The Metaverse: Virtual Life-Real Death

by William Kurth

  “He must have done that before he jumped, ma’am.”

  Stezno opened Keyton’s first aid pouch and located the coagulant and pressure bandage still unopened. She knew that each kit only contained one package of each. Someone else had put it on him. The early casualty reports included the two MUNCHIES. The only other team member not accounted for was Argosi.

  The rig was a towering inferno and fireboats had arrived out there trying to extinguish it as dawn came. The on-scene commander reported that nothing could live on the burning collapsed rig. Reports were that Argosi’s radio link was lost just before or at about the time of an explosion and he never acknowledged the evacuation order. The facts seemed to suggest that he too had been lost. Still, Dawn Stezno knew that if Argosi was alive to treat Keyton, then he could have been alive after the radio link went down.

  After a day of searching, the US Coast Guard suspended its search and rescue effort. The main reason was due to a fast approaching tropical storm. The commander wanted his ships moving towards open ocean away from the storm. Dawn Stezno from her command post in Corpus Christi ordered her air commands VTAL’s to search to the last possible moment before they had to race inland away from the storm.

  Dominic Argosi had been floating in the sea for a day and a half. Dawn came for the second time to find no vessels in view. Sometime during the night his flashlight batteries had given out. He had hoped he would be spotted, hopefully not by the cartel pirates. No sailor, Argosi guessed that he might be farther out to sea, carried by the currents than the pirates usually traveled. One thing that did roam out here was sharks. He had seen fins on several occasions, and sometime in the night, he had been awoken by something ramming him hard from behind. Argosi wondered if a shark had bit into the back of his helmet or one of the PEROK canisters still attached. He was glad that he had not shed any of that equipment, but with the sun coming out and his battery and air systems all dead he may have to get rid of the helmet to survive the heat. He also wondered if his weapons, submerged in salt water for nearly 30 hours would still work. Even if he shot an attacking shark would that kill it? Would the blood just cause a bigger feeding frenzy amongst its pals?

  Argosi did not want to think about that, they had not eaten him yet. But then an even more terrifying thought. What if he just floated and floated? How long would he last? He had fresh water still in his backpack that he rationed plus the meal bars that he always stuffed into pockets before any mission. But when they were gone? Already feeling weak by the relentless Sun he began to think how when his rations were gone he could drink the salt water, he remembered reading stories about sailors who did that and went a little insane from the effects. He thought at least if he lost his mind he would not know when he would die, or delusional he might slip out of his life vest and dive downwards to an imagined rescue. Argosi suddenly felt ashamed. He had a wife, a child and a second child on the way. No, he would survive.

  As Argosi considered what his fate would be as he floated in the vast Gulf, Jessica Thorn let her co-pilot maneuver their VTAL in an increasingly wide radius from the still smoldering oilrig. As much as she wanted to believe that someone would find this missing guy, she held out little hope. All the reports were that only one of the Hostage Rescue Team members got off after the explosions. Now with the seas surging and the VTAL being buffeted by the increasing winds, she did not want herself or her crew to be additional casualties. Stezno had ordered them to search to the last possible moment. Thorn was not sure that they would be able to remain even to late afternoon with the storm approaching. Still, they would do what they could. Out of habit, she shifted her gaze from the sea to the instruments in front of her.

  All gave the proper readings, satisfying her that the aircraft systems were working as they should. At least for another five minutes until she would check them again. She moved her eyes to a lower portion of the panel to check one last gauge when her eye caught the glint of something in the sea through the chin bubble. Shifting her gaze, she tried to see what it was when it was gone. Thorn thought for a moment, was she just getting weary? Should they turn around for every little glitter or hunch? If they did, they would never search very far. The voice activated mic came alive as she spoke to her co-pilot.

  “Hey, Paul, bring us around on my side and lose about 100 knots.”

  “Roger, coming about to port, slowing to 75 knots.”

  Thorn felt the VTAL bank, pushed into her safety harness from the deceleration. As the aircraft neared 180 degrees from its previous course, Thorn breathed into her mic.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Argosi could not believe his luck. A VTAL at maybe 200 feet raced directly overhead. But as fast as his happiness came it was gone along with the aircraft which continued to race away. From the bottom of a deep swell in the increasingly heavy seas, Argosi heard it coming before he saw it. As the aircraft roared over, he couldn’t see any faces. Depression began to set in when he realized he was out of sight, in a deep swell directly below the aircraft which missed seeing him. As he rode to the top of another swell, his heart jumped when the VTAL banked toward him.

  “Get me the hell out of here!”

  After being rescued, Argosi learned that Stezno had violated direct orders from her boss who had decided to err on the side of caution and bring in the VTAL’s given the lack of evidence of any survivors and the approaching storm. Stezno had stuck her neck out for a fellow caged dog, as the D.C. POG’s, persons other than grunts, often referred to the SWAT-HRT elements. For that, she commanded respect from the rank and file that few others at her level did.

  Argosi received the Bureau’s highest medal, the Medal of Valor for his actions in saving Keyton that night. But as far as he was concerned Stezno was the real hero. But more than anything else she had his eternal gratitude.

  ***

  Strolling into the back of the briefing room Argosi’s daydreams returned to the present. Walking up a center aisle, he caught the small talk of the three dozen or so SWAT-HRT members, pilots and support staff who had taken part in the morning’s exercise. Through the magic of technology and sheer computing power, everything about the exercise was real to those participating except that no one had died. Although in the case of Stezno, who had played the real-life daughter of a real-life business tycoon, it was a little too real. Even the Sky Tower and the penthouse were a digital replication of the actual ones down to every detail.

  Argosi scanned the room as he stepped to the elevated podium to conduct the debrief. The operators who sat before him were some of the most capable men and women in the world when it came down to the application of special weapons and tactics and hostage rescue. Skills and talents needed more than ever in a world that had grown complicated and every bit as mean as ever. Argosi had been a member of this elite club as an officer, supervisor and as its commander. As he waited for the small talk to die down, he looked at familiar faces. Steve Keyton gave him a weak smile. The man next to him, Dave Leonard nodded to Argosi sheepishly.

  “Ok let’s get started,” Argosi spoke into the podium mic carrying his words to the speakers that bellowed them out. Dominic Argosi was a legend in the Bureau and commanded the respect of the rank and file caged dogs who immediately ceased their conversations to turn their attention to their former commander and the guy who had bested their entire complement earlier in the day.

  Argosi gave them a moment to find their seats. Looking, Argosi noticed that Lt. Raymond Stuart, his replacement as the SWAT-HRT Commander for the Western US, continued his animated conversation into his phone. Argosi looked down at the podium and selected the “COM-SEC” button which immediately brought to an end Stuart’s call. COM-SEC, for Communications Security, ensured that a portable device could not transmit or receive from the room. Stuart, who sat by himself, looked at Argosi.

  “That was D.C. I was talking to!”

  Argosi ignored him as he began. “The reason that I was able to do what I did today and get away with it can be summed up i
n one simple sentence.” Argosi scanned his audience of stone-faced veteran cops carefully.

  “A lack of violence of action on your part.” Argosi let the words sink in.

  Long a tenet of military and certain police operations, the concept of “violence of action” would be foreign to the typical civilian. Not to the men and women of the FBI’s most decorated SWAT-HRT element seated before him though. Violence of action meant taking the fight to your adversary in a fast, overwhelming and most importantly, ruthless manner. It meant recognizing when a “window of opportunity” has opened and already having assets in place to exploit it. Elite SWAT teams, especially when it involved hostage rescue knew that a good plan implemented without hesitation when the opportunity arose was better than a great plan five minutes later when the window of opportunity had vanished, and it was too late.

  This operational doctrine had been proven time and time again since the Los Angeles Police Department virtually invented the SWAT team concept decades before. Yet too often, examples could be found where this doctrine was not followed through.

  It almost never was the operators who failed to implement it. The hesitation of leaders who were either unsure of their team’s capabilities or overly cautious was primarily responsible. Violence of action boiled down to stopping the bad guy’s ability to do what he is currently doing, and that was always a gamble, albeit a calculated one. There was no faster or more efficient way to do that than by killing the bad guy or bad guys. The speed and violence in which that was carried out could quite literally mean the life or death of a hostage.

  Civilians who often wonder why cops just don’t shoot the gun out of someone’s hand or use some form of psychology to talk a person out of their actions never could understand this concept. Individuals, under our system of government, even the bad ones have rights. The state could not just go around carrying out de facto death penalties without the benefit of a trial, conviction and subsequent appeal process. Then there was the idea of getting the drop on someone and shooting them dead, without any warning or opportunity to surrender, that often bothered or even abhorred those in polite society.

  The cops, or at least most of them sitting in front of Argosi, understood there was a time and place where violence of action was not only necessary, but completely legal and proper. The right to self-defense is transferable. The police acting for the greater good of society or in the interest of an individual threatened with death could act on their behalf. The trouble was that not all cops spent their time thinking about and training for those contingencies. Often, it took a year or more of training and real world operations to hone an individual SWAT team member to where they could act. Instantly, ruthlessly and violently. Until such time that they were deemed fully operational those team members were kept to the rear, and out of the decision-making process. Commanders, however, were different. They were expected to have the knowledge and decision-making skills from the moment they assumed command.

  Some like Argosi and Stezno had it right away, having been brought up in the teams. Others, like the commander seated in front of Argosi, who still fumed at his phone, did not. They had to learn it. It was Argosi’s job and the job of FLETC here in the New Mexican dessert to see that they did. But all the training in the world could not overcome the arrogance of someone who believed—without the benefit of training or experience—that they were better suited to make unilateral decisions in an instant than their subordinates. While no one expected a green tactical commander to be an instant gunslinger, they did expect him or her to listen to the professionals who knew how to resolve seemingly unresolvable situations. It’s still that commander’s ass if things go to shit, but it was the mark of a leader to know what you didn’t know and to act on what you did.

  Argosi looked at the faces that looked back at him. To a man and woman, they felt a variety of emotions. Mostly they felt like they had let down the man many still thought of as their commander. But deep inside, both they and Argosi knew that they were not the problem. Argosi moved on.

  “By my count, I gave you three separate windows of opportunity to take me out or to rescue at least one or more of the hostages. The first was when I left with the two male hostages to Recon the hallway and roof door. Assets should have been in place to come in from the roof onto the pool deck. A Breaching Team could have blown the doors and secured the female hostage.”

  “The second was at the roof doorway. If a MUNCHIE team had been up there the explosives would have been neutralized. Although poor Leonard here had the misfortune of zeroing in on the hostage.” Argosi smiled at his friend. “Perez, or one of the others following close behind could have taken me out. Or at least created enough of a gunfight for the team one floor down to move in and finish it as well as to rescue the hostage.”

  “The third was when I was able to retreat to the penthouse. The fire blocked the primary ingress route. But that’s when the breach and hold team should have then become the main assault force. I was vulnerable, my back to the window as I applied the explosive tape, long enough for you to move down the hallway and move on me. Of course, you did not know what I was doing, but that should have still set you in motion.” Argosi fixed his eyes to Sgt. Keyton, who looked down.

  Stuart interrupted.

  “Dominic...” He used Argosi’s first name like they went back to the “hood” together, which they sure did not. “I’ve spoken with Sgt. Keyton about that and it came down to miscommunication. I was not aware that Sgt. Keyton was ready to go. I was never informed that he was ready to blow the doorway. I knew his team was there but I assumed he had not finished setting the charges and I used what I thought of as extra time to move the primary assault element. We are going to work on communication protocols.”

  Keyton was enraged but contained it. Stuart was splitting hairs trying to cover his ass in front of Argosi. Keyton had indeed informed Stuart that his team was in place and ready to go. It went without saying that a team whose primary mission was to “breach and hold” would have in place the ability to actually carry out the breach part.

  Keyton chose his words carefully. Stuart had been kind to him since assuming command, and as his boss, he had no small amount of sway over Keyton’s future. Keyton hoped that he could mold him into a better tactical leader and saw no point in a direct public confrontation.

  “Yes, LT.” Keyton addressed Argosi affectionately. “Lt. Stuart is correct. He never actually got the word that the breaching device was set and ready to go. We are going to go over communication protocols to see that information gets to him in the future.”

  Argosi had to hold his laughter. Keyton was a terrible actor and a worse liar. He shifted his gaze to Stuart who had ignored Keyton to look at his handheld to see if he had any new messages, apparently forgetting the COM-SEC preventing it from establishing a link.

  “Communication is a two-way street,” Argosi responded, getting some laughter at Stuart’s expense as he fiddled with his inoperative phone.

  Argosi knew that the Officers in front of him had to believe in or at least have respect for their commanders, avoided further taking Stuart to task in front of the troops. Stuart would rise or fall of his own accord. Argosi knew it was in the team’s interest and the public’s safety that Stuart rises to the position.

  “Okay, that’s enough for today. Tomorrow the individual teams will go into the simulator and see where they can fine tune their roles and resolve the issues brought up in this and the respective team debriefs,” Argosi said, closing out the debrief.

  “Woohoo! I can still get nine rounds in before dinner!” Stuart checked his watch.

  Argosi wanted a minute with Stuart, but the man raced off apparently with golf on his mind. Argosi looked up and saw Stezno standing in the back of the room, coffee cup in hand. She nodded to Stuart as he raced out of the debriefing. Argosi made his way over to Stezno as the last of the officers filed out past her.

  “That guy needs to understand that this is not an investigative
office,” Argosi said to Stezno, looking towards Stuart as he raced down the hall.

  Argosi was referring to the traditional role of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. After the era of J Edgar Hoover, the bureau had not been a true police department, not at the street level. The FBI was known more for its ability to martial vast resources and crime scene investigation techniques than for actually “stuffing and cuffing” bad guys, leaving that hands-on type of police work to local municipal departments.

  Many departments, such as the LAPD were at the forefront of critical management response that the FBI had no interest or expertise. Many of its hires were lawyers, accountants and computer geeks. All needed skills, but they weren’t cops. The FBI had its “show horse” in those days with its Hostage Rescue Team or HRT, but that team saw little action and had limited experience. To street cops, especially the SWAT types, FBI stood for “Famous but incompetent.”

  Decades of degradation of law and order in many major metropolitan areas, as well as the economic collapse of many states, cities and counties in the early part of the century, had taken its toll. Law enforcement at the state and local level increasingly landed on the feds. Eventually, it fell to the FBI to develop a Police Operations Bureau that took the place of local and state police forces in many regions, recruiting local cops to fill it out.

  State and local laws were still enforced, but the police force was a federally trained and maintained one. Local municipalities that utilized the FBI’s Police Operations Bureau, virtually every major metropolitan area, still handled the regulatory issues. Dogcatcher, zoning enforcement, traffic enforcement and the like. But felony crimes, as well as terrorist or hostage situations, fell to the FBI-POB.