Dragon Sim-13 tgb-2

by Bob Mayer

  The junior communications sergeant, Paul Lalli, was O'Shaugnesy's drinking buddy, but he was the physical opposite. Lalli was thin and had always pushed Captain Mitchell hard during the team's weekly ten-kilometer physical training runs. Lalli maintained the radios and other communications gear with a jealous passion that Riley liked. Lalli considered the team radios "his gear" and allowed only O'Shaugnesy to "borrow" them. The team normally used the PRC70 radio, which worked in both the FM and high-frequency (HF) ranges. For this mission, though, they would use the PSC3 radio, a satellite communications radio. This arrangement suited Riley, because satellite communications were more secure and reliable than high frequency. Unfortunately for the commo men, the PSC3 was no lighter than the PRC70. The bulky, twenty-three-pound radio added noticeable weight to the commo men's rucks.

  Riley wandered over to where Pete Devito, the senior medic, was poring over an area study of China. This was Devito's first step in producing a medical profile of the mission and target area to ensure that each man carried the proper medical equipment for the dangers most likely to be faced. With all the other gear that needed to be carried, Devito and Comsky could not take the entire contents of their M-3 medical kits. Based on his best guess of the potential injuries and wounds, Devito would begin paring down the kits to a manageable size, bringing only the medical supplies and equipment he judged to be most critical.

  Completing his circuit, Riley ended up at the table where Mitchell was comparing the maps with the satellite imagery, searching for a drop zone for the infiltration. "Got anything good yet?"

  "I think so. Since we're pushed for time we're going to have to go in as close as possible. Plus we want to move around as little as possible for better security." Mitchell stabbed a finger down on the map. "What do you think?"

  Riley looked at the indicated point. He started to nod his head slowly as the significance of the drop zone Mitchell had picked sank in. "I like it. Great idea." Mitchell's finger rested on a small patch of blue on the otherwise predominantly green map sheet. The blue represented a small lake, about three kilometers from the target site.

  The more Riley thought about the team leader's choice, the more he liked it. There were many advantages to jumping into a water rather than a land drop zone. The first one that came to Riley's mind was ease of finding the drop zone. He knew that for the infil they'd be jumping "blind" from the Combat Talon. A blind jump entailed no spotting by a jumpmaster because there would be no ground marking from a reception party; instead, they would rely on air force navigation to release them over the right spot. The navigator of the Talon had met with them earlier this morning, and had told them he could give them only a 90 percent probability of getting the team within two kilometers of a proposed land drop zone.

  Using a large body of water greatly increased the chances of hitting the right location for two reasons: First, the MC-130 Talon navigated by reflected radar images. The smooth, flat surface of the lake would give an excellent radar image to the Talon's navigator, allowing him to zero in on it, as opposed to a land drop zone, which would give off the same image as the surrounding terrain. Second, Riley, as jumpmaster, would now be able to do some spotting from the aircraft; the team wouldn't jump unless he was positive that the plane was over the lake. From bitter experience, Riley knew that there were few things worse than landing not knowing where you were.

  Riley thought about another aspect: The water drop zone would be more secure. There was much less chance of running into unfriendlies on a lake late at night than in an open field. Open fields usually had houses next to them. Riley looked over the operational area (OA) on the map. There didn't appear to be any open fields suitable for a drop zone within five kilometers of the target anyway. A second aspect of security was that the parachutes could be hidden by simply sinking them in the lake, precluding a repeat of the great digging exercise they had just conducted.

  Riley felt very comfortable with Mitchell's choice. "What about exfil? Had any time to look at that?"

  Mitchell scratched his jaw. "Well, Dave, that's another story. There are several places we can use for PZs. That's not a problem. What worries me, though, is that the warning order said we were going to have two MH-60s take us out. Now, I may not be the brightest guy in the world, but I do know a little about the Blackhawk. Jean is rated on that aircraft and I know from her that it doesn't have the range, even with external tanks, to make it from here to the target area and back. Not even close. I'm curious how they think they're going to do this, and who's flying the mission. Especially considering our track record in training with helicopter exfils."

  "I couldn't agree more. I'd like to meet the pilots before we go. Makes it a little more personal for them if they see who their passengers are beforehand. And it will make me feel better to look into their eyeballs."

  Mitchell smiled. "Yeah. I understand. Some of those fly-boys are too high up in the clouds and need to come down to earth. I'll hit the colonel up and see if I can't get us a meet with someone who can talk to us about exfil. Hopefully we'll get an answer on that today, along with the request for more time."

  Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 3 June, 0900 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 4:00 a.m. Local

  Lieutenant Colonel Bishop was the duty officer on the night shift for the USSOCOM SFOB exercise staff. He read the message from the FOB requesting an additional twenty-four hours in isolation and another twenty-four on the ground to surveil the target. He considered waking the general, who was sleeping in the billet area in Tunnel 1, to get his opinion, then decided against it.

  Bishop looked at the calendar on his desk. If he OK'd this request, the whole exercise would last forty-eight hours longer than it was presently scheduled for. Bishop had no desire to be away from home an extra two days for the sake of a game. Then, he reasoned, Olson would have to relay the request and the "computer chief of staff would probably disapprove it anyway. Bishop sat down at the keyboard and typed out a denial.

  FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Saturday, 3 June, 0932 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 6:32 p.m. Local

  Riley and Mitchell were both unhappy with the short amount of time the team would have on the ground prior to the target hit. Twenty-four hours of surveillance was not sufficient to establish a valid pattern of guard patrols and other security measures. Despite that, Riley had expected the denial from SFOB. This whole operation was so tightly organized that he had doubted there would be any latitude built in.

  Something even more important was bothering him. He grabbed Mitchell and took him out into the corridor, where they couldn't be overheard.

  "What's the matter, Dave? Worried about the time line?" Riley shook his head. "Not really. It's tight, but we can do it. What's bugging me is whether this is real or not. The whole thing is kind of crazy, don't you think?"

  Mitchell obviously felt the same way. "Yeah, it is strange. I've got a lot of questions about this whole setup. My primary concern, if this isn't just an exercise, is why the hell we're doing this. I mean, what's the purpose? As far as I know we aren't at war with China and they haven't done anything against the United States to warrant such an action by us."

  Mitchell had keyed in on just what had been bugging Riley. The whole operation had the ring of an exercise about it. But it had a disturbing hint of reality too. The intelligence and imagery were top-notch, much better than what they normally received for training missions. The presence of the MC-130 aircraft in the hangar on the base said that it was very likely they were going to go somewhere at the end of isolation. From their meeting earlier in the day with the Talon crew, Riley and Mitchell knew that the aircrew was really planning an infiltration into China.

  The air force navigator and the pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Riggins, had been happy with the choice of drop zone when Mitchell pointed it out to them. It would be easier than land for them to find. The crew of the Talon had not been told the reason the team was jumping into China; they just knew they had to get the team there. In another part of the building, i
n their isolation area, the aircrew was working just as hard as Team 3, plotting possible routes and examining the potential air defense threats along the way.

  Riggins had told them that the Talon would fly to the target following the terrain at 250 feet above ground level and at 250 knots. (Riley had been on that type of gut-wrenching flight before, and he planned on not having anything in his stomach prior to takeoff.) One minute out from the drop zone, the plane would slow down to a safe jump speed of 125 knots and the ramp would be opened. Thirty seconds from the drop zone the plane would climb to 500 feet, which was the minimum safe jump altitude. The pilot had insisted that this was his maximum altitude, based on the radar threat in the area. At 500 feet, Riley knew that they would not even bother wearing reserve parachutes. If the main didn't deploy, the jumper wouldn't have time to pull his reserve anyway. Immediately after the last jumper was out, the plane would close the ramp, go back down to 250 feet, and head for home.

  Mitchell voiced a new concern. "What about the weapons and other gear? That worries me."

  They both knew that Sergeant Major Hooker had gone up to Yongsan to draw sterile equipment from the detachment's war stockage. The authorization had come direct from the SFOB. Hooker was also drawing live ammunition and explosives. They had never seen that done before.

  Riley took a deep breath to clear himself of all these worries. "I don't know if this thing is real or not, Mitch. Most likely it's just an exercise, but we need to make sure everyone treats it like it's real."

  Mitchell nodded his agreement to that philosophy. "Let's stay on top of everyone and make sure they do their best."

  They both looked up as Hossey came down the hallway. "What are you two plotting?"

  Riley held up his hands. "Nothing, sir. Just needed to clear our heads."

  Hossey held out a sheet of paper. "You'll get a briefing on the helicopters, but it won't be from the pilots. They're over in Japan right now, and the powers-that-be have decided not to fly the pilots over here for security reasons. Some staff officer from the helicopter unit flying will be here at 1000 tomorrow morning."

  Mitchell nodded. "Sounds good, sir."

  Riley said nothing. What were the helicopters doing in Japan? As far as he knew, the target was northwest of where they were and Japan was east. Hopefully they'd find out tomorrow.

  Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 3 June, 1254 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 7:54 a.m. Local

  Meng scrolled the message traffic on his screen in Tunnel 1 and perused it while he sipped his first cup of tea for the day. When he came across it, he printed out a copy of the concept of the operation, which had come in from the FOB only an hour ago. With that in hand, he could start the final programming for the exercise. It was simply a matter of filling in the blanks. He would take the team's plan and flowchart it against the various possibilities that could occur. The computer would rate the paths in terms of probability. Meng knew that he couldn't cover everything, but the success of the Strams program rested on its ability to present a statistically significant percentage of possibilities in a realistic manner.

  Just prior to the team's departure for infiltration, Meng would control the exercise by cutting the real commo link with the FOB and substituting a simulated FOB link to the computer. The computer would then play out the team and FOB conducting the mission. When Meng switched from real to computer link, the people in Korea would have completed the exercise. Right now, Meng planned on notifying the FOB of mission completion just before the aircraft took off for infiltration. That would allow him to pick up any last-minute changes that the team or aircrew might make. The purpose of the exercise was to test the command structure at Fort Meade, not the team or aircraft in the field.

  Meng took the concept with him and went back to his office in time to catch the 8:00 a.m. news. The exercise was forgotten as the TV screen caught his attention. A reporter was standing on the edge of a massive crowd near Tiananmen Square. Night had descended in China, but the Goddess of Democracy was well lit in the background.

  "Early this morning, crowds estimated to be in the tens of thousands surged onto the streets of Beijing and turned back an army column attempting to reach the center of the city. Approximately two thousand troops attempted to pass along Changan Avenue, a main east-west street in Beijing, in a show of popular support. Workers joined the students in preventing passage of the soldiers.

  "The incident that precipitated the troop movement occurred last night when a police van struck four bicyclists, killing two and seriously injuring the other two. Rumor has it that this was a deliberate act. When the troops attempted to pass, the largest crowd we have seen here in more than a week took to the streets. There have been reports of tear gas being fired near the Communist party headquarters, but I have seen no signs of violence here at Tiananmen Square. The rumors are that the troops were coming to seize the square back from the students."

  The anchorman in Atlanta cut in.

  "Jim, did you actually see the troops?"

  "Yes. They were dressed in white undershirts with khaki uniform pants, and were unarmed. They didn't seem comfortable with what they were doing. When confronted by the students and workers they appeared disoriented. I saw soldiers simply sit down on the curb along the road and talk with the students, who exhorted them not to use violence since they were from the People's Army and the students were the voice of the people."

  "Jim, what effect do you think this latest turn of events will have on the government?"

  "That's uncertain at this time. There is the possibility it might help the more conciliative attempts of Mister Zhao by discrediting Prime Minister Li Peng's hard-line approach to the student protest. It appears from today's actions that the army is unwilling to follow a hard-line approach."

  The scene shifted back to Atlanta. 'That was Jim Thomas in Beijing. On another front the Soviet Congress accused Andrei Sakharov of slandering his homeland and…"

  Meng turned off the set. He knew quite a bit about the Chinese Army from his research for the Dragon Sims and from his personal experience. The fact that soldiers had seemed sympathetic to the students made him feel hopeful, but Meng also knew that the leaders of the army probably didn't share this sentiment.

  There was a traditional Chinese saying that if the people want the leaders to notice, then they must do something difficult. Obviously, Meng thought, the students' hunger strike had not been difficult enough.

  Meng sighed and looked at the clocks on his wall that designated the time zones for various major cities in the world. It was 9 o'clock at night in Beijing. There would be no more news until tomorrow.

  The picture of the woman and child drew his attention. She was dead now. He'd received word of that four years ago. The boy was now a young man — a student at the University of Beijing. In his heart Meng hoped his son was one of the protesters gathered in the square, but that same hope was overshadowed by fear. Meng closed his eyes briefly, forcing his mind to shift from the square, thousands of miles away, back to reality here, or rather this simulation of a reality that would probably never be used. He turned back to his work desks.

  As Meng started working on the concept of operations, the first thing that caught his eye was the water drop zone. Meng smiled thinly— a major sign of emotion for him. The Special Forces men were very clever. He estimated that that choice dramatically increased their odds of surviving the infiltration. His initial program had indicated a 26 percent chance that the team would be compromised on infiltration, either by the aircraft being discovered or the team being caught on the drop zone. Off the top of his head, Meng figured that that was now down to probably no more than 15 percent. This whole mission was looking more feasible.

  FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Saturday, 3 June, 1320 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 10:20 p.m. Local

  Mitchell decided it was time for everyone to get some sleep. They'd been working nonstop all day, and sleep was important if they were going to continue to function at a high level of proficiency. He
went to the podium in the front of the isolation workroom and got everyone's attention.

  "Listen up. Everybody grab a chair." He waited until the team had settled in, facing him. "I want to do a little summarizing of what we got done today, and then I want everyone to rack out. Tomorrow's another day. You all have done a good job so far."

  He turned to Riley. "Anything new on the tactical plan?"

  Riley shook his head. "Not much has changed since we had the last team brief on the concept of operations three hours ago. We're still working on breaching the compound and taking out the security systems. Infil is as you briefed it earlier. Tomorrow I should be able to tell you how we're actually going to hit the target."

  Mitchell nodded. He indicated another team member. "Pete, anything you need to tell us from your medical survey?"

  Devito, the senior medic, stood up. "I've ordered the medical supplies that each man will carry. I also want everyone to leave their vest survival kits with me prior to going to bed and I'll make sure they're up to date." Devito sat down.

  Mitchell moved on. "O'Shaugnesy, how's the commo going?"

  "Good, sir. I've got our onetime pads and I've coordinated with the FOB on send and receive times."

  Mitchell pointed at the two radios resting on the commo man's work desk. "I want you to give everyone a class tomorrow on the PSC3. I know that most of us have seen it before, but I for one could use a refresher on how to set it up and use it."

  O'Shaugnesy nodded. "OK, sir. They're real easy to work. I won't need more than forty-five minutes to run you all through."

  Mitchell penciled in the class on the team's isolation schedule, posted on the wall behind him. "All right. We'll do it at 1300 tomorrow." He moved on to the next specialty, which for this mission was the most important. "Dan, have you got your charges all calculated?"

  Hoffman stood up. "Yes, sir. At least the ones for the actual target— you know, blowing the wires. We're still working on some other ones we might need to breach the fence and the mine field."