Short Season

by DJ Scott

  “If you’re thinking it’s a bullet hole, yeah,” replied McGregor. “What the hell happened up there?”

  After a few minutes, the young Marine felt revived enough to relate what had happened at the bridge and the fate of his fellow Marines.

  “You mean he just lined them up and shot them in the back?” said Kelli Moore.

  “That’s exactly what happened. I was last in line.” He took a few deep breaths and a large swallow from a canteen. “When the shooting started I jumped into the wadi and took off. They sent a couple of guys after me, but I ambushed one and the other couldn’t keep up.”

  “Good job Corporal. That was an amazing escape.” Kelli Moore’s hands were clenched into fists. “But I would give anything to get that asshole into my sights. Do you know where they went?”

  “No idea. I saw a little dust in the direction of the bridge when I finally climbed out of the wadi, but that’s all I know.”

  “Sergeant Leach, see if you can bring up that Predator on your computer,” McGregor ordered. Griggs did not want to risk his command vehicle by taking it to the bridge so he left it with Sgt. Leech—along with all its communications and intelligence gear. Leach scrolled through the menus, tried several options which turned out to be incorrect, then brought up an image that showed a much larger area than the Predator would show.

  “That must be a satellite image,” she said. “Yep, and the time on it was about twenty minutes ago. Let me see if I can find that Predator.”

  “Just a moment.” McGregor moved the trackball and asked, “Can I enlarge this?”

  “Sure, just right click.”

  After McGregor worked with the image for a moment she added, “Ah . . . that’s the ocean, sir.”

  “Yeah, right.” McGregor then moved the image back across their position, but when he tried to look to the west, the image ended. “Looks like that satellite pass didn’t cover the area we’re interested in. Sergeant, if you can bring up the Predator data, let us know.”

  “Message for you Commander,” Johanssen called out. “Two helos just launched from Iwo Jima with ETA 10 minutes. They’re taking us back to Essex.”

  “Glad to hear it. I don’t like being the last ones up here. Makes me nervous”

  Chapter 47

  September 11, 2017 1540Z (1840 AST)

  Southeast of Qishn

  Hacksaw One and Two were a flight of CH-53s traveling northeast at 1,500 feet. As Iwo Jima was already moving away from the landing area to the southwest, they were approaching their target from further west than on their previous missions. Their flight plan was to cross the beach just east of the tiny town of Qishn and head straight to the ridge south of Arad, collect the remaining sailors and Marines, and then head for Essex before the 1600Z time limit set by the President. It was going to be close. LCDR Nick ‘Greek’ Andropolis, in command of Hacksaw One, was relaxed. The operation was nearly over, and while the Marines had suffered substantial casualties, there had been no loss or damage to the group’s aircraft.

  At the same time, Sergeant Ali Hamidi was seated in the gunner’s seat of an old Soviet era ZU-23-2 twin barrel 23 mm. antiaircraft gun positioned there mainly to intercept vehicles, not aircraft. Though antiquated by modern standards due to its simple optical sights, the twin 23 mm auto cannons could be lethal to low-flying aircraft, especially helicopters.

  Hamidi was part of a small force concealed in Qishn and intended to blunt any American movement to the West towards Mukalla, or at least to delay then. The antiaircraft gun was mounted on the bed of a truck, concealed in the shadows of a wall under camouflage netting and had escaped detection by the American Predator drone. When his crew told him two helicopters were approaching, Hamidi had pulled the camouflage off his weapon and prepared his men for action. The gun was poorly positioned to engage aircraft approaching from the sea, but it did have a clear field of fire to the east.

  As Hamidi began to train the twin barrels skyward, Hacksaw One crossed the beach about two-hundred meters to the east of Qishn followed closely by Hacksaw Two in echelon.

  Ali Hamidi gripped the trigger as he aimed his weapon just ahead of the lead aircraft. He opened fire and walked the line of tracers back. He could see the small explosions of the 23 mm rounds along with pieces of the aircraft being torn away.

  By the time ‘Greek’ Andropolis made the call, “Break Right,” his aircraft had already been hit nine times, his co-pilot was mortally wounded, and his transmission heavily damaged. Before he could try to auto-rotate, he was hit by shrapnel and released the controls.

  Hacksaw One cartwheeled into the ground and exploded in a huge fireball.

  At the same time Hacksaw Two broke right, which was exactly the correct call. The pilot, a Lt (jg) not long out of helicopter training, made as sharp a turn as he dared and was almost clear of Hamidi’s field of fire when two rounds exploded in the controls just ahead of him. This was quickly followed by failure of multiple systems, but he at least was able to auto-rotate, and they began a sickening descent towards the surf.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the big machine hit the surf right side down. The co-pilot and rear gunner were killed by the impact, but the pilot, crew chief, and one of the gunners managed to get clear of the aircraft before it sank in about ten feet of water. The three men helped each other, once they were sure there were no other survivors, into the surf and on to the beach, where they fell onto the coarse sand.

  The pilot, Pete ‘Pistol’ Wagner had heard the rumors already circulating about the loss of the Marines at the bridge. There would be no surrender on this mission. He drew his Beretta from its shoulder holster and indicated to his men to do the same. As Ali Hamidi and five soldiers, all armed with AK-47 assault rifles approached, yelling at them in Arabic, they all opened fire.

  Wagner’s men were capable marksmen, and three Yemenis were hit before they could return fire. Pistols, however, were no match for automatic rifles, and the three men were gunned down in seconds.

  Chapter 48

  September 11, 2017 1550Z (1850 AST)

  USS Essex

  Reports coming in to the flag bridge showed Operation Ocean Reach winding down. The last vehicles had driven straight onto waiting LCACs, which were now heading for Essex. The nuclear weapons were secure on Ashland, which was moving east under escort until it came within full air cover of the Lincoln strike group, after which it would turn south for Diego Garcia, the Indian Ocean air base where the weapons would be inspected and decisions made as to their disposition. Initially, Admiral Tucker had assumed they would be shipped back to the United States, but there were now second thoughts about allowing nuclear weapons that might have been tampered with into the country. “Above my pay grade,” was all Tucker had to say when he heard the change in plans.

  Essex and her escorts were preparing to head east towards Singapore where the Marine reservists, mission now complete, would be offloaded and flown back to the U.S. Similar plans were in place for Iwo Jima, with her destination being back in the Med.

  His operations officer interrupted, “It’s the Air Boss, Admiral. I think you’ll want to hear this.”

  The Admiral took the sound-powered telephone. “Tucker.”

  “Air Boss here Admiral. Hacksaw, a flight of two CH-53s headed up to the Arad area to retrieve our remaining people, may be in trouble. We heard a call to ‘Break Right’, several explosions and then nothing from Hacksaw One. Hacksaw Two had a garbled transmission, but we believe we can pick out the words ‘triple A’ and ‘auto-rotating’, but that’s about it. Cannot make contact with either now.”

  “Wait one.” To his intelligence officer he asked, “John, where’s that Predator?”

  “It gave us coverage of Colonel Mark’s convoy loading onto the LCACs. It just went feet wet and is heading for the deck.”

  “Send it along the beach and over fly this little town of—”
He took a quick look at the map to refresh his memory—“Qishn.”

  “Aye aye, sir. What are we looking for?”

  “Two CH-53s. We lost comm with them in that area.”

  It took twelve long minutes for the slow moving drone to reach Qishn. It took only seconds for its high resolution camera to confirm what had happened. About a hundred meters off shore, the rotor blades and engines of Hacksaw Two were plainly visible in the surf as were the three dead Americans in green flight suits lying on the beach. There were also two dead Yemeni soldiers. Not far away was the charred wreckage of Hacksaw One while the ZU-23, now uncovered, was also visible.

  “Jesus,” said someone in the back, echoing the sentiments of everyone on the bridge.

  Nathan Tucker could not afford the luxury of anger or frustration. To the Air Boss he said, “Predator confirms those aircraft are down. How quickly can we get two more helos up to Arad to extract our people?”

  The Air Boss took a quick breath, looked at his status board, and replied, “One of our 53s has a hydraulic casualty, but we can launch the remaining two in about fifteen minutes. Shall I lay on that mission Admiral? There is that Presidential order.”

  “I know my orders, Commander. Get those aircraft ready to go. I’ll contact the White House.” Tucker then turned to his communications officer. “Get the Situation Room back on the secure satellite link.”

  Chapter 49

  September 13, 2017 1555Z (1155 EDT)

  White House Situation Room

  Karen Hiller had Admiral Tucker’s call on speaker. The President was listening, but having just given Tucker an order to terminate the operation within an hour, a return call from the Admiral so quickly probably meant some kind of problem. Brendan Wallace wanted his top aide, not himself, to be on record for this conversation.

  “Yes, Admiral?” Karen Hiller’s tone was curt, sounding more like an annoyed parent than the President’s Chief of Staff. Tucker picked up on this immediately.

  “Ms. Hiller, we were well on our way to completing withdrawal of our people within the allotted hour when the two helicopters dispatched to pick up the remaining personnel were shot down.”

  “Shot down?” Hiller said. “Why the hell did they do that?”

  “Unknown, Ma’am. There was no warning or explanation. They were engaged by an antiaircraft position just after crossing the coast.”

  “Was this a position we knew about? Why didn’t our helicopters just avoid it?”

  “The position was camouflaged and outside the area that received the closest reconnaissance scrutiny. Being an old weapon system and looking at its placement, we suspect it was there to block westward movement along the coastal highway rather than to serve an antiaircraft function.”

  “Well, I guess they got lucky, didn’t they Admiral?”

  Brendan Wallace whispered, “That’s enough, Karen.”

  “What’s the status of the crews and of the troops they were going to evacuate?” she asked.

  “A Predator sweep showed both birds down with very low probability of survivors. Our people south of Arad are still there. The purpose of my call is to request permission to launch a second mission to get them out. The helicopters will be ready to go in about ten minutes and can have them back aboard thirty to forty minutes after that. Considering Nazer’s forces are the reason we still have people there, it seems reasonable we should be able to go get them.”

  The President pursed his lips and thought for a moment, then he gave a slight shake of his head to Hiller.

  “Not happening Admiral. Reasonable has no meaning to nuclear terrorists. We agreed to his terms, and we’re going to have to abide by them, as horrible as the consequences may be to us. Remember, breaking those terms may be worse.”

  “Most of the people on that ridge are wounded and medical personnel. Are you suggesting we leave them to be captured or killed by this lunatic?”

  “Look Admiral, let me be clear. Neither the President nor I want any of our people, particularly our wounded, to be taken prisoner. Nonetheless, that’s the position your ill-navigated helicopters have put us in. They can surrender, and we will do everything humanly possible to negotiate their release once this crisis is over. You may not send another aircraft. Am I clear?”

  “Crystal clear, Ma’am.”

  The President signaled to the communications officer to terminate the connection, and all they heard was static.

  Commandant of the Marine Corps Daniel Forrest was the first to speak. “I cannot believe that we are sailing away while dozens of our wounded and medical personnel are left to the mercies of this terrorist. What if they don’t surrender and end up getting massacred? Or worse, what if they do surrender and end up getting massacred? Mr. President, I can see no good outcome here.”

  Karen Hiller was about to tear into the general when the President raised a calming hand. “General, I totally understand how you feel and, frankly, I agree with you. This is a hellish situation. As President, though, I don’t have the luxury of only thinking about the people still in Yemen. I have to consider the people back here in the U.S. At best, a public announcement by Nazer that he has placed a nuclear weapon in one of our major East Coast cities would result in panic, probably large numbers of injuries and deaths, as well as economic chaos. At worst, we have to consider the possibility he actually has deployed a nuclear weapon on U.S. soil. Consider that for a moment.”

  Forrest was silent for a few seconds. “Understood, Mr. President.”

  Brendan Wallace leaned forward slightly and spoke directly to Forrest. “One thing we do not need right now is a leak. There is, as of right now, a complete blackout on this information. None of us likes the situation, but for the moment it we will have to live with it . . . and keep quiet about it.” Wallace turned his attention to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “Ted, do whatever is necessary to disable any satellite communication those people in Yemen might have. We do not want them making calls for help to every ship or aircraft in CENTCOM.”

  “Or to DC, for that matter,” added Karen Hiller.

  General Dan Forrest looked at Hiller with contempt, his hard eyes boring into her. Even the master of Washington hardball politics squirmed slightly under the relentless gaze.

  “I’ll see that it’s done, Mr. President.” Lennox was speaking to Brendan Wallace, but he was looking at Daniel Forrest.

  “And Ted, have your people work up a plan to retrieve our people if—and only if—we recover that sixth warhead or at least confirm it’s not in U.S. territory.

  “Right, Mr. President.” Even Lennox knew this was eyewash. Those sailors and Marines were not coming home.

  Chapter 50

  September 13, 2017 1615Z (1915 AST)

  South of Arad

  “CO calling for you Commander,” yelled Sergeant Leach.

  Mike McGregor walked over to the Humvee, “Colonel Mark?”

  “No sir, Admiral Tucker.”

  “The operational commander, why would he be calling me?”

  But McGregor already knew it had to be some kind of bad news. Admirals did not contact junior officers without a very good reason. He took the handset and paused a moment. “Eagle one-two here.”

  “This is Junction,” the Admiral began. “Ops tells me that you are the Battalion Surgeon for the 1/28, and that Colonel Mark left you in command. Am I correct?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “I’ll assume the Colonel knew what he was doing. To put it bluntly, we have a problem. The aircraft dispatched to extract you and your people were shot down along the coast west of your position. Looks like it was done by a small detachment and they likely present no immediate threat to your position. I understand you have damaged the bridge to your north so vehicles from the objective are also no threat. Is that correct?”

  “Yes sir,” replied McGregor. “Our Royal M
arines just took down a six-meter span.”

  “Good. Our second problem is we’ve gotten orders that no U.S. forces may enter or over fly Yemen east of Mukalla as of 1600 today. This isn’t just us, it applies to all of CENTCOM. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  He did. They were being hung out to dry. He wanted to scream at the Admiral to ignore the fucking orders and come get his people out. But what would be the point? “Understood sir.”

  “Are you up to this Commander? I need to know right now.”

  “Uh, yes sir. I’ve been here before.”

  Tucker paused for what seemed like a long time. “All right, these are my orders.”

  McGregor signaled to Sgt. Leach to don a pair of headphones and to take notes.

  “First,” the Admiral began, “all U.S personnel now in Yemen east of 48.5 degrees east longitude are designated the 584 Composite Unit, the land equivalent of Task Force 58.4. You, Lieutenant Commander McGregor, are designated commanding officer. Your reporting senior is NAVCENT. You may appoint subordinate officers. Movement is at your discretion. Rules of engagement are that the safety of your command takes precedence. This is not a combat mission. You may, however, use deadly force to defend your command from an imminent threat. Surrender is authorized if you feel it’s the only option. Is that clear?”

  McGregor was numb, but he was recognized what was happening. “Clear sir. May I ask when you think you could send forces to get us out of here? Should we be planning for air or sea evacuation?”

  “Unknown, son. Our orders are to clear the area, so all I can tell you is that help will not be coming from Task Force 58. Again, I’m sorry.”

  McGregor took a deep breath before answering. “Understood, sir. I should let you know that one survivor, one of the engineers, has reached us from the party sent to destroy a small bridge to the northwest of the objective. They were taken under fire by a superior force and after taking heavy casualties they tried to surrender. They were lined up and shot in the back by a Yemeni officer. The survivor escaped through a wadi. He says there is a company-sized force somewhere to our west.”