Moral Imperative

by C. G. Cooper

  Women averted their eyes at the sight of the armed men, shuffling arm-in-arm with their friends. The male students looked shocked, as if they’d woken to a bad dream that would soon be over. It wouldn’t.

  The first load of students departed twenty minutes later, a score of ISIS warriors staying behind to guard the remaining students, who were told to sit on the ground.

  The trucks made their way west, where less than ten minutes later they came to the open gate of the marina belonging to the Al-Sadeer Tourist Complex on the banks of the Tigris. Students were ordered to get off the bus and follow the path toward the river, the path illuminated in the foggy morning by crooked lampposts, eerie sentinels under whose gaze they marched.

  Armed militants guided them to a dock where the first five male students were ushered forward. At the end of the dock stood a man with a black mask holding a pistol. Another masked man stood behind him with a basket full of extra magazines.

  The first student was pushed forward by his escort, stumbling as he neared the water’s edge. The man with the gun helped him up with one hand, almost friend-like, then put the pistol to the student’s head and fired, the body crumpling. As he fell, he was pushed into the flowing river by the escort who’d been expecting the shot. Their timing was perfect.

  The gunman motioned for another and another. And so it went for the next hour. Round after round. Student after student. No one begged. Only silent tears were shed. They saw their fate and were only occasionally prodded forward by the escorts. Blood made the dock slick where the shots were made. Three times they had to call for a bucket and a mop. The gunman and escorts were caked in gore, but didn’t seem to mind.

  Six hundred bodies now floated south on the Tigris as the ISIS troops loaded back into their vehicles and made the return trip to the university. They would make another three trips that morning, the river soon clogged with the dead.

  Chapter 19

  The White House

  Washington, D.C.

  4:39am, August 14th

  The president had already seen the video. He’d been asleep when the secret service agent knocked lightly on his bedroom door, delivering the laptop with the macabre reel waiting. There was no narration this time. The Master did not make an appearance.

  It began with a simple message in red lettering over a white background.

  For Allah and our dead brothers, let the slaughter of non-believers begin.

  He didn’t watch the whole thing. It was over two hours of film, at first dark from the early morning footage and gradually growing lighter as the morning wore on. One by one the innocent were slain and thrown unceremoniously into the Tigris. Like a farmer shucking corn, the ISIS militants went about their job like it was the most normal thing in the world. They only paused to reload, and there was plenty of ammunition.

  President Zimmer was now sitting in the Oval Office watching what news anchors were saying around the globe. The video spread quickly, but to Zimmer’s dismay, there didn’t seem to be much of an outcry. Thousands of innocent students had just been killed and Americans didn’t care.

  Temper rising, his foot tapped on the ground as he waited for his guests to arrive. Travis Haden was the first to show, followed shortly by Gen. McMillan. Five minutes later his national security advisor, press secretary and the director of the CIA stepped in, each taking their seats without a word.

  “Have you all seen the video?” the president asked.

  They all nodded.

  “What do you think?”

  The former news anchor turned press secretary, Bob Lundgren, spoke first.

  “Same thing as before, Mr. President. Crazy jihadists murdering innocent people.”

  Zimmer’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem to be too disgusted with it, Bob.”

  Lundgren shrugged. “What do you want me to say, that it’s awful? Sure, it’s bad.”

  Zimmer normally liked the outgoing Lundgren, but today he wanted to punch him. The president pointed at Lundgren.

  “That’s what’s wrong with this country. We see a video like that and we just take it.”

  “What do you want us to do? It’s not like we can stop every lunatic on the planet,” said Lundgren, not an ounce of his famous confidence lost. He was used to being top dog, and up until that very moment, he and the president had always been on the same side. It was clear to Zimmer that Lundgren hadn’t figured out the president wanted answers, not commentary.

  “Bob, I’m sorry I called you in. I’d like to talk to the others for a few minutes. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

  “But—”

  “Thanks, Bob.” It was a dismissal, and finally Lundgren got it. He stood and left without saying another word.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, gentlemen. It was my mistake inviting him, but I thought that maybe he could help us come up with something to say to the public. I was wrong,” said Zimmer.

  No one said a word, instead waiting for him to continue.

  “Doug, what are you getting from your people on the ground?”

  Doug Sizer, the new CIA Director, took off his reading glasses and said, “Our sources say that thirty trucks plus security vehicles entered the University of Mosul campus at approximately 3:30am Mosul time. The witnesses they could find said that the loading was orderly and that a total of four trips were made. By the images we’ve collected from the video, we’re pretty sure the killing was done at the Al-Sadeer Tourist Complex.”

  “Do we know why they targeted the university?” asked Zimmer.

  “More bang for their buck, Mr. President. Instead of having to go knocking door-to-door, it was as simple as asking the students to file out of their dorms. They wanted to make a statement, and they did.”

  “And they just waltzed in there completely unopposed? What about the Iraqi police and the military?”

  “We think university guards were recruited to let them through. When my people went to investigate, every guardhouse was empty. No signs of struggle. As for the military…we still don’t have an answer.”

  Zimmer shook his head. They’d spent billions equipping and training the Iraqis and now this. It was getting worse. First they fled and now they were letting their own people, hell, their own children, die! Something had to be done, and soon.

  “Trav, where are we with Cal’s team?”

  “They’re finalizing things right now and prepping to leave tonight,” said Travis.

  “Did we get the dossier from the Bulgarians?”

  The director of the CIA nodded. “Yes, sir. A courier brought it to my house earlier today. I haven’t had a chance to hand if off to my analysts.”

  “Make sure you keep Travis and General McMillan in the loop. Trav, you get the pleasant duty of keeping your cousin informed.”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Now, tell me what the hell we’re going to do about the Iraqis.”

  Gen. McMillan answered, “We always knew this was a long-term play, Mr. President. Lundgren was right that we can’t stop every lunatic in the world, but we do have an obligation to help our allies.”

  “What if our allies are so distracted by their own inner squabbles that they can’t take care of themselves?” asked Zimmer, disgusted by the ongoing frustrations with Iraq and Afghanistan. When religion and race were thrown into the mix, and tribal loyalties added as the icing on the cake, Zimmer couldn’t see any good coming out of the situation.

  While he’d been cautiously optimistic about their chances before stepping into the Oval Office, now he was downright fatalistic. They couldn’t get their act together, and ISIS, the Taliban and al-Qaeda were taking advantage. It had to stop.

  Travis said, “We can’t force our beliefs on them. We’ve had that discussion a hundred times. To assume that they’ll spawn a working democracy overnight is insane.”

  “It’s been over ten years,” protested the president’s national security advisor, a short academic named Ivan Winger.

  “How do you expect
the Iraqis to change thousands of years of customs? It won’t work. They are not us. We’ve given them training, gear and money. We helped rebuild their infrastructure. But have we really given them the incentive to do it themselves? I hate to talk bad about the last president, but he had withdrawal on the mind, not empowerment. It’s like our welfare system. Where’s the incentive to stop living on the government’s dime? They’re doing the same thing with us.”

  Winger sat up straighter, his face burning scarlet. “I think that’s extraordinarily unfair. We worked hard to help the Iraqis. For you to say that the only thing we wanted to do was run—”

  Travis interrupted the man’s babbling and addressed the president. “Look, I’ve talked this over with General McMillan, and we think it’s time to pull a Teddy Roosevelt.”

  Zimmer grinned, seeing the look of determination in Travis’s eyes. That was the reason he kept the SEAL and McMillan close. They were men of action, and action was what was needed.

  “Tell me more.”

  Chapter 20

  Camp Cavalier

  Charlottesville, Virginia

  6:25am, August 14th

  Cal was the last to go through the chow line, heaping a healthy mound of old fashioned hash browns and a stack of pancakes on his partitioned tray. Who knew when they’d next get a decent meal?

  When he turned to find a seat, he was glad to see how the rest of his international team had situated. For days they’d kept to themselves, Brits mingling with Brits and Japanese hanging with Japanese. That had changed.

  It was funny what going operational does to interpersonal relationships. It either widens the divide or melds the bond. Cal was happy to see that the once wary teams were coming together. On the eve of battle, they’d need every shred of brotherhood they could find to kill the enemy and come back in one piece. Maybe it was something about the possibility of death or the bond forged through shared adversity.

  Either way, Cal would never take credit. They’d all worked hard and come together as a team. Even the Bulgarians were coming around. Valko had kept his mouth shut on the insertion and had complimented Cal when they’d finished. It had shocked the hell out of Cal, but Daniel had merely nodded when they talked about it on the drive back from the training area.

  As Cal approached, he chuckled when he heard Moretti peppering Kokubu with questions. Once again the Japanese had surprised them all, slipping into the enemy compound undetected and taking out the head “bad guy” before he knew what happened. MSgt Trent said they were like ninjas. Cal agreed. There was more to the Kokubu and his team than any of them knew. Medics my ass.

  After their debriefing, Cal talked to the team of SSI operators who’d been kind enough to play the terrorist role, and he’d been pleased to learn that their movement had, for the most part, gone undetected. It was impossible to stay invisible forever, but that’s what bullets and explosives were for. They’d used simulation rounds and effectively took out the entire veteran opposition force.

  “Looks like you’ve got a good team there, Cal. Good luck,” the head of SSI’s training department had said. Coming from the crusty former Green Beret, that was a helluva compliment.

  Cal sat down next to Daniel and took a look at his men. They looked tired, but happy. It was the look a warrior got when they knew they’d done well, exceeded expectations. Bottom line: they were ready.

  After breakfast, they headed outside. Cal led the way, hiking up a small rise that overlooked Camp Cavalier, SSI’s second headquarters. There was a sign nailed to a tree at the top of the hill that said,

  For Those Who Have Gone Before Us, May They Continue To Serve As Our Guardian Angels.

  Cal didn’t know who’d left the hand painted sign, but it seemed fitting. He thought of his father, Marine Colonel Calvin Stokes, who’d led his Marines with bravery and a resolute heart. He thought of Brian Ramirez, the former Navy Corpsmen, who’d died in the mountains of Wyoming on an SSI operation to rescue Neil Patel. Lost Marines. Lost friends. Lost family.

  Over time he’d come to realize they might not be standing at his side, but they’d always be with him. He could never forget the lessons he’d learned from his father, or the way Ramirez wouldn’t hesitate to come to the aid of a friend. Some part of them would always be there.

  So the crude sign was fitting as the rest of the men made their way up the hill, taking in the view of the surrounding countryside. They were his new friends and soon-to-be brothers in war and bloody battle.

  “I wanted to bring you all up here to say thank you. I know we haven’t all seen eye-to-eye on everything—”

  “You’ve got that right!” said Gene Kreyling with a laugh.

  Cal chuckled with the others. “Yeah. Funny how this whole thing started out. Nobody said putting a bunch of knuckle draggers together was easy. We come from different lands, different backgrounds, even different beliefs. But I think we can all agree that we all see the difference between good and evil, right and wrong. You came because you believe that it’s worth risking your life to fight evil, to destroy it wherever it rears its ugly head. As we’ve seen throughout our careers, evil takes many shapes. Luckily for us, we know what our enemy looks like. We’ve seen the videos and know their intent. Some of us may not come back, but I will say that I’m proud to be with you, until the end if need be.”

  Cal paused, searching for the right words. He didn’t want to be preachy or overly sentimental, but the words had come from the heart. He looked around at those gathered, grim faces, ready to take the fight to the enemy.

  He opened his mouth to continue, but Stojan Valko spoke up first, a thin smirk punctuating his words.

  “I think what you want to say, Cal, is let’s kill those sons of bitches.”

  Cal grinned. Yeah. Goddamned right.

  Chapter 21

  Charlottesville, Virginia

  5:41pm, August 14th

  Cal could barely hear what Diane was saying. His mind was elsewhere, his eyes on hers. He caught snippets of what she was talking about between bites of food. Her lips glowed, making him blink more than once. The way she smiled with her mouth and her eyes.

  “Cal.”

  The sound of his name shook him from his thoughts.

  “Sorry, what?” he asked.

  She cocked her head to the side.

  “Are you okay?” asked Diane, placing her fork on the table, wiping a bit of salad dressing from the corner of her perfect lips.

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just a little distracted. A lot on my mind.”

  Cal stabbed his salad, trying unsuccessfully to snag a cherry tomato, finally giving up and setting his fork down, too.

  “Is this about your trip?” she asked.

  He’d told her that he was going out of town on business. No details, just that he might be gone for a while. She’d merely nodded, didn’t press.

  “A little bit of that, and a lot of little or no sleep.” That was the truth. There hadn’t been time for a nap after the night exercise. He’d given the rest of the team the day to rest and get prepped. They were big boys and didn’t need handholding. Most of their gear would be waiting for them overseas, so really it was just a matter of repacking the stuff they’d brought from their respective countries.

  Cal had called Diane at the last minute and asked if she had time for an early dinner, explaining that he’d be leaving for D.C. in a matter of hours. Luckily she’d said yes. He didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.

  He couldn’t explain what he was feeling. If Dr. Higgins had asked him, Cal probably would’ve said he felt disjointed, in no way second-guessing his decision to hit ISIS, but… Well, he guessed that he was getting a small taste of what his father and other married troops felt before leaving their loved ones. It was an uncomfortable feeling, something he wasn’t used to.

  “What time do you leave?” asked Diane.

  “I’m driving up to D.C. at seven, to miss the rush hour traffic.”

  Again, she didn’t ask where he was goin
g, and didn’t ask why he was being aloof.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “Look, I know you can’t tell me what you’re doing, and that’s fine. I get it. I come from that world. But could you do me a favor?”

  Cal nodded, worried she was going to make him promise something he couldn’t deliver. Right now I’d do almost anything for her. She just gets me.

  Diane reached out and took his hand, looking at him with those piercingly beautiful eyes, loving, kind, smart.

  “Just let me know you’re okay.”

  “I will.”

  +++

  Cal didn’t have time to walk her home, so they said their goodbyes outside the restaurant. A hug and lingering kiss, the kind of goodbye you give someone when you don’t know where your relationship stands, and yet, you have no idea when you’ll see them again.

  He watched her go. Twice she looked over her shoulder and smiled, soon disappearing in the throng of students heading to and from the corner for dinner.

  A moment later, Daniel materialized next to him.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  +++

  Mosul, Iraq

  1:03am AST, August 15th

  At almost the same moment, Hasan al-Mawsil was saying his own goodbyes. The four priests each presented him with a gift, something to help him on his journey. Food. Water. A wooden cross on a leather strap. And a satellite phone.

  Hasan didn’t think he’d be coming back and that was okay. He wasn’t sorry. Mosul had too many memories, too many ghosts that haunted him at every turn. Hasan thanked the kind priests and slipped out of the hideout, the darkness complete as he made his way to the rendezvous point.