Sudden Threat (14 page)

The phone rang and he heard the CQ answer the phone in typical fashion, “B Company, Thirtieth Infantry, this line is unsecured, how may I help you, sir?”

Momentarily, the soldier in charge of quarters knocked on his door.

“Sir, the battalion commander wants to see you in his office ASAP.”

“Look, Jackson, if I get relieved, you can be in charge,” Zachary joked.

Jackson was a new recruit and pumped his chest out proudly, saying, “Can do, sir!”

“I bet.” Zachary laughed.

He made the short walk to the commander’s building. The Hawaiian afternoon sun hung over the jagged green Waianaes. He stopped at the battalion adjutant’s desk to try to discern as to why the old man wanted to see him. Glenn Bush, the adjutant, was talking on the phone while sitting at his desk, which was positioned in an office just outside the battalion commander’s door.

“Hey, Glenn, what’s up?” Zachary said, ignoring the fact that Glenn was on the phone. Glenn held up a hand while he finished his conversation. Zachary liked Glenn, who had a reputation as someone who hustled to get the job done, and as a staff officer who supported the company commanders regardless of the circumstances.

Hanging up the phone, Glenn stood up, leaned toward Zachary, and said in a low voice, “I don’t know, but the brigade commander called five minutes ago with a blue-flash message. I answered the phone, heard someone say ‘blue flash,’ and immediately buzzed the old man. Not a minute later, he told me to get you up here right away.”

That was good news to Zachary. Blue flashes meant real missions. Real missions meant high morale for his troops. In the post-9-11 world, everyone was seeking to fight the enemy. With that thought, he knocked on the commander’s door and entered the spacious office.

Lieutenant Colonel Kevin Buck was a young battalion commander. The division commander had frocked him from major to lieutenant colonel, meaning he wore the insignia but didn’t get paid for the rank yet.

Buck was a short man, only about five foot six. He had his black hair neatly cropped around his ears, but did not wear a high-and-tight-style crew cut. He had a youthful face that belied his thirty-six years. He wore freshly pressed army combat uniforms to work every day and possessed all of the requisite badges an infantryman should have: airborne, Ranger, air assault, and the expert infantryman’s badge. Buck had missed the action in Panama and Desert Storm like so many of his peers, who were in jobs classified as “away from troops.” Accordingly, Zach knew that Buck was slightly jealous of the combat infantryman’s badge and right shoulder 101st Airborne Division patch that he wore, signifying his service during Desert Storm. Additionally, Zach was just a few years older than the “fast mover” battalion commander, making their relationship a tad awkward for Buck. Zach was fine with it; perhaps even enjoyed pushing the commander’s buttons a bit.

He stood in front of Buck’s desk and was always mildly surprised at his height. He reported to the battalion commander and assumed a relaxed position of parade rest. The office was situated at the corner of the quad that housed the battalion’s troops. As such, he had almost a panoramic view of Waipahu. The commander had decorated his office with the customary plaques, mementos, and pictures of him with VIPs, as so many officers tend to do. 

“Zachary,” the commander said, standing from behind his desk, “we got a blue-flash message from brigade for you to deploy to the Philippines in twenty-four hours.”

Zachary let the statement hang in the air briefly, expecting Buck to follow up with further instructions. He realized that there was an Al Qaeda splinter group in the Philippines and wondered if his mission somehow involved the Abu Sayyaf. He also knew that the Department of Defense had closed Clark Air Base and Subic Bay in the mid-nineties.

“That’s good news, sir,” Zachary reacted. “Do we have any word on the mission?”

“You’ll get a full mission statement at the N+2 meeting.” “N” stood for “notification.” So, Zachary knew he would receive his mission in two hours. “You understand that this is a company deployment?” the commander continued.

“Yes, sir. We’re the quick-reaction force this week for the battalion, so all of my men are within two hours’ return time,” Zachary said, looking at his watch. He cursed beneath his breath as he remembered that the first sergeant had just released them for the day. It was 1700 hours.

“Good. Get back to your unit and start the alert. The bitch of it is that Division’s known about this for nearly a week. Would have been nice to know. The embassy knows you’re coming though. I’ll have a staff meeting set up for you in two hours to determine initial requirements and where your unit stands as far as processing for overseas movement.”

“Thanks, sir,” Zachary said, snapping a quick salute, turning an about face, and exiting the commander’s office before anymore discussion could take place.
A week? What kind of bullshit is that
, Zach wondered.

He spoke briefly to Glenn, asking him to prepare processing packets for three of his men. Zachary knew that he had three new soldiers enter his unit since he had last processed his company for deployment. Glenn said he would get right on it. Zachary then walked quickly down the steps from the headquarters area into the service road that formed a track on the interior of the quad.

As he walked, he simmered over the fact that Division had held the information, but set aside his anger and made a mental checklist of things to do. They had to be wheels up in less than twenty-four hours. It was a test of his unit’s preparedness; there would not be time to go back and fix things that were broke, either systemic or mechanical. It was basically a come-as-you-are operation.

Reaching his company area, he summoned the first sergeant and the executive officer. First Lieutenant Marcus Rockingham, “Rock,” and First Sergeant Isaiah Washington quickly arrived at the commander’s office, sensing something was happening. Zach closed the door behind the two men and spoke without emotion.

“Good news, guys. We’ve got a blue-flash mission to the Philippines. We have to be wheels up in twenty-four hours. Top,” he said, looking at Washington, “I want you to activate the alert roster. The message is SOP. Just have the CQ say, ‘this is a blue-flash message—report to the unit immediately.’ Write it down for him so he doesn’t mess it up.” The XO and 1SG were frantically writing on hand-size notebooks that Zachary required every soldier to carry.

“XO, I want you to activate the N-hour checklist, ensuring we make all of the proper reports to headquarters. Don’t fudge the numbers, just give the staff the facts. This is no time to try to cover up mistakes. The earlier we identify deficiencies, the better chance we have of making them up before we fly. First Sergeant, as the troops begin to come in, I want them to line their gear up outside in formation and start drawing weapons, night sights, binoculars, and so on. Everything goes, guys. We don’t have any idea what type of mission this is, or how long we will be staying. I’ll be in my office getting my personal gear straight for the first fifteen minutes. Then I’ll be periodically checking company operations and hounding the battalion staff for information.

“It’s now 1705. I have a meeting at 1900 with battalion. I want a quick meeting with you two and the platoon leaders at 1845. At that time everyone should be here, and I want a written, but concise, listing of the number of personnel missing, any problem areas, and issues for deployment. The first thing I can think of right off the bat is that we need maps of the Philippines. Any questions?”

The two simply nodded, salivating to get the train rolling. Both the XO and first sergeant were task-oriented in their own right. Rockingham was a VMI graduate who had starred as a tailback on the football team. He looked every bit the part. Washington had served as a Ranger platoon sergeant during several combat missions and knew how to soldier. They were warriors in the finest tradition.

“That’s all,” Zachary said.

Zach turned to his wall locker, retrieved his duffel bag and rucksack, then walked outside. He placed his gear on top of the letters CO. As commanding officer, he was leading by example by having his equipment ready first.

As he was reentering the headquarters, he saw that the arms room was already open. He walked up to the split door, the top half of which was open, and said to Private Smith, the arms-room chief, “Hey, Smitty, need my M4 and nine mil.”

As Captain Garrett signed for his weapons, an ominous feeling settled over him. He pulled back the charging handle of his M4, looked in the chamber, then slammed the bolt shut.

As he reentered his office, the sound of soldiers dropping their gear in formation resonated throughout the quad.

CHAPTER 22

Subic Bay, Luzon Island, Philippines

The loud hum of the four propellers had kept Zachary awake for most of the flight. With the rush of the rapid deployment behind him, he could contemplate what lay ahead. Bound to his nylon-strapped seat, bouncing with the C-130 as it fought the Pacific trade winds over the Luzon Strait and racing toward the forgotten islands of Asia, Captain Garrett mentally ticked items off his checklist.

He had nearly forgotten to give Riley’s number to Bob McAllister; or perhaps he just loathed doing so. Regardless, his friend said he would “square them away” when they arrived. Whatever that meant.

They were to make two refueling stops, one each at Wake Island and Guam, then land at an old airstrip on the Subic Bay Naval Base. Zachary had been keeping up on developments in the Philippines and knew that there was an Al Qaeda offshoot called Abu Sayyaf, which operated in the island chain. They were closely linked with the New People’s Army, or NPA, many of whose members had seamlessly merged with Abu Sayyaf. As global insurgencies went, Zach surmised, these splinter groups probably wanted to coalesce and tap into bin Laden’s funding stream. He did wish that the intelligence officer had given him a decent update because it wasn’t clear to him whether the locus of the insurgency was on the main island of Luzon, or in the southern island of Mindanao. Furthermore, they had received precious little in the way of maps.

Looking at his soldiers, the weight of his responsibility settled over him with a discernible subtlety. There would be no one to check his decisions or give advice. It was a commander’s dream, yet he felt a bit like he did in his old West Point collegiate wrestling days, when it was him out there to succeed or fail … in front of everyone.

Amidst his tumbling thoughts of isolation and responsibility, it occurred to him that a West Point classmate of his, Major Chuck Ramsey, led a Special Forces A team based out of Fort Magsaysay in the Philippines, and thought perhaps he could catch up with him if time permitted.

As the aircraft began to descend, Zachary figured they were getting close. He unfastened his seat belt and stood to look out of the window. Sure enough, he could see bright city lights below. It was an enchanting sight, reminiscent of flying into Honolulu International Airport and seeing the bright yellow lights twinkle from below. The song “Honolulu City Lights” played briefly in his mind until the aircraft took a sharp dive. The movement threw Zachary back against the stanchion supporting the webbing. He held on to the red strapping tightly. It seemed that they were almost in a delta dive, in which a free-fall parachutist tucks his body to achieve maximum aerodynamics.

Suddenly the aircraft leveled with a jerk, and Zachary could see out of the window that they were no more than 200 meters off the ground. The plane then banked sharply, turning its wings almost perpendicular to the ground. By now, all of the troops were awake and wondering what in the hell was happening. The aircraft shot up into a steep pitch and banked hard to the right, pinning Zachary against the frame. As soon as he could, Zachary sat down again and refastened his seat belt. The aircraft reverberated as the pilot was obviously stressing it beyond its design capacity. Another steep drop made Zachary’s stomach fly up into his throat. The subsequent leveling slammed it back down into his stomach. Zachary smiled grimly and shook his head at First Sergeant Washington, who seemed to be enjoying the ride. The plane’s turbo propellers whined and craned, trying to carve into the night air and defy gravity.

Zachary’s silent thought was a humorous one, not reflected on his furrowed brow. He envisioned the C-130 in the middle of a Blue Angels or Thunderbirds aerial show. Perhaps the pilot was a frustrated fighter jock. He did not care as long as all the wheels touched the ground safely.

The aircraft jolted, causing a loud bang underneath, and Zachary could hear the familiar sound of all of the engines going into reverse. More jolts followed until the plane rolled to a hot landing, using nearly the entire runway. Regardless, they were on the ground safely. One of the pilots came into the back of the aircraft wearing night-vision goggles, smiling broadly. It suddenly occurred to Zachary that they had been doing nap of the earth, or NOE, flying where the pilots follow the contours of the ground. If the pilot used night-vision goggles, the technique was especially dangerous.
Well,
Zachary thought, looking at the pilot with a wide grin,
half of my troops puked in the back of your airplane, so we’re even.

The ramp dropped, giving way to an eerie darkness as a blast of warm, sticky air rushed into the hull of the plane. The men poured into the dark expanses of the runway and surrounding scrub grass. Zachary, Rockingham, and Washington were immediately making things happen. The airfield was deserted except for the two C-130s, a forklift, and a lone white Chevy Blazer with U.S. government markings on it. Inside the Blazer, Zachary presumed, was his contact. The forklift was to unload the pallets of duffel bags.

Meanwhile, the troops had taken up security around the airfield. Each platoon leader had a green metal can full of 5.56mm ammunition locked and stored in his rucksack only to be issued on the personal direction of the commander. Those were the rules of engagement that had been wired from the JUSMAG to the Twenty-fifth Division headquarters. Zachary was not happy with it and had every intention of distributing the ammunition once he got settled.