Independence Day

by Bob Mayer

  “That don’t make sense,” Roland said.

  “It does if you study their history,” Eagle said. He shifted to Dane. “How do we know it even happened, then?”

  “Our agent in the era,” Edith said, “indicates that the mission went. I scoured intelligence data and there is enough evidence that twelve men from Shayetet 13 did parachute into Lake Victoria very early on the Fourth.”

  “And?”

  Edith’s voice quivered a little as she answered. “They were never heard of again.”

  Roland broke the short silence by summing it up: “That sucks.”

  Eagle gave Edith a re-assuring smile. “All right. Maybe they succeeded, but the Israelis wanted to focus on the primary attack that brought the hostages back. So they suppressed any news of it. Keep their other tactics a secret.”

  Edith’s eyes were now glistening.

  Dane covered for her. “When the planes returned to Israel, it was a public celebration. The media was there. Every person getting off those planes was accounted for. There weren’t twelve additional commandos.”

  “They could have snuck off,” Moms said. “Or stayed hidden on board until the excitement died down, and—”

  “They never came back,” Dane said, with a finality ending all speculation. He explained. “Edith was able to track down information that twelve members of Shayetet 13 were stricken from the rolls shortly afterward. Death benefits were paid to the families. We have a report from a Navy SEAL who did an exchange program with Shayetet 13 in the Eighties that they have a wall of honor in their team room.” He indicated the table on which was carved the names of the dead from the Time Patrol. “There were twelve names recorded there, grouped together.”

  “That double sucks,” Roland said.

  “I don’t understand,” Eagle said. “Why am I going with a team on a mission that failed? Where they all died? How could history change?” He understood as soon as he said it out loud. “The Shadow wants them to succeed.”

  Dane nodded. “That’s the best guess. Or, somehow, the water infiltration affects the overall operation.”

  “I see two main issues if it affects the overall raid,” Eagle said. “The entire thing turning into a disaster, or the one Israeli KIA not being KIA. I’m not sure which would have a greater impact.”

  Dane took them one at a time. “If the mission failed, it would set back counter-terrorism for a decade. Munich was a disaster in 1972. Entebbe changed the tenor. Most people think of the SAS taking down the Iranian Embassy in 1980 as the start of counter-terrorism, but it was really Entebbe. The Israelis showed what an elite, well-trained force could do in terms of hostage rescue. You’ve got to remember that the Seventies was a decade with dozens of airplanes hijacked. That changed after Entebbe.” He sighed. “As far as the KIA, that’s more nebulous. Certainly, it has affected the current Prime Minister of Israeli and his outlook on the peace process.”

  Roland, as usual, was out of the loop. “How did one KIA do that?”

  Eagle looked at Roland. “The only commando killed, at least publicly, was the commander of the assault force. Jonathan Netanyahu.” Noting Roland’s blank look at the name. “The older brother of the current Prime Minister of Israel.”

  “Oh,” Roland said.

  Eagle continued. “He might never have been elected Prime Minister without his brother having been the hero of Entebbe.”

  “Perhaps,” Dane allowed. “Let’s not get caught up in the possibilities.”

  “We’re in the Possibility Palace,” Scout noted dryly.

  “Let’s look at it another way,” Eagle said. “The Shayetet 13 commandos succeed. Colonel Netanyahu isn’t killed. That would change Israel’s history. They’d probably have a different Prime Minister.”

  “It is a possibility,” Dane said.

  “Bottom line, I have to keep their mission from succeeding,” Eagle said.

  “Without getting killed yourself,” Moms added.

  “That’s implicit,” Eagle said, glancing at Edith who was trying to keep it together. “But what about my skin? This is an Israeli op? How—”

  “There were African Jews in the Israeli military,” Dane said. “And a black commando would have been chosen specifically for this mission.”

  Eagle nodded. “All right. Got it.”

  There was a short silence, which meant Dane was done.

  “What about tokens?” Moms asked Edith. “Anything to help us?”

  Edith nodded. She passed a thin leather briefcase to Moms. “That contains documents that will establish your cover as working for a solicitor in Charlottesville whom Jefferson sometimes employed in various business arrangements. There are original documents between that solicitor and Jefferson in there that will help. That should get you at least in the front door of Monticello.” She looked a little worried and couldn’t help but add, “The documents from Jefferson, in his hand, with his signature, are very valuable.”

  “So am I,” Moms said as she took it. “So I’m to use this to get into Monticello to do that which we know not.”

  Eagle was startled, as were the others who’d been Nightstalkers, as it was the first time Moms had ever complained about a mission in front of them.

  Edith flushed, knowing she’d gone one sentence too far, and quickly tried to make up for it. She withdrew two items wrapped in red cloth. “While some of you are armed as part of your mission, we felt it was best, given the attempts on your lives, that everyone have some kind of weapon. These are for Moms and Doc.”

  She unwrapped one of the items, revealing a narrow dagger in a metal sheath. There was ornate engraving on the outside of the sheath. She held it out to Moms. “This is an actual blade forged in 1815.”

  Moms took it, slid the knife out, then reached over to picked up a piece of paper and sliced it. The blade cut through easily.

  “We had the edges finished,” Edith said. “Finer than any blade of the time period, but no one can see that. You can conceal it in your petticoat.”

  Moms nodded. “Thank you.”

  She handed the other dagger to Doc. “From the time era. Also precision sharpened.”

  Doc took it and tucked it underneath his frock coat.

  “There’s something else that might help you,” Edith said to Doc. “The early morning of the Fourth, in Independence Hall, which was the State House of Pennsylvania then, a small group was completing the final copy of the Declaration of Independence. Final edits. They were the Committee of Five. Jefferson wrote the whole thing, but they worked together on editing, especially after getting feedback from the entire Congress.” She pulled twelve-inch long, narrow leather tube out of her satchel. “In here is an original Dunlap Broadside copy of the Declaration of Independence. There are only twenty-six known copies still in existence. You might find it useful in some way.” She didn’t add how valuable that was, because it was obvious.

  Doc took the tube and slide it inside his frock, opposite the dagger.

  “That’s all I have,” Edith said.

  “We need a moment,” Moms said to Dane.

  “We’ll be waiting at the Gates,” Dane said as he escorted Edith and Sin Fen out of the room.

  Moms stood up and looked around the table. “I’m not going to give the usual ‘why we are here’. It’s a ritual, but it’s one we’ve brought with us from the Nightstalkers. I’ll give it again, of course. When there is someone here who hasn’t heard it before.”

  The brought somber glances between the others, as they knew that would occur only when there was a need for a new person to be sitting at the table.

  She pointed at the Time Patrol tab Eagle had drawn over the door. “We’re evolving. Just as the Shadow is evolving. Each time we go back, at least one of us experiences a wrinkle that we haven’t seen before or expected. We lost Mac on our last mission. We’ll probably never know what happened to him. But the harsh truth is we all sensed Mac was reaching his limit. After we got back from the Black Tuesday mission, Eagle an
d I met with him privately and asked him if he wanted off.”

  That surprised the others who hadn’t been aware of the meeting.

  “His reply, and I quote, was ‘never’,” Moms said. “And he did seem calmer.”

  “He was,” Scout said. “I sensed it in him. He’d made peace with the demons that were tormenting him during the Ides of March mission. I don’t know what made the change, but it was there.”

  “He’d made peace,” Moms said, “but perhaps he’d made too much peace. Maybe he was just done. I’ll grant anyone the respect of saying they’re done. At any time. Even right now. If any of you don’t want to go on this mission, speak now. No one will think any less of you. I don’t care that we’ve been briefed. That we’re ready to go. You, every one of you, is more important than the mission.”

  She looked each team member in the eye, held it for a few seconds, then moved to the next. She lingered longest on Eagle.

  He stood. “Since we’re all agreed on going, then we’re ready. I propose a new tradition.” He pointed at the door that led to the Gates they’d step through to deploy on their missions in time. “As we go through the door, we touch the Time Patrol tab. The team is what binds us together. No matter what we face on the other side. We have the team.”

  “Let’s go,” Moms said. She opened the door, reached up, and tapped the tab with her right hand, then went down the hall. Ivar followed. Doc. Roland. Scout went to it, looked at Eagle, nodded toward the door leading to the Pit, reached up, tapped the tab and went through.

  Eagle went over to the door Scout had indicated. He opened it. Edith Frobish was standing there, her chin quivering.

  Seeing him, she threw her arms around him. “You don’t have to go!”

  Eagle returned the hug as best he could, loaded down with gear. “I do have to go. You understand.”

  “I do,” Edith said. “But I had to say it.”

  “I know,” Eagle said. “I’ll make it back. I promise you.”

  Edith nodded, sniffling loudly. She let go of him.

  Eagle smiled at her. He went to the other door, reached up, tapped the Time Patrol tab, and then he was gone.

  The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen United States of America

  We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

  The Missions Phase I

  Entebbe, Uganda, 4 July 1976 A.D.

  EAGLE WASN’T THERE, and then he was there, but he’d sort of always been there. It was the best way to explain how he arrived, becoming part of his current time and place. Without fanfare or excitement among those around him, because he was part of the team and they were all focused on the mission. He was in the bubble of this day, not before, and hopefully he wouldn’t be here afterward.

  “Left leg,” someone shouted from behind him.

  Eagle looked down. A hand was between his legs from behind, holding the snap for the parachute harness. He instinctively reached down, took it, then hooked it onto the D-ring on the lower front of the harness.

  “Right leg.”

  Eagle snapped the other strap in place, then squatted, pulling on the loose ends, ensuring the harness had a tight fit around that sensitive part of the body.

  He was in the back of a C-130, a familiar locale for any special operator, with the roar of the engines echoing through the cargo bay, and the floor rumbling as the plane bore them through the sky. Red lights were on, preserving night vision. There were other men in wet suits also rigging up in pairs. Eagle looked over his shoulder at the commando who’d passed him the straps.

  He was a tall, thin man with his chute already on and face smeared with camouflage paint. He had a long sniper rifle strapped to his right side, underneath the belly strap of the harness. He smiled. “Welcome to the party.” He picked up Eagle’s reserve parachute, then tossed it aside. He leaned close so Eagle could hear. “We are jumping low, very low. If your main does not open, you will be in the water before the reserve could deploy.”

  Eagle nodded. It wasn’t the first time he’d done a static line jump like that. Pilots preferred to be either very high or very low, but not at proper jump altitude—eight hundred to a thousand feet AGL—which was bait for shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missiles.

  The man picked up the waterproofed rucksack, with two lowering lines attached. “But you will need this.” He hooked it onto the front D-rings.

  Eagle felt the weight of the chute and ruck settle on his shoulders.

  “Hands on head,” the man said.

  Eagle did so.

  The man began to perform JMPI—jumpmaster inspection—eyes and hands always together, checking the parachute and rigging. He did the front, then motioned for Eagle to turn.

  “I am Avi,” he said, his mouth near Eagle’s ear as he unhooked the snap link for the static line from the back then handed it over the shoulder to Eagle.

  “Eagle.”

  “A code name. Americans are so adroit. Are you a trained commando?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you killed men, Eagle?” Avi asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Many men?”

  “All that I’ve needed to.”

  “That is good,” Avi said. “My men are the toughest and best-trained commandos in the world. They have all killed. If you become an impediment to the mission in any way, or put any of my men in danger, I will kill you without hesitation.”

  It is 1976 A.D. The U.S. vetoes a UN resolution calling for an independent Palestinian State; Twelve bombs set by the IRA explode in London; The Muppet Show premieres; The Cray-1 supercomputer is released; Patty Hearst is sentenced to seven years in prison; Some company called Apple is formed on April Fools Day; The last known survivor of the Scottsboro Boys is pardoned, forty-five years after they were all wrongly convicted and sentenced to death; The Supreme Court rules the death penalty is not cruel or unusual; The first known outbreak of Ebola occurs; Big Ben breaks and stops for nine months, but, strangely, time moves on.

  “If I am killed or wounded,” Avi continued, “and not capable, my men have my permission to do the same. Israel comes first, the Time Patrol second.”

  Some things change; some don’t.

  “How much do you know of our plan?” Avi asked.

  “Nothing,” Eagle said.

  “That is not good.” Avi slapped Eagle on the rear, indicating his rig was ready. “Come, sit.”

  They staggered to the red web seating along the fuselage, relieving the weight on their shoulders. Avi leaned close. “But it is good, also, that coming from the future, you do not know what we do. It means our security is very good.”

  Eagle didn’t want to tell him nothing was known because none of them ever came back. Not the time or place for that tidbit. He appreciated that Avi hadn’t asked about the outcome. Yet.

  Avi continued. “I am the team leader. I am also your contact. There is something off about this. First we were going to airland in Kenya, deploy our boats, then motor across Lake Victoria to Entebbe. Then we were going to airdrop the Zodiacs closer to the target, in the water, and do the same. Both were vetoed and the primary mission was given to the boys in the Unit.”

  He was referring to the Sayeret Maktal, Israel’s premiere special operations force, the best in the world at this time, since they’d been operational ever since their inception. Today was to be their breakout mission and also one that broke their hearts.

  It occurred to Eagle that today was the bicentennial of the United States, and tall ships were sailing into New York Harbor in celebration. He knew there would be no ships if Doc and Moms didn’t do their missions, whatever they might be. But there would be no—Eagle shut down that runaway train.

  He tuned back in as Avi continued.

  “Now we’re just jumping. No boats. But the Unit is enroute, and we’re going anyway, on our third option. During
the area study, we learned that this region of Lake Victoria is quite renowned for crocodiles. Man-eating crocodiles. My men are not happy. They miss their boats.”

  “Redundancy,” Eagle said.

  Avi nodded. “Yes, yes. I know. Always two plans. Always two teams. One primary, and one in case. But the ‘in case’ should be a good plan, not the third option.”

  Eagle wasn’t very happy about this plan, either. The download confirmed the crocodile problem. Idi Amin was known to send thousands of his victims, living and dead, into Lake Victoria for the beasts to feed on. It was reported that earlier this year, his troops had forced four thousand handicapped Ugandans into Lake Victoria at gunpoint to be killed by the crocodiles, part of a cleansing program.

  Entebbe Airport sits on the northern edge of the lake, sharing the lake with Kenya to the east, and Rwanda and Tanzania to the south. Technically, Lake Victoria is the source of the longest river in the world, the Nile, with the river forming not far from Entebbe. Victoria is the second largest fresh water lake in the world, albeit shallow.

  “So,” Avi continued, “we are going to jump as close to shore as we can on the northwest side of the estuary. Our track will be northeast to southwest. Once we go wet over Lake Victoria, we’ll know exactly how many seconds before we go. The pilots don’t want their engines to be heard by the terrorists or the Ugandans at the airport, but we don’t want to swim across a lot of water either for obvious reasons. You follow us. We will hook into a line.” He indicated the length of rope secured to Eagle’s harness. “Snap link in.” He smiled. “Fin hard, my friend. We do not want to be in the water any longer than we have to. We will not wait for you.”

  “And then?”

  “We go feet dry, then make our way through the marsh to the edge of the dirt road across from the old terminal building.”

  Eagle had imagery both from the time of the raid and present day in the download. He nodded. “I know where you’re talking about.”

  “Good. At that point, the decision whether to proceed will be up to command. We will make contact with the incoming aircraft and get the final word. Who knows? Maybe we will just sit there and watch the Unit do their thing, although my men will be less happy about that than swimming with the crocodiles.” Avi looked him in the eye. “Clear?”