Night of the Hawk, page 22
part #4 of Patrick McLanahan Series
“He wants us to shut down,” Luger heard Ormack say over the inter-phone. “Patrick, we’re running out of time…”
“Ivan …?
You are First Lieutenant David Luger, United States Air Force… not Ozerov.
What did Dr. Kaminski call the orderly? Biletris? Luger tried to block the pain, to remember exactly what the orderly had said. You are not Ozerov. And something about being drugged…
Luger looked at the apple he’d just tossed away, now covered with his vomit. Things were coming together, beginning to make sense. The needle. stick. The antidote. All for the apple, which Kaminski must have poisoned. Or someone must have poisoned. When the poison met up with the( antidote in his body, he threw up.
Luger got to his feet and turned toward Gabovich. “Just throwing out that apple, Doctor Kaminski,” he said in Russian. “Didn’t agree with my stomach. Let’s get back to work, shall we?”
Gabovich watched Luger closely. Except for a little weakness and a slightly distracted expression, he looked completely normal. Still . something in Gabovich’s gut told him this one was going to take even closer monitoring than before.
If Gabovich had had the time, it might have been worth it to try an entirely new reprogramming sequence on Luger. Spend another few years breaking down every last remnant of the Luger persona and implanting , a new one. Granted, nobody had ever survived two reprogramming sequences, but Luger had the strength to do it. At the very least it would be an interesting experiment. The problem was, there was no time. Luger would have to die soon, before the Fisikous-170 project was rolled out—only a few weeks away—because nobody knew Luger was here. The Commonwealth would not appreciate the Fisikous Research Institute using brainwashed Western engineers to design its military aircraft. By midspring the great Dr. Ivan Sergeiovich Ozerov would disappear just as mysteriously as he appeared.
THE MARINE CORPS SPECIAL OPERATIONS TRAINING GROUP FACILITY CAMP LEJEUNE, NORTH CAROLINA
28 MARCH, 0835 ET (1435 VILNIUS)
“I am not impressed with you, sir,” Marine Gunnery Sergeant Chris Wohl shouted through a megaphone. “You have lowered my opinion of the United States Air Force considerably, sir. If you are the best of the best, sir, my country is in serious jeopardy, sir.”
Gunny Wohl was standing atop a tall log wall, watching as three men continued through “Confidence Course,” the simplest level of obstacle courses at the Marine Special Operations Training Group (SOTG) school at Camp Lejeune. SOTG is the training course for all special-operations-capable Marines. Every six months a Marine Expeditionary Unit is selected for special operations training, which lasts six full months. Only two MEUs per year receive this training, and the competition to qualify is intense. The courses at SOTG concentrate on eighteen “unconventional-warfare” missions that the unit might be given, such as amphibious raids, reinforcement operations, security operations, counterintelligence, and MOUT, or Military Operations in Urban Terrain. At the end of training, the MEU receives the Special Operations Capable (SOC) designation and deploys either in the Pacific theater or in the Mediterranean Sea region.
The Confidence Course was not designed to be physically demanding, since the Marine officers who arrived at this school were already in top condition and would find this course pathetically easy, but it was designed to challenge a Marine both psychologically and physically. It did that by emphasizing one thing: moving at height, sometimes dozens of feet above ground, with nothing more than a four-foot-deep pool of water underneath. That pool of water didn’t look like much of a safety net when you were twenty feet above it.
McLanahan, Briggs, and Ormack had just negotiated the “amphibious-landing” section of the course, designed to loosely simulate a World War Il-style beach assault. Carrying an M-16A2 rifle with sixteen blank cartridges loaded in its magazine, the three Air Force officers had already climbed down a cargo net, waded across a fifty-yard mud-bottomed pool, run across fifty yards of sand with obstacles and up a sand hill, while keeping the rifle clean. All that was just to get to the main portion of the course, called the Jungle Gym.
Gunny Wohl was not impressed at all. He was bound by tradition and discipline to call these three officers “sir,” but these men were sure not up to Marine Corps standards and he was going to let them know it. The way he looked at it, their softness challenged him and everyone in the Corps, and that was completely unacceptable.
This was the fourth time that Ormack, McLanahan, and Briggs had been on the course in the past week, but they were no better at it from their first encounter—the ropes seemed more slippery, the walls a bit higher, the mud a bit deeper. The fifth time was the qualifying test, and, it was only the second time that the students would be armed and had to protect each other during their run against instructors who were gunning for them.
The Jungle Gym had seven obstacles that tested a student’s upper-body strength and exposed any fear of heights or other fears. Vertigo or disorientation were not a problem with the two trained aviators, but upper-body strength was. Briggs could breeze through the course with ease, but even McLanahan, who was a semiserious weight lifter, found himself relying more and more on Briggs for help.
The course started with the “Dirty Name,” a seventeen-foot-high wall of three logs spaced four to six feet apart. Next was the “Run, Jump, and Swing,” where the student ran up a ramp, jumped onto a suspended rope, and swung across a mud-filled ditch. The “Inclining Wall” was the third obstacle, a sixteen-foot wall with a thick rope to climb, except the wall was tilted toward the climber, which put much more emphasis on arm strength than leg strength.
John Ormack was having the worst time of it. He got what he thought was a lot of exercise: racquetball three days a week, and the monthly Air Force fitness test, which was a two-mile run in jogging shoes, ten pull-ups, thirty sit-ups, and thirty push-ups. Ormack was slender, well-toned, and looked damned good in a uniform. But he had poor upper-body strength, limited long-range endurance, and his thin body carried no energy reserves. By the time he finished the Inclining Wall, Gunny Wohl noticed that he could barely hold on to the rope on the way down, and he dropped a good eight feet. He was not hurt, but Wohl thought he was seeing the beginning of the end of General John Ormack in this school.
McLanahan’s muscular strength was far better, but he had no aerobic endurance and just couldn’t seem to be able to catch his breath.
Hal Briggs, on the other hand, could have finished the course twice by the time they reached the fourth obstacle, the “Confidence Climb,” a thirty-foot-tall ladder made of railroad ties. McLanahan had always thought that Briggs’s impossibly thin body had no strength, but the man was like a finely tuned Italian race car—slim and racy, but loaded with power. “C’mon you guys,” Briggs huffed. “I can see the finish line. We’re almost there.”
“Fuck you,” McLanahan gasped. “We’re coming…”
“Don’t talk,” Briggs panted. Along with being out of shape, one other by-product of becoming a staff weenie, Briggs noticed, was that McLanahan didn’t take coaching very well. Even when the Marine Corps drill instructor’s mocking tone, which Briggs found comical, was making McLanahan angry—and making him take his mind off his job. “Save your breath. Concentrate on what you’re doing, Patrick. You too, John. Breathe through your nose. Breathe deep. Flush the crud out of your lungs and muscles. Your strength will come back.”
“I… don’t… think so,” Ormack gasped.
“You guys are in good shape,” Briggs lied. “This course is easy. It’s just Gunny Wohl getting you down.”
“Fuck him too…”
“I said don’t talk,” Briggs ordered. “You got one thing to think about, and that’s Dave. Think about him. He’s not going to make it out alive unless you help him.”
McLanahan and Ormack pumped their legs a little harder…
After a lot of sweat and strain, they reached the obstacle that was one of the worst ones on the course, appropriately named “The Tough One.” After climbing a fifteen-foot rope, the three officers stepped across a platform of logs spaced about three feet apart, climbed up a pyramid-shaped structure of beams that rose another twenty feet in the air, and climbed down a rope all the way to the ground. Ormack made it up to the platform, but after stepping over the logs, found he barely had enough strength to guide himself up the pyramid. Briggs was right beside him, negotiating the pyramid like a chimpanzee, ready to help. But after a few long pauses, Ormack managed to get atop the pyramid by himself.
The toughest part was getting off the pyramid and onto the rope for the climb back down. “I can’t do it, Hal,” Ormack said. “Man, my arms would give out in a second. …”
“C’mon, General, you’ve done this one before. Remember, the trick is using your feet. Wrap the rope around your leg, brace it against your foot, then press against it with your other foot.” Ormack did as he was told, but the strength wasn’t in his feet either. He slid down the rope at too high a speed and collapsed to the ground, weary but unhurt. McLanahan was also breathing heavily as he joined them a few moments later.
They struggled through the next obstacle, the “Reverse Ladder,” which Was a twelve..foot..high ladder of eight metal bars inclined toward the candidate and one that had to be climbed totally by arm power.
Finally, they made their way to the last obstacle.
It was a variation of the age-old “Slide for Life” obstacle that has been a Part of Marine Corps boot camps for over a hundred years. The student had to climb a twenty-foot-high cargo net to a platform, straddle a thick net to rope leading from the top of the platform to the ground, and then begin to descend the rope headfirst, pulling himself down the rope. A four-foot pool of water was his only safety net. One-third the way down the rope, the student had to flip over until he was hanging down under the rope, and he continued down headfirst until he was to the two-thirds point. But in this variation, the student had to stop and perform a reversal-cross the arms and re-grip the rope, let go with the legs, hang down from the rope as the body swivels around, then swing the legs back up onto the rope and shimmy headfirst back up to the platform.
During the course, John Ormack had never finished this obstacle. “I’ll go first,” Briggs said. “John, watch me. You can do this.”
“Let’s go, girls!” Wohl said. “I’m not going to wait all damned day!”
“Patrick, you gotta keep guard,” Briggs said. “Be ready in case we need you. Watch me, John. Rest up.” Briggs swung onto the first rope and shimmied out to the first crossover point. He took his time, holding on to the rope a few moments longer on each crossover until Wohl would start yelling, then worked his way through the obstacle. McLanahan did the same, allowing Ormack the most time possible to rest up.
“Okay, John,” McLanahan said as he pulled himself off the rope. “You can do it, man. Do it for Luger.”
Ormack’s adrenaline was pumping. He performed the first changeover easily, worked his way down the rope, and paused at the last changeover. He looked confident, bouncing a bit on the rope to get a good grip. He took a firm grip and let go of the rope with his legs. He did not fall this time. He swung his legs up, grasping the rope with his legs. They hooked over the rope securely, and he began working his way back up to the platform.
“Way to go, John!” McLanahan shouted. “You did it!”
Ormack gave out a victory cry himself—he had never been able to hang on long enough to get his legs back up.
They did not notice Gunnery Sergeant Wohl standing beside the safety pool—he wasn’t yelling, he wasn’t screaming, he wasn’t doing anything. Calmly, he pulled a baseball-sized object from a pocket in his BDU pants, pulled a pin, and threw the object into the pool. Seconds later the safety pool erupted into a massive geyser of water as the small training grenade exploded. Ormack yelled, flipped off the rope, and thankfully did not land headfirst as he plummeted into the muddy water.
Wohl stepped into the safety pool and helped Ormack out, and they were both out of the water by the time Briggs and McLanahan made it down the cargo net and landed beside them. Wohl was ready for a chewing—out, even a push or shove—but what he wasn’t ready for was a right cross by the usually quiet Colonel McLanahan.
The haymaker staggered Wohl, but he kept his feet, holding his chin to feel for any broken bones or loose teeth. “That’s it, Wohl,” McLanahan shouted. “You’ve crossed the line now, you motherfucking sonofabitch.”
“Ormack doesn’t belong in a Marine outfit,” Wohl said. McLanahan wasn’t coming after him again, but he was ready for a fight—his fists were raised at his sides, and he had dropped back into a wide, defensive stance. Wohl always figured there was a cauldron of emotion built up inside the powerful-looking man, but he never figured he’d actually let it out. “He failed the last obstacle. He’s out.”
“Like hell…!”
“As you were!” a voice shouted behind them.
The four men snapped to attention as Brigadier General Jeffrey Lydecker, the commanding general of the Combat Development Center, and Lieutenant General Bradley Elliott approached the group. Elliott returned their salutes, then stayed a few paces behind Lydecker.
“What happened here?” Lydecker asked. “We heard an explosion.”
“Training, sir,” Wohl replied immediately.
“Did you get permission to bring pyrotechnics out onto the course, Gunny?”
“Yes, sir,” Wohl replied. He produced a sheet of paper. Lydecker examined it, then gave it to Elliott. Elliott shook his head and looked at McLanahan—this wasn’t going to go down well for him at all. McLanahan would be lucky to hold on to his commission now. “Very well,” Lydecker said. He paused, looked at McLanahan, then looked at the left side of Wohl’s jaw. “What happened to your face, Gunny?”
“Slipped on one of the obstacles, sir.
“Bullshit, Gunny,” Elliott interjected. “Tell us the—”
“Excuse me, sir, but I’ll handle this,” Lydecker interrupted. Elliott fell silent, scowling at McLanahan. “Tell us the truth, Marine. What happened to your face?”
“I slipped on one of the obstacles, sir,” Wohl repeated. “I think it was on The Tough One.”
“We saw the whole—” Elliott began.
“If one of my Marines says he slipped, sir, then he slipped,” Lydecker said. “Report on the results of the final obstacle course, Gunny.”
“I’m sorry to say, General Ormack failed the final test,” Wohl said. “He slipped off the rope when I applied the pyrotechnics on the final obstacle. Colonel McLanahan and Captain Briggs performed to minimum standards I respectfully recommend that General Ormack be excluded from all further activities with any Marine Recon units.”
Lydecker fell silent for a moment. Then he straightened his shoulders, looked at Elliott, then to Wohl. “Unfortunately, the timetable of the Operation has been moved up. We have been directed to get these three officers ready to deploy with the 26th MEU. immediately. There won’t be any more training.”
Wohl looked panic-stricken. “Excuse me, sir, but you can’t send General Ormack… you can’t send any of these men in the field with a Recon unit as they are now. They’re a danger to themselves and anyone around them. Your mission won’t have a chance.”
“That will be all, Gunny. Have them report to my office ASAP. Send someone to pack their gear.”
“Who’s going to complete their training program? The Recon unit won’t have time to—” Wohl stammered.
“You are going to complete their training, Gunny,” General Lydecker replied. “We’re sending you TDY with the 26th MEU. While en route, you will conduct training classes on unit tactics and mission essentials. Your orders are with my clerk. You’ll depart in four hours. General Elliott will interface with you and the MEU operations staff. Close up shop and move out.” Wohl looked stunned, but recovered quickly enough to reply with a loud “Aye, aye, sir.” Lydecker shook hands with General Elliott and departed, leaving an utterly speechless gunnery sergeant with the smiling three-star Air Force general.
“Well, let’s get started, Gunnery Sergeant,” Elliott said.
“Excuse me, sir, but I am going to make this appeal to you one last time,” Wohl said. “I mean no disrespect—in fact, I have to give your men a lot of credit. They are raw, completely untrained in small-unit tactics, and very much out of shape, but they made it through by helping one another.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve gathered enough over the past few days to understand that you’ve got another officer trapped somewhere, and these men will accompany a Marine Force Recon team to go get him.”
“You’ll know when it’s appropriate, Gunny.”
“I expect I will, sir,” Wohl replied, “now that you got the big man to make me nursemaid here. My point is, you could end up with the entire unit, myself, and all four of your officers dead if you allow these men to go on this mission—and I for one don’t like it when outsiders tell me to stick my head in a bear trap without a fighting chance. Captain Briggs has the best chance of surviving—he can probably keep up with a Recon unit, although he knows nothing about their tactics. McLanahan is strong and he’s driven to succeed, but it’ll take more than just desire to complete a mission. General Ormack has no chance. None. And small units are only as effective as the least-capable member. If you have to extract an injured or immobilized person, it’ll slow you down even more. I cannot in good I conscience commit highly trained Marines to a dangerous mission deep within hostile territory, and then saddle them with three untrained, out-of-shape flyboys.”
“You have no choice in the matter, Gunnery Sergeant.”
“Sir,” Wohl continued, ignoring Elliott’s interjection, “if you’re going someplace hot enough to send a Marine Recon unit, your boys will not keep up. They’ll be left behind and probably die.” Wohl saw Elliott’s eyes flare at that remark, and he quickly lowered his voice. “I’m not trying to be a doomsayer or give you any interservice-superiority bullshit, sir; I’m giving you my professional opinion. Your mission is doomed to failure if these men are allowed to go.” Elliott let his words sink in for a moment. Then he said, “All right, Gunny, I’ve heard you out. Now you listen to me. I’ll tell you what the objective is—since I’ve had you assigned to lead this operation, you might as well know.”
