At 6’6” Tucker left an impression with his muscular build and dark skin. Add in his dark piercing eyes and Tucker could be intimidating. This all contrasted with his youthful appearance: at the age of only twenty-four, Tucker was one of the youngest members of the CIA’s analysis department. The same skills and understanding of the underlying political affiliations that had landed him the job at the CIA had also brought him here to Iraq.
He had arrived the day before and had spent most of his time in an air conditioned hotel. He was a little surprised that his African heritage did not do more to help him cope with the heat. Apparently somewhere in his lineage, a genetic adaptation had occurred that left him better suited to air conditioning as an ecological niche. As much as he would have enjoyed taking in some of the sights, the urgency of his mission did not allow him that luxury.
The situation in Iraq had taken an interesting turn. Since the fall of Saddam, his loyalists had continued to foment unrest throughout the country. Tucker had uncovered the location of one Saddam’s key followers which presented an opportunity with a short planning horizon.
The jeep navigated through the base and came to a section of tents. The driver mentioned that with the increase of operations in the last few months they had to build a temporary area. He pointed to a tent down the road that had armed guards around it and stated that it was their destination. As the vehicle came to a stop in front of the tent, Tucker grabbed his stuff and exited the jeep.
As Tucker walked around the car, he noticed that the other person on this trip, a man by the name of Richard, Richard, C. Richard in fact, had started talking to the guards and showing proper identification. Richard was in his mid-forties with white hair and wrinkles starting to show on his cheeks. Tucker had worked in Langley long enough to know that Richard was a spook. He had spent the majority of his time in the field in the Middle East and had an extensive network of informants and contacts he could rely on to provide information. He had worked numerous operations in the field as well as running them from a desk. He had a reputation for competency in the region, and that was the main reason he was called in.
During the planning meetings in Langley, Tucker had demonstrated his ability to put all the pieces of the puzzle together quickly and accurately. He had analyzed different scenarios and outcomes that took a large number of variables into account. His division head and several other high-level attendees were clearly impressed.
It was these scenarios that seemed to irritate Richard who promptly ripped them apart. Some of the objections were legitimate, reflecting Richard's greater field experience, but Tucker felt that Richard's goal was to discredit his work entirely and exclude him from decision-making. Eventually, Tucker’s plans were altered to incorporate Richard’s knowledge. Despite Richard’s not always subtle pointing out of Tucker’s lack of experience, the division head saw that Tucker’s analyzes were thorough and could not be dismissed. As the meeting came to a close, to both Richard and Tucker’s surprise, their division head ordered Tucker to join Richard in Iraq.
“We’re good Tucker,” said Richard. “They have computers set up inside so get the slides up and going. Remember, these are not analysts, so when you talk to them, they just want facts. None of these hypotheticals you were throwing around back in Langley.”
Richard clearly felt that his field background made him infinitely more qualified as to how to conduct the mission than this paper-pushing, desk-jockey neophyte. For his part, Tucker felt that the simple fact that this mission existed was proof of his abilities and hard work but, being new to his position, he understood that openly disagreeing with Richard in front of a CIA "client" could be the proverbial career-limiting move.
“Yes sir, I'll remember that,” Tucker replied, deferentially. At least, he didn't make me use safety scissors.
“Good. The brief will start in twenty minutes. The general will be arriving soon. He's a Gen. Charles Odier, out of New York. Old school command type, a bit of a stickler: probably trying to channel Patton. Should make for an interesting night,” Scratching the stubble hair that had begun to grow on his chin.
Tucker had spent hours looking over all of his information, old and new, to make sure that he understood the situation as completely as possible when the action began. That time had come. A little over an hour ago, Tucker had received word that the operation was a go and finally after months of work the chance to grab the target had arrived.
Tucker started to feel some butterflies forming in his stomach. He had gotten used to presenting to the people in Langley, but this was a new scenario. The men that would listen to this presentation would be flying into combat not long after. Tucker no longer had the separation between him and the men involved. He felt the urge to double check everything. “I’ll call Langley to get an update and make sure nothing serious has changed.”
“No, I will take care of that. You set up the presentation.” And with that, Richard picked up the phone and started dialing. As Tucker walked over to the computers, he took in the layout of the tent. The outside perimeter was surrounded by radio equipment and computers connected to projectors that would show slide after slide of aerial recon shots and photos of key players in the war, and a few low-ranking soldiers are managing the computers. There were some tables and chairs where the members of the Delta Special Forces team would be sitting. It was simple and empty yet busy at the same time. Tucker also noticed the lack of air conditioning. At least, I was able to dress casually because these fans aren’t doing a thing except adding noise.
When everything was set to go, Tucker looked through his notes one last time. He knew he was concerned about the target’s loyalty to Saddam, but Richard dismissed his concern. Tucker was confident in his abilities and took it as a personal affront when they were dismissed out of hand. However, he knew that Richard had been working in this region long before he was in middle school and that he would have to trust his familiarity with the area.
Tucker’s concentration was broken as someone with a commanding voice started talking to him. “You must be the CIA agent sent to brief my men. I am Gen Odier.” Tucker looked up at the man. He was dressed in desert camo pants and a green t-shirt, and like Richard, he looked mid-forties except with a bald head. But unlike Richard the general’s physique showed he went to the gym routinely. And his hard-lined face showed a man who did not appreciate his time being wasted.
Tucker tried to muster a response. “Uh general sir., you might want to speak to Rich...” The general just stared at Tucker with a displeased look. A soldier next to Tucker snapped up to attention.
“Sorry, Sir! I did not know you had entered the tent.”
“This unit specializes in stealth, soldier: using against the enemy and detecting when he's using it against us. Get back to what you were doing but sharpen those eyes in the back of your head.” The general dismissed the young soldier. He focused his eyes on Tucker again. “For some reason, Langley felt I had to wait to get read in on this operation. I’ve waited.”
“Well ok, sir. Let me just…”
“Young man, are you not from the CIA?” Tucker nodded in response. “Then take a deep breath and act like it.”
Tucker started to explain the operation but after only a few sentences he was once again cut off but this time by Richard.
“Excuse me General. I am Richard, and I am in charge of the operation. This is Tucker. He is a brilliant analyst. When he gets engrossed in his work breaking his concentration can mess him up.” Tucker was surprised the old man would step in like that. Then again he is an expert in smoothing people over.
The general just looked at Richard. “OK, Richard, read me in.”
For the next ten minutes, Richard brought Odier up to speed on essentials. Naturally he had left out enough so that the general could not run the show. Finishing up, the tent flap opened up and in walked seven men. Each of them dressed in a mixture of military garb and casual clothes. As they found their seats, they each saluted the general.
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“Evening General.” One of them said.
“Evening Sgt. Pierce.” Odier responded returning his salute. Tucker had read the report on the Delta team on the flight over, and they had come highly recommended. Sgt. Pierce’s team was precise, efficient, and handled pressure well. Tucker had read at least two ops where the mission had gone sideways due to poor intel, and yet they completed them successfully. It eased Tucker's mind to know that if some things did go wrong, this team would be able to compensate and improvise.
As the men took their seats, the general stepped in front to begin the mission brief.
“Welcome boys; hope you had a good rest since your last op,” Odier said dryly. He knew they had returned only last night from a four-day operation in the mountains and were still exhausted, yet their appearance did not show it. “Your time off has been cut short because of a short-fuse op from the top of the food chain.”
The two CIA members sat in the corner while the general started in. Tucker could not help but notice the team glancing at them. Many had a look of distrust on their face.
“This has come from the very top and is highly classified. Because of this short time table, the specifics of the operation will be covered by these two.” The general said pointing to the two men sitting in the shadows. “This is Richard and Tucker. Of the CIA.”
Richard moved to the front. Tucker noticed one of the deltas whisper something to Sgt. Pierce. “Evening gentlemen you are well aware that the upstanding citizens back in the states want this little war of ours to come to an end. This opportunity will allow us to grant their wishes. According to our intel, Saddam’s loyalists have been wreaking havoc, politically, and making it damn near impossible to set up a functioning democracy. After a lot of work we have discovered Saddam’s third in command, Zafir Wafeeq, has been spotted about 32 clicks south from here.” He paused a moment to scan the room. “We need Wafeeq alive: Langley is pretty sure that he knows all the major players among the loyalists and how we can find them. That means you guys get to go in, grab him and bring him back. Simple smash and grab. We expect that he will have a large amount of very valuable planning material in his possession, and we also want you to recover as much of that as possible. Tucker will fill you in on what opposition we are looking at.”
Pierce started writing on his notepad. He shifted his focus to the young Tucker tapping away on his laptop. A map appeared on the screen with marked locations and highlighted roads.
Tucker stood up and felt his stomach fly up into his throat. You can do this. You’re just talking to a bunch of guys at the office. Except these guys can put you in the hospital with their folders. Tucker looked at Richard, who raised an eyebrow. No, I got this. With that Tucker took a deep breath and turned around.
“Ok gentlemen. This mission has come together very quickly and is based on very recent and highly perishable Intel, which is why we weren't able to inform General Odier earlier. Sgt. Pierce, your team, will leave Al Basra at 23:35 and be lifted by air 16 clicks south towards Umm Qasr: once dropped you will precede another 16 clicks on foot to your target. There you will enter the outpost belonging to Wafeeq. These aerial recon shots show that Wafeeq’s outpost is heavily fortified and guarded, but with your small team that shouldn’t be a problem.” Tucker said as he snapped through various screens stopping on a picture of camp with Wafeeq. An aide passed out copies of the same screen shots to the members of the team. While Tucker went on about the mission, the team studied the pictures, committing all the information to memory.
“I know you’re all wondering why we just don’t send in the cavalry to get Wafeeq. If we were to do that, Wafeeq's forces would be able to hold us off just long enough for him to destroy a lot of valuable information. We believe this is the best alternative: a small team will be more efficient at retrieving Wafeeq and his info. Eliminate all hostiles that stand between you and your target, but remember that’s not your primary mission. It’s imperative that Wafeeq comes back alive and in one piece.”
Tucker spoke about the size of the force Wafeeq carried with him. It was comprised mostly of a small group approximately fifty men, trucks, jeeps, and tents. It showed that the man was mobile and would not stay in a location long. “Under the cover of night, your team should be able to infiltrate the village, grab the package, and retreat to the LZ for pickup. Any questions?”
The next few minutes were a barrage of questions concerning everything from terrain to the types of weapons they can expect the enemy to carry. The thoroughness of the questioning reinforced Tucker's impression of the team as both experienced and focused. Richard fielded many of them and, as he spoke, Tucker once again noticed Richard's uncanny ability to answer their question while leaving out certain essential facts. He wondered if Richard even knew he was doing it.
When the team seemed satisfied, the general stood up again. “OK men, Operation Nightwolf commences in seven hours. You are dismissed to go prep for the op. Good luck out there and Godspeed.” The members of the team replied with a casual "Sir!" and left the tent. Pierce was the last to leave.
When it was all done Tucker sat down and felt like he had aged five years. He took another deep breath. Ok, that was not as bad as I thought.
۞۞۞۞
Winds blew across the sand dune sweeping up clouds of dust that formed swirls in the air. After a few moments, the ground started to shake, and something started to emerge from the sands. The thing raised its hand to his neck and whispered. Behind him, the ground shifted, and six more emerged from the sand as if they came from the earth itself. The members of Delta Force Sierra have been sent to kidnap a key member of Saddam’s military advisors. The team leader, Nicholas “Edge” Pierce, scanned the village in his mind converting what he saw to the satellite images his team was given to study. His mind was calm but full of all sorts of information: what the target looked like, the expected number of his protection detail, plus soldiers already at the outpost. They were all considered expendable; however, the target was not……
Edge scanned the compound. It was not an impressive fortification; majority of it was the foundations of old stone buildings. It looked like a village that had been abandoned for some number of years. Where old buildings once stood were now tents. It was at most 300 feet in diameter, with only a few lookout posts set up around the perimeter. At the far end stood three buildings connected like a townhouse: the target’s location. This concerned him: “We are being sent in to capture a guy whose security detail is weaker than a carnival.” He switched his binoculars to thermal.
“Doom left side, Hawk right side. Go thermal and give me body count.” Edge ordered. The two men did as ordered. After a few seconds, they knew what was going through Edge’s mind. Hawk pulled out his binoculars and did the same. He got a few hits, but not enough to make him happy.
“None,” Replies Doom
“Four by the right perimeter.” Reported Hawk.
“The only activity I see is in the center of the building. Two on roof center building, three on the first floor, and four on the second floor. There is no fucking way he is here,” Edge said as he signaled the group to circle up. His sniper, call sign Doom, knelt next to him. Doom had a hard face with intense green eyes. He was soft-spoken yet a serious person. Only the members of the team and his wife had ever seen his lighter side.
Next to him was the hulking Irish behemoth of muscle known as Robert “Quake” Flynn, the team’s happy explosive expert. After the goliath was Leandro “Pitch” Vega, the team’s expert on communication technology as well as their translator, as he spoke four languages besides English. Vega was only 5'6" which led Flynn to once refer to him as "Short Wave," in response to which Vega good-naturedly but firmly informed him in each of the five languages he spoke about the consequences of doing it again. The scout of the team, Daryl “Dust” Washington, sat next to Pitch, double-checking his weapon. He was the fastest member of the team, a sprinter in high school track and field whose speed could only be matched by
his tongue. Next was the marksman, Karl “Hawk” Reed, who got his call sign from his ability to notice everything, no matter how small. On many missions, he has acted as Doom’s spotter. While on a mission, the two spoke so little that it was a wonder they could coordinate anything, but their success rate was so high that there was talk of some kind of telepathy between them.
Finally, Trident, the medic of the group, was the youngest member at 28. He was known for having everything in his life happen in threes, as exemplified by his name - Michael Marshall Masters - and the number of times he repeated his freshman year of college before joining the military.
“I doubt this guy is still here, but we are going in anyway. Doom, you take care of the guards on the top of the building. Then cover red team’s approach to the building. Blue team watch your approach; there may be more than we can’t see. Remember, do not breach until you hear from me. Any questions?” Edge asked. His team gives him the thumbs up. “Alright, move out.”
The two teams moved in slowly, making sure they would not be detected. It took them almost fifteen minutes to reach their respective points of infiltration. Meanwhile, Doom lay in the sand, rifle steady, locked on the two guards. He knew that they were the only ones that would have a chance of seeing the approaching team. Judging by their lackadaisical approach to guard duty, the team could have approached with bells on, and they would not have noticed. Still Doom kept them in the crosshairs so as soon as he got the “go” he could drop them. He flipped off the safety switch on his HK MSG – 90 Sniper rifle, his weapon of choice for this type of mission.
“Blue team in position,” Doom heard over his earpiece. Dust’s voice was very distinctive, and Doom recognized it easily. Or, he, though, it's just that Dust talks so much I can hear him in my sleep. Quake, Trident, and Dust were in the position ready to start their assault on the building. Now it was a matter of how long it would take Edge and Red team to get to their position.
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