by Ray Carole
Sully, always the showman, paused for another second of silence accompanied by his schoolboy grin before cracking on with the main act.
‘WHITEOUT will be taken down in Antarctica, approximately 100 nautical miles from the South Pole, going on our estimates this far.’ This last statement caused raising of heads. ‘That’s not a joke, he will be taken down in Antarctica we have no choice. Right Beast?’ Sully talking at the new arrival next to him. ‘Everyone this is Beast and he’s going to give everyone a rundown on WHITEOUT so we know what we’re up against.’ Keeping the brief moving fast would divert the team’s initial shock Sully hoped as he waved the Beast to get a jog on.
Beast stood up. Nicknamed ‘The Beast’ due to his capacity to collect and retain huge amounts of information. Seemingly useless information for most that is, his thought process resembled that of a filtering system that resembled a recycling plant in Mumbai. How he sorted the valuable stuff from the complete rubbish was frightening and yet everyone knew that his breath did not stink of horseshit when he spoke.
‘Thanks Boss, this is going to be fast and furious team. We are already playing catch-up as we know. Here is the poignant CV download on WHITEOUT, no need to take notes, the picture you will form is pretty clear-cut.’ Closing their new Moleskines they all sat back.
‘OPERATION IGNITION guys is the name of this job. So WHITEOUT joined the Parachute Regiment at 17, highly effective individual. Sailed through the training and even at this stage was noted by his training staff as Special Forces potential when he passed training in Dec 1997. Three years later, true to his training staff’s predictions he became the youngest member of the British SAS after passing another six months of torturous training. Getting the picture everyone? WHITEOUT does not fuck about.’
This was already clear to the room.
‘2000 onwards he began his new life in the SAS which is a fucker for you guys I’m sorry to say.’ Sully smiled at that one, the Beast had a knack of lightening the atmosphere when it came to dishing out serious yet disturbing facts. He was renowned for ending his briefs when he worked for the British Special Forces Group previously with ‘good luck with this one team I wouldn’t want to be you guys’ or something similar. Everyone he worked with liked him, and this team would be no different, even though he was like a doctor diagnosing lung cancer.
Beast continued.
‘WHITEOUT had a quiet first few years from 2000 really, apart from working in Bosnia hunting down those nice guys that slaughtered 8000 Muslims in Srebrenica, tailing a few diehard terrorists in Northern Ireland who just wouldn’t give up the fight and, a quick hostage rescue in deepest darkest Africa where he first realised killing was fun. Lucky bastard I heard that was a good one from guys I know.’
Bob was squinting slightly clearly doing the maths. Sully knew that Bob had been away himself on another operation when that job went down and would be keen to see an image of WHITEOUT. Maybe he would recognise him.
‘Yes, then Twin Towers 9/11 happened and things just went ballistic. Like the rest of the world’s Special Forces, or what they deem to call Special Forces, WHITEOUT was at the forefront of initial operations in Afghanistan, Operation Enduring Freedom, that’s the same one that is still ongoing by the way, all these years later. I hope you guys bring OP IGNITION to a close in a shorter time; otherwise the ice will have melted down there.’
The Beast’s dry wit was met with another round of laughter; even Sully risked a smirk that he immediately rectified, reaffirming his authority by slapping the desk.
‘Look Beast, we know WHITEOUT is a dangerous man. This room is full of people who are familiar with British SAS Operations, I used to Command it for fuck’s sake and Bob had a good go as you know, so wrap this up. Give us all a quick download on his tours, any specialist skills that may concern us, and finally anything we don’t know about him from post-SAS era, and we’re not interested in his golf handicap.’
Beast flicked through his Moleskine.
‘In a nutshell there is not really much he hasn’t done. He’s racked up four tours of Afghanistan in the conventional Strike Squadron deployments. He has conducted undercover work with assets all over the world, Iraq the same really and a handful of tours in Central Baghdad with Task Force Black…’ The team nodded appreciatively, Task Force Black was the name given to the SAS Squadron based in Central Baghdad.
This high-intensity urban warfare had not been witnessed for decades. Breaching into strongholds under intense enemy fire, and regularly encountering terrorists blowing themselves up when the SAS entered their houses. The onslaught was addictive, costly with men being killed but ultimately successful. Their work completely wiped out the suicide bombing networks that had once dominated the whole of Baghdad.
Sully caught Gerry looking at him, probably wondering why he’d remained quiet for once instead of taking this opportunity to brag. He’d commanded Task Force Black for a few years. He knew that there had been talk that he was just a bitter bastard, knowing he’d had to watch from the sidelines courtesy of a predator drone downlink, as his lads blew holes through two-foot-thick walls before closing in, killing its occupants. But that was the price he’d paid for his success. Less action, more authority. A full career for someone like WHITEOUT in the SAS ranged from 10-15 years. Officers like him who made it to the top served a maximum of 6-8 years, spread two years apart, literally a part-timer really in a battle-hardened sense, but a critical architect when it came to strategy and operational planning. That’s what he was key at and the men respected these traits, no one could deny him his ingenious flair and knack for projecting operational tempo and future hot spots. He looked through Gerry unblinking before tuning back into the Beast again.
Same thing with surveillance operations. He worked extensively following the AQI terrorist networks globally to find and fix their locations for follow up operations. All the qualifications you expect of an SAS guy with ten years’ experience. Sniper, Close Quarter Combat, Surveillance, Counter-surveillance, accomplished tracker, a Counter-Terrorist expert and of course not forgetting to mention the natural ability to completely bullshit his way out of anything. As an overview he is a vastly operationally experienced guy, certainly battle-hardened with all those tours. No stranger to a firefight, and certainly no stranger to people trying to fuck him over. He’s not James Bond just to put you at ease, but as we know he is an absolute liability who is not going to bend over and take it without killing as many of us as he can…’
‘I will take it from here Beast. We are up against it, under the pump in every manner.’
Though the Beast could lighten any atmosphere, Sully could heighten it within a heartbeat. He rose, he meant business and needed everyone to realise what was at stake, or more importantly, this was no conventional government operation; this was virgin territory; the Asset Icarus would soon have to mobilise quickly and fluently across three continents. Undetected, or more appropriately in a non-suspecting fashion, to deliver a result that had to be successful.
Sure. Sully knew the gravity of failure but equally recognised the magnitude of success. It would officially activate The Clinic. This was the first opportunity to flex the muscles of a deniable capability not restricted by government red tape.
Sully picked up a chinagraph black marker pen off the desk and stood next to the whiteboard. The black marker pen in his fingertips was about to formally begin the OP IGNITION planning process. Old school in nature, a good old-fashioned white boarding session was priceless.
‘This is where we’re at,’ pointing to WHITEOUT on the whiteboard.
‘One fucking paranoid maniac, or totally dysfunctional character is the enemy guys. Forget the past. Our mission, objective or end state, is to take WHITEOUT down, anyone who feels nauseous or has issues with this, let it be known now.’ Sully was getting darker and deeper as he began ramping up the rhetoric and narrowing his field of view.
Sully had the crosshairs on WHITEOUT and from this moment on they were closing in for the kill.
The room remained motionless as the atmosphere was past being cut with a knife. Team members looked at one another digesting the question posed. Sully was effectively asking them whether they had any issues killing one of their own.
There were no replies, just the muffled sound of the Beast clearing his throat.
‘So where we at?’ Not expecting a reply. ‘He is 30 days into a solo expedition in Antarctica just to really mess us about. Let’s be absolutely clear about one thing. This is time-sensitive as I mentioned, hence taking him down on the ice. I know you have been thinking along the same lines as me, reference the geography, my guess it that some of you were thinking about taking him out in Punta Arenas, the Chilean town he flies back to afterwards. Maybe a drunken walk back to his hotel that goes wrong when he slips and smashes his skull on the pavement, or an overdose in a whorehouse, even choking on his own puke. If we’re really in a hurry a bullet in the head or mugging gone wrong? Conventional thinking and wisdom isn’t happening this time around, so we’re playing with the cards we’ve been dealt. On the ice it is gents.’
Complete autonomy had been granted to Sully in this new role and he would need it. Antarctica wasn’t the easiest way to break The Clinic in, especially chasing a man that had numerous followers online. Abusing this freedom was not Sully’s style and his sometimes-cavalier attitude didn’t reflect in his operational diligence. He had the power to really do what the hell he wanted, nothing was off limits, and if he was honest he wouldn’t be passing on too much information anyway, just enough to keep the wolves away.
‘So fact,’ bellowing this out whilst pointing his index finger in the air. ‘WHITEOUT will be taken out in “the land that time forgot,” according to WHITEOUT himself in his blogs. A landscape that looks like heaven in a photo, but feels like a living hell to ski through – his words again.’ He is skiing in minus 15 or even a cool minus 50 degrees temperature due to Katabatic winds reaching 70-100mph. Terrain is jagged with sastrugi or hard-packed ice that can break or shatter limbs. Not the mirror-like surface of an ice rink people tend to associate with it, visibility is a concern because it can be registered as zero for days, or even weeks as the white outs-so common in Antarctica strike without real notice. Lunatics like WHITEOUT are a unique breed of individual who choose to risk their lives in pursuit of human excellence or ironically desperate to restore sanity. Challenging their bodies beyond what could be physically, mentally and emotionally possible. Antarctica is his domain, his playground of choice the arrogant sod.
‘It may also have dawned on you that we don’t have an unmanned drone program currently operating out of Las Vegas. It’s a shame because that means taking WHITEOUT out with a single Hellfire missile, 40km away from his position and 10000 feet above Antarctica, also isn’t an option. This is going to be a job for one of our physical Assets, who will engage with WHITEOUT face to face on the ice. Kinetic strike option is not an option. This has to be clean, deniable and completely innocent in the eyes of the public. When I say public I mean it, he really does have a global following as he’s trying to create history.’
Individual looks around the table moved from focused anticipation to that of a gurning competition, this task was throwing up some serious firewalls.
Infiltrating a team into a country to carry out complex operations to take someone out was a well-versed discipline to everyone present. Through Sully’s contacts worldwide, they had worked up assets ready to deploy and strike within days. Known as the Emergency Response Teams (ERT) they were ready to roll out within hours if they were in the right area. Once mobile towards whatever destination, they would receive updated information developing the target for takedown. The expertise of this team was frightening. Having the capability and skill sets to think fluently and rapidly, these teams were ready and primed to execute opportune targets globally. This work was what they thrived on. But this undertaking would not be the conventional assassination as already discussed as Sully elaborated.
‘Our Asset will have two enemies, Antarctica being the first, WHITEOUT the second. The team we deploy will need a short intense build-up package of training in cold weather to refresh their cold weather skills. Otherwise they will perish and inadvertently become the first victims of The Clinic.
‘Due to time I have to make a decision. We will thrash out the OPS in a minute. It’s the ‘Who’ we need to activate ASAP. We need to recall an Asset now as they will need to be flying to Norway or somewhere cold sharpish.’
Beast spoke pre-empting an order: ‘I will activate and recall Verganno now Boss, as you said we need the Asset briefed tomorrow latest.’
Sully paused to think then shook his head in disagreement.
‘No, activate Icarus Beast, please.’
‘What boss, definitely not Verganno they are standing by?’
‘Yes Icarus, Verganno can run with what they are doing.’
‘Verganno are free Boss, they can be at the briefing location within six hours and with all due respect, Icarus are good but South African, Verganno are better suited and two members are experienced in cold weather climates.’
Not what you would call a Mexican stand-off but this was the first sign of tension. Beast was not trying to undermine Sully he was simply stating an obvious choice of Assets.
‘Icarus can handle this, they can all ski, they’re all tough guys, they’ll just need a 3-4 day training camp to refresh them.’
‘Any specific reason you’re standing Verganno down out of interest?’ Beast felt a little incensed. You always put the best people for the job, on the job. Icarus seemed like a strange decision. Sully’s arrogance would never put the mission at risk. Gerry reading between the lines sensed there had to be an ulterior motive for Sully’s call and one for the better good.
‘Look for starters Icarus are South African, so they can do anything, just like the fucking Australians and the Americans. Secondly they have two members who are experienced on the ice, and Mick on the team knows Patagonia quite well down there. Thirdly I’m the fucking Boss so make the call.’
‘Your call Boss,’ Beast replied as he left the room careful not to show any intended signs of cursing once he passed through the doors.
Sully gritted his teeth, he knew this line of questioning was professional reasoning from Beast, he didn’t want ‘yes men’ and brushed aside this difference of opinion. He knew that plenty more questions would follow with Gerry sat near him.
The atmosphere was a little off between the men still sitting around the table but they had only been together a few hours. Sully sensed it but chose to ignore it. He turned back towards the board aware that his team were exchanging confused looks and making vacant impressions behind his back. Beast came back and took his seat. ‘Boss.’
Sully spun around. ‘Yes?’
‘Icarus activated.’
Chapter 12
Closing his office door behind him and turning the lock slowly so it couldn’t be heard. Sully let out a long breath of air. Giving the guys a 30-minute break to digest that it all felt right, he needed one too. Despite his frustration and impatience he never slammed doors, no matter how bad it got, control and the perception that he was always in it, was key to his overall makeup. Once inside however he reached for the heavy crystal decanter, enjoying the smoothness of the glass etchings imagining that they mirrored the channels in his mind. He poured himself a tumbler of the single malt nectar. WHITEOUT was irking him somewhat, a feeling he was not used to and one that needed to be quashed as instantly as it had arisen. In terms of profiling WHITEOUT, he’d been able to predict Beast’s intelligence before he was even presented with it.
He knew first hand that Decker was one of the Government’s finest. When Decker had departed the SAS Sully was around. He remembered people talking of another broken man who
was earmarked for the top, but couldn’t handle the onslaught of pressure plus he was grieving for some bird.
Like his colleagues he didn’t ask questions, they had just written Decker off as cracking under the stresses of the brutal workload, and displaying the mental weakness not acceptable to the SAS.
As a Commanding Officer of the SAS he did have compassion for the stresses the guys face. And yet sitting in his chair he could still recall Decker’s promise and achievements, he knew he’d met the Queen on three different occasions to collect The Queen’s Gallantry Medal, The Military Cross and finally The Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, one below the Victoria Cross. When Decker had left the SAS’s gates he had left as the most highly decorated soldier for gallantry in the British Army.
Sully scratched his head, glad that he had told Beast to refrain from telling the team this, he could see that they were conflicted enough without this extra piece of information.
Wanting to kick the sense of guilt out of his mind so that he could think freely about the logistical nightmare he was about to face. He checked his watch. He still had twenty-six minutes before the updated planning and preparation process was to commence. He supped away on his small tumbler of whisky to ease the discomfort of the situation that lay ahead.
This was his greatest challenge to date. He had to deal with facts, he repeated to himself, not emotions.
Running through potential takedown options to solve this crisis, Sully sank back in to his chair, deep in thought. Forcing the neurotransmitters in his brain to play out a million war games at lightning speed, his personal hallmark of being a forward thinker, the images forming rapidly in his mind were like short films playing out all strike options to kill his target.