Turnabout
Chapter 4- Insertion
1135 hours, local time
Silence dominated the staging area as the four SEALs checked their weapons and other gear. Each man was embroiled in his own thoughts, striving to comprehend the orders they'd just been given. Going into hostile territory was not a foreign idea to the warriors gathered here, but going into hostile territory to extract a defector was something totally different. Especially when they were given a "Do not engage" order. Torpedo looked around at his crew and was rewarded with a huge grin from Shipwreck. Nothing fazes that guy, he thought.
"I can't even remember my last HALO drop, Chief," Shipwreck said. "I hope it's like riding a bike," he added with a chuckle.
"If you forget how to do it, the ground will break your fall," Wet Suit chimed in.
Depth Charge looked up from his MP-5 and said, "Don't worry, Shipwreck. I'll catch you. You won't get out of buying me a beer that easily." He winked at the older sailor and received a scowl in response. He laughed out loud, and Wet Suit followed his lead. Shipwreck seemed less than amused, but then couldn't contain his laughter either.
"Kid, don't hold your breath waiting on that old salty dog," Torpedo said sarcastically. "He owes the entire PIT at least a round, but more likely a keg apiece."
The older sailor flushed deep red and spluttered, "But, Chief, I. I'll get around to it." He held up his middle finger. "Scout's honor!" The gesture caused a renewed round of laughter, which the SEALs needed to divert their attention from the perils of the upcoming mission. After a few minutes of good-natured ribbing, the soldiers brought themselves back under control and focused on the mission again. They checked each other's High Altitude Precision Parachute System (HAPPS) rigs, and made sure their oxygen supplies were full. The most important aspect of the HAPPS rig are the multiple attachment points for the 150-plus pounds of gear each soldier would carry. Torpedo re-checked every sailor's gear, including his own, and was well satisfied that all was in order. After ensuring their rucksacks were secured to the parachute packs, each man suited up. While they were doing so, Torpedo's wrist comm sounded.
"Torpedo here," he said.
"Transport leaves in ten," Lieutenant Tomlinson said.
"We're on our way," Torpedo replied. Turning to his teammates, he said, "You heard the man, Joes. Let's rock."
The other three SEALs grabbed the remainder of their gear and started for the door. As they trundled towards the tarmac, Depth Charge winked at Wet Suit, chuckled and said, "Boy, an ice-cold beer sure would go down well right now."
Wet Suit, doing a passable impersonation of Shipwreck, replied, "Don't worry. Drinks're on me when we get back!" Both men burst into laughter, and Torpedo smiled at the look on Shipwreck's face. The bearded sailor grimaced, shook his head, and chuckled along with his teammates, knowing he'd been bested.
The sailors hustled out onto the tarmac, double-timing it for the gigantic Hercules transport plane that was idling nearby. They ran up the rear ramp and quickly secured themselves in the cargo area. The men were all peaking on adrenaline, each one absorbed in his own pre-mission rituals.
For Torpedo, it was an MP3 loaded with Elvis tunes. Shipwreck preferred to sharpen his dive knife and re-check his gear. Wet Suit pulled out a worn copy of Homer's Iliad, flicked to the middle, and set to reading while Depth Charge reached into his rucksack and removed his pad and pencil.
Lieutenant Tomlinson's deep baritone came out of the loudspeaker, saying, "Welcome aboard Air Force flight 666, bound for parts unknown. No in- flight movie or drinks tonight, gentlemen. This is strictly business. We'll be lifting off momentarily, and we should be arriving over the drop point at about 0127 local time. Make yourselves comfortable, boys. We'll be there in no time."
The Joes glanced at each other and smiled, each one now ready for the mission in front of them. Torpedo walked amongst the men, making sure that each was strapped in, connected to the plane's oxygen lines, and had a working intercom connection. He got a thumbs up from each man. Before he strapped into his own seat, he checked his green oxygen bottle's gauge to make sure it was fully charged. Once he was satisfied all was in order, he keyed his microphone and said, "All set back here, Lieutenant Tomlinson."
When the aircraft started taxiing towards the runway, he reached up, turned off the incandescent lighting, and threw the switch that bathed the interior of the transport with special red night-vision lighting, giving the compartment and the men inside it an eerie glow.
As the plane made the runway, Lieutenant Tomlinson's voice sounded over Torpedo's intercom, asking, "Ready to go, Chief?"
"We're ready to roll, Lieutenant."
Once the aircraft cleared the ground and the landing gear retracted with a loud clunk, Torpedo and the others out their game faces on. He still had a bad feeling about this mission, but like a good sailor, he would follow his orders to the letter and see this mission to its end.
**********
005 hours, inside Iraq
Destro stalked the halls of the bunker like a caged animal. Anastasia watched him coolly, her heels up on the table in front of her. He was obviously angry, and she knew more than just the current mission was on his mind. "James, you're going to burn a hole in the soles of your boots doing that", she said.
He whirled to face her, and closed the distance between them with two long strides. His mask set in a scowl, he slammed his fists on the table, splintering it and almost causing the Baroness to fall from her chair. She caught herself before her chair tilted backwards, and scrambled to her feet, looking indignant. "JAMES!" she yelled, "What is wrong with you?"
"ME??? You deign to think there is something wrong with ME?" he snarled. "The problem lies with you, my dear Anastasia. Or are you going to tell me the shudders you've been having at the sight of me are due to something other than revulsion?"
She had intended to feign ignorance, but she knew this would only further James' ire. Repressing a sigh, she drew herself up to her full height and met his intense stare. Just as she began to speak, Destro's comm-link burst into life, Scrap Iron's gravelly voice advising him their agent at Incirlik just reported in, and that the Joes were now airborne.
Destro's cold gaze never left the Baroness' own, but instead of speaking, she turned her head and attempted to walk away. "ANASTASIA!" he roared, grabbing her arm before she could move farther away. "DO NOT TURN AWAY FROM ME AGAIN!" He pulled her closer to him, his nose mere millimeters from hers. She noticed his eyes were afire with anger, hurt, and confusion.
"James, you're.hurting.me," she said as she struggled to break his steely grip. "You.are.breaking.my.arm!" she exclaimed in a rush as she finally broke free. "What has gotten into you?"
Destro merely hung his head in shame, his open hands held palm-up in front of him. "What have I done?" he whispered. The Baroness massaged her upper arm and stepped closer to the man she loved. She reached out her hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder. When he finally looked up, she was startled to see a smile on his face.
"Your softness for me will yet be your undoing, my dear," he sneered at her. "Let us talk about this, shall we?" he laughed cruelly as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "We have some time."
**********
0117 hours, over Iraqi airspace
"Gentlemen, we're forty miles out from the drop zone, ETA ten minutes," Tomlinson's voice spoke in all their ears.
"You heard the man, sailors. Check your O2. It's almost showtime," Torpedo said to his crew. Each Joe disconnected form the ship's oxygen supply and turned on their own system, then lined up at the back ramp, Torpedo taking the lead, next Wet Suit, Shipwreck, and Depth Charge bringing up the rear.
Torpedo motioned the sailors together and tapped his watch, signaling he wanted synchronization in three. two. one. The Joes synched their timepieces and formed up for the drop. A chill filled the air as the cargo hold started to depressurize when the ramp descended. Each warrior glanced up at the indicator light, waiting for the signal to jump.
The light flipped to green at precisely 0127 hours, and Torpedo was first out the door. Wet Suit turned to the remaining two sailors, flipped them a double bird, and fell backwards out of the transport. Shipwreck flashed a smile at Depth Charge, who looked shocked at Wet Suit's behavior, clapped the younger soldier on the back, and jumped. Depth Charge shook his head ruefully, said a little prayer, and followed Shipwreck into the inky blackness.
Approximately sixteen minutes later, Torpedo and his crew had safely touched down within a mile of their objective.
**********
0140 hours, just outside the drop zone
Destro was anxious. He knew that he had to beat the Joes to the traitor, but he had to rely on them to get him close enough to swoop in and steal victory from their grasp. He was wondering how he was going to do that when his communicator pinged softly at him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I've spotted the Joes inbound. They appear to be coming down about two kliks away from our current position," Scrap Iron said. "The closest settlement to them is Sinjar, just off the border. Looks like you were right."
"Of course. Did you expect anything different?"
"Nothing like a bit of modesty."
Destro ignored the jibe and said, "Let the Joes land safely and lead us to our quarry. Do not let them out of your sight. The fate of this mission depends on that. Destro out."
"Not a problem, Destro. Scrap Iron out."
A slow grin spread across James McCullen Destro's face. He turned to the Baroness, held out his hand, and said, "We are summoned, my dear."
Anastasia looked at him, fear etched on her features, then reached out for his hand.
To be continued.
Chapter 4- Insertion
1135 hours, local time
Silence dominated the staging area as the four SEALs checked their weapons and other gear. Each man was embroiled in his own thoughts, striving to comprehend the orders they'd just been given. Going into hostile territory was not a foreign idea to the warriors gathered here, but going into hostile territory to extract a defector was something totally different. Especially when they were given a "Do not engage" order. Torpedo looked around at his crew and was rewarded with a huge grin from Shipwreck. Nothing fazes that guy, he thought.
"I can't even remember my last HALO drop, Chief," Shipwreck said. "I hope it's like riding a bike," he added with a chuckle.
"If you forget how to do it, the ground will break your fall," Wet Suit chimed in.
Depth Charge looked up from his MP-5 and said, "Don't worry, Shipwreck. I'll catch you. You won't get out of buying me a beer that easily." He winked at the older sailor and received a scowl in response. He laughed out loud, and Wet Suit followed his lead. Shipwreck seemed less than amused, but then couldn't contain his laughter either.
"Kid, don't hold your breath waiting on that old salty dog," Torpedo said sarcastically. "He owes the entire PIT at least a round, but more likely a keg apiece."
The older sailor flushed deep red and spluttered, "But, Chief, I. I'll get around to it." He held up his middle finger. "Scout's honor!" The gesture caused a renewed round of laughter, which the SEALs needed to divert their attention from the perils of the upcoming mission. After a few minutes of good-natured ribbing, the soldiers brought themselves back under control and focused on the mission again. They checked each other's High Altitude Precision Parachute System (HAPPS) rigs, and made sure their oxygen supplies were full. The most important aspect of the HAPPS rig are the multiple attachment points for the 150-plus pounds of gear each soldier would carry. Torpedo re-checked every sailor's gear, including his own, and was well satisfied that all was in order. After ensuring their rucksacks were secured to the parachute packs, each man suited up. While they were doing so, Torpedo's wrist comm sounded.
"Torpedo here," he said.
"Transport leaves in ten," Lieutenant Tomlinson said.
"We're on our way," Torpedo replied. Turning to his teammates, he said, "You heard the man, Joes. Let's rock."
The other three SEALs grabbed the remainder of their gear and started for the door. As they trundled towards the tarmac, Depth Charge winked at Wet Suit, chuckled and said, "Boy, an ice-cold beer sure would go down well right now."
Wet Suit, doing a passable impersonation of Shipwreck, replied, "Don't worry. Drinks're on me when we get back!" Both men burst into laughter, and Torpedo smiled at the look on Shipwreck's face. The bearded sailor grimaced, shook his head, and chuckled along with his teammates, knowing he'd been bested.
The sailors hustled out onto the tarmac, double-timing it for the gigantic Hercules transport plane that was idling nearby. They ran up the rear ramp and quickly secured themselves in the cargo area. The men were all peaking on adrenaline, each one absorbed in his own pre-mission rituals.
For Torpedo, it was an MP3 loaded with Elvis tunes. Shipwreck preferred to sharpen his dive knife and re-check his gear. Wet Suit pulled out a worn copy of Homer's Iliad, flicked to the middle, and set to reading while Depth Charge reached into his rucksack and removed his pad and pencil.
Lieutenant Tomlinson's deep baritone came out of the loudspeaker, saying, "Welcome aboard Air Force flight 666, bound for parts unknown. No in- flight movie or drinks tonight, gentlemen. This is strictly business. We'll be lifting off momentarily, and we should be arriving over the drop point at about 0127 local time. Make yourselves comfortable, boys. We'll be there in no time."
The Joes glanced at each other and smiled, each one now ready for the mission in front of them. Torpedo walked amongst the men, making sure that each was strapped in, connected to the plane's oxygen lines, and had a working intercom connection. He got a thumbs up from each man. Before he strapped into his own seat, he checked his green oxygen bottle's gauge to make sure it was fully charged. Once he was satisfied all was in order, he keyed his microphone and said, "All set back here, Lieutenant Tomlinson."
When the aircraft started taxiing towards the runway, he reached up, turned off the incandescent lighting, and threw the switch that bathed the interior of the transport with special red night-vision lighting, giving the compartment and the men inside it an eerie glow.
As the plane made the runway, Lieutenant Tomlinson's voice sounded over Torpedo's intercom, asking, "Ready to go, Chief?"
"We're ready to roll, Lieutenant."
Once the aircraft cleared the ground and the landing gear retracted with a loud clunk, Torpedo and the others out their game faces on. He still had a bad feeling about this mission, but like a good sailor, he would follow his orders to the letter and see this mission to its end.
**********
005 hours, inside Iraq
Destro stalked the halls of the bunker like a caged animal. Anastasia watched him coolly, her heels up on the table in front of her. He was obviously angry, and she knew more than just the current mission was on his mind. "James, you're going to burn a hole in the soles of your boots doing that", she said.
He whirled to face her, and closed the distance between them with two long strides. His mask set in a scowl, he slammed his fists on the table, splintering it and almost causing the Baroness to fall from her chair. She caught herself before her chair tilted backwards, and scrambled to her feet, looking indignant. "JAMES!" she yelled, "What is wrong with you?"
"ME??? You deign to think there is something wrong with ME?" he snarled. "The problem lies with you, my dear Anastasia. Or are you going to tell me the shudders you've been having at the sight of me are due to something other than revulsion?"
She had intended to feign ignorance, but she knew this would only further James' ire. Repressing a sigh, she drew herself up to her full height and met his intense stare. Just as she began to speak, Destro's comm-link burst into life, Scrap Iron's gravelly voice advising him their agent at Incirlik just reported in, and that the Joes were now airborne.
Destro's cold gaze never left the Baroness' own, but instead of speaking, she turned her head and attempted to walk away. "ANASTASIA!" he roared, grabbing her arm before she could move farther away. "DO NOT TURN AWAY FROM ME AGAIN!" He pulled her closer to him, his nose mere millimeters from hers. She noticed his eyes were afire with anger, hurt, and confusion.
"James, you're.hurting.me," she said as she struggled to break his steely grip. "You.are.breaking.my.arm!" she exclaimed in a rush as she finally broke free. "What has gotten into you?"
Destro merely hung his head in shame, his open hands held palm-up in front of him. "What have I done?" he whispered. The Baroness massaged her upper arm and stepped closer to the man she loved. She reached out her hand and touched him lightly on the shoulder. When he finally looked up, she was startled to see a smile on his face.
"Your softness for me will yet be your undoing, my dear," he sneered at her. "Let us talk about this, shall we?" he laughed cruelly as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "We have some time."
**********
0117 hours, over Iraqi airspace
"Gentlemen, we're forty miles out from the drop zone, ETA ten minutes," Tomlinson's voice spoke in all their ears.
"You heard the man, sailors. Check your O2. It's almost showtime," Torpedo said to his crew. Each Joe disconnected form the ship's oxygen supply and turned on their own system, then lined up at the back ramp, Torpedo taking the lead, next Wet Suit, Shipwreck, and Depth Charge bringing up the rear.
Torpedo motioned the sailors together and tapped his watch, signaling he wanted synchronization in three. two. one. The Joes synched their timepieces and formed up for the drop. A chill filled the air as the cargo hold started to depressurize when the ramp descended. Each warrior glanced up at the indicator light, waiting for the signal to jump.
The light flipped to green at precisely 0127 hours, and Torpedo was first out the door. Wet Suit turned to the remaining two sailors, flipped them a double bird, and fell backwards out of the transport. Shipwreck flashed a smile at Depth Charge, who looked shocked at Wet Suit's behavior, clapped the younger soldier on the back, and jumped. Depth Charge shook his head ruefully, said a little prayer, and followed Shipwreck into the inky blackness.
Approximately sixteen minutes later, Torpedo and his crew had safely touched down within a mile of their objective.
**********
0140 hours, just outside the drop zone
Destro was anxious. He knew that he had to beat the Joes to the traitor, but he had to rely on them to get him close enough to swoop in and steal victory from their grasp. He was wondering how he was going to do that when his communicator pinged softly at him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I've spotted the Joes inbound. They appear to be coming down about two kliks away from our current position," Scrap Iron said. "The closest settlement to them is Sinjar, just off the border. Looks like you were right."
"Of course. Did you expect anything different?"
"Nothing like a bit of modesty."
Destro ignored the jibe and said, "Let the Joes land safely and lead us to our quarry. Do not let them out of your sight. The fate of this mission depends on that. Destro out."
"Not a problem, Destro. Scrap Iron out."
A slow grin spread across James McCullen Destro's face. He turned to the Baroness, held out his hand, and said, "We are summoned, my dear."
Anastasia looked at him, fear etched on her features, then reached out for his hand.
To be continued.
