by Mark Harritt
SSG Cooper laughed, “Screw you asshole.”
“That’s Chief Warrant asshole, thank you very much.”
Mike ducked out of the office before SSG Cooper could throw something at him. Mike walked by First Sergeant Grant, who was looking at one of the TVs that had news on at all times.
“How’s it going, Top?” Mike asked.
The First Sergeant stopped dead in his tracks, looked at Mike, and said, “One coke addled jackass and the whole world stops turning.”
Mike nodded in sympathy. “Assholes have a tendency to do that, especially when they have a nuclear bomb.”
The First Sergeant shook his head and walked down the hall. Mike could sympathize. He and his team had multiple headaches whenever the Iranian President came for a visit to Venezuela. It was looking more and more like Iran was willing to use proxies to attack the United States.
Mike thought about the new mission. “Jo is going to be pissed,” he thought. She wanted Mike there for the ultra sound. Mike wanted to be there for the ultra sound. He just hoped she wouldn’t take it out on him.
Mike continued on to the team room. Rob, Tom and Mickey were now stripping weapons and cleaning them. Tom was inspecting all of the weapons to ensure that all the parts were in working order. He was the armorer for the team. If he found a problem that he wasn’t able to fix with a spare part, he would take the weapon down to the gunsmiths in the basement to get it fixed. He was also a gunsmith, but regulation required him to use the squadron gunsmiths. The team was working through all the weapons for the team.
Everett was in his office working on evaluation reports that were due to the First Sergeant before Friday. The First Sergeant had to review them before Captain Bostak signed them when he got back from leave.
Mike went to his computer, logged on, and read the warning order for the mission next week. Major Salk was not kidding when he said there really was not much information in the warning order, or WARNO. It just detailed the equipment needed, the information needed to get the pallet on the correct C-12 over at Peterson Air Force Base, and the manifest for his team. Not much to look at. Mike was surprised by the amount of weapons and ammunition that was required. Major Salkwas correct about the requirements for Top Secret and Department of Energy security clearances, and an infantry background. It was no wonder that his team had gotten this mission. Strangely, it seemed tailor made for them.
He locked the computer, stood up and walked into the main room. Mickey, Rob, and Tom were working on weapons maintenance now. Mike started to pick up one of the weapons.
Tom stopped him with a motion from his hand and said, “Nope, that’s the finished group. The ‘uther uns are the ones you want.” Tom’s Tennessee country roots showed with the pronunciation of ‘other ones’ as ‘uther uns.’
Mike grabbed an M4, picked a chair at the table, and started field stripping the weapon to check it for any dirt build up. There were several gun cleaning kits and bore snakes on the table, to be used on any offending dirt or dust that was found. There was very little dust and no dirt at all. Mike expected no less. The weapons were cleaned before the team went into Red status three months prior.
“So what was up with the XO?” Rob asked.
“The XO has a mission for us,” Mike replied.
Mickey piped up, “Yeah, who do we get to kill? Is it Mexico, Venezuela, or Paraguay?”
Mike shook his head, smiling, “None of the above.”
They looked at him, expectant.
“We have a mission in the United States. It requires five guys with TS and DOE clearances, and Infantry backgrounds,” Mike stated.
“Is that it? What about weapon systems, communications, targets?” Rob asked.
“Well, all of it, or, all of it for five guys. We just have to have all of our equipment palletized, then they put us on a C-12, and we fly off to Malmstrom Air Force Base. Once we land, they brief us, read us into a SAP, and then we’re on mission for three weeks, and we fly back,” Mike replied.
“No papers, passports, operations orders . . . ,” Tom trailed off.
“Nope, none of that. We stay in country. We don’t even need our regular passports.”
Everett stepped out of his office, “But we’re going to bring them, correct?”
“Hell yeah,” Mike replied. “Just ‘cause the brass doesn’t think it’s necessary, doesn’t make it so. Plus, something may happen that pulls us off of this job and shifts us back to our primary mission.”
Mickey spoke, “Good call, I agree.”
Tom nodded, “Better to have it, and not need it . . .,” he started.
“. . . Than to need it and not have it,” Rob finished.
“So what do you need from us, boss man?” Everett asked.
Mike replied, “Well, I have the list of everything that we need. It’s all weapon systems and supplies. Just make sure that we have two medic bags, and you have go bags packed, with civilian clothes, and some tactical clothes. It is a three week trip, with travel, so plan for twenty-one days. I don’t want to smell Mickey’s dirty underwear on day three. “
Mickey snorted in amusement at the comment.
Rob looked at Mickey in all seriousness, “Dude, he ain’t kidding. I don’t know what you eat, but the gas you pass makes me want to vomit.”
Mickey’s smile broadened, “Pure protein supplements, my friend.”
He launched into a double bicep pump, followed up by extending his left arm and pointing his fingers away from his body in a classic body builder pose. He turned and kissed his bicep.
“If you want quality, you eat quality.”
Rob grabbed his crotch, “I have something for you to chow on.”
Mickey shook his head with a sad look on his face, “Sorry brother, I need more than a light snack.”
Mike laughed, and cut off the next foray in the verbal brinksmanship, “I’ll email out the list, and I want everybody to review, to ensure that we have everything needed fortwenty-one days. Tom, we don’t know the mission or target, but we have a list of weapons, ammunition, and we’re going to need flash bangs, thermite and fragmentation grenades. Rob,” Mike turned to look at him, “make sure we have two claymores, and five sticks of C4, blasting caps, and det. cord for anything that may crop up.”
“It’s summer, so we don’t need any cold weather gear, but even in the summer, it can get cold at night in Montana, so full sleeping bags, and light cold weather gear.”
Everett spoke up. “Brother, I never go on a trip without my full sleeping bag. You never know when you’re going to risk hypothermia.”
Mike nodded, “We have a full pallet that we can load, so equipment and some snivel gear is appropriate, make sure you bring the cots, and a couple of boxes of MREs. Who knows, we may get a chance to go to Yellowstone one night.”
Mickey looked up, “Man, I have never been there, and I always wanted to go.”
Tom asked, “So where the hell are we going?”
“Some Air Force base called Malmstrom,” Mike said.
“What the hell is there?”
“341st Space Command, I believe is the host unit for the base.”
“Are we doing an infiltration?” Everett asked.
Spec Ops units frequently did infiltration of military bases and secure areas to identify weaknesses in security. This allowed the military base or secure facility security services the capability to review security procedures and revamp them if needed.
“I don’t know, Everett. Usually that mission would require a few weeks to prep. We aren’t getting enough lead time to go through the entire military decision making process. No mention of going into isolation for mission prep, so I doubt it.”
Rob asked, “So what do you think this is about, Chief?”
Mike just shook his head. “I really don’t know. This doesn’t seem like an infiltration, security review, or any other mission I have been on, so I really don’t know what is going on. What about you, Everett?”
Evere
tt was just as stumped as Mike. Between them they had 33 years of special operations experience.
“No, Chief, I can’t think of anything that might explain this.”
Mike shrugged, “March to the sound of the guns.”
The team nodded.
“Boss man, when do you want to get this done?” Everett asked.
“Well, I think we can continue doing our preventative maintenance on the weapons, then prep the ones we need for this mission. I’ll get the paperwork started to get the munitions for the mission. We need to prep supply so that they know we’llbe building the pallet tomorrow.I don’t want supply to bitch about being blindsided. Then we can just move everything down in the morning and prep the pallet for the flight next Monday. I’ll check with transportation to make sure they have us on the manifest going in the right direction. And I think that will be it.”
Mike thought, and added, “Just make sure that you have your clothes and tactical gear packed for the pallet tomorrow so we can just get on the plane with just a carry-on bag each, and that will make life easier for all of us. A few hours in the air, and hopefully we’ll find out what the hell this is all about.”
Mike went into the office and started the paperwork for the munitions required. It was a tedious, but necessary part of the process. The supply section, S4, was audited regularly to ensure that there was nothing missing and that all munitions were accounted for. The last thing anybody in Special Operations Command wanted was their munitions sold on the black market, or worse, used to facilitate a coup in some third world hell hole, and then tracked back. The paperwork was used to account for any munitions that were drawn from supply. Even more paperwork was required if anything was ever used. It had to be justified and accounted for, every single bullet, every ounce of explosive. Mike laughed when he heard about black ops budgets that were ‘off the books’ on TV. SOCOM, to include black ops, was Department of Defense, and DoD was a huge bureaucracy. Bureaucracy lived on paperwork. Nothing he had ever seen was off the books.
Mike completed the paperwork and called the supply office to see if Staff Sergeant Drucker was in. Specialist Winters answered the phone.
“This is supply, Specialist Winters, how may I help you Sir/Ma’am.”
“Hello, Specialist Winters, this is Chief Duggins. How are you today?”
Specialist Winters was a young black man, dark complexion, tall, with the skinny frame that goes with miles of running. He was a good soldier and his enthusiasm for the Army was a real pleasure to be around.
“Sir, I’m doing fine. How may I help you today?” the young soldier inquired.
“I have a special request for munitions, and I need Sergeant Drucker to expedite for me.”
“Sir, I’ll see if he’s in his office,” the Specialist stated.
“Roger,” Mike replied.
Mike was put on hold, and he couldn’t hear anything. A few minutes later and a voice came on the phone.
“Mike, how are you today?”
It was Command Sergeant Major (Retired) Owens, once the 10thSpecial Forces Group Sergeant Major, and now Mr. Owens, who was a Government Services rank 11, or GS11. Mr. Owens pulled a few strings with old friends to land a job as the government civilian that worked in supply for the unit. And, since he was a weapons guy from way back, it was a good fit.
“Hey Sergeant Major, how are you doing today?”
“Mike, it’s Mister now, you don’t have to call me Sergeant Major,” Mr. Owens replied.
“Yeah, I know, but you deserve the respect, so I’ll probably keep up that habit for awhile.”
Mr. Owens chuckled, “Mike, Sergeant Drucker isn’t here right now. But I can help. When are you bringing down the paperwork for your munitions?”
“Ah, I guess word has gotten around, then,” Mike stated.
“Yeah, Major Salk sent me an email detailing what you would need for the mission. When do you need it by?” Mr. Owens asked.
“Well, we’re going to palletize it tomorrow. Can you have it ready to go in the morning? I’d like to put the munitions on the bottom. The weight helps stabilize the pallet.”
“Yeah, Mike, we can get that together. Some of us may need to stay a little longer today, but that’s what young soldiers are for.”There was a slight pause, “Isn’t that right, Specialist Winters?”
Mike heard a muffled, “Roger that, Sir.”
“Mike, don’t worry, we’ll have it ready to go for you in the morning. Who’s coming down with the paperwork?” Mr. Owens asked.
“That would be Rob, Sergeant Major,” Mike replied.
Mike could hear the glee in Mr. Owens voice, “Good, I can screw with him about baiting young Lieutenants in the 3rd ACR.”
Mike laughed, “Yeah, we’ve been messing with him about that all day. The only thing he can’t figure out, is who the hell told everybody about it.”
“Well, I may be old, but I still like to go and drink a beer and talk to the honeys,” Mr. Owens replied. “Besides, when your son is one of the bouncers, you hear a lot of things.” Mr. Owens changed topics back to munitions, “When’s he coming down?” he asked.
“Sergeant Major, I’ll send Rob down to you right now.”
“That would be great.”
“You have a great day, Sergeant Major.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll let Specialist Winters do all the heavy lifting.”
Mike chuckled and hung up. Mr. Owens was a great guy, but God help you if you screwed up something. Mr. Owens ran the S4 shop with a meticulous attention to detail.
Mike yelled, “Hey Rob, can you come in here please?”
Rob appeared at his door.
“Rob, can you take these papers down to Mr. Owens?”
Rob reached forward and took the paperwork out of Mike’s hand. He looked it over, double checking what Mike had written on the paperwork. Mike waited to see if Rob had any questions. Rob finished and said, “Yeah boss, I can get this down to Sergeant Drucker.”
Rob turned and left the office. Mike heard the door to the team room open and shut. Mike got up from his desk and walked into the team room. “How’s it going?”
Tom looked up and nodded, “everything here is in good shape. We busted the dust off it. We’re going to pack them in the travel cases next, and get them down to the armory. I’ll make sure that the weapons we need are left up front so we can grab them first thing tomorrow morning.”
Mike smiled, knowing that Tom wouldn’t ever let any weapon get dusty, “Good work. Tomorrow, I need you and Rob to go down and get the munitions from supply so that we can get it all on the pallet. Sergeant Major will probably have it on the dolly waiting for you with Specialist Winters standing by to push it out for you.”
“Roger boss.”
Mickey was pulling up travel cases and setting weapons into them, “So, Chief, does the Sergeant Major know about Rob’s weekend?”
Mike nodded, “Who do you think told everybody about it. I imagine that young Specialist Winters is about to hear some things that will give him mental images he will never forget, no matter how much he would hope to. That man could out swear a devil in a whore house. Rob is going to get so much grief from the Sergeant Major.”
People are usually quite unimaginative when describing the act of intimacy between consenting adults, usually resorting to a few select curses. Mr. Owens possessed the soul of a poet and the tact of a Bedouin goat farmer. He was able to describe the act of coitus in amazing prose, which often stunned people into submission when he started. He was such a master at couching his vernacular in subtle, sarcastic terms that many people didn’t recognize the insults levied at them. If you were not the target, it was a joy to listen to his mastery of carnal physical juxtaposition.
Mike jumped in and helped the guys with the cases. Soon everything was prepped and ready to go. Tom secured a dolly to transport the weapons on. Mike, Mickey, and Tom started placing the cases of weapons on the dolly.
Everett stepped out of his office and raised h
is hands up as if he was a soccer referee signaling a goal, “I’ve completed all NCOERs. I can have a life again without being tied to a computer.” NCOERs were the evaluation reviews for sergeants in the Army.
Mike asked, “Really?”
Everett conceded, “Okay, mostly not be tied to a computer.”
Once again, Mike asked, “Really?”
“Man, you’re crushing my hopes and dreams here.”
Mike, Tom, and Mickey laughed.
“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about computers or reports next week. You just have to worry about the after action report once we’re done.”
The door opened, and Rob walked into the team room, “Christ Mike, you could have warned me.”
“And, what would be the fun in that?” Mike asked.
Rob shook his head, “I don’t think most of that is anatomically possible, though there were a few suggestions that I would like to talk to Wendy about.”
“Who’s Wendy?” Everett asked.
“The blond from this weekend. The one that I got in the fight over.”
Mickey cocked his head sideways. “You mean you’re actually contemplating going out with the same woman twice? You actually remember her name?”
Tom got a concerned look on his face, “Rob, man, you can’t do that to me, I live vicariously through you.”Tom married his high school sweetheart when he was 19, soon after he joined the Army. He had three young children, and, as he put it, “A sex life measured by the sleep cycle of small children.”
Mike asked, “How did Specialist Winters take it?”
Rob shook his head slowly, “Dude, really. He’s scarred for life. I didn’t know black men could blush like that. At one point, when Mr. Owens was talking about a big girl, a black cat, and a spatula, he actually had to get up and leave the room. I couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying, but I think he was having trouble breathing.”
Everyone started laughing. Mr. Owens was always a good education for the younger guys around him. They were still chuckling as they transported the guns to the armory.
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“I hate the military,” Jo wasn’t taking the news about Mike missing the ultra sound well.
