Seals (2005)

by Jack - Seals 01 Terral

  That ended the N3's briefing. There wasn't much to it, only a mission statement with some explanation hitting the basic intentions and goals. The execution portion of the OPLAN would be worked out by the Brigands among themselves.

  They would have to relate that information to Carey in a session termed the brief back.

  The next speaker was the N2 Berringer. He was a heavily muscled young man who was balding perceptively and prematurely. He spoke in a businesslike manner, delivering his introduction with military precision. "Your OA is in a territory tightly controlled by a local warlord who is decidedly unfriendly to infidels from the west. If those outsiders happen to be American, he goes ballistic. Anybody falling into his hands can expect an unpleasant, lingering death. In the overall strategic and tactical situation in Afghanistan, it is most important--I say again--most important to either win over or neutralize the warlords. The basic objective of the permanent removal of the Taliban along with the destruction of Al-Qaeda depends on controlling the warlords. The successful completion of your mission will be one step closer to reaching that goal. Now I'll turn the floor over to our asset Ishaq who will take over this intelligence briefing. He will be able to handle any questions that you may have."

  The SEALs noticed that the man appeared haggard and tired as he walked to the podium. Although he was obviously a Middle-Easterner, when he spoke, he did so in a clipped, upper-class English accent:

  "Good morning, gentleman. I have recently returned from your OA and I am quite familiar with that particular territory. As Commander Carey said, the area where you will make the linkup is uncharted, but I have prepared some hand-drawn maps for you that should prove at least a bit helpful."

  Mike Assad raised his hand. "Are they to scale, sir?"

  "I'm afraid I was only as accurate as my drawing hand and estimates permit," Ishaq said apologetically. "The terrain in which you shall be operating is in the highlands. There exist two prominent mountain ridges running north and south. They eventually break off into other ranges that have rugged foothills marked by deep ravines. A rather long and wide valley also dominates the area. However, none of this will affect you."

  "Are you speaking of steep terrain?" Dave Leibowitz asked.

  "Not so much that men in excellent physical condition would have trouble ascending the hills," Ishaq answered. "You'll need no mountain-climbing gear. There are also flat arable sections in the OA where the local farmers raise wheat, barley and the inevitable opium poppies."

  Brannigan looked up from his note-taking. "Who's running the show in that particular spot?"

  "The area is tightly controlled by a rather nasty chap who goes by the name of Ayyuub Durtami. He is the warlord and absolute ruler, collecting taxes, forcing young men into his fighting band, and in general has qualified as the poster lad for cruelty and despotism." He smiled. "I'm afraid that is about all I learned of him during my ninety-day stay in his fiefdom."

  "How many men are in his private army?" Chief Matt Gunnarson asked.

  "There is no exact count since he's continually adding mujahideen to his roster while chopping off the heads of the poor blokes who displease him," Ishaq said. "But I can confidently tell you that you can expect him to be able to muster somewhere between two hundred and three hundred able-bodied fighters." He showed a sympathetic smile. "I see there are sixteen of you chaps."

  "We'll each have to whack around eighteen to twenty of the rat bastards," Bruno Puglisi remarked. "No problem."

  "Right," Ishaq said. "Warlord Durtami operates out of a fortified compound that is surrounded by a mud-brick wall some twelve feet high and a yard thick. It is approximately seventy-five yards on each of four sides. He has firing positions all along the perimeter and machine gun posts in sandbagged towers at each corner. At least a third of these firing positions are manned twenty-four hours a day."

  "What sort of weapons can he deploy?" Petty Officer First Class Connie Concord asked.

  "The AK-47 is his basic issue," Ishaq answered. "He's short of RPGs since most of those have been snapped up for the nasty blokes in Iraq. He has a brother-in-law by the name of Hassan Khamami. Khamami as a warlord makes Durtami look like a juvenile delinquent. He has an extremely large fighting force and controls a vast area of land. I recommend you avoid him if at all possible."

  "We'll sure as hell try," Brannigan said. "Who is this defector we'll be linking up with?"

  "His name is Omar Kariska," Ishaq replied. "The meeting place is a bombed-out village marked on the map. The challenge will be to mention a number between one and nine in the Pashto language. The password is to reply in a number that adds up to ten when applied to the challenge."

  Brannigan frowned. "None of us speak Pashto."

  "I have written out the pronunciation of the necessary numerals," Ishaq said. "You will have to memorize them."

  As Ishaq continued to deliver his description of the enemy, the N2 passed out copies of the hand-drawn maps along with satellite images of the OA. When the asset finished his presentation, the SEALs felt somewhat better informed, but the lack of precise information was acute enough that it was hard to come up with meaningful questions.

  Brannigan summed it up by saying, "In other words, this will be a typical mission where we will have to make up the rules as the game progresses."

  "Correct," Berringer interjected. "And the penalties for erroneous reasoning or guesses can * easily result in things going terribly wrong."

  Commander Carey took over the proceedings. "Okay, men. That's all we've got for you. It's pretty sketchy, so you're going to be carrying quite a load when it comes to forming your OPLAN. Are there any questions?"

  "A pretty basic one, sir,"-Brannigan said, standing up. "It may not be our business or only need-to-know information, but I'm curious as to the long-range benefits of bringing this Kariska guy out of the OA."

  Berringer fielded that question. "Simply stated: he has a hell of a lot of valuable information."

  "This is a cog in the wheel that is turning Afghanistan into a secular democracy," Carey explained *further. "The latest intelligence, most of it garnered by Mr. Ishaq, is that the warlords are doing their damnedest to stop all efforts to democratize Afghanistan. If they succeed, we can expect decades of war in the. Middle East. It will become a base of operation for every Islamic terrorist group that exists. That is all, gentlemen. We wish you a good day and will see you for the briefback."

  The three visitors trooped out of the Isolation area, and Brannigan took the floor, checking his notebook. "Okay. Here're your assignments." The men listened carefully to the pre-mission jobs that were so important.

  Petty Officers Second Class Mike Assad and Dave Leibowitz were assigned to work out the route from the DZ or LZ to the meeting place with the defector. The two, who served as scouts and recon, were known as the "Odd Couple" among the other members of the platoon because Mike was an Arab-American and Dave Jewish. But despite that mix that could have been volatile, they were the best of buddies. They had a lot in common. Both had been disappointments to their families for their lack of interest in religion, making money or getting an advanced education. Each disliked Palestinian terrorists and Israeli settlers, who moved into disputed areas with equal intensity. Assad and Leibowitz were dedicated SEALs and Americans who liked taking direct actions to solve problems.

  The responsibilities for medical matters were handed over to Petty Officer Third Class James Bradley. This quiet African-American had graduated from the premed course at Boston University, but had decided against pursuing his MD degree out of deep patriotism. He enlisted in the Navy and volunteered for the SEALs to fight against terrorism. His background made him a natural to score a hospital corpsmen's rating, and he planned on taking advantage of the NCP later on to become a Navy doctor.

  Bruno Puglisi, a petty officer second class from South Philadelphia, came from a mob family. With most of his male relatives either whacked or jailed, he decided the best place for him to find a macho lifestyle
was in the Navy SEALs. He had a special affinity for hand-fired weaponry--particularly the automatic variety--and he was assigned to the maintenance, repair and issue of all firearms used in the platoon. Additionally, Puglisi was the platoon sniper. At other times he was one-half of the fire support element, working with Petty Officer First Class Connie Concord, who grew up in rural Arkansas, spent a boyhood hunting and was an expert with shotguns and the M-203 grenade launcher.

  Demolitions were the bailiwick of Joe Miskoski, a petty officer second class who had attended the Army's Special Warfare Center Demolition Course. He had become a virtual artist with C4 plastic explosive, claymore mines, detonation cord, satchel charges and limpet mines.

  All the communications in the Brigands was in the capable hands of Petty Officer Second Class Frank Gomez, who not only operated radios but was expert in keeping them in good working order.

  The two chief petty officers Dawkins and Gunnarson were tasked with choosing the right equipment and gear for whatever jobs the platoon drew.

  When all the assignments had been made, Lieutenant Brannigan finished his discourse with a final announcement. "Lieutenant Cruiser and I will work out the infiltration and exfiltration. The rest of you stand by for other tasks that will be popping up from time to time. There's going to be a lot of fetching and carrying. That's it, guys. Turn to!"

  There was a scuffling of desks and boots on the deck as they left the area to attend to their assigned duties.

  Chapter 2

  ISOLATION

  5 AUGUST

  0730 HOURS LOCAL

  THE desks were arranged in a semicircle, and a table with two chairs had been placed to the direct front of the room. Commander Tom Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer occupied these. They had maps and notebooks opened, and were poised to get into the proceedings of the debriefing. A blown-up photograph of the OA taken from satellite imagery was mounted on the wall. There was a large urn of the Navy's version of coffee sitting on an ammo box, and every man in the room had a steaming cup of the invigorating brew sitting in front of him.

  "Have you all learned to count from one to ten in Pashto?" Berringer asked. When everyone nodded affirmatively, he said, "I haven't learned them but I wrote them down." He looked over at Dave Leibowitz. "Salor!"

  Dave instantly replied, "Shpag!"

  "Right!" Berringer said. "Four and six make ten."

  "Now that we've gone through basic Pashto arithmetic,"

  Carey said, "let's get on with the briefing. We're both ready, guys. Shoot."

  Lieutenant Bill Brannigan sat off to one side, relaxed and at ease while his 2IC Jim Cruiser took the floor. Cruiser used his laser beam pointer to indicate a spot on the satellite photograph. "We will be making a HALO infiltration and will land on this DZ. The jump will be executed at the twilight hour of eighteen-forty-five. You will note then there are two mountain ridges between that area and"--he shifted the red dot of light--"there! That is where the warlord's compound is located."

  Carey leaned forward to get a better look. "That must be some five miles, Lieutenant. Why so far from the DZ?"

  "Security of the jump, sir," Cruiser explained. "We'll exit the aircraft at twelve thousand feet AGL and open at thirty-five hundred. That will give us minimum exposure just before we descend out of view below the mountaintops." He moved the laser again. "Here is where we'll set up a base camp on the western ridge. The idea is to go to the contact point over here across the two mountains. We have dubbed the ridge nearest the DZ as West Ridge. The one nearest the contact point is called East Ridge." Another laser shift to the bombed-out village. "Our contact party will link up with the defector here and head directly back to the base camp. After calling in the aircraft for exfiltration, we will meet it there on the DZ that then becomes an LZ."

  "Can a C-130 land there?" the intelligence officer, Berringer, asked.

  "Yes, sir," Cruiser answered. "I checked with Mr. Ishaq and he assured me it was a suitable location. The terrain is firm and flat."

  "Will there be any special platoon equipment?" Carey inquired.

  "No, sir," Cruiser said. "There's no need for that. Everyone will be capable of carrying the necessary gear of their specialty to accomplish the mission."

  When the 21C finished his presentation, Petty Officer Second Class Mike Assad took the floor. "The only recon Petty Officer Leibowitz and I could do was obviously a map reconnaissance, sir," he explained. "We combined that with questions to Mr. Ishaq to figure out the best course. Our contact party will follow this route." He now began employing his own laser beam. "There is an easy way down from the base camp on West Ridge to the first valley floor. There seems to be plenty of cover. The problem is crossing that valley, because it has only sparse, skimpy brush. We're going to have to adopt a heavy-security mode as we go across. A single skirmish line would be best, since it would be the fastest way. And if we are attacked from the direction of the compound, all our firepower will be going directly to our front. From that point on we go into fire-and-maneuver as the situation dictates."

  "What about that second ridge line, Petty Officer?" Carey asked. "I'm speaking of the one you people are calling East Ridge. That's an open, exposed top and the side leading down to the flat lands where the contact point is located hasn't got as much as a blade of grass on it."

  "Our guys can move along here below the ridge line on the far side from the contact point:' Mike said. "We found a place right here that looks down on the village where the defector is supposed to show up. There's excellent concealment in the rocks here where we can provide covering fire for the contact party if necessary. There shouldn't be more than three or four guys going down for the meet, so that leaves fourteen of us to back 'em up."

  "Looks good to me:' Carey remarked, writing in his notebook.

  James' Bradley took Mike's place. With no reason to put on a dog-and-pony show, he stood empty-handed in front of the two officers. "Sir, I'm the platoon hospital corpsman. I'm going to supply each man an emergency medical kit that will fit in a pocket of his assault vest. This will be a basic `help yourself' setup with a battle dressing and an Ace bandage. There will also be some codeine and morphine, along with sedatives, stimulants and a couple of sets of pills for constipation and diarrhea. I'll be bringing along my own field surgical kit for major trauma. That will include extra battle dressings, painkillers, lactate solution and catheter kits, among other items. All this is standard."

  "It sounds like you've got everything covered in your health care program," Carey remarked.

  "Yes, sir," James said. "And I do make house calls and my fees are reasonable."

  Chuckles rippled across the room and Berringer said, "And no insurance forms to fill out either, I bet."

  Weapons and fire support were next on the agenda. Petty Officer First Class Connie Concord was the senior man in that effort, but he was never fond of public speaking, so he delegated the function to his only subordinate, Petty Officer Second Class Bruno Puglisi, who loved an audience. Puglisi, like Bradley, had no use for the satellite map. He cut straight to the chase. "All the guys is gonna be packing SIG Sauer nine-millimeter auto pistols in drop holsters. They'll also be bringing along two extra fifteen-round magazines in addition to the one in the weapon. That's forty-five friggin' rounds, y' know? Plenty, believe me. If some dumb bastard gets himself into a position where he's gotta use his pistol and shoot up that many bullets, he's either the worst shot this side o' Jersey or the unluckiest guy that ever survived Hell Week:'

  "Well said, Puglisi," Carey remarked.

  "Right, sir. Ever' body except Petty Officer Concord and me is gonna go on the mission with CAR-15s and five extra thirty-round magazines. Me and him is gonna have M-16 rifles along with M-203 grenade launchers. We'll take along plenty of HE, star shells and smoke rounds for signaling on the LZ."

  "What about machine gun fire support?" Carey asked.

  "We won't need it, sir:' Puglisi said. "Between the M-16s and the CAR-15s we'll be ab
le to put out all the firepower we need. An M-60 machine gun and all that ammo it needs is too frigging heavy. Another thing to take into consideration is that we'd have to pull a guy out of one of the fire teams as a bullet toter."

  "If the lieutenant has faith in your choice, then it's fine with us, Puglisi," Carey said. "Next!"

  "I'm in charge of commo," Petty Officer Second Class Frank Gomez announced to the N2 and N3. "Everybody is going to get a LASH radio headset for intra-platoon use. The guys can speak in whispers and the throat mike will pick it up and transmit it like normal speech. That'll come in handy if the bad guys are nearby. As for me, since I'll be communicating with the aircraft for the pickup, I'm bringing along an AN/PSC-5 Shadowfire radio. The nearly twenty pounds of weight is worth putting up with in case there is a need for long-range commo. I'm planning on leaving it at the base camp when we move out to pick up the defector."

  "It seems you have that aspect of the operation well thought out, Petty Officer," Berringer said. He looked over the other men. "What about demolitions?"

  Petty Officer Joe Miskoski got to his feet. "No boom-boom, sir. On this trip I'm gonna be strictly a grunt."

  "Now let's hear about your other gear," Berringer said.