by John O'Brien
The next two days are spent with training sessions and reviewing the plan, however, that really doesn’t encompass much time at all. For the most part, it’s spent in boredom with card games taking up a majority of the time. There’s only so much boredom that will cure though. Spread across the concrete floor, team members lie on their bags willing time to pass. We have imposed a radio blackout, so we haven’t had any contact with the compound.
By the late afternoon at the end of day two, we’d pretty much walk unarmed into a dragon’s lair to break the monotony; anything rather than to have to spend another day in the shelter. As the day winds down, the listlessness turns to activity as we gather our gear together, checking our packs and weapons. Other than our M-4s and various grenades, Lynn has brought several M-240s along, one for each of the teams that will be holding the security forces at bay within the hallways. We would have used them before, but they are a touch unwieldy in close quarters. We also have CS grenades with gas masks just in case.
The tedium prevalent during the two days has vanished, replaced by mounting tension, and, one might say, eagerness. Luckily for us, the 130 is parked near the hangar so it won’t be too much of a dash across open spaces. Outside, the cloud cover that began rolling in a couple of days ago is holding. It hasn’t brought but a few showers but it’s a thick cover which will help conceal us.
Hoisting their gear, the teams gather near the large hangar door, which we sealed shut. Removing the lock, they crowd together.
“Everyone ready?” Lynn calls across their heads.
“Hooah,” they respond en masse.
With a last look over everyone, Lynn and several others push the door open just enough for the teams to pour out. I join in the exodus, running across the grit-covered tarmac, hearing the sound of a hundred boots pounding on its hard surface. There is only that, the sound of hard breathing from those nearby, and the slight rattle of equipment. We flow across the gray pavement toward the 130 and, before we know it, we are racing up the rear ramp, the heavy footfalls changing to the ringing of boots on its steel surface.
Staying behind to shut the hangar doors, Lynn and her team are the last ones to enter. We were outside for nearly fifteen seconds and I hope that any attention on our encampment was directed elsewhere. Within the cargo compartment, there is a din of noise as gear is laid on the deck to be tied down and the soldiers find places to sit on the red nylon seats. Robert, Craig, Bri, and I make our way through the tangle of legs and packs on our way to the cockpit.
We don’t have much time as I want to be airborne while we still have the heat from the mid-afternoon. The clouds overhead have warmed the day and I want as much heat around us as we can get. The engines are going to push out a tremendous heat plume and my desire is to minimize that to any extent we can.
With the rear ramp closed, I do a quick start of the inboard engines. Thankfully, the engines come to life and we have a full tank of gas. I’ll taxi with those two and start the remaining two when we reach the end of the runway to minimize our heat signature. I flew past many of the checklist items after starting, so we are all knees and elbows in the cockpit getting the aircraft ready. Craig is crowded beside Robert busily inputting our route into the NAV computer.
I speed us along the taxiway to the end of the runway which is conveniently located next to the guard base. I would assume it was planned that way so the F-15s based there could make a quick takeoff.
Our dog and pony show continues right up to the runway threshold. I barely get the other two engines online as we pull onto the dirt-covered surface. Through the windshield, dark gray pavement stretches ahead, partially visible under swirls of dust. Without slowing, I push the throttles up and we start down the runway, the power of the engines vibrating through the fuselage. Pulling back on the controls, our front wheels release their grip on the runway, followed by our main gear shortly thereafter. We are airborne and, three hours from now, it will be go time.
Staying low over the city, I bank to the east. The clouds are still high above us but, across the landscape, I see the dark gray of showers connecting some of them with the earth. We really couldn’t have asked for better conditions, well, other than wishing for things to go back the way they were.
I bring us over the Columbia River, watching for the high-voltage power lines that I know stretch across it in places. I have those heavily circled on my map. It’s only a matter of minutes before we find ourselves in the Columbia Gorge; steep, forested slopes rise sharply from the edges of the wide waterway. This will keep us hidden until we break out onto the high desert plateau of Central Oregon and Western Washington.
Shooting at a hundred feet over the Columbia River and close to the southern line of hills, the turbulence bounces us like a paint shaker. Being the only real pass through the Cascades, the winds coming through the narrow defile are usually strong. In the past, they’ve had to close the highway to semis due to the winds.
Lynn had hooked into the intercom upon her entrance.
“How’s it going back there?” I ask, knowing it can’t be very comfortable for the soldiers.
“How much longer is this going to be like this? Too much longer and we’ll be worthless when we get there,” she replies.
I guess that’s my answer for how it’s going.
“Not much longer, but we’ll be hugging hills all of the way so I have no idea how long it’s going to be bumpy,” I state.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were doing this on purpose, Jack. Oh, and I’m not cleaning up the mess back here.”
I chuckle and tell her that she can send the worst cases up to the cockpit. Being able to see outside will help and, perhaps more importantly, they’ll be facing forward.
Although it may be a different story for those in back, it doesn’t take us too long to navigate through the gorge. Emerging out on the other side, I turn us south to keep close to the rough terrain of the Cascades.
Thirty minutes later, at a point midway between the cities of Redmond and Madras, still bouncing through the mountain waves as the westerly wind pours through passes and across the slopes, I turn us eastward. Here is the narrowest point between the Blue Mountains and the Cascades. From this point, I guide us through a long ravine that cuts through the Blue Mountains and drops us into the head of a valley just north of Boise.
Still hugging the slopes, I circle the valley. The turbulence is less severe as we make our way along the slopes of the Salmon River Mountains. North of Idaho Falls, we cut into the Rocky Mountains and turn south to avoid the rolling plains of Wyoming. This is a very circuitous route, but we have the time and fuel.
Climbing ridgelines and plummeting into valleys, I hand the controls over to Robert. Initially, he’s a little hesitant crossing over the ridgelines and brings us too high over the deep ravines but his transitions soon become smoother. The overhead cover of clouds has stayed with us, which is a good thing and we’ve had clear visibility. Looking to the east, I see that trend seems to hold.
The day begins fading as we draw abeam to Salt Lake City and turn east. Only a little over three hundred miles remain, just over an hour of flight time. However, that time will be spent racing through ravines at night. I brief Lynn on our position and time remaining, warning her that we may be in for more bumps but that it should settle down come nightfall. She makes some form of answer which, if I heard correctly, involves something about my genitals and a vise. Surely I heard that wrong but I don’t ask for an elaboration.
As much as I’d like to follow the interstate directly to Denver, I have planned our route far away from the roadway. Although it’s almost night, I have no idea what they may have in place to observe that route and I don’t want to announce our arrival. It would really suck to have made it away clean only to be discovered on their doorstep.
With Robert at the controls, and my hand hovering close to the other set, we fly from ravine to ravine, heading ever eastward. The darkness closes in, making the night flight all
that much more interesting. We bring our altitude up as the terrain rises steeply and without much warning. Luckily, the aircraft is equipped with FLIR (Forward Looking IR), making it a little easier.
We break out of the mountains near the town of Boulder. The change is abrupt. One minute we are wrestling the aircraft through steep-sided ravines and the next, we are shooting out over open plains. I have Robert turn north to hug the slopes rising off the plateau as I head into the back to prepare.
I feel the familiar coldness settle into place as I begin donning my gear. First, I pull on the dry suit and put my fatigues over it. I’ll have to vent the suit at times so that it doesn’t build up body heat which will make me visible to thermal imaging. Buttoning my shirt, the emotionless feeling I remember from the past envelopes me. Attaching my chute, I ensure that the sling holding my M-4 is snug. I then check that my leg holster holding my Beretta, with the suppressor in a pouch alongside, is securely strapped on. I haven’t done this in a long, long time and, truth be told, not that many times.
Feeling ready, I shuffle close to the ramp and give a nod to Lynn. She, in turn, relays the information to Robert. I feel the aircraft bank for several seconds before it levels again. Barely noticing the rank stench of vomit in the back, I focus on the upcoming drop. No longer are there thoughts of self-doubt or second-guessing. It’s one step at a time, making sure to keep my impatience in check.
The cloud cover that rolled across the western part of the country, allowed us to leave Portland early. That gives me almost eleven hours of darkness remaining.
Plenty of time to make it there. Just keep your shit in check, I think, seeing the red light illuminate near the ramp.
The aircraft begins a shallow climb and slows as the top of the ramp raises up. The bottom part then lowers into a level position. I don my goggles and begin the shuffle step to the edge of the ramp. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to see Lynn standing next to me, looking up. The roar of the aircraft and the wind outside make it difficult to hear her.
“You be safe, Jack. Although this isn’t the life I had planned for us, it’s the only one we have. You’ll seriously piss me off if you get hurt,” she shouts.
“I love you, too,” I say, to which she smiles.
My eyes are focused on the red light, waiting for it to change to green. The interior is lit with red lighting meant to preserve night vision and outside, past the open ramp, it’s completely dark. The aircraft levels off from its shallow climb and I know we’ve reached five hundred feet above the ground. The light turns green.
Opening up quickly to see if there are any night runners in the area, I’m relieved when I don’t sense any. I shuffle the last couple of feet and throw myself off the back edge of the ramp, vaulting into the black void. With the chill air blowing against my cheeks, I feel the turbulence of the aircraft plowing through the air for a split second; and then comes the familiar feeling of free-falling. That only lasts for a second as the harness pulls tight against me, slowing my descent drastically. There are only a few moments before the ground and I will meet so I quickly look up while pulling down on the risers slightly to feel the tension. The dark chute against the night sky makes it hard to define, but it feels like it is fully deployed. I release my drop pack and look down.
With my vision, I am able to see the ground and it looks far too close, like it’s rushing up to meet me. I totally forgot how disorienting a night LALO jump can be and fight my initial instinct of starting a parachute landing fall. All of the ground below me looks flat, so I quickly steer toward what looks like the middle of a field. Raising my sight to a level attitude, I relax my knees slightly and wait for the first feel of contact with my boots.
Feeling the ground, seemingly at the exact moment that I lift my eyes, I roll into the PLF, ending up on my back. I pull the quick releases and hear the parachute fluff to the ground. Far off, I hear the drone of the 130 which quickly fades. I’m surrounded by silence.
I pull in my gear and release the harness. Donning my pack and ensuring that all of my equipment made it to the ground with me, I stand to get my bearings. If the drop was accurate—and there’s no reason to think it wasn’t—I should be about three miles west of the bunker.
There are very few landmarks to guide on which makes positioning difficult. I undo my fatigue top and unzip the dry suit in order to prevent any heat buildup. With a bead string attached to my vest to mark distances, I set out on an easterly heading. We had planned the drop to be directly west and, being computer controlled, I have no doubts that my heading will bring me to the facility.
Time passes, and it seems like I have climbed over a hundred fences. Walking slowly and having to navigate ditches and barbed wire, it takes me about two hours to arrive near the outer fence of the bunker. Looking through my night vision binoculars, I see the outer perimeter. I’m still far enough away that the cameras won’t be able to pick me up, but I maintain a low profile nonetheless.
I’m hesitating as I know that, once I start forward, things could get interesting. Looking at facility photographs and mission planning in a warm room is far different than looking at it face on. With a deep breath, I focus on the fence poles, counting them until I come to the one that the terrain and closeness to the exit building makes it the best option to go through. It is also the best in regards to angles from the fence-mounted cameras.
The terrain outside of the fence is composed of knee-high stubble which should help minimize my profile as I crawl through it. If I should actually encounter any mines, they’re going to be hard to mark without the cameras picking up the markers. Instead, I’ll be laying a trail of dark brown 550 cord along my path, making sure that it’s hidden amidst the grass stubble yet still visible to those looking for it. The cameras look through the surrounding terrain at an angle, so the grass should conceal it easily enough.
The fact that I haven’t been assaulted or heard any sound of pursuit to this point leads me to believe that we were able to leave Portland and arrive unnoticed. Removing my vest, I tape strands of the grass to it and my pack, which I will be pushing ahead of me as I go. I have to adjust the stands to make sure they look the same as the ones in the ground when I’m crawling. If they are at vastly different angles, I might as well be carrying a large blinking sign with a neon arrow.
Sealing my dry suit and fastening my fatigue top, I replace my vest. With a last look at the compound through the binoculars, I stow them and lower myself to the ground. It’s going to be a long, slow crawl, so I set my mind into that frame. I begin by slowly pushing my camouflaged small pack ahead, choosing the best path through the tufts so that I don’t create a trail. Burrowing through the clumps, ensuring my body remains below the tops of the grass, I follow.
Inch by inch, I push my gear and drag my body closer. After each movement, I use the toes of my boot to close the grass behind me. My mind is clear of any thoughts other than the next foot of dirt. I know that I have a couple of hours ahead of me before I arrive at the fence so force myself to be patient.
About a hundred yards from the fence, I begin probing the ground in front of my pack with the blade of my knife. I test the area ahead and just to the side, pressing the edge gently into the soil in order to locate any mines that may have been laid. Satisfied that all is clear for the next foot, I push my pack ahead and pull myself along, only to do it again. On the dirt behind me, I trail the cord.
As I draw close and can discern the motion of the cameras, I slow even further, timing the camera movements. Two of the cameras are equidistant from the part of the fence where I’ll make my entry. They aren’t rotating a full one-hundred eighty degrees, so I’ll be able to get inside of their visibility cone outside of the fence. I imagine in my mind what the monitors in the security room are showing; low-light imaging with a thermal overlay, or alternating the spectrums with each pass.
I time my movements when they are both facing away. Each of the cameras is on a constant rotation, with each rotating at slightly diff
erent speeds, so it takes a little timing on my part. If they were on random offset schedules, it would be a lot more difficult. However, random offsets are hard for the security personnel to tell the difference between someone messing with the cameras and the computer-generated algorithm, so most security systems utilize synchronized rotations when using multiple cameras.
I lie down and become part of the landscape when one or both of them pan my way. Periodically, as I’ve lain on the dirt, I’ve opened my dry suit to allow any body heat to slowly escape. Moving as slow as I am, there isn’t much heat generated on its own, but with the suit on, some is. With the cold air surrounding me, I have to keep my movements slow to prevent any heat build-up which will be easily picked up.
I look at the cameras and, noting they are facing away, I push my bag forward over probed ground. So far, I haven’t found any evidence of mines, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. It could mean that I’m just lucky. I’m in the smallest of gullies, really just a low spot in the ground that extends a distance. I pull myself along and settle close to the ground, my boots quickly pulling any tipped grass stalks upright.
There are times when I can only move the pack and have to lie low due to the cameras overlapping. It would be so much easier if the cameras were in synch so I could time them, but nope, they have to make it difficult.
I’m close enough to hear the faint whir of the camera motors. I lay tight against the earth as they pan over me, feeling thankful that the facility didn’t want to draw attention to themselves by placing lights around the perimeter. That would have been a lot of lights, but it would have made what I’m doing next to impossible. Use of lighting would have interfered with the camera systems but not enough to make them useless. This place is relying on their technology to spot anyone approaching when they should have a mix of soldiers and technology.
