the number three button, and Sarge brought up the layout of the next floor on my HUD. I saw two dots moving down the north hallway. Judging by their location, they wouldn’t see the elevator door open, but they would probably hear the ding when it got there.
I didn’t have a lot of time to set up, so I stayed at the now-open elevator door stopped on the third floor and waited for the unknowns to come around the corner. Damn. I didn’t like this. Not only was some of my element of surprise compromised by the telltale noise of the elevator arriving, I didn’t even know for sure who was coming at me. It’s a lot easier to take your opponent when you don’t have to determine whether or not to shoot, just when.
I heard a noise like crying as the two approached the corner. I could also hear a man’s voice speaking in passable, but heavily accented, English. The whimpering continued, and when they came into view, I saw why.
It was a man dressed in BDUs, and he was escorting a young woman by the arm. I only glanced at her and judged immediately that she was not a threat. He, however, received gunshot wounds to the neck and chin area. The woman screamed in response. She crumpled to the floor, and at first, I thought she was wounded. But she began to sob quietly, and I knew that physically, she was all right, but mentally, she might never be the same. Judging by the way her blouse was ripped and the tail was hanging out of her slacks, I assumed she had been sexually assaulted. I told her to stand up, but she didn’t respond.
I knelt down and looked at her. She returned my stare and didn’t seem alarmed or confused at the way I was dressed. She just seemed in shock. I could see in her eyes that she had been traumatized. As a cop I had seen it before.
“Come on,” I told her and gently pulled at her arm.
“Who are you?” I didn’t really know if she meant in general, as in a good guy or a bad guy, or what. Without giving it much thought, I told her what I always tell victims that I deal with. “I’m Sergeant Moffat with the Logan County Sheriff’s Department. You’re going to be okay.”
She rose up and glanced down at her attacker, who was bleeding out on the carpet. She didn’t make any comment or seem to even register the information, but walked with me, whimpering quietly every so often.
“Tango down, and I have a friendly in tow.”
“Roger, tango down and friendly in tow. Put her somewhere and keep going.” It sounded cold, but I knew what he was saying. Her life, however important it was to her and her loved ones, was inconsequential compared to completing the mission.
I left the young woman quietly sobbing in an office, and even though I was sure they saw it on their monitor as I looked at the number on the door, I told the TOC she was in office number three hundred twelve. I didn’t want there to be any mistakes. I wanted someone to come get her.
The elevator ride back up was almost casual, and I found myself letting the heavy M28 hang from the sling. I scolded myself for relaxing while there were still bad guys left in the building. No matter how improbable that I was about to cross one of them, it ain’t over till it’s over. I compromised with my fatigue and grabbed the grip of the dangling weapon so my finger was close to the trigger. I let the other arm hang.
The bomb was right where I left it. I had to ask Sarge the combination again for the safe, and he joked that he thought I had it. A few minutes later, I was standing at the exit door to the roof and was listening to a countdown from the TOC for HRT Blue Team.
“I have control,” someone was saying.
“Five, four, three … ”
I heard the blast and felt it slightly in the soles of my boots. They had undoubtedly used a breaching charge to enter the location the hostages were being held. I knew that they probably hadn’t needed it to make entry but had used it to stun the bad guys. It’s a good technique when it’s alright to make noise. Seconds later, I could hear the “thump, thump, thump” of the MH-6 Little Bird helicopter coming to pick up me and my package. I’d never ridden in a chopper before. It was a big day of firsts for me.
The chopper I was on landed briefly in a field a few miles out of St. Louis. I didn’t have any idea where I was, but there was another chopper, a Blackhawk, I think, on the ground and soldiers out on the perimeter. The bomb in the black case and I were moved to the other helicopter. I looked back as we lifted off and saw the Little Bird lifting off toward the other direction, presumably headed back near the scene in case it was needed.
I had no idea where I finally landed, other than it was obviously a military base. It turned out to be Scott AFB. When we landed, I was escorted to a conference room and given a fresh pair of BDUs to change into. Getting out of the ballistic jumpsuit felt good on my skin, but emotionally, it was somewhat of a letdown. I knew I’d probably never see it again, much less get to play with those toys again.
There were some apples and bananas on the table, along with a pitcher of water. I hadn’t realized how hungry and thirsty I was until I took a bite of the apple. I was on my second one when the door opened. A man dressed similarly to me came in, except I noticed he had some eagles on his lapel. He was not much taller than me but was built like an Abrams tank.
“Sergeant Moffat. Colonel Percy Rodriguez.” He held out his hand, and I took it. He shook hands like he meant it. His arms were short like his height but were ten times larger than mine. Even his fingers had bulging muscles. He was medium-to-dark skinned with short black hair. His face was not only clean-shaven; it looked polished and almost reflected the overhead lighting. He had obviously been a boxer at some point in his life, because his nose spread out on his face indicating there was not much cartilage left intact.
“Glad to meet you, Colonel.”
“No, sir. I’m glad to meet you.”
The debriefing ultimately included the Colonel’s aide, FBI SAC Stinson, a man in a suit, whom I could only identify as the man in the suit since he never identified himself, and a young officer with Counter Intelligence. I never figured out exactly who he was with either, but I really didn’t care. I had hoped Master Sergeant Todd Davis would have been there, but he wasn’t.
Had I known then what I realized later, that that initial debriefing was to be the first of many, I wouldn’t have filled in so many details. I guess part of my talking on and on was my way of trying to put the whole thing into perspective. It was the first time I had talked about my experience and, just like anyone that goes through an exciting event, I wanted to go back and recount it.
Everyone gave me hearty congratulations, and it was over. Colonel Rodriguez stayed in the room and everyone else left. I asked him about the girl, and he said she was recovered with everyone else and was all right. I asked about the hostages, and he told me that there was some gunfire at the end, and that one was killed, with another four wounded. He didn’t have anything to say about the hostage rescue itself and whether he felt I should have been involved. He seemed more than pleased with the way the whole thing had worked out.
I asked about calling home. He made no apologies and told me no. He assured me that my wife had been contacted by the FBI, and she had been told that I was all right. He admitted that they had considered not confirming at all that I had been in the building, but since my department knew exactly where I was, ergo, so did my wife. That’s when he made it clear to me that no one was going to know about what went on in the JP Goldstein building. I was going to have to give my briefing several more times, but it was never t
o be repeated to anyone who did not have clearance to hear it. He assumed that as time wore on, the list would get a little longer, but for the time being, it was shorter than mean old Uncle Fred’s Christmas list.
I had to admit, that bothered me a little. Not that I wanted to go around bragging about it, but war stories were part and parcel of a SWAT operator’s life. For good or for bad, that’s just how it is. It may be ego, or machismo, or just plain arrogance, but that’s how it is. It’s a SWAT thing. I didn’t even know anyone with a high enough clearance that I could talk to.
Some of the six briefings I gave over the next week were oriented to a specific topic. For instance, one was strictly about the equipment I had used. I found out my mission in the building had been the first actual real job in which the equipment had been used. There had been lots of field testing, but none under fire. I didn’t know if that made me proud or scared. Another debriefing had to do with how the terrorists had conducted themselves and their reactions to events. However, most of the briefings were the same as the first, with me repeating my story. I was beginning to actually tire of telling it by the third time and wondered why they didn’t just watch the video. That came at the end for me. It was the same day I met Master Sergeant Todd Davis.
I can’t say he was exactly what I expected, but then partly, he was. Instead of short and barrel-chested like Colonel Rodriguez, and what I had imagined him to be for some reason, he was tall and lanky. I’d guess about six feet tall and one-hundred-seventy-five pounds. He was lean with a dark tan almost the same skin color as the Middle Eastern yahoos that I had killed, only his wasn’t a natural dark skin like theirs or Colonel Rodriguez’s; his was from being in the sun a lot. His sparkling green eyes contrasted sharply with the tan and buzz-cut, dark-brown hair which was more than liberally salted with gray, even though I judged his age to only be around forty. Later, when I got to know him, I found out I was close; he was thirty-eight. In all, he was a handsome man who, according to the lines on his face and around his eyes, probably smiled a lot, which also surprised me. But the part I had already known about him and what made him so familiar to me was his voice. When I heard it in person, it still had the same cadence and reassuring tone as it had in my helmet. I would never forget what that voice sounded like.