Eventually, with much grunting and a liberal amount of cursing—Bear could swear in five languages besides English—they finally mated the camper with the truck. They adopted Ben’s suggestion and applied copious amounts of dirt, mud, and a little rust-red spray paint, effectively matching the splotches of bird shit and peeling paint that already streaked the silver truck.
Removing the screws allowed the window between the camper and the truck to be fully removed, so that now any of the guys could crawl through from the cab of the truck to the camper and vice-versa. Ben and Max made bets as to just how long it would take Bear to crawl through the window—Bear declining to take up that particular challenge, arguing it was beneath him.
Pulling out the central convertible table/bed combination inside the camper made room for Max’s shopping cart disguise prop. Deckert had spotted a reasonably rusted shopping cart sitting in a ditch behind a shopping mall while out buying commo gear for the team. He and Bear had driven back out and grabbed up the cart, as well as an assortment of milk crates, boxes, and general junk.
Max draped himself with some of the worst clothes that could be found, along with rubber boots that had seen better days. He had a pair of rubber-soled boat shoes with him that he slipped into the pockets of the very ratty overcoat Ben had pulled from his car trunk. The shoes were for climbing up the ladder to the billboard, the coat had been the one MacKenzie put on when changing a tire in bad weather.
With his cleaned, tested, and zeroed TTR-700 rifle in its case underneath his filthy fisherman’s sweater, Max was now one of the best equipped and most dangerous street people soon to haunt the corridors of downtown Detroit. Max didn’t carry a sidearm, but he did have a razor-sharp Gerber Command II combat knife in its scabbard hanging pommel-down underneath the left side of his sweater. A strategic hole in the sweater made the knife quickly available.
When slid silently from the black nylon of the scabbard, the nearly seven-inch-long blade with a serrated back edge at the tip made for an intimidating tool. Its appearance alone would make anyone Max might run into on the street pause before accosting him further.
To take care of communications, Deckert located several sets of Motorola “Talkabout” T5420 radios. The little transceivers, not much bigger than the average cellular phone, were about as secure as the Motorolas Reaper and Bear had used back in the SEAL Teams. The little hand-held radios had fourteen available channels and thirty-eight quiet codes to cut back on interference. Those same codes would help add to the communications security of the team. A two-way boom mike and earphone setup helped complete the communications rig. The voice-activated transmitter made it possible to use the radios hands-free.
A little discreet tinkering with the radios by Deckert deactivated the call tone that announced an incoming signal. It wouldn’t do to have a radio beep, no matter what the tone, while Reaper and Bear tried to silently infiltrate what could be considered an enemy stronghold. Rechargeable batteries were abandoned since they just didn’t have the time to charge up enough sets to use before Reaper wanted the operation underway.
Fresh batteries were installed in all of the radios and carefully tested. The little sets had a two-mile range over flat terrain; they would do extremely well over the limited distances of the mission site. Deckert taped a set of tested spare batteries to the back of each radio—just in case.
“It’s amazing what one can buy at RadioShack,” Deckert quipped lightly.
Ben MacKenzie wore his normal clothes, a long-sleeved denim shirt and dark Levi’s. He would maintain the watch on the operation from inside the cab of the pickup truck. Deckert reprogrammed the police scanner that Max had installed long ago to make certain that they were matched to the local Detroit police and emergency frequencies. He set up a second scanner for State and Federal frequencies. For weapons, Ben had his own pump-action Remington shotgun, one with a standard five-shot magazine and an eighteen-inch barrel. A pistol grip replaced the stock of the Remington to make it more manageable in the close confines of the truck cab. The shotgun was Ben’s primary vehicle weapon and he had clips installed under the front seat of the truck that held the shotgun securely and concealed.
Underneath the dash of the truck, Max had a second weapon secured, a blued-steel Smith & Wesson six-and-a-half-inch barreled Model 29 .44 magnum, the Dirty Harry gun itself. The big revolver showed signs of long, but careful, use. And the cylinder, filled with Federal Gold Medal 250-grain metal-cased slugs, gave it a deadly look. After showing it to Ben and Bear, Max slipped the magnum revolver back underneath the dash into a hidden holster accessible by the driver.
“Why drag such a huge thing around, even if you do carry it in a truck?” Bear asked.
“Full metal-jacketed loads,” Max said with a smile, “high velocity. They kill cars dead.”
“Uh-huh,” was Bear’s only comment.
For his personal weapon, Ben used what he had brought with him, turning down Deckert’s offer of anything in the shop. Ben slipped a 9mm Glock 19 into a concealed holster in the Bianchi K. O. 200 fanny pack secured around his waist. Two spare magazines rested in the pouch of the fanny pack. The magazines and weapon were loaded with Winchester 125-grain silvertip hollow points, a load Ben said had served him well for years.
As a backup weapon, Ben wore a Brauer lightweight ankle holster holding a simple five-shot Smith & Wesson Chief’s Special revolver. The compact little snub-nosed revolver had been modified by having the spur of the hammer removed. Other than that it remained a stock gun. Loaded with Federal 125-grain .38 Special jacketed hollowpoint Hydra-Shok ammo, the little gun could still be a potent stopper.
When Bear asked Ben why he carried such a small weapon in such an outdated holster, the smaller man answered simply, “You can draw it easily when sitting in a car, or an ambulance.”
Giving the statement a little thought, Bear realized the logic of the man’s choice. Sitting in a car, you could reach an ankle easily. When sitting, it would actually be faster to draw from than a belt or shoulder holster—something that made a lot of sense given Ben’s job as an emergency medical technician, riding around in ambulances all day long.
The time had come for Reaper and Bear to gear up and make ready for the operation. Bear had tested all of the weapons, and Reaper had made time to check-fire them himself. Everything was mechanically fine and operating properly. Bear winced a bit as they finished up on the range. When Reaper asked him about it, Bear said that it was nothing, only a headache. After going back in the house to get ready for the op, Bear reappeared his old smiling self again after taking what he said was a handful of aspirin.
The gear both men would wear on the operation had been spread out across their beds. Everything they had was new, unworn, and unexposed to their everyday environment. There would be no isolated hairs, fibers, or anything else to give forensic people something to track. One couldn’t seal off everything, but Bear and Reaper were determined to make sure they left as little as possible behind.
Black Royal Robbins 5.11 range pants, the choice of the FBI and other agencies, had also been the choice of Reaper and Bear on the op. A set of PACA Thunder concealable body armor went over their brown T-shirts. The Level IIIA vests, made of a hybrid Zylon fabric over 0.200-inch thick, had proven capable of stopping a 9mm full-jacketed slug moving at 1,639 feet per second.
Wrapping the waist straps around the flexible black vests snugged them in tight to their sides. Neither SEAL would be wearing the hard trauma plate that would have given them additional armor protection. The plates would have reduced their range of movement and they had a hard climb ahead of them to get on top of the Factory building. Armor couldn’t protect everything, no matter how much of it you wore, so you simply had to decide when enough was enough and go with what worked for you.
Generic long-sleeve black cotton shirts went on over the vests. The shirts could be bought all over the country at department stores, but still they removed the labels from them. Slipping on the black Bates S
pyder Sidewinder leather/nylon boots, both SEALs pulled the laces tight. The soft-sided flexible boots had a deeply formed rubber outsole that gripped well and made climbing a little easier.
A BlackHawk CQB/Emergency rescue rigger belt went on over the pants. The heavy belts were made of 7,000-pound tensile strength black-nylon webbing and had a 5,000-pound test black-anodized aluminum nonlocking snap carabiner snapped through the parachute-grade adapter that was part of the belt’s construction. If they had to, both SEALs knew that they could hang by the belts and trust them to support their weight.
Pouches and holsters went on the belts. Reaper had the special thigh holster on his right side to hold the Serbu Super-Shorty shotgun. On his left side, he secured an Omega TalonFlex MP5/Flash Bang thigh rig pouch. The pouch held two spare thirty-round curved stick magazines for Reaper’s MP5K-PDW. Each magazine was filled with a full thirty rounds of EBR 9mm Hush Puppy ammunition. With the magazine in his weapon, Reaper would have ninety rounds for the entire op—and he planned to come back with most or all of them.
What Reaper wouldn’t be carrying on this operation was any flash bang distraction grenades. He had chosen his specific ammo pouch so that he could carry a half-dozen spare Mark II bean bag 12-gauge rounds, three in each flash-bang pocket. The Serbu Super-Short was a handy little shotgun, but it had a very limited magazine capacity.
In his right front pants pocket, Reaper slipped in his Emerson Commander-BTS knife—clipping it to the pocket so that its Wave feature could snap open the blade if needed. Reaper made a mental note to himself to keep an eye out for his Emerson CQC-7BW. That knife had disappeared along with Musclehead and his injured arm. He would have to try and get it back, while maybe discussing philosophy with Musclehead along the way.
Over his shirt, Reaper secured a Chalker sling, designed and patented by a fellow SEAL some years before. The Chalker allowed almost any shoulder weapon to be carried by a single attachment point. The weapon could then be shouldered without breaking the seal on a gas mask—something that wasn’t a consideration for Reaper on this mission.
The sling also allowed a weapon to be dropped immediately so that a secondary weapon could be drawn—the dropped weapon hanging down from the center of the wearer’s chest. Lastly, it was just a very good sling to climb with, and there was going to be a lot of climbing on this operation.
A Chalker Hi-port weapons catch was secured to the upper left shoulder strap of Reaper’s Chalker sling. He clipped the standoff adapter at the back of the MP5K-PDW’s receiver to the brass snap shackle on the center front of his chest. The snap shackle was rated at five hundred pounds breaking strength, so Reaper felt it could securely hold his submachine gun.
The Gemtech Raptor suppressor was attached to the barrel of the MP5K-PDW, the suppressor secured to the three lugs on the H&K weapon’s barrel. The Hi-port adapter had a quick-release Velcro strap to it that wrapped around the suppressor on the weapon and secured it to the upper part of Reaper’s left shoulder. The MP5K-PDW was so short that even with the nine-inch-long black Raptor suppressor installed, it still didn’t stick up past Reaper’s left shoulder. It would be well out of the way while climbing.
A pair of inner shells from a set of FOG—Fast-rope Operator Gloves—went on Reaper’s hands. He didn’t need the protection of the normal heavy leather padded outer FOG shells for this operation. But the glove liners would protect his hands, and help keep him from leaving any fingerprints around. Under the front of his belt, Reaper tucked a black Hatch Nomex balaclava hood.
The Nomex hood would protect his face from the flash and heat of a fire or explosion, not something Reaper expected to need. But it also covered his face with a nonreflective black cloth, all but his eyes. The hood prevented either SEAL from requiring black face paint. Black camouflage makeup was something that would be hard to get off quickly if they had to shed their gear and blend into a group of civilians.
In each of his back pockets, Reaper slipped a four-foot length of 7mm black Kernmantle nylon climbing rope. The two ends of the line were tied together with a fisherman’s knot—making the rope a single big loop. The two loops would be used to make prussic knots if they needed them.
Prussic knots were a climbing aid that could slip along a rope or pipe. When pressure was put on the loop of rope hanging from a prussic knot, the knot tightened up and wouldn’t slip down. Taking the pressure off loosened the knot and it could again be slipped upward. Using the knots, a climber could hold position easily and free his hands for other work.
Reaper strapped a black Casio G-Shock watch to his left wrist. Finally, he slipped the black Motorola Talkabout radio into his upper-left shirt pocket. The wire for the two-way boom headset went underneath Reaper’s Chalker sling strap and was secured to his shirt with a simple safety pin. The EarGel earpiece had been fitted to Reaper’s ear only a hour earlier, and it now slipped in snugly. After checking out his rig, jumping, twisting, and turning in it to see if anything shook loose, rattled, or snagged, Reaper signaled the others that he was ready to go. He pulled the earpiece out and let the light headset dangle from its wire.
Bear rigged up essentially the same as Reaper. He wore the same clothes, boots, belt, rig, and sling as his partner did with changes to fit his weapons. For a thigh holster, Bear wore a BlackHawk Omega VI assault holster with the bottom opened up to allow the passage of the Whispertech suppressor attached to the barrel of the Beretta M92-F pistol he carried. Bear carrying the Beretta gave both men a suppressed weapon for quiet shooting. Two straps secured the holster to Bear’s thigh and a spare magazine went in the pouch on the front of the holster body.
On his left thigh Bear secured an Omega shot shell pouch. Each of the two pouches on the thigh rig held ten rounds of 12-gauge ammunition secured in place under inch and a half-wide elastic strapping loops. The Chalker sling and standoff adapter did fine for holding Bear’s Jackhammer Mark 3-A3. With the adapter mounted just behind the pistol grip of the Jackhammer, the weapon balanced easily and hung freely in the muzzle-down position.
The same style of Hi-port adapter that Reaper had used held Bear’s Jackhammer muzzle-up with the flash hider of the gun secured to his left shoulder. The two spare ammunition cassettes Bear had available fit into Blackhawk shotgun shell pouches. The pouches were intended to hold twenty-five rounds of 12-gauge ammunition, secured under an elastic strap, but each would secure only one of the thick, round ammunition cassettes. Bear secured the pouches to the front of his belt, one on either side of the buckle.
In spite of his different load of ammunition and equipment, Bear could move as well as Reaper in his rig. Now both men stood armed and ready to operate.
Putting on long, black overcoats covered up their gear with only a few bulges suggesting that the two men might not be all they seemed. The ammo pouches and thick action of the Jackhammer made Bear look almost potbellied under his coat. Anyone mistaking the SEAL for a jolly fat guy would have been in for a serious surprise. As Bear looked at Reaper, he broke out with a laugh.
“Ho, ho, ho,” Bear laughed. “All you need are a pair of dark glasses and you would look like a Neo-wannabe from The Matrix.”
“The what?” Reaper asked.
“A movie. You don’t get out much, do you?”
“Not enough to go see a movie,” Reaper said. “Now let’s go down for the brief-back.”
“And more,” Bear said as he grabbed up a paper bag.
Reaper shook his head for a moment about his friend’s antics. Over the last day, Bear could be up or down depending on the moment. Yet he couldn’t fault his friend for loyalty, and he felt incredibly grateful for his assistance.
Everyone else was already sitting around the kitchen table when Reaper and Bear came down the stairs, except for Max, who had been relegated to the kitchen counter, as close to downrange as he could be placed in the room. Part of Max’s disguise as a street person included the wafty aroma of his dirty and somewhat moldy clothes. Basically, he smelled like a wine-soaked compost
heap that someone had slipped something into that shouldn’t be there. Simply put—he stank.
“Wow, nice disguise,” Bear said as he exaggerated a swallow and twisted his head around.
Max refused to be goaded by the SEAL and simply sat and waited for Reaper to begin.
“Okay, brief-back time,” Reaper said. “Each man tell his part of the plan. You go first Max.”
“I get dropped off with my cart underneath this railroad bridge here,” Max pointed at the map Reaper had spread out over the table, “at 2015 hours. Sunset is at 2045 hours. I have about an hour of light to get to the bottom of the billboard and nest-up. I’m to be in position on the billboard platform and good to go by 2200 hours. I have freedom to fire in support of the op but only with positive target identification. My time for drive-by extraction is 0445 hours. And I should bring my cart along if I have the opportunity.”
“Okay, Ben,” Reaper continued, “your turn.”
“I drive the truck and maintain radio watch on the scanners and our own commo throughout the op,” Ben said. “If there’s anything coming across the police or emergency net, I notify everyone and head for the emergency rally point. When possible, I maintain communications with Deckert here over a cell phone, keeping the net secure. After off-loading Max and his cart under the bridge, I park over in the industrial area across the highway where you and Bear did for your OP.
“Driving back into the target area, I drop you and Bear here in this neighborhood at 0230 hours. This is as close as I can approach to the target without chancing being seen. It only gives you and Bear a few blocks to walk to get to the target, most of that distance can be covered through the alleys. After dropping you off, sorry, inserting you…”
“You make it sound so kinky,” Bear said.
“Knock it off, Bear,” Reaper said, wondering what had gotten into his friend. Bear had never before wisecracked during the final prep for an op.
Undeclared War Page 20