About 6500 miles away, in Washington, DC, the following conversation was taking place.
AMr. Secretary, we have a pilot and passenger down in Indian Territory, he was flying a routine surveillance ferry flight when a SAM or Stinger hit him. We have no definite details concerning the event other than the pilot thought both hits, one to the right engine the other to the rudder and vertical stabilizer, were
[email protected] He paused to let what he had told the seated man sink in. Pointing to a map, AHe went down about here. Satellite imaging confirms his aircraft here; you can see the debris along the slide trail going into this
[email protected] He said, pointing to an area a short distance from the other. AOur in-country sources confirmed one soldier was alive and taken to a cave located here.” The General gestured to a large screen monitor showing a video clip taken from the drone camera, showing the body on the rocks and the subsequent capture of the other soldier.” They say one soldier killed. It is believed it was the passenger, a Colonel Housley. It is also believed the pilot was taken
[email protected] This time he pointed to an area about fifty kilometers away from the other points. AOur last intelligence has this outpost a four or five- man garrison. Again, drone imaging of the area has confirmed sighting of four
[email protected] “What are our options?” The Secretary asked. “Do we have assets that can affect a rescue? What about Seal Team Six, can they be used?”
”Well, Sir, yes we have some units that can do the job. However, the Seal Team would want to use helicopters for input. As you can see, this is not a good area for air insertion. By the time they covered the required distance for covert insertion, it would be close to an hour on foot.”
“OK, so we rule out the Seal Team, what about a CSAR, Special Forces, or a Ranger unit. Don’t tell me with all the expertise we have in the military, we don’t have anyone to get a pilot from the tangos, I believe that is what you call the bad guys.”
“Yes Sir, we call them Tangos. Special Forces and Rangers are both stretched very thin in this area, so there is not much hope of pulling a team from the field, train up on this type of rescue, and get them in play before the Tangos get their interrogator to the scene.”
“General, I would suggest you come up with a plan before this day is out. I will not have a man taken captive and used by the bad guys for their political propaganda. That is not acceptable. You remember Daniel Pearl, the reporter that was beheaded. The civilian contractor, Berg, I believe was his name, was beheaded. These insurgents will not behead an American soldier! Understand!
“Yes Mr. Secretary.” The General said, beginning to sweat under the pressure of the Secretary. “I have heard of an elite team operating in this area. Let me make a contact or two and get back with you in about three hours, Sir.”
“Who was the pilot of the aircraft General.”
Looking at a clipboard, he found the information he sought. “His name is Captain Eugene Poole, Sir.”
“OK General, get back to me in that time frame and not a minute longer, and General. Make it happen! Do not take no for an answer.”
A cold chill went up and down the Secretary’s back, “Captain Eugene Poole is my grandson,” he thought to himself as he walked down the long hallway to his austere office. “I knew he was in the Middle East flying low echelon missions, but didn’t know he would be in danger. I’m glad I didn’t ask his name at first. I want to think I would do what is right for any American in trouble. Now the hard part, just as soon as I get verification as to the identity, I’ll have to call my daughter and tell her the news.”
Somewhere in the Middle East Mountains close to a country’s boundary.
“See, when pain is applied correctly, any information the person has can be extracted successfully.” The Doctor was telling an aged grey bearded Imam wearing a long flowing robe. “One has to know when he has reached the point where the client will tell you what you want to hear, rather than what he knows. This man, as you directed to be questioned, is an excellent example of interrogation techniques. Your instructions said he had information that you wanted, here is his signed confession.”
“Was it necessary to cut away both his eye lids?” The Imam asked.
“How else could I ensure he would savor what I was doing to him? This way he could not shut out the images.”
What was once a strong young man standing in a mud hut before the Imam less than a month before was now reduced to a naked, whimpering hulk of red streaked meat chained to a hard backed chair. There was no hair on the man’s head, his beard had been shaved, but most notable was the lack of eyelids. The eyeballs had long crusted over from lack of moisture. Now, he was quite blind to his surroundings. His arms, strapped to the wide arms of the robust built chair along with his ankles to the legs of the securely fastened to the floor chair. No amount of working in the chair would loosen its position. The Doctors once white lab smock was spattered with red of the blood of his latest victim. Looking at the young man, the older man’s old eyes saw only some more of the damage that had been done. The man had no genitalia, in its place a blood crusted burned area. On the right foot, he had only his big toe, the rest had been cut off with horseshoe nail pliers. Once removed the stubs had been cauterized with a red-hot iron to prevent further bleeding. There were no fingernails on either hand. His face had been brutalized as well. All his teeth had been extracted as forcefully as possible. When his screams had become an irritant to the Doctor, the victims tongue had been removed. Only feeble grunts could be made. “As you can see, now that he has told us everything we want to know, I have began a little research on him.” Pointing to his right arm, a tourniquet was in place above the elbow. From just below the elbow to the wrist, a long incision had been made. Skin and muscles alike had been parted to allow access to the bone and the attached tendons, which had been expertly dissected.
“Now I have word a planner of infidel attacks desires my attention. This one.” He motioned to the seated man.” I had to rush on, do things to him I do not like to do, but in the interest of speed, one must do what is necessary. Now, I have the information I want, so I can cut his throat and let him meet Allah and explain his sins.” With those words, his hand flashed by the head of the seated man, and in its wake a thin cut appeared on his throat that suddenly opened up, spilling his remaining lifeblood onto the dirty cell floor. Following a gasps for air that could not enter his lungs, a sudden peace came upon the young man as he finally found himself free of pain.
“Where is this planner of infidel attacks? Must I be kept waiting like some whore in market place?” The Doctor yelled to anyone listening as he washed the blood from his hands.
“As-Salamu Alakum Doctor, I am the one who wished to speak to you.” Said the old Imam.
“Well, what do you want? I though you wanted this information.”
“I came to tell you we have captured an American pilot; he was flying one of those airplanes that can listen to our communications. We need to find out what he knows. Kadir the bomb maker and myself were going to that area to conduct a meeting with our forces there on how to make and emplace IED explosives. Since where I am going, and where the pilot is being held is only a short distance apart, I was wondering if it would not be to our advantage to travel together for the protection of each other.
“You fool, we are in our country, we control the roads, there is nothing to be frightened of except for your shadow.”
“Yes, you are right, I was just thinking of your safety and to offer the use of my personal bodyguards.”
“Well, perhaps you are right. Maybe it would be better if we travel together.” The Doctor was already thinking of letting the bomb maker and Imam drive the road first, as the Americans always like to destroy the lead vehicle. “Very well, we will leave from here tomorrow morning.” Having said that he turned, opened a door and departed.
“Mr. Secretary, here is what I found out about these ultra secret folks. After calling the Pentagon, I have a friend who has a friend that knew what I was talking about, who in turn would talk about them, with
the usual anonymity.”
“General, are you going to beat around the bush or is this conversation going somewhere beside where I think its going?”
“Sorry Sir. They are known as Sierra Warriors, answer only to the Vice President, through a civilian, I have his name if you need it for some reason. I suppose the civilian is for plausible deniability. A Brigadier commands them in the field, with the unit being made up of five two-man teams. Each team could have either an Officer, or Non Commissioned Officer or a combination of both. It is doubtful the men know the name of the other person other than the call name each is given. Each name starts with an ‘S’. Even though they are U. S. Army, they are paid as GS-15 Civil Service employee living in New York. They advance four steps for each year they are in the Sierra unit. In the short time I had, I didn’t find out how a person gets in this unit.”
Interrupting the General. “OK, OK, you found a team of super troopers. Is one of them available?”
Smiling, “As a matter of fact, one unit is within five klicks of the cave entrance on another mission. The team is being emplaced to take out target K. M. If the Vice President will give you permission to pull them from that mission, looking at the topography of the route, they can make it before the interrogator gets there.”
Less than 6 hours later
A barely audible crackle hissed through the earphone, “Scorpion, this is Mother Goose actual. Over,” Stopping to press the headset tighter against his ear, the figure responded, “Scorpion here. What have you got boss?” “Change of mission” replied the voice. “Scrap the mission to neutralize target K.M. and proceed to grid coordinates to secure a downed flyboy.” The figure stood motionless as the subsequent information quickly came across the secured frequency, mentally noting coordinates and the directive details. “Crap” thought the figure, “So much for the simple shoot and scoot.”
The blackened-faced figure motioned to his spotter and silently told him to come over where they both took a knee and pulled out a map to discuss the change to their circumstances. In a hushed voice, the figure said. “We’ve just had a FUBAR mission thrown into our laps. Can you improve this game plan?” After a brief debate of ideas, the original plan was fleshed out to a workable two-man mission. Scorpion looked at the luminous dial of his watch. “It’s 1628, lets travel the rocks for cover, get as close to the cave as we can before dark. If the situation permits, we will wait until full dark and before the moon rises tonight.”
His team partner, Snake quietly spoke into the radio. Getting the information, he required he told Scorpion. “Moon will rise at 2337. Should be sufficient time for most any contingency we encounter. Both men shouldered their rucksacks and staying in the rock cover began the five-klick trek distance to the cave.
Sand colored nylon combat boots barely disturbed the rocks as they carried the camouflaged soldier toward his prey. Lifting the Starlite scope to his eyes, the ghostly green image within verified the sentries had not moved from their original position. Gently, so as to make no sound, he lifted the cover over the luminous dial of his watch. "2115, eight hours till dawn," he thought. The new moon had set leaving the mountainous edged desert in absolute dark, except for the twinkling of stars.
Moving forward, alert to any sound and guided by finely tuned senses other than sight, he closed on the barely awake enemy sentries hidden in the heavy darkness a few meters to his front. His nose told him when he was about five meters from the mouth of the cave. The stench of unwashed bodies covered with cheap cologne filled his nostrils along with the odor of cheap cigarettes. A strange new smell became apparent; it was the sickening smell of sweaty unwashed feet. "Good" he thought, "Sentry on the right has his boots off, probably dozing." This soldier would not be as alert as the one on the left.
He silently motioned to his teammate to stay back and provide security, as they had previously arranged. This mission would require stealth, speed, and surprise, and with the constraints of space, it is better that one man handle it.
Selecting the man on his left as his first target, he eased the Gerber Mark VI Defender double edged, razor sharp knife from the sheath attached to his left calf. The black oxide blade gleamed dully in the dark night. Shifting the weapon to his right hand he began to slowly crawl forward on his stomach, making no noise or notice of his passage, the only high rocky plains inhabitant he disturbed was a hunting black scorpion.
A match suddenly flared brightly as the sentry lit another cigarette. Had he been alert instead of leaning against the cave wall, he could have looked directly into the icy blue eyes of death. As it was, the glowing end of the cigarette briefly highlighted the sweeping left hand smashing into the guard's face pulling the head back, exposing his throat to the slashing knife. Once the razor edge of the knife entered the left side of the neck, he could feel a slight ‘pop’ reverberate through the handle of the knife as it severed the jugular vein, bisected the trachea below the larynx and continued around the neck stopping below the right ear. Blood gushed from the gaping wound, spilling on the dry sand extinguishing the cigarette that had dropped from the guard’s surprised mouth. Air pumped from the lungs that had been meant for screaming escaped from the new man made mouth and went unheard into the still night air with only a slight wheeze. His heels drumming against the gravel cave floor were his last movement, his remaining lifeblood spilled, eagerly absorbed by the thirsty desert sand. Easing the body to the ground, this apparition of death was unable to catch the canteen cup knocked to the ground by the dead man's flailing hand caught in a death spasm.
Spinning around at the sound, the remaining sentry saw the almost invisible form dropping his comrade to the blood slick floor of the cave. Out of reflexive terror, the other sentry began lashing out with his AK47, striking the intruder in the face with the barrel. In a blinding flash his nose now broken and split on the left side by the rifle muzzle, the desert brown camouflaged clad figure lunged forward with the knife, impaling his attacker two inches below the belly button and slashed upward. Once the knife left the body at the sternum, the sentry looked with disbelief as his intestines began dropping to the ground through the front of his split robe. Falling to his knees at the feet of his killer, the man made the futile attempt to stuff his spilling guts back into his gaping body cavity. Almost as if he was in a trance like state of stunned disbelief, he felt his head wrench back and the savage blade quickly entered his neck. Knowing that his time of death was now, he quietly passed in to oblivion, his bloody hands still full of slashed intestines.
The dealer of death quickly retrieved his rucksack and moved to the cloth covered opening of the cave. An almost invisible sliver of light fell from the interior and onto the dirt at his blood spattered combat boot. Pressing his eye to the slit, he peered into the dimly lit hollowed out room to identify two more guards still in a relaxed state of complacency. One guard was sitting at a desk next to the far wall intimately engaged with his Qur’anic religious reading; while the other figure was standing over and taunting the American officer shackled to the wall.
“Good,” the intruder thought to himself, “They heard nothing,” quickly he began to formulate his plan of attack. Though his eyes were beginning to water due to the pain from the previous blow, his discipline extolled him to ignore it and continue the mission. Besides, his teammate was too far away for any quick substitution and the element of surprise could be lost in the meantime.
A dull smack broke the silence as the standing guard hit the shackled officer in the face again. A low moan escaped his bloodied lips as his head bounced off the hard wall behind him.
"Ha. Just as Sheik Osama has said, these Americans are weak; look, this dog doesn't attempt to even fight back."
"Could it be that you have both his arms shackled to the wall?" His companion ventured timidly.
"That makes no difference, I have seen the Rambo movies; he always fights and escapes. What is this infidel’s excuse? Maybe he likes it here? he said while spinning from the guard to spit on the s
upine and helpless captive. He continued in his broken English," When the Turkey Maker Doctor gets here in the morning, he will make you tell everything you know. Before he is finished, you will be begging for death.” Turning back to his companion, he noted, “I heard he was once a doctor of children, but was so cruel to them that he was forced from practice. Then a higher up recognized his talents, he was given the rank of colonel in the army, and now specializes in interrogating prisoners. His specialty is cutting without killing and presenting what is left on a plate, just like one of your big American turkey dinners“, he said, peering again at the prisoner.
“Jesus!” Poole thought and sudden fear gleaned in the eyes, he knew that he could tolerate the beating this idiot was giving him, but torture from a professional was a completely new ball game. He had heard stories of the atrocities these people had done to their own people; political dissidents, apostates, members of different clans and especially captured coalition members. Dismemberment, a joint at a time, eye gouging, the use of drills to bore holes in the legs and knees, if a person could think of it, this torturer had done it. It was rumored that some of these guys could literally skin a person alive using only a scalpel. These specialists are ruthlessly efficient in their quest for information or, in some cases, for the sheer enjoyment of inflicting pain. The Captain shuddered at the prospect of being tortured and silently prayed that help would arrive…and soon.
The standing guard looked back at his captive, noting with satisfaction that he had a full understanding of what is to come in the morning, and stating with an almost malevolent smile, “Inshallah. Through the Turkey Doctor, Allah will judge you.”
Slipping his Beretta 9mm from its tan nylon holster, the intruder silently threaded the dull black silencer onto the barrel. A magazine containing 12 rounds of sub‑sonic cartridges with soft lead bullets completed this particular inventory of destruction. Speaking just above an icy whisper, the camouflaged clad apparition declared, "Allah may be the judge, but tonight I’m the executioner.”
Grabbing at the pistol on his hip, the guard at the desk attempted to stand up and draw at the same time. A quiet "thop" sound was barely discernible in the cavern, ended his senseless clawing. A small purple hole suddenly appeared like a third eye low down on his forehead from the well placed shot rendering the guard dead before he even realized it. Brain matter spattered the dirty wall behind only milliseconds before the impact of the heavy bullet drove the limp body into it. A second heart stopper bullet punched through the flesh that contained his still beating heart, causing it to explode within its dying carcass. In one expertly executed motion, the apparition of death made an immediate turn on the balls of his feet with the pistol swiftly coughing two more times, sending rounds into the chest and temple of his companion guard, proficiently ending his ability to torture and taunt any person ever again.
The wraith like figure took a quick assessment of the area, confirming that all the Tangos were neutralized and only then did he speak into the mouthpiece of the small radio for his teammate to come forward.
Moving over to the restrained captive, he looked at the manacles that firmly bound his bloody wrists to the wall. Scanning the top of the desk, he saw the key chain and in moments, the man was slumping against his rescuer. Up righting the desk chair, he lowered the battered officer on it. Opening his canteen, he let a few drops of water fall to the man's busted lips. "Take it easy Captain; you have been through quite an ordeal. Looks like they really worked you over in the short time you have been here. Everything's going to be OK now.” He said as he completed his quick examination. “Nothing appears to be broken, Will you be alright if I leave you alone for a few minutes?"
With one eye completed swollen shut and the other a mere slit, he nodded. A quick reconnaissance of the primitive outpost verified that he and the Captain were alone. Inventorying the supplies, he found several gallons of water and fuel. Filling a pan full from their new supply of water, he began to work on the once held captive. Gently sponging off the man's battered face, he began to see the extent of bodily damage. "Captain, you must be one tough cookie. It looks like bruises, contusions, shallow cuts and a few cigarette burns. You should be OK in a few days."
A rifle muzzle suddenly appeared in the doorway, startling the Captain, silently followed by another blackened faced apparition who looked slightly amused. “I swear, I can’t let you go anywhere by yourself. What the hell happened to you?”
“Popped zit” said the bloodied faced rescuer in a matter of fact tone. “We’re good in here; get those two bodies out of the doorway before they attract a Chupacabra or something.”
His released captive glanced up at his rescuers through the barely open slits. "Looks like you could use some first aid. You’re bleeding on me." He said grinning crookedly.
Reaching up and touching his nose, he brought his hand away red with his own blood. "I guess your right. Snake, when you’re through with the bodies, would you put a stitch or two in for me?” Removing his first aid kit, he began to remove items needed for the upcoming task. A mirror on the wall and the light of his small Mini-mag flashlight confirmed the worse. The nose would now have a hump in it, and a small scar would be evident along the left side.
With great effort and holding an arm to his side, Captain Poole walked over to the recent dead tormentor, lifted his arm, removed his own watch, then removed the semi-automatic pistol that had been taken from him. “What you got there Captain? Scorpion asked.
“He took my watch and 9mm when they captured me. I was just liberating them back from him.”
“Must have special meaning.”
“You could say that, it’s a Breitling Chronomat”, he said holding up the watch. “My Father gave it to me when I soloed my first airplane, and the pistol, I had to sign for it, didn’t want them taking it out of my pay check.”
Upon reentering the cave, Snake overheard the conversation between Scorpion and the Captain. Not really impressed by name brand dropping Snake said. “Yeah, whatever, I wear a $13.00 Timex. It takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’.” He said holding out the watch on his arm with the large luminous dial. “Oh, by the way, you mentioned statement of charges, what are you going do about that Charlie one two Victor aircraft. From what I understand, you sort of scratched the paint a bit when you landed it.” Laughing at his own joke, he turned to Scorpion. “OK, let’s see what we got.” He placing both hands along the sides of his nose and quickly pulling it into place as well as possible under the conditions. The pain of working his nose back into position brought fresh tears to Scorpion’s eyes, “This is going to hurt you more than it will me.” Snake was telling him as he jabbed a small suture needle with catgut thread into his nose and back through the torn flap, expertly making three quick stitches, keeping the parts intact until he could receive proper medical attention.
With the aid of the mirror and several wipes from his first aid packet, he cleaned his face. “Eighteen cuckoo’s and not a scratch, and now this, a broken nose and facial scar in one instant. Do you think this will ruin my handsome looks? I don’t want to scare the ladies, what to you think this does about my chance of ‘Dancing with the Stars’?”
“No, not at all, they will see that as a badge of honor. They will probably be taking numbers just to be seen with you.”
Finding a small stove, Snake began to heat some water. "Captain, would you care for a cup of coffee?"
"Please. How did you get in here?"
My partner and I just happened to be in the neighborhood going door to door selling Girl Scout cookies. Can you imagine, these clowns tried to take them without paying? That is a definite no-no that our Den Mother frowns on.”
Pouring the coffee in to cups, the man with icy blue eyes said. "I'm sorry, but instant is the best I have."
Taking a sip of the hot coffee, "After what I had to eat and drink, this is heaven."
"I want you to sleep after you finish your coffee; we’ve got a bit work to do. We know that shortly
after daylight, the turkey maker will be arriving to interrogate you. Should you have lived through that, they would put you on trial, found you guilty of being a spy, and then executed.
"I didn't think they would move that fast, but yeah, I think I knew as soon as I was captured, that they would kill me."
“Scorpion, what do you think about moving to another hide about two hours before sunup. We have a good idea which direction they will be coming from.” Looking at the map and pointing to a location. “This is about three klicks away, looks like it has got a good avenue of fire from head-on to a broadside in getting to this location. Appears to be about 300 to 400 meter range.“ Snake was saying.
“Snake, you're not going to believe this, but I was just going to ask you the same thing. Looking at this place, the only good avenue of approach is straight on. The only shooting position is in here, no escape route. Yes, definitely, we move out before dawn.”
Snake turned to the Captain, “Captain, you heard our conversation, you be fit to move in a few hours? We’ll sit up a good firing position; take this Turkey Maker Doctor and his entourage out.” Placing a blanket over the shoulders of the Captain, he and his partner began preparing for the coming day.
“You say the word, I’ll be ready.” Replied the Captain to their backs as they moved deeper into the cave.
Chapter 7