October 9th,
I am hot, I am wet, I am surrounded by flies...and at the moment I probably smell worse than Beachhead.
In fact, the only thing that likely smells worse than I do is this damn mission!
Our plane flew into the area early yesterday...a black c-47 Dakota modified for stealth...not only against radar but also against sound. A good thing too, for as Wild Bill pointed out, we were flying low enough to be taken out by a handgun.
I was informed of our mission as we neared Cambodian airspace. It seems that we have been sent to extract one 'Theron Portland', a traitor and a spy according to the powers that be. Apparently he was working on a top-secret electronic surveillance site in Thailand when he skipped over the border with some computer chips.
If we can't get him out...we are to 'eliminate' him.
Duke has selected a kick ass team, as is to be expected. Beachhead, Leatherneck, Tunnel Rat, Wet Suit, Footloose and Lowlight...great soldiers...some of the best Joe has to offer. He was on the plane when Beach and I boarded in San Francisco, and although he didn't accompany us on the jump, I knew he was as deep into this as I...maybe even worse!
Poor suck had to work with the CIA agent who dreamed up this little sortie.
Yeah...you heard me...CIA.
I knew what he was as soon as I saw him...those guys stick out like a sore thumb. I also knew immediately why I had been chosen to lead this one.
This whole thing stunk to hell of Black Ops.
Not one to keep my thoughts to myself, I told Duke of my suspicions the minute I got wind of our orders.
"I don't like this, Conrad...there is something we are missing here..." I whispered as we stood at the back of the plane going over the plans. "That spook Anderson is keeping something from us."
"I know." He answered, returning his attention to the map we had laid out on a makeshift table.
"I mean, if this guy is so important to the Russians, why not fly him to Moscow...why send him north in such a small convoy? The risks of ambush on the ground are much greater than an air interdiction in Soviet airspace. The pieces just don't add up"
"I know"
"You know! You know!" I narrowed my eyes in frustration, "Then why the hell don't we just quit playing games and get the real story out of him right now. I am not about to risk my men on a..."
"You know that isn't going to happen..."
"I don't like being dicked around by 'suits'" I growled and he swung around to face me.
"Enough, Flint...Orders are orders. We have a job to do and we do it...no questions asked..."
"That sounds suspiciously like something 'the Black' would say..." I snapped, glaring back at him. Then it dawned on me. It seems that the government had found a way to make use of the Joe team above and beyond our present 'anti-terrorist', 'anti-cobra' capacity.
No wonder we had been saddled with so many 'special missions' of late. We are doing CIA operations not recognized by the government...Black Ops...
I AM BACK DOING BLACK OPS!
"...Now you're catching on." He smiled a small, humorless smile as he saw the expression on my face.
"So I take it you are leading this little initiative?" I tried to keep my voice level.
He nodded. "Hawks orders...and before you go and get yourself court marshaled for screaming at a General, he is also following orders from higher up...and 'I' was the one who asked for you."
"You know how I feel about..."
"...yes, yes...but I also know you are going to keep an eye out for trouble. I know you aren't going to let us get screwed and I know you are going to get all these men back in one piece."
I didn't answer him. He knew that I would do what I was told. I always follow orders, no matter how insane, no matter how bad...I follow orders and I give it my all.
He smiled at me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"...Stop glowering, Dash. You know you love this shit. You live for this kind of action. Would you rather be pushing paper back at HQ?"
At that I snorted at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won the argument, and turned to check on the men.
He is right, of course. I do love it. There are parts of it I could do without for certain, but for the most part it is this kind of challenge that keeps me in the forces. I live for adventure!
But that doesn't mean I have to be nice about it.
In fact, just before we reached the drop zone I snapped at Anderson. He was busy telling us that the mission was going to be a piece of cake...to which I shot back that if it was such light stuff why wasn't he coming with us. He of course replied that he was not a field op.
"Then don't be telling us how EASY our job's going to be"
Damn, I hate CIA.
In any case, I am now camped for the night in the middle of the jungle, deep in enemy territory...no fire, cold rations only, and noise discipline.
We did a low altitude drop into the area earlier in the day, and have spent the last eight hours trudging through dense foliage. Jungle terrain provides excellent concealment and great cover, but the trade off is that it makes movement slow and noisy while reducing visibility drastically.
It is the perfect place for an ambush.
I had the men spread out and form a security circle immediately after our feet touched the ground, tightening up the formation once we hit the tree line. I gave Beachhead the point and Leatherneck took the drag position, placing myself in the middle where I could keep track of everything and everyone.
It was slow going, but we managed to make good time despite the thick vegetation that impeded our every move. We were very, very far from civilization...the only village we came upon wasn't even on the map Anderson gave us. When we spotted the huts I immediately ordered the men to approach it from behind, not trusting the intel that the CIA agent had given us. In the end it turned out to be a false alarm. The village was uninhabited...its people the victims of one of Pol Pots re-education initiatives if the skulls half buried behind one of the huts was any indication.
At least that explained why it wasn't on the map.
Right now we are camped about two hours south of our planned ambush site. There is no use continuing on until dawn...the lack of light combined with the terrain make the risk of injury too great.
Not to mention the men need to rest and recover their strength.
From the grumbling I hear among them, I know that they are about as suspicious about this whole deal as I am. Even Lowlight, who is usually so quiet came up and told me, point blank, that he thought Anderson was setting us up for a fall.
I didn't disagree with him, but I couldn't have my soldiers balking this late in the game.
"That's all probably true...but we're the guys who signed up to do the dirty work, so lets get on with it. We have our orders..." I barked and that was the end of the discussion.
Duke has taught me well.
So here I sit, trying to write a bit in this journal by the soft red glow of the setting sun. Soon there won't be enough light to see my hand in front of my face. I am itchy and uncomfortable, but at least I am off my feet for a while.
One thing about the jungle, as beautiful as it is, as awe inspiring from afar...it is a hot, sticky, wet, insect infested nightmare for a soldier. It didn't help that we all had to be decked out in full combat cammies and any sort of insect repellant, soap or deodorant was strictly off limits. Its no use being sneaky if the enemy can smell you coming.
At least the garlic pills are keeping the annoyance to a minimum.
I wonder if my brother Tom was in a similar situation when he was fighting in neighboring Vietnam. I wonder if he hiked through the hot sun, through leech-infested bogs and animal trails riddled with booby traps on orders he knew were an exercise in futility? What did he think about at night when his unit finally made camp? Did he worry about the fight ahead? Did he complain about the disgusting taste of the rations? Did he worry about his men? Was he afraid? Angry? Frustrated? Or did he revel in the action and danger?
Did he know he was going to die there?
If he had known, would he have cared? Would he have done his duty no matter what the odds stacked against him?
They tell me he died a hero...went down getting his men to safety after they were surprised by the enemy outside of Danang. Do you think my father would be proud of me if I died a hero like Tom?
Well, Tom...wherever you are I hope you are watching over your little brother who looks and acts so much like you. Making dad proud or not, I would sure as hell like to make it out of here alive with all my men accounted for.
I had better eat some of my freeze-dried rations and get some sleep. I have to be on top of things tomorrow. I have a very bad feeling about this...and I have learned over time to trust my gut. If it were up to me I would call this off right now and send my men to back to the US base in Thailand and safety.
Lowlight is right to ask why the CIA didn't keep this op inside their own shop. They only use grunts like us for the no win, suicide missions that they want to keep under the table.
Yeah...if it were up to me I would be out of here. I am not a coward...but I don't like being used.
Only thing is...I have no choice
I am hot, I am wet, I am surrounded by flies...and at the moment I probably smell worse than Beachhead.
In fact, the only thing that likely smells worse than I do is this damn mission!
Our plane flew into the area early yesterday...a black c-47 Dakota modified for stealth...not only against radar but also against sound. A good thing too, for as Wild Bill pointed out, we were flying low enough to be taken out by a handgun.
I was informed of our mission as we neared Cambodian airspace. It seems that we have been sent to extract one 'Theron Portland', a traitor and a spy according to the powers that be. Apparently he was working on a top-secret electronic surveillance site in Thailand when he skipped over the border with some computer chips.
If we can't get him out...we are to 'eliminate' him.
Duke has selected a kick ass team, as is to be expected. Beachhead, Leatherneck, Tunnel Rat, Wet Suit, Footloose and Lowlight...great soldiers...some of the best Joe has to offer. He was on the plane when Beach and I boarded in San Francisco, and although he didn't accompany us on the jump, I knew he was as deep into this as I...maybe even worse!
Poor suck had to work with the CIA agent who dreamed up this little sortie.
Yeah...you heard me...CIA.
I knew what he was as soon as I saw him...those guys stick out like a sore thumb. I also knew immediately why I had been chosen to lead this one.
This whole thing stunk to hell of Black Ops.
Not one to keep my thoughts to myself, I told Duke of my suspicions the minute I got wind of our orders.
"I don't like this, Conrad...there is something we are missing here..." I whispered as we stood at the back of the plane going over the plans. "That spook Anderson is keeping something from us."
"I know." He answered, returning his attention to the map we had laid out on a makeshift table.
"I mean, if this guy is so important to the Russians, why not fly him to Moscow...why send him north in such a small convoy? The risks of ambush on the ground are much greater than an air interdiction in Soviet airspace. The pieces just don't add up"
"I know"
"You know! You know!" I narrowed my eyes in frustration, "Then why the hell don't we just quit playing games and get the real story out of him right now. I am not about to risk my men on a..."
"You know that isn't going to happen..."
"I don't like being dicked around by 'suits'" I growled and he swung around to face me.
"Enough, Flint...Orders are orders. We have a job to do and we do it...no questions asked..."
"That sounds suspiciously like something 'the Black' would say..." I snapped, glaring back at him. Then it dawned on me. It seems that the government had found a way to make use of the Joe team above and beyond our present 'anti-terrorist', 'anti-cobra' capacity.
No wonder we had been saddled with so many 'special missions' of late. We are doing CIA operations not recognized by the government...Black Ops...
I AM BACK DOING BLACK OPS!
"...Now you're catching on." He smiled a small, humorless smile as he saw the expression on my face.
"So I take it you are leading this little initiative?" I tried to keep my voice level.
He nodded. "Hawks orders...and before you go and get yourself court marshaled for screaming at a General, he is also following orders from higher up...and 'I' was the one who asked for you."
"You know how I feel about..."
"...yes, yes...but I also know you are going to keep an eye out for trouble. I know you aren't going to let us get screwed and I know you are going to get all these men back in one piece."
I didn't answer him. He knew that I would do what I was told. I always follow orders, no matter how insane, no matter how bad...I follow orders and I give it my all.
He smiled at me, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.
"...Stop glowering, Dash. You know you love this shit. You live for this kind of action. Would you rather be pushing paper back at HQ?"
At that I snorted at him, not willing to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had won the argument, and turned to check on the men.
He is right, of course. I do love it. There are parts of it I could do without for certain, but for the most part it is this kind of challenge that keeps me in the forces. I live for adventure!
But that doesn't mean I have to be nice about it.
In fact, just before we reached the drop zone I snapped at Anderson. He was busy telling us that the mission was going to be a piece of cake...to which I shot back that if it was such light stuff why wasn't he coming with us. He of course replied that he was not a field op.
"Then don't be telling us how EASY our job's going to be"
Damn, I hate CIA.
In any case, I am now camped for the night in the middle of the jungle, deep in enemy territory...no fire, cold rations only, and noise discipline.
We did a low altitude drop into the area earlier in the day, and have spent the last eight hours trudging through dense foliage. Jungle terrain provides excellent concealment and great cover, but the trade off is that it makes movement slow and noisy while reducing visibility drastically.
It is the perfect place for an ambush.
I had the men spread out and form a security circle immediately after our feet touched the ground, tightening up the formation once we hit the tree line. I gave Beachhead the point and Leatherneck took the drag position, placing myself in the middle where I could keep track of everything and everyone.
It was slow going, but we managed to make good time despite the thick vegetation that impeded our every move. We were very, very far from civilization...the only village we came upon wasn't even on the map Anderson gave us. When we spotted the huts I immediately ordered the men to approach it from behind, not trusting the intel that the CIA agent had given us. In the end it turned out to be a false alarm. The village was uninhabited...its people the victims of one of Pol Pots re-education initiatives if the skulls half buried behind one of the huts was any indication.
At least that explained why it wasn't on the map.
Right now we are camped about two hours south of our planned ambush site. There is no use continuing on until dawn...the lack of light combined with the terrain make the risk of injury too great.
Not to mention the men need to rest and recover their strength.
From the grumbling I hear among them, I know that they are about as suspicious about this whole deal as I am. Even Lowlight, who is usually so quiet came up and told me, point blank, that he thought Anderson was setting us up for a fall.
I didn't disagree with him, but I couldn't have my soldiers balking this late in the game.
"That's all probably true...but we're the guys who signed up to do the dirty work, so lets get on with it. We have our orders..." I barked and that was the end of the discussion.
Duke has taught me well.
So here I sit, trying to write a bit in this journal by the soft red glow of the setting sun. Soon there won't be enough light to see my hand in front of my face. I am itchy and uncomfortable, but at least I am off my feet for a while.
One thing about the jungle, as beautiful as it is, as awe inspiring from afar...it is a hot, sticky, wet, insect infested nightmare for a soldier. It didn't help that we all had to be decked out in full combat cammies and any sort of insect repellant, soap or deodorant was strictly off limits. Its no use being sneaky if the enemy can smell you coming.
At least the garlic pills are keeping the annoyance to a minimum.
I wonder if my brother Tom was in a similar situation when he was fighting in neighboring Vietnam. I wonder if he hiked through the hot sun, through leech-infested bogs and animal trails riddled with booby traps on orders he knew were an exercise in futility? What did he think about at night when his unit finally made camp? Did he worry about the fight ahead? Did he complain about the disgusting taste of the rations? Did he worry about his men? Was he afraid? Angry? Frustrated? Or did he revel in the action and danger?
Did he know he was going to die there?
If he had known, would he have cared? Would he have done his duty no matter what the odds stacked against him?
They tell me he died a hero...went down getting his men to safety after they were surprised by the enemy outside of Danang. Do you think my father would be proud of me if I died a hero like Tom?
Well, Tom...wherever you are I hope you are watching over your little brother who looks and acts so much like you. Making dad proud or not, I would sure as hell like to make it out of here alive with all my men accounted for.
I had better eat some of my freeze-dried rations and get some sleep. I have to be on top of things tomorrow. I have a very bad feeling about this...and I have learned over time to trust my gut. If it were up to me I would call this off right now and send my men to back to the US base in Thailand and safety.
Lowlight is right to ask why the CIA didn't keep this op inside their own shop. They only use grunts like us for the no win, suicide missions that they want to keep under the table.
Yeah...if it were up to me I would be out of here. I am not a coward...but I don't like being used.
Only thing is...I have no choice