Broken Borders, page 5
“General,” the voice said, “this is Major Robert Niger, sir. I am at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs. We got orders from up the chain to get some fast-movers out to try to locate that downed commercial craft. We did some high altitude flyovers, sir, as the storm towers with that blizzard go up to higher than fifty grand. We have been looking with IFR instrumentation, COMINT (communications intelligence), which didn’t pick up anything, SAR (you know, sir, synthetic aperture data), and MTI (moving target indicators). I have some good news, sir.”
“Affirmative!” the general said enthusiastically. “What have you got?”
“We have a large group apparently in one area, maybe a campsite, sir. But the good news is people are moving around,” the major replied, “MTI picked up a small group moving out a couple clicks from the main group and then returning a few hours later. Lot of activity, General, but they are staying put. Our analysts figure it is the crash site.”
“Outstanding!” he replied. “You have any SAT lock-on?”
“Affirmative, sir, NORAD has a spy in the sky watching and will keep us updated.”
The four-star responded, “You are supposed to be asleep, Major. Why are you up in the middle of the night?”
“Air Force never sleeps, General,” the major said with a chuckle into the phone, not revealing he was officer of the day for Pete Field.
Perry laughed. “The air force, huh? Why do you suppose the army has a four-button here working when it is starting to get light outside?”
Niger said, “We never question, sir, but are here to serve at your pleasure. In fact, none of us ever sleeps.”
Jonathan grabbed his pen, saying, “Well, you have done a good job, and I appreciate you keeping me informed. How is your name spelled?”
“N-I-G-E-R, Robert A., General.”
“Well, Robert A.,” General Perry countered, “pass on our thanks, and I will be meeting with the air force chief of staff in a few hours and am passing on your name to him.”
“Thank you, sir!” Niger said. “Niger, out.”
“Good morning, Major.”
General Perry called the 10th Special Forces Group at Fort Carson, Colorado, just eight or nine miles from where Major Niger was. He was soon on the phone with Lieutenant Colonel Phil Rickerson, deputy commanding officer of the 10th Group.
“Sir,” the DCO said, “we have been alerted of the commercial jet crash and I have got two ODAs (operational detachments-alpha, or twelve-man A-Teams) deployed at Peterson waiting to board a C130. As you know, sir, most of our men are currently deployed to Iraq. My boss is there now. The two teams have parachutes and are packed with winter gear. One detachment specializes in mountain ops. They are ready to insert as soon as we have some clear weather.”
“What about Blackhawks or Chinooks, Colonel?” Perry inquired.
“Negative, sir,” Rickerson replied. “Too much worry about icing up rotors and lift problems at altitude. Until we have a major break in that storm, we don’t want to risk choppers. That may happen tomorrow, but if we can get a small window, we can drop both teams in.”
“Drop them?” General Perry said. “By parachute? In a blizzard at maybe twelve thousand feet elevation?”
“Sir,” the Green Beret commander said, “we are SF. People are at risk. That is what we do.”
“Okay, Phil,” the general gave in. “Just hope you’ve been reading all your FMs (field manuals) and TMs (technical manuals) and not watching too many Rambo movies.”
“Sir,” the SF leader said, chuckling, “Rambo was a pussy. If you’ll have a talk with God about clearing this storm a little, we’ll safely get our men on the ground with commo and medical supplies. I’ve been interfacing with 4th ID (Infantry Division) command, and they have food, blankets, and med supplies ready for air-dropping. Whatever is needed. First we have to get eyes on the ground with direct comm, so we can apprise and address the situation.”
Perry said, “Colonel, sounds to me like you have your stuff in order. I’ll go have that talk with God. Thank you.”
“Yes,” Phil replied, “And General, a favor?”
“Yes?”
The DCO said, “When you’re having that talk with God, sir, could you ask him to strike my ex-wife down with some horrible disease?”
Perry laughed, relieved by the brief levity. “Wilco! You let me know if you need anything at all. Perry, out.”
He took a sip of coffee and rubbed his eyes, still chuckling and thinking about the lieutenant colonel’s sense of humor. He really reminded Jonathan of Bobby Samuels. The general figured that most snake-eaters must be that way. At least the ones he had worked with were.
Lieutenant Colonel Rickerson called the staff duty NCO into his office, saying, “Sergeant Telfair, I need you to stay on top of things until the command sergeant major gets in. I am heading to Pete Field. If anybody needs me, I am going out with the team on that SAR mission.”
“Got it covered, sir,” the E-8 replied.
Abdul Baari was glad he was sheltered with a piece of fuselage over his head and behind him, as he had worked loose a small strip of metal and a screw to use as a rake and pick to try to pick the handcuff lock. He had learned how to pick locks in his al-Qaida training camp near Tall-Afar in northern Iraq, and these handcuffs seemed to be finally cooperating. He had been warm with a fire near his feet and pants and jacket stuffed with Bobby Samuel’s expedient insulation. His eyes had been taking everything in, so he could grab items quickly once he got loose. Finally, the left cuff was free. The Marine was busy with others working on the survival camp, giving him occasional cursory glances. Abdul wrapped his airplane blanket higher around his shoulders, and moved his hands to his front, so he could work on the second cuff.
After five more minutes, he was ready. His second hand was free, and he held the cuff at the ready under the blanket. Lance Corporal Bobby Kennedy was walking toward him carrying a knife loosely in his right hand. The knife was a fishing knife taken from a suitcase. Bobby had been helping cut strips of blanket cloth to be used for braiding into ropes by two women.
Abdul gave Bobby a nod, as if he needed something, and the young Marine approached. As he bent over, the terrorist’s right foot shot out from under the blanket and caught Bobby on the shin. He fell facedown, and Abudl Baari’s hands came out from under the blanket, slapping the cuffs on one hand and then the other wrist, while Bobby was trying to catch and brace himself.
Abdul, before Bobby could yell, snatched the knife up and held it against the Marine’s throat, holding his other hand up with a shushing gesture with his index finger.
Bobby’s mind immediately flashed back to high school. Delbert Cornwall was the school bully, maybe because of his name. He was a big bumbling guy who was just naturally very strong with thick bones, and he almost always looked down at people where he could see the top of almost everybody’s head.
From seventh grade to tenth grade, Delbert had one single comment for Bobby every time he saw him. He needled him constantly, but would not try to hit him because he knew Bobby would fight back and fight hard.
Every time he saw Bobby, making fun of the future jarhead’s name, Delbert would say, “You know, Kennedy, you’re gonna get assassinated when you’re still young.”
It got so tiring, one time in the tenth grade, Cornwall said it while they sat in the bleachers in the gym watching a film on hygiene during health class. Delbert was sitting next to Bobby and they were on the end of the fifth row up in the bleachers. Bobby swung his right hand and punched Delbert right in the corner of his left eye, and shoved as the big bully leaned toward the end of the bleacher. Delbert fell and landed on his side, bruising the side of his knee, which kept him out of school for three days. He never said another word to Bobby, but the bully’s words always haunted young Kennedy.
Lance Corporal Bobby Kennedy laughed to himself, because he thought only of Delbert’s prophetic words now, and because he decided right then that he was a U.S. Marine and this man was a jihadist terrorist, and he would be damned if he would keep quiet, even if he had to die. He started to yell, and felt the knife pass through his windpipe, and it also cut so deeply into his neck, the point sliced through the carotid artery running up the right side of his neck. Delbert was correct! That is what Bobby thought, as he fought panic, starting to choke and drown on his own blood.
He tried to raise his cuffed hands to his throat, deciding to hold his throat and yell with his last breath, but Abdul held the cuffed hands down easily. So Bobby head-butted the terrorist as hard as he could. Abdul fell back with blood spurting from his broken nose. He plunged the knife into Bobby’s chest and belly over and over until the body stopped twitching.
Covered with blood from the gruesome murder and his broken nose, Abdul grabbed the items he wanted, crawled under the fuselage, and disappeared into the white-floored blackness. Seconds later, he heard a woman’s scream and then other screams.
Abdul ran. He wanted to live. He would gladly die for jihad, taking the lives of infidels, but not being chased in the snow in the land of the infidels. It never dawned on him that not a single one of the mullahs who told him about dying a martyr ever did it themselves. They all seemed to be older, most with gray or white hair and beards, and had been around a while, but like most ignorant suicide bombers, he never wondered why, if they could achieve Paradise and have seventy-two virgins, they didn’t kill themselves.
Abdul Baari spent plenty of time in the high mountains in the Afghanistan-Pakistan border. In fact, at one point he was all over the North West Frontier Province in Pakistan, the NWFP, as one of the many bodyguards of the Sheik, the Director himself, Osama bin Laden. He had been removed as one of dozens of bodyguards for two reasons. Things had been heating up with the U.S. bent on capturing or killing bin Laden, so his security force was cut down significantly so as not to call attention to him. More importantly, Abdul had walked into a private room in the giant cave that could sleep six hundred, and caught Osama bin Laden in a compromising position performing fellatio on one of his bodyguards. Abdul was shipped out the next day to another front on the orders of bin Laden himself.
He ran around trees and into every thicket he could find, heading downhill the whole time. The blizzard had stopped, and all was covered with a deep thick blanket of white, and in some places, Abdul found himself stepping into depressions filled with snow. His sides were heaving with exertion, and he was limping. Osama bin Laden was six feet five and a half inches tall and almost skin and bone, plus he walked with a cane. Abdul always wondered how he could move around as well as he could well above ten thousand feet in the Peshawar Mountains of Pakistan. Being away from altitude for a while was having an affect.
His plan may well have worked except for one important fact: Bo Devore competed in Olympic-style triathlons, just to keep in shape and as a hobby. She would have to swim one mile, ride a bike twenty-five miles, and run six miles. Bo was not acclimatized, but she was an American soldier in pursuit of an al Qaeda killer, on American soil no less. So, Abdul was shocked to see the woman approaching when he had to finally stop and try to breathe. She pointed a 9mm Glock at him, he could tell, but he was not fazed. She was a woman, he figured he would easily outwit her and kill her. He stood at the edge of a high steep cliff, and had planned to run along its edge for a while hoping pursuers would slip and fall. Bo had a serious menacing look on her face and kept advancing, careful to keep her double-hand grip on her weapon steady. That bothered him. His mind raced through options, as she stopped at ten feet. The bloody knife was still in his hand. She looked down at the knife and never smiled as she looked in his eyes.
He started to make a demeaning remark about women to goad her into coming closer, but she cut him off, saying, “Never bring a knife to a gunfight, asshole.”
He heard the five bangs and his upper body went numb as he looked down at the growing red stain on his chest.
He looked up at her, and Bo said with an evil grin, “You guys think pigs are filthy animals, Guess what, we are going to feed you to a bear. They are in the pig family.”
He could not move, and was seeing flashing lights all over now, and felt her foot as it shoved him backward off the cliff, and the last words he heard were Bo saying softly, “Let’s roll!” as she kicked him into open space.
He panicked, and then clearly saw solid rock before he slammed into it at 120 miles per hour after falling for six hundred hundred feet.
Bo heard clapping behind her, and turned to see Bobby applauding.
Her knees gave way, and she sat down cross-legged in place, her whole body shaking.
Bobby came up and looked out into space, saying, “It never gets easy taking a human life, even an enemy’s.”
Bo said, “I hope it never does. I’ll handle it, and I’m sorry, I know everybody would have wanted to interrogate that guy.”
Bobby said, “That Kennedy was a very brave young Marine.”
Bo got tears in her eyes and wiped her cheeks.
When they walked back into the fire circle, Rainbow said, “Did he get away?”
Bobby shook his head, saying, “No. When Captain Devore approached him to place cuffs on him and arrest him, he attacked her with that knife, and she was forced to kill him. He fell over a cliff, but was already dead.”
A man in the crowd yelled, “Hooah!”
Everyone started applauding very enthusiastically, and kept applauding.
When the applause and cheers died down, a loud yell of “Airborne!” emanated from the back of the large crowd, and out of the shadows stepped Lieutenant Colonel Phil Rickerson followed by his A Detachment carrying several boxes of supplies. All the men had been wearing night-vision devices on the front of their K-Pots, or Kevlar helmets, and heavy rucksacks. Now the crowd really cheered as they stepped forward. Bobby and Bo walked forward saluting Rickerson, who returned it. Then the team members saluted Bo and Bobby, and they returned their salutes and shook hands with everybody. Cheers went up through the crowd. Team members immediately went to work, and were all noticing how comfortable the cold-weather survival camp actually was.
Rickerson identified himself, as did Bo and Bobby, then Bobby asked, “HALO, sir?”
“Roger that,” the field-grade officer replied, “We landed on the frozen lake. And have plenty of supplies cached there. How’d you go down, Major?”
Bobby said, “Arab terrorists posing as Mexicans. Two are dead and there is a third working as a ground crew member somewhere. The pilot’s cabin door was rigged with explosives. We found the name of an accomplice. It is Farooq Ghasaan. Probably him. Do you have a sat phone?”
The commo sergeant of the ODA overheard the conversation, and handed the sat phone to the senior officer, saying, “Sir, I got the Pentagon for you. General Perry is online.”
Rickerson took the phone and reported the news about the terrorists and then handed the phone to Bobby. “He wants to speak with you, Major Samuels.”
Bobby took the phone, saying, “Thank you, sir.” Then, into the phone, he said, “Bobby Samuels, sir. Sorry to cause you to be up in the middle of the night.”
Perry said, “You and Bo okay?”
Bobby said, “Affirmative, sir.”
“What happened?”
Bobby said, “We stopped an apparent al Qaeda jihadist, General. He was going to blow the plane with a suicide belt of C4. He had a partner who blew the cockpit door with explosives already planted. We killed him, too, but the jet was already on its way to crashing at that time. Later, the first one was being guarded by a Marine on leave, and apparently picked the locks on his handcuffs, killed the Marine with a knife, and got away. Captain Devore had to light him up when he attacked her.”
General Perry replied, “Wish we could have interrogated them, but glad you two smoked the bastards.”
“General?” Bobby said.
“They were posing as Mexicans and one at least spoke Spanish, but they are definitely Alpha Quebec of Middle Eastern descent. Also they have to have an accomplice on the ground who rigged the cabin door to explode with a detonator. Probably at Dulles. The colonel gave the name of that one that we found in their carry-on,” Bobby said, “They did have a lot of documentation, but Bo and I do not read Spanish.”
The general said, “I have given orders for you two to be transported back here ASAP for a debriefing for the CINC (commander in chief), SECDEF (secretary of defense), and me. Bring all the material with you and do not surrender it to anybody. Good job, son. Put Rickerson back on.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bobby replied, humbled. “Wilco, Samuels, Out.” And he handed the phone to the lieutenant colonel.
“Captain Devore,” Bobby said, “We’re on our way to DC to get debriefed, and brief the President, secretary of defense, and General Perry. We’re supposed to carry all evidentiary material with us and hang onto it.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied since others were within earshot. “I’ll make sure we have everything as well as the digital pictures we took afterward.”
4
BACK HOME
The following morning, four U.S. Army CH-47E Chinook Special Operations helicopters flew in to extract the passengers. Each Chinook was capable of carrying forty-four passengers, as well as the gear and supplies, with no effort. But before the first Chinook came in, an MH53J Pave Low III special ops helicopter came in to lift out Bobby, Bo, the body of the remaining terrorist, and the evidence they had gathered. Used extensively in Afganistan and Iraq, the big helicopter, capable of flying day or night in rugged terrain and adverse weather up to sixteen thousand feet elevation, was ideally suited for this mission. In fact, this mission was chump change for the rugged state-of-the-art helicopter, which brought in more 10th Special Forces Group operators as well as an investigation team from the NTSB, the National Transportation Safety Board. Two FBI forensic specialists came in, too. One of the Chinooks carried supplies in to set up a secure camp around the aircraft, and several Homeland Security personnel flew in with that.
