When he showed up at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, California, the BUD/S instructors couldn't believe the runt had actually passed the qualifying tests. But eventually, they recognized the big heart in the little guy. He gave it his all, still going when larger, more muscular candidates caved in. His slight frame turned out to be advantageous during underwater free-swimming sessions, since the kid didn't need a lot of oxygen and his eel-like physique allowed him to move rapidly through the water.
Chad continued the training, struggling more with his natural clumsiness than a lack of zeal or courage. One instructor who recognized the inner strength of the Slim Jim gave him encouragement through guidance and compliments where he deserved them. When the BUD/S class curriculum was completed, Chad Murchison had won the eagle and trident of the SEALs. And he now weighed a muscular twenty pounds more than the day he enlisted.
The SEAL and Penny Brubaker were destined to meet again sooner than either expected. It was in Afghanistan during Brannigan's Brigands' first operation as a unit, and she was a UN sanitation and hygiene instructor on the staff of a relief team. The reunion was an emotional whirlwind for them both. Penny happily told him she had broken her engagement with Armbrewster, and returned to Boston to find Chad, only to be told he had enlisted in the Navy.
In the heady days following this unexpected get-together, they became an item once again. But this time, with more maturity and experience, the young couple had sex out in the desert on Chad's poncho. It was primitive and exhilarating for the two sophisticated city kids, and their passion was intense and feral.
Afterward, instead of being thrilled with getting back the girl of his dreams, Chad felt his passion for her begin to wane. It was something that he couldn't understand no matter how much he turned it over in his mind. His experiences in training and combat had turned him into a completely different person, with a life that had no room for conventional romance. The SEALs were everything to him.
.
1500 HOURS
A blur appeared in the haze on the desert horizon, and Chad Murchison stood up in his position aboard the DPV, steadying himself on the roll bars. He took his binoculars from their case, putting them to his eyes. After a few moments, he could see the white tents with the blue letters un stenciled on them. Somewhere among those canvas structures was Penny Brubaker. Chad sat back down, wondering how he was going to handle the coming reunion.
Command Two sat at the edge of the camp with several people standing around it. The other two vehicles of the Command Section pulled up to a stop. CPO Matt Gunnarson, driving Green Two with Chad Murchison, slowed down to let Green One go around him. He followed him up to the other vehicles with Green Three just behind his DPV. The Red Assault Section followed, pulling up to the left side of the impromptu vehicle park.
Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and his 2IC Jim Cruiser approached the group of people waiting at the edge of the camp. Dr. Pierre Bouchier stepped forward with his hand extended. Bonjour, Monsieur le Lieutenant Brannigan. Je suis charme de vous revoir encore I am pleased to see you again.
Likewise, Dr. Bouchier, Brannigan said. How have you been?
Quite well, thank you, Bouchier replied. We finished our work with the Warlord Khamami's people. At least, we accomplished all that was possible under the conditions here in Afghanistan. I have heard he is deep into the farming of opium poppies and smuggling of same.
No surprise there, Brannigan said. He reintroduced Jim Cruiser, then noticed the attractive young lady standing slightly to the rear. Hello! he called over to her. I remember you quite well.
I'm pleased that you do, Penny Brubaker replied. Is Chad Murchison with you, by any chance?
He sure is, Brannigan said. He turned toward the Green Assault Section. Petty Officer Murchison! Front and center!
Chad slowly dismounted the DPV and walked toward the assembled people, slipping his HK-416 carbine over his shoulder. Penny rushed toward him, her face lit with a smile of pure delight. He felt guilty as he took her in his arms. He responded when she held her face up to be kissed. The SEAL pressed his lips against hers, aware of the growing tightness of her embrace.
Jim Cruiser, suppressing a laugh, called over, Murchison, you're excused from duty until further notice. Take a break.
Aye, sir, Chad replied.
The couple walked away with Penny holding onto his arm. She led him over to where three of her girlfriends waited. Chad, I want you to meet Erika Maanchen, Irena Poczinska, and Josefina Vargas. The four of us work together giving classes to the Pashtun ladies.
Josefina glanced over at the SEALs who were sizing up the UN women. The Spanish nurse smiled and gazed boldly back at the sailors. We hope to meet all your friends while you are here, Chad.
Chad grinned. Believe me, they hope they can meet you too.
We'll worry about that later, Penny said. She pulled on him, taking him into the formation of tents until reaching hers. This is where I live. She gave him what she hoped was a seductive look. Would you like to see it?
Sure, Chad replied.
Penny opened the flap and followed him inside. She embraced him again. Oh, Chaddie, darling! We won't be bothered in here. My roomies will stay away until we come out.
He was confused. How did they know I was coming?
Those two guys you call the Odd Couple told me you were on your way when they got here earlier, Penny said. Why didn't you write me and tell me you were in Afghanistan?
I didn't find out about this operation until four days ago, Chad said. I've been out on a ship.
Chad, Penny said impatiently. We don't have all day.
He stood there awkwardly, not really happy with a girl who was now an intrusion in his life. But he was a young male with a young willing female. And he was a SEAL.
Duty of a sort had called.
DR. Pierre Bouchier acted as the host as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins sat around the table in his large tent. Cold bottles of beer had been served, and the doctor also offered snacks of peanuts and pretzels.
We appreciate your hospitality, Doctor, Brannigan said.
I wish we could reciprocate, but all we have are MRE field rations.
Bien! Our food here is plain but much better than that, Bouchier said. However, I have you here for another reason. Yesterday, three armored cars visited us. The men in them wore British-style uniforms with Arab keffiyehs.
SCPO Dawkins took a swallow of beer. What the hell are keffiyehs? he asked, reaching for a handful of peanuts.
Do you remember pictures of Yasser Arafat? Cruiser asked. What he had on his head was a keffiyeh.
The device around it that holds it in place is called an akal, Bouchier said. At any rate, the leader identified himself by an Arabic first name and a last that I think was English or possibly German. And he claimed the rank of capitaine. He had a marked European appearance and spoke in an English accent. The fellow told me he was a member of an army called Jihad something-or-other.
SCPO Dawkins showed a crooked grin. Jesus! A fucking Lawrence of Arabia, huh?
I wouldn't say that, Brannigan remarked. This is a terrorist for sure. He shifted his gaze back to Bouchier. Did he give you any reason for his visit?
Tres explicitement! Bouchier exclaimed. He ordered us out of this area, giving us three days to leave. That time is up day after tomorrow at noon. He sent some men into the Pashtun village and warned them not to have any contact with us. They are obeying him explicitly.
I take it you've contacted your superiors, Brannigan said. What were their instructions?
I have received none as of yet, but I am certain I will be ordered to go to Kandahar or perhaps Kabul within twenty-four hours, Bouchier surmised.
I have a better idea, Brannigan said. I suggest that you and all your people load aboard some of your vehicles. I'll dispatch one of my DPVs to lead you to Shelor Field, and you can bunk in our hangar. My guy can turn around and come
back here, and we'll be ready and waiting for this mysterious Brit with an Arab name.
But what is going to happen to the tents and all our equipment?
Leave everything here except the trucks you'll need to haul your people and necessary personal affects, Brannigan said.
But les terroristes will destroy everything they cannot steal, Bouchier protested. And if they don't, then those wretched Pashtuns will.
Not necessarily, Brannigan said. My detachment will be here to look after your things. And also to meet Captain Jihad and his men at noon day after tommorow.
I will have to clear it with my superiors, Bouchier said.
Right now this is the official operational area of a mission the United States Navy is calling Rolling Thunder, Brannigan said. I'm ordering you to evacuate to Shelor Field. My authority is that I am the commanding officer here. Besides, the UN is not known for any real sense of security.
Bouchier shrugged. In that case, I will follow your orders, Monsieur le Lieutenant.
CHAD Murchison and Penny Brubaker enjoyed a quick coupling, removing just enough clothing to perform the act. When the two young people rearranged themselves and stepped out of the tent, they immediately noticed near-frantic activity going on in the camp. Her three roomies were hurrying in their direction. Ach! Erika Maanchen said. We were afraid we would have to break in on you.
What's going on? Penny asked, alarmed.
We are leaving here right away, Josefina Vargas said. We are to pack one bag and be ready to go when they call us to get on trucks. The Americans are going to take us to their airfield to stay. Then they are coming back here. I think there will be a big battle with the bad soldiers in the armored cars.
Penny turned to speak to Chad, but he was already running over to join the detachment. At that instant, the young woman realized there was only one way she could have him for her own.
She had to get him out of the SEALs.
Chapter 6
WASHINGTON, D.C.
STATE DEPARTMENT
9 APRIL
0830 HOURS
CARL Joplin, PhD, impatiently checked his watch, noting he had a half hour minimum to wait. The window to appear for the appointment that morning was 0900 to 0910 hours. Although much of his work was done in the rambling, ambiguous world of diplomatic dealings, he still liked at least a bit of punctuality and predictability. Having a window of even just ten minutes irritated him. Joplin preferred a set time for every bit of business. Now the diplomat sat in the leather office chair behind his desk, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited.
This brilliant African-American Undersecretary's specialty in the State Department was to participate in informal negotiations and agreements between the United States and foreign nations. These unique sessions were clandestine, sensitive, and extremely consequential. They mostly dealt with issues that both sides wished to keep secret from their populations. For example, America might wish to inquire into information another country had gleaned from a person of interest through torture. Or perhaps a foreign head of government who had been taking a very loud and public stand against a particular American policy might want to cut a deal with the U.S. regarding another issue. In order to gain on the one, he would have to make concessions on the other. Therefore, he was willing to give in on certain points that would enrage his citizenry if they found out. An example would be guaranteeing no demand on trade imbalances or tariffs in exchange for the release of frozen assets in U.S. banks. Such goings-on required great diplomatic skill. And Dr. Joplin was the best at this game of two-faced diplomacy. All of his polite encounters ended to the USA's advantage, yet also pleased his foreign counterparts on the other side of the table.
One of his most recent assignments had to do with arranging secret military aid to three South American countries because they did not trust their own armed forces to handle a politically hypersensitive mission. The takeover of their entire continent by fascists was the very undesirable alternative. Joplin thought that would be the superlative assignment of his career, but a new state of affairs promised to top this earlier case. While giving only a brief hint of the situation, Joplin's boss, Secretary of State Benjamin Bellingham who didn't know a hell of a lot himself warned Joplin that he was about to be tossed into the deep end of a diplomatic pool filled with boiling controversy and peril.
.
0901 HOURS
JOPLIN stepped from his office, carrying his briefcase, and went down to the end of a hall where a Capitol Police guard stood by the single elevator situated there. The young officer was giving the diplomat's ID badge a studious gaze when another man approached. Joplin turned to see Colonel John Turn-bull, U.S. Army, the chief of the Special Operations Liaison Staff. The colonel, also toting the usual briefcase that seemed a fashion accessory in Washington, produced his own ID. As the policeman perused the card, the colonel nodded to Joplin. I wouldn't be surprised if we were going to the same place.
Nor would I, Joplin said. How're you doing, John?
Frankly, I'm much too busy to be called away from my office for unstated reasons, Carl.
The policeman approved the IDs, then turned and slid a scanner card into a slot in the wall next to the elevator. The doors buzzed open and the diplomat and officer stepped inside. Turnbull pressed a button that would take them down to the third basement.
When the elevator arrived, there was another armed law enforcement officer present. After yet one more inspection of the ID badges, the two men proceeded a short distance to an unmarked door. Joplin followed as Turnbull stepped into the room. They both came to an abrupt halt, surprised to see Arlene Entienne, the president's Chief of Staff, seated at the head of a large mahogany conference table. A man unknown to them was seated to one side.
Joplin greeted Entienne, saying. How have you been, Arlene?
Fine, thank you, Carl, she answered. Hello, John. This Cajun-African-American was a beautiful green-eyed woman with dark brown hair. The two ethnicities blended well, giving her an exotic beauty that made her the darling of the media. Have you had the operation on that ankle yet?
I'm putting it off for as long as possible, Turnbull replied. The ex'Green Beret had seriously fractured his ankle on a parachute jump, and the joint was deteriorating to the point that it would have to be fused. He could have gotten a physical disability release from the service, but opted to take a staff job instead. Thus, he ended up as chief of SOLS.
Sit down, gentlemen, Entienne invited. I would like to introduce you to Edgar Watson. He's CIA on the Iranian desk.
Greetings, Watson said. Ms. Entienne has already told me who you two are.
You've been called down to this deep inner sanctum for a very special briefing, Entienne said. As you have surmised, I'm sure, this is a most sensitive situation.
Watson swung his briefcase up from the floor onto the tabletop. He opened it and pulled some papers out, shoving a separate packet to both Joplin and Turnbull. Okay. Now hear this. Certain elements of the Iranian Army have initiated a mujahideen movement independent of all others. They have begun operations against the foreign military, i.e., Westerners, in the Middle East. They are calling themselves the Jihad Abadi.
Wait a minute, Joplin said. That is Arabic. The Iranians speak Farsi.
This is because they are using only Arabs in their operations, Watson said. Unfortunately, this resulted in throwing off our initial intelligence probes. Fact of the matter, we wasted a lot of time before we finally figured out they were operating out of Iran. However, they also have various cells in Iraq, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. Most of their agents are citizens of those countries who have lost faith in the current group of Arab Islamics, suicide bombers in particular.
I'll be damned, Turnbull said. They finally figured out that getting their young people to blow themselves up and destroying a generation was not a particularly intelligent thing to do, hey?
Evidently, Watson commented. They want to adopt the more civilized tactic of launching well-planned att
acks on their enemy to inflict the most casualties possible while keeping their own losses to a minimum.
Joplin glanced at Entienne. Are we to assume the President is deeply concerned about this?
That would be a correct assumption, Carl, she replied.
I suppose he's worried about the Israelis getting extra antsy about these latest events, Joplin said. They are just about a quick breath away from military action against Iran as it is.
That's been quite apparent, Entienne said. They think we're soft on Tehran. However, as of now, the Mossad knows nothing of this new development. At least, we don't think they do.
Colonel Turnbull was becoming impatient with the rambling conversation when something important obviously needed to be discussed. He glanced at Watson. How about giving us one concise but informative statement to describe this situation before we drown ourselves in details.
Rolling Thunder (2007) Page 6
