“So you want me to arrange his exfiltration and then we, with reinforcements, are to move into Camp Zebra, arrest the senior officers, install replacements and do all this without publicity or loss of life?”
“I think you’ve got it in one,” said Perry. “What do you say?”
“I need to buy a uniform. When can I arrange a flight to Bagram?”
“There are two empty seats leaving late tomorrow, to Dubai. You’ll take a charter from there. Can you make it? Both of you?” asked Perry.
Schmidt looked at MayAnn. “The FBI is the primary enforcement organization and you’re in charge of this investigation. Are you coming, too?”
“I’m sure Oliver will agree. I’ll be ready.”
***
Chapter 19
The text message was curt and initially bewildering. Dempsey, at first, thought it was a hoax and then the signature triggered a distant memory. Damn, he thought, that bastard Schmidt will haunt me forever, even here in Afghanistan. He re-read the message. “Major Whelan. Your vehicle is subject to safety recall. Pickup scheduled for 1500. Contact Mr. North. Apron required. Be there. Great Oaks.” He laughed softly to himself. He checked his watch—it was 1435. According to his interpretation of the message, he had less than thirty minutes to reach the north end of the concrete apron; it was at the far end of the area controlled by Alpha Company, 145th MP Battalion. Camp Zebra was a small NATO-constructed fort just thirty miles from Bagram, and it was the temporary base for the battalion.
“Sergeant,” he advised. “I’m going for a walk. I need some fresh air, sleet, and cold wind. Keep an eye on things for me. If anyone wants to know, I’ll be back at 1530.”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, Sergeant. As I said, fresh air calls.”
“In this weather? I think you’re crazier than the rest of us,” said the sergeant. They had begun to develop a working relationship that permitted an occasional personal comment from the sergeant.
“You could be correct. However—” He shrugged as he stood and eased himself out from behind his desk.
Major Dempsey—known by everyone in the 145th as Major Whelan—tucked his cell phone into his jacket pocket, donned his helmet and stepped outside the heated comfort of the Operations module, into the freezing cold of the Afghan desert. He checked he had his wallet with all his identification and authorization documents; personal gear in his barracks—a CHU or Containerized Housing Unit, air conditioned or heated, and furnished—such as clothing, was replaceable. He wandered more or less aimlessly, progressively gravitating towards the northern end of the concrete aircraft landing apron as indicated in the text message. Occasionally a group of soldiers would stiffen to attention and then relax as they realized the major was in his own world, oblivious to their activities. Dempsey ignored his cell phone when it chimed—he knew from the ring tone it was Colonel Buchanan, and he thought he knew the reason for the call.
His timing was almost perfect. He reached his destination just as he heard the thump-thump of a helicopter approaching from the north. The noise intensified and he realized there was more than one aircraft inbound. An Apache Longbow rose over the boundary wall of the small fort and stationed itself about thirty feet off the ground, between the company barracks—rows of barracks huts—and where he was standing. A second Apache Longbow reared up and held station a hundred feet or so above and behind the first helicopter. The downdrafts blew sprays of cold moisture and small stones across the concrete landing apron and Dempsey ducked his head to shelter his face. Apache Longbows were fearsome; they were the latest multi-role combat helicopters with state of the art weapons and electronic equipment including laser-guided precision Hellfire missiles and a 30mm automatic cannon that fired high-explosive ammunition rounds. As far as he could determine, the two Apaches were fully equipped and were presenting an extremely threatening attack profile. Typical, he thought, of a Special Ops Aviation Battalion.
A third aircraft moved in, following closely behind the Apaches. It was another helicopter, a Chinook, a version of the MH-47G. One of its significant features, he knew, was the avionics system that permitted global communications. He surmised it, too, was a Special Ops aircraft. As the three aircraft hovered, he was almost totally deafened by their thunderous roar—the sound itself was an offensive weapon. The Chinook settled down onto the concrete apron just yards away. The rear ramp completed its descent and one of crew, a sergeant, signaled; obviously the helicopter pilot was not planning to stay on the ground for very long. The pilot was already moving the aircraft forward. Dempsey ran towards the Chinook, almost staggering as he encountered the full downdraft of the helicopter’s rear rotor blades. He was hauled aboard by the sergeant just as the helicopter began to lift. The ramp closed behind him.
“Sir,” shouted the crewman as he handed the major a flight helmet. “We have instructions for you to communicate with someone from Washington. A General Schmidt.”
If they promoted Schmidt to general, Dempsey thought, the Army is crazier than ever. As he moved forward towards the communications center positioned just behind the cockpit, he noted the helicopter held ten passengers, all Special Forces, all in combat gear, and all very heavily armed. Another sergeant gave him a thumbs up. There were two soldiers manning M240s on either side of the Chinook—the style of his exfiltration both alarmed and impressed him. Dempsey stepped forward and another soldier plugged his helmet into the Chinook’s communication center and signaled he was live.
“Schmidt?” he asked. “Archimedes Schmidt—are you there?”
“Good afternoon, Major Whelan—or should I say Major Dempsey? Welcome aboard.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Schmidt,” said Dempsey. “It took three months to get myself embedded in the 145th. You destroyed my efforts in less than thirty minutes. What’s happening?”
“I’m at Bagram—I’ll fill you in when you get here. We’re putting together a small task force—don’t worry, you’ll be back at Camp Zebra tomorrow.”
~~~
Schmidt had commandeered a Special Forces briefing room. Assembled around the table were five people—Schmidt, MayAnn, Major Dempsey, Special Forces Captain Robert Morris, Captain Bruce James who was Air Force, and the Bagram Provost Marshal, Colonel Andrew Thurle.
After introductions, he waited until everyone was settled.
“Captain Morris,” he said. “Thank you for your team’s assistance. Likewise, Captain James. We needed to exfiltrate Major Dempsey and it was urgent; the major was at substantial personal risk.” Schmidt paused and then addressed the people around the table. “As you realize, we have an issue with command of the 145th MP Battalion and possibly with some of the troops in Alpha Company. I am unable to provide you with specific background details. SECARMY and the Provost Marshal General have authorized myself and Special Agent Freewell to regain control and we’re authorized to utilize any military resource in doing so. SOCOM has issued authority for me to utilize Special Forces and Air Force units as needed. Our orders and authority have been communicated to Bagram Command. We have FBI warrants for the arrest of both General Jamieson and Colonel Buchanan and we may need to make other arrests. Understood?”
The Bagram officers nodded.
Dempsey provided an update. “The general is in Kabul with a small support unit, about fifteen men. I understand they’re scheduled to return early tomorrow afternoon.”
Schmidt acknowledged the details. “Thank you. Now, Morris, I’d like to arrange your assistance for tomorrow; this has been cleared with your commander. Likewise, James. I want two Chinooks with a Special Forces team in each, to land at 0500 in front of the company’s barracks. You will support the Chinooks with Apaches—perhaps three or four. I want lots of noise, a low level flyover. Morris, please ensure your men avoid unnecessary force, the company is to be protected; it’s their senior officers who are our key concern. Major Dempsey will accompany one of the Chinooks and will immediately move to establish con
trol and your force will remain deployed until we give you a green light.”
“Understood. I’ll accompany the Chinooks and remain at Camp Zebra with them until you inform me our task is completed.”
“Thank you. While that is happening, we, that is, Special Agent Freewell and myself, will arrest Colonel Buchanan. We need a small group to support us, say five men. We’ll need further Special Forces assistance later in the day when General Jamieson returns. We’ll arrest him and his men. Colonel Thurle, you’re welcome to join us, of course; however, your presence isn’t mandated. You will be required to provide secure facilities to hold whoever we arrest and oversee their return, under guard, to the US for trial.”
“I’ll join you, General. I’ve never had the experience of regaining control of a company. While I hope we never need to do this again, I wouldn’t miss this for millions.”
“Very good. Dempsey, Special Forces will assist you as necessary. Once you are confident you have established control over the 145th MP Battalion, communicate with Morris and his men can stand down. You are to prepare the battalion for immediate return to the US. If there are any soldiers, that includes officers, NCOs or rankers, about whom you have concerns, arrest them and arrange their handover to Colonel Thurle. Don’t take risks, understand?”
“Understood.
Now some FYI items,” continued Schmidt. “I’ve arranged a drone flight to monitor Camp Zebra for the remainder of the afternoon and through the night. We’ll be informed if there is any traffic into or out of the base. Also, the Bagram Air Force commander has been instructed to advise me of any airlift request from the 145th, and to defer his response until tomorrow.”
Schmidt spread out a large map of Camp Zebra on the table. “Now, let’s review the layout of the base. Dempsey, is this current? Can you describe the camp, the operational activities and anything else we should know?”
“Certainly,” replied the major. He studied the printout for a minute or two. “Someone did a good job. This is accurate. I can’t see anything missing. Currently, the unit has only vehicular transport, no aircraft. As you indicated, they call on the Air Force here at Bagram, when they need an airlift. The layout of the camp’s almost rectangular, with the main entrance in the North. Our portion has a Bremer wall around the three sides, opening onto the apron and internal road system.” He tapped the map. “The company’s barracks are here. It’s these rows of B-huts, with rows of Hesco bastions on either side and separating them. It might be worthwhile dropping half a load of Special Forces at the rear, and the remainder at the front, here and here. This block of CHUs—also with rows of bastions providing separation and blast protection—along the other side of the command building is for officers—the colonel occupies this CHU. The command building houses the battalion component—Colonel Buchanan and his support, as well as Alpha Company’s officers and support. All Army units at Camp Zebra are operating under amber conditions, so everyone is armed. Alpha Company troops are very enthusiastic, very fit, just untried. They have a good camaraderie, and are well disciplined. Two sergeants have prior Afghanistan experience. Everyone else below that level is inexperienced.”
“What’s the head count?” asked Schmidt.
“One hundred and fifty on base. Plus, there are fifteen men off-base with the general—I wasn’t included in their mission briefing and haven’t been involved with them. We’ve contractors; probably another sixty or so, supporting the company. DFAC—the company’s dining facility—is contractor run, of course, and so is the laundry. There are other units at Camp Zebra—all NATO—each located separately, with their own barracks, facilities, etc. Total camp headcount is close to a thousand soldiers and probably five hundred civilian contractors.”
“What are the battalion’s operational orders?”
Dempsey looked up at Schmidt. “They were very vague. Standby until new orders were cut. Keep the men active.”
“So this Afghan Kabul Bank fraud investigation was just a rumor?” asked MayAnn.
“AKB? I overheard mention of it once, in a conversation between General Jamieson and Colonel Buchanan. They halted their conversation very quickly when they realized I was within hearing.”
Schmidt turned to Colonel Thurle. “Do you know anything about AKB?”
“It’s one of the larger banks in Kabul. However, there’s no fraud investigation that I’m aware of.”
“All right. Let’s continue. Major Morris, it’s important that your men take extreme care. We don’t want a blood bath. While most of Alpha Company are young, not yet experienced, as Dempsey mentioned, they are extremely able. I’d like this to be over as quickly as possible.”
“Won’t General Jamieson be alert, now?” asked the Special Forces major.
“Yes. However, I suspect his key people are currently off-base with him. What do you think, Dempsey?”
“I agree. Buchanan is the only one left at the fort who is in his buddy-team. Even if the colonel alerted the general when you picked me up, I doubt Jamieson can change his plans. He has to return to Camp Zebra. He’ll try to bluff it out, or use his influence to avoid arrest.”
“I agree. I’ll see if we can use a drone to track him on his way back. Any other questions?” Schmidt looked around the table. No one commented. “Very well. Morris, please brief your team. Dempsey will assist you—he has the local knowledge. James, please coordinate with Morris. Let me know your departure time. That’s all for now. The rest of it—you can work out your detailed plans. If the drone team notifies me of anything I’ll update you. I think it’s time for me to crash, jet-lag’s catching up fast.”
***
Chapter 20
The B-huts or ‘barracks huts’ were cheap, temporary plywood constructions that provided little or no protection from either the heat or the cold of Afghanistan. At Camp Zebra, the huts were divided into small rooms, each hut housed eight soldiers and there were ten huts in each row. Ablutions huts paralleled each row, with separate male and female facilities. Alpha Company, 145th MP Battalion was housed in three rows of B-huts, although some huts were empty. A solid double row of bastions provided a boundary and modest protection against rockets. The B-huts provided no protection, at all.
Three Apaches lifted up over the fort’s exterior wall, with their searchlights on, and took up position a hundred feet or so above the rows of B-huts. Two Chinooks followed, one heading to the front of the operational area commanded by the 145th and the second dropping down at the rear of the B-huts, where it landed half its complement of Special Forces personnel. It immediately lifted off and joined the other Chinook where it unloaded the remainder of the unit. The first Chinook had already unloaded. The Chinooks, now empty, immediately lifted off, to hover a hundred feet above the area in front of the operational buildings, their larger searchlights bringing daylight earlier than normal for the near-winter morning.
The noise generated by five helicopters in close proximity ensured no one remained asleep. Soldiers tumbled out of their huts, some half asleep, some partially dressed, all freezing in the low temperature. Few—very few—were fully dressed with body armor and weapons. All were unsure of what was happening, and unsure of which direction to go. Special Forces soldiers signaled them forward to the front of the barracks, where they slowly assembled, bewildered by the noise and the unexpected invasion. Five officers, including Colonel Buchanan, exited their CHUs, more cautious and more aware of the threat posed by the force now surrounding the embryonic battalion.
MayAnn was wearing an Army combat uniform, with body armor and a heavy jacket. She was also wearing a combat helmet. She had attached her FBI identity card to her jacket. Schmidt, similarly attired, stood beside her. They were accompanied by Colonel Thurle, and five armed soldiers. Schmidt signaled to the Special Forces major, who signaled the helicopter pilots. The aircraft moved away to land on the concrete apron, and the resulting silence was a welcome relief. Someone had switched on two mobile lighting units that eerily extended the shadows of
the waiting troops.
Schmidt lifted a handheld PA unit.
“Alpha Company—I am General Schmidt. I want the officers here—” he indicated an area in front of him, “and the remaining personnel, including NCOs, to assemble there.” He indicated a larger area in front of the rows of B-huts. “Major Dempsey, please take charge of the Alpha Company while I address the officers.” He handed the PA unit to the major. Both Schmidt and Dempsey had assumed the personnel would co-operate, especially under the eyes of forty or more heavily armed Special Forces soldiers who had no need for artifice or bravado to communicate their deadliness.
Colonel Buchanan bludgeoned his way forward, pushing aside his men, to confront Schmidt. He was furious. “Schmidt,” he said. “This is totally irregular. You’re not a general, you’re an impostor. Get off my base, or I’ll have you arrested.” Two captains and two lieutenants stood back from their colonel. Their expressions indicated a mix of confusion and dismay.
Schmidt reached into a pocket and drew out a set of documents. “Colonel Buchanan. I have orders signed by SECARMY and the Provost Marshal General authorizing me to take you into custody. FBI Special Agent Freewell has a warrant for your arrest. The civilian charges include murder, attempted murder, kidnapping and assault. The military charges include reckless endangerment of your men resulting in six deaths, conspiracy to murder CIA agents, membership of a terrorist organization, falsification of Army records, unauthorized use of Army equipment—the list is extensive. You are to be placed in the custody of Bagram Provost Marshal and flown to Washington, D.C., as a prisoner of the FBI.”
Buchanan snarled and drew his hand weapon, a Beretta, and fired at Schmidt. One of the Special Forces soldiers accompanying Schmidt drew his weapon in response and fired, the bullet striking the colonel in the chest. Buchanan fell; he was dead before his body hit the ground. The Beretta bullet had knocked Schmidt to the ground. He was unmoving, unconscious. MayAnn dropped to his side and checked his pulse. A Special Forces soldier gently nudged her aside. None of the Special Forces soldiers seemed troubled by Buchanan’s death although there was a wave of shock through the men and women of Alpha Company.
Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four Page 35
