Rogue Forces (11 page)

“I’m sure we can link it up again, Kris,” Patrick said. “We’ll let you know.”

“I feel bad about giving you the hairy eyeball about hacking our security systems and then asking you to spy for me, sir.”

“Not a problem. We’re going to be working together for a while, and I do tend to jump first and ask questions later.”

A few minutes later the mission briefing commenced. It was very much like the mission briefings Patrick had conducted in the Air Force: time hacks, overview, weather, current intelligence, status of all the units involved, and then briefings by each unit and department on what they were going to be doing. All of the participants sat at their stations and briefed one another over the intercom system, while putting PowerPoint or computerized slides up on the screens in the back of the Tank and on individual displays. Patrick saw Gia Cazzotto at one of the consoles farthest from the dais, taking notes and looking very serious.

“Here’s the rundown on the Iraqi army’s operation, sir,” the “Battle Major,” Kenneth Bruno, began. “The Iraqi Seventh Brigade is sending the entire Maqbara Company of heavy infantry, about three hundred shooters, along with Major Jaafar Othman himself in the headquarters element. Maqbara Company is probably Seventh Brigade’s only pure infantry unit—all the rest are focused on security, police, and civil affairs—so we know this is a big deal.

“The target, what we are calling Reconnaissance Objective Parrot, is a suspected hidden tunnel complex north of the small village of Zahuk. Contact time is oh-three-hundred hours local. Othman will deploy two platoons of Iraqi troops to establish security around the town east and west, while two platoons will drive in for the tunnel network from the south and sweep it clean.”

“What about the north, Bruno?” Wilhelm asked.

“I think they’re hoping they’ll escape to the north so the Turks will take care of them.”

“Are the Turks involved in this thing at all?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Anyone advise them that the IA is going to be operating close to the border?”

“That’s the Iraqis’ job, sir.”

“Not when
we
have guys in the field.”

“Sir, we’re prohibited from contacting the Turks about an Iraqi operation without permission from Baghdad,” Thompson said. “It’s considered a security breach.”

“We’ll see about that shit,” Wilhelm spat. “Comm, get division on the line—I want to talk with the general directly. Thompson, if you have any back-channel contacts in Turkey, call them and unofficially suggest that something might be going on at Zahuk tonight.”

“I’ll get on it, Colonel.”

“Make it happen,” Wilhelm snapped. “The Turks are bound to be jumpy as hell after what just happened to them. Okay, what about Warhammer?”

“Warhammer’s mission is to back up the Iraqi army,” Bruno went
on. “In the air, Third Special Ops Squadron will launch two MQ-9 Reapers, each carrying an imaging infrared sensor ball, laser designator, two 160-gallon external fuel tanks, and six AGM-114 Hellfire laser-guided missiles. On the ground, Warhammer will send Second Platoon, Bravo Company, to recon behind the Iraqis. They will be positioned south, east, and west of Maqbara Company and observe. The Strykers’ main task is to fill in the picture of the battle space and assist if necessary. Division is sending their Global Hawk to keep an eye on the entire battle space.”

“The operative word here is
observe,
kiddies,” Wilhelm cut in. “Weapons will be tight on this op, understand? If you come under fire, take cover, identify, report, and await orders. I don’t want to be accused of shooting friendlies, even if the IA gets turned around and takes a shot at us. Continue.”

“Back at Nahla, Warhammer has two Apache helicopters from Fourth Aviation Regiment armed and fueled and ready to fly, loaded with rockets and Hellfires,” Bruno said. “We also have the Seventh Air Expeditionary Squadron, one B-1B Lancer bomber in patrol orbit Foxtrot. Colonel Cazzotto is acting as air combat controller.”

“A real cluster fuck all right,” Wilhelm growled. “That’s all we need is for the Air Farce to scream in and start dropping JDAMs on the IAs—they’re liable to trample our Strykers as they turn tail and run.” Patrick looked for a reaction from Gia, but she kept her head down and continued to take notes. “Okay: security. What’s the FPCON on the base, Thompson?”

“Currently Bravo, Colonel,” Kris replied, a telephone to his ear, “but an hour before we open the gates and deploy, we automatically go to Delta.”

“Not good enough. Go to Delta right now.”

“Colonel Jaffar wants to be notified before any change in THREATCON level.”

Wilhelm glared over at Thompson’s station and his mouth tightened when he saw he was not there. He turned to his deputy. “Send Jaffar a message telling him that I’m recommending bumping up the THREATCON now,” he said, “then do it, Thompson. Don’t
wait for his approval.” Weatherly got right to it. They saw Wilhelm look around the Tank. “Where the hell are you, Thompson?”

“Up in the observation deck making sure the general is situated.”

“Get your ass down here where you belong, put us at THREATCON Delta, then assign someone to babysit the contractors. I need you at your damned post.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“General, where is your plane and your guys?” Wilhelm asked, glaring up at the observation deck. “They better be put away.”

“The plane and all my technicians are in the hangar,” Patrick responded. He was happy to see Gia had looked up at him, too. “The plane is on external power and with full connectivity.”

“Whatever the hell
that
means,” Wilhelm shot back, glaring up at McLanahan. “I just want to make sure you and your stuff are not in my way when we break out.”

“We’re all in the hangar as requested, Colonel.”

“I don’t request
anything
around here, General: I order it, and it gets done,” Wilhelm said. “They stay put until oh-three-hundred unless I say otherwise.”

“Got it.”

“Intel. Who is the biggest worry out there—other than our
hajji
allies, Bexar?”

“The biggest threat in our sector continues to be the group that calls itself the Islamic State of Iraq, based in Mosul, led by Abu al-Abadi, a Jordanian,” the regiment’s privately contracted intelligence officer, Frank Bexar, responded. “The Iraqis think the tunnel network near Zahuk is his stronghold, which is why they are sending such a large force. However, we have no actionable intelligence ourselves that al-Abadi is there.”

“The
hajjis
must have some pretty solid intel, Bexar,” Wilhelm growled. “Why don’t you?”

“The Iraqis say he’s there and they want him, dead or alive, sir,” Bexar responded. “But Zahuk and the countryside are controlled by the Kurds, and al-Qaeda is strongest in the cities, like Mosul. It’s not
credible to me that al-Abadi would be allowed to have a ‘stronghold’ in that area.”

“Well, apparently he
does
, Bexar,” Wilhelm snapped. “You need to firm up your contacts and interface with the
hajjis
so we’re not sucking hind tit all the time intelwise. Anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” Bexar replied nervously. “The other biggest threat to coalition troops is the ongoing conflict between Turkey and Kurdish guerrillas operating in our AOR. They continue to cross the border to attack targets in Turkey then retreat back into Iraq. Although the Kurdish rebels are not a direct threat to us, Turkey’s occasional cross-border retaliatory attacks against PKK rebel hideouts in Iraq have sometimes put our forces in danger.

“The Turks have told us that they have approximately five thousand troops deployed along the Turkey-Iraq border adjacent to our AOR. This agrees with our own observations. The Jandarma has conducted a few retaliatory raids in the past eighteen hours, but nothing too massive—a few of their commando strike units slipping their leashes, out looking for vengeance. Their latest intel shows a rebel leader they call Baz, or the Hawk—an Iraqi Kurd, possibly a woman—engineering daring raids on Turkish military targets, possibly including the downing of that Turkish tanker in Diyarbakir.”

“A woman, huh? I knew the women around here were ugly, but tough, too?” Wilhelm remarked with a laugh. “Are we getting current info from the Turks about their troop movements and antiterrorist operations?”

“The Turkish defense and interior ministries are pretty good about giving us the straight dope on their activities,” Bexar said. “We’ve even linked up via telephone on some of their air raids to deconflict the airspace.”

“At least you got your shit together with the Turks, Bexar,” Wilhelm said. The intelligence contractor swallowed hard and wrapped up his briefing as fast as he could.

After the last briefer finished, Wilhelm stood up, pulled off his headset, and turned to face his battle staff. “Okay, kiddies, listen up,” he began brusquely. The staff members made shows of pulling off
their headsets to listen. “This is the IA’s show, not ours, so I don’t want any heroics and I sure as shit don’t want any slipups. This is a big op for the Iraqis but a routine one for us, so do it nice and smooth and by the book. Keep your eyes and ears open and your mouths shut. Restrict voice reports for operations to urgent ones only. When I ask to see something you’d better have it up on my screen a nanosecond later or I’ll come by and feed you your breakfast through your nostrils. Stay on your toes and let’s give the IA a good show. Get to it.”

“A regular Omar Bradley,” Jon Masters quipped. “A real soldier’s soldier.”

“He’s very highly regarded at division and Corps and will probably be pinning a star on soon,” Patrick said. “He’s tough but it looks like he runs a tight ship and gets the job done.”

“I just hope he lets us do
ours
.”

“We’ll do it
with
him or
despite
him,” Patrick said. “Okay, Dr. Jonathan Colin Masters, build me a picture of this gaggle and knock my socks off.”

The young engineer raised his hands like a neurosurgeon examining a brain he was about to operate on, accepted an imaginary scalpel, then began typing on his computer’s keyboard. “Prepare to be amazed, my friend. Prepare to be amazed.”

N
EAR
R
ECONNAISSANCE
O
BJECTIVE
P
ARROT, OUTSIDE
Z
AHUK
, I
RAQ

A
FEW HOURS LATER

“I was expecting Grand Central Station or Tora Bora, not a Hobbit house,” groused Army First Lieutenant Ted Oakland, leader of a platoon of four Stryker Infantry Combat Vehicles. He was studying the objective area about a mile ahead of him through his night thermal imaging system, which was a repeater of the gunner’s sights. The southern entrance to the so-called al-Qaeda tunnel stronghold was a tiny mud hut that the twenty-ton Stryker could plow through with ease. It didn’t quite jibe with the intel they had received from locals and their Iraqi counterparts, who variously described it as a “fortress” and “citidel.”

Oakland switched from the thermal image to an overhead shot provided by a battalion MQ-9 Reaper armed unmanned aerial vehicle flying eight thousand feet overhead. The image clearly showed the deployment of Iraqi troops around the hut. There was a cluster of huts in the area, along with outbuildings and small corrals for livestock. At least eight platoons of Iraqi regulars were slowly moving in on the area.

“Pretty quiet out there, sir,” the gunner remarked.

“For a major bad guy stronghold, I’d agree,” Oakland said. “But the way the Iraqis are clodhopping their way out there, it’s a wonder the whole province hasn’t run off.”

Actually, the presence of the Stryker reconnaissance platoon had probably alerted the bad guys even better than the Iraqis. The platoon consisted of four Stryker infantry carrier vehicles. The twenty-ton vehicles had eight wheels and a 350-horsepower turbo diesel engine. They were lightly armed with .50 caliber machine guns or forty-millimeter rapid-fire grenade launchers operated by remote control from inside the vehicles. Because they were designed for mobility and not hitting power, the Strykers were lightly armored and
could barely withstand ordinary squad-level machine gun fire; however, these vehicles wore slat armor—cagelike tubes of steel around the outside meant to dissipate most of the explosive energy of a rocket-propelled grenade, which made them look top-heavy.

Despite their ungainly appearance and low-tech wheeled footprint, the Strykers brought a real twenty-first-century capability to a battlefield: networkability. The Strykers could set up a node of a wide-area wireless computer network for miles around, so everyone from an individual vehicle to the president of the United States could track their position and status, see everything the crew could see, and pass information on targets to everyone else on the net. They brought an unprecedented level of situational awareness to every mission.

Along with the commander, driver, and gunner, the Strykers carried six dismounts—a section leader or assistant leader, two security troops, and three reconnaissance infantrymen. Oakland had the dismounts out to check the area ahead on foot. While the security teams set up a perimeter around each vehicle and watched the area through night-vision goggles, the section leader and recon soldiers carefully walked ahead of their intended route of travel, checking for booby traps, hiding spots, or any signs of the enemy.

Although they were marching behind the Iraqis and weren’t expected to come into contact, Oakland kept the dismounts out there because the Iraqi soldiers often did things that made absolutely no sense. They would find “lost” Iraqi soldiers—men heading the wrong way, mostly away from the direction of the enemy—or soldiers taking a break, eating, praying, or relieving themselves far from their units. Oakland often surmised that his platoon’s main mission behind the main force was to keep the Iraqis headed in the right direction.

But tonight the Iraqis looked like they were pressing forward well. Oakland was sure this was because it was a relatively large-scale operation, because the Maqbara Company was leading the way, and because Major Othman was in the field instead of hiding under an
abayah
whenever an operation got under way.

“About fifteen mike to contact,” Oakland said into the secure platoon net. “Stay sharp.” Still no sign that they had been discovered. This, Oakland thought, will either go off relatively well—or they were blundering off into an ambush. The next few minutes would tell…