On Distant Shores (Exiles Triology Book 1) (4 page)

The individual team offices were at the back of the first floor.  Communications, Personnel, and Intel were on the second floor.  There was another floor, a basement, which had storage for all of the teams.  This was also where supply worked.  Extra equipment for operations was kept there, as well as equipment that was used to replace combat and field loss items.  There was a small gym.  The armory, for the storage of weapons and munitions was there.  There was also a small shooting range for the armorers and gunsmiths, well ventilated, so that they could tune up the weapons for the operators.

“But Chief, that is the only one in the past five years that has been shot,” Everett replied.  “No other team has killed a civilian target.”

Rob was enjoying the fact that the pressure was off of him.  It didn’t matter that Mike shot consistently high scores on the range, or in the tire house.  What did matter was that his stray bullet creased the head of one of the civilian targets in the tire house.  Because of that, until somebody else did it, or worse, shot one of the civilian targets between the eyes, Mike would be labeled as the guy who shot civilians.  Of course everybody knew that it was B.S., but they all enjoyed watching Mike squirm. 

“That’s it, we’re going to the range today.  Pistols, and the loser buys the beer after work,” Mike threw down the gauntlet.

The guys nodded and said hello to various people they knew as they walked.  They arrived at the secure door of the team room, punched in the combination, and walked in.  The team room was comprised of five rooms.  A main room with a few chairs and couches for the team to sit in, with a TV and a regular size refrigerator.  There was a smaller room with lockers for all of the team.  There was an office for the team leader, Captain Bostak, and Mike, the team Executive Officer, or XO.  Everett, as the team sergeant, had his own office with two extra desks in the room so that the rest of the team could come in, sit down, and catch up on email and the Intel packets that the Intel section sent out.  There was a larger room with equipment lockers for team equipment.  The guns and munitions were kept down in the basement in the locked cage area, in a large safe.  Normally, in a conventional unit, there was no way that munitions would be held on site.  This organization had to be able to stand up for operations within twelve hours.  They had special dispensation to keep munitions on site.

SFC D’Inazio and SSG Thomas Milkin were in the team room.  Tom was one of the snipers and weapons specialists for the team.  He was skinny compared to the rest of the team, as tall as Mike, curly blond hair.  He was murder with a long gun.  He was famous for the long distances that he could reach out and touch someone with a rifle, either the Barrett .50 caliber, or the Desert Tactical SRS .338 Lapua.

The rest of the team was still on leave.  The team was comprised of twelve team members.  The Team Commander, the XO, and the Team Sergeant comprised the command element.  The enlisted positions were two weapons specialists, two explosives specialists, two communications specialists, two medics, and one Intel specialist.  MSG Calhoun grew up in Special Forces as a weapons specialist, and was trained in an additional military specialty as an explosives expert.  Everybody was crossed trained in each other’s specialties.

Currently, this team was on Red Status.  The teams, six of them on Fort Carson, operated in Red, Amber, and Green.  Red was down time, used for leave, medical and dental appointments, paperwork.  It was also used for maintenance on all weapons, electronics, and equipment.  Med bags and go bags were restocked to ensure that the team was mission capable.  It also ensured that the teams got to spend time with their families.  Amber was for training status, and green was when the team was actually out doing missions.  Amber and Green sometimes blurred together, depending on what the operational requirements were.  Command tried to keep the Red down time sacrosanct, but it didn’t always happen. 

Special Operations had the highest divorce rate in the military, especially after 9/11.  It was unfortunate that many families couldn’t cope with the sacrifices made by the men and women in Spec Ops.  Mike prayed every day that he and Jo would be the statistical error that crept by, that they would be the family that made it.  He prayed every day that he and Jo would grow old together, watch their children grow up and have kids of their own.  He knew that the odds were against them, though.

“Hey, we’re going to the gun range.  Pistols, and the low score buys,” Rob announced to Mickey and Tom.

Tom turned to Mike, “He still gets you going about that accidental head shot, doesn’t he?”

Mickey, knowing this joke from long experience, joined in.  “Look, I agree with Mike, I think she was a collaborator.  She had that look on her face.  Besides, it was a graze.  She would have lived.”

Mike nodded, “Exactly what I was saying.  She was a collaborator.  Plus, after she was grazed by the top operators in the world, she would have repented her dirty collaborator ways, and gotten out of the business.”

Everett stepped in, “What business is that?”

A chorus of voices replied, “The bad guy business.”  “The long dirt nap business.”  “The ‘becoming room temperature’ business.”

Mickey chimed in, “The ‘oh shit, Mike shot me’ business.”

Mike replied, “Screw you guys.”

That brought out the grins on everybody’s faces.  Mike flipped the bird, turned and went into his office.  He sat down, entered his login and password, and waited for the machine to go through the login procedures.

              Mike started going through the emails, piled up in his in-box.  There were the usual Intel dumps.  There were emails from S1, personnel, and a few from S4, logistics.  He had an email from Major Salk, the squadron executive officer.  He read the email, sighed, stood up and walked into the team room.

              Mickey looked up as Mike walked across the room.  Mickey was sitting at a table with open boxes that contained medical supplies.  There were three medic bags next to the table, in line for inspection, and one on the table with its supplies laid out.  The other three team members were in Everett’s office on the computers.

              “What’s up?” Mickey asked, as Mike walked by.

              “I have to go talk to the XO.”

              Mickey nodded and kept inventorying the medical bag that he was digging through.  Every now and then he would pull some medical supplies from one of the boxes on the table in front of him, and add it to the bag, until he was satisfied that all of the supplies that were on the printed inventory were, in fact, in the bag.

              Mike walked out of the team room into the hallway.  People were walking through the hallways, some on personal missions, some with supplies, some just talking or joking as they walked.  Someone mentioned North Korea.

             
“That was someone else’s problem,”
he thought.  His team operated in South and Central America.  They all spoke fluent Spanish, with the help of Rob, who grilled them constantly to ensure that they could nominally blend in.  Their Intel sergeant, Sergeant First Class Evans, spoke Arabic and Farsi as well.  Their problem set dealt with the growing influence of Hezbollah in the tri-border region of Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay,the nexus of Iran working with Venezuela, and the possibility of missiles being moved from Iran to Venezuela.Now there was a growing possibility that ISIS might be working south of the border as well.  This kept the team busy, and made life very interesting for them.  The possibilities of Hezbollah working with the drug cartels in the Sonora and Chihuahua states was increasing their workload.  It’s all fun and games until somebody slips Nuclear, Biological or Chemical supplies in across the southern border for attacks against a major metropolitan area in the United States.

              Mike walked to the Squadron command group.  SSG Bob Cooper was there with a cast and sling on his arm.  SSG Cooper was shot on mission two months back.  He would have been back to work, but the bullet hit bone, and it was taking longer than he appreciated to get back to one hundred percent.  His team had deployed on mission without him, and he was doing time in the command group until his arm was one hundred percent.

              “Hey Chief, how’s it going,” SSG Cooper asked.

              “Pretty good.  How’s the arm feeling today,” Mike asked.

              “It’s doing okay.  Hurts every now and again, but at least I’m vertical,” he replied.

              “You might want to think about dodging next time.  Remember, the first action is, ‘Seek Cover.’”

              “Well Chief, this isn’t exactly dodge ball.”

              Mike smiled and said, “Well, if you can dodge a bullet, you can dodge a ball.”

              SSG Cooper shook his head, “you’re so lucky that you’re married, because most women can’t stand that level of geek.”

              Mike chuckled, “That’s nerd to you, brother.”

              “What are you here for, Chief?” SSG Cooper asked.

              “I got a message from the XO to see him.  Is he in?” Mike asked.

              “Yeah, I think he’s still in.  Let me check.”

              SSG Cooper walked back to the office.  “Sir, Chief Duggins is here to see you.”

              Mike heard a muffled reply.  SSG Cooper waved him back to the office.  As he walked by he said, “Yeah, go on in Chief, he’s waiting for you.”

              Mike walked back to the XO’s office.  It was filled with pictures of Major Salk’s family, and men that the Major had worked with throughout his career.  There were small mementoes from the various parts of the world that he had worked in.  There were a lot of challenge coins displayed on his desk as well.  The Major was sitting, looking at paperwork on his desk.  Evidently he was satisfied with what he saw.  He put his signature on the paper and then set it aside.

              “Hey Mike, how’s it going?”  Major Gary Salk waved Mike into the office and motioned to one of the chairs.

              “It’s going pretty good, Sir, how are you doing?  How’s Rose doing?” Mike asked.

              “She’s doing fairly well.  She took the news about her mom pretty hard.  Judy was a young woman.” CPT Salk replied.

              Rose was Major Salk’s wife.  Her mother passed away suddenly, and sheflew home two days ago.  Major Salk was going to fly to Minnesota tomorrow to help his wife and her family.  He had to wait three extra days because LTC Bretscif, the Squadron Commander, had been at a conference in Washington D.C., and was returning tomorrow.

              Rose called Jo when it happened, and Jo went over to talk to her.  Judy was fifty-nine years old when she passed, and Rose had taken it pretty hard.  Jo and Rose were really good friends, which ensured that Rose and Gary were often guests over at Mike’s house and Mike and Jo were often guests over at their house, despite the rank difference. 

              “How’s Jo doing?” Major Salk asked.

              Mike nodded, “She’s doing great.  The first trimester was rough, with the morning sickness, but she’s doing better now.  We have the first ultra sound in two weeks.”

              Major Salk winced, then sighed, knowing that Mike would like what he was going to say, “I hate to tell you this, but you may not be there for the ultra sound.  I hope the Geek Squad is good for a quick mission.”

              He used that nickname because of their special assignment.  Mike’s team worked with the Western Zone Nuclear Emergency Support Teams.  Technically, they were black ops for the Special Operations Command.His team, and this entire flight, had special skills, when compared to the other Spec Ops teams.  Captain Bostak had a BS in Physics.  SSG Torres had a BS in structural engineering, and was a member of Mensa.  SSG Shawn Phillips, the other explosives expert on the team, had a BS in electronics.  Mike had a Master’s degree in mathematics.  Mickey had a BS in biochemistry.  Most of the guys on the team scored extremely high on their Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, or ASVAB.  Their scores on the General Test grade were anywhere from 135 to 146, the highest you could get on the GT score.  While they couldn’t design a nuclear bomb, they had a damn good chance of ensuring that it never went off.

              Mike’s face didn’t show any emotion at the pronouncement that he might not be there for the ultra sound, “We’re all doing pretty good.  Everybody is itching to get back to work.”

              Major Salk nodded, “Well, I have a special assignment for your team until everybody gets back off of leave.  You guys caught a, ‘hey you,’ assignment.”

              “What’s up?” Mike asked.

              “We have a special request that we think, well, know that only your team can fill.” Major Salk replied.  “There is a special request that requires a Top Secret clearance, Department of Energy clearance, and an infantry background.”

              Mike’s face screwed up at requirements.  He came from the infantry, and in fact, joined the infantry because his dad was infantry in Vietnam, his granddad was infantry in World War II and Korea, and he joined because he wanted to fulfill the tradition of his family.  He had volunteered for infantry school, airborne school, and the Ranger indoctrination program, or RIP.  He spent his first three years in Ranger Battalion, then went to the 82
nd
Infantry afterwards.  But it was a strange request for a job that also included Top Secret and Department of Energy security clearances.