Scorched Earth

by George Galdorisi

  “It may have their attention, Skipper. But I’m not hearing about anyone doing anything to bring him back—at least not in any detail.”

  “You told me Admiral Oldham said this Op-Center organization was in Iraq and was primed to intercept your dad and bring him home before he falls into ISIL’s hands.”

  “He did, Skipper. And my folks have known Admiral Oldham and his family for years. I trust what he says, but I don’t know what this ‘Op-Center’ is, and I don’t know what they’re capable—or not capable—of. But I do know we have our own forces in Iraq—hell, we’ve got fellow SEALs on the ground there advising the Iraqis and other coalition forces. Why can’t they be part of the rescue effort?”

  “The short answer is, I don’t know. But you told me Admiral Oldham said retired Admiral Chase Williams is the director of this Op-Center. I know he finished his active duty before you started yours, so you probably don’t know much about him. But I do—”

  “You do?” Bruner asked, his face brightening for the first time.

  “Yeah, I do. He was the CENTCOM Commander when I was a first-tour SEAL in Iraq. He was the kind of leader who we felt was really one of us. He got the mission done, but took care of his people—to a fault.”

  “So you’re saying Op-Center can get him back?”

  “What I’m saying is Admiral Williams is a pro’s pro. As much as you, or me, or anyone else might want to help, throwing more bodies at the problem likely won’t help—and it might just muck things up.”

  Bruner paused to consider this. “Well, Skipper, I guess that makes sense—”

  “But tell you what. I’ve been working in this adult day care center long enough to know how to sniff around and find things out. I’ll do a little digging and let you know ASAP what I learn, fair enough?”

  “Fair enough, and thanks.”

  “You don’t need to thank me; just get the hell out of here and go take care of your mom. I’m married, and I have kids, and I know what it is to fret. Your mom is worried and you need to be with her, copy?”

  “Copy, Skipper.”

  * * *

  Once the FedEx forklift drivers had finished unloading Flight 1652, Moore and his team quickly closed the warehouse doors and surveyed the cargo. There were almost two dozen boxes of varying sizes on the floor of the warehouse, but most importantly, the refrigerated box that contained Jay Bruner.

  “Let’s go, this is the one. Bring those cutters over here and snip those two locks now!” Moore said to one of his men.

  The man complied, and as the locks fell away, the two of them pulled open the hinged door on the side of the box. They dug into the piles of peaches and began scooping them out, sending them rolling across the floor of the warehouse.

  “We need some help here,” Moore shouted to his other two men, and soon the four of them were all pulling out thousands of tightly packed peaches. The men worked feverishly, intent on getting the hostage out.

  Soon the box was completely empty. “He’s not here!” Moore exclaimed, as the other JSOC men looked on in shock.

  “Get the canines to sniff each of the other boxes and then let’s open each one,” Moore said. “Maybe there’s been a mix-up, and he’s in one of these other boxes.”

  Twenty minutes later, every box that came off the now-departed FedEx flight had been opened and emptied. Jay Bruner simply was not there.

  * * *

  Less than a mile north of the airport, two ISIS fighters dressed as construction workers sat on the roof of a half-constructed building and looked through Steiner T42 Tactical 10 x 42 binoculars stolen from the Iraqi Army.

  “They took the cargo into the warehouse almost an hour ago,” the first man said. “They should have begun loading the delivery trucks waiting at the gate by now.”

  “You’re right,” the second man replied. “Look, our truck is third in line and nothing’s moving. Something’s not right.”

  “I’m calling al-Dosari,” his partner replied.

  * * *

  “You’re sure, Master Guns?” Volner asked.

  “I’m damn sure, sir. We opened and emptied every single box. The admiral’s not here.”

  “Could they have left the box on the FedEx flight? Isn’t it going to Baghdad next?”

  Moore could tell his boss was frustrated. He had to walk him back from the cliff—but carefully. “The refrigerated box was on this flight and all our intel told us the admiral was in it. But he wasn’t. And we’ve been working with these FedEx guys long enough to know they’re efficient in the way they pack up and unload their flights. If they ever goon this up—wrong package to the wrong people—their entire business model collapses. I’d bet my mortgage payment he wasn’t on that flight.”

  “Okay, Master Guns; we got it. We’ll just wait it out until the next FedEx flight gets here. We think it’s arriving in a little less than two hours.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Dawson made the call to Chase Williams as Laurie Phillips passed the same information back to the Geek Tank. Soon, Op-Center was in overdrive.

  * * *

  “Are you positive?” Mabad al-Dosari barked into his cellphone.

  “Yes, I’m certain,” the man began. “We have a clear view of the airport. Nothing has come out of the warehouse. Something must be going on.”

  “Are you sure they’re not just having to process more cargo than they did for the other flights? Maybe it’s just taking longer.”

  “There was less cargo on this FedEx flight than on the previous two,” the man replied. “And we can see the warehouse. Emad’s certain he saw the refrigerated box the man is packed in come off that plane. It has to be the one.” The man understood the dangers involved in pressing al-Dosari too hard. But he knew what they had seen and he knew what his instincts told him.

  “All right; stay where you are, and tell me everything you see,” al-Dosari replied. Then, turning to his number two, he continued. “Get all the men you can get quickly, and load up the trucks. We’re going to the airport.”

  * * *

  McCord and Bleich sat huddled at the small table in Chase Williams’s office as the Op-Center director digested what they’d just told him.

  “Where does this leave us?” Williams asked.

  “Brian and the JSOC team are going to wait for the next three FedEx flights. We’ll hope the admiral is on one of those. If not, we’ll start walking this back to where he was loaded on the flight out of BWI.”

  Bleich hesitated. Things had been moving so quickly he and McCord hadn’t had time to regroup. Bleich and his team had been walking it back. He had questions, but he didn’t want to override his boss. Williams picked it up, “Something on your mind, Aaron?”

  “Well sir, we’ve tried to neck this down from both directions. We think everyone was so focused on the fact that the admiral was in that refrigerated box, we might have lost sight of the big picture,” Bleich began. He looked toward McCord before continuing, but his boss just nodded, so he forged ahead. “The FBI HRT never caught up with the van and no traffic cams actually sighted it rolling up to the warehouse, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that’s what we know now,” Williams replied.

  “Well, when Laurie reported what the JSOC team was doing in the warehouse at the Mosul airport, it triggered something for me—” Bleich hesitated again, as he hadn’t had time to tell McCord any of this.

  “Go ahead, Aaron,” McCord urged.

  “Laurie said they’re using canines to help determine if there’s a human in any of the boxes delivered by the FedEx planes. Well, we’re all assuming, based on the evidence the FBI HRT has discovered at the warehouse near BWI, that the admiral was packed inside a refrigerated box filled with peaches destined for Mosul. But we don’t know that for certain. Do we know if the HRT team used canines after they found that the refrigerated box was gone? Canines would be able to tell if he’d been there if they had some of the admiral’s personal items. If that didn’t happen, maybe w
e can contact the FBI and ask them to take that extra step.”

  Williams considered this a moment. “You’re spot on, Aaron. I’ll call the director and suggest he do just that. Roger, why don’t you ask Jim Wright to start talking with the FBI watch floor, and also tell our team at Quantico they may have to move out soon?”

  “You’ve got it, boss.”

  * * *

  “Major Volner, over here, I need you!” Laurie Phillips shouted.

  Volner was at her side in seconds. “Whatcha got?”

  “Sir, look at the Global Hawk display, right here,” she said jiggling the cursor over three closely bunched shapes.

  “I see them. When did you pick ’em up?”

  “I saw them come out of central Mosul. They came out of a group of densely packed buildings. The fidelity isn’t perfect, but they’re clearly trucks headed this way. I can’t count how many people are in them, but they’re all loaded, sir. I make it about two dozen passengers, maybe more.”

  “I agree,” Volner said. “You tell Mr. Dawson and Hector; I’ve got to call Master Guns and get his guys out of that warehouse!”

  “What then, sir?”

  “I think these guys—likely ISIL fighters—will head straight to the warehouse. After that, I don’t know.”

  * * *

  As the three trucks carrying ISIS fighters barreled straight toward the airport, Phillips abandoned her Global Hawk display and, along with Volner, Rodriguez, and other JSOC team members, watched the approaching enemy. Dawson and Volner had made the decision to stay put in their relatively defensible positions on the small bluff overlooking the airport.

  Their numbers were perhaps a third those of the fighters on the trucks now approaching the airport, and there was a nearly inexhaustible supply of ISIS fighters in and near Mosul. However, given the punch the JSOC unit packed, backed by the Rangers and on-call drone support, those weren’t bad odds.

  “Looks like they’re about a half mile from the airport, Major. They’ll probably just blow through what little security is there,” Dawson said.

  “Yes, sir; maybe they’ll just go into the warehouse, discover nothing, and leave.”

  “That’s what we’re hoping for,” Dawson replied, his binoculars fixed on the lead truck.

  * * *

  “The high ground” is a term that is used so extensively in the vernacular—in ethics, in business, in competition, and elsewhere—that few remember it’s essentially a military term. For millennia, armies have sought to occupy the high ground as the most basic part of operations and tactics. Armies and empires have risen and fallen as a consequence of who has occupied the high ground.

  This same terrain feature that attracted the Op-Center men and their JSOC team to the slightly elevated bluff overlooking Mosul airport also appealed to the ISIS fighters. The approaching men were well familiar with the terrain around the airport. Just a quarter mile from the airport, while the lead truck barreled straight for the warehouse, the number two truck headed for the small rise on the north side of the airport. The third truck peeled off and headed south, directly for the Op-Center team.

  Contact was unavoidable, and the fight was not a fair one. Volner nodded to one of his sergeants, the one who had a light anti-armor weapon extended and ready. He had been tracking the vehicle as it closed on their position. No one needed to be told what to do. The man with the LAAW waited for the vehicle to come within optimum range, about fifty yards, then applied pressure to the top-mounted trigger detent. With a whoosh, a thin smoke trail connected the rocketeer to the vehicle. The warhead hit the driver-side windshield and the shaped charge all but decapitated the driver. The kinetic energy cascaded back into the bed of the truck, pushing shrapnel into those ISIS fighters crowded on the bed. The truck lurched, slewed, and rolled onto its back, crushing many of the already shredded bodies.

  As the few able bodies remaining managed to disengage themselves from the wreckage, several of the Rangers began to take aim at the survivors.

  “Hold your fire,” Volner commanded. “Let’s see what develops.”

  He knew the men in the other two vehicles wouldn’t know whether their brother ISIS fighters were taken out by a ground action or a drone strike. Drones accounted for a great many seemingly random fireballs that claimed ISIS lives and vehicles. Volner and his team weren’t disappointed; one of the three remaining trucks headed their way while the other stood well off. The second vehicle approached with caution, but it met the same fate as the first. And it was a well-placed shot. Taking out a vehicle at a hundred yards with a weapon as crude as a LAAW is no easy feat. Nonetheless, there were now two smoking hulks laid out before them.

  Those few survivors, some walking and some crawling, headed for the road back toward the city. The third truck had the good sense to turn back toward Mosul.

  Even though they were scumbags, Volner involuntarily winced at the carnage before him. Phillips didn’t say a word, but she was white as a sheet. A few of the young Rangers were high-fiving each other.

  * * *

  It took Volner’s JSOC troop and their 75th Ranger escorts less than half an hour to load up their Humvees with all their gear. Phillips’s gear was the last to be broken down as the Global Hawk remained in a tight orbit over the ISIS compound. They were looking for more ISIS fighters heading their way.

  To their great relief, no vehicles emerged from central Mosul heading south. Still, the American convoy headed back to Baghdad at top speed, the rough terrain punishing the team and their vehicles without mercy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Op-Center Headquarters, Fort Belvoir North: Springfield, Virginia

  July 20, 0815 Eastern Daylight Time

  Williams had asked Roger McCord and Jim Wright to meet him in his office. He had news he needed to share with them.

  “A lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours,” Williams began. “The FBI is in chaos now that the director has been sacked so abruptly. I talked with his deputy and asked him to revisit that warehouse up near BWI with canines, and he agreed. They’re likely on their way there now.”

  “Thanks, boss. Jim’s been talking with their watch-floor folks. They promised to let him know ASAP what the dogs discover.”

  The three men wanted to ensure they were doing everything they could to rescue Jay Bruner, and they embarked on an earnest conversation and reviewed the bidding. The JSOC-Ranger engagement just outside the Mosul airport gave the FedEx chief executive little choice but to divert the flights destined for Mosul to Baghdad International, and Dawson, Rodriquez, and the JSOC team were poised to intercept those flights when they arrived. But the fact that the admiral wasn’t in the refrigerated box they thought he’d be in caused them to wonder if he was ever spirited out of the country.

  Wright was in favor of getting Op-Center’s domestic component—Allen Kim and his team at Quantico—moving out, and McCord was in agreement. Williams was mindful of not having Op-Center go outside its mandate and tread in domestic areas that should be handled by the FBI. But the chaos induced when the FBI director was sacked, as well as McCord and Wright’s urging, moved him to lean forward.

  “All right, fellas, I’m listening. How should we do this?”

  “Jim can bring you up to speed on where we want to deploy Allen’s team,” McCord said.

  Wright slid next to the Op-Center director and pulled up a map on his secure iPad. “Best we can figure is that the people who took Admiral Bruner have gone to ground, and likely not far from BWI. When they jumped off Route 1 and Berwyn Road, the FBI CIRG lost them. A while after that, we got one fuzzy traffic-cam hit on the van on the inner loop of the Beltway, and several on the BW Parkway, and then nothing. We’re guessing—but we feel it’s a good guess—that they didn’t get to BWI in time to make the FedEx flight they were going to put him on—”

  “It’s likely they’re holding the admiral somewhere and waiting for instructions from whoever is pulling the strings at ISIL—probably al-Dosari himself,” Mc
Cord interjected.

  “Do we see them still trying to get him out of the country?” Williams asked.

  “It’s a possibility, boss, but the people who snatched him and the other guys in the warehouse likely reported everything that happened back to Mosul. They’ve got to figure we’re going to lock airports around here down tight, and given all the preps they had to make to put him into that box, trying to do that all over again and get past our net around local airports, well, it’s just not the most likely scenario.”

  “Aaron and his team have been mining ISIL social media and we think they may go ahead and kill the admiral right here in the United States,” Wright added. “I think our main focus needs to be getting Allen and his team deployed so they can start combing the area for the van and the kidnappers.”

  “I do too,” Williams replied. “Now show me where you had in mind.”

  Wright pulled up an annotated map of the area on his secure iPad and walked Williams and McCord through his recommended deployment plan for their Quantico team.

  * * *

  The text message from Patrick Kissel had been brief, “Call me at 0900; I have news.”

  Dale Bruner stepped into the backyard of his parents’ house and made the call. “Hey, Skipper, whatcha got for me?”

  Kissel could hear the excitement in Bruner’s voice, which made what he was about to tell him all the more difficult. “Dale, I’m afraid the news isn’t good. The Op-Center team in Mosul didn’t find your dad on the FedEx flight they thought he’d be on. But they got into a battle with ISIL fighters and they’ve withdrawn to Baghdad. The remaining FedEx flights that they think could have your dad have been diverted to Baghdad.”

  “Where are you getting this info, sir—if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I told you I’ve got a pretty good intel network. CENTCOM has the 75th Ranger Regiment providing logistics and other support to the Op-Center team. The Rangers were part of the battle with ISIL and then they were also involved in the withdrawal to Baghdad.”