by Harold Coyle
It was this unexplained contradiction in his commanding officer's attitude that concerned Harris. In public Shaddock continued to be as unflappable and Hard charging as ever. Yet at moments like this it was clear to the sergeant major that the man he had grown to admire and into whose hands he placed his life was holding something back. Since Shaddock was the commanding officer and therefore responsible for everything that his unit did or failed to do, Harris figured that the colonel would, in his own time, sort out whatever it was that was responsible for his current mood. Until then the best Harris figured he could do was to fend off all the trivial matters that often consume so much of a commanding officer's time, and when the occasion afforded itself, do what he could to lighten the mood.
With this in mind he slid his booted foot across the floor of the transport and tapped the toe of his colonel's boot. When Shaddock opened his eyes and looked over at Harris the sergeant major shouted across the narrow space between them in order to be heard over the transport's engines. "I was reading the XO's copy of the Armed Forces Journal last night. It contained its annual article on how the day of large-scale airborne operations is over. It seems we're an anachronism and what we're about to do
!s not only militarily inadvisable but potentially dangerous."
Despite the dark thoughts that were troubling him, Shaddock laughed. "Do me a favor, Sergeant Major, and don't let the SThree see it. I think he'll faint if he hears someone even hinted 208
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that there's the chance that there's another change to his plan in the offing."
Having achieved an opening, Harris decided to take an opportunity to do a bit of prying. "Sir, Major Montoya wouldn't be happy unless he was running around threatening to slit his wrists." Then, pausing, Harris lowered his voice. "That's to be expected. What's worrying me is you."
In a manner akin to Lord Nelson's habit of turning his blind eye to read the signals from the fleet flagship, Shaddock tended to pretend not to hear statements that he had no intention of responding to. Turning his head slightly to the side, Shaddock raised one hand and cupped it over his right ear, which everyone in the battalion knew was partially deaf. Taking the hint, Harris sighed. With a wave, he indicated that his point was unimportant.
Satisfied that he had successfully fended off the sergeant major's effort to distract him, Shaddock returned to his own troubling concerns. His thoughts had nothing to do with the exercise that his unit was about to participate in. He wasn't even worried about the plan that his operations officer had ginned up.
Nor was he in any doubt that his company commanders, despite a few persistent glitches, would eventually get it right. What was troubling the commanding officer of one of the nation's most highly skilled combat commands was the role his unit was to play in freeing the members of RT Kilo who were still in Syrian hands.
Having made his mark in the Army by being a straight shooter regardless of the professional risk that such an attitude entailed in the modern American military, Shaddock found it all but impossible to maintain his enthusiasm for Fanfare. In the next fifteen minutes his entire unit would be deposited over Objective Kansas.
Regardless of the injuries that were suffered during the drop, and there always were on operations such as this, each of his four companies had but twenty minutes to carry out their assigned tasks and prepare the simulated airfield to receive the fixed-wing transports that would be used to extract RT Kilo and the members or Delta, the men who had the honor of liberating the Green Berets.
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Once this tactical exercise was completed, each and every member of the 3rd of the 75th would undergo a series of debriefings and after-action reports during which every failure and mishap would be discussed in detail. When these were concluded, Shaddock would gather in his company commanders and key staff officer for an after-action review conducted by Fort Irwin's notorious cadre.
They would review and discuss every shortcoming and misstep that had occurred during the excerise, no matter how minute.
Throughout this long and sometimes painful ordeal Shaddock would be unable to reveal to his most trusted subordinates the one piece of information that mattered the most. All their training, all their efforts, all their suffering and hardships here at Irwin would be for naught. Fanfare would never take place.
Instead of being the centerpiece of the military option to free RT
Kilo, it was the deception plan. The colonel of Rangers had not been briefed as to whom this deception plan was aimed at. For all he knew, the objective of Fanfare was to create an illusion for the American media that the American military was actually preparing to do something. The best he could hope for was that it was a
threat designed to provide the president's team of negotiators some leverage. Regardless of the targeted audience, Shaddock found his part in this stage play to be both distasteful and disheartening.
Eventually his men would learn that their endeavors during the train-up for Fanfare had been for nothing. And if there is one thing that will crush a soldier's morale with unerring certainty, it is revealing to him that his efforts and sacrifices had been, from his point of view, little more than a waste of his time.
While it might have been selfish, Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock could not help but become angry that his last major operation as the commander of the 3rd of the 75th would be one that Would leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth for years to come.
That Fanfare was not meant to be a serious operation was clear to anyone who took the time to study the manner in which the 3rd of the 75th were going about their affairs, especially if
'anyone bothered to look at the way the mock-up of Objective 210
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Kansas was laid out. Every effort was made to replicate the Syrian military airfield that was Objective Kansas. Yet nothing was done to disguise this from space-based surveillance platforms belonging to nations that were less than friendly to the United States. Satellites, both friend and foe, passed over Fort Irwin on a daily basis.
So was the open secret that both Russia and communist China provided the regime in Syria with intelligence that they themselves could not gather. It did not require a genius to figure out that a unit like the 3rd of the 75th, training in a desert environment on a site that suddenly appeared overnight, was getting ready for something. Not even the Syrians could ignore why Dust Bowl International had been built and what the purpose of the exercise meant.
Having no way of knowing what success foreign intelligence agencies were having at sorting all this out, and determined to do his best to play his part no matter how distasteful it was to do so, Shaddock did as he had done since his first day at the Citadel. He accepted the lay of the land and soldiered on as well as he could.
With luck his soldiers would come to appreciate that this nut roll he was putting them through did, in some small way, play a part in the freeing of RT Kilo.
The short flight reminded Second Lieutenant Peter Quinn of the five jumps he had made at Fryer Field in Alabama while going through jump school between his third- and second-class year at the academy. But that was about the only similarity that he could recall between that experience and this one. At Benning he had been nothing more than one trainee sandwiched in with fellow cadets together with other novices going through their initiation.
Nothing they carried on those occasions save the parachutes was real. All he had to do then was manage to screw up sufficient nerve to waddle up to the door and on command fling his fivefoot-ten-inch frame out the door. Once he had succeeded in
accomplishing those feats it was, quite literally, all downhill.
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Now, however, the jump was merely the beginning. As the platoon leader of Third Platoon, Company A, Quinn's real test came once he was on the ground. There would be no time for him to collect himself or reflect upon the strange mixture of exhilaration an
d sheer terror that paratroopers experience between the time they bomb out of the transport and feel the tug of the harness and snap of suspension lines going taut. For an officer the brief interlude while under canopy during a jump tied to a tactical exercise would be the last precious moments of peace he would be able to enjoy. After that, chaos and confusion would be the order of the day.
On this particular night that time was substantially shorter than usual. Rather than going out at 1,250 feet as was customary during training jumps, they were exiting at 500 feet. At that altitude a man had but seconds to prepare himself for impact with the ground once his canopy was fully deployed. That is, provided the canopy did function as it was supposed to. If there was a failure of any type, whether it was a simple suspension line looped over the canopy or a rare, yet not-unheard-of total malfunction, the paratrooper would have next to no time to sort out the nature of the problem and take corrective action. In the short time he had been with the 3rd of the 75th Quinn had yet to see one of those. But even the most routine of training jumps under ideal conditions produced a fair number of hard landings and mishaps.
Stepping out the door and into the stunning blast of wind paratroopers liked to call "the Hawk," the twcnty-two-year-old platoon leader tried hard not to think about what could go Wrong. "Count, count, count," he muttered just under his breath
as his body was thrown away from the aircraft by the blast of its engines. "One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand
three," he howled without having to concern himself with being heard. In midcount, before he was able to finish "one thousand nve," the last of the suspension lines cleared the deployment bag and snapped tight, jerking his heavily laden body and bringing his
count to an abrupt end.
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For a moment Quinn found himself engulfed by the strange silence that many jumpers experience about the time that their chute finishes its deployment sequence. Normally this tranquil experience lasts until a moment or two before contact is made with the ground. But not this evening. As if on cue the rattle of small-arms fire and the rip of machine guns shattered the stillness that Quinn had fallen into.
Without bothering to inspect his canopy, the young platoon leader looked down through the gap between his feet in an effort to see if he could tell where that fire was coming from. Not seeing anything even remotely threatening directly under him, Quinn lifted his chin and slowly scanned the horizon. Off to his right, in the area where plywood sheds had been thrown up to simulate aircraft revetments he caught sight of muzzle flashes twinkling between the structures. Since that portion of Kansas belonged to Bravo Company, Quinn didn't bother to make any sort of assessment of the situation. Instead, he continued to turn his head, searching the horizon for any trouble spots closer to him.
He was just about to heave a great sigh of relief that there didn't seem to be any other hostile activity on the ground when it dawned on him that he was about to--His feet were still spread apart when the balls of his combat boots kissed the unyielding sun-baked surface of the desert.
Obeying the law of gravity to the letter, Quinn flopped over into a heap with all the grace of a sack of potatoes hitting the pavement after being tossed out of a moving truck. The impact was so hard it was almost audible. At least, that's the way Quinn imag11
ined
it as he tumbled and rolled about on the ground. Rattled by this unexpected calamity and dazed by the force of impact, he wasn't quite sure what he should do, if anything. In the end he allowed the last of his momentum to dissipate without making any effort to interference. When he finally did stop rolling about, Quinn found himself faceup and spread-eagled on the ground.
With his equipment bag strapped to his front and lying upon his midsection, the breathless and very bruised second lieutenant
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decided that this might be a good time to pause a moment or two while he collected himself and took a complete inventory of his anatomy.
He was still lying there, stunned by the impact but very conscious of the sound of gunfire in the distance and the scurrying of fellow Rangers nearby when a dark figure suddenly appeared towering above him. "You okay, LT?"
Recognizing the voice as that of his platoon sergeant, Quinn did his best to be as nonchalant as his pathetic situation would permit. "Oh, I'm fine, Sergeant Smart. I'm just assessing the situation."
The
looming figure didn't move. "Sir, you want maybe I have one of the medics come over here and help you with that assessment?"
For the first time since landing Quinn moved his head. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. How about you hustle on over to the rally point and gather up the lads. I'll be right behind you."
Going on nothing more than the clarity with which his pla: toon leader spoke, Sergeant First Class Keith Smart decided that there was nothing that he needed to do here. Doing his best to suppress the grin that he felt coming on, Smart nodded. "Roger that, LT." With that, he mentally changed gears as he took charge of the platoon until such time as his lieutenant felt up to the task. , With a voice that needed no artificial amplification, Smart began the process of gathering in his people. "Third Platoon, rally on me, NOW!"
Slowly Quinn began the painful process of picking himself up
°ff the ground, shedding his parachute, and gathering his gear.
Reeling more like a refugee from an old age home than the member of an elite unit, the badly shaken leader of the Third Platoon made his way over to where his senior NCO was preparing to disPatch each of the squads to their assigned positions. When Sergeant Smart saw Quinn amble up to where he and the three
| squad leaders were, he rose off his knee and turned to his lieu; tenant. "Sir, do you have any further instructions for the platoon?"
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Embarrassed by his less-than-stellar performance up to this point and in no mood to waste his time or that of his NCO's, Quinn simply made the sign of the cross and solemnly announced, "Go forth and prosper, my children."
Having expected anything but this, everyone who heard Quinn's pronouncement chuckled. Then, without further hesitation Smart barked out his final instructions to the squad leaders to get moving. "We have a schedule to meet, people. Let's see some assholes and elbows."
For the first time since they had begun running this version of the operation to seize Objective Kansas, Captain David Carter was the first company commander to report in that all of his platoons were in place and set. Perhaps, he thought as he looked about the area through his night-vision goggles, the colonel would back off some and find a new whipping boy. Carter was tired of being the object of what he thought was more than his fair share of the ass chewing that his battalion commander had suddenly become so fond of giving. That most of them were justified didn't matter to the commanding officer of Alpha Company. He was getting tired of being the recipient of them.
This annoying fact was still rattling about in his head when the beating of helicopter blades coming from the southwest caught his attention. Glancing over in that direction, he wondered what they were doing over there. According to the plan the UH-60s belonging to Task Force 160 carrying both Delta and RT Kilo were supposed to make their approach into Kansas from the east. Ignoring the small-arms fire that continued to sputter and pop over in Bravo Company's area, Carter hesitated for a moment as he tried hard to imagine why there had been such a radical change in plan. When a sudden flurry of small-arms fire erupted, it dawned upon him that perhaps Task Force 160, better known as the Night Stalkers, had also run into some unexpected trouble. Perhaps their unexpected alteration of the plan wl
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was a wrinkle in this exercise that someone had cranked in to test the flexibility and responsiveness of the leadership of 3rd of the 75th.
With this in mind and eager to do everything he could to redee
m himself in the eyes of* his commanding officer, Captain Carter instructed his RTO to pass on the order to Lieutenant Quinn and Third Platoon to illuminate the spot where the rescue helicopters were to touch down. Once they were on the ground Quinn's platoon had the responsibility of protecting the members of Delta and the survivors of RT Kilo until they were all safely aboard the Air Force transports. When that was accomplished Quinn's people would follow them into the aircraft.
The fact that the transports weren't on the ground yet didn't bother Cater. Like the change to Task Force 160's approach, he figured that this was just another kink that someone had thrown into that evening's rehearsal to see how his company would react.
It was only when the trio of helicopters overflew the area cordoned off by Third Platoon and instead landed over where Colonel Shaddock had set up his battalion command post that Carter began to wonder if something more sinister was amiss.
The landing of the helicopters some two hundred meters away from the spot his people had marked caught both Second Lieutenant Quinn and SFC Keith Smart off guard. For a moment they Watched as troops poured out of the aircraft and deployed.
Finally, Quinn asked the question that both of them had on their minds. "Now, why did they go over there?"
Sensing that something was not right, Smart flipped his night vision goggles down and hit the on switch. He didn't need much time to confirm what he already suspected. "It, those are not UH-60s over there. And I'm pretty sure the personnel on the ground aren't from Delta."
In an instant Quinn understood the situation. Without hesitation he began to bark orders. "Sergeant Smart, alert the Second 216
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