by Lewis, Rykar
Parks didn’t say or do anything. He just sat there, stiff as a board, and listened intently as the Director proceeded with the explanation.
“Bragg is here,” Watkins went on, pointing to the base on the screen. “We’ll fly you guys there. After you land, you should be able to get to Wa’il’s road by vehicle and set up everything with time to spare. He will drive right into your hands if you’re careful.”
Parks finally mustered up enough nerve to ask a question. “How will we know for sure which vehicle is his, sir?”
“We’ll have this UAV hone in on your position. When we see him come close, we’ll radio you and specify which car it is.”
“So let me get this straight, sir. We fly to Fort Bragg, get our equipment packed up, drive to the highway, get in position, and wait for him to come by. When he comes close, you’ll radio me and tell me which vehicle’s his, and we take him out.”
“Nothin’ to it,” Winnfield spoke up. “Tom, will you explain the game plan?”
The NSA did not stand up as the others had. He just adjusted in his chair and stared expressionlessly at Parks’ face. “The best plan that can be used is as follows,” Smith started. “Your team will be broken into three pieces; two wings of roadside snipers, and the backup. You and Marler will be on the right side of the road acting as snipers, and Solomon, Norse, and Corley will be on the left. Your jobs will be to shoot Wa’il through the head as soon as he comes by. If you try but find you can’t do that, then resort to blowing his tires. The main thing is, you cannot let him escape. Lee and Samuels will be in the vehicle you drive in on. They will be the backup if Wa’il escapes. Lee will be equipped with a Stinger surface-to-surface missile launcher. When the time is right, he’ll fire a missile and hopefully take Wa’il out. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Smith then asked Cummins, “Lee’s the one who knows how to operate the Stinger launcher, right?”
“He is indeed.”
“Anyway,” the National Security Advisor continued, “we just need that terrorist taken out. We don’t want you to search his body or car or anything, we just want him dead. We don’t care how messy it gets, just take him out. Understand?”
“Yes sir,” Parks confirmed boldly, trying not to show his lack of confidence.
“After this meeting adjourns, you’ll gather your team and bring them to the parking lot where you’ll be met by your transportation van. You will then be taken to Andrews Air Force Base where a C-17 will be waiting, loaded with all the necessary equipment for this operation.” Smith paused, then ordered, “Please recite what I have just told you.”
Parks did so, and afterwards everyone in the room was quiet. The drone image of Wa’il was still playing, and Parks’ stomach knotted as he thought of the coming hours. He’d seen his share of terrorists throughout the years, and he knew enough to know that no two terrorists were alike. One would operate one way and the other another way. They were unpredictable. That was the part that was scary about them. Their next move couldn’t be predicted. Parks knew that he always had to be on his toes. He had to be ready for anything, and that was a tough job. Especially when he was in command, and the results lay on his shoulders.
Parks could remember in detail the night he’d led his company of Marines against that terror training camp in Afghanistan. It had been a cold desert night, and the breeze had cut through the Marines’ uniforms like a knife. Parks could remember approaching the camp from a hill. He could remember how evil forces seemed to be lurking in the valley where the camp was situated. He could not forget, no matter how hard he tried, about the feeling he had as he crested the hill. M4 in front of him, he had peered above the desert sand and then it hit him. It felt as if demons were camped down there. The wicked, haunting force had petrified Parks to the very core of his being. The feeling had ripped his heart in two pieces, and he had frozen to the sand. He could still relive how he had literally slapped his face and told himself that the lives of these Marines were in his hands, and that he had better get his act together if he wanted them all to make it out of this alive. He had vowed to himself that if the devil himself were down there, he’d still fight him. It wasn’t a humorous or light-hearted statement. He hadn’t said it flippantly; he had really thought the devil was in the midst of those people. He could feel the evil forces in the camp. He could almost see and smell the wickedness, and taste the pungent poison of those beings. He had not been able to think of them as humans. They weren’t. They were animals. And even that was too good. They must have been demon possessed.
Parks had thought about calling for help. He had thought about asking a few artillery pieces to come on that hill and blast the camp to smithereens. But he hadn’t. He knew that his Commanding Officer, Colonel Johnson, had given him orders to take the camp out. And he knew he and his company had to carry out that mission alone.
That night was burned into his memory forever. He could remember how in the heat of the battle he had forgotten his fears. It was a strange thing, but he really had not been afraid after he started the fight. He guessed he was too busy to be frightened. But for whatever reason, he had been calm, and had clarity of thought, even with the horrific sights that had been portrayed before his very eyes. Even when he felt the bullet rip through him and saw his blood gush out and had to endure the pain, he was still calm. It was a miracle more than it was anything else. Had he not stayed calm, he might not have been here today.
Here he was again, waiting to take out terrorists. He knew what he had to do, and he knew how to do it. But actually completing his mission was a hard thing. The lives of everyone on the team were in his hands, and he needed to play his next cards wisely if he wanted everyone to live through this.
21
Monday, March 17th – 2307 hours
The Situation Room
They were seven minutes late, and Parks hated to be late more than anything. His years in the Marine Corps had instilled that quality in him. Every hour was sharp and every minute was exact in the Corps. No one was allowed to be late at any time for any reason. But this was different. The President was running this show and if he wanted to prolong things, he could.
The last-minute plans were made, the fine details were hammered out, and Parks was ready to go. He was supposed to have met with his team at 2300 on the nose, but the President had extended the meeting for an extra seven minutes, adding to Parks’ mounting stress.
The plan was simple. The team would travel by vehicle to Andrews Air Force Base, and upon their arrival they would load up into a C-17 transport plane and fly to Fort Bragg, North Carolina, home of the Army’s 82nd Airborne. From there they’d drive to the intercepting point on the highway, set everything up, and get ready for Wa’il to come by.
Parks also had received his team’s name: The Viper Team Seven. The codenames of each member were as follows. Parks: VIPER ALPHA; Solomon: VIPER BRAVO; Marler: VIPER CHARLIE; Corley: VIPER DELTA; Norse: VIPER ECHO; Lee: VIPER FOXTROT; and Samuels: VIPER GOLF.
The NSA had given Parks a satellite phone with which he’d confirm Wa’il’s vehicle. Parks was uncomfortable with the real time video of the whole operation being cast in the Situation Room. It was hard enough doing operations without someone watching his every move, but when the Directors of the top agencies of the U.S. were scrutinizing him, it got downright nerve-racking.
Parks stepped out of the White House and instantly called Solomon. Parks told him to gather the team in the parking lot and he’d meet them there. In the next minute, the entire team emerged from the EEOB and headed toward him. This mission had happened so suddenly and at just the wrong time. Parks hadn’t had time to train even once with them and now they were being called into action. Things were going too fast and there was no way to put the brakes on.
Solomon trotted up to him and asked, “Are we goin’ somewhere?”
Parks solemnly told him they were, but he didn’t tell him where. Not yet anyway. He’d brief the team on the details when they were on their way to
Andrews Air Force Base. For now he just had to get everybody in the transport van and rolling down the road.
A white military-style van screeched out in front of Parks and came to an abrupt halt. The driver rolled down his window and yelled for the team to jump in. Everyone immediately did so. The driver, a slim man of medium height, dressed in an Army uniform, held out his hand to Parks and introduced himself. “Corporal Ray Yahtzee, sir. At your service.”
Parks shook Yahtzee’s hand and buckled his seatbelt, then secretly rubbed in some Germ-X. “Like the game?” he asked the corporal.
“Yes sir, like the game,” Yahtzee said, smiling as he put the van into drive.
The corporal spoke into a small radio as he pulled out of the parking lot. “GOLDEN TOWER, ICEBERG is in motion, I repeat, ICEBERG is in motion. The VIPER TEAM SEVEN is inside. Do you copy? Over.”
A muffled voice responded to the update. “ICEBERG, this is GOLDEN TOWER. We copy that. Keep us posted, and be safe. Over and out.”
The short conversation ended and Yahtzee informed everyone that the van’s codename was ICEBERG and that the White House’s was GOLDEN TOWER. The codenames had been set up by the National Security Advisor himself, and they were to be used at all times while on the radio.
After a few seconds of silence, Parks climbed into the row of seats behind him and began to brief his team on the operation they would soon perform. Giving them an in-depth rundown of the plan, he found that everyone appeared to be pleased with it. Everyone also liked their chosen positions. Parks gave each member their codename and told them that anything that happened to anyone would have to be reported to him. He stressed that communication could make or break this mission and that they needed to work this operation as a seven-part team. Everyone had to do his part correctly, and at the right moment. One mistake could ruin everything.
“KP, are both your and my snipers going to fire at Wa’il at the same time?” Solomon questioned.
Parks responded without hesitation. “Yes. I will fire the first shot, and from there everyone will open up and try and hit him or the tires or blow the engine or something. We have to either take him out or immobilize his vehicle so the Stinger missiles can take him.”
“What about civilian traffic?”
“The National Security Advisor’s going to place Highway Patrolmen along that road and have them pull over all vehicles in front of and behind the terrorists,” Parks explained. “They’ll make it look like usual ticketing procedures. There’s not much traffic on the road so hopefully that won’t need to be done too many times.”
“It’ll be a risk,” Solomon stated.
“I know, but it’s the best way to keep civilians out of this. After all, keeping the citizens safe is what this is all about.”
* * *
Andrews Air Force Base was dead ahead. They’d made good time, but still not good enough. Time was ticking and with every tick, Wa’il moved closer to whatever target might be in his sights.
“Here we are,” Yahtzee informed the vehicle’s occupants as he pulled up to the gate. “Can I have your ID card please, sir? And I need everyone’s driver’s licenses in the back.”
All the licenses and IDs were passed to the Air Force SP who was standing guard. He shuffled through them a couple of times and said, “You must be the crew that I was told to let through.”
The corporal nodded.
“Well, your names match the ones given to me. You’re good to go,” the SP declared, standing at attention and saluting pitifully.
As they drove into the Air Force base, Parks decided to break the quiet spell. “You see the sharp salute that SP gave?” Parks asked sarcastically.
“Yes sir, I did,” Yahtzee confirmed.
“You’ll never see a Marine give a salute that looks like a folded lawn chair. I don’t know who taught those guys how to salute, but whoever did must not have known how to do it himself.”
“Are you saying airmen don’t know how to salute?” the corporal wondered.
“Yeah, why? You’re not in the Air Force, you’re a soldier.”
The man nodded. “That’s true, sir. Five years active duty in the United States Army.”
Parks wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be impressed or not so he just replied, “I pity you, Corporal.”
Yahtzee looked confused. “Why? Because I’ve got fifteen years left or because I’m in the Army?”
“Both. But more so because you’re in the Army.”
“I resent that, sir,” he exclaimed more in fun than in defense.
“So do I,” Parks laughed.
Norse rolled his eyes and exhaled noisily. What kind of child’s play is Parks doing? And at a time like this, he thought. Norse hoped that no one would be killed as a result of their immature leader. But in the back of his mind he thought that something bad was going to happen. If something did go wrong it would be all Parks’ fault. And President Winnfield’s as well.
Norse’s wife didn’t have a clue about this mission. Nor would she. He had just skipped out of the house before she came back from late-night work and had left a note saying that he had to run to the office and might be there for a while. She knew what that meant. Usually he’d be at work all night and well into the next day before he came home. He didn’t know why she put up with him doing that all the time. The two rarely had any free time to themselves. They were constantly running their separate ways and were always so busy. Maybe someday after they retired they’d be able to spend some quality family time together.
The main things Norse lived for were his wife, his country and himself; in that order. He enjoyed it when he pleased his wife. It made him happy. It cheered his heart and made him feel like he’d done something heroic. But he rarely pleased her like he wanted to. It was difficult. She was so nice and gentle, and he was so much different. He didn’t have a clue why she had married him. But opposites attract they say, and Greg and Krystal Norse had to be the most opposite couple on earth. Krystal was a church goer. He was not. She had too many friends. He had hardly any. She was a submissive employee and wife. He was a strong-willed, do-it-his-way kind of guy. The list went on and on. He would try to be more like her, and he tried to do things that would make her be proud of him. But for the most part he felt like a failure.
He missed her already, and he wished he was home. Despite his lack of time spent with her, Krystal was number one in his life, and he would die for her. He hated the thought of dying and leaving her though. If her beliefs were right, she was going to Heaven when she died and apparently, he was not. He didn’t want to believe that her beliefs were correct however. He thought of them as comforts for the faint of heart, but deep down inside, he was disturbed. He had tried many times to convince himself that he didn’t need God, but he knew he did. He just wasn’t ready to receive Him yet. He still wanted to do things his way. He wanted to believe that he could still get to Heaven by his own good works. But even if that was possible, he wouldn’t be nearly good enough to go. “It’s by grace,” Krystal had told him many times. “Not by the works that we can do.” But still he was not ready to completely believe that. Someday maybe, but not now. Time was running out though. For all he knew, he might not make it out of this operation alive. He figured his chances were especially slim with a green leader like Parks.
The vehicle suddenly stopped hard at a red light, jolting Norse back into the present.
“The C-17 is right up ahead, sir,” the driver assured Parks, gesturing with his hand down the road. “Just for your information, its codename is BIG BIRD.”
“How long?” Parks pressed impatiently. “We’ve been on the road for too long already.”
“Naw, we’ve made good time actually, sir. I’ve got to give GOLDEN TOWER a status update. Hold on a minute.”
Yahtzee had one hand holding the radio and the other on the wheel. “GOLDEN TOWER, this is ICEBERG. We are almost at BIG BIRD. Do you copy? Over.”
The light turned green, and he accelerated to fifty
. Then he spun a tight turn and bolted down a neighborhood road.
“Why are we taking this way?” Solomon questioned impatiently.
“Hang on a minute, sir,” the corporal asked as he listened for a response on his radio.
It finally came. “ICEBERG, this is GOLDEN TOWER. BIG BIRD is ready to go when you are. Give me a time estimation. Over.”
“ETA is five mikes. Over,” the driver replied.
“Roger that, ICEBERG. BIG BIRD will be ready for the VIPER TEAM SEVEN. Over and out.”
Yahtzee set down the radio and answered Solomon’s question. “This is a shortcut. It cuts off about five minutes.”
“Really?”
“Yes sir. I drive this road all the time. I know the shortcuts, longcuts, detours, and every building and escape route there is.”
“Wow. You sound pretty good.”
“I don’t know, sir,” he responded honestly. “I just try to do my best.”
A few moments passed in silence when ICEBERG turned another corner and raced toward the tarmac, which was now visible. Yahtzee screeched the van to a stop in the parking lot and said that this was the end of the trail. Parks’ feet hit the pavement and he took in a deep breath, watching as his team piled out of the van. There was only about five minutes remaining before they all would be airborne. He knew that all the equipment was already loaded on the plane. That included all his team members’ war bags, which they had made that day. Parks had given his to his team’s logistics officer, Captain Bohn, just that morning, who obviously must have given it to Yahtzee who drove it over here sometime during the day.
“Where do we go now, KP?” Solomon questioned over the roar of a plane taking off.
Parks had been informed by the NSA during the meeting he’d just been in that a technical sergeant in the Air Force here at Andrews would meet the Viper Team Seven on the tarmac and guide them to the C-17. But so far there was no sight of him. “We have to wait for some tech sergeant to take us to the C-17,” Parks replied.
