Battleline (2007) Read online

  One of the new arrivals was a young African-American officer named Ensign Orlando Taylor. After walking down the ramp from the C-130, he went inside the hangar to find the detachment officers. Brannigan and Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser were in the corner cubicle used as a headquarters of sorts, going over the roster as they began to organize the assault sections for the coming operation. Ensign Taylor dropped his gear by the door and knocked. The Skipper looked up and noted the somber young black man. "You must be our newly assigned Ensign Taylor. Come in."

  Taylor stepped inside the office and rendered a faultless salute. "Sir! Ensign Taylor reporting to the commanding officer as ordered."

  "Welcome, Taylor," Brannigan said, offering his hand. "This is Lieutenant JG Jim Cruiser. Take a seat and join the party."

  "Thank you, sir," Taylor said. He took a chair as invited, sitting stiffly and formally.

  Cruiser gave him a friendly smile. "How was the trip over?"

  "Everything moved on schedule," Taylor said. "I am anxious get into the program. When will I be able to meet my men?"

  "Right now, Ensign," Brannigan said, "you don't have any men. Jim and I have been mulling over how to reorganize the detachment for the new operation. We went from a total strength of eighteen men to forty-one. Besides the increase in personnel, we also have some added weaponry. All that has to be married together into an effective fighting team. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it's fact." He pushed the rosters and other papers aside. "Well, now, tell us a little about yourself."

  "Sir," Taylor said. "I received my commission through NROTC at college. I attended a mostly African-American institution of learning in Georgia. I have only recently completed BUD/S, and this is my first assignment. I have, however, completed the HALO course at Yuma, and am properly prepared for any duties assigned me."

  Cruiser smiled. "Well, I guess you must be chomping at the bit, Ensign."

  "Yes, sir!" Taylor said. "I look forward to this auspicious beginning of my naval career. Although I hold a reserve commission, I plan to make a career of the U. S. Navy."

  "Fine," Brannigan said, reaching back for his papers. "I've got a couple of ideas to discuss. Jump in any time you feel froggy."

  "Aye, sir," Taylor said. "Thank you, sir."

  "Okay," Brannigan said. "The first thing I want to do is organize a patrol team."

  "I take it you'll start with the Odd Couple," Cruiser said. "And don't forget Redhawk. He's a natural."

  "Right. And I think I'll put Connie Concord in charge of it. He's a first class and about ready for chief. It's time to start grooming him, don't you think?"

  "Yes, sir," Cruiser said. "And I noted that there's a Petty Officer Matsuno on the roster. I know him. He'd make a good addition."

  Brannigan wrote down some notes. "Done! And I'll leave Gomez and Bradley in headquarters with me." He sank back into thought for a moment. "Another thing has just this instant occurred to me. This coming operation will be perfect for a sniper team."

  "Puglisi and Miskoski," Cruiser said. "That goes without a second thought."

  "It shall be done, sayeth the gods of war," Brannigan said, writing down the names of the two SEALs. "Okay. I can see we'll be able to have three assault sections with two fire teams each."

  "Don't forget a SAW gunner for each one," Cruiser urged him.

  "Right, Jim. You take the First Section," he said, writing down the assignment. He glanced over at Taylor. "The Second Section is yours, Ensign."

  "Yes, sir," the young man said.

  "And, of course, the Third will be honchoed by the intrepid Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins, the pride of Alabama."

  "You have some guys left over," Cruiser pointed out.

  "It's all part of my cunning master plan," the Skipper said with a wink. "That will be our support section of machine guns. Seven-point-six-twos, as a matter of fact. I'll let Chief Gunnarson run that particular show." He gave Taylor another look. "Any suggestions?"

  "Negative, sir."

  "This operation is going to be your baptism of fire, is it not, Ensign?" Brannigan asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "In that case, I have some advice for you," Brannigan said. "You'll be the leader of an assault section, understand? You are the commander, but you listen to the advice of the senior petty officers. Developing that habit will be invaluable to you not only in the beginning of your career, but even after you're a salty old dog yourself."

  "Yes, sir."

  When Brannigan slid the diagram of the organization over to Cruiser, the impassive Ensign Orlando Taylor gazed steadily at the two veteran officers. The one thing he wanted to conceal from them was his fear; not the fear of death or injury, but the fear of failure. He had been raised in an African-American family well tuned into the twenty-first century. It was headed by a capable, ambitious father. The outcome of this paternal supervision was a fierce rivalry among the four Taylor brothers, who had been taught that anything short of success was not an option.

  Cruiser handed the quickly sketched manning chart to Brannigan. "I'd say it's good to go."

  "Fine," the Skipper said. "So let's put it into reality, shall we, gentlemen?"

  "Lead on, sir," Cruiser said.

  The three officers got up to go outside. Taylor followed the two seniors, his apprehension growing.

  .

  OVAL OFFICE WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON, D. C.

  5 JUNE

  A rapping at the door caught the President's attention. He looked up from the press briefing he was preparing and called out, "Come in."

  Arlene Entienne, the White House chief of staff, entered the office. She was a beautiful woman of African-Cajun ancestry, with green eyes and dark brown hair. She looked stunning that morning, even though it was obvious she was tired. "Good morning, Mr. President."

  "Hello, Arlene," he replied to the greeting. "I heard you came in at four A. M. today."

  "Yes, sir," she replied. "I received a call from Edgar Watson of the CIA a little after three. Operation Persian Empire has kicked into high gear."

  The President got up and walked over to the side of the room where a coffeepot was plugged in. He poured a cup of the brew, then brought it over to Arlene. "Here. You need this."

  "I sure do!"

  "Did we hear from Aladdin again?" the President asked, sitting back down. He referred to a mysterious individual who had been sending anonymous but accurate intelligence from the Iran-Afghanistan border.

  "Edgar said it was a quick transmission," Arlene answered. "Evidently Aladdin is in a particularly dangerous area. At any rate, he informed us that a compact group of Iranians and Arabs are occupying a fortified area in the far west of the Gharawdara Highlands. When the time is right, they'll make their move. Their objective, of course, is to gain control of that mountainous area in western Afghanistan."

  "A 'compact' group, hey?" the President remarked. "They evidently don't want to make a big fuss. That's good. We don't want to either."

  "Mr. President," Arlene said, "you gave me authorization to put your special executive order into effect. I did so at a little past five this morning."

  "All right," he said. "It's amazing when one considers the fact that this sensitive international crisis is going to be settled by dozens rather than thousands of troops."

  "Without a doubt it's a most unique situation."

  "And now our own so-called compact group will answer the challenge," the President said. "A small, deadly operation within a larger one, with global implications."

  "Operation Battleline folded into Operation Persian Empire," Arlene said.

  The President sighed. "The worst part of this job is having to put the lives of our finest young people at risk." He stood and walked to the window, gazing out pensively. "I cannot describe how much it distresses me."

  Arlene got to her feet and went over to him, standing close to the chief executive. "Would it make you feel better if I reminded you they were all volunteers?"

/>   "Not really."

  CHAPTER 1

  SHELOR FIELD, AFGHANISTAN

  7 JUNE

  THE procedure is called "isolation," and the name can be taken literally.

  This is a routine of segregating a detachment as it begins preparation for a highly classified mission. Its members are either moved to a secure area, or their present quarters are sealed off. Segregated from the outside by security personnel, the people concerned are first briefed with what is actually a very complicated WARNO. This involves a detailed presentation, usually given by an operations and/or intelligence officer that spells out the what, where, and when of an upcoming operation.

  This is called the briefing.

  The people receiving the information then write up an OPLAN based on everything they've learned during the briefing. When the commander of the mission is satisfied with it, the OPLAN is presented orally to the briefing team.

  That phase is called the briefback.

  This can lead to more discussion until everything is hashed over and given a final approval. At that point it becomes an OPORD, and the situation shifts into high gear for implementation and application.

  The SEAL operations officer, Commander Thomas Carey, and his cohort, Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer, an intelligence officer, worked off the USS Combs, a DDG that served as a surreptitious SFOB floating around in the Persian Gulf. The commander was a grumpy U. S. Army Special Forces brigadier general named Leroux. He likened his assignment to being encased in a steel box that rolled and pitched 24/7 without ceasing. From all appearances, the vessel was just part of a CVBG carrying on normal duties rather than acting as a direction center for SPECOPS within that operational area.

  Both Carey and Berringer had arrived at Shelor Field only hours before. Their appearances were always unexpected and heralded the beginning of exciting times, but this latest presence raised moods of the deepest suspicion and apprehension among Brannigan's Brigands. The pair of visiting officers had someone with them, and this person gave strong evidence that something very special was about to go down. Carl Joplin, PhD, an Undersecretary of State, was already well known by the SEALs, and his usual bailiwick was in the State Department Building in Washington, D. C.

  Immediately after their arrival, Carey and Berringer placed the recently reinforced SEAL detachment Brannigan's Brigands in isolation. The SEALs were taken into their special hangar, cut off from the rest of the air base, meaning they no longer ate in the mess hall, no longer visited the theater or service club, and had to curtail their favorite pastime of making out with female Air Force personnel behind the beer garden. Security was provided by Shelor's APs to make sure the Brigands were kept out of circulation.

  They and all their belongings were now in total confinement.

  .

  SEAL HANGAR

  0700 HOURS

  SCPO Buford Dawkins checked the names on his clipboard with the faces seated in the four rows of folding chairs. Brannigan's Brigands had gone from its customary strength of some twenty-one individuals to a total of forty-one. Since Dawkins didn't know all twenty of the new men prior to their arrival, he used this method to familiarize himself with the newcomers. After taking the silent roll call, he was satisfied nobody was lost or wandering around. He turned to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Wild Bill Brannigan. "Ever' swinging dick is present and accounted for, sir."

  "Right, Senior Chief," Brannigan responded from his chair. He nodded to Carey and Berringer, who stood at the front of the group with Dr. Joplin. "We're ready to rock and roll, sir."

  "Alright!" Carey said. "Consider this an official welcome to Operation Battleline. We discussed this before, but now the day is here. First thing we'll do is review the overall situation. Your preliminary enemy in Operation Rolling Thunder has been defeated. The Arab and Iranian bad guys are out of that operational area. The Pashtun rebel group who occupied the Gharawdara Highlands gave it up, and now live under the gentle care of Dr. Bouchier's UNREO team in a pacified area farther east."

  CPO Matt Gunnarson frowned. "It seems to me them Pashtuns is getting off pretty light."

  "This particular group of people are being tolerated because of their very strong anti-Taliban attitudes," Carey replied. "And their leader went to the Afghanistan government and declared what is called nanwatai. This is a code in which a loser begs for mercy and humbles himself. Custom demands he be granted mercy. We Americans, therefore, cannot insist on more severe punishment. Thus the Pashtun chief and his people are being well treated."

  Bruno Puglisi, sitting comfortably with his arms folded across his muscular chest, grinned. "In that case, it don't sound like there's much more to do around here, sir."

  "Unfortunately, that's not the case, Petty Officer Puglisi," Carey said. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. You are all aware of Operation Persian Empire. That is an all-encompassing situation that has been boiled down to a small but very complicated matter with delicate political and diplomatic criteria. I'll let Dr. Joplin explain that further."

  The African-American, looking dignified even in the BDUs he wore for the occasion, stepped forward. This intellectually gifted expert in the complicated environment of international diplomacy gave his audience a warm smile. "It's really nice to see you fellows again. It's been a long time since South America. I promise we'll have some beer together before I leave. And, by the way, I'm buying."

  A spontaneous cheer broke out from the group, with whoops and shouts of gratitude. Joplin's smile spread into a grin. "I knew somehow you would be pleased."

  Senior Chief Dawkins announced, "Dr. Joplin has already put in an order for a good number of cases from the BX. But you guys ain't drinking a drop 'til the operation is over and done with."

  "Now with that settled, let me review the Iranian situation for you," Joplin said. "You're already acquainted with what's going on, but things have slipped into a sort of different perspective." He paused to organize his thoughts. "As you all are well aware, the government of Iran has become rather belligerent lately. They began their latest mischief with their nuclear program and support of the renegade Hezbollah terrorists in Lebanon. Now they have now begun using their intelligence operatives to bring Shiite insurgencies throughout the Middle East under their control. The objective is to take over the whole of that part of the world with its people and oil, and establish the first steps of a modern Persian Empire. If they succeed, this will spill over to all parts of the globe. The economic effect on the Western world would be catastrophic."

  Lieutenant Jim Cruiser, sitting on the front row with Brannigan and Ensign Orlando Taylor, showed a serious expression. "What you're describing seems to be a situation that could lead to a world war."

  "We're already in a world war, Jim,"

  Joplin replied. "And your main duty in this upcoming operation is to keep a lid on this volatile situation. A small force of Iranians and Arabs is now in the Gharawdara Highlands in the border country. They are called the Zaheya, which is a Farsi acronym for Strike Force Vengeance. This includes Arabs you've fought before when they were an armored car company. And, as I'm sure you remember, they are led by a deserter from the British Army. I must warn you that he has whipped them into an elite unit of infantry. So you may anticipate that they will be much harder to deal with in the future."

  Mike Assad interjected, "We'll deal with 'em, alright, Dr. Joplin. Don't worry about that."

  "There is no doubt in my mind you can handle it, Mike," Joplin said, keeping his apprehension to himself. "They are joined by some hard-core Iranian Army Special Forces who have completed a most demanding program of training and preparation. These men are totally dedicated to their national aims. So your work is cut out for you."

  "How many of them are there?" Joe Miskoski asked.

  "A few more than you," Joplin said.

  Brannigan frowned. "I thought you were talking about a world war. But we're not dealing with forces of thousands or even hundreds of troops here. This is literally a clash o
f dozens. I don't understand."

  "I'll try to explain this complicated and confusing issue to you," Joplin said patiently. "Neither we nor the Iranians want a big to-do to settle this thing. The bigger it is, the more dangerous it becomes for everybody concerned. And believe me, it would fuel the fire of this world war we're now involved in. The Iranians want a foothold in Afghanistan to renew the Pashtun revolt. They plan to accomplish this illegal goal unobtrusively."

  "Well, hell!" Connie Concord said. "Why not just bomb 'em to ashes?"

  "We could certainly do that," Joplin said. "But that would cause a backlash in the Middle East. Therefore we must follow Iran's example and also be as low-key as possible."

  CPO Matt Gunnarson raised his hand. "What is so important about Afghanistan to the Iranians?"

  "They can accomplish two things in that country," Joplin replied. "First they have an immediate expansion of their territory; and second, by ruling Afghanistan it would be only a matter of time before they took over Pakistan. If that happened, the international implications are bound to be catastrophic. It would be exactly like the situation that brought about the start of World War One. Before that conflict erupted, the leaders of the affected European nations--the kings, emperors, czars, and what have you--were more afraid of what would be thought of them if they didn't go to war, rather than if they did."