Chapter Nine
Submerged
Aboard an industrial elevator the team descended the depths of a massive man-made cavern. Revealed to them was a large expanse of space lit only many rows of fluorescent lights. Hundreds of sailors milled around a submarine, like ants surrounding an anthill. The view was quite amazing, putting the sailors in awe at the immense size of such a facility.
"So this is where they keep the Chupacabra." Moore said.
"Really?" Kaufman sounded surprised. "'Cause I always wondered what hole you crawl back home to at night."
Moore grinned and scratched his nose with his middle finger, getting casual laughs from his teammates. After a three-minute ride down, the sailors emerged from the elevator.
"Welcome to the Batcave gentlemen." Moggs greeted them.
"Thanks Alfred." Ackerson smiled. "This the Batmobile?" He nodded towards the submarine.
"Only if you use your imagination?" Moggs laughed. "By the way? How'd you boys sleep?"
"Just fine." Brigham answered. "How about you Chief? 'Cause you look like shit."
Moggs laughed. "Appreciate the compliment Bill. But at least I'm not the one kissing Batman's ass."
Laughter erupted from the group. "Batman and Robin sittin' in the tree. K I S S I…" Rios teased.
"Don't even think about finishing that word Petty Officer." Brigham managed, red with embarrassment. "One guy makes fun of me and the whole damn world does."
"Anything else Bill?" Moggs grinned.
"Whada you think?" Brigham retorted.
"What's a matter, Chief?" Ackerson asked. "Can't take a joke?"
Brigham gave Ackerson a funny stare. "NO!"
"Looks like Boy Wonder needs a time out." Asher smirked.
Brigham lunged towards him, playfully grabbing his teammate by the neck and messing up his hair. "Who wants some?" Laughing loudly.
"Great." Moggs threw his hands up. "Now the fate of the free world rest in the hands of a bunch of three year olds."
"Oh ye of little faith." Silver patted Moggs on the back. "Relax Chief, we'll be back before dinner."
"Well hey, as long as the "new guy" keeps giving me reassuring advise, I think I'll be fine. Unlike the rest of you guys."
"Can't see how you can take him seriously, especially if his last name is silver." Oliveira winked.
"Oh c'mon Emilio, there's plenty of people that have colors for last names. White, Black, Green, Brown, Blue." Silver defended his answer.
"Blue?" Moore chuckled. "You kidding me right?"
"No shit." Silver replied. "I went to elementary school with a guy who had that last name."
"O K Fellas?" Moggs yelled. "Can we continue?" Turning to Ackerson "Carl, keep these boys on a leash."
"Aye aye." Chuckling with a light salute.
"Good. Now lets get on this boat before it runs out of gas." Moggs motioned everyone towards the submarine.
"How the hell's a nuclear sub gonna run outta gas?" Kaufman grumbled lugging his bag up the ramp leading to the conning tower.
"I heard that smart ass." Moggs nudged the sailor along. "The hell is with these guys today?"
"Just anxious to get this thing done." Ackerson replied. "But hey, like you said, time to get on this boat before it runs outta gas." He grinned.
"Got anything else constructive to say?" Scratching his temple.
"Ladies first?"
Moggs shook his head, chuckling. "Just get on the damn boat."
The rest of the team climbed the conning tower. As they entered they gradually made way to their quarters, bumping in to the occasional sailor in the narrow hallways.
"Why is it that I got the theme song from Crimson Tide playing in my head?" Rios asked.
"You mean that movie where the two guys on the submarine can't decide on launching a nuclear weapon?" Moore asked.
"Yes sir, that's the one." Rios replied.
"Well, can you press pause on that song in your head, 'cause I'm not looking forward to some crazy captains running this thing."
"Its just a movie Jason." Brigham sighed. "Relax."
"I don't care Chief. As long as I'm on this ship I don't plan on Rios here jinxing anything."
"Jesus Moore." Oliveira moaned. "You're so damn superstitious."
"Yeah Jase." Kaufman patted Moore on the shoulder. "And I hate to break it to you, but Santa Claus ain't real."
"God dammit!" Moore played along. "Now you just ruined my Christmas."
"Well damn." Asher said. "If your panties are all in a bunch over Santa Claus, I'd hate to see what you'd do if someone joked about the Easter Bunny."
"Baaawww! Thanks Eee-suh Bunnn-ee." Silver chided, launching the team into hysterics.
"You know what?" Moore struggled to yell over the laughing. "You guys are nothing but a bunch of dicks."
"So what does that make you?" Rios laughed. "An asshole?"
The laughter became even louder forcing Moore to just stop talking. Eventually, the humor died down as the sailors entered their quarters.
"Dibs on the top bunk." Kaufman announced throwing his bag on a mattress.
"Who made you the landlord?" Ackerson asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No one." Hopping onto the top bunk. "I just don't wanna have the residue from Rios' midnight fantasies dropping down on me."
"Oh yeah, you mean the fantasies about your sis, right?" Rios winked. "Tell her she's got some nice pics for me will ya."
"Yeah Jake, she's hot." Silver added. "Ain't that right fellas?"
The sailors nodded in agreement. "Last I saw her was at um." Moore acted like he was thinking. "At um. That's it, Rios' hot sister dot com. Great site."
"Mis juevos." Rios replied almost nonchalantly.
"Don't need to hear the Nicaraguan slang for a man's privates, sailor." Ackerson laughed.
"Whadaya mean sir?" Rios asked with a lying smile beaming across his face. " I just said my eggs." Grabbing his crotch.
"Jesus Christ, you're sick."
"TEN HUT!" A voice suddenly called at the entrance of the small room.
Startled by the voice, everyone suddenly snapped to attention, offering crisp salutes to a ranking officer.
"At ease gentlemen." The captain returned the salutes. "I'm Captain Matthew Regan, like to welcome you aboard the USS Jimmy Carter. Hope you like the accommodations. Now, I would love to stay and chat, but I have other things I have to attend to. Make yourselves at home gentlemen."
""Scuse me sir. But would the mess happen to be open by any chance?" Kaufman asked, while Ackerson laughed and shook his head.
"Sorry Petty Officer, not quite, but I think the chef's may be there. They may have something to slip you under the table. Anything else?"
"No sir, that'll be all." Ackerson spoke up, thanking the Captain with a firm handshake.
"Alright then." Regan smiled. "See you guys later." Disappearing around the corner.
"Can't wait for breakfast, Jake?" Ackerson asked.
"Nope." Hopping off the bunk. "Hungry as hell. You guys want me to see what I can scavenge for you guys?"
"Some waters would be nice." Asher spoke up.
"That it?"
The others simply mouthed "no thank you".
"Okay boys, see ya in a few."
Everyone got back to getting squared away, while Ackerson took a quick look around the room. Two rows of florescent lights graced the ceiling while a row of bunks lined opposite navy blue walls. A few metal draws sat in the corners, where gear could be stashed.
"Home sweet home for a couple of days huh?" Ackerson folded his arms
"Guess so." Brigham added. "Think Meretti and them got better rooms?" Asking with a wry smile.
"I hope not." Ackerson grinned.
Brigham grimaced briefly. "I should've known. Oh well, what now?"
"Get our stuff together and I guess wait around for nothing."
"Ain't that a rarirty."
"Sure is." Scratching his head.
A young sailor suddenly entered the doorway saluting. "Lieutenant Ackerson, sir?"
"Yeah that's me." Ackerson dutifully returned the respects. "What can I do for you?"
"A Senior Chief Moggs asked me to give you this." Handing him piece of paper. "Says it's your schedule for today."
"Thanks Seaman." Ackerson said dismissing the young man.
Brigham peeped over Ackerson's shoulder. "Looks like someone spoke too soon."
Ackerson clicked his teeth. "Yup. But what the hell ya gonna do?" Looking the list up and down. "Well time to get started. Okay, gentlemen!…"
Puerto Rico was now twelve hours behind them, a pressing reminder that the fight of their lives was knocking at their doorstep. In a few days, they would be at war, boots treading a foreign shore. Intensity and danger, they would know them intimately, ever so real and ever so deadly.
Cigarette smoke drenched the dark room swirling in the feint, dim light. Humming computers and large glowing screens emanated and aura of business and order. Sailors sat back in their chairs flipping through papers and photographs in tan folders labeled TOP SECRET. Seriousness was the now, obvious from the silence permeating across the room. Jokes and complaints would not be tolerated. But no one needed to remind these warriors. They knew what time it was.
The opening of a watertight door suddenly interrupted the hushed tone in the room as an entourage of officers and support staff entered. After salutes were exchanged everyone took their seats and turned their gaze to the podium at the front of the room.
"Good evening gentlemen." Moggs said making his way through the crowd. "For those of you that haven't met me I am Senior Chief Petty Officer Terrell Moggs, NCO commander of SEAL Team 4, Gold Platoon. It is a pleasure to be working with you and I look forward to nothing but success. I know it would be great for everyone to introduce themselves, but I'm afraid introductions will have to wait. Everyone in this room knows that time is of the essence. No need to reiterate that. So without further hesitation, let's get started."
"Most of you have already had the chance, to browse over the information tucked away in the folders on your seats. If you could, for a brief moment, please take out your schedule for today's brief. I'd like to go over it." Pausing to retrieve his copy. "At the top of the page you will notice the alphanumeric acronym BRF-P1, which stands for Brief, Phase One. This will be the designation for the remaining three briefing phases we will have and will progress through phases one to four. Each phase will cover certain aspects of the mission, such as enemy intelligence, which happens to be today's focus. Please be aware, the four briefing phases are to be considered separate the briefing immediately preceding the actual execution of the operation, bringing us to an actual total of five briefings. The briefings preceding the fifth and final one are simply for preparation, so please keep that in mind."
"Further down on your schedule you will notice the breakdown of today's briefing focus. Several people will be speaking today, some of them the standard support staff from the Team and others from OGAs, CIA, NSA, and the like. First up is Mr. John Madsen, CIA field officer, who has been tracking Defense Enterprises for the last five years. Mr. Madsen."
An imposing figure with a shaved head walked to the front, dressed in a submariner's uniform.
"Thank you Senior Chief." Madsen said. "Good evening everyone. I'm John Madsen and it is my job to begin the analysis of your enemy." Briefly eyeing the warriors. "Lieutenant if you could please bring up the presentation, thank you."
On one of the large screens behind Madsen a powerpoint presentation appeared.
"Most of you have some sort of understanding about this group, either from the news or intelligence information gathered from the folks over at Langley. I'll go over a brief history of the company before I speak about the leader of the group."
"Defense Enterprises, founded in 1995 by former KSK operator Hans Farber. The company built its reputation by assisting, first hand, many western nations, including the United States among others in conflicts abroad. Due to its growing reputation, DE eventually bought out several of the world's leading arms producers. By 2005, it had created a monopoly in armed manpower, technology, and weaponry. Other PMCs managed to exist, but their strength and ability to sell products and procure contracts was dwindling. Simply put, the overwhelming presence of DE, all over the world, pushed most PMCs into bankruptcy. But things really started to get ugly when some desperate corporate entities decided on war to bolster their chances of gaining a profit. Soon, other companies caught on to the trend and bargained with those nations that had the highest propensity to engage in conflict. In due time, as most of you already know, most of the contracts were in West Africa, and just by happenstance, PMCs fought against each other, vying for a chance to compete with DE. But the attempts were abysmal and each company was devastated or fell into debt. Defense Enterprises managed to steer clear of the warfare instead opting to let the animals wipe themselves out. That smart economic decision allowed DE to be on good terms with the UN. As a matter of fact the UN went so far as to ask the company to assist in restoration efforts in West Africa following the Corporate Wars. But Defense Enterprises gladly declined, stating that it wanted to devote more time to developing better military technology."
"Then came 2025, the situation in Brazil. We all know about the devastating civil war and how the world watched in horror at the destruction. You may also recall how the UN asked Defense Enterprises for help once the dust settled. The company took up the responsibility this time, and for a few years it seemed like everything was going well. But that all changed when the UN asked Defense Enterprises to turn over control and the company vehemently opposed the possibility of changing hands. Several western nations tried to respond but everybody remembers how that turned out."
"Currently and for the last six years, the company has been run by a former Green Beret, Riley Melencampe. Every one of us here remembers him as the gentleman who led an eight-man team on a daring operation to capture Osama Bin-Laden, which was miraculously successful. He is one sharp soldier and knows the Special Forces business in and out. The country praised him and loved him, but apparently that just wasn't enough. Melencampe was grateful, or so it seemed, but he was constantly angered by the plight of the modern soldier due to military downsizing. He took over Defense Enterprises with the hopes of offering these disenfranchised soldiers with a place that would essentially respect the dignity of their labor, which was being a warfighter."
"Now I'll play a short clip of Melencampe responding shortly after the failed attempt of NATO forces to forcibly remove DE from Brazil." Madsen said as he changed slides to a video.
A figure dressed in jungle camouflage appeared. He was standing behind a table, looking intently into the camera. His hair was slightly graying but kept neat and tight, echoing his past as a soldier in the United States Army. His face was void of emotion, not angry, but certainly not happy either.
"Soldiers are not what they once were." Melencampe began. "They live in a world where they are pawns, used as cannon fodder, and looked at only as objects that are manipulated to foster the maintenance of various foreign policies. Their bravery and their sacrifices have simply been taken for granted by the oblivious greedy masses covering the globe. These masses are the ungrateful bastards that forget about what we stand for. They are the politicians who can send young men to die, without a care in the world."
"Enough I say. I have seen the evils of military downsizing. I have heard the grievances of the warrior. No longer will we rot away in the misery of tragedy. We will instead forge our names in the book of men, who gloriously defeated the powers that be. Our voices have been suppressed for far too long. Now it is our opportunity to show the world, just what their ignorance and greed have cost them. For we have lost much for the sake of their freedom. The time has come for that equation to change. It will no longer be us, the soldiers, the warriors, who will make the sacrifices, it will be you. You have held on to freedom for so long, wasting it away and tarnishing it with selfishness. Those of us who have actually fought for something deserve the rewards of free society, for it was we who gave our lives for the countries we once loved. We have been betrayed and likewise, we betray you."
"The rest of the world ignores and wishes to suppress the soldier even further. Your concerted attempts to wrest control of this new land from our hands is proof of your greed. Why do you continuously insist on not recognizing the sacrifices we have made? If only you respected us much more, things may not have turned out this way."
"For the soldiers still serving under the flags of nations, I warn you not to be deceived by the governments who send you to die. They do not care about you and will not even care to acknowledge your skills and sacrifices. Some of you may even consider me a traitor and you are entitled to your opinions. But this is the only way for the soldier to go, the only way for a soldier to be respected and remembered. Please, I ask every soldier, who does not yet believe, to be wary of engaging us in conflict. Though it saddens me that I will likely have to engage former comrades and former brothers in battle, I am ready to purge them for the sake of getting our message across. Do not take this personally gentlemen, I respect you as individuals and as men. But those of you that are misguided will unfortunately have to suffer. You have a choice to fight us or not to fight us. I hope some of you choose correctly." The tape faded to black.
"Melencampe truly takes his words to heart gentlemen." Madsen said. "He will not bluff and he will strike when given the chance. By his rhetoric we know he is planning something, but due to the company's clever ability to scramble our satellite imagery we have been unable to actually see what they have in store for us. We do however, has several photos and important pieces of information regarding all sorts of things, from operations to the equipment of individual soldiers. We received this information from a defecting Defense Enterprises contract soldier. I however, will not be discussing that. It seems that your support staff will take over for that portion. Thank you for your time gentlemen." Smiling briefly and taking a seat.
"Thank you Mr. Madsen." Moggs thanked. "Now we will speak about the soldiers you will be fighting. Captain Wayne Grayson will take over for that portion of the presentation. Captain?"
"Thank you Senior Chief." The intelligence officer said. "Gentlemen, as Mr. Madsen alluded to, we have received information regarding the grunts, the soldiers if you will. According to the company's chain of command the soldiers are divided into two groups. First group is designated as the S-Group, S denoting standard, those soldiers who are considered conventional infantry."
A photo of a soldier appeared on the screen.
"As you all can see he wears the new PASGT-5 helmet, with integrated radio and NV. His tactical vest is much the same as the ones you guys use. Most often they can be seen carrying M-8s or G-36s, of course using the numerous combinations associated with each weapon. Basically, everything about these guys are almost exactly like any Marine or any Soldier back at home. These boys are elite as well and are a bit more disciplined and aggressive than your standard conventional soldier. But these guys are nothing you gentlemen can't handle, just so long as you taken them seriously."
"The second group and the most elite, is the U-Group, the letter U representing unconventional." Grayson said as a new photo appeared.
"These fellas mirror you and then some. They carry NVGs and thermal and not to mention the optical camouflage. Most often they carry around the SCAR, their modified version, which can, according to what our defecting friend told us, counter our invisible camouflage. Fortunately, due to some, stolen goods, we have managed to create a not as effective version of detecting the optical camo. But at least it still works. Back to these guys, you can see that they are fully loaded and ready to go. They all come from various Special Forces, such as GSG-9, SAS, SBS, SASR, Delta Force, Force Recon, Green Berets, Sayaret Mat'Kal, even some of your former sailor brethren."
"These men will not hesitate to kill you and they are your equals in every sense of the word. Most often times they are seen engaging remaining elements of Brazilian resistance and are on standby incase we show up. These men will be expecting you. Fortunately, they don't know how or when you'll arrive, which probably, is our only real advantage over them. You may not have to face them through the majority of your mission. But I can assure you that elements of them will be around Itumbiara, most of them concentrated around the dam."
"You do not want to meet these guys head on, either the S or U groups. I do not doubt for a second you guys are just as good. But once you're in the lions' den, it's just you and the lions. If you make contact, it is best advised you break it as soon as possible. You may be able to kill a good deal of 'em, but it won't be long before sheer numbers overwhelm you. Fighting against many soldiers is one thing, but fighting against many elite soldiers is a recipe for disaster. You'll learn more about these fellas' tactics later. But for now I turn this over to Captain Michael Wilkins, who will go over the lay of the land for you guys. Captain?"
The marine made his way to the front and began going through various maps. Ackerson continued paying attention, but kept his mind focused on another thing as well. He now truly understood what he was up against. This really was going to be the fight of his' life, that one battle that his instructors said that every SEAL lived for. But the battle was not his alone. It was his team's battle as well. They were probably feeling just as pressured if not more so, to succeed.
Then it gradually started to become apparent, apparent that they may not have been coming back from this operation, alive. Men had been lost fighting against adversaries who were nowhere near as skilled as the ones Ackerson and his team were currently pitted against. So losing life was a very real reality indeed. Ackerson believed it would take a miracle for his team to get back in one piece. Winning the battle was unquestionable. Carl had enough faith in his training. But he was not oblivious to the fact that bad things did happen on the battlefield regardless of how well trained a warrior may have been.
Ackerson took a brief look at his team and wondered if the prospect of death weighed heavy on their minds. The serious look on their faces made it seem like not much was on their minds. But Carl knew better. Of course something was on their minds. It probably would have been best to talk to his men about this mission in an informal setting to gauge how they felt. He knew had no qualms about participating. As a leader he just wanted to make sure his team was fully focused and ready to go. Death was scary, but completing the mission was more important. And with that thought Ackerson began circling portions of the map in his tan folder.