Chapter 3
Making Moves
Oneida found it amusing that even though it was more than twenty years into the twenty-first century, the Navy was still taking twelve hours to transport personnel across the globe. The young officer would have enjoyed the nonstop journey from Chambers Field in Norfolk to the Marine Corps Air Station in Futenma, Japan if only the aircraft wasn't a giant trash hauler. How neat it would have been to fly on one of those 787s the Air Force was using. In your dreams Kevin, this C-17 will have to do.
The massive cargo plane's boring interior convinced Oneida that sooner or later he would lose his sanity due to pure mediocrity. There were no windows in the aircraft preventing him from admiring the view from up high. Time was also an issue, since the only way to tell the difference between night and day was to watch a single red light cut on in the fuselage. Wristwatches could have also told him what time it was, but not being able to see a moon or sun drove him crazy.
At least the cabin was spacious. Sixteen cots were set up on the on the floor for Oneida and each of his men. They slept, read newspapers, played card games or engaged in idle conversation. Various weapons and other pieces of equipment were stowed towards the back of plane leaving plenty of space to walk around to shake off boredom. But two of Oneida's men were bound and determined to bring an end to the monotony. Grabbing an intercom one of the sailors began speaking.
"Good morning ladies and gentlemen." A red headed sailor began. "My name is Petty Officer Shane Kaufman and this lazy ass to my right is Petty Officer Harrison Silver. Say hi Silver."
Silver turned to Kaufman with an obscene hand gesture.
"Yes Silver, I understand, I'm number one. Now just stand there and wave. So, where was I? Ah yes. According to our pilot, who is quite an attractive brunette I dare say, has stated that we are currently thirty thousand feet over the Pacific Ocean.
"We should be landing on the island of Guam within the hour, and no Chief that is not the fifty-first state."
"It should be!" Master Chief Petty Officer William Brigham replied.
"I concur." Kaufman smiled. "Now if we could only get rid of New Jersey."
A few sailors cheered in mock support while one shouted in protest.
"I'm from Camden asshole!"
"Well that's unfortunate." Kaufman chided, throwing his comrades into hysterics. "Silver offers his sympathies."
Silver playfully acted like he was wiping a tear from his eye.
"To ensure a safe landing there are a few things you must do. First, all laptops must be stowed away in their proper carrying cases. So all you sick sad individuals busy staring at Internet porn must put away your computers, now, especially you Swaggert."
"Sorry Kaufman." The sailor smiled. "Won't happen again."
"Don't worry about it. It's a perfectly natural part of growing up. As long as you wash your hands when you're done, you should be fine."
Silver walked up to Swaggert and handed him a bar of soap once again launching the sailors into loud guffaws.
"It is also essential that we all make sure that the children are safely secured in their seats, especially the ones who drool when they sleep, much like Ontiveros here."
Sure enough the sailor was fast asleep in his seat unaware of the comic relief it was offering his teammates.
"Now in case of an emergency there is a rear door that, hopefully, will open up in the event of an emergency."
Silver pointed towards the back of the cabin like a flight attendant.
"But with all that shit back there, I seriously doubt we'll live anyway. So in the unlikely event that that rear door does not open, you will kindly be asked to put your heads between your legs and kiss your asses goodbye."
Silver silently demonstrated the action bringing most of his teammates to tears. Kaufman was about to say another word but not before an Air Force crew chief appeared. Fortunately, the gentleman was in good spirits and patted Kaufman on the back as he made the announcement that they were 45 minutes away from Guam.
"Okay well thank you Staff Sergeant Briggs for that announcement. Ladies and gentleman I thank you for paying attention to these very important directions. We hope you will choose Six-Six-Six Airlines as your preferred carrier when you travel again. Thank you and enjoy your hour long stay on the island of Guam."
The sailors cheered and clapped in mock approval as they motioned towards their seats.
"In the air for another hour and those two would've gone mad." Someone said.
"We need that kind of thing sometimes." Oneida replied. "Shows us that we laugh just like everyone else. Like Sarge told me at the range a few days ago, humor reminds us that we're still human."
"If you say so. By the way, you think they got food down there, y'know, something other than Pop-Tart MREs?"
"They should. Besides, Andersen is in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. They got to have stockpiles of food there, in case a typhoon happens or something like that."
"We ain't in typhoon season are we?"
"Not since Guam became the fifty-first state." Oneida grinned.
"You know I wish we were back six years ago when I was one of your instructors when I could've given you surf torture for that kind of comment."
"Ouch." Oneida laughed. "You could've just flipped me the bird or something and I would've apologized."
"Well unlike you I choose to rise above such youthful buffoonery. You should try it sometime."
"Thanks for the advice, I'll do it once Guam is admitted into the Union."
"You know what? Don't talk to me for the rest of this flight."
Oneida chuckled. "Just a joke Chief. Besides, in about fifteen minutes we'll be in Guam and after that, in about seven hours, we'll be in Okinawa."
"Well the sooner I find my feet on terra firma, the better I'll feel."
"Because you're hungry or you have a fear of flying?"
"A little bit of both. I need some real food and plus being high above the ocean, miles away from land ain't necessarily the most comfortable feeling either. We crash, then it won't be us getting a good meal, it'll be the sharks."
"Well, it is feeding time." Oneida teased.
"Do you ever take anything I say seriously?"
"Only when we're working." He smiled.
"And we're not?"
"Look around Bill." Oneida laughed. "If you consider sleeping around and playing cards an occupation, then yes, we are currently working."
"Alright smart ass." Master Chief Petty Officer William Brigham conceded. "So what we got going for us when we get to Okinawa?"
"Moggs tells me three weeks of training at the JWTC. Ellis however, is the one who's going to meet us there and run us through the paces."
"Remember you telling me that. Get anymore news on the specifics?"
"Ellis and Moggs told me it's subject to change, but as far as I know each week will be devoted to a particular phase of jungle warfare. First week they said is probably going to be devoted to recon. Said they're setting up some mock targets for us to observe to try and simulate our mission as close as possible."
"What about the other two?"
"Can't remember which comes first off the top of my head, but I know that one will focus on what to do in the event of hostile contact."
"Damn, seven days worth of yelling out strong rights and strong lefts. They got enough bullets for us?"
"They will." Oneida assured Brigham. "I've been hearing that the Marines there have been getting kind of bored recently. They've been anxious to squeeze a few triggers and the announcement of our arrival has sort've gotten 'em riled up. So yeah, in order to accommodate those grunts they should have more than enough to go around."
"Yeah, it figures. Never met a Marine who couldn't shoot." Brigham added.
"And never told one they couldn't."
"Any word on Fort Polk?"
"Haven't heard much, but I know it's going down after we're done in Okinawa. As Moggs told me, it'll be a blast."
"Wonder if that's a good or bad thing." Brigham chuckled.
"Never know with him." Laughing as well. "But for now, lets just get to Guam, so you can write a letter to the President asking her to add Guam to the Union."
"I hope you get sick and throw up on this flight."
"Well if I start feeling woozy, I'll be sure you're right next to me."
"You're a piece of work, you know that?"
"Hey, that's what friends are for."
"And to think you're the guy I forged a life long bond with in battle."
"Which means you're stuck with me."
"Remind me to sit next to someone else when we take off again. Okay buddy?"
"You'll miss me." Oneida grinned.
"Not in a million years. Why don't you bother Meretti for a change? Besides, I got to really use the bathroom."
Meretti sauntered over to Meretti's seat, rubbing some sleep away from his eyes.
"What the hell were Kaufman and Silver talking about?" Meretti asked somewhat groggily.
"Just making fools of themselves, Sean." Oneida replied. "I'm surprised you slept through the whole thing."
"Didn't sleep too well last night." Meretti explained.
"Well damn Sean, what exactly were you doing." Oneida laughed. "You know. On second thought I don't wanna know."
Meretti shook his head in embarrassment. "I see some folks haven't changed."
"Never change for my friends." Oneida smiled.
"That you don't." Taking Brigham's vacant seat. "So, its combat in three month, eh."
"Skipped right over the training I see." Oneida chuckled. "Worried about war already? C'mon bud, this isn't the first time you've put your gun in the fight."
"I know that, Kevin." Meretti sighed. "But something about this mission is different."
"No kidding." Oneida admitted. "First time a PMC becomes the bad guy and…"
"The first time I got to lead men into battle as a commander."
Oneida paused for a moment suddenly going back to a point in time when he was feeling just like Meretti. It caught him off guard and he struggled to provide some consolation.
"And you're worried that you haven't had enough preparation yet?" Oneida asked. "Well, that's what we're going to the JWTC for. To give us a chance to see what our strengths and weaknesses are. This is the time when mistakes are forgiving, Sean. Take advantage of it and try to learn something. Besides, there's a reason why we were one of the three platoons tasked with this mission."
"I know I got experience in the fight Kevin. But those were against guys who couldn't fight for shit. You know that. Dangerous, yes. But stupid and incompetent. These guys we'll be seeing in a few months aren't part of that half-ass crowd. They're an enemy to be respected." Meretti said.
"You're preaching to the choir, Sean. I recognize everything you just said. We may not be going after some inexperienced FARC rebel or a random drug dealer's security entourage this time, but don't fret just yet. Even though those guys from Defense Enterprises may be the closest thing to an elite army, they have weaknesses just like everyone else. To make it simple for you, if he bleeds, you can kill him."
"Wish it were that simple, Kevin. But something just bugs me about facing off against guys who may well have been U.S. soldiers five years earlier. I think about just how good these men may be and I hope we're ready. I hope I'm ready to lead."
"If you've made it this far into the pre-deployment work-up without being switched out, believe me, you can lead. Besides, trust your comrades; they know how to fight and fight well. They're just as worried as you about this mission. And they will be looking at you to see how you handle things. This is gonna sound tough man, but you're gonna have to drop this doubting thing right fucking now. You are gonna be a source of motivation and guidance for your men. If they hear about you doubting your ability to lead how do you think they're going to feel? So my advice, stop bitchin', pick yourself up and get ready to do what you were trained to do. Besides, we got some Marines and fellow SEALs to embarrass in a few days."
"You're right. I need to let it go." Meretti admitted. "Thanks, man."
"And if it helps you any better I was in your exact same spot two years ago. Just shake off the bad. I don't wanna hear about any of this I can't do shit for a while. Hooyah?"
"Hooyah." Meretti admitted.
"Great. Now get back to your seat before Kaufman gets another opportunity to crack jokes about us."
"Rather get caught in a firefight than to be the brunt of one of his jokes."
Oneida laughed. "Don't we all."
--
There was a television show Moggs remembered watching years ago, where some person said this has happened before, this will happen again. He couldn't quite remember the name of the show, much less the actor who uttered the rather ominous saying. But Moggs did begin to notice how the saying applied to his current experience.
During his first few years in the teams the thing that really worried him was the notion of combat. Despite all the training and mental preparation there was still that little bit of lingering fear of all the things that could go wrong. However, after a few times out he found himself even more empowered to bear the burdens of battle, thus minimizing his fear of combat. But fear wasn't done with Moggs just yet.
Moggs's fear of battle may have subsided, but another was soon to take its place. His valor and skill as a warrior never went unnoticed, eventually earning him the rank of Lieutenant and a platoon level leadership position of Officer in Charge. While a leadership position was something to be proud of, the sudden realization that he was now responsible for the lives of fifteen men was rather frightening. Before the change, all Moggs had to worry about was being a part of the team. As officer in charge, the prospect of command evoked a new set of fears, with regards to whether or not he could bring his team back home in one piece. But believing in his abilities as well as the abilities of his men enabled Moggs to conquer those fears, allowing him to set his sites on the future.
The future had suddenly become the present and once again Moggs found himself in another fearful position. Now that he was a commander, Moggs found himself responsible for three SEAL platoons, which meant he was in charge of 48 men. Here he was, representing his men, SEAL Team Four and Naval Special Warfare Group Two. They were all counting on him to do things right. That was a lot of pressure for Moggs to deal with. But despite the burdensome responsibility he felt honored to deal with such pressure.
Upon arriving at SOCOM Headquarters at Macdill Air Force Base, Tampa, he found it impossible to keep cool. Going into the field was one thing, but talking to the head commanders of NAVSOC, ARMSOC, AFSOC, MARSOC, and COMSOC was a battle Moggs had been dreading for quite sometime. His biggest fear was making a fool of himself. He had to keep reminding himself of the fact that he was a SEAL, and in being a SEAL he had to recognize that positive thinking, in most cases, resulted in positive outcomes. Shaking off the negativity about everything that could go wrong, he started reviewing his operational plan in the waiting room right outside the meeting room.
The meeting room door opened and an older gentleman in a brown Navy Uniform appeared. Moggs stood straight up, saluting and apologizing for being caught off guard.
"Commander." COMSOC said, returning the salute. "Good to have you. How was your flight?"
"Excellent, sir." Moggs replied somewhat nervously. But when he noticed the SEAL pin that COMSOC was wearing, he felt somewhat at ease.
"Well, we're ready whenever you are, commander."
"Thank you, sir." Moggs replied, moving into the room first.
As Moggs entered the room he felt somewhat overwhelmed at the years of experience he saw sitting at the table in front of him. The commanders of all the respective Special Forces from the Marine Corps, Air Force, Army, and Navy. They were all generals or admirals. Trying to make a good impression Moggs made a general salute then shook hands with each of the seasoned warriors.
Grasping their hands he felt he was in the presence of renowned men; men who had done things on the battlefield that were nothing short of heroic and extraordinary. MARSOC, was a Congressional Medal of Honor recipient whereas as ARMSOC possessed a Silver Star with two repeat clusters. COMSOC and NAVSOC both had Navy Crosses, while AFSOC had earned the Air Force Cross twice. These men knew what bravery was all about and Moggs hoped he could one day live up to their potential.
"Commander Moggs, we're glad to have you in our presence." COMSOC announced as he took his seat.
"Thank you, sir." Moggs replied quickly.
"Now I'm not a man who likes to waste time discussing useless preliminaries." COMSOC began. "I trust that a commander of your stature is well versed in the methods of preparation and I feel there is no need to discuss them. As a result I will let you get right to the point Commander Moggs. You have the floor."
Here we go. Moggs stood up quickly and opened a folder that was sitting on the table in front of him. Inside, there were seven copies of his mission plan, which he quickly distributed to his superiors. He then queued up a powerpoint presentation to assist him in his delivery.
"Gentleman, as you already know a multination military effort, led by the United States, to rid Brazil of Defense Enterprises was an abysmal failure due to a very powerful EMP shield that has managed to defeat nearly everything in our arsenal with an electrical component.
"The set of papers I just distributed to you is outlining an operational plan focusing on prolonged reconnaissance and possible direct action, which are discussed briefly in the first two bullet points."
"Possible direct action, commander?" MARSOC asked.
"Yes sir, and I say this because as of right now our intelligence on Defense Enterprises is just over two years old. The only information we have is based on information gained about the company's actions prior to the expulsion of media agencies. Thus we will only be able to make an in-field assessment on the types of targets or fortifications to take out."
The Marine nodded for Moggs to continue.
Great. "I must also make it clear that the EMP shield that prevented our weapons from dislodging Defense Enterprises has also prevented us from gaining reliable satellite imagery. Sadly, we have almost no information as to the exact position of hostile fortifications, weapons platforms, or any other pieces of military equipment.
"Recognizing this I have made the choice to send three full platoons into Brazil to ID fortifications, enemy strength, weapons systems and hopefully the possible source of the EMP shield that has managed to prevent us from inflicting any damage against the enemy.
"If you would briefly take a look at the slide up here you will see a map with three red arrows, each arrow representing a point of insertion into Brazil. All insertions will be waterborne and will take place simultaneously. The platoons will insert at the locations the arrows are pointing to on the map, Macapa, Fortaleza and Vitoria. They will then be in country for a period of three months, making observations as they go.
"The second page of my outline describes the exact workings of each platoon. Each platoon will include sixteen men. The platoons will then proceed one hundred klicks inland and separate into two eight man teams. One half of the platoon will be led by an OIC while the other half will be led by AOIC. Each fireteam will head in either a northerly or southerly direction exiting the AO into one of the six countries bordering western Brazil.
"Platoon designations for the first one hundred klick trek inland are as followed. Specter, Phantom, and Ghost. Specter will insert into Macapa, Phantom will insert into Fortaleza and Ghost will insert into Vitoria.
"Once the platoons reach their one hundred klick mark they will then separate. The naming scheme remains the same, except the teams will have numerical designations following their call sign.
"On the slide you see now, I have outlined the AOs for each particular team. Specter One will investigate the area shaded in blue, which borders along Brazil's northern neighbors. When they are done with their operation they will then exit the area along the Rio Negro into southern Venezuela.
"Specter Two will be responsible for the AO marked in yellow. They will follow the Rio Negro for about fifty klicks and exit their AO into Colombia.
"Phantom One as well as Two will be responsible for the largest AO in Brazil. Phantom one's AO is marked in red and they will exit into Peru via the Rio Madeira. Phantom Two's AO is marked in green. They will exit their area through Bolivia via the Rio Madeira as well.
"Ghost One and Two will be responsible for the southern half of Brazil. Ghost One's AO is marked in Gray while Ghost Two's AO is marked in orange. Ghost one will exit through Paraguay and Ghost Two will exit through Argentina.
"One concern commander." ARMSOC began. "It's no secret that Brazil is known for its vast undiscovered and unforgiving jungle terrain. I see that your AO is quite large and I am curious to know as to how you plan on your men moving along at an expedient and thorough pace."
"Thanks for the question General. I recognize that it is virtually impossible to cover every inch of Brazilian territory especially in those thick jungle regions. As a result each particular platoon will move along a path best suited for its environment. Specter will be advised to move along the Amazon in order to stay on track. Now, if the jungle is as thick as you say it is sir, it is my best bet that our friends at Defense Enterprises are having just as much trouble navigating the jungle. Thus, I will say that my plan can change.
"Phantom and Ghost however will have a somewhat easier task since they only have to deal with light tropical forests or grasslands. However, I will advise my men to progress along the rivers to avoid getting disoriented if the vegetation gets too thick. Of course that will be up to their discretion in the field."
"What specific areas will you be observing?" The AFSOC asked.
"I'm glad you asked sir. Specter will be tasked with providing information on the cities of Macapa, Santarem, Manaus and Boa Vista.
"Phantom will be responsible for providing observations on Fortaleza, Teresina, Porto Velho, Rio Branco, and Cuiaba.
"But Ghost will be doing the most sightseeing having to observe Vitoria, Belo Horizonte, Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Curitaba, Brasilia, Goiania, and Campo Grande.
"Now I understand that providing reconnaissance on each of these locations may not be feasible. Realistically speaking, I only count on my men being able to observe about half of these locations within the three-month time frame.
"Have you worked out communications, Commander?" NAVSOC asked.
"That is something we are still trying to perfect Admiral. Once my men are inside the coverage area of the EMP shield they will be unable to transmit back to us. So as soon as they're in we won't be able to hear back from them until their three-month operation is over. However, the teams will be able to communicate with each other. But one concern I have is the enemy being able to tap in to these transmissions between the teams. As of right now we are debating on whether or not to adhere to strict radio silence throughout this operation in order to prevent our teams from being compromised.
"Commander Moggs." COMSOC stated. "I understand thoroughly the very difficult position you are in. This is probably going to be a mission unlike any the Special Forces community has ever faced. We have asked you to provide a detailed plan for us and as of right now we are confident that you are on the right track. But beyond the scope of orders Commander, do you think that this is an operation that we should embark upon?"
"With all do respect Admiral, I would have to say no. But since all of us in this room are under orders from President Adler we're really left with no choice. Now the reason I say no should be apparent to all of you in this room. There is simply not enough intel on the enemy that makes me feel comfortable. I do however understand that in this line of work you hardly are comfortable forcing you to adapt."
"Excellent point Commander and I would be inclined to agree with you on holding back on this operation until we can gain further intelligence." COMSOC added.
"But on the other hand sir, there really is no way to get information on this new enemy unless we actually have boots on the ground. For some reason, Melencampe has the means to scramble our satellites and we witnessed what happened when we sent aircraft overhead. Simply put sir, our best technology and analysts have failed to provide us with reliable and up to date intelligence. With respect to the risks I do recognize that my men will be put in a much more precarious position than myself since they're the ones who are actually going in. But my men have stated that despite the circumstances they are more than willing to go in, see what they can find and report back to us."
"So I take it that you are willing to continue with this operation even though the intelligence you have can be considered obsolete?" COMSOC asked.
"Yes sir." Moggs said plainly.
"Well if there are two things I can count on Commander its your readiness and faith in your men. I take it you thoroughly understand the immense situation you are in and the subsequent difficulties involved. And in repaying your honesty I have to be quite candid myself in saying that all of us here are more than relieved to have a commander of your insight planning this operation.
"Now, it will probably take about a week of deliberation amongst the seven of us along with our subsequent staff to determine whether or not this operation is a GO. But members of our staff will remain in contact with you throughout this process to help you better tailor this operation. We still have to approve this operation, but based on your outline I feel rather comfortable, considering. Is there anything else that you want to add Commander?"
"It's been an honor to meet you, gentleman and I would like to thank you for your comments and advice. Thanks for your time." Moggs said rather quickly.
"Then this meeting is done with." COMSOC said standing up.
The other commanders stood up as well, prompting Moggs to do the same. He shook hands with them yet again as they exited the room. He sighed only when everyone left the room, an obvious sign of relief that this meeting went well.
"You know I was going to ask you to buy the beers on this go around." A familiar voice said. "But seeing how you look I'm buying. Don't worry though, I'll just run a tab."
"I take it you're in a good mood this morning." Moggs replied to Ellis's comment.
"I did." Ellis replied. "Just finished finalizing some of the details for your boys in Okinawa as well as working out some last minutes details for their adventures at Fort Polk."
"Glad to see that someone's actually taking some responsibility around here." Moggs said exiting the meeting room.
"Hey that's what friends are for." Ellis grinned. "So give me the lowdown on your meeting with COMSOC?"
"It was a little rough, but I think I made the right impression."
"Very descriptive I must say." Ellis said sarcastically. "I know you got more to say."
"Alright sorry, just a little nervous that's all. I got the idea that they're going to approve this operational plan either way. We spoke about the intelligence difficulties and how that might be a factor. But a part of me thinks I just wrote a check that my ass may not be able to cash."
"How do you mean?"
"Well Admiral Sykes asked for my honest opinion about whether or not we should proceed with this operation and I gave him both sides of the coin. But I leaned more towards a possible GO since I explained to him that the only way we're going to solve this intel problem is if we put boots on the ground."
"Big deal." Ellis replied. "You just gave them an honest, no bullshit assessment. And believe me, those seasoned warriors you just talked to are feeling the heat more than you are. After all, they're the ones who have to present your words to the joint chiefs who will further present this to SECDEF who then has to present the plan to President Adler. Don't place this all on yourself man. You're just one part of this equation and you can be certain those guys you just spoke to appreciate that outline you gave them. Just think of yourself as being part of a fireteam. Each man has his responsibility and each man is essential, regardless of rank."
"You took that line from Capers." Moggs laughed.
"Hey I was never a great orator." Ellis chuckled. "But c'mon buddy lets get some rounds."
"Where?"
"The officers club of course."
"Think they'll let you in?" Moggs asked half-jokingly.
"With this squid on their hands, they better."
"Always a heart for the fight."
"Damn right."
--
Melencampe was never taught to fight fair. But after he saw what happened to that small shantytown he wished he had a more worthy opponent to fight against. Only then would the fight be less one sided. These adversaries were not warriors by profession. They were warriors by circumstance and fought only with emotion, not with skill. Having a heart for the fight was great, but it meant absolutely nothing if you lacked the skill of a warrior. Of course Melencampe would be remiss to say he never fought with emotion before. If anything, most warriors would be lying to say they felt nothing in combat. Hatred after all was an emotion, an emotion that was the catalyst for many conflicts of old. And was it not emotion that had also led to unlikely victories on the battlefield. Morale was even based on emotion and was an integral part of maintaining the cohesion of any unit. So maybe emotion played a much bigger role in warfare than Melencampe initially thought.
Speaking of feelings, Melencampe felt nothing but frustration as he read through the battle damage assessment. No friendly casualties, excellent. Stolen weapons recovered, outstanding. All hostiles eliminated, great. No sign of resistance commander, horrible. Melencampe knew that most operations seldom went exactly as planned. But he was absolutely convinced he would find the commander. Not being able to find him left Melencampe with only one emotion, anger. That meant that someone lied to him and that someone was going to pay dearly.
Feeling the anger course through him, Melencampe threw down the assessment on his desk, exited his quarters and headed out of the Cathedral. A blast of hot air hit him as he marched outside doing nothing to calm his nerves. A few people noticed Melencampe's angry gait including one of his lieutenants.
"I hope you don't plan on driving, Colonel." The young major said.
"No Major." Not looking away. "Just plan on finding out why I was lied to."
"By whom?" The Major asked as he commandeered a jeep just outside the Palácio do Planalto.
"Our friend we captured a few days ago." Joining his subordinate.
"And to think we hadn't broken him already."
"Well, what he felt a few days ago is going to feel like heaven once I'm done with him."
"His interrogators practically took it out of him the last go around. Think he'll divulge anything more?"
"We're about to find out, Major." As the jeep came to a stop just outside the National Congress Building
Melencampe pushed open the doors to the old National Congress building and surprising the guards were when he entered. Noticing them, he returned their hasty salutes and continued towards a rusty door, continuing down some steps to a basement, a converted detention center. He then headed down a dark hallway lit by several rectangular ceiling lights, stopping at a storage room turned holding cell. A nearby soldier patrolling the hallway immediately noticed his superior bolting towards the holding cell. Quickly, he scrambled for his keychain ready to grab the right one when his commander asked. Walking up to his commander, he was still searching for the right key. Melencampe was about to lose his composure, but soon realized this young soldier wasn't the source of his problems. Maintaining his patience he thanked the soldier verbally and dismissed him with a crisp salute.
Upon entering the cell, Melencampe and the accompanying major were immediately greeted by a foul smell. From what they could gather it was obvious the prisoner had not bathed in many days. But since he had no access to a toilet the source of the smell was pretty obvious.
A naked man sat tied to a chair surrounded by dreary concrete walls. His head hung down, half hidden by the collisions of light and dark cast about the room from a small barred window. The prisoner showed signs of frequent abuse as cuts and bruises littered his body. How painful it must have been to endure the tortures he had. Sleep was his only solace.
After closing the door behind him, Melencampe and the major silently approached the prisoner. Stopping just short of the chair, Melencampe paused for a moment to consider his actions. He marched down here planning to slam the prisoner's face into the floor but refrained. There was a strong possibility that this man really had no idea whether or not his commander would be in that village. If that was the case, then what would beating this man accomplish? Anger had brought Melencampe to this very cell to do something horrible, not for the sake of obtaining information, but to release his rage.
Why rage? Was this emotion the sign of something much more sinister, the growth of an evil that would destroy him? And why stop at this moment? Evil things had happened before and evil things would continue to happen. What difference would a single act of mercy make in a world dark as this?
"You're not going to hit him are you?" The major asked, expecting the answer.
"No." Melencampe replied, staring at the prisoner's head. "I won't."
"You won't or you can't?"
Melencampe thought of reprimanding his subordinate for the interrogative but chose not to. He felt enough rage for today.
"He's already told us what he knows, major. No need to add to his misery."
"There's still a good chance he knows where the commander is, Colonel." The major reminded Melencampe.
"Yes and there's also a good chance he doesn't." Melencampe countered.
"I know you don't like doing this kind of thing, sir. But it has to be done. He knows something and we have to get it out of him."
"And what more do you think he knows, major." Melencampe suddenly snapped. "He gave us the location of the weapons, the village, and not to mention giving up his own comrades. Even if he is hiding something from us, we probably have a better chance at finding the son of a bitch with our own guys."
The major looked back at his commander, waiting for him to calm down.
"If you don't want to go through with this Colonel I understand. But let me put it to you this way. Let's say you want to send out a six-man recon team to go look for his commander." Nodding to the prisoner. "They go out, find him, but get wrapped up in a fight in the process. Your men die. And what if you knew this bastard, sitting right here knew where his commander was all along but didn't tell us? This torture thing is not something any of us like to do, especially me. I've been on the other side and it doesn't feel good. But when an opportunity presents itself you have to take it."
"The business of trading lives."
"No choice we make in war is morally sound, Colonel. You told me that. It's all about choosing between the lesser of evils."
Melencampe walked towards the door. "You know what to do, Major."
"It's not your fault, Colonel. He got himself in this position." The major said in an attempt to console his commander.
The former Green Beret left the room without replying, trying to forgive himself for letting the prisoner experience yet another horrific interrogation. Cruel as interrogations were they still had their uses. Melencampe may have hated the prospect of interrogating and sometimes torturing another human being, but he was a pragmatist. And as a pragmatist he knew that interrogations were usually the most straightforward way to gain useful intelligence. He just didn't want to be around when they happened.
Closing the door, he motioned down the hallway. He was just about to exit the detention center when a gunshot echoed from the room. Melencampe reached for his sidearm and immediately headed back towards the room, where three guards were already waiting. Pushing his way past them he noticed his major standing over a slumped body on the floor.
"MAJOR!" Melencampe screamed. "WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!"
"He managed to get a hold of my sidearm and shot himself." The major replied quite plainly.
Slightly calmer but still angry Melencampe replied, "And how do I know you didn't shoot him."
"Colonel, I was here to interrogate him, not to kill him. I think I know as well as you that a corpse can't talk." Surprised at his commander's question. "I turned around for a moment and he lunged at me. We rolled to the floor, he got my weapon, and shot himself."
Turning to one of the guards, he asked. "Can either of you gentlemen validate this."
"Yes they can, Colonel!" The major replied sternly. "I asked one of them to assist me with the interrogation. There is no need to lambaste them, sir. It was my mistake."
"No Major, it was our mistake." Melencampe relented. "None of us bothered to check if he was bound to the chair correctly. My apologies Major."
"No worries sir." The major replied motioning towards the door. He motioned to the three guards in the room to follow him, leaving Melencampe to stare at the bloody head resting on the floor.
What did you know? There were two likely reasons for why this man killed himself. Either he was so beaten down that he could no longer take another torturous interrogation or he knew too much. Melencampe wanted to believe the latter, but in all likelihood it was probably the former.
On the floor was a man, pushed to the point of suicide, a man whose name Melencampe did not know. How sad to reach an end like this. Melencampe wondered what kind of person this man was before that devastating civil war, before Defense Enterprises took over, before being caught, interrogated and tortured. Farmer, fisherman, father, brother, husband?
Melencampe looked away from the body and started to question his mission. No one ordered him to go to this country and hold it's people hostage. He was a man who came here on his own accord, an idealist in a sense. But now it seemed like he was moving further and further away from his original intentions. What Melencampe wanted to do was teach the world a lesson, show them what respecting the soldier really entailed. The true enemies were the rich and powerful, not the poor, downtrodden victims of a nasty civil war. Yet, here he was looking at the corpse of a man he could have saved, a man he could have let go. Sadly, however, the demons of war got the best of him.
It soon became apparent to Melencampe that this was not a matter of right, but a matter of war. For in war there were no sharp distinctions between right and wrong, only bullets and bodies. Was this what he wanted? No, he wanted justice for soldiers and nothing more. He wanted the ungrateful to pay and the greedy to rot.
But what good was vengeance if it was dragging the wrong people into the fray? Why hadn't Melencampe asked some of these people to join his cause? Was he too proud to admit that maybe this once simple lot had grievances as well? These were all questions in which the answer was no longer of use. It no longer mattered what he did; he was already a monster. He could no longer rely on forgiveness he could only be a soldier. And if that meant sacrificing his humanity, his soul, then that was unfortunate.
Had some of his men also sacrificed their souls for the sake of vengeance? The thought was certainly sickening, but what bothered him even more was the possibility that he was leading his men to a dead. So many faithful warriors, so many men who actually believed in his words, or at least wanted to. To not give them reason to be here would be the greatest sin he believed he could commit. Melencampe knew he would go to hell for what he had done, assuming of course, that there was a hell. But if he failed his men, then hell would be quite merciful. Fight not with monsters, lest you become a monster.