Eyes of the Hammer (The Green Beret Series)

by Bob Mayer

  Riley turned to the new team leader. He figured he'd done enough of the talking so far. It was time for the captain to earn his pay. "What do you think, sir?"

  Vaughn looked slightly startled but quickly regained his composure. "I didn't hear the general asking us if we wanted to do this mission, Mister Riley. I do what I'm ordered to do. Sounds like a good mission."

  Riley smiled to himself. Good answer. Nobody had asked them. Sure, they could make a big stink, but the bottom line was that they really didn't have much choice. That was part of being in the army.

  Pike stood up. "You all have about twenty minutes to get settled in. The DEA and CIA will be arriving then. We'll meet across the hall in the main isolation room. We don't have much of anything in there except office supplies and furniture. The CIA is supposed to be bringing all the maps and intelligence you'll need to start planning."

  9:45 A.M.

  Riley dumped his rucksack and duffel bag in the small room he would share with Dan Powers. Glancing out the window, he saw another government sedan pulling into the compound. He grabbed Powers and they went down the stairs and out into the lobby. The sedan pulled up in front of the door. A woman got out of the passenger side and a man out of the driver's. Riley watched as they opened the trunk of the car and started unloading cardboard filing boxes. Riley opened the door as they came in with the first load. He stood in front of them. "CIA or DEA?"

  "CIA."

  Powers stepped in front of the man, his bulk completely blocking the door. Riley knew Powers didn't like the CIA. "Don't mind if I see some credentials, do you?"

  The man looked irritated. He set the box down, pulled out his wallet, and showed his ID card. Powers nodded. "You and your secretary can dump all that stuff in the room there to the left."

  Powers turned and looked into the isolation area. He spotted two figures. "Marzan and Partusi! Get over here." The two came out. "Give these people a hand unloading the car," Powers directed them.

  The woman called over her shoulder as she went back out for another load. "There's more in the backseat."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Two trips later the car was unloaded. The two CIA agents shook hands, and one got in the car and drove off. The other turned to Powers. "My associate won't be working with us. I'm Agent Kate Westland. I'll be your liaison from the agency for the duration of the mission."

  Riley almost laughed out loud as Powers blushed and stammered. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I just thought, well, I don't know. I didn't mean nothing. It's just that, well—"

  Riley interceded. "Master Sergeant Powers has never worked with a woman before, so he made the wrong assumption. I'm Chief Warrant Officer Riley, the detachment's executive officer. General Pike should be back here shortly. He just went over to see the post commander to get some military police support to secure this compound."

  The woman took the offered hand, then turned and went into the isolation area. Riley looked at her as she walked away, cataloging her as he did all people he met. She was of medium height, actually tall for a woman, about five foot nine, which made Riley look up at her slightly. She had somewhat broad shoulders, which seemed incongruous on an otherwise slender build. Looking at her bare arms Riley could see the muscles twist and ripple as she moved some of the file boxes. He nodded to himself approvingly, using a somewhat different scale than most men. She definitely took care of herself physically. She had dark hair, cut short in a more functional than fashionable manner. Her skin tone was almost as dark as Riley's. She looked younger, but judging by the lines around her eyes, Riley estimated she was probably in her late twenties to early thirties.

  Another car drove into the lot. Pike got out with difficulty and came inside. Riley pointed out their new teammate. "There's the CIA."

  Pike walked over and introduced himself. As he was doing so, a third car rolled in. An overweight man got out. Peering around he walked up to the door.

  Riley inspected the new arrival. Old to be a field agent. Looked to be in his fifties. Riley examined more closely. Most likely he was in his early forties. A red-veined nose and a beer belly suggested that alcohol had aged him. Riley cursed to himself—they didn't need a rummy, if the man was one. He checked the man's ID card and then let him into the planning room. The DEA had arrived.

  Riley sent Powers out to round up the team. Time to start the fun and games.

  10:00 A.M.

  The fifteen task force members were seated on folding chairs in a rough circle, facing each other. General Pike started the meeting. Riley knew that the general would keep it somewhat informal. Pike believed that people thought better that way and would contribute important ideas they might not otherwise convey.

  "Good morning. I think the first order of business is introductions and a little background information on each of us. I'm General Pike and I'm the officer in charge of this task force. Prior to this assignment I was the army Special Operations staff officer in the office of the DCSOP- SO in the Pentagon. As part of that job I supervised the nuclear facility testing team project. Six of the members of the detachment here were on one of those teams. Prior to that assignment, I spent a few years doing various army things, most of them in the Special Operations arena." That was an understatement if Riley had ever heard one.

  Pike looked at Captain Vaughn. "Captain, I'd like Mister Riley to introduce your team if you don't mind, since he's worked with them longer than you have. Dave, I'd like you to include a brief description of each man's skills."

  Riley wished the general had let Vaughn introduce the team. The captain was getting his ego damaged enough as it was with all the constant referrals to Riley instead of him. However, the general also knew that Vaughn didn't even know all the members of the team and probably wasn't clear on their responsibilities and capabilities, having never worked with an SF A-Team outside of a school environment.

  Riley stood up. "I'm Chief Warrant Officer Riley, the detachment executive officer. I'm responsible for all intelligence matters and am the second in command of the team."

  He circled behind each team member's chair as he introduced them, starting with the captain. "This is Captain Vaughn, the detachment commander. He's responsible for everything the detachment does and fails to do." Vaughn stood up briefly as he was introduced, as did each succeeding team member. The captain, standing only five foot five, was the only person on the team Riley could look down upon. The captain's clipped red hair and pug nose made him look even younger than his twenty-seven years.

  "Master Sergeant Powers is the team sergeant. He's the senior noncommissioned officer on the team and also the operations sergeant. He is responsible for the detachment's training and is the primary tactical planner for the team."

  Powers was the only true combat veteran on 055, although Riley had been on several classified missions involving live fire. Powers was physically the strongest member of the team, but he was also slightly overweight. Nevertheless, Riley knew that the senior NCO could hold his own in the field. Riley had never seen his team sergeant falter because of his weight. Powers was a calming influence on some of the younger members, and his hard-earned combat experience from Vietnam made him invaluable. Riley circled behind the bulk of the team sergeant standing easily in front of his chair.

  "Sergeant Lane is a weapons sergeant." Gus Lane, the weapons man, was young and inexperienced. But he made up for that with an intense dedication to his job. Lane had light skin and a head topped with short, crew-cut blond hair. He boasted a compact, muscular body and stood three inches taller than Riley at five foot ten inches.

  "Staff Sergeant Marzan is a communications sergeant." Hosea Marzan could easily pass for a native in most South and Central American countries. His dark skin and Spanish looks had hooked him more than enough girls out in Fayetteville, the local town off Fort Bragg. Riley appreciated Marzan's steadiness and maturity. On top of that, he was an experienced communications man and could be relied on to do the job.

  "Sergeant Holder is an engineer." Bern Ho
lder, the engineer/demolitions man, was relatively inexperienced. He'd joined Special Forces two years ago, coming over from the engineer battalion in the 82d Airborne. Riley liked the young man because he was so earnest. He always tried hard, even though he often failed—not out of any lack of trying but because, as Riley reluctantly had to admit to himself, the man was a few slices short of a full loaf upstairs. Holder had made it through the qualification course on sheer guts and fortitude. Riley figured a man could break his way through any wall with his head if he hit the wall enough times and didn't mind the pain. That's what he thought of when he considered Holder. Not too bright but willing to try hard.

  "Staff Sergeant Partusi is the medic." The last member of the old team present, Frank Partusi had been on 055 longer than Riley. Partusi was as swift as Holder was slow. The man was a damn genius as a medic. Riley had watched him perform minor surgery and been extremely impressed. Partusi had spent two years in medical school before coming to Special Forces and had joined up because he enjoyed the challenge of being a Special Forces medic. He was planning on getting out when his present hitch was up next year and going back to medical school.

  Riley introduced the first enlisted member attachment to the team. "This is Sergeant First Class Alexander. He is the detachment's intelligence sergeant and works with me on intelligence matters." Alexander came to the team with a relatively good reputation after a stint as an instructor with the Operations and Intelligence School staff at the Special Warfare Center. Or at least that was what Powers had told Riley. Riley would reserve judgment until he had some evidence.

  "This is Sergeant First Class Paulson. He's another weapons man. The weapons men are responsible for all individual and crew-served weapons the detachment may use or train indigenous forces on." Paulson was a thickset man who looked as though he had some SF experience. But all the new men were unknown quantities as far as Riley was concerned. The only way to really tell how good they were was to do something for real and see how they reacted.

  "This is Sergeant Atwaters, the detachment's junior communications sergeant. He and Sergeant Marzan are responsible for maintaining a secure communication link between the detachment and our support base and for all aspects of communications planning." Atwaters had rubbed Riley the wrong way at their first meeting the previous day. The young E-5 was the caricature of the southern redneck. He was of medium height, sported stringy black hair just shy of being too long for regulations, and had a loud, obnoxious manner.

  "This is Sergeant Hale, the senior engineer. The engineers are responsible for target assessment and demolitions planning." Hale seemed competent. He was a skinny, black six-footer. He had talked little in the last twenty-four hours but Riley sensed he was observing everything. Riley liked that in a man.

  "Staff Sergeant Colden, the junior medic. The medics are responsible for the health of the detachment." Colden seemed to be Atwaters's running buddy. The two had graduated from the same Q-course. Colden was a lean man, given to chewing tobacco, a habit Riley hated.

  Riley turned to the two guests. "Both of you are probably unfamiliar with working with army, never mind Special Forces troops. In Special Forces we tend to be a bit more relaxed about rank and all that than the rest of the army is. We also try to use everyone's brainpower to the utmost. That's why all twelve of us are sitting in on this meeting and not just the commander and executive officer."

  Or at least that's the way it's supposed to be, Riley thought to himself. With a new detachment commander things might change. However, Riley didn't think Pike would let anything too outrageous happen. Pike had been around Special Operations even longer than Powers and had forgotten more things about running missions than Riley had ever known.

  "From what we've been told so far, we'll be operating in a split team mode for this operation. That means we split each pair of specialists and make two teams out of the one you see before you." Riley returned to his seat.

  "Thanks, Dave." Pike turned to the other two people attending. "Why don't you introduce yourselves."

  The CIA led off. "I'm Agent Westland. I'm from the Latin American section. My area of specialty is Colombia and Panama and I have traveled to both countries several times. I speak Spanish and Portuguese fluently.

  "Basically, until now I've been an intelligence analyst collating and summarizing raw information about those two countries into intelligence." In other words, Riley thought to himself, she was a desk jockey and not a field agent. In his opinion that was probably an asset. They sure didn't need one of the field heroes with an ego the size of a 747 whom he had met on other missions.

  Westland continued. "I'm here to provide you targeting intelligence and logistics support. I'll be working with you for the duration of this project. I've brought with me as much information on Colombia as I could track down in the short amount of time I had. I also have the first two potential target locations along with supporting imagery." She sat back down.

  Stevens got up. "I'm Rich Stevens. I am... was... the Drug Enforcement Agency's embassy liaison in Colombia. I've been brought up here to assist you in any way you desire. I've been in Colombia seven months on this tour. Four years ago, I did a two-year stint there. I can give you some background on the drug situation down there whenever you want. Also, I've brought pictures of drug labs that were raided during Operation Blast Furnace, to give you an idea of what you'll be looking for." Stevens returned to his chair.

  Pike nodded. "All right. Now that we know each other, let's get to work." He turned to Vaughn. "Captain, I'll let you work out a schedule for the isolation. I will need at least a brief concept of operations from you by tomorrow night. The key things I'll need are infiltration and exfiltration means and how you propose the target be destroyed. I'll be able to give you some potential weapons systems and means of target destruction when I get back from the Pentagon early this afternoon, but for now basically consider every system in the armed forces at your disposal." Pike collected his briefcase and left the room.

  Riley turned and looked at the captain along with the rest of the remaining occupants in the room. It was an early test for the new leader. Riley knew that Vaughn had, at best, a vague idea of how to organize the isolation. If he was smart he'd ask for help from Riley and Powers, to whom the whole procedure was old hat.

  Vaughn seemed unsure of what to do. Riley decided to ease the burden for the young man and take him off the spot. In training, Riley might have kept quiet until asked, but this was the real thing; it was no time to make a point. "Sir," he said, standing up and getting the captain's attention. "If I might make some suggestions?" Vaughn nodded.

  Riley grabbed a marker and went up to an easel with butcher block paper on it. He split the page in half with a line. On the left he divided responsibilities. On the right he worked out a time line as he spoke.

  "Frank," he said, turning to the senior medic, "I want you and Colden to secure this isolation area. Cover the windows, get an access roster going, and all that. Basic S-2 stuff.

  "Paulson, you and Lane and Holder hang the maps and set this room up according to team SOP."

  Riley looked around. "For those of you who just joined the team, there are some copies of the 055 standard operating procedures (SOP) in the isolation footlocker we brought up here. Take a quick look through at the section on isolation procedures to get up to speed. The SOP pretty much breaks out your responsibilities by MOS and how we conduct isolation. I think each of you will have plenty to do for a while after you read that."

  He turned to Vaughn. "Sir, you and I and Powers and Alexander should look at the locations of the targets and try to war-game it as far as what General Pike wants. Try to get some basic ideas." Again Vaughn nodded.

  Riley turned to Westland. "Could you give us all a thumbnail sketch on Colombia? You know, culture, geography, current events. Whatever you feel we need to know as background, minus specific info on the drug people, which I'm sure," he turned to the DEA agent, "Mister Stevens can give us."


  Westland held a pencil over her notepad. "When do you want it?"

  Riley checked the time line. "Can you be ready by noon?" She nodded and he marked it in.

  He looked at Stevens. "How about you go right after her?"

  Stevens nodded glumly. Riley marked in a few more events on his tentative time line and then capped the marker. "Let's get going."

  12:00 P.M.

  "All right. Let's pay attention." Riley counted heads and then turned his gaze to the CIA agent standing next to the podium.

  Westland clicked the remote in her hand and a slide came on the screen behind her as she started. Riley noted that she spoke with confidence. It was apparent that she had either given this briefing before or had spent a lot of time working over the material.

  "The Republic of Colombia is located here at the northern end of the South American continent. It's the only South American country with both a Pacific and an Atlantic shoreline. It is also the land gateway into South America from Panama.

  "Colombia has an area of roughly half a million square miles, about slightly less than twice the size of Texas. With a population of about thirty million, it is the fourth largest nation in South America. The official language is Spanish, with some isolated Indian dialects spoken.

  "The currency is the peso and the economy is based on agriculture and the export—besides cocaine, of course—of coffee and other agricultural products. It is estimated that anywhere from ten to twenty-five percent of the population is directly or indirectly involved in the cocaine industry."

  Westland glanced back at the map of Colombia lit on the screen behind her. "I'll now cover the geography in a little more detail. Colombia is a land of great geographical and climatical contrasts. Depending on where you are in the country, you could be standing in a tropical rain forest, an open savannah, a temperate forest, or near-arctic conditions in the higher elevations.