Over Western Brunei, 1500 Hours, September 21st, 2008
The Dark Star UAV had launched several days earlier from NAS Cubi Point, and was less than halfway through its five-day mission. Equipped with a television camera, infrared scanner, and synthetic aperture radar, it had been keeping track of the two Malaysian brigades in the jungle south of Seria. The heavy canopy of foliage in the foothills blocked visual sensors, but the IR and radar picked up useful imagery. On Iwo Jima (LHD-18), the intelligence team monitoring the data stream from the Dark Star was beginning to worry. The two Malaysian brigades were showing signs of life. The reconnaissance teams inserted into Western Brunei on D-1 were sending back a steady stream of sightings. While Colonel Taskins had been limited to committing Major Hansen's small armored force to that end of the country, she had concentrated over two thirds of the MEU (SOC)'s intelligence collection assets into the area, to avoid unpleasant surprises. After some analysis, the conclusion was reported to Colonel Taskins. There would a be a two-brigade attack to overrun the Seria beachhead and recapture the oil fields, starting about 1500 hours and running until sundown. Her intuition confirmed, she began to set a trap for the enemy units.
LFOC, USS Bon Homme Richard (LHD-6), 1615 Hours, September 21st, 2008
It felt good to be back in the chair of her LFOC station. Colonel Colleen Taskins felt the rush of anticipation at the start of an operation. Game time. Her workstation showed the estimated positions of the two Malaysian brigades (intelligence flagged them as the 2nd and 5th), and she was working to set up supporting fires. Right now, the enemy was under the cover of the jungle. But to attack her Marines, they would have to come out into the open. General Newman had released almost all of her units back to her for the coming operation. In addition, he had made a call back to the JFACC at NAS Cubi Point in the Philippines, who dispatched an E-8C Joint Stars radar-surveillance plane to help her out. The J-Stars bird had a large canoe-shaped radar under its belly that could detect moving vehicles in real time, sending the data directly to a terminal located here in the LFOC. A quick look at the J-Stars display confirmed her suspicions, and she shifted units around Western Brunei like a chess master. There would be just enough time.
5th Malaysian Brigade, South of Seria, 1630 Hours, September 21st, 2008
The movement of the 5th Brigade had gone well, even though the troops were tired, having been on the move continuously since midnight. The retreat out of BSB and the airport had left them angry, eager to get back at the Americans. Now they would have their chance. The line of departure was a dirt road along the lower Belait River, about 5 mi/8 km from the coast. Their plan was to drive into a gap between the production and storage facilities, then fan out along the coast to seize the objectives. Much of the route was covered by jungle, their element. They could win.
By 1635 hours, they were moving forward, infantry leading the light tanks and armored personnel carriers. Suddenly, shell fire began to drop on their heads. At first, it was just a few 155mm rounds. Then, 5-in./127mm high-explosive rounds from ships began to fall. As the infantry went for cover, the armor pushed on ahead. The troops felt safe against air attack in the jungle. The deafening shell fire kept them from hearing the arrival of the Harriers overhead. The Harrier pilots, however, seemed to know exactly where the Malaysians were. The J-Stars had given the Harrier pilots precise GPS coordinates to drop their weapons "blind" through the jungle canopy. Each aircraft delivered six CBU-87 cluster bombs. Thousands of CEM cluster munitions fell through the top of the foliage, shredding the forward battalions of the 5th Brigade. Tanks and carriers destroyed by the hollow charges of the CEMs became small volcanoes in the darkening jungle. The guns stopped. All that was left was the sound of burning vehicles, exploding ammunition, and the low moans of the dead and dying. As the brigade commander tried to rally the remains of his unit, the desperate radio calls from his command post were identified by an ES-3A Shadow surveillance aircraft, and rapidly triangulated by several of the ships offshore. Within seconds, a fire mission was flashed over the support network, and a pair of TACMS missiles were fired by one of the offshore destroyers. These arched inland, guided by their onboard GPS systems. When the two missiles were directly over the brigade command post, they ejected a load of anti-personnel cluster munitions. In seconds, the command post and most of its vehicles were destroyed, with little left but a scar in the jungle, which would rapidly grow over. The southern prong of the Malaysian counterattack was broken.
Batang Baram River Crossing, Brunei/Malaysia Border, 1645 Hours, September 21st, 2008
The commander of the 2nd Brigade was getting increasingly frustrated trying to push across the Batang Barem River. The Americans had taken the ferry at the mouth of the river and established a series of strong-points across the river from his brigade. The firing had gotten lively, and he had already lost some vehicles to TOW and Javelin missiles. Now the Malaysians were starting to make some headway. They had forced crossings at several points along the far riverbank, and were starting to get whole platoons across. He was late at the planned start line for his attack, and communications with the 5th Brigade had been cut off. But at least his units were finally starting to move. The enemy in front of his brigade seemed to be Marines on foot, with a few tanks and LAVs. Just what his reconnaissance had told him would be there.
Mouth of the Batang Barem River, Brunei/Malaysia Border, 1700 Hours, September 21st, 2008
It had been the kind of mission that his old friends in the Army's armored cavalry would have loved. Bill Hansen had pulled his AAAVs off the line several hours earlier, handing over their defensive positions to leg Marines. He would refuel, rearm, and head back through the oil tanks to the sea. Carrying a company of Marines, his fifteen armored vehicles headed out to sea at full speed on a long, looping arc to the southwest. The sea was calm, and the fifteen vehicles were cutting through the South China Sea at over 30 kt/55 kph, trying to stay out of sight from shore-based observers. Their goal was the mouth of the Batang Barem River, where Marines from the 31st MEU (SOC) already held the north bank. It took less than an hour to reach the goal, and they barely slowed down as they entered the river.
Major Hansen and the AAAVs, moving rapidly up the Batang Barem River, were actually behind the bulk of the 2nd Malaysian Brigade. Cruising at over 20 kt/ 36 kph, they moved to crumple the Malaysians' left flank. About 3 mi/5.5 km upriver from the 2nd Brigade, the fifteen AAAVs slowed down, dropped their tracks, and retracted the bow flaps. Striking the flank of the lead battalion, they penetrated into the unit's rear area, overrunning the command post. They tore through the area and sent the battalion staff running for the hills.
At this point, Hansen broke his AAAVs into five teams, and sent them tearing through the rear of the 2nd Brigade. They shot up command vehicles and trucks with their 25mm cannons, and popped any armored vehicles that got in their way with Javelin missiles. Then, coordinating their maneuver by digital data links, they converged on the command post of the 2nd Malaysian Brigade. It had been less than an hour since they had climbed out of the Batang Barem River and started their headlong dash. They spotted the command staff of the 2nd Malaysian Brigade coming towards them with hands raised. The last effective combat unit of the Malaysian Army in Brunei had just surrendered.
BSB International Airport, 0800 Hours, September 22nd, 2008
The 7th Gurkha Rifles had flown into Brunei on chartered commercial aircraft, and were now taking control of the airport complex from the units of the 82nd Airborne Division. While it was a symbolic handover, the return of the Gurkhas meant a return of order to Brunei. Crown Prince Omar Bolkiah was arriving on one of the Royal Brunei Airlines jets that had been interned in Manila. Escorted most of the way by a pair of F-15C Eagles from the 366th at NAS Cubi Point, the Prince had insisted that the final leg be escorted only by the Marine Harriers that had done so much to liberate his country. He walked down the aircraft steps under the watchful eyes of Colonel Rai, moved to one of the grassy areas, and kneeled to
kiss the soil of his liberated home.
In a few days, he would be crowned as the Sultan of Brunei. Surprisingly little damage had been done in the short liberation campaign. His half-brother, pretender to his father's throne, had fled to take up refuge in Saudi Arabia, in the same political leper colony once occupied by criminals like Idi Amin. As for himself, he would take his father's plan for the development of the South China Sea oil fields to the October UN conference. The American ambassador in Manila had returned his father's data slate, recovered from the helicopter crash several weeks earlier. It held the late Sultan's private diary, which contained his notes for the conference. There were also his father's poems and letters, which were to have been given to him at the time of a succession. He had them now, and knew how proud his father had been of him. He intended to make sure that his spirit always would be.
Prime Minister's Residence, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 1200 Hours, September 22nd, 2008
The Malaysian Prime Minister was looking into the eyes of his Army Chief of Staff, as well as those of his other ministers. "Gentlemen," he said tiredly, "our forces have failed to retake the oil facilities in Brunei, and I must declare to the people of our Federation that this government has fallen. I just hope that we can get the word out before they come through the door to announce it to us personally. I must resign, and will retire from public life." With that, he rose and left the room. The Army Chief of Staff wondered if he would even make it home. The crowds were already in the streets, and they had a ugly history of tearing politicians who disappointed them into pieces. Small ones.
PHIBRON 11, Steaming North through the South China Sea, September 30th, 2008
It had been a frantic week, getting extracted from Brunei. Along with the unavoidable ceremonies and honors, everything that had touched the soil of North Borneo had to be meticulously cleaned for a full Japanese inspection when they returned to Okinawa the following week. But right now, everyone was getting some sleep. There is little time for rest during amphibious operations, and the ships of the ARG were unusually quiet during the transit.
For Colonel Taskins, though, there were other duties. While she was being hailed as the greatest female warrior since Joan of Arc, there still were painful tasks to deal with. One of these was to write letters home. Those letters. Casualties had been light during Tropic Fury, but there still had been five dead and thirty-four wounded. The wounded had already been evacuated through Pearl Harbor to the Balboa Navy hospital in San Diego. The bodies of the other five had been flown to Dover AFB, Delaware, then to Arlington for burial. Now her duty was to write the letters to their families. In her two command tours, these were the first fatalities her unit had suffered.
The first one was the hardest. The young Marine private from Detroit had been in the team that secured the cargo pier; he had been shot down by a sniper in the streets in BSB. She had not known him personally. But this was one command responsibility that no commander could delegate or postpone. Ahead of her was a visit to the White House and Congress, probably a general's star, and maybe even a regimental or divisional command. But now, this was where she wanted to be, with her Marines. After a few more minutes, she started to type on her computer, and the words came.
Conclusion: A Corps for Five Hundred Years...
In the chapters of this book, I've tried to take you on a tour of what are undoubtedly the crown jewels of the United States Marine Corps, the MEU (SOC)s. In exploring these seven precious national assets though, I hope that you have gotten some sort of sense of what the Marines are all about. While the units themselves are wondrous and dangerous precision instruments for the national leadership to move about the chessboard of world events, it is important to remember what the basic building blocks of the MEU (SOC)s are: Marines. Marines are perhaps, as I proposed in the Introduction, the ultimate expression of America's military persona. When a person in a foreign land thinks about what the United States might send if they were angry or helpful, Marines coming ashore are often the most likely response that comes to mind.
I like to think about the Marines a lot. My own ideas about the Corps caused me to give my primary novel character, Jack Ryan, a Marine background. Many of the ethics, morals, and characteristics that I consider central to Jack, are at the core of the Marine ethos. In addition, Marines have filled the pages of my books, because they are reliable, inventive, and colorful people in real life. I like to think that those same images are the ones that an enemy would have, prior to considering a fight with them. This is perhaps their most powerful weapon against a potential opponent: the fear of what might happen if one had to face a force of American Leathernecks in battle. You see, Marines are mystical. They have magic.
Marines like to see themselves as firemen in a world full of pyromaniacs these days, and perhaps they are right. Busy as the various units of the Corps have been in the five decades since the end of World War II, the five years since the end of the Cold War have been positively dizzying. Liberia. Desert Shield. Somalia (the first, second, and third times). Desert Storm. Bosnia-Herzegovina. I could go on, but I think you are probably getting the idea. Marines are our sentries on the walls of the world, and they take an immense pride in the privilege of serving in that role. When they call themselves "...the 911 Force...," they really do mean it. Thank God they do, because in a world filled with nationalistic dictators, natural disasters, and other unexpected things, we really need Marines!
To this end, I perhaps owe them a few thoughts on how I view their future. Five decades ago, at the moment of the flag raising on Mount Suribachi during the Battle of Iwo Jima, there occurred the defining moment in the history of the Corps. Watching from an offshore command ship, and viewing the bravery and determination of the Marines who had made it to the top of that fire-lashed peak, was James Forrestal, then-Secretary of the Navy. As the flag went up, and all of the emotion rose in the throats of those watching, he is said to have spoken the following words to General Holland "Howlin Mad" Smith:
"Holland, the raising of that flag on Suribachi means a Marine Corps for the next five hundred years..."
At the time of the Iwo Jima invasion, the Corps had not yet celebrated its 170th birthday. Now, fifty years later with the dawn of a new millennium within sight, it is easier to see what Secretary Forrestal meant. What he was talking about was a spirit and ethos that allows the Marine Corps to attack new problems and missions with fresh ideas and perspectives. Sometimes, when the other services and our allies have decided that these things are "too hard" to accomplish within their institutional guidelines and restrictions. The U.S. Marines have been leaders in technology and tactical development in this century, and you see it in the unique mix of equipment and doctrine that they have developed. Things like precision weapons delivery (sniping and dive bombing) and over-the-horizon transport systems (air cushioned landing craft and helicopter assaults). When you want something new done, give it to a Marine!
So what does this mean about the future of the Marines in the 21st century? Well, for starters they have one. In the minds of the national command authorities, they provide a valuable contribution to maintaining America's forced entry capability. That alone should ensure their survival to their 250th birthday. Beyond that, the skies are literally the limit. Emerging technologies in systems like long-range vertical takeoff and landing transport aircraft could see a merging of the current missions of airmobile and forward deployed forces. Powered personal armor and armament systems could see the emergence of Marines looking something like Robert Heinlein's Starship Troopers by the middle of the next century. Beyond that, it is probably impossible to imagine just what kinds of roles and missions that they will have.
Whatever technology brings though, there will be some things that Marines will always be, even in the year 2275 when they celebrate their 500th birthday. They will, as always, be the best basically trained warriors in the world. Even in the 23rd century there will probably be drill sergeants and yellow footprints in the Palmetto groves of
Parris Island. Marines will also be riflemen, or whatever kind of personal weapon is in fashion three hundred years from now. Aimed fire from a shouldered weapon will always be a vital part of the Marine ethos. Finally, they will be finding new and innovative ways to win battles, and support the execution of wars. The enemies by then may even be extraterrestrials, but I think that the Generals Krulak (father and son) would heartily approve.
When I said earlier that Marines are America, I meant it. They represent us in so many different ways, in a variety of roles. From standing watch as embassy guards to flying the President in their distinctive olive-drab helicopters, Marines are people that we trust in whatever job they are assigned to perform. That trust is born from a commitment, both institutional and personal. It means that a Marine is both a part of a finely designed machine, yet has made a commitment to stand out from the crowd, and make their own way in life. It is hard not to smile when you see them, whatever their age, rank, and assignment. Whether they are in for just a few years, or make it a lifelong commitment like some of the people we have met in this book, the Corps changes them all for life. And whatever their reason for having originally joined the Marines, they seem to have come into a common defining experience that allows them to share something special from life.
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