by Bob Mayer
Mitchell looked at the message again. "We also have to give a tentative concept of operations by 2100 tonight." He turned to Riley. "See if you agree with me on this. I feel that our priorities should be as follows: First we need to decide how we're going to hit the target. I want you to work with Hoffman and Smitty on that. Once you come up with where exactly we're going to attack, I'll get with you and we'll work out some infiltration drop zones and exfiltration pickup zones.
As you all can guess, we're going in by Talon and coming out by helicopter."
Riley nodded his approval. Mitchell turned to the other members of the team and ticked off their tasks one by one in order of priority. By the time he was done the team was ready to get to work.
Fort Meade, Maryland Friday, 2 June, 2400 Zulu Friday, 2 June, 7:00 p.m. Local
General Sanders watched as Olson worked with his staff. The data link had been established with the FOB at Osan Air Force Base in Korea and the initial mission warning order had been forwarded. Sanders knew from the one previous Strams exercise they had run with Special Forces that it was now a question of waiting until the team and aircrew started sending back their tentative concept of operations. Once Meng got that, he could start working out the rest of the simulation for the actual execution. The computer was already set with the enemy situation, the target, and all the other known factors. The team's plan was the only missing ingredient.
In the meantime, it appeared that General Olson was going to occupy his staff's time by checking all details, to be sure they didn't have any screwups on this end. He'd just quizzed his operations officer, Colonel Moore, on the security of the mission. He also wanted to know whether it might be a problem that Eighth Army and 6th Air Force in Japan were being cut out of the operation — or, on the other hand, what would happen if they found out about the mission. It was obvious to Sanders that General Olson hadn't spent much time on operational planning prior to this exercise. That was typical of high-ranking staffs and officers and one of the reasons that these Strams were run. It was often the first taste of an operational mission for these people.
Moore was reassuring his boss. "It's not a problem, sir. We're authorized to run these types of missions without the various services' intermediate headquarters being involved. The chain of command runs directly from the National Command Authority, through us, to the FOB, to the employed elements. It's been streamlined that way as a result of the after-action reports from the Iranian hostage mission.
We've cut out all the levels that could interfere with or confuse the flow of information.
"The only people who are in on this, besides us here, are the alerted team and aircrew of the Talon in isolation over at Osan. The airplane is presently in a secure hangar out of view. We've got some worker bees involved for the intelligence, communications, and logistics support over there, but they've been told only enough so they can do their job. The other military elements, such as the exfiltration aircraft, will know only enough to be able to accomplish what's needed. It's under wraps, sir."
Olson nodded. "It had better stay that way. And not just because part of our success in the simulation rests on keeping this secure. If it gets out that we're running a simulation exercise to plan an actual attack into Chinese territory, it would cause a scandal that would be the end of me, and you also. Give me an update on the plan as it stands now."
"OK, sir." Colonel Moore leafed through the printouts of the messages from Osan. "The team's been in isolation since 2000 Zulu, or five tomorrow morning their time. We sent the warning order at 2100 Zulu. They haven't had enough time to do much, other than try to digest the intelligence we're feeding them. NSA has provided some great imagery of the entire length of the pipeline, which we're also forwarding. We're going to let the team pick the actual target spot based on the intelligence and target vulnerability."
Olson interrupted. "What about aircraft range limitations?"
Moore let the air operations man on the USSOCOM staff, Lieutenant Colonel Bishop, handle that. "Sir, there's no problem going in. The Talon has the range and then some to make the entire length of that pipe and back out. The problem will be the exfil helicopters' range. I'll see what they send us for exfil location and work something out. I have a few ideas as to how I can expand the range of the Blackhawks if I have to."
Olson nodded and signaled for Moore to continue.
"I'll be able to give you an update at our 0700 staff meeting tomorrow morning. I should have more information from the FOB by then. The time line is pretty compressed, but I think the team can get in a good plan under the wire."
Olson continued, returning to the issue of security. "Let's war-game this a little. What about the simulated mission? What if we get word that something's happened to the team and they're compromised once they've supposedly gone in?"
Colonel Moore fielded that question also. "The team and all their gear will be entirely sterile. They'll be drawing it from actual war stockage over there. There's not much we can do to stop them from talking if they're captured. I think there really isn't a high probability of that. It's much more likely that they'd get in a firefight and killed, if compromised on the ground. Other than the bodies, the Chinese won't have much to go on.
"I'm actually more concerned about the aircraft we'll be using to go in and out. We can always deny the team if they're caught. We'll look stupid, and people will know, but it won't be as bad as if we get a plane or chopper shot down over Chinese territory and they can parade the wreckage and crew." Sanders knew that everyone in the room would recognize the picture Moore was painting. Desert One all over again.
Olson pointed a thick finger at his subordinate. "That's the last thing we want to happen, Bill. Desert One was a mess. If something comes up and things get hairy, I'll abort before that happens."
Colonel Bishop added his thoughts on that. "Well, sir, you can do that going in, but it might be difficult once that team jumps out of the Talon. The only way we can pick them up is by helicopter. Like I said earlier, I'll be able to work out the details of that once I find out where they want to be picked up. Right now I'm planning to use two MH-60 helicopters out of the flight platoon of the 1st Battalion, 1st Special Forces Group on Okinawa. They've been alerted and are forward deploying up to Misawa Air Force Base in northern Japan later today. The MH-60s are specially modified UH-60 Blackhawks. Those aircraft can be traced back to the United States if they go down intact, although the Chinese do have some regular UH-60s that Sikorsky sold them last year under a military aid contract."
Olson was getting into the play of things. "Couldn't we, for the sake of this problem, pretend we're using civilian helicopters, which couldn't be traced back?"
Sanders frowned at that suggestion, but before he had a chance to reply, Bishop shot down that idea. "No, sir. Not if we're going to be realistic. The exfiltration has got to be flown at night for security reasons, and it's going to be a long flight. You need a lot of special equipment to be able to do that. Forward-looking infrared radar, night-vision devices, and so on. With the rush we're in now, we wouldn't have the time to modify a civilian bird and get it over there. Also, the pilots are trained on that type of aircraft and we wouldn't be able to get them qualified on a civilian aircraft in time."
Sanders thought it was time to clear the air. General Olson was running into the same problem almost all the other commanders hit during the initial stage of a Strams exercise — the inability to separate what was real from what wasn't real on the other end, the tendency to want to play it as an exercise rather than as the real thing. "Sir, you need to treat everything involved in this mission as the real thing. Right now everything is the real thing. There is actually an FOB at Osan with a team in isolation. There is actually a Combat Talon sitting in that hangar. As far as those people are concerned, this is a real mission. You can't try to pretend or use something that doesn't exist."
Sanders pointed at the map and message screen. "You're receiving traffic from both the Command Autho
rity and the FOB. You need to treat both as real. Everything between here and the FOB is hard copy in message format just as it would be if this were real."
Olson frowned. The whole thing was confusing. "Well, what about the other direction? I've got some questions for the Command Authority that I need answered. How do I go about that?"
Sanders pointed at the commo gear. "Like you would if this were real. Send a message like you were inbriefed to."
Olson gestured for Colonel Moore. He outlined the message he wanted sent. "I'm kind of unclear on the operational chain of this thing. I know from the oplan that the chairman gives the final go the night the plane takes off to send in the team, but what about after that? Does he want to give a final go to the team on the ground just prior to the target window? Does he want me to make all further decisions, especially concerning aborting, or does he want me to bounce them up to him?"
Moore took a few minutes to put the questions into the format and then fed it into the terminal. A few minutes later the message board lit up and the printer chattered out a hard copy of the reply.
There was a pause as everyone read the message. Sanders looked to the back of the room where Meng was seated. This was Olson's first taste of what the computer could do.
PORTER HERE/
I WANT TO GIVE THE FINAL GO THROUGH YOU/ BOTH WEDNESDAY AND JUST BEFORE ACTUAL DESTRUCTION ON THE GROUND/ YOU MAKE THE REST OF THE DECISIONS PETE/ REMEMBER THAT IF IT CONCERNS A POSSIBLE COMPROMISE TO ABORT/1 WANT TO KNOW AS SOON AS POSSIBLE IF SOMETHING GOES WRONG/ END/
Olson stared at the board in amazement. The machine's use of his first name had been as startling as the message itself. It was as if the chairman had actually written the message. The whole thing was much more realistic to him now. He turned to Sanders. "That was the computer answering me, pretending to be General Porter?"
For the first time, Doctor Meng spoke up from the back of the room. "No, General. As far as you are concerned, that was the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff himself answering you. If you remember that, it will make this week much easier for all of us."
FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Saturday, 3 June, 0102 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 10:02 a.m. Local
It took Riley and the engineers less than two hours to come up with the actual point of attack on the pipeline. Using 1:64,000 scale maps of the pipeline area, and satellite imagery sent from Fort Meade, Riley had sat down with Hoffman and Smith and quickly traced the pipeline, looking over the whole length for possible target locations.
It didn't take them long to come up with the most promising target. They'd been instructed to put the pipeline out of operation for a minimum of a week; therefore, blowing a section would be insufficient. According to the intelligence, the Chinese maintained an adequate repair capability. Taking down a hundred-foot section would only put the pipe out of operation for forty-eight hours. Riley knew that something more vital to the pipe's operation had to be attacked. He asked Hoffman and Smith to search for a node critical to the operation of the pipe.
They had briefly considered destroying a pump station, but Riley had discarded that idea. Pump stations were staggered along the entire length to help maintain and regulate the flow of oil. Although pump stations were critical to the successful functioning of the pipe, intelligence indicated that they were also manned by a platoon-sized reaction force. The last thing Team 3 wanted to do, in Riley's opinion, was get into a battle. They wanted to do their job and get out without making any contact.
It was Hoffman who found the answer. The pipe crossed the Sungari River, more than nine hundred kilometers from the pipe's terminus on the Yellow Sea at the port of Qinhuangdao. The imagery blowup disclosed that the pipe was suspended by cables from pylons anchored on either shore. There were six cables, each two and a half inches in diameter. Cutting them would be a relatively simple operation for the team. Severing all six cables simultaneously would release the support for the suspended section of pipe, which, weighed down by the oil inside, would crash into the river. To repair the crossing would require extensive engineering work, including bringing a barge upriver. Hoffman conservatively estimated a down time of three weeks. That definitely met the requirements for the mission.
The tricky part, Riley mused as he looked at the satellite blowup of the river crossing, was getting into the compound that enclosed the pylon. Whoever had designed security for the pipe had also known that this river crossing was a critical point that needed extra attention. The pylons on either shore were surrounded by a fence topped with barb wire. The fence enclosed a rectangular area approximately 150 meters by 250 meters.
Hoffman, using a stereoscope on the satellite imagery, was able to make out other unwelcome features. He discovered at least three remotely controlled cameras deployed in the compound. Riley assumed that the cameras were monitored at the nearest pump station, which was pump station 5, only fourteen kilometers to the northwest. According to their intelligence, the remote-control cameras were probably part of the Scoot system sale a British firm had negotiated with the Chinese government a few years previously. The cameras were supposed to have been used in Beijing for traffic control. Apparently the government had decided to use them for other, more important, functions, one of which was guarding this pipeline.
Hoffman could also make out what appeared to be an inner fence consisting of three strands of wire, spaced barely four inches inside the main fence. Cross-referencing with other similar security setups, he deduced that this inner fence was an alarm system, called a T field.
The T-field fence was sensitive to any cutting or tampering with the outer fence, including someone trying to climb it. They were beginning to appreciate the importance of this pipeline to the Chinese based solely on the security dedicated to it.
Keeping that in mind, Riley warned Hoffman and Smith to assume also that the inside of the compound was mined. To reach the berm anchoring the cables, they would have to be prepared to breach a mine field. Once the team got on the ground and put surveillance on the target, they could probably verify if it was mined or not, but Riley intended to worst-case the scenario. It was better to have the equipment and not have to use it, than to not be prepared. Additionally, Riley felt that they had to figure there were regular army patrols along the service road of the pipeline and possibly even overflights by helicopters. It was a military axiom that an obstacle was not an obstacle unless checked and observed at least part of the time.
Riley was impressed with the quality of the satellite imagery they were getting from the NSA. It was top of the line, a vast improvement over what they normally received for training exercises through the Department of Defense. The NSA imagery looked as though the pictures had been taken with a zoom lens from an aircraft at three hundred feet. On a plywood board in the isolation area, Hoffman and Smith put together a 1:25 scale satellite imagery mosaic of the compound.
Stretching his shoulders, Riley took a break from working on the target. He knew that Mitchell was checking on the progress of the other team members, but he wanted to make sure that everything was going all right. As Riley moved about the isolation area, Hooker brought in another batch of messages with information from the FOB.
In his whole career Riley had never seen anything like this setup. Despite its efficiency, it made him a little nervous. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to prepare all this data, and Riley doubted very much that this whole operation was being conducted just to test the reaction of one Special Forces team. He wondered if they were the only mission being mounted or if other forces were in action aimed against China.
Riley watched as Hooker dumped the messages into the in box that Comsky lorded over. The junior medic went through the papers, dutifully logging in each entry, then breaking them down into piles for the various team members who needed to see them. Since the initial mission tasking, the team had been overloaded with information. The hardest part of this phase of isolation was separating what was relevant and what wasn't: making intelligence out of info
rmation.
Olinski and Reese were working on the enemy situation in the vicinity of the target, poring through classified documents from the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), and National Security Agency (NSA) to determine the potential enemy threat.
One of the hardest jobs fell to Trapp. With Paul Lalli, the junior communications sergeant, and Chong, Trapp had begun the task of devising an escape and evasion (E & E) plan. One of the tenets of Special Forces planning was to always have a "go-to-shit" plan, in case the planned exfiltration became unfeasible or something else went wrong. Riley felt comfortable knowing that Trapp was working the E & E plan; whatever the warrant officer came up with would be the best possible strategy.
The senior communications sergeant, Walt O'Shaugnesy, was working with the communications man from the FOB staff to coordinate the satellite communications that the team would use as their electronic lifeline back to the forward operating base. O'Shaugnesy and the FOB man were checking times, message formats, codes to be used, and equipment. Riley watched the two for a few minutes as they worked.
O'Shaugnesy looked as Irish as his name. He had short, sandy hair and a ruddy complexion. He was slightly overweight and Riley was always after him to lose his spare tire and cut back on his off-duty drinking. The bottom line for Riley was whether someone could operate in the field, and O'Shaugnesy could. As long as O'Shaugnesy could perform out in the woods, Riley tolerated the weight and the drinking. But it had been made clear to O'Shaugnesy that if he ever showed up drunk for duty, Riley would have his ass. So far there had never been a problem.
