by Bob Mayer
"Two down. Clear for Three."
"Three down. Clear for Four."
"Four down. Clear for Five."
"Five down. Clear for Six."
Riley released his air brakes and slid down the last two hundred feet. Just above the ground, he pulled in on his toggles and flared to almost a stall, lightly touching his feet to the ground. As his parachute settled around him, Powers was at his side, helping him out of his harness. Riley quickly gathered in his chute and shoved it into his rucksack. The thermal suit followed it. The plan was to carry out their infiltration equipment to avoid leaving any evidence of the raid.
With his gear stowed, Riley readjusted his helmet and goggles. He felt like a creature from a science fiction movie, with the short snouts of the goggles poking out in front of him. The interior eyepieces were lit in a hazy green glow. On the small screens, Riley could see almost as well as he could in daylight. The major drawbacks were that everything was a shade of green, his depth perception was distorted, and his field of vision was limited.
Riley adjusted his night-vision goggles as comfortably as he could and motioned for the team to follow him. With every man wearing the light-enhancing goggles, the team moved off in a northeasterly direction. Their target stood 3.4 kilometers away through the tangled vegetation.
Partusi was in the point, with Riley right behind him, navigating. Lane, Marzan, and Holder followed in line, with Powers pulling up the rear. Partusi's job was to keep all his senses attuned to the terrain out front, with Riley directing him with small nudges, keeping the team on azimuth. They moved slowly, taking care to make as little noise as possible.
Partusi eased through the thick vegetation, followed closely by the other five men. Riley counted every right footfall, slowly adding up the distance as they moved. He checked his azimuth every ten steps. After eight hundred meters, according to Riley's pace count, Partusi signaled a halt by holding up his left fist. He drew his fingers across his throat and pointed ahead—danger area. Riley passed the signal back.
Riley crawled next to Partusi and peered ahead. Ten meters in front of them was the coastal highway, a two-lane hardtop road.
Riley had been taught in Ranger school to cross a danger area by setting out flank security, sending across far-side security, and then having the main body cross. However, if he followed that method with only six men, he would use up almost the entire element in security and not have a main body left. Riley wanted to spend as little time as possible near the danger area. He turned on his knees, grabbed Lane, and pointed ahead. Lane grabbed Marzan and the two low-crawled to the edge of the road. With their goggles, they would be able to see the glow of headlights from a vehicle long before it came into sight. The two stood up and quickly ran across the road.
Riley waited in the tree line until he spotted a brief flash of the IR light on a pair of flashlights from the far wood line, indicating that the far side was clear. Riley looked left and right down the road and then tapped Partusi to go. Partusi got to his feet and jogged across the road. Riley then tapped Holder across. Powers slid up next to Riley. Riley was about to tap the team sergeant to go when he spotted a glow in his goggles off to the left. Grabbing Powers, Riley sank down into the grass at the edge of the woods and lay still. A minute later, a car flashed by and roared off to the south. Riley waited a minute for the car to get clear and then got back up to his knees. He checked both directions and then tapped Powers. Once the team sergeant disappeared into the woods on the far side, Riley followed him across the hardtop and slipped into the wood line.
A pair of hands immediately grabbed him. Marzan pointed him in the right direction and he quickly came up next to Partusi. Ensuring that he had all six team members, Riley gave the signal to move out and they continued their trek.
In planning, Riley had allowed the team four hours to reach the target. In actuality it took only three. The team moved steadily and without any further interruptions through the unpopulated swampland until the men finally reached their destination at the observation point on the edge of the small dirt runway.
The team settled into a tight security perimeter. Riley dropped his ruck and lay down next to Lane. He scanned the compound seventy-five meters away on the far side of the airstrip using the special night-vision telescope Lane had carried in for the Haskins sniper rifle. The scope not only enhanced the ambient light like the goggles but also gave him a ten-power magnification. He could see two guards walking about the four ramshackle buildings that made up the laboratory. The sentinels were a good sign. It meant there was still something here to guard. One of their greatest concerns had been that the factory had moved.
Riley could also see barrels stacked around the buildings. Heavy plastic sheeting covered the doors and windows of the largest shed, which, according to their briefing, was where the actual processing was done. Another shack appeared to be a storage area, and the last two were probably living quarters. From what he was seeing, Riley was confident that this was indeed one of the major labs.
The guards were armed with Ml6s and walked about the camp in a random manner. Riley had a feeling there were probably more than just the two guards on duty. He continued scanning. After thirty minutes, he spotted two more. These two "gave themselves away by lighting cigarettes, which showed up in the night-vision scope as if they had fired off a flare. One was just off the airstrip that abutted the compound, only fifty meters from Riley's present location. That guard appeared to be armed with an M60 machine gun. The other was on the far side of the compound, adjacent to the dirt trail that pointed toward Cartagena and the north.
Having seen what he needed to see, Riley handed the scope to Lane, who remounted it on the Haskins. Riley pointed out the four guards and whispered instructions to Lane. Then he slid back farther into the woods, to where the rest of the team was waiting.
Gathering the other four team members around him, Riley proceeded, in a hoarse whisper, to update them on the situation. "We've got four buildings just like the imagery showed. All the signs are there that this is a currently working laboratory—ether in barrels and plastic sheeting around the largest building. So I'm going to call in a go on this target.
"There are four guards—two walking around the camp armed with Ml6s, one stationary just off the dirt road leading out of the camp. That guy has what looks like an AK-47. Then they have a fourth guy hidden on this side of the camp overwatching the airstrip with an M60. He's only about fifty meters from where I left Lane.
"Here's what I propose." Riley reached out and tapped a team member. "Frank, you lase the target at 0425 as we coordinated. When the first round from Spectre impacts, Dan, you take out the guy closest to us with your AK. Lane will hit the guy on the far side of the camp and keep that way out under surveillance. He'll shoot anyone trying to leave by the road. I'm figuring the two guys on guard in the camp will get wasted by Spectre. If not, then, Dan, you take them down." Riley looked at Powers. "How's that sound?"
The team sergeant gave a ghostly smile in the dark. "Sounds good to me."
"Additionally, the small plane we saw in the imagery isn't there anymore, so we don't have to worry about that. If anything tries to come in during the hit, we'll let Spectre deal with it." He turned to Marzan. "Hosea, go ahead and get the radio set up."
"Right, Chief."
Marzan opened his rucksack and pulled out the PSC-3 satellite communications radio and its small dish antenna. Hooking the two together, he pointed the antenna at the proper azimuth and elevation. Then he hooked the Vinson voice scrambler into the radio. He turned the radio on and checked it by getting a bounce back off the designated satellite. "She's all set."
Riley picked up the handset and pushed the send. "Moonbeam, this is Eyes One. Over."
He waited a second. The signal pulsed from his radio up to the satellite and then was relayed to its target. The radio softly crackled with a reply. "Eyes One, this is Moonbeam. We read you Lima Charlie. How do you read us? Over."
"We rea
d you Lima Charlie. The mission is a go. I say again, the mission is a go as planned. Over."
"Roger. We read mission is a go. Will relay message. Over."
"Roger. Out." Riley broke contact with the AWACS plane that was circling somewhere over the ocean to the north. He looked at the men gathered around. "All right. Let's move on up so we can see what's going on."
4:15 A.M.
The Colombians had switched their guards at 0300. The new guards were in the same positions as the old ones. Riley glanced at his watch. Ten minutes till show time. He whispered into the headset: "Hammer, this is Eyes One. Over."
The reply was immediate. "This is Hammer. Over."
"Roger. Everything's still a go. We will illuminate the target in ten mikes. Over."
"Roger. We'll be in position in five mikes. Over."
"Roger. Out."
4:30 A.M.
The AC-130 pulled into its counterclockwise racetrack and banked to the left. The modified C-130 cargo plane started circling, with its left side pointing down. Inside, the fire control officer sat looking at a low light level television (LLLTV) screen. Swiveling the external camera, he scanned the countryside. He could make out some vehicles moving along a road far to the south. He wanted to see if he could find the camp without the aid of the laser.
Along the left side of the aircraft the gun crews were prepared. Mostly their job consisted of clearing away the expended brass from the guns. The guns themselves were automatic—aimed and fired by the fire control officer. From front to back, Spectre boasted two 40mm automatic guns, two 20mm automatic cannons, and, poking its snout out farthest back in the cargo bay, a 105mm howitzer. With the five guns, the ship could put out over ten thousand rounds a minute.
The fire control officer adjusted the focus on his night camera and found the small airstrip. He matched it against the imagery clipped to the bulkhead next to his seat. Pushing the intercom button he called up front to the pilot to adjust the racetrack slightly. Leaning forward in his seat, the fire control officer fiddled with his knobs, adjusting the cross hairs on his screen.
The AC-130 Spectre was the most modern in the line of air force gunships, a descendant of the well known Puff the Magic Dragon of Vietnam-era fame. Members of the crew of this particular ship had participated in most of the military actions of the past decade, including the invasions of Grenada and Panama. The gunship was devastating against ground targets but relatively helpless if attacked by air interceptors or by a sophisticated missile defense that could reach up high enough to hit the aircraft. Against the present target it was almost like playing a video game as the fire control officer watched his screen. He reached and flipped open the cover on his arming switch.
"Arming," he warned over the intercom, and after a second delay he threw the switch, sending power to all five guns. He then adjusted the computer program that would fire the guns. The two 20mm Vulcans were fixed and would fire along the path of the aircraft. The two 40mm guns and the howitzer were each separately controlled by the computer. The fire control computer was capable of resolving all inputs on targets to within one milirad, which translated to an accuracy of 1/1,000th of the slant range to the target. The slant range for this mission was seventy-five hundred meters, which was at the far end of the range of the Vulcans; this translated to a ground accuracy of within seven and a half meters of the aiming point for each gun system.
4:35 A.M.
"Go ahead and illuminate."
Partusi looked through the sight and zeroed in on the main building. He turned on the designator and the invisible laser beam touched the building. Riley cocked his head to listen. The gunship was so far up he couldn't hear the drone of its engine. He smiled grimly. They'd be hearing it loud and clear soon enough.
Riley grabbed the handset. "Hammer this is Eyes One. Over."
"This is Hammer. Over."
"Have you got the target? Over."
"Roger. We've got it. Give me the dimensions of the target area, since I can't make it all out under the trees. Over."
Riley scanned the target through his goggles as he calculated. "From the point we're designating you've got approximately a hundred meters north, sixty meters south, sixty meters east, and the airstrip as your left limit. The designated point is your main target building. Over."
"We'll put the big one on the designated point. We'll use our other stuff all around the target in a grid pattern, working from the perimeter in, so no bad guys get away. I've got your location on the thermals, so don't be worried if some of the stuff seems kind of close. Over."
"Roger. We're ready when you are. Over."
"We'll commence firing on my count of five. One. Two. Three. Four..."
Hearing the five, Riley squeezed Lane's ankle with his free hand. The crack of Lane's .50-caliber sniper rifle and Powers's AK-47 were lost in the roar as four lines of light extended from the sky above and ended in the compound. Each line represented a rope of bullets that tore through the sky and slashed into the earth. Intermingled was the crump of the howitzer pumping out a 105mm artillery shell every two seconds.
During previous training with the air force's 1st Special Operations Wing, Riley had heard the Spectre gunship crews boast they could put a round into every two square inches of a football field in twenty seconds. Now he believed them. The buildings were disintegrating before his eyes as 40mm cannon shells tore through them. The 20mm rounds were puffing up clods of dirt every few inches as they quartered the ground, thirsting for targets. Both walking guards had already gone down. The 105mm shells were blasting the main factory building. Riley winced as the chemicals ignited and a secondary explosion tore the night sky.
After only thirty seconds, Riley found it hard to imagine that anything could still be alive. All four guards were down for sure. It was difficult to make out where the buildings had stood only moments before. Small fires burned and secondary explosions still ripped through the area. Riley leaned over and put his head next to Lane's. "You have any movement?"
"Hell, no. There isn't anything left alive over there. Nobody made it out of the buildings."
Riley nodded. He keyed the handset. "Hammer, we don't have any movement down here. Over."
The calm voice came back. "Roger. We're going to give it another twenty seconds to make sure and then we'll shut down. Your route to your exfiltration pickup zone looks clear. Unless we get some air reaction from the natives, we'll stay up here and cover you until pickup. Moonbeam is tracking your exfil bird inbound only an hour out. Over."
"Roger. Thanks. We're leaving here as soon as you finish. We're breaking down the radio now. Out."
The sudden silence was deafening as the Spectre gunship stopped firing.
5:35 A.M.
The pickup zone was an open field only a little over a kilometer away from the target site. They made it there in under thirty minutes and settled in to wait.
Marzan had the radio turned on, with the transmitter and scrambler still in his backpack and the small dish antenna on the ground in front of him. Riley held the handset and peered out into the dark field. Powers was out there in the middle with an infrared strobe light. At exactly 0537 Powers turned on the strobe light and Riley keyed the mike. "Stork, this is Eyes One. Over."
Even through the hiss of the scrambler Riley could hear the muted roar of rotor blades in the background as the immediate reply came back. "Eyes One, this is Stork. Authenticate one seven. Over."
"This is Eyes One. I authenticate one one. Over."
"Roger authentication. We're one minute out. Over."
"Roger. One minute out. Papa Zulu is cold. I say again, Papa Zulu is cold. We've got the IR strobe on. Over."
Riley waited tensely. They could hear the helicopter now, coming in from the north. The beat of the blades sounded louder in the early morning air. Then, suddenly there it was, flaring over the field and settling down. Powers had extinguished the strobe light and was waiting. Marzan gathered up the antenna in his arms and ran with it toward t
he helicopter along with the rest of the team.
They threw themselves into the cargo compartment through the open right door. Gunners in the crew chief window on each side scanned the tree lines, looking over the barrels of their M60 machine guns with night-vision goggles. As the helicopter lifted, Riley caught the silhouettes of two more helicopters hovering at opposite edges of the field. As the modified Blackhawk picked up speed and headed toward the ocean, Riley pressed his face against the window in the cargo door and looked at their escort. Two Apache helicopter gunships were riding shotgun, one on either side, as they streaked just above the terrain at 130 knots. In a minute they were over ocean and clear of Colombian territory. Riley liked the escort: They were traveling in style for once.
Riley caught Powers's eye across the dimly lit cargo bay. Powers gave him the thumbs-up. First mission a go.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FRIDAY, 30 AUGUST
FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA
6:00 A.M.
General Pike let out a sigh of relief and turned away from the radio. "They're on their way back. The mission was successful."
He looked at Westland. "That means Eyes Two goes as planned. We'll give it until this afternoon and then re-contact Stevens and see if he has any sort of reaction from the people down there."
Westland smiled as she rubbed her eyes wearily. She was glad things had turned out well. She needed to go over to Langley this morning and update Strom. She looked at the clock on the wall and calculated. She ought to be able to get there and back before the team flew in for the debrief.
6:15 P.M.
Riley climbed slowly out of the van. He was exhausted. Pike had been waiting at the airfield to welcome them back as they got off the C-130. Riley had immediately noticed that Westland was not there and for some reason that had bothered him. He wasn't quite sure why he had expected her to be there.
Returning to the isolation area, Riley and his team were greeted by the members of Eyes Two as they entered the operations room. Pike indicated the hot food and drink laid out on a table. "Why don't you all grab some chow. Westland should be back with the debriefer in a couple of minutes and we can start then. I want the other team to listen in, too, so they can know what to expect."
