by Lewis, Rykar
“You’re up to changing your plans even when you’re on BIG BIRD heading for El Paso?” Roxon asked Parks.
“Yes sir, we’d have to be. The hard part most likely won’t be taking them out, but pinning them down to a point where we can take them out. We can come up with a generic battle plan, sir, and just alter it according to where we land.”
“There’s a Border Patrol agent in a hospital in El Paso with a serious chest wound that can testify against it being easy to take those terrorists out,” Roxon retorted.
“I understand, sir. I never said that it will be an easy job, I merely said that it’s not going to be as hard as pinning the terrorists down to one place where we can do our job.”
“I think that’s the truth,” Cummins added. “I think the Viper Team Seven could easily exterminate these terrorists. It’s the pinpointing that has me worried.”
“Then do we take Parks’ advice and come up with a plan, get him and his team in the air, and adjust it if the terrorists go elsewhere?” the National Security Advisor questioned.
Parks turned his attention to the President and he could see him cast a quick look at Anders before answering.
“I don’t think there is any other way to go about this,” Winnfield declared. “We can have BIG BIRD fly a straight shot for Biggs Army Airfield, and if we receive any report that the terrorists are changing course we can alter the flight to wherever necessary.”
“Then let’s get this done, Mr. President,” Smith finalized.
Suddenly everyone’s attention in the Situation Room turned to something Parks couldn’t see.
“What is it?” Solomon asked Parks, his voice low and barely comprehensible.
“Excuse us, gentlemen,” the Vice President apologized. “We just received the image of the Rio Grande tunnel and we’d like to look at it for a second.”
The “second” finally elapsed and attention was focused again on the video conference. Watkins was the first to give his opinion on how to go about neutralizing these terrorists.
“The only way to stop them will be to hit them whenever there’s a chance. No matter what the circumstances. It’s going to be a play-it-by-ear deal, and Major, you have to be on your toes and ready to change plans at a moment’s notice.”
Parks didn’t say or do anything. He knew that. The Marine Corps had burned that quality into him forever. Have a plan Alpha, but also a Bravo and Charlie. That was one of the reasons Solomon was sitting in on this, so he could know what to do should something happen to Parks. The Marines went about it with an acronym, PERMA, which stood for Planning, Embarkation, Rehearsals, Movement, Assault. Marines were trained to rehearse the way the operation should go, and then wargame “what ifs.” The more “what ifs” a person went over, the smoother the operation would go, because the unit would be prepared for anything. Parks knew Marines also issued “Commander’s Intents.” The intents were simply a basic outline of victory, should anything go wrong with communications, the commander, and so on. Parks had every intention to keep with the ways of PERMA and the Commander’s Intent even when he was commanding agents instead of Marines.
* * *
Parks gathered every man on his team and brought them into the conference room, as directed by the President. Plans had been made, orders had been given, and now Winnfield said that he wanted to speak with every member of Parks’ team.
“Everyone is here, Mr. President, sir,” Parks announced as his team seated themselves in front of the screen that held the President’s face.
“Good, let’s begin.” Winnfield adjusted in his chair and started what he called a “send off” speech. “Each and every one of you knows his job and knows it well. Not a single one of you needs to be told what is needed and expected from you. You all are the most elite counterterrorism personnel in the United States. You can feel proud to be a part of this team – you earned that right. But now, I am asking for more than your usual best. I am calling on all of you to give the Country more than what even you think you can do. I am asking for a hundred and one percent of your efforts. I need you all. I am counting on you. I am placing the lives of innocent, civilian Americans in your hands, and I know all of you can keep them safe. That is why you all are here. You’re here to keep our nation safe from terrorism, and if need be, die for that cause.”
The President stopped and cast his eyes to the floor. “I am honored to speak to you seven men. Every one of you deserves immense respect, because every day you wake up and go to work you are offering your life.” Parks hadn’t thought of it that way before, but now that the President was mentioning it, he knew it was true.
“I have every faith in you men,” Winnfield continued. “I know you can do this. May God bless you in this mission.”
After that, every screen went black. It was time to start Operation FIRST FIGHT.
33
Thursday, March 20th – 1300 hours
BIG BIRD
“Let’s go over this one more time,” Parks said to his team who were all aboard the C-17 – BIG BIRD. The video conference had left Parks with a mission-type order – a very specific mission with the latitude to accomplish it. “Take out the terrorists at all cost,” was the President’s order. “Any way you have to,” was the generic part. However, a basic plan was laid out, and now Parks was running over it with his team for the third time.
“We’ll land at Biggs Army Airfield, and upon arrival we’ll load all of our necessary equipment into a vehicle that the JTTF Field Office will provide for us. Believe me, there won’t be much gear. From there, we will head to the JTTF Field Office to look at the latest intel of the sleeper’s location. When we find out everything there is to know, we’ll move out. When we reach the sleeper agent’s house, we’ll park a safe distance away and pass out the rifles and other equipment. Then we’ll storm the house.”
Parks looked at each and every member of his team, trying to read their thoughts. “The Marines have a thing called a ‘Commander’s Intent.’ All that is, is a very simple outline of what determines victory. Should the commander die, or if communications are severed, the second-in-command knows exactly what needs to be done.” Parks saw Norse shake his head in frustration with all of the military jargon.
“My Commander’s Intent is as follows: take out every terrorist. All of them. With whatever force necessary.” The plane jolted and Parks paused for a second. “I don’t need to tell you that not one of them can escape. As the President said, lives of Americans are in our hands.”
“Anyway,” Parks continued, determined to focus on victory, “for the third time, here’s the battle plan. We will break off into two teams; Solomon, Marler, Corley and Lee; and Norse, Samuels, and myself. My team will be equipped with CS gas grenades which we will fire into one of the house’s windows with a launcher. That will most likely draw all the terrorists into the same room because they’ll want to know what’s going on. Believe me, they’ll be in no condition to fight when that CS gas hits them. To top things off, my team will then join with Solomon’s at the front door. Solomon, you’ll need to bust it open, then we’ll throw some concussion grenades down their throats. After that we’ll all go in and find the terrorists. When we do, we’ll open fire with our carbines and take them out for good.”
Parks was sure of the damage the CS gas would bring to the terrorists. He had experienced some during his Marine training and had felt the excruciating results. CS gas, or scientifically known as 2-chlorobenzalmalononitrile, was one of about fifteen different tear gases, and it was classified as a non-lethal weapon, although upon contact, nothing could feel further from the truth. It was discovered in 1928 by two American scientists, Ben Corson and Roger Stoughton (the name CS gas derived from the two men’s first letters in their last names). The effects of the gas were horrific. Immediately upon exposure, the victim’s eyes would be forced shut and tears would begin to pour in a futile attempt to flush out the gas. Thus the term “tear gas.” The gas would leave the victim’s skin wit
h a burning feeling, although it really would do no harm. Along with the flowing tears, the recipient’s nose would begin to drain uncontrollably with mucus. Dizziness and restricted breathing could also be a result of CS gas, and depending on the caliber of the dose, severe coughing and vomiting. All effects would wear off in a matter of minutes if the victim could get out of the gas. So the real purpose of CS gas was to knock the enemy off balance, and neutralize them for a short period of time.
The concussion grenades that would be used were also a tool to unbalance the enemy and shake them up. In this case, it would be the final punch before Parks and his team actually came face-to-face with the terrorists.
Parks also knew that unlike the drill, each man was issued an M4 carbine for a weapon instead of the Remington sniper rifle which would not be effective in such a close-range battle. The M4 was the carbine version of the M16, and it was chosen for the mission for its lighter weight and better maneuverability in close combat situations. However, the Remingtons were brought along for any potential long-range operations. Additionally, each man would have a sidearm just in case the unexpected occurred.
“Each man will be equipped with a gas mask to protect you from the CS gas,” Parks went on. “After we bust open the door and throw in the grenades, we need to get out of the ‘fatal funnel’ so we can take out the terrorists with our M4s. Hit anyone you can – except your buddy of course.” The statement brought weak smiles to some faces but no one even managed a chuckle. “The fatal funnel is probably going to be the most dangerous part. We want to be silhouetted against our entry point for as short a time as possible. The terrorists might try and keep us pinned in the funnel, but we all need to enter the house fast so that none of us are stranded in there alone.”
Parks knew how dangerous Close Quarters Combat (CQC) could be and how operatives needed to make quick, sometimes hasty, decisions that could mean life or death. “You all know how to fight in CQC so I have every confidence that each man will do his job. Our orders are to take out these terrorists. All of them.”
“After we’re sure all the terrorists are neutralized, we need to evacuate the place as fast as we can and get back to Biggs. The El Paso Police will then come to the site and clean up the mess while the FBI will come in and investigate the house and bodies, and so forth.”
Parks looked over at Solomon and finished his briefing. “My Commander’s Intent: take out every terrorist. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” Corley said. “When do we land?”
Parks turned and walked over to Thomas who was sitting up near the pilots, trying his best to be oblivious to the top secret plans being discussed. When he saw Parks, he shot up to attention.
“Take it easy, Senior Airman,” Parks allowed. “How far away are we?”
The crew chief looked down at his watch. “If all goes well, two and a half, three hours, sir.”
Parks thanked him and told his team the information, then sat down in a seat next to Thomas.
“Where do you come from, sir?” Thomas asked as he leaned back in the seat and tried to relax.
“Duty station you mean?”
“Yes sir.”
“Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.”
“I have a friend who’s stationed there. He’s a gunny – Zhao Zhou.”
Parks nodded his head. “Yeah, I remember him. He was in my company. I just left the command eight days ago, how could I forget? He’s a good Marine.”
“Yes sir,” Thomas agreed. Then he added, “You must be a ‘baby’ major then, because the last time he talked to me he referred to his company commander as a captain.”
“Yeah I’m a nine-day-old ‘baby’ major. I received my promotion the day I got orders for this assignment.” Parks switched gears. “You ever been to El Paso?”
The crew chief shook his head.
“I was stationed at Fort Bliss for a while,” Parks began. “I worked at JTF-North – J3, which did all the special operations for counterterrorism, counter-drug, and such. It was a pretty good job, only I hated being on an Army base.”
“I can imagine, sir. Have you ever been stationed overseas?”
“No,” Parks admitted. “I’ve been in combat three times but never been stationed outside CONUS.”
“Neither have I. I’ve never even been in combat. My uncle was though. He fought in the Gulf War, War on Terror, and all that good stuff. He just retired from the Navy as a rear admiral. When I was finishing high school he kept on trying to get me to join the Navy but I didn’t want to be a sailor. I wanted to fly, to be a pilot, and not for the Navy either. Well, my eyes ruined that dream. Anyway, I joined the Air Force and here I am. Fun, fun, fun, huh?”
In reality Parks thought that military life was “fun, fun, fun” so he said so. “I think that there’s no better life than a military man’s. I could never do anything else. I mean, I’ve got three generations of Marine Corps runnin’ through my blood, and I couldn’t get it out even if I wanted to.”
“Your dad was a Marine?” Thomas questioned.
“Is a Marine,” Parks corrected. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, you know?”
“Yeah sure, I know the Marines carry a lot of pride,” the crew chief told him. “No other branch of military, agency, or anything else even comes close. I’ll give you that.”
“I know it. We have the best traditions, discipline, initiative, and pride. Our motto is ‘The Few. The Proud. The Marines’ for a reason.”
The senior airman sighed. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
Parks didn’t want to answer but for the sake of politeness and killing time, he did. “I had an older brother. He was killed in Desert Storm.”
“Was he a Marine also?”
“No, he was a Green Beret. Poor guy was only in his twenties when he died.”
“Must have been a big age gap between you two,” Thomas pressed.
“It didn’t matter,” Parks countered as he began to relive unhappy times. “It didn’t matter at all. I was only about eight when I heard that he was killed, and now, twenty-four years later, I still wish...” Parks let that go.
“I know how you feel, sir. I lost my little daughter a couple years ago and I still don’t like talking about it. The only difference between our losses is that someone is to blame for your brother’s death, not for my daughter’s.”
“Meaning?” Parks wondered.
“Meaning sir, that I can’t imagine what you felt like doing to the man that killed your brother.”
Parks looked at the floor. “I was eight years old, Senior Airman. Most eight-year-old boys don’t scheme a vengeance plan – leastwise not one that would work very well. Anyway, I’m not mad anymore. I still have a place in my heart for my brother, but I’m not bitter. There’s just nothing anyone can do about it. I can say that I am very proud that he gave his life for our country.”
“I understand sir. I only wish my daughter had the privilege of living as long as your brother did.”
Parks agreed and then excused himself before he walked back to join his team. Only a short amount of time now separated them from Operation FIRST FIGHT.
* * *
The weather was turning stormy. It definitely was not the kind of weather Parks wanted to fly in, but no one aboard BIG BIRD had any choice. They had a job to do, and if the weather cooperated, great, but if not, things would still have to move forward.
They were only about an hour away from Biggs, and Parks could feel butterflies in his stomach in anticipation of what lay ahead. For Parks, the scariest part of operations was the unknown. He wasn’t sure if he would be killed, wounded, or unharmed. Of course the last possibility was always the one he preferred but it wasn’t always what happened.
Parks looked around at his men. He was as nervous for them as he was for himself – more actually. He knew that if any one of them were killed it’d rest on his shoulders. He was the leader and the one responsible for everything that occurred. Parks hated to think that he might hav
e to attend one of their funerals and look at the faces of that man’s family members and know that he was responsible. Now that he was thinking of it, he didn’t even know who was married and who was not. He knew that Solomon was single and Norse was married but other than that he was clueless.
“Gettin’ nervous?” Norse suddenly asked Parks.
“Somewhat. I guess a little bit of nerves are good.”
Norse ran his hand through his hair. “Some people say nerves prevent you from thinking clearly and quickly,” he retorted.
Parks knew that the statement was meant to make him feel stupid and incompetent but he let it roll off him – for now anyway. “Well, good, bad, or indifferent, I’ve got ’em, so I’m just gonna have to live with them,” Parks stated, looking at Norse’s icy-cold face and wishing he could slap it off.
Parks knew that Norse was a troublemaker and that he was acting like a jealous kid. He also knew that eventually Norse would get the team into trouble. Parks realized that he needed to straighten him out or quite possibly someone could be seriously hurt.
The plane rocked violently in the wind and forced everyone to grab onto something for stability. Parks hoped with all his might that the weather wouldn’t get any worse, especially since he had such a delicate operation to perform.
34
Thursday, March 20th – 1530 hours
CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
“They’re what?” Senior Watch Officer on Duty Max Wilbert asked the lead CIA agent who was following the terrorists.
The voice on the other end of the phone line didn’t hesitate for a second. “Mr. Wilbert, the two terrorists my teams have been following seem to be converging at the same place. It might be a while before we know exactly where they’re heading but we’ll keep you informed.”
In his frustration at the lack of information, the watch officer crumpled the paper in his hand that was from the folder marked “TOP SECRET.” Then after he realized what he’d done, he smoothed it out and set it back in the folder resting on his desk. He was dutifully sifting through reports from the El Paso Intelligence Center (EPIC), on the whereabouts of the terrorists. Wilbert already had the answer to that, but EPIC didn’t know that the CIA knew where the terrorists were. They probably never would.
