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Squad to be prepared to engage the intruders. Tell them when they do to take care to mark their targets, otherwise they'll hit the battalion command group which is just on the other side of the OPFOR's LZ. Then hustle on over to First Squad. Pull them out of line and swing around to the right of the OPFOR LZ. Once I make my report to the old man I'll take the Third and go left.
Maybe we can box them in before they scatter."
With nothing more than a crisp "Wilco," Smart was gone.
Anticipating his platoon leader's next command, Specialist Four William Hoyt reached over and held the hand mike of the tactical radio he had strapped to his back. "Sir, the company net."
Quinn seize the mike and mashed down the push to talk button with more force than necessary. "Red Six, Red Six, this is Red Three Six, spot report, over."
Over the receiver, Quinn heard the muted response. "This is Red Six Alpha, send it, over."
"This is Red Three Six. Three enemy helicopters with an undetermined number of troops have landed vicinity of Bull Dog Six. I say again, three enemy helicopters with an undetermined number of troops have landed vicinity of Bull Dog Six. I am redeploying to contain and engage them now."
Upon hearing Quinn's report, Captain Carter became alarmed. Reaching over several of the soldiers who had made up his small command group, Carter grabbed the hand mike out of his RTO's hands. "Three Six, Three Six, this is Red Six actual.
Belay that maneuver. Those people over there are Eagle Flight with the packages." Fearing that Quinn's precipitous move might unleash confusion and lead to friendly fire, Carter continued.
"You are to ignore those people over there for now and resume your assigned positions. I'll contact Bull Dog Six and sort this out with him. Acknowledge, over."
Peter Quinn knew he had heard his commanding officer correctly, just as he had no doubt in his mind that there was simply no way that the intruders running around just outside his pcrime 1
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ter belonged to Task Force 160 and Delta, code named Eagle Flight. The problem that he faced was what to do. He could do as his commander ordered and go against his own assessment of the situation, one which he was positive was correct. Or he could ignore his captain and continue to maneuver his platoon in an effort to contain this new threat. It was one of those awful conundrums that military men often find themselves confronted with.
In order to follow his orders to a T he'd have to disregard the tactical reality that faced him. But to respond to the new situation required him to either enter into a debate with his commanding officer via radio or flat-out defy a lawful order and do what he thought best, consequences be damned.
For Peter Quinn the choice was a real no-brainer. Tossing the hand mike back to his RTO, he winked. "When the old man calls back, tell him ..."
Hoyt's toothy white smile shone like a beacon. "I know, I know. You're indisposed."
Quinn nodded. "Yeah, something like that," he said, before unslinging his rifle from his shoulder and taking off as fast as his bruised little body permitted.
Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock was busy listening to the Air Force liaison officer issuing instructions to the circling transports when a firefight erupted not more than fifty meters from where he stood. "Stunned, Shaddock spun around. When he saw that none of the personnel in the immediate vicinity were engaged he called
°ut to the assistant operations officer who was charged with monitoring the battalion command net. "Overton, what's going on?"
Not having heard any sort of spot report that even remotely hinted of trouble, Captain Clarence Overton shot back without hesitation. "Negative knowledge, sir. Other than the resistance Bravo continues to meet in their area, no one else had reported
^y enemy activity."
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Having slid up next to his commanding officer, Sergeant I !j
Major Harris grunted. "That fire is coming from Alpha's portion of Kansas."
Shaddock agreed. "That's the way it looks. And if Captain Carter is continuing to be true to form, his boys are having a shoot-out with each other."
Harris shook his head. "Well, sir, it wouldn't be the first time."
Angered by this unexpected interruption and its consequences Shaddock made no effort to check his rage. "Sergeant Major, get on the radio and get a hold of that man. I'm going over there and sort this bloody mess out."
Though he would have liked to stop his commanding officer, Harris knew better than to try. If there was one thing that he had learned during his twenty-three years in the Army it was never to stand between an enraged bull and a red cape.
With blood in his eyes and vengeance in his heart, Lieutenant Colonel Shaddock stormed past the soldiers who manned the perimeter of his small command post and out into the void better known as no-man's-land. He was looking for someone to light into, someone responsible for this free-wheeling cock-up. At the moment it didn't really matter who his target was. All he was looking for was a target upon which he could unleash his rage, both that generated by this particular incident and the deep seething anger he carried within him over the futility of this entire exercise. It was wrong for him to do so. When it was ever he
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would regret letting his passions override his common sense. But this was battle, and even in a simulated engagement a man's visceral response trumps logic nine times out often.
Catching sight of a small cluster of personnel crouching in a slight depression off to one side Shaddock veered toward them.
"You people!" he shouted in order to make himself heard over the sputtering gunfire that seemed to be spreading. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?"
The answer he received was delivered without hesitation as w
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the crouching figures leveled their weapons at Shaddock and opened fire.
Stunned, Shaddock reined himself in. "YOU! Soldier!" he yelled, pointing at the tallest figure in the group. "What's your name?"
From the midst of the dark figures, the one Shaddock had singled out stood up and answered in a deep baritone voice that the Ranger colonel did not recognize. "Your worst nightmare, sir.
First Lieutenant Emmett J. DeWitt."
With his anger now mitigated by a growing sense of confusion, Shaddock asked again. "Who?"
The next reply was delivered by a collective shout from the crouching figures that were decidedly more cheerful than Shaddock wanted to hear at that moment. "We be the OPFOR, and you be dead."
Whatever self-control he had in reserve quickly came into play as he realized that as much as he needed to vent his anger, these soldiers were not an appropriate target. They were simply doing their duty. Besides, Shaddock quickly decided, he had a far better victim in mind, one who was far more deserving.
When Captain David Carter walked out of the small office used by his commanding officer while in base camp he didn't look left or right. Stone-faced he made for the door without saying a word or maki'ng eye contact with any of the staff officers gathered in the outer office. Once he was gone Shaddock called through the open door of his office. "Major Castalanc, Sergeant Major."
With a sidelong glance at each other these two men stood up, gave their uniforms a quick tug, and trooped into their colonel's office with all the eagerness of condemned men. After closing the door behind him Harris made for one of the folding chairs that accounted for the majority of the furniture in the office. "So," he stated in an effort to break the frigid silence after sitting down, "I 220
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take it Captain Carter is gone." Unrepentant, Shaddock glared at his sergeant major. "As of five minutes ago we are an Army of one less."
Sensing that it would be an exercise in futility to try to dissuade his commanding officer from this course of action, Castalane turned to the subject of a replacement. "I don't think it would be a good idea to replace Car
ter with his XO. Lieutenant Tatum is good, but he's not ready for a command."
Shaddock nodded. "Agreed."
When his superior made no effort to follow this up Castalane continued. "The most logical choice is Overtoil. He's got the experience and has already commanded an infantry company.
With his knowledge of Fanfare he'll be able to step into the position without much trouble."
This time the battalion commander shook his head. "You are correct. He is a natural. Unfortunately, the operations section can't afford to lose him, not now."
For the first time Harris spoke up. "I agree. Major Perry is great when it comes to putting a plan together, but he needs Overtoil to run the current ops side of his shop in the field."
Shaddock nodded. "Agreed."
Not waiting this time, the battalion XO moved on. "Sir, do you want I call back to Lewis and see if they have someone they can send us?"
"No. If we did that we'd be stuck with whatever they sent us.
Besides, it would take too long to get him down here and bring him up to speed."
Stymied, Castalane glanced over at Harris, then back at Shaddock.
"If not Overton or someone from Lewis, then who, sir?"
For the first time the commander of the 3rd of the 75th shifted about in his seat. Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on his small field desk and folded his hands under his chin. "Ben, call over to the post commander before we leave here for the after-action review and see if he'd be willing to part with one of his OPFOR officers."
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Taken aback by this, Castalane and Harris again exchanged glances. "Sir," the XO asked in an effort to clarify his instructions,
"do you have anyone in mind?"
Reaching into the breast pocket of his BDUs, Shaddock pulled out a small notebook and opened it. "First Lieutenant Emmett J. DeWitt."
"Who?"
Shaddock dropped the deadpan expression he had worn since the tactical exercise at Dust Bowl International had been concluded, and smiled. "You'll be meeting him in about an hour.
He's the energetic young officer who threw the turd in the punch bowl this morning."
In an instant Castalane understopd his commanding officer's logic. "Not bad, sir. No doubt this DeWitt knows the layout of Kansas far better than we do. And I imagine he's already got a good idea about what our plan is."
"Exactly," Shaddock stated. "He's here, he's primed, and he struck me as the sort of officer who can motivate a corpse to rise up and follow him."
As much as he agreed, Sergeant Major Harris cleared his throat. "Sir, I hate to be the one who rains on your parade, but what if DeWitt isn't a Ranger?"
Leaning back into his seat, Shaddock waved a hand about.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll be able to scrounge up some patches and'
take care of that."
Not svire he was hearing one of the most diehard advocates of maintaining the purity and high standards of the army's Ranger Program, Harris cocked his head to one side. "Sir?"
"Sergeant Major, if it is a problem, take care of it. Enough said?"
Drawing in a deep breath, Harris stood up. "Well, sir, as you
^ell know, you don't need to hit me over the head more than three or four times before I get the message."
Coming to his feet, Shaddock raised his arms over his head and stretched. "I'm glad about that, 'cause I'm getting tired of 222
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using the dumb stick." Then, in an instant he dropped his hands, affected a more serious demeanor and looked at both Harris and Castalanc. "No matter how this thing turns out I don't want anyone to say that the 3rd of the 75th wasn't able to perform its assigned tasks. We will do as we're told in the most professional manner that circumstances permit. Do I make myself clear?"
Thinking they understood what their commanding officer was saying, the battalion XO and sergeant major snapped to attention and saluted. "Roger that, sir."
Only when they were gone did Shaddock allow himself to drop the facade of enthusiasm for Fanfare that was becoming harder and harder for him to maintain.
Fort Irwin, California
11:40 LOCAL (18:40 ZULU)
The eagerness that had driven Emmett J. DeWitt since his meeting with Shaddock suddenly evaporated when he turned the corner of the base housing area and spotted his wife's car parked in front of their quarters. He had been hoping that she wouldn't be there, that she would take her lunch in the office of the base contractor that she worked for. He had wanted to get in, pack up what he wotild need to take with him to the cantonment area where the 3rd of the 75th was, and clean up some before he had to confront her. Now that plan was clearly shot. Seeing that he had no choice but to get this over with, DeWitt slowly pulled into the driveway. The trials that he would have to face and overcome in the next few weeks would pale in comparison to the ordeal he was about to endure.
Creeping about the house like a cat, he took great care to open each door slowly and peek around the corner before entering the next room. He was in the middle of moving from the kitchen into the combination living room and dining room when his wife emerged from the rear of the house. With a smile and cheery tone she called out to him, "I didn't hear you come in!"
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Startled, DeWitt all but jumped as a child does when caught by his mother engaged in something he should not be doing.
"Hi, hon. I didn't know you were home."
Knowing better than that, Angela DeWitt walked up to her husband, placed one hand on his arm and stood on her tiptoes so that she could plant a kiss on his cheek. When he made no effort to turn toward her or bend his head down so it would be easier for her to reach her objective, Angela realized that he had come home bearing bad news. Lowering herself back onto the floor, she stepped back, sliding her hand down his arm till their fingers touched. Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it to her lips and planted a light kiss on it before looking up into his eyes. "Okay, King Kong, what's up?"
Normally when she called him that in private, DeWitt grinned. At the moment, however, he could not find it in himself to do so. With his free hand, he reached over, grasped the hand that was already holding his, and lifted it to his chest. "Hon, I've been given an opportunity that I just could not say no to."
These are the sort of words that strike terror into the hearts of every military wife, especially when they are uttered in the midst of an international crisis. Sensing the fear that sent a chill down her spine, DeWitt pulled her closer to him. "This morning a slot
in the Ranger battalion that's been training here for the past week came open."
Heaped upon the growing sense of alarm that she could not suppress, Angela now felt a touch of nausea. "Is he dead?"
"No, hon," DeWitt quickly explained. "I don't know the whole story but in a nutshell one of the company commanders was relieved this morning."
Seeing no need to do so, he made no
effort to inform his wife that he had, in a rather roundabout way, Precipitated that action. "Before the after-action review of today's operation the commander of the 3rd of the 75th Rangers asked Colonel Higgins for me by name to take that officer's place."
With a shove that caught Emmett DeWitt off guard, Angela drew away from him. "And of course you said yes."
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Before he responded to her accusatory statement, DeWitt tried to close the distance. She frustrated this attempt by continuing her retreat. Flustered and unsure of what to say next, he squeezed her hands a bit tighter while he tried to put together the right words that would justify to her his decision to accept an offer that was for him a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. "Baby, I'm a soldier. You know that. You knew that when we got married.
It's my job."
"And being a husband to me or a father to your baby isn't your job? What about us? Don't we have a say in this? Aren't we
part of this equation?"
Without having to think about it DeWitt knew that he could not answer that question in the manner that she wanted yet remain truthful. Fortunately for him he didn't need to. His silence was enough.
Realizing that she could no longer hold back her tears, but determined to deny him the opportunity to comfort her, Angela DeWitt tore her hand free from her husband's grasp, turned, and fled back into their bedroom. When he heard the door slam, DeWitt took a deep breath and shook his head. "Well," he muttered sarcastically. "That went better than I thought."
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Damascus, Syria
18:30 LOCAL (14:30 ZULU)
Five times a day Sergeant Yousaf Hashmi was able to free himself from the steel-and-conerete cage that imprisoned his physical being. It did not matter that his prayer rug was a frayed, lice infested blanket or that the eastern ,wall of his cell was covered with crude graffiti left behind by former occupants who had lost all hope. Such physical concerns faded from his consciousness as Hashmi humbled himself before his God as his father had taught him to do. Closing his eyes and bowing his head he uttered the simple statement, "All praise be to Allah," with a love and strange joy that only a true believer knows. Since he had been locked away in this place these words and actions had come to be more than a prelude to his ritualistic devotionals. They had become a shield that allowed the Syrian-American to protect himself from the fear his captors endeavored to instill in him and a sword with which to strike back in steadfast defiance. His daily prayers were also a reminder to him that there was more to this world than that which his eyes could see or his arms could embrace. When his time came to leave his mortal body behind, Hashmi found comfort in the fact that he would not die. His soul would go on as did the spirit of all those who placed themselves in the hands of Allah.
When the guards opened the cell door Colonel Mohammed Raseed found Hashmi in the midst of his evening prayers. For a moment the Syrian colonel was taken aback by the sight of this familiar rite. He did not quite know what to do. It had been his mtent to make a grand entrance, strutting into the small room flanked by a pair of Republican Guards who served as his shield 226