by Harold Coyle
At first neither Kaplan nor Delmont spoke as they exchanged nervous glances. Then, after taking a moment to screw up his courage, Delmont took the point. "In going over our orders assigning us to your battalion, Colonel Shaddock, both Colonel Kaplan and I have found that neither of us have been instructed as to when our responsibility to your unit is at an end."
Try as hard as he might, Shaddock found himself barely able to suppress the smirk that lit up his face. He knew what was coming and was not sure how he felt about it. Joyriding on a mission such as this was not at all uncommon. In fact, it was almost a game with rear-echelon types eager to prove something to themselves or punch their proverbial career ticket. Every professional soldier worth a damn seized upon every opportunity that came his way to go where the action was.
For the great majority of American soldiers this desire to stroll through the valley of death is not a manifestation of suicidal tendencies or a need to satisfy a sinister and savage bloodlust. Rather, the motivation that drives a professional officer to hitch on to a mission such as Fanfare even when they have no real role could be explained in one of two ways. More often than not there is an unfulfilled desire to practice all those skills that they had spent years learning and refining. To a professional soldier such as Robert Delmont, being a combat arms officer in a peacetime Army was akin to a major league ballplayer doomed to spend his entire career sitting on the bench without ever being afforded the opportunity to take the field. True, Delmont was a plans officer 326
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responsible for developing many real-world contingencies. In drafting Fanfare and providing staff oversight on behalf of his superior in Washington he had executed his assigned duties as laid out in his job description. But like most professional officers, he was a soldier first and foremost. And soldiers don't win battles by thinking about them. Nor do they derive job satisfaction from watching others go off to fight them.
A less acknowledged catalyst that compelled officers like Delmont and Kaplan to insert themselves into a situation in which they need not go was an unspoken desire to test their individual mettle. Time and time again professional soldiers reared in a peacetime army have risen through the ranks to a position of importance only to find that when they finally did face the ultimate test of battle, they came up lacking. Whether it was a dearth of the moral fiber necessary to wage war or a simple inability to subordinate personal fear, the reason did not matter. Failure by an officer to live up to expectations in combat translates into unnecessary deaths and ignoble defeat. While a good deal of blame for this shortcoming could be leveled at a system that rewards those who were most proficient at counting beans and keeping a clean motor pool rather than men who had a knack for breaking things, even the best scheme for officer selection and training could not predetermine who would buckle under the strain of combat and who would rise above the chaos to win great victories for his nation.
At the moment it didn't matter to Harry Shaddock what was driving this pair of lieutenant colonels to offer their services. As the commanding officer of a battalion about to engage in a high risk operation, what was important was whether either or both of these people could be of use to him while on the ground in Syria.
While he had no particular fondness for or loyalty to either, he at least owed them the courtesy of hearing them out. After making a show of looking at his watch, Shaddock folded his arms. "Okay, I'm game. Convince me of why either of you need to go."
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Glancing at each other, both Kaplan and Delmont paused as they tried to figure out who should take the lead. In the end Kaplan deferred to Delmont. "I have not received any new orders relieving me of my duties as liaison officer to your unit. So I am assuming that they remain in force."
Shaddock knew better than to ask Delmont if he had bothered to call his superior and ask him if it was his intention for Delmont to remain with the 3rd of the 75th throughout the entire operation. After all, if their roles were reversed he sure as hell would not have made that call. "I see. And you, Colonel Kaplan?"
"Well, sir," he blurted, "while it is true that your Alpha Com i
pany has achieved a degree of proficiency with the Land Warrior, you have no one within your battalion who has the expertise to troubleshoot any problems that may crop up during the course of operations.
"If that happens," Shaddock countered, "I doubt if we would have time to sort things out."
j:
"But if I or my NCOIC aren't around, there won't be any
: chance at all, will there? Besides, who will do systems and integration checks prior to dropping ramps?"
"Can't you do that now?"
Kaplan held his hands out at his side and waved them vaguely in the direction of several small groups of soldiers scurrying about as they tended to last-minute preparations. "We could try, Colonel, but "at the moment it would be like herding cats. Once Alpha Company is airborne they will become the ultimate captive audience.
If Sergeant Benoit and I are with them we will have thirteen hours to check the individual units, answer any last-minute questions, and sort out any problems. Besides," he added reluctantly,
"this will be the first time the Land Warrior will be seeing combat on this scale. It would be useful to both the program and the Army in general if someone who is familiar with the system is there on the ground to study it under actual conditions."
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"Yes," Shaddock mused, "I see your point. And once you're on the ground? What will your function be? I mean, we are going into combat."
Drawing himself up, Kaplan peered into Shaddock's eyes.
"Despite what you or the Army may think, I am a soldier, no less dedicated to my profession or duty than you."
Shaddock's natural inclination was to decline the offer from his fellow officers. This was, after all, a raid. Neither he nor any of his staff would have any time once they were on the ground to deal with straphangers. Still, as he stood there looking at the pair he realized that these were no ordinary joyriders. Delmont was a trusted representative of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. His presence on the ground could be useful if things started to go south. If nothing else, he could deal with all communications directed at the 3rd of the 75th from CENTCOM or the Joint Chiefs that were not mission related.
Stepping closer, Shaddock poked the special ops plans officer in the chest with his index finger. "If you do go, mister, it will be your job to handle any and all incoming calls fromv anyone and everyone who is not in my immediate chain of command. Clear?"
Understanding what the battalion commander was driving at, Delmont nodded. "That's reasonable. Can do."
After nodding, Shaddock looked at Kaplan. "Colonel, I have to admit that I've not had the opportunity to study up on the Land Warrior. So I find that I am unable to tell if you're blowing smoke or on the level." He paused, looking down at the ground as he made a show of weighing the issue for a moment. When he was ready he looked up. "Rather than put this operation at risk I find that I have no choice but to add both you and your NCOIC
to the troop list."
Shaddock noted how Kaplan's face lit up. "Now," the battalion commander stated, "you two need to get with my XO and let him know you're to be added to the manifest. Colonel Kaplan, you're to attach yourself to Lieutenant DeWitt's company until we're on the ground. Once there, you're to report to my TA^
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CP. Colonel Delmont, you'll be with the TAC CP throughout the operation unless I have need of your services elsewhere. Any questions?"
Having achieved their aim, both Delmont and Kaplan snapped to attention and shook .their heads.
"Now," Shaddock concluded, "if you don't mind, I have a battalion which I need to tend to." Of course both Delmont and Kaplan knew this was something less than truthful. Like them, the commander of the 3rd of the 75th was, for the moment, little more than a spectator as hundreds of s
oldiers, pumped up by the prospect of battle, prepared themselves for combat.
15:55 PACIFIC, 18:55 EASTERN,
02:55 DAMASCUS (22:55 ZULU)
Even before the officers and men of the 3rd of the 75th Rangers departed Fort Irwin aboard giant C-17 Globemaster Ills, the first whispers of Fanfare were beginning to sweep across the vast expanses of Syria like the stirring of-the breeze before a prairie storm. Fanfare's opening gambits were not directed at Syrian troops or the facilities they manned. The targets of these long range assaults were the systems upon which those soldiers had come to depend. Like their mark, the tip of this spearhead was not human. They weren't even machines. They were the unseen digital commandos sent streaming through the atmosphere in endless columns of zeros and ones. Their objective was to infiltrate, cripple, incapacitate, and confuse the electronic components of the fragile network that linked the Syrian air defense with its national command authority as well as the integrated communications array on which the Syrian leaders and military relied.
This was the twenty-first century-version of the Trojan horse, better known as informational warfare. Launched from computers scattered around the United States, technicians unlocked back doors to automated systems all across Syria. Through those hidden portals, they unleashed worms, viruses, and other electronic predators designed to ravage programs needed to direct and coordinate the Syrian military. Each of these attacks was discrete, very narrowly targeted, and initiated in a well-orchestrated sequence so that by the time the Syrians realized what was afoot, the damage was already done.
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Nothing was sacred, nothing safe. Included in this panoply of systems scheduled for disruption were nonmilitary ground- and space-based telecommunications platforms owned and operated by international conglomerates. Designed to support the global economy by linking remote areas of the world via wireless Internet connections and cell phones, these systems provided the Syrian military with an emergency backup. The same cell phones American kids carried about in their backpacks at school were standard issue to commanders of Syrian surface-to-air missile batteries.
While no one doubted that there would be howls of protests from corporate CEOs and their clients when selected portions of this privately owned technological wonder suddenly went off the air, the American command authority had determined that a few hundred botched business deals and stock trades were a small price to pay for protecting its fighting men.
Fanfare's preliminary ethereal maneuvers could not play havoc forever without evoking a response from the Syrians. Eventually their command-and-control structure woke up to the fact that they were under attack. When that occurred, Syrian units began to deploy to repel the ongoing assault. To dissipate this effort and keep senior Syrian commanders ignorant of the assault's true form and the direction from which it was coming was the aim of Fanfare's deception plan. This was achieved through the use of disinformation, a more ancient form of warfare that had once been a forte of the former Soviet Union.
Disinformation is a tricky ploy that can easily backfire if not properly orchestrated. In the case of Fanfare, the primary agents of disinformation were selected members of the administration and Congress known for their propensity to leak information. In the wake of Sergeant Yousaf Hashmi's execution, these oft quoted unnamed sources who kept the American media supplied with state secrets were fed rumors that retaliatory air strikes meant as a warning to the Syrian leadership were in the offing.
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cators hired by twenty-four-hour news networks to fill dead airtime by rendering their views on what the administration would most likely do. Even when the more responsible journalists and editors refused to use this information, Syrian agents and people sympathetic to that nation who worked within the various news agencies passed these golden nuggets on.
Gathered by agents, this carefully seeded disinformation was lumped in with real data culled from other sources. When intelligence officers in Damascus drafted their assessment of possible and probable American military actions against their nation, the disinformation that had made its way into the mix skewed their assessments. In this way, limited air strikes rather than a full-scale rescue effort became the major concern against which the Syrian military girded itself. Rather than preparing itself to repel boarders the Syrian military dispatched its troops to key facilities where they were ordered to cast their gaze skyward and wait for an opportunity to shoot down airplanes.
Having to launch and recover aircraft from allied nations required commands supporting Fanfare from foreign soil to exercise a different and more careful blended form of deception as well as operational security. Every nation that permits American forces to operate within its borders does so under negotiated status-of-forces agreements that govern and limit American military operations and the conduct of its personnel. Without exception these status-of-forces agreements include provisions for the assignment of liaison officers from the host nation to every major American command in that nation. This makes planning and implementing U.S.-only operations such as Fanfare difficult but not impossible. To counter the threat to the security of Fanfare that foreign liaison officers posed, American counterintelligence officers waged their own disinformation campaign. The commanders and staff officers charged with preparing for Fanfare took care to ensure that those briefings that addressed Fanfare were conducted at times when the liaison officers were not around. It was not much of a stretch to claim that Fanfare's first 334
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skirmishes took place in the headquarters of Syria's pro-Western neighbors. These bloodless battles were waged between liaison officers who used every maneuver and trick in the book to sneak a peek at the documents that were sandwiched between the bright red "Secret, No Foreign Dissemination" covers, and the American counterintelligence officers charged with keeping that from happening.
The Pentagon was not immune to the need to be vigilant. In a place where handling secrets is routine, security tends to become lax. To counter this, extraordinary measures have to be taken to protect operations like Fanfare for as long as possible without alerting anyone to the notion that something out of the ordinary was amiss. This feat was accomplished by maintaining a tight control on who knew about Fanfare. Of those privy to some or all of the plan, only personnel who truly had a need to know were informed of Fanfare's actual H-hour. In being given access to this information they accepted the responsibility of doing everything within their power to keep from varying either their daily routine or that of their staff, a task that is far easier said tham done.
To monitor how well the operational security plan designed to safeguard Fanfare was going at the Pentagon, a key indicator used by the counterintelligence folks there was the number of pizza deliveries made to the Puzzle Palace on the Potomac. As silly as it may sound, a seemingly mundane activity that would not cause a stir anywhere else in America is watched by both journalists and foreign agents. When the number of pizza deliveries shows a sudden spike, deductive reasoning leads those monitoring pizza deliveries to conclude that an inordinate number of Pentagon staffers are working late. During a period of crisis, this can only mean that an operation linked to that crisis is being planned or about to be initiated. Just how the counterintelligence officers go about making sure that the number of pizza deliveries is maintained at appropriate levels is a closely guarded secret that no one has yet sorted out, though it is rumored that a number of Arlington pizzeria managers are working hard to discover it.
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In addition to the galley slaves manning the oars at the Pentagon, other key members in the chain of command were required to do their part to keep from tipping off the Syrians that the American military was about to pay them a visit. The Commander in Chief is no exception. To preserve the atmosphere o
f normalcy, the president found himself enduring a political fund-raising event that had been scheduled months in advance. Maintaining an even keel in public while hundreds of young men are about to be placed in harm's way as the result of an order that he has issued is perhaps one of the most difficult things a chief executive can be asked to do. On this night, just about the time when the president was taking his place behind a podium in preparation to deliver a political speech, Lieutenant Colonel Harry Shaddock would be standing in the door of a C-17, staring intently at a pair of warning lights waiting for the green one to illuminate. Tightly stacked up behind Shaddock would be his men, burdened by the equipment they carried and the awesome task they were about to undertake.
Syria
16:15 PACIFIC, 19:15 EASTERN,
03:15 LOCAL (23:15 ZULU)
In Washington, D.C., the president was looking out at a room of well-heeled contributors. At the Pentagon the Chief of Staff of the Army sat slumped in his seat, watching the tactical and operational displays in the Army War Room. At MacDill Air Force Base in Florida the commander of CENTCOM was alone in his office, nervously pacing back and forth like an expectant father. In Turkey, a wing commander sipped his coffee in silence as he watched the computer-generated plots track the progress of his aircraft. Over the Mediterranean the senior controller aboard an E-3A Sentinel slowly made his way along the narrow aisle of the converted Boeing jet, pausing here and there to study a display before moving on to the next. Aboard the USS Ronald Reagan the air group commander twisted in his chair while nervously tap
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ping away on the armrest, an act that threatened to drive the seaman seated before him crazy. In the cockpits of strike aircraft thundering in on targets scattered throughout Syria, pilots kept their eyes glued to their sensors and instruments, praying that the next sound they heard over their headsets would not be the high pitched tone that warned them that they had been acquired and targeted by Syrian air-defense radar. Within the transport carrying his company, First Lieutenant Emmett J. DeWitt glanced down at the photo of his wife and son one last time before slipping it back into his wallet.