Limits of Protection

by Kelly Utt

  “Roger that,“ I hear my uncle reply from the bunk above me.

  “On the way,” I echo.

  I’m already dressed in the uniform that I assume I’ll be wearing for the raid tonight, so the only thing to do is to put my boots on again. It feels strange to travel so light. I’m used to being a hands-on dad, carrying all sorts of bags and equipment for my young kiddos. Back home, there are toy bags, diaper bags, strollers, and car seats to shuffle around. There’s a lot to keep up with when you’re the parent of a young child. Multiply that by three and it’s even more intense. Here, I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something.

  I try not to think any further about what’s happening at home right now, or even what time it is in Lake Tahoe. It isn’t easy, but I know there will be time for that later. There’s nothing I can do for them from the other side of the world anyway, other than this mission. I trust Roddy to take care of everyone. And I trust the others to help him. I’m sure he and Marjorie are cooking up all kinds of good meals for the boys. I’m sure Mom is also doing her best to help out, in her own way. And I know Nicky will keep watch over Ali at the hospital. Hopefully, this mission will be a success and I’ll get back to them in Lake Tahoe soon. I don’t know for sure what to expect in terms of when I’ll be able to head home, but I don’t see why it couldn’t be tomorrow. I’m here to do a very specific job. Same as Liam. Once that’s done, we ought to be able to get out of here and get back to the family. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. But really, I don’t see why they would need to keep us longer. Our orders are to assess the tech and the capabilities, then burn the terrorists’ facility to the ground. Easy enough.

  I stop by the restroom again and splash some water on my face, then I follow the team to the chow hall, only when I get there I see that we’re eating in a briefing room. On the table in front of each of our chairs is a boxed meal. I’m well acquainted with these boxed meals. They’re nothing to get too excited about, but they could be worse. They are a lot better than MREs. I take a seat and open mine up. It’s a ham and cheese sandwich with a side of chips and an apple. There’s a can of soda to drink and a cookie for dessert. It will do. Colonel Becker and two other high-ranking officers I’ve never seen before walk in. Now I understand that we’re going to be briefed on the mission while we eat. Air-conditioning blows forcefully into the room. They want us to be comfortable enough.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” our commander begins.

  Becker again reminds me of a college professor. This time, it’s because of the way he slowly paces back-and-forth in front of the room while one finger rests on his lips. It’s easy to imagine him wearing a tweed sportcoat and dark-rimmed glasses while talking to students in a large stone building on a leafy university campus. Perhaps he’ll do just that when he retires from the Air Force.

  “Good evening,” we say back, in unison.

  Becker looks at the floor and puts one hand on his hip while keeping the other one perched on his lips. A somber and serious expression settles over his face. The gravity of what we’re here to do tonight permeates the room. I take a bite of my sandwich and chew quietly, ready to listen.

  “We’re here tonight,“ he begins. “For a very important mission. It’s a mission that’s critical to the national security of the United States of America and our allies.“

  I look over at Liam who is seated next to me. Becker seems to be repeating himself in saying the same thing he did to us back at Nellis before we got on the plane, but I don’t mind. He seems good at the pep talk.

  “It’s a mission that, if successful, will thwart a coordinated terrorist attack which would threaten the lives of millions of our fellow Americans,” he continues. “Americans like your own families. Like your wives and your husbands. Like your children. Your grandparents. Your neighbors, your teachers, and so many more. Each one of you has been selected for a very specific purpose. No one is here by accident. I’ve chosen you individually from a pool of hundreds of thousands of U.S. service personnel. I’ve chosen you because of your intelligence, your expertise, and your bravery.”

  Tucker Eriksson nods. He’s sitting two rows in front of me, so I can’t see the front of his face. But I can see in his body language that he’s proud. He’s ready. The men on his SEAL team are ready to follow him into any peril they may encounter on the way to succeeding in their mission. No task is too difficult. No challenge insurmountable. I’m again reminded of how much Tucker looks like a real like Viking or a superhero. He embodies everything that a typical American would want from the SEAL team leader charging in to protect the people of our great nation.

  Colonel Becker is in full-blown speech mode now as he continues. “The enemy that we face is a dangerous one. The intel we have on this terrorist organization indicates that they are ruthless. They come from war-torn countries here in the Middle East and they are steeped in a culture of wanting revenge against our freedom and way of life. They don’t have compassion for us. Their only desire is to see death and destruction come to the shores of our homeland.“

  “Excuse me, Colonel, respectfully,“ Tucker asks, raising his hand. Colonel Becker nods for him to go ahead with the question. “Do we know the name of this organization? It seems like it would be good to know what they call themselves so we know exactly whose ass we’re kicking.”

  The group erupts into nervous laughter and a few grunts from the SEAL team. Becker doesn’t get carried away, but he cracks a smile. I suppose he wants the SEALs thinking in terms of kicking ass. I certainly would if I were in his shoes.

  “They call themselves lahith,” the Colonel says. “In English, the word translates to out of breath.”

  Now, the room goes silent. The name is weighty. We understand the deeper meaning behind the name. And we don’t like it.

  Colonel Becker pauses for a few moments and looks back at the two other colonels sitting behind him. Then, finally, he continues.

  “Make no mistake,“ he says in his professor voice. “This bears repeating. Our enemy wants to see Americans dead. And they want to carry out their attacks in the most cowardly way. They don’t have the courage to face us head-on. But rather, they’ve stolen our technology and they want to use chemical agents in an attack which they intend to be as insidious as it is cruel. If they’re successful, the attack they would perpetrate on our country will be the worst we’ve ever seen. Worse even than 9/11. Their plan is to release chemical nerve agents over five major U.S. cities. Millions of people are in danger.“

  Colonel Becker pauses again, letting that thought hang in the air.

  I take a look around the room at the faces of the other people preparing for this monumental task with me. I still think they’re all up to it. I’m impressed by that. No matter what happens tonight, these people and I will share a bond like no other. We’ve been gathered in this specific place and time to do something so very important. We’re a response team. We’re here to keep the peace and to, quite literally, save the day.

  Becker continues his pep talk and begins to go over logistics. Tucker Eriksson soaks it all up like a sponge. It’s obvious he’s a good team leader for the SEALs. The chemical weapons guys look as confused as I feel and I’m glad I’m not the only one. But Becker takes time to recite the details again and again until we’re all comfortable with them. He utilizes a to-scale model of the facility and its surrounding area. The lab is part of a compound that’s located underneath thick layers of concrete and steel. We couldn’t drop a bomb on it if we wanted to because doing so would only take out a single layer and wouldn’t destroy what’s buried down deep. We haven’t been able to get eyes inside either. The intel we have is from an informant.

  Tucker Eriksson stops Becker to ask how reliable he thinks the informant is. In response, Becker turns to Frida Price, who assures us her source is good.

  “I can never be one hundred percent sure,” Frida says before clearing her throat and raising her voice. “I’ve been assigned to watch this group now for sev
eral years. We know their movements. We know their methodologies. This informant has provided us information which has proven to be spot-on in the past. And it matches up with what we know about how this group operates. I’m as sure as I can possibly be. You have my word. The intel is good.”

  “Affirmative” Colonel Becker says. “Agent Price, tell us what you know.“

  Frida stands up for her part of the briefing. She’s a petite woman who isn’t very tall at all. I don’t want to take away from her as a professional by discussing her height, but her short stature makes me admire her bravery even more. She’s so small that almost any adult could pick her up and carry her away if they wanted to. That has to be scary when you’re working undercover in hostile parts of the world. Frida clears her throat for a second time before sharing details.

  “The lab facility is located in a small village,” she explains. “We know the exact location of it and the surrounding buildings. Our satellites have been able to give us clear images from the top. There’s a church next door with a high steeple which can be used as a perch for a sniper. Colonel Becker intends to get our own sniper up there in position to provide cover just as soon as we set foot on the premises.”

  Becker nods his head forcefully in agreement.

  “On the other side,” Frida continues. “There’s a building full of flats where dozens of people live. It’s important to get in and out without any civilian casualties if it all possible. The situation is tricky, however, because intel also indicates that some of the terrorists live in that building. The terrorists don’t dress any differently the regular citizens. Telling them apart will be nearly impossible.”

  That’s unnerving, but I decide not to concern myself with that part. I’m here to assess the technology, so I focus on the lab and will figure the rest out when I get there. When terrorists need to be identified and decisions need to be made about their elimination, I’ll leave that to Tucker Eriksson. Part of his job is to learn the faces of the targets and to identify them quickly when he encounters them. I don’t know how he does it. I don’t envy that aspect of his job. For tonight, I’m just going to hope that Tucker can do it successfully and I’ll leave it at that.

  Frida sits down, finished with her part.

  Next, Colonel Becker moves on to the topic of our equipment and gear. We will each have a uniform that covers our entire body. We’ll have helmets and visors to keep the sand out of our eyes. We will each have an automatic weapon, as well as a pistol and a knife. Since we know we’re walking into a chemical weapons factory, our team will also be carrying antidotes for the most common nerve toxins we expect to find.

  To be honest, the potential for release of nerve toxins scares me the most. I’ve been issued a gas mask in the past, and I’ve been briefed on how to handle a chemical weapons attack. But other branches of the service have had much more extensive training. I’ve heard of Marines and other troops who are often on the ground and more susceptible to such an attack say what it was like when they experienced exposure to a nerve agent. Their training is different because they’re required to get into a gas chamber to know what it feels like. They have to keep their minds on straight long enough to put on their masks and then give themselves two shots in the leg. One kills the toxin they breathed in, and the other kills the toxin they just injected. It sounds downright harrowing. I can’t help but wonder how I’d react in that situation. I’ve never been tested, so I don’t know. I’d like to think I’d keep my head on straight and do the shots in the right order. It sounds like a damn scary situation. Again, if we get into anything hairy, I’m going to look to the SEAL team to take the lead and help the rest of us through it. That’s one thing that I greatly admire about the United States military. If there’s any chance of making a rescue, they don’t leave fellow soldiers behind.

  Finally, Colonel Becker goes over the steps in chronological order to be sure everyone is on the same page. We’re given code words for each benchmark that we meet. Becker instructs us to communicate using only those benchmark code words on our coms so enemy fighters aren’t clued in to what we’re talking about. Eriksson will take the lead on communicating with Becker and Mark Puckett back at home base. But it’s important for all of us to know what’s happening in the event that Eriksson is unable to do his duty and we have to move down through the chain of command.

  Once Colonel Becker is sure we all are crystal clear on the instructions and details of the op, he tells us to make final preparations and meet at the helicopter in thirty minutes. The entire group of us quickly files out of the briefing room and back to the barracks. The SEALs lead the way with, of course, Tucker Eriksson in the front of the pack. The rest of us stand taller and walk prouder in their company. No one says a word. It’s an almost eerie silence because what we’re doing here tonight feels surreal. The focused energy and the power with which we come to the task is palpable.

  Liam and I look straight ahead rather than at each other, but we stand shoulder to shoulder. Every time we line up or sit down or get into formation, we stick together. It’s me and him. Him and me. We have each other‘s backs no matter what. We will have each other‘s backs until the end. It’s unspoken, but we know it like we know our own names.

  Once we’ve all used the facilities one last time and put on our gear, we head towards the flight line. When the doors open and we step from inside the building to the outdoors, the sun is going down and I can tell the temperature has dropped as compared to what it was when we arrived this afternoon. The sky is lit up in brilliant shades of pinks and reds.

  I think to myself about how our team will undoubtedly kill people tonight. We hope those people are all terrorists because we certainly don’t want to kill any civilians. But we don’t take it lightly that anyone has to die. I laughed with the rest of the group when Tucker Eriksson was asking the name of whose asses we would be kicking, but that doesn’t mean I take it lightly. As I look up at the sky, I think seriously about the people who will die. Although I don’t know what they’re doing this evening, I’m sure they all have loved ones. Some of them might be eating dinner with their families right now and looking out at this same sunset. Others might be tucking their young children into bed. Tomorrow, they won’t come home. Their families will wake up, and they’ll be forever missing an important member of their group.

  I trust that the U.S. intelligence community has done diligent work and that this is, in fact, the only way to prevent the death of millions of Americans. It’s a big deal.

  Some people might say that I shouldn’t take it seriously or spend time worrying about our enemies, but they are human beings. I do think about them. I hate war, same as Mom. I’d like nothing more than to live in a peaceful world where war isn’t necessary. I’d like to live in a world with open borders where we could come and go as we please without any concern of being harmed or taken advantage of. I’d like to live in a world where we could sit down and talk about our differences, then come to a resolution which would be beneficial for everyone involved. But I’ve seen too much.

  During my time in the military, I’ve been to places which have been ravaged and pillaged by truly evil people. I’ve seen developing countries where they don’t have the infrastructure or the opportunities to provide their people with productive work they can be proud of. I’ve seen the horrors of violence and bloodshed. I’ve even seeing regimes that would harm their own citizens. It’s sickening and it’s terrible. But the sad fact of the world we live in is that we, as Americans along with our allies, sometimes have to fight to protect our way of life. And I don’t say that from a political standpoint. I say it as a human being and a soldier who cares about my family. I say it as a protector. It’s time for me to do my part and to be a protector now.

  As I walk with the group towards the helicopter on the tarmac, for some reason, I’m reminded of my old elementary school bully from Brooklyn, Johnny Triff. That kid was such a little punk. I’ll never forget him making fun of me for being poor and sayin
g that my dad must not have known what he was doing in business when, in fact, my dad grew his business to be very successful. Johnny just saw it in the building and growing phases. He didn’t know what he was talking about anyway. But he sent me home crying on more than one occasion. And really, what I experienced with Johnny was nothing compared to what a lot of kids go through. Some bullies are downright vicious. And they are often violent, too. I’m convinced bullies are all the same whether they are elementary school punks or grown-up terrorists planning to release chemical weapons over major cities. At a fundamental level, they are people who have experienced pain and poor treatment themselves, so they take their anger and frustration out on others who are vulnerable. It’s a sad cycle of hurt and pain. But it’s up to those of us who can see it for what it is to stand up. It’s imperative that we stand up and say we won’t allow it. Not on our watch. Not in our lives. Not in our world.

  The blades of the helicopter beat rapidly and make a gentle thumping sound in the air as my uncle and I step inside. Special ops helicopters like the one we’re riding on are surprisingly quiet. Liam goes first, his shoulders back, his head up, and his eyes straight ahead. He’s the picture of true bravery. I mimic his body language, feeling the valor in every cell of my body. The helicopter doors close behind us just as the sun disappears for the day. I take my seat and strap in, then our pilot lifts us off the ground. There’s no turning back now. We’re on our way to save the day.

  11

  Meaningful Pursuits

  When I was a little boy, I never consciously knew I would be a soldier. As best as I can recall, I never wanted to be a soldier. I played with a few toy soldiers and prop guns here and there. I watched G.I. Joe on television. But it wasn’t a big focus for me. I don’t remember it being a big focus in Brooklyn, in general.