by Eric Meyer
“Zeke, how’re you doing?”
The Seal opened his eyes slowly. Then he grinned, showing a row of white teeth that glowed with a greenish tinge in the NVS, and contrasting with the dull, mottled shades of the surrounding jungle.
“I guess I screwed up.”
“Whatever. Is anything broken?”
Zeke groaned as he tried to move. At first it was hard, but he managed to sit up and start to explore his limbs.
“I reckon not, Chief. I’m good to go.”
“Yeah, but you’ll need to take it easy at first. We’ll split your gear between us. Roscoe, take his backpack. Dan, carry his rifle. When he’s feeling better, he can have ‘em back.”
“Chief, I’m okay, I don’t need no nursemaid.”
“You’re still recovering from a blow to the head, so just take some time to get over it.”
Roscoe picked up the backpack with ill grace, and Dan the HK416. Nolan heard him muttering something about ‘black servants’, but he ignored it. Bremmer was going to need a thorough talking to when they got back; his branding himself a racial victim got on everyone’s nerves. It could cause even more trouble if it took men’s minds off their job. He helped Zeke to his feet and formed the men up to march. Talley assigned the point to Will Bryce with Dan Moseley at the rear. Nolan and Merano, the unit snipers, were assigned the flanks wherever possible. In the thick jungle, the going was tough, and often they had to follow tracks only wide enough for a single man. They marched fast in the knowledge that they had a lot of miles and time to make up for. By 0400, it was obvious that they weren’t going to make it. Nolan and Talley conferred. They’d have to find somewhere to lay up for the day and head on in after dark. It was not optimal, as there was always the chance of being discovered when hiding out for the day. It also meant the advantage of going in undercover of the fiesta was lost.
“Unless they’re still hungover,” Talley said reflectively.
“I wouldn’t count on it, Boss.”
He smiled at Nolan. “I guess you’re right, that was wishful thinking. How’s Zeke holding up?”
“He’s good. I’ve got two of the men carrying his gear. I’m not sure he’s fully over it, as that was some bang to the head. Maybe the layup through the day will do him a power of good.”
“I think so, too.”
They’d reached the top of a ridge and were looking down into a shallow valley.
“We’ll make camp on the far side of the crest, fifty yards below. Let’s make sure we can keep the whole valley under observation,” Tally looked all around. “That should give us warning of any approach from the front. Ask Vince to set up an OP to cover our six. We’ll relieve the position every two hours, so we can all get some rest.” Talley looked at Nolan and spoke quietly. “It’s a tough one, Chief, but we’ve done them before. I’ll get through to headquarters on the secure commo and give them a heads up. They’ll need to reschedule the UAVs, and let the undercover guys in Medellin know the score.”
“Right, I’ll go talk to Vince, and give him a hand to establish an OP over the ridge.
As Nolan walked over to speak to Vince, he thought about what lay ahead. It was true they’d been in bad situations before, but this mission had started bad, too bad. Small units of lightly armed Special Forces relied on silent infiltration to reach their objective, hit hard, and get out before the enemy realized that they were even there. The C-130 explosion must have been like a signal flare in the sky. Instead of an ordinary radar signature, Colombian air traffic control would have reported an aircraft that behaved in a peculiar fashion. The information would flash around the wires, and the only question was, how they’d interpret it and who would they tell? The Platoon had to assume the worst. Then there was Zeke, who despite everything would slow them down, even if it were a little. And losing the day, there would be people who’d prepared for their arrival. Could they do the same again the next night? Who knew whom they’d bribed, and who they’d threatened or killed? There was no point in deluding themselves. They were in the shit.
The men were mostly sleeping through the heat of the day, sheltered beneath the camouflage of leaves and branches cut down from the jungle canopy. Nolan was dozing, thinking about the kids, Mary and Daniel.
What will they be doing, right now? Settling into a new school, I guess. That could be a problem when they came back to San Diego, if they come back.
“Chief.”
He looked up. Will Bryce had been on sentry, and he was leaning over him, speaking in a whisper.
“What is it?”
“Movement, down in the valley.”
“Copy that. Wake the others, and I’ll take a look. Who’s out back?”
“Roscoe.”
“’Okay.”
He scanned the valley below with his binoculars, careful to make certain they weren’t in a position to reflect the sun’s rays. It was hot, very hot, and very humid. Sweat trickled down his back inside his shirt and down his forehead, making it difficult to see. But he could see enough; armed men, scores of them, about a mile away.
“What do you make of it?”
He looked aside as Talley lay down next to him and used his own binoculars to sweep the scene.
“They’re guerrillas of some kind, so I’d guess that makes them FARC. About a hundred of them, that’d be my best estimate.”
“FARC! Shit, that’s all we need.” Talley shook his head worriedly, and with good reason. The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia was a guerrilla organization with an anti-imperialist cause. They claimed to represent the rural poor against Colombia's wealthier classes and bitterly opposed any United States influence in Colombia. They were funded principally through ransom kidnappings, gold mining, and the production and distribution of illegal drugs. As an organization, they were well funded, well organized, and highly motivated.
The Lieutenant finished his sweep of the valley and then used the encrypted satellite commo to talk to headquarters, which meant Rear Admiral Drew Jacks. He outlined the problem.
Jacks’ response was one word. “Shit!” Then he went on to question Talley. “We wouldn’t have checked out the area as we didn’t expect you to go anywhere near it. They told me about the problem with the aircraft, and they’re looking into that now. How do you plan to play this? Can you get around them?”
“We’ll have to try, I guess. We could use an overflight, and downlink an image of the whole valley and the outlying areas. But if it means a detour, it’ll slow us down even more.”
“I’ll get onto it. We can have something for you in a couple of hours. In the meantime, I’ll get onto our intel people and find out what FARC are doing there. They generally operate in the south east of the country, not up in your area. I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything. Just hang in there, we’ll find a way around this, any more problems?”
“Nothing we can’t handle.”
“I hear you. Out.”
Talley said nothing. He just looked out across the valley as if he could see the size and scale of the FARC encampment. Finally, he glanced at Nolan.
“This operation could be a bust. It’ll be hard to trek to Medellin without attracting some attention from those characters. They’re not so dumb.”
“Maybe, we’ve sure had our share of problems. I’m wondering what the hell they’re doing, so near to Medellin. Are they with the cocaine gangs, or against them?”
“The FARC is a communist outfit, and the cocaine gangs are known to hate the commies. I guess that means they’re against them.”
“What, you reckon they’re planning their own attack on Medellin? That’d be interesting.”
Talley nodded. “Yeah, I guess it would.”
They waited for three hours, and then the secure satcom activated. Talley answered.
“Bravo.”
“Yeah, Bravo, this is Base. We have new intel on the FARC presence in your valley. We’re sending in a FARC expert to join you. There’ve been some developments, and we
need someone with knowledge of how they operate. For now, hold your position.”
Talley was puzzled. It was an unfamiliar voice, and the order was stranger still. “When’s this expert due to arrive?”
“He’ll make a HALO drop straight after dark. He’ll drop onto your coordinates. As soon as he arrives, your platoon is to be ready to pull out.”
“Pull out? What’s the deal, where are we going?”
There was a hesitation. “Going? Medellin, of course. Out.”
They waited through the day, speculating on what faced them when this so-called ‘expert’ arrived.
“The last thing we need is a passenger, some academic or diplomat who wants a feather in his cap for going into the field,” Talley grumbled. “Like I said, this mission looks like a bust. What the hell can this guy do? Fight his way through a hundred guerillas?”
“Unless he’s planning to do a deal,” Nolan pointed out.
“A deal with the FARC? Jesus, those guys are a bunch of commies. The only time we talk to those guys is when they’re the wrong end of our gun barrels. Damn, it’s hot out here!”
Nolan nodded. The heat of the afternoon was like a heavy shroud that clamped down over them, making every movement difficult. The humidity was high, very high, and it made everything worse. Finally, the light started to fade. Vince crawled over to where Talley and Nolan waited.
“The guerrillas in the valley, they’re moving.”
“Which way?” Talley asked, his eyes lighting up with interest.
“South, toward Medellin.”
He grimaced. “And we sit here on our fannies waiting for fucking Captain America to drop in. Jesus! This mission is fucked.”
Nolan and Merano grinned at each other. It wasn’t often the Boss was downbeat during a mission.
“Maybe this new guy won’t be so bad,” he pointed out. “He may know something that’ll put us back on course.”
“He’ll need to know a shitload of stuff if he’s going to do that, and bring an army with him to get through those guerillas.”
The message arrived just as the light was fading to twilight, and the time when visibility is at its worst. Zeke Murray had recovered enough to take over the satcom, and he called quietly to Talley and Nolan.
“Signal just came through, the guy just jumped. He’ll be with us in five minutes, maybe less.”
“Copy that.”
Talley got to his feet. “Men, our visitor is due, so keep your safeties on, we don’t want to give him a fright before he even gets here.”
They smiled but checked their weapons as they watched the night sky.
“I see him,” Vince said softly. He’d been using night vision equipment. “He’s at about five hundred feet, just over to the north west. It looks as if he’ll come down plum in the center of us.”
“Maybe he’s done a jump before,” Talley grumbled. “At least we may not wind up with a total amateur.”
There was a silent rustle, and a man dropped neatly into the center of the Platoon. He stripped of his ‘chute and expertly stowed it into a bundle while they watched. It was hard work to keep a straight face and to hide their astonishment. He was dressed exactly like them, in dark jungle camouflage uniform, the MARPAT woodland digital pattern. Like them he carried an assault rifle, an HK416, as well as a pistol in his belt holster, the Sig Sauer P226. He stripped off his half helmet and grinned at them. He was short, bow-legged, with cropped blonde hair. Despite being trim, hard and fit, he was also old. The men snapped to attention as they stared at Rear Admiral Drew Jacks, commander of Seal Team Seven, Naval Base Coronado, San Diego.
“At ease, men. I guess you didn’t expect me.”
“Well, no, Sir,” Talley replied.
“Yeah, well I’m not completely off active duty, not yet, anyway. This is one mission where I may be able to help out in the field. Call your men together, Lieutenant, we’re wasting time. This show needs to get on the road. And the mission brief has changed. I’ll spell it all out for you.”
He scanned the valley ahead through night vision equipment as he waited for the men to settle, turning to get their attention.
“Men, I’m aware that things haven’t gone well up to now, and I’m the last person you expected to see on a live mission. I can tell you now that things are going to get a whole lot worse.”
They stared at him. A few faces fell, and there were a couple of groans.
“Quiet,” Talley murmured.
“That’s okay,” the Admiral said. “Okay, here’s the deal. Our radio and cellphone intercepts suggest that these FARC guerillas are about to attack a couple of the major players in Medellin. It sounds like a great idea, yeah, save the US government a deal of time and trouble, not to mention a few bucks?”
They nodded.
“Right, but it isn’t. We’ve discovered that FARC is short of funds, and they like to use drug money to buy weapons and equipment, that’s their style. That’s why they’re going into Medellin, to set up their own operation by taking down two of the major players.”
“So why don’t we leave those boys to it?” Roscoe Bremmer interrupted. “What’s the point of me risking my black ass if they’re doing our work for us?”
“Pipe down, Roscoe,” Nolan said quickly.
“PO3 Bremmer asks why we don’t just leave them to it?” Jacks continued. “It’s because there’s a third major player inside Medellin, the Salazar brothers. If we let this happen, instead of three squabbling organizations, there’ll be one formidable combination, FARC and the Salazars, for us to deal with, and that, Gentlemen, is not acceptable.”
“You’re here, Sir, so that means there’s some kind of a plan,” Talley said.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’ve fought the FARC on a number of occasions, and we’ve come up with a plan. Essentially, it’s much the same as you came here to do. Destroy the Salazars. But we’re going to do it undercover of the FARC attack on the other guys, the Barreras and the Olveras. So we let these bastards destroy each other. And while these guerrillas are hitting the Barreras and the Olveras, we hit the Salazars. With any luck, we’ll cut out a running sore that’s been hurting America for more than a few years.”
There was a silence after he’d finished speaking. The prospect of involvement in a massive urban conflict was enough to make the bravest man think seriously. Yet it made sense, to deal the drug industry a huge blow at one stroke, if they could get away with it.
“That’s it then,” Jacks filled the silence, “any questions? If not, we’ll move out. The guerillas have already moved out, and we have a UAV on permanent station over this area for the duration of the mission. They’ve checked the whole valley and reported the hostiles’ movement. So we’ve got a clear run at it. Let’s go and…”
“Admiral, Sir,” Talley interrupted him.
“What is it?”
“Chain of command, Sir. I imagine you’re in charge, now that you’re the senior officer.”
“Then you imagine wrong, Son. I’m here as an advisor, period. You’re in command of the platoon, and the mission is yours. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” Talley sounded relieved.
“However,” Jacks went on, a sly expression on his face, “I’d appreciate you taking notice if I did have any advice to offer. Just think about.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Talley grinned. The meaning was clear; he was in command, but Admiral Jacks would have the final say. That was fine, Jacks was a warrior, no question, a legend even to many Seals.
“Yeah, well, as I said, I’ve fought against these FARC people. I also speak fluent Spanish, as do a couple of the guys in the Platoon, so that may be useful. One more thing, Lieutenant, and this is for all of you.”
They fell silent.
“You’re not alone on this mission. We have an open line to the Colombian government, although they don’t know any of the details of this mission, only that we’re operating somewhere inside Colombia. As a result, we have a range of air s
upport, UAVs, Reapers, Predators; you name it. The Air Force has put a pair of AC-130 gunships at our disposal, and they’re maintaining station off the coast, courtesy of a fleet of tankers keeping them topped up. The second they’re needed, and they’ll point their nose inland and come straight in. The President of the United States had taken an interest in this mission and was in the Situation Room for a briefing as I left. The Colombian Special Forces, the Agrupación de Fuerzas Especiales Antiterroristas Urbanas, are holding position a few miles due east of the town, close to the Parque Arvi. They have the strength of about fifty men, and they’re well armed and equipped. We’re meeting up with them outside the town before we go in. Intel estimates the FARC attack will begin at 0500. We’ll be position by then, and as soon as they’ve created enough confusion, we go in and deal with the Salazars. We have a lot of ground to cover, so I suggest we move out. Lieutenant, we’ll need someone to scout ahead and link up with the Colombian Special Forces. I don’t want any surprises on the way, not when the two forces meet.”
Talley nodded. “Chief, would you go on ahead and make contact. You have the coordinates, and take Roscoe with you. Keep your eyes peeled for those FARC guerillas. We don’t know if they’ve left any back markers in place. Now we’re splitting up, you’re designated Bravo Two.”
Nolan nodded and picked up his pack and sniper rifle. “Copy that. Roscoe, let’s move out.”
Chapter Five
The FARC had cut a path through the jungle. It was the only factor in their favor, and it meant they could make up for much of the lost time. Nolan took point and Bremmer brought up the rear, ten paces back. They were only ten miles from Medellin, and Bremmer was doing what he did best.
“Motherfuckers, sending us out like this. We’ve got aerial surveillance for this shit. Ain’t one of the guys got a Raven RV-11 in his pack?”
The Raven was a small, hand-launched remote-controlled unmanned aerial vehicle, a UAV. Developed for the US military, they gave small units in the field the capacity to launch short range, short duration surveillance flights that downlinked to their tactical electronic tablets.
