Proximity: A Novel of the Navy's Elite Bomb Squad

by Stephen Phillips

  “I think I understand, Senior.”

  “I would suspect that you don’t. If you did you would not have gone on that IED call in Texas without a Master Technician with you...”

  Jazz tensed. “Whoa... you are outta line, Senior... the command knew what I was doing, besides I had Ball with me...”

  “Well, sir, Ball is as good as they come... but the end result was still two of our brethren are dead. If I was on that job, I would have rendered that shit safe before I turned it over.”

  “Senior Chief, you do not know what you are talking about.”

  “Oh, don’t I?”

  “No.”

  Jazz did not know what to say now. He was losing ground in the conversation already. He did not want to leave it this way. Denke spoke again.

  “No offense, sir, but I’ve worked with a bunch of 1140s over the years. None of them figured it out on their own, some never got it...”

  “Got what?”

  “That you need to trust your senior enlisted people, your Master Technicians. You need to listen to them, to me. If ya follow my advice and do as I say, you will get through this tour fine and grow up to be Commodore someday. If not, we’ll bump heads, the det will go to shit, and you’ll be lucky to have my recommendation for a Senior Technician Board.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Senior Chief. But I want you to remember this... I do not give a damn about being Commodore. What I do care about is this det and about growing into a Senior EOD Tech. I crawled and scratched my way into this community against the wishes and efforts of some pretty potent people in this Navy. I am not going to let anything get in my way of my responsibility to the det first and to my professional development second.”

  Denke frowned and rolled his eyes. “Okay, sir, whatever.”

  Jazz stood and left.

  That did not go well, he thought.

  As he walked back to the IED classroom Jazz realized that his initial reaction to the IED incident in San Patricio was just as Denke described. The new OIC called one of his Master Technicians, Chief Keating. Keating trusted him to react properly. Keating thought Jazz could perform on his own. Now Jazz wondered which of his chiefs was right.

  Yurwitz asked the detachment to lay out all of their IED equipment in the front of the classroom before he began his lecture. Jazz surveyed their gear as Quinn and Sinclair laid it out. He recalled being taught how to use each of these tools in the IED division at Indian Head.

  The det’s response pack was the first item used by any Tech when downrange on an IED problem. The pack held all of the “Hollywood” tools. There were clamps, cutters, drills, and miniature sized screwdrivers and pliers. It had various rolls of tape, different sized magnets, and special metal containers for carrying blasting caps. Next to the pack, Sinclair had laid the det’s portable x-ray and the remote operated dearmer. These were the bread and butter of IED work. Often, sophisticated devices could only be stabilized using the response pack. The P1 had to use his x-ray and dearmer to render the device safe.

  The portable x-ray was invaluable to determine the layout and design of the improvised explosive device when fully enclosed within a container whether it was a cardboard box, a suitcase, or a pipe bomb. The Tech placed the x-ray on one side and a film cartridge on the other. After shooting the correct number of electromagnetic pulses through the device the P1 would return to the CP with the film cartridge. Each det possessed a portable developer to go along with their x-ray unit. In minutes the whole team could be studying the contents of the suspect package within the safety of their command post.

  The remote operated dearmer was meant to destroy an IED’s electronic components from the safety of the command post. The tool was in essence, a cannon, that spewed water at extremely high speeds into the suspect package. The energy imparted upon plastic, wood, and even metal by the first H2O molecules cut a hole through which more water could travel. As the water passed through, wires severed, timers imploded, and circuit boards became demolished.

  The beauty of this technique was that high explosives may break apart under the force of a water jet, but the friction was usually not enough to cause detonation.

  Jazz thought the dearmer was phallic-looking and apparently at least one other Tech agreed with him. Two cases housing the det’s dearmers were labeled “HOLMES” and “JEREMY.”

  The classroom phase was complete at lunchtime the next day. Now Det Four would be given practical drills to demonstrate their proficiency. After returning from the base chow hall, the det waited in and around the classroom for their first drill to begin. Any minute they expected one of the instructors to come in and role-play a police officer, beginning their IED problem.

  Quinn had his head on his desk, eyes closed. He slept soundly. T-Ball read a book. Ash was outside the IED classroom on his cell phone. Jazz noted he spent every free moment on the phone.

  “Who’s going to be the P1, LT?” Denke asked.

  “I am.”

  “I advise against that, sir. It would be best if you were in the CP.”

  “I’ll learn more as the P1, besides I need the signatures for my Senior Tech PQS. In fact there are four line items, so I need four signatures as the P1 on an IED to advance to Senior Tech.”

  “LT, you’re the OIC and as such you belong in the CP. No offense, but I’ll never let you go downrange on an IED problem. Chief K will back me up on this. Right, Chief?”

  Keating was in an awkward position. Jazz knew he also had to develop a good relationship with his fellow chief.

  “Well, Senior Chief, LT does have a point about his PQS. This is a great time and place to learn, he should take advantage of that.”

  “Hell, we can teach him, we’ll coach him along in the CP,” Denke.

  Jazz knew Denke was disguising an attempt to gain footing against him. The OIC clenched his jaw. Then he asked, “Will you sign my PQS for P1 on an IED problem if I do it in the CP?”

  Jazz already knew what the answer was. It was clear when Denke provided no response.

  “Then I guess I’ll be the P1.”

  “Well, sir, just because you’re the P1 does not guarantee you a signature. I’ll only sign you off if you prove yourself to me.”

  Denke’s tone was harsh, not quite disrespectful, but there was anger behind it. He stood and left the room. The rest of the team returned to silence.

  Jazz wondered what his men thought of him right now. Keating seemed genuinely interested in training the OIC, almost paternal. Denke was obviously ready to embarrass him.

  Don’t fuck this up, Jazz he thought to himself.

  Ashland walked in the room carrying his cell phone with Grover Denke following behind him.

  “So what did your broker say?” asked Quinn.

  “Broker? I thought he was running a 1-900-horny diver phone service with that thing,” said Sinclair.

  Ashland ignored his teammates.

  “LT, I just got a call on my cell phone. Sounds like an IED issue.”

  Jazz looked at Ashland puzzled.

  Ash lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “I gave Potter my cell phone number the first day here so they could get a hold of us if needed.... they are obviously using it.”

  Jazz took the phone and opened his IED Standard Operating Procedure binder. The SOP was used as a guide for conducting the IED mission.

  “Lieutenant Jascinski, here.”

  “Sir, this is Sergeant Squid of the Virginia Beach Police Department.”

  The OIC asked the standard questions and provided “Squid” with the Standard recommendations outlined in the SOP. After Jazz gathered all of the pertinent information he briefed his det.

  “Okay guys, we just got a call from Virginia Beach PD. There is a local politician who has been getting threats, all of them documented with VBPD. This morning the politico comes out to his car to find a bomb in it. Specifically, he opened a gym bag he keeps on the passenger seat and saw a device inside.”

  “Is he sure that it wa
sn’t an egg timer and a couple’a road flares?” Quinn quipped.

  Everyone chuckled, including Jazz. “No, we’re pretty sure it is a bomb. VBPD is faxing us a map to their location. Let’s load up and head out.”

  As the other men moved toward the door, Denke approached Jazz.

  “Lieutenant, if you are going downrange as the P1 at least give me the binder so I can act as OIC.”

  Jazz handed it over.

  “Sure, Senior Chief.”

  He noted that Denke had relieved him subtly.

  The fax directed Det Four to the demolition range a short distance behind the training unit. All of the response gear was loaded into Det Four’s HUMMVEE, with the CP gear in the dually. Jazz drove up in the HUMMVEE with Delgado, the others followed behind.

  The IED instructors were waiting in their HUMMVEE next to a gate that was closed to block the demo range from traffic. A red flag was displayed next to it identifying the range as “hot.”

  As Denke got out of the det’s Dually he called out, “You guys from Virginia Beach Police Department?”

  Chief Potter stepped forward.

  “We sure are. I’m Sergeant Squid, the guy who called you.”

  “Is this a safe area to set up a CP?”

  “Yes.”

  Denke pumped “Squid” for more information, using the SOP. Finally Denke turned to Jazz and frowned.

  “Okay, sir, get dressed.”

  NINETEEN

  Mercury

  Ten minutes later Jazz and Quinn, dressed in bomb suits, drove slowly toward the demolition range where the vehicle was supposed to be. Quinn was Jazz’s P2. He sat on the tailgate of the HUMMVEE and payed out the hard-wire comm reel.

  As they got closer, Jazz could make out a government sedan. Yurwitz was leaning on it. He figured that it must be the “vehicle.” Yurwitz was there to grade his performance.

  They stopped forty feet away and hopped out of their vehicle.

  “Walk the box down next to the vehicle while I get situated,” said Jazz.

  “Aye, aye, Lieutenant.”

  Quinn reeled the comm box out more and set it next to the vehicle as Jazz put on the response pack and grabbed the portable x-ray.

  “Great, Quinn. Thanks. Now return to the CP. Let me know when you get there.”

  “Hooya, LT.”

  Quinn jogged stiffly back to the CP under the weight of the Kevlar.

  Jazz studied the gym bag through the car window. He swept the opening with his penlight. The OIC spoke loudly so the comm box would pickup his voice.

  “CP, P1. I can see in this bag pretty well. Inside is a box that is opened just a little bit. I can make out some dynamite, a timer, and a blasting cap into the dynamite.

  Denke’s voice came back at him. “Is it ticking?”

  “No.”

  “Sure it ain’t road flares and an alarm clock, LT?”

  Jazz could hear his teammates laughing at the joke again in the background.

  “No, it is not, Senior.”

  “You are happy with everything you see?”

  “Affirmative. It is in a cardboard box, but the box is partially opened. Did this guy open it?”

  Knowing if the intended victim has opened the box could give the P1 some insight on the stability of the IED. If he opened it, it was disturbed at least once.

  “We’ll find out... so do we need to x-ray it?”

  Everything was settling down in the CP. Ashland pulled out a paper copy of the sixty series publication on IEDs from the portable safe. He settled on the grass next to the dually and began to read.

  Delgado sat on a camping stool in front of the computer set on the dually’s tailgate and began to log everything that was happening, especially the conversations between the CP and the P1. Sinclair finished setting up the detachment’s portable computer, also on the dually’s tailgate, and called up the CD-rom version of the 60 series pub that Ashland was reading.

  “T-Ball,” Denke said. “Set up a second dearmer down the road a bit, closer downrange. Make sure you mark it with a bravo flag. We’ll use it as backup.”

  “Roger that, Senior.”

  “Sinclair, I want you to set up the developer for the x-ray.”

  “No problem, Senior.”

  T-Ball donned a flak jacket and helmet. He hopped into the bed of the dually and found the case marked “JEREMY.”

  Thirty five feet in front of the CP he set it down and opened it. First he put on a set of protective glasses that were in the case, then he removed a red flag that signified the letter “B” or “BRAVO” in semaphore. This flag denoted explosives or flammable material present. He hung the flag from a tree branch. Next he extracted a stand of plywood and plastic pipe that the det used to store dearmers when they were primed with an explosive charge. T-Ball conducted the buildup of both tools as he had hundreds of times before.

  Walking back to the CP he observed Denke and Keating talking together. It was obvious that they did not get along. T-Ball noted that he had great respect for both of them. He appreciated each of their leadership styles. Keating was a mentor, the kind of LCPO that coached you, let you make mistakes. Denke was a taskmaster of the old school, a disciplinarian, but men found they could accomplish much more under his scrutiny than they ever imagined.

  T-Ball surmised that Keating was going to be the detachment’s “mother” while Denke was the “father” personality. The OIC would determine if Det Four would be close-knit or dysfunctional.

  Jazz slipped off the response pack and removed a tripod from a long thin pocket on the side. He set the tripod up close to the car door and fastened the x-ray on top of it. Next he quickly placed the film cartridge so that it would capture the x-rays emissions.

  He noted that Yurwitz was still leaning on the car observing him. The petty officer said nothing.

  Jazz flipped a switch on the back of the x-ray and ran behind the HUMMVEE. Once there he keyed his radio.

  “CP, P1. I just initialized the x-ray. Give me a wait time.”

  Denke’s voice came back at him. “Roger. Do not forget, tools in- tools out, LT. We want you to bring everything home... Okay... time. Take some photos with the digital camera, do what ya gotta do, and come back.”

  Jazz recovered the film cartridge and the x-ray. He grabbed the digital camera and took several quick photos of the scene, especially of the bag and its position in the car. He picked up the response pack and checked his digital photography on the display screen on the back of the camera. The IED came out clearly.

  Fifteen minutes after arriving downrange, Jazz was driving back toward the CP.

  When he arrived at the CP he noted that Quinn was still dressed out in a bomb suit bouncing on the balls of his feet. He appeared to be in the on deck circle. Jazz saw that Denke and Keating standing on the other side of the road from where the CP was set up. They seemed to be arguing. Potter and the other instructors were all leaning on their vehicle, arms crossed, silently observing.

  Jazz took off his helmet and set it on the dually’s open tailgate. Delgado was still at the hardened laptop stationed there. Jazz removed the disk from the digital camera and handed it to him.

  “Here’s the photos. Call’em up.”

  Jazz handed his X-ray film cartridge to Sinclair to develop. The lieutenant expected Denke to come over and pump him for information... but he and Keating were still in conference. Jazz decided to give them their space.

  After the film was developed, everyone huddled around the computer including Potter.

  Finally Keating spoke. “Definitely a mercury switch there. Good photos, LT.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I say we hit it with a dearmer. It will probably go, but nobody will get killed and we may get lucky and do only minor damage to the car.”

  “Negative,” said Denke. “Quinn’s gonna go down there and start cutting wires.”

  Denke’s comment stung. He did not want Jazz to go back downrange again. Was this what the chiefs were fight
ing about?

  “Senior Chief, Chief... come with me.”

  Jazz spun on his heel and walked away from the group to the spot across the road where the chiefs had just been standing.

  T-Ball expressed concern to his teammates as their khakis walked away.

  “I gotta tell ya fellas... this could get ugly real fast...”

  “Nah,” said Ash. “They’ll work it out. Giv’em time, these guys will work it out.”

  “I dunno,” said Delgado. “They all seem pretty bull-headed, especially the lieutenant.”

  “They may be bull-headed,” Ash agreed. “The time to worry fellas is when they stop talking. If Keating stops giving input and sits in the CP with a scowl on his face and his arms crossed over his chest... that is when the det is in trouble.”

  Jazz heard the footsteps of his two senior enlisted behind him. When he was out of earshot of everyone else, he did another about face and faced them.

  “First, Senior Chief, I am going back downrange. I need the training. Period.”

  “You are gonna kill yourself, sir, and I ain’t gonna cut your grass when you’re gone.”

  Keating piped in, “I agree with Senior Chief only if you think you are going to cut wires. Sir, you need to hit this thing with a dearmer. Worse case scenario the car gets peppered, but nobody gets killed. The guy’s insurance will pay for it.”

  Jazz clenched his teeth and swallowed hard.

  “Don’t you trust my abilities, Chief?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. But, I wouldn’t cut wires on this thing. It has a mercury switch. Those bastards are very sensitive. If you fart upwind, it may go on you. Remember, sir, you never conduct a hand entry.”

  “I disagree wholeheartedly,” interjected Denke.

  Jazz could hear the impatient anger in Denke’s voice again. The senior chief was clearly not used to being challenged.

  “After all, why do you think we have wire cutters, LT? So you can wire your house on the weekend?”