by Don Bendell
“Charlie!” she said suddenly. “Stop! Please stop! I am sorry. I am so sorry!”
He immediately sat up and took her hands and said, “I’m sorry, Fila. Did I move too fast? Did I do something wrong?”
She now took his face in her hands and tears started dropping down her cheeks. He was very concerned now.
“You did nothing wrong.” She explained, “You have been wonderful. It is not you. It is me.”
She continued crying, and he pulled her gently against his massive chest and held her. She sobbed for five minutes straight. He jumped up and ran to his bathroom, returning with a box of tissues. She thanked him and started dabbing tears away.
He said, “It is so hard to deal with killing someone. I have nightmares—”
“No, Charlie, it’s not that,” she interrupted. “I was going to be stoned to death when I was a girl, because my cousin tried to rape me and got my clothes off, but I fought him off.”
“And they were going to stone you for not getting raped?”
“Exactly,” she said, “and it was my father who instigated it. An honor killing, they call it. Then later, as a teenager, I was actually raped in Baghdad.”
He stroked her hair, saying, “I’m so sorry, Fila.”
She said, “I have not been able to have sex of any kind with any man since. I tried several times but just could not. Nobody ever made me want someone like I wanted you just now. You had me going far beyond anything any man had ever accomplished, but when it came to the moment of truth I panicked.”
Charlie said, “Look. We have to pose in Iran as husband and wife, but we do not have to do anything. We can sleep behind closed doors, but I want you to feel you can trust me. You do not have to worry, Fila. I would never hurt you, and I will never let any man hurt you again.”
She hugged him tightly.
Then he said, “Why don’t we lie down under the covers, and I will just hold you? Nothing else. You just stay with me tonight.”
“Charlie!” she said.
Part of her was scared to give trust to this man, but an even bigger part wanted him to become one with her. She was falling in love, but how could she let anybody touch her ever again? She decided she would conquer her fear and allow herself to let her guard down.
Fila crawled under the blankets and sheets and his giant arms embraced her. She felt so safe with her head on his massive pectoral muscle, and she sobbed little sobs, until she finally fell asleep. The last thing she remembered was Charlie softly stroking her hair.
FILA awakened with a start and looked around. Charlie was asleep next to her, holding her protectively. She looked at his face and wished his eyes were open. They were what made him the most attractive. They showed somehow intelligence and humor. She drifted back to sleep.
Fila opened her eyes and looked at the alarm clock radio on the nightstand. It was 5:15 A.M. and the alarm would go off in fifteen minutes. Charlie lay nude next to her. She watched him in his sleep and thought about what a great man he was.
Fila knew that, although she was a rape victim and that would carry a life sentence, this man had shown her love—pure, complete love. It was a totally different scenario, and she felt so relieved she could now imagine even trusting a man.
She drifted off.
Charlie had another nightmare and this one made him sit up suddenly. Eyes barely even open, he immediately grabbed the hand that had just grabbed his throat. He looked into the eyes of Fila, who had been startled by him sitting up and immediately grabbed him by the windpipe, but she was now wincing from the wristlock he’d placed on her hand. They both let go of each other and started laughing at themselves.
“Nightmare?” she asked.
“Yeah, but you were in it,” he replied defensively, without realizing what he was saying.
“Gee, thanks a lot!” she said, slamming him in the face with a pillow.
Now he was really embarrassed.
“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he protested.
They both started laughing.
They returned to the bedroom from quick trips to the bathrooms, still nude, and plopped down on the bed.
She suddenly got serious and said, “Charlie, I feel so guilty about last night. I want you to make love to me.”
He leaned over and kissed her, saying, “I’ll make love to you when you feel giddy, not guilty. Come on, let’s get dressed. More exciting briefings today.”
“You know, that’s a good idea, but Charlie, I mean it,” she said. “I want you to make love to me.”
He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of bed and into his arms and hugged her, saying, “Look, we will be posing as husband and wife, and it would help if we acted like we were 24/7. That is simple survival. I also know you are trying to do the right thing for my sake. I appreciate it, Fila. When it is time for you and me to make love, you won’t have to ask me. We will both know. I do not want you to make love to me for the wrong reasons, even if they are noble.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Charlie said, “Can’t wait to get in and see that Rozanski again. The man has had a charisma bypass.”
“A charisma bypass?” she said, laughing hysterically.
He chuckled now and added, “Yeah, he went to the Osama bin Laden Charm School.”
They both laughed going out the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Peak Planning
THE briefing started with the S2 (Intelligence) personnel offering their latest reports and assessment. Davood Faraz Dabdeh had excellent security around him twenty-four hours per day, seven days a week.
One of the things that Charlie and Fila had discussed was how they would dress.
One of the Intelligence briefers stated: “Currently in Iran, the Islamic dress code is still pretty strictly observed all over the country. That code requires women to cover their hair, necks, and arms. Modern women in Iran today, wear a manteau or overcoat, which is almost like a standard uniform. The manteaus are constructed with long sleeves and usually come below the knee. Checking back on our area studies of Iran, we have seen that the length of this long overcoat changes with the times. For a while, we guess trying to be fashionable like our women in America, they tried something different. Really long ones were in fashion, but then just a few years ago, women tried to get away with very short coats, as well.”
He ad-libbed then. “You can imagine how that went over with the mullahs. Anyway, to cover their hair usually a scarf or a shawl is acceptable. What they do is fold the two opposite corners of a scarf to get a triangle and then simply tie the scarf around their heads. Modern women will wear trousers, even blue jeans, or dark stockings under the manteau.
“For men, short sleeves and Western clothing can get your ass kicked by the government.”
Everybody laughed, and he went on. “As a rule in Iran, shorts, T-shirts, and ties are not worn out in public by men. You will find that many Iranian men and women really like to dress very Western in private settings and for special events. When dealing with government agencies, schools, embassies, and the like, you obey the rules, period, or it will be like Pops finding you having a beer party with a bunch of marines.”
Everybody laughed again, and one of the men in the room, who apparently was a marine, grinning, said, “Hey, all you army types want a leatherneck to whip your collective asses?”
“Naw, there ain’t any Life magazine photographers around to take your picture, so it would be against your SOP,” Weasel said, meaning standard operating procedure.
Pops stood up and said, “Charlie, what did you two come up with as far as your dress code and cover?”
Charlie had been wearing a cowboy hat all morning so far, but he now stood up and pulled it off. Weasel shook his head as if he really felt bad for him. Charlie’s long black hair had been cut off, by Fila, and she had given him a buzz cut with an expensive razor kit he had at his house. His long hair had been tied and kept in a giant ponytail to be donated for cancer
patients.
Charlie said, “A lot of Iranian men would love to wear Western hairstyles, but that would be like wearing a sign screaming ‘Notice me!’ Fila and I knew my long, long hair was out of the question, so we are donating it to make a nice wig or two for somebody with cancer that has lost their hair. I have started today growing a beard, but my race usually is not noted for facial hair, so we talked about me wearing a fake beard or mustache.”
Pops stood up and said, “Top, do we have any resource people in Hollywood that are top-notch makeup artists?”
Weasel said, “Aye, aye, Boss. We gotta good one who used to be in the 10th Group and served in Bosnia, and he also had a tour in the Gulf War. They know how to make stuff that works and don’t come off when you are in a room full of al Qaeda or whatever this guy’s people call themselves. I think that is the way ta go. Sorry, Poke. You are Lakota and should have been able to keep your scalp.”
Charlie grinned and pointed his thumb at Fila, saying, “Thanks, Weasel, but, see, this woman is not even my real Iranian wife, but has been around American women so much, she already runs my life and does what the hell she wants.”
Fila said, “You remember that.”
He grinned.
During the ten-minute break after the first hour, they went to the break room and Fila said, “This is my first big op. I cannot believe how much planning goes into this.”
Charlie responded, “Honey, we are just getting started. Most people have no clue how much Delta plans and rehearses before a shot is even fired. Remember when Weasel said ‘NMDO’ the other day to Pops?”
“Yeah,” she replied, “What does that mean?”
“It means No More Desert Ones,” Charlie said, referring to the tragic rescue mission Operation Eagle Claw by Detachment-Delta and others on April 11, 1980, under President Jimmy Carter, when a number of Delta Force operators and others were killed when a navy helicopter with a marine pilot and an air force jet collided in the desert after aborting the mission to rescue the American hostages taken in the embassy in Iran.
He added, “You notice it is being planned by us, here, and not in the Pentagon, where every general and admiral has to fight to get their boys and equipment into the plan. And you noticed already Pops is asking our opinions on this, because our asses are on the line. I am so glad he is our boss.”
“Oh, me, too,” she agreed. “We better get back to the conference room.”
They walked into the room and were in shock. There was the vice president of the United States. All in the room jumped to their feet and started clapping when the two walked in. They looked at each other in shock. The veep walked up to them, and both snapped to attention, accompanied by the lovely national security advisor, Kerri Rhodes. Pops walked up next to the veep and handed him two Soldiers Medals.
The vice president said, “Master Sergeant Charles Strongheart and Sergeant First Class Fila Jannat, less than twenty-four hours ago, you two risked your lives saving the lives of a number of civilians in Fayetteville, North Carolina, in a noncombat situation. I happened to be giving a speech yesterday at Central Piedmont Community College in Charlotte, and the President this morning directed me to come here to honor you two on his behalf and on behalf of the citizens of the United States of America. Your good colonel here will have some writing genius word the documents for presentation later, so it will not compromise the clandestine nature of your real work and your identities. I understand the news describes the heroes who killed the gang members, who had already killed before, as two off-duty police detectives, but we all know who the heroes are. It is with great honor and pride that I pin the nation’s highest noncombat valor award, the Soldiers Medal, to each of you. Congratulations and thank you.”
Everybody enthusiastically applauded, and Pops and Weasel shook hands with them. Pops winked and said, “I told you two we would address this today. Congratulations.”
Weasel came up to Charlie and said, “Poke, I want to tell you something. You know I love and revere the history of your people. I am telling you right now, your great-great, whatever it was, Grandfather Sitting Bull himself, is sitting up there with the Great Mystery looking down on you right now with a big smile on his face. Bet he is tapping Jesus on the arm, and saying, ‘That is my grandson.’ Bet he is. Congratulations.”
Kerri Rhodes congratulated and shook hands with both of them, and Fila noticed how long the beautiful major player from Washington held Charlie’s hand. She felt her face reddening a little. After she let go of his hand, Charlie glanced over at Fila with a slight look of guilt on his face.
Good, Fila thought to herself. He ought to feel guilty. That is good for him.
“All right, everybody,” Pops said, walking over to the table carrying a large box, which he set on it.
Weasel ran to the door and took a bag from a Delta member there. He set it down and unloaded its contents—plastic plates and forks. Pops opened the box, and it contained a large carrot cake baked by Rose.
Pops said, “This was baked this morning by the woman who Poke and Booty saved. Grab a cup of coffee and let’s dig in. Mr. Vice President, how do you like your coffee, sir?”
The next hour was spent eating cake and talking to the vice president. After he left, they started back into the planning. The method of infiltration became the next issue. Immediately, HALO was brought up. Then somebody else in the room brought up HALO/SCUBA. Rozanski, who had been keeping mum, was obviously pleased.
Pops again looked at Charlie and Fila, and said, “How do you two feel about going in by HALO?”
Charlie said, “Well, sir, we did four HALO jumps yesterday and landed within fifty feet and ten seconds of each other each time. We talked about using Stealth wings in fact.”
One of the others asked about Stealth wings, so Weasel explained them. “Some wings made of high polymer plastic have been developed which were used by a special CID specops unit stateside, and they have been tested by the British SAS. The operators are dropped from high altitude with these wings on and they can track for one hundred and thirty miles or so vertically. In other words, covert insertions can be effected without radar detection. The operator then deploys their regular ram-air chute to land, and the wings fold up alongside their body.”
Rozanski said, “So what do they do with the wings after they land? Leave them for the enemy to find?”
Weasel grinned, saying, “That is why God invented thermite grenades, General.”
Thermite grenades have long been used by Special Forces to burn down into bunkers, safes, to destroy operational orders, bridge supports, dams, and destroy classified documents in a safe, as they burn much hotter than an arc welder and cannot be extinguished by water.
Charlie went on. “We feel that with the tough talk about Iran, they remember shock and awe in Iraq, and Booty and I felt that they will have eyes on the skies 24/7 countrywide, just watching for us or an Israeli strike. For that same reason, we feel they have probably got their radar stepped up significantly. We looked at some of Dabdeh’s activities such as offshore racing, his villa in France, and his yacht. Regardless of his tight security, it seems he will be much more vulnerable outside the confines of Iran.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant Strongheart,” Kerri Rhodes chimed in. “The one thing that is very important to the commander in chief is that this hit is made in Iran, because of the psychological effect of their being incapable of saving a high-profile player in their own country.”
Pops said, “That settles that. We now know it must happen in Iran and no other location, so that brings us back to infiltration. What about horses through the mountains?”
“We discussed that, sir,” Fila added. “Too much cross-border activity with the Iraq War in one sector and al Qaeda/Taliban and drug smugglers in the other. Rules out dirt bikes and ATVs, too.”
Weasel said, “How about SCUBA through the Caspian Sea, Persian Gulf, or Gulf of Oman?”
“Good question, Top,” Charlie said. “We briefly discusse
d that, too. I am SCUBA-qualified, but Sergeant Jannat is not and is not experienced enough in SCUBA to risk it. Also, there’s the issue of how much we can carry diving and, most importantly, the paranoia of Tehran. They have to be watching the shores like eagles, waiting for the Navy SEALs being led by GI Jane herself, Demi Moore. We ruled it out, too.”
“Did you two come up with a method of infiltration that you feel will work?” Pops asked.
“Yes, sir, we did,” Charlie said. “We felt we could enter the country in a Mercedes with plenty of money for bribes. They will watch the skies, seas, and mountains for Rambo to show up. We feel going in their front door as a well-to-do couple with oil money can get us quietly across the border. Bribes are a way of life and those taking them keep their mouths shut or else. We also can be somebody Dabdeh wants to meet with, maybe an oil official and his wife.”
Pops looked at the others in the room, and wondered why the hell he was even allowing so many in on the planning of an operation. This was against the standard operating procedure, but his hand had really been forced on this one by the powers that be. So often it seemed that the army had become so politically correct, and general officers and DOD (Department of Defense) bureaucrats wanted to stick their noses into the very clandestine inner workings of 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta.
Most times, Pops thought about how much easier it must have been for Colonel Charlie Beckwith, Delta creator, as he had commanders “upstairs” with mission success and Opsec (operational security) in mind, so nobody ever got into what used to be called the “Stockade,” the former U.S. Army Fort Bragg stockade, which had been converted into the Delta Force headquarters compound. The Stockade gave way to the Compound, and the famous Shooting House was replaced by the more modern House of Horrors.