by Don Bendell
So now, the al Qaeda had a wealthy U.S. senator in their hip pocket, and when he ran for president, and before he ran, they would manipulate the world and U.S. media as best they could to influence the election. They were absolute experts at it.
The divide-and-conquer lessons had been effectively learned during the war in Vietnam and elsewhere since. The strategy of tension, strategia della tensione, is officially defined as a way to control and manipulate public opinion using fear, propaganda, disinformation, psychological warfare, agents provocateurs, false-flag actions, and terrorist actions.
Knowing that the American left oft goes overboard to prove that Americans are fair and unbiased, the al Qaeda following in the footsteps of the communist party and other insurgency movements had learned to prey on the generosity and open-armed hospitality of the Yankee infidels by playing the U.S. news media like Yo-Yo Ma vacationing in a cello factory.
One most recent tactic was to send AQ terrorists or terrorist sympathizers into airports worldwide, train depots, and the like and push the envelope on security, praying loudly publicly in front of other passengers, traveling in groups but acquiring seating separately in tactically superior seats, and causing minor disruption. A Muslim attorney would be ready to defend the actions of the travelers immediately and go on the attack about civil rights violations and bias by the travel industry, airlines, and anybody else who needed molding into the pro-terrorist target fit. This tactic was meant to test security and loosen up security for Muslim travelers, cause discomfort with the populace, and provide more headaches for the government.
Senator Weatherford looked around the restaurant, then pulled two large envelopes out of his briefcase. He handed one to Muhammad and one to Tran. They opened them and saw glossy photographs of Maj. Bobby Samuels and Capt. Bo Devore.
Muhammad said, “My people know who they are.”
Weatherford leaned forward, whispering, “Some of my best contacts inside the military, especially in the army, are afraid of what these two could do to any or all of us. I have to quietly do everything I can to get them out of the way.”
Tran grinned, saying, “They would not be wise to come to Vietnam or even close.”
Muhammad also grinned. “I do not care where they go. If we must rid ourselves of them, then we will rid ourselves of them. You look troubled, my friend.”
James did look pale.
“It’s not like I want you to kill two American army officers,” he said sheepishly.
Muhammad grinned evilly, saying, “Yes, you do. You just do not wish to hear about it. My people have a saying, ‘The sinning is the best part of repentance.’ Think about that, Senator.”
Muhammad laughed at his own saying, and Tran joined in, but Weatherford shook his head and thought how far he had sold himself to the devil, and then laughed out loud at the Arabic proverb, and then started laughing harder, until all three were laughing heartily.
They toasted with glasses and Weatherford said, “I guess I am a coldhearted, tough son of a bitch.”
Muhammad stroked his ego even more, adding, “One must be to be a powerful world leader.”
James Weatherford liked that. He had never been a shrinking petunia, and a president had to make really tough decisions, sometimes sacrificing a few lives for the good of all. It was settled in his mind; Bobby Samuels and Bo Devore had to be eliminated. They were too tough and making too much of a name for themselves in the inner circles in D.C. He would have them stopped now, and anybody else who got in his way.
6
LIFE OF A WARRIOR
In Texas, Bobby Samuels and Bo Devore made a clever infiltration, thanks to General Perry, with a pair of German-created stealth wings. More had been secretly secured for use by certain CIA and spec ops personnel.
The lightweight carbon-fiber mono-wings would allow an operator to jump from high altitudes and then glide 120 miles or more before landing—making them almost impossible to spot, as their aircraft can avoid flying anywhere near the target.
The technology was first demonstrated in 2003 when Austrian daredevil Felix Baumgartner—a pioneer of freefall gliding—“glided” across the English Channel, leaping out of an aircraft 30,000 feet above Dover, England, and landing safely near Calais, France, twelve minutes later.
Wearing an aerodynamic suit, and with a 6-foot-wide wing strapped to his back, Felix soared across the sea at 220 miles per hour, moving 6 feet forward through the air for every 1 foot he fell vertically—and opened his parachute 1,000 feet above the ground before landing safely.
Military scientists saw the massive potential for secret military missions. Currently special forces and spec ops, such as the SAS, whom this was initially proposed to, rely on a variety of parachute techniques to land behind enemy lines.
Existing steerable square parachutes, or parafoils, are used normally, but when opened at high altitudes above 20,000 feet, jumpers have to struggle to control them for long periods, often fighting very high winds and extreme cold, while breathing from an oxygen bottle.
They can also free-fall from high altitude and open their parachutes at the last minute, but that severely limits the distance they can “glide” forward from the drop point to just a few miles.
But the German company ESG developed the strap-on rigid wing specifically for special forces and spec ops use.
Looking like a six-foot-wide pair of F-15 Eagle wings, the device allows a parachutist to glide up to 120 miles, while carrying up to 200 pounds of equipment. Not only that, the stealth wings are fitted with oxygen supply and navigation aides. When they would approach their landing zone, the jumper would pull their rip cord to open his parafoil canopy and then land how he normally would. The manufacturers claimed the ESG wing is “100 percent silent” and “extremely difficult” to track using radar.
Bobby and Bo had told Boom Kittenger how effective the stealth wings had been and were very enthused about how well they could infiltrate a hot situation like they had in southern Texas a little northeast of El Paso, a shoot-out with members of a Brazilian street gang called O Grupo Grande as well as elements of al Qaeda.
He was wondering what he had been thinking, wearing a set of stealth wings, now looking out at the night sky over northern Thailand from the back ramp of a giant C-130 Hercules. He was breathing O2, oxygen from a bottle built into the right wing, and pulled his night vision optics on over his face. He looked at his Global Positioning System tracker in his right wrist and shook hands with the Special Forces master sergeant jumpmaster watching the red light to the side of the big ramp.
In less than a half minute, the red light went out, the green light came on, and the big Green Beret slapped a beefy palm against the back of Boom’s right shoulder and yelled, “Go!”
Boom, instead of jumping, turned his head, removed his O2 mask, and grinning, yelled above the prop roar, “Naw! I wanna go home, sit on my couch, eat bonbons, and watch The Jerry Springer Show.”
Quickly, he replaced his mask, and waving, he went out the back door diving off the end of the ramp in a crab position. Laughing and shaking his head slowly, the SF sergeant backed up and returned to his seat on the side of the aircraft, while the ramp and door electronically closed.
Boom had to drop tens of thousands of feet and was going to travel laterally for over 100 miles. He was very excited. This was a new adventure, another adrenaline high. He would be working again with Vietnamese Montagnards and Laotian Hmong, was serving his nation in an important function, and was making an absolutely immoral amount of money as an independent contractor for the CIA.
On the ground, Y-Ting lit a strobe light in the middle of the large clearing, which had been a mountain rice field, and also placed a radio transmitter that sent out a homing signal to Boom’s receiver perched above his reserve chute. When he soared into range, a small green light would start blinking over and over and a small LED screen would show him which way to steer to effect his descent toward the drop zone.
The joint patrol wa
ited and watched, patiently. Suddenly, they saw a laser light come from the sky and as quickly went out. Seconds later, in the moonlight they made out the outline of a large parafoil chute. Excited whispers went back and forth between the oriental fighting men. Minutes later, Boom glided into the drop zone, and at the last second, he seemed to lift up and set down with an easy stand-up landing.
The patrol left LPs out to watch for enemy approach, but for the most part they gathered around the tall American and his parachute and equipment were quickly rolled up.
Y-Ting, with right hand outstretched, grabbed his own left forearm and Boom did the same and they shook hands smiling.
The Ede, or Rade, Montagnard said, “Hello, Boom. We are glad you are back here with us.”
“Suaih asei mlei mo ih?” Boom said.
The warriors whispered excitedly among themselves.
Y-Ting replied, “Kao suaih moh. Lak jak a ih liu? You speak our language very good.”
Boom said, “Suaih moh.”
After exchanging greetings and inquiring about each other’s health, Boom was supposed to immediately cache it but knew how these resourceful little warriors were. During the Vietnam War, he remembered how thrilled a Montagnard man with a family could be with one piece of tin. He would dig a large bunker in the side of a hill, use the tin for a roof, cover it with layers of dirt and that was considered a mansion for many.
With a parachute and its suspension lines and risers, a Montagnard or a Hmong could create a variety of resources.
With the Stealth wings, one of them could just about create a multiroom mansion for their family.
There was no talking until they reached their G-base, or guerilla base, one hour later. Here things were more secure, and a large cooking fire was on as well as several smaller fires. As soon as they arrived, several men offered Boom food and rice wine.
Boom politely declined and said he had his own food and was ordered to eat it, this time. He said his commander knew they did not have much food, and he was to decline any offers for foods or drink, or he would be court-martialed. He knew that they understood chain of command and would not want him to break most direct orders, although they also learned that most Green Berets would defy orders to accomplish a mission if the order did not make any sense.
In actuality, the retired command sergeant major was the man Bobby Samuels called when Bobby hit his bottom and realized he was an alcoholic. Boom dropped what he was doing and left his ranch in Colorado, flying cross-country to Washington, D.C., where he rented a car and forced Bobby to go with him to his first AA meeting, something Bobby would never regret. Bobby had a mission to accomplish then, so he put off going to the Betty Ford Center but made as many AA meetings as he could. Boom had been a recovering alcoholic and had even accompanied Bobby’s father to AA meetings. Bobby did not even know his dad was an alcoholic growing up or that he went to AA. He just knew he could never recall seeing his father drink.
Boom, who was now in his late fifties but was in such good shape everybody thought he was in his forties, had drunk plenty of rice wine with the Montagnard warriors and the Hmong warriors during his tours in Vietnam and in Laos. He knew that drinking the smooth but potent beverage was a major part of both warrior societies. He also knew the little men lived very simple, uncomplicated lives, so he did not want to go into a ten-minute dissertation about alcoholism, so he simply said he was ordered not to drink or eat with them. This the Montagnards fully knew and understood, so it kept him out of trouble drinking and not having to explain himself, either, without insulting them by a flat refusal.
The tall, graying SF engineer-demolition specialist pulled several small green plastic bottles of U.S. Army insect repellent from his pack and handed them to Y-Ting and several of the patrol members. They got excited and started talking rapidly with each other. Small pieces of cotton were passed out from an old first-aid kit and pieces of cotton were wedged onto the ends of small sticks. The Montagnards squirted a drop or two of repellent on each cotton swab and then started touching them on the engorged bodies of the large leeches all over their legs, feet, and other parts of their bodies. When the insect repellent touched the leeches’ bodies, they would immediately back out of the skin, leaving a tiny blood hole where their heads had invaded the hiker’s body traveling through the damp, dark jungle.
Boom was hungry, so he got an MRE from his rucksack and put water on the small cooking fire provided for him. Y-Ting and two others came over and squatted by his fire.
Boom smiled at the warrior leader, saying, “Tonight, we should relax, eat, sleep, talk a little, and wait until tomorrow to speak of the enemy.”
Y-Ting said, “We must tell you about the tiger.”
“What tiger?”
“Ooh, he was bad,” Y-Ting said. “He ate his wife. He ate my cousin. Ate two more people from my village.”
“What?” Boom said.
“You know my village in Vietnam near Buon Ale A?”
Boom said, “Yes, I know where you mean.”
Y-Ting responded, “We had a tiger and it would watch the village. When the villagers go to river for water or wash clothes or fish, it would follow. When the women go to the rice field to harvest rice, it would circle the field and kill villagers and eat them.”
Boom said, “What happened to the tiger?”
One of the patrol members, not even looking up from his bowl of rice he was busy devouring, said, “Y-Ting kill,” with Boom a little surprised that the man even spoke English.
It was in fact the first time Boom had even heard the man speak.
Boom said, “Cool, Y-Ting. How did you kill him?”
Y-Ting said, “I go out after him and find tracks outside village, maybe ten clicks. He goes far. I see he goes to another village and kills people. Maybe still there only one day.
“Next day, I go to rice field where women die,” he went on. “I take stool with me and sit on it.”
Boom laughed and interrupted, “A stool?”
He was surprised that Y-Ting knew the word and why he would do such a thing.
Y-Ting said, “Yes, I take stool and sit there. Maybe three hours, I sit, then I see tiger’s shoulders in high grass. He comes for me.”
Boom asked, “What if you had faced the wrong way?”
Y-Ting said, “Oh, I would not do that. Wind must blow into tiger’s face or he think me smell him coming and run away.”
Boom knew better and wondered why he even asked such an obvious question.
“So tiger comes slow, what you say?” the strong little man went on. “Squatting? No, crouching. Tiger comes slow, crouching. He thinks me no see. He gets closer and closer.”
“So did you have your sights on him that whole time?” Boom asked.
“Oh no,” Y-Ting said. “I did not want Cong-An to come see me with a rifle. I just had my knife.”
“Holy shit!” Boom countered. “You faced a five- or six-hundred-pound tiger with a Scrap Yard knife?”
Y-Ting laughed, saying, “No, I was trained number one by Boom Kittenger.”
“What?” Boom said, surprised and humbled.
Y-Ting said, “Tiger attacks and runs at me. I drop down, cover my head, and his legs hit trip wire. I have trip wire across path and have wooden clothes pin with positive wire to one battery attached to screw through end, and negative wire on other side with screw, and wooden plug in between and they go to basting cap inside bamboo tube I fill with C4 I steal from SRV. Have blasting cap in end, and I wrapped with many stones inside tape.”
Boom said, “I’ll be damned.”
Y-Ting replied, “Legs hit trip wire and screws in clothes pin hit each other and explosion. Blew shit out of tiger.”
“Sure glad you paid attention when I gave you guys classes on demo.”
“Me, too,” Y-Ting added. “Thank you. We must learn. Our enemy has tanks, planes, guns, bombs. We have maybe more . . .”
He looked for a word and hit the left side of his chest with his hand,
smiling and saying, “Heart.”
Boom clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Boom Kittenger had served with both Bobby and Bobby’s late father, Command Sgt. Maj. Honey Samuels. Boom himself was a legend in Special Forces, the spec ops community, and the CIA; his legend was only overshadowed by retired Command Sgt. Maj. Billy Waugh. Billy Waugh had been face-to-face with Usama bin Laden four times working for the CIA, had served seven and a half years straight in MAC-V/SOG during the Vietnam War, and was the man who literally tracked down and led the French police to capturing the infamous Carlos the Jackal. He had served either the Special Forces or the CIA in fifty-five foreign countries. Billy had in fact authored a book about his adventures called Hunting the Jackal.
Special Forces engineer/demolition specialists are trained to expertly build a bridge or blow one up. And of these men, Boom Kittenger was one of the very best. After retirement, Boom was called upon by the Department of Defense, DEA, and CIA to perform difficult missions.
The stories about Boom during the Vietnam War and all the decades in between were many and most were not embellishments, although many hearing them might think they were.
One of the simplest and most clever was the story about Boom when he was on an RT, or Recon Team, out of FOB (Forward Operating Base) 1 in Phu Bai. MAC-V/SOG or Studies and Observation Group was a top secret unit in the Vietnam War manned primarily by Green Berets who would conduct cross-border operations, usually in three-to-nine-man RTs, which almost always were comprised of six men, with two being Americans; the others were four mercenaries, and most of them were Montagnard warriors.
They went on long-range patrols conducting direct-action missions in Cambodia, Laos, North Vietnam, and even in China. Obviously, many, many Americans went home in body bags.
On this particular mission, Boom, as well as a young gung-ho first lieutenant and four Montagnards of the Bahnar tribe, were inserted by helicopter into North Vietnam.
