by H. L. Valdez
Nearby, on an amphibious assault ship, Marines are launching Sikorsky SeaKing assault helicopters designed for night flying close to the sea. Below deck, hard core Marines are maneuvering wooden pallets packed with ammunition and supplies onto seven-ton cargo elevators extending seventy feet straight to the flight deck. On deck, Marines are hastily loading three tons of combat supplies into each helicopter. Running ten at a time, Marines are leaping into the rear of the choppers. Then one-by-one, each SeaKing is lifting off with a jeep swaying beneath its fuselage suspended from a special sling.
Several decks below, Leathernecks with full packs and equipment are swiftly brushing past each other in air-conditioned passageways and up ladders almost double the usual ship width. In another part of the transport-cargo ship, 2,000 heavily armed combat Marines are cleaning and oiling their weapons and double-checking 106mm recoilless rifles mounted on camouflaged jeeps. In the Combat Intelligence Center below deck, electronic visual display systems monitor combat situations for miles around, as green, red, and amber lights blink and blip target information. In the squadron ready room, the Crisis Response Team is studying briefing papers, preparing for their role in the war on global drug interdiction. Butch is quietly reflecting on his wife, as Spanky suddenly barked. The Shiba dog is a bittersweet emotional link to his marriage. Spanky looked at Butch, sensing his master was in pain. Butch gazed down at Spanky, gently stroking his furry coat. The number one single, I Will Follow Him by Little Peggy March played on the ship’s radio as the remaining team members entered the room. Mimo, deep in contemplation, paced pensively. He knew Butch and Velvet had a string of confidential informants and understood the criminal system internationally.
Mimo discovered that officials in the defense and intelligence communities in Vietnam were being bribed and provided information on international narcotics trafficking. Walking to the water-fountain, Rita swallowed a Dexedrine and Valium tablet, then returned to her seat, and sipped her coffee while studying Mimo as he chewed his fingernails, standing before a wall map.
“What’s the latest, Mr. Mimo?” Rita blurted, pointing her finger at him in the shape of a pistol, feeling euphoric and testy.
“I’ve got a lot to say,” he replied, irreverently spitting out a fingernail. “Let’s get started.”
“Don’t raise the bridge, lower the gate,” she replied, pointing to him, jutting her chin, sensing an undercurrent of unrest. Without a word or smile, Mimo blinked his eyes, nodding. There was no need for him to talk or have someone listen. He understood himself, talked to himself, and his voices.
“Some Governments have honored the code that corrupt officials are necessary to the success of certain missions; in that they provide an early warning system,” Mimo stated, looking at Butch and Velvet for a reaction.
"Wow man. Is this new information?” Rita asked, grinning. Without a response or smile, Mimo blinked his eyes, watching Rita put on her aviator sunglasses.
“Our emphasis is on the immobilization of drug conspiracies,” Mimo stated, as Velvet reviewed a diplomatic correspondence while stewards entered the room with silver coffee pots, silver sugar bowls, creamers, assorted sandwiches, cookies, and drinks.
“But, who’s in charge?” Justin interrupted, raising his hand, with his head tilted back.
“Admiral, will you answer that question?” Mimo suggested with a half-hearted shrug, returning to his seat.
“Marco Madrid is the team leader for all operations, and when you meet him, your team will be complete. With his influence, your life will never be the same,” the Admiral and former SEAL Commander said, rubbing a three-inch scar on edge of his jawbone.
“Where is he?” Justin asked, leaning forward.
“He’s at the forward deployment point.”
“Good leaders are with their team, sir,” Primo suggested.
“As a team, you must find the balance between competitive individualism and cooperative collectivism," he stated, walking toward a wall map.
“What he say?” Justin whispered to Rita, as she shrugged her shoulders, pouring coffee from a round silver pot, watching Mimo scribble notes.
“Your opponents are ruthlessly competitive. Their trade is evil by occupation -- there is no such thing as an innocent man. You’ll be alone at times with no back up, so go in riding and shooting. It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission,” Admiral Starr said dryly, with a lack of emotion.
“Sir, isn’t life one big chance?” Primo asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Not if you plan it right." He smiled.
“Just keep all the bureaucrats out of the war and out of the way,” Justin said, shaking his head, glancing at Rita.
“Sir, isn’t this mission just one big chance?” Primo asked, skeptically. “Can we win this war on drugs?”
“It’s all about planning,” Admiral Starr answered. “You need to grasp the principles of the criminals’ code of conduct.” He added, in an easy-going manner.
“Take it day by day. Inform and perform,” Butch added.
“Inform and perform again,” Justin whispered to Rita
“Listen Lieutenant, we don’t have all the answers-it’s a puzzle,” the Admiral answered, shaking his head. “What we know is the bribe-and-favor relationship is vital for keeping the underground network in operation.”
“Like it or not, bribes serve as a protective shield,” Velvet stated, glancing around uneasily.
“I’m a pilot,” Justin complained, slapping his forehead.
“Let’s see, do you want to be a prisoner or a pilot?” Rita asked, narrowing her eyes, staring at him.
“Primo, the multiplier effect is at work here, since at times being a friend of a friend is enough,” Danny stated, watching Primo’s shifting mood.
“These groups have a crime heritage and a mutual loyalty," Velvet said. “It’s the bribe and favor relationship again.”
"But in terms of your field performance, prefer the simple to the complex. Prefer the familiar to the farfetched," Danny suggested, psychologically reading the group.
“Right is what works,” Rita answered, removing her sunglasses, feeling exasperated.
“This is a dangerous mission,” the Admiral told the somber group. “Violence does occur, but it’s not an important factor. It’s the certainty of relationships and mutual profit among members of the network which keep it in operation.”
“Violence is not important?” Justin whispered to Rita, with his mouth falling open. “My butt is on the line.”
“You guys need to get out of your head,” Primo suggested impatiently, pouring scotch into his glass from his steel canteen. “We’re in for a hard fight.”
“Everything works on the basis that you are liked and seen as a regular guy,” Mimo said, examining his dirty fingernails. “This is important because lines of authority are unclear.” He added with a dismissive nod.
“The hardest part of conflict resolution is figuring out paradoxes and contradictory messages. Once you do that, your situation is clear." Danny said with a positive outlook.
“Oh sure. Just like that,” Rita whispered, rolling her eyes, looking at Justin.
“Bureaucrats,” Justin mumbled, shaking his head.
“The common denominator with people in these criminal organizations is that when a relationship is established, it becomes binding,” Butch said, as Mimo looked at him, then at Velvet. “A prison experience also fosters the relationship between a man and the guy who watches my back.”
“There are informal rules,” Mimo stated, selecting a diced roast beef sandwich and a doughnut with his unwashed hand. Danny carefully observed the group dynamics, and then set his thick ceramic coffee cup on the table.
“Don’t forget, these groups have a crime heritage and a mutual loyalty,” the Admiral said, clearing his throat, returning to his seat.
“They also have a mutual respect,” Mimo added, looking at Rita while tapping his doughnut against the cups rim, dropping loose sugar in
to the white porcelain cup with green stripes imprinted around its rim.
“Mimo’s a Peace-Nik. I know it,” Rita mumbled to Justin.
“Yeah, he’s a real hippie. He should be in a growth group.”
“Overall, people will do what is asked of them, but they want to know what is expected of them,” Danny said with studious positive regard. Velvet stirred her coffee with a pencil, and then tapped her pencil on the rim of the cup, watching at the attentive group.
"I think it’s important for the team to be good negotiators, which also requires strong verbal skills," Velvet stated with seasoned insight.
“In high threat situations, the mediating influence will be at the point of a gun. Combat is ground intensive and that requires a certain animal mentality,” Primo responded, with a distant stare, sitting back in his chair.
“That's why we have you," Rita shot back, sipping her coffee.
“The only basis for equality is fear,” Primo retorted, as his body tensed, glaring at Rita.
“Pain affects movement,” Rita replied, nodding her head in agreement.
“I’m not waiting for the enemy. I’m putting a bullet in him,” Primo suggested coolly, stirring his scotch with his yellow Ticonderoga pencil, and then looked up at Mimo.
“Good answer,” Rita replied. Velvet snickered, selecting a diced tuna sandwich. Butch remained silent, making mental notes about the group, thinking they needed to become a team of a single mind and purpose. This would be his team for the next twelve to eighteen months. Observing Mimo, Butch pondered his allegiance to the group and had to quickly decipher the difference between his support and advice.
“You have to be shrewd, some regulations cannot be ignored,” Danny suggested as Spanky began growling as his ears perked, turning his head left-to-right like radar antennae. Velvet looked at Spanky then closed her eyes and listened, as did Primo and Rita. Justin lowered his head as the group suddenly became quiet. Danny saw the emotional temperature of the group change as Naval gunfire from 16-inch guns in three turrets began hurling 2,700-pound bombs 23 miles away. Under a full moon, shore bombardment had begun. From nearby destroyers, balls of fire bellowed from Navy cannons, reflecting an orange glow off the ink-black sea as twelve five-inch guns in six twin mounts, shot 1,900-pound bombs nine miles, shelling the populated distant shore. With pragmatic wisdom that could separate the mind from the soul, Danny tried to empathize with the group’s feelings. Walking to the water fountain, he returned to the table removing his blue pin striped suit jacket, aware that he didn’t want the group to focus on the war. He had to shift the current mood and do it immediately.
“It’s a mean dirty war and it’s hard to be human about killing. You have to develop a certain numbness to survive. I know it’s difficult to find an agreement on the words to describe what we observe. But stay focused on what you are about to do. You're here. Not there. Think about your future. This job will take every bit of your concentration. Your progress must be controlled, not emotional, not impulsive or undirected. Each action should have a purpose,” Danny lectured the group, as he moved around the room in a slow steady gate. Spanky’s ears remained intensely alert as he sat at Detective Moriguchi's feet. Velvet, preoccupied with her inner thoughts, pushed her curly hair back with both hands then adjusted her shoulder holster as Admiral Starr tapped out the remaining tobacco from his pipe into a large amber colored glass ashtray.
“In conflict, the constraints of role responsibility often succumb to more prominent personality motives. We have to create a choice shift,” the Admiral interrupted, in a serious demeanor, walking to the head of the table. "Don’t let vagueness in thinking interfere with the formulation of realistic goals. Don’t allow your mind to go slack. The basic effect of uncertainty limits the ability of an organization.”
"Keep your objective in mind," Danny interrupted with a sense of calm and ease, looking at each team member.
“What’s our destination?” Primo asked, tapping the tabletop, then sipped his scotch.
“Iriomote Island is part of the Yaeyama island chain lying to the southwest of the main Island of Okinawa, Japan. It’s deserted, uncultivated, and covered with natural jungle. It seems a perfect location to expand a joint intelligence collection center while establishing a temporary command, control, communications, and intelligence base, or a C3-I structure,” Danny stated eagerly, rubbing his hands together, turning to the map, then pointing to a small location south of Okinawa, Japan, as Mimo took copious notes.
“Dum-de-dum-dum,” Rita groused, leaning toward Justin.
“Bureaucrats and Government, see what I mean?” Justin lamented shaking his head, frowning. “Fricking government.”
“There’s a slight problem however,” Danny interrupted.
“A slight problem?” Rita responded. “What else? My God!”
“Police reports from Interpol stated Philippine Sea pirates unknowingly attacked a ship smuggling opium and heroin in the East China Sea. Survivors from that incident are believed holed up on the island. We just don’t know which survivors.” He stated, running his hands through his hair.
“What is this?” Justin grumbled to Rita. “Let’s go to jail.”
“I’ll take my chances here,” she replied, thinking about her money. All she had to do was be patient and stay alive for eighteen-months and she would be a multi-millionaire.
“I have nothing to live for,” Primo volunteered emotionally detached. “I’m expendable, I don’t care. I’ll go along for the ride,” he said begrudgingly, sipping his scotch.
“What about you, Cruz?” Rita asked, removing her sunglasses.
“I’m part of the de-briefing team. I’m an observer,” Mimo answered cautiously.
“I see,” she replied suspiciously, sipping her coffee as the caffeine re-booted the amphetamine, pushing her central nervous system into overdrive while becoming increasingly irritable and aggressive as dopamine spiked her brain cells.
“Tomorrow you will fly to your training point,” the Admiral interrupted. “Tonight, pick up your equipment and start mentally preparing yourself. There are many unknowns - survival is your ultimate goal. You'll be involved with organized violence with limited time frames and objectives. It’s important that you get a sense of each other. Remember, as a team you must be one heart, one soul, one blood. I wish you all good luck. We'll meet again," the Admiral concluded, with his chin high and shoulders back, as the team rose as he left the room.
“We’ll meet again? Where? The hospital?” Justin mumbled to Rita.
“Change is good, change is good,” Rita chimed. “It’s just painful.”
“My whole life just changed. Thanks God. Just what I prayed for.” Justin said, slapping his forehead, grimacing.
“Let’s get our gear,” Rita suggested, putting on her sunglasses. An indifferent Mimo wrote notes from the map and from the meeting’s agenda. Butch stood next to Danny talking in hushed tones. Velvet and Primo walked into the crowded passageway.
“You all right?” Velvet asked. “You seem quiet.”
“I’m fine,” Primo answered, bumping into a chunky Marine.
“You and the scotch have a nice friendship.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“You’re not in the bush. Why drink?” Velvet asked, adjusting her shoulder holster.
“I like the bush. I feel comfortable there. I drink in the bush too.”
“Have you heard of G.O.D.”?
“God?”
“Good Orderly Direction,” Velvet said, scraping against burly Marines.
“Hey man, don’t lean on me and I won’t fall on you. Back off.” He ordered, as his face turned red.
“Ouch! Like the Admiral said: One blood, one heart, one soul.” She answered, in a sharp tone.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not your husband and I’m not your boyfriend. So, I don’t need your opinions. If I want a drink, I’ll drink.”
“My life depends on your sobriety. Like y
ou said, we’re going to have a tough fight. If you’re drunk, you’re not fit to fight or combat ready.”
“If you’re going to mother hen me on this mission, you’ll drive me to drink even more,” he replied, as rock hard athletic Marines laden with field transport packs, squeezed by him.
“Come on Primo, you’re a smart guy, but you’re not thinking.”
“Velvet, when it comes to life, we’re all C students.”
“You remind me of my ex-husband. He was an alcoholic.”
“Maybe your attitude turned him into an alcoholic?”
“That’s not nice. I was a good wife. Listen, my ex was also traumatized. But drinking away the trauma doesn’t work. Trust me on this.”
“Try and relax, Velvet. I’m OK. Just give me a little space and time. I’ll bounce back.”
“Drinking your way to recovery isn’t going to work.”
“I’m self-medicating. But it’s only temporary.”
“I don’t understand.”
“All my men were killed because of me. I feel guilty as hell.”
“Pour me, pour me, pour me a drink, doesn’t help matters. Don’t wallow in self-pity.”
“Velvet, I have a wife. I don’t need a surrogate wife.”
“Maybe you need a Teddy Bear.”
“Teddy Bear my ass.” He replied, angrily turning to her.
“Just seems like you have some ego deficits going on.”