Power Games: Operation Enduring Unity I (35 page)

3 April: 1500

Three federal MRAP 4x4 trucks coasted lazily along Estero Blvd. Thirteen soldiers on board scanned their sectors just as casually. Between the stunning view of the Gulf Coast a hundred yards away and the bikini-clad girls playing volleyball, they were far from alert. Their “patrol” was more in an armed Baywatch style than the expected wet version of Iraq. Which suited the men just fine.

The lead truck’s gunner enjoyed the best view. “Dude, all these years I bitched about the Army sending me to shitty, dusty places. I always hoped we’d invade somewhere with a beach! I just joined the Service too soon.”

His driver was equally impressed, but less enthused. “Except that these are fucking Americans, man. I got an aunt who lives in some retirement village around here. How crazy is this shit?”

“What ain’t crazy about the military? At least this time the craziness is hot…” Their sergeant lost track of his thought as he admired some hot pants wearing chicks rollerblading past them and waving.

Seemed a lot of people around here had respect for the US Army. Just as many flashed thumbs up at them everywhere they went as glared with unshielded hatred. Of course, the majority in this town didn’t give a damn one way or the other. Things were way different farther north, where the real combat took place, but down here, you felt on vacation rather than on duty.

The gunner stuck his head into the truck. “No bullshit, Sergeant, how long you think we can milk this? How long until they send us to the front?”

“Hell if I know. I am but a mushroom. Same as you. Kept in the dark and fed shit.”

The know-it-all driver already had everything worked out. “As soon as they figure out where the ‘front’ is. Remember Kansas? They were staging a whole shitload of gear and troops there when the state just upped and joined this ‘New America’ thing. No referendum, no speech making, just called out their Guard and closed the border to everyone except those Western militias.

“Most of the armored vehicles and heavy equipment were surrendered in exchange for allowing the trapped troops to leave unharmed. It was a huge disaster, and all over the real news. We lost, like, a division or so of gear without hardly firing a shot. How do you invade a country that has no fixed border?”

“Yeah, I heard about that, but you forgot about all the guys that didn’t leave. Even the liberal news outlets admitted that thousands stayed behind and joined the enemy.”

The sergeant’s voice cut in with deadly seriousness. “It’s best to forget about them. Nothing good can come from discussing this. You hear about these desertions all over the country…but they’ll start cracking down on them at some point. I don’t mean a slap on the wrist either; I’m talking real bad shit.”

The new specialist in the back finally pitched into the conversation. “I know what you mean, Sergeant. In my last unit, they were chaptering people out of the Army left and right. Make one joke that some officer takes the wrong way and you’re gone.” He snapped his fingers and laughed. “I’ve never seen anything like it. There used to be no way out of the military once you raised your right arm, and now people have to fight tooth and nail to stay in!”

He suddenly stopped laughing. “At first, I mean, that’s all they did. Just kick you out. The day before I was transferred here I heard about some rough shit going down.”

Everyone was all ears. “A bunch of guys being kicked out hit up the armory on their last night. Made off with most of a company’s worth of small arms and machine guns. No one knows if they went out west or what. Several guys still on active duty were arrested for ‘aiding and abetting the enemy.’ The colonel even talked about executing the highest-ranking one! I transferred out the next day, but I hear the whole base is on lockdown still. No one can trust anyone there.”

The driver’s voice oozed skepticism. “I didn’t hear about that and I read every issue of the Army Times cover to cover.”

The sergeant threw up both hands. “A lot of stuff gets conveniently left out of the Times. It used to be pretty good, mostly independent, even if cheesy. In the last couple of weeks though, Christ, it’s like some propaganda piece out of World War Two.”

“How fucking old
are
you, Sergeant?”

The NCO bit off a comment about being old enough to knock up the driver’s mother. He had to get these dumbasses to pay attention. As usual, they weren’t taking things seriously enough.

“Listen, I believe him. All the higher ups are nervous as hell and suspicious of every damn little thing. As I said, you should watch what you say. Speak your mind around me; I don’t give a shit. I think you’re all idiots anyway, but remember, these are ultra-sensitive issues with the officer folk.”

The driver spit out the window. “You are what you lead, boss!”

The NCO reached over the radio mount between them and playfully punched his helmet. “Shit, they’re wasting money with these new loyalty tests nowadays. What we really need are IQ tests!”

The driver flipped him the bird. “Seriously, Sergeant. Think about it. What
they’re
doing is stupid, even by the Army’s low standards. Just let these bitches go if they want to puss out.”

The new guy was the thoughtful type. “Most of them aren’t chicken, really. I know at least one of them pretty good. He was a real badass. Even got a Silver Star back in Helmand. When Big Army started these loyalty tests, he just went AWOL and drove back home to Idaho the day they joined California’s new government stunt. He emailed me after he enlisted in their ‘Army.’ They gave him an immediate promotion to staff sergeant and now he’s a damn drill instructor. He has a class of a hundred civilians that he’s turning into soldiers. Say what you will about his politics, but he’s got guts. That’s no pussy.”

The gunner hollered down the hatch. “Speaking of pussy, when are we going to get a chance to mingle with the locals, hmm? Try to win some hearts and ass.”

“It’s hearts and minds, dipshit.”

“Believe me bro; I ain’t picky about her mind!” Even the uptight new guy laughed.

Their NCO took one last look around the peaceful, idyllic beach island. “Maybe we ought to mosey our way back to the FOB.” He radioed the rest of the section.

“Alright, boys, let’s head on back to Naples.” The horny soldier above him moaned. The NCO grinned and added a quick FRAGO. “On second thought, let’s grab a bite to eat along the way and do some ‘relationship building’ with the natives.” The gunner clapped him on the back and hooted.

It didn’t take long for the hulking armored trucks to get off the island. After the dense beach district traffic, the two-lane causeway heading towards the mainland felt wide open. The convoy crossed a bridge and roared onto an even smaller sandbar called Lovers Key State Park. What a beautiful name for such a terrible place.

A few seconds after crossing the bridge they saw something that made them slam their brakes hard. A 10-foot gator lay sunning itself in the middle of the road. None of these fellows had ever seen one before. This was Florida after all, but still…

Novelty spooks a professional soldier like a break in routine puts a dog on edge. The NCO barked immediately over the radio. “Watch your spacing. Crew served’s: give me 360°. Dismounts out and do your 5 x 25’s, over.”

The convoy took up defensive positions without further discussion. Those soldiers that weren’t driving or manning a “crew served” machine gun got out in pairs and began searching for threats. The “5x25” system is, by now, a basic counter-insurgency tactic. One soldier would take a knee and cover his partner. The other man advanced in five-meter increments, scanning intently his immediate vicinity for signs of IED’s, until he got 25 meters away from the vehicle. The whole effort seemed incredibly out of place in this vacation retreat, but SOP was SOP. No matter how ridiculous.

Even after each element reported clear and any possible moment of surprise had clearly passed, their section leader still felt uneasy. He personally approached the gator and cleared the surroundings. No telltale signs of anything. Only after his gunner scanned the full perimeter twice with the vehicle mounted thermal set did he begin to relax. The hi-resolution imaging equipment was top of the line. Even in broad daylight it could penetrate through the thick bush on both sides of the road and find anything lurking nearby. No one was around for at least a hundred meters.

“Is the Warlock still on?” shouted the section leader.

His gunner back in the truck made a quick check of the vehicle’s electronic signals jammer. The manufacturer claimed that this big green box created an impenetrable “bubble” of electronic jamming within a 300-meter radius. The entire electromagnetic spectrum, except for those bands used by friendly radios, was thoroughly denied to the enemy and any radio-frequency command detonated IED’s. From cell phones to garage door openers, nothing was supposed to get through. It even worked, more often than not. What more could you hope for with technology?

“Roger. Full strength and not actively intercepting anything.”

Maybe he was overreacting. This wasn’t freaking Afghanistan, after all. Let the dumbasses take a few pics with the gator. “Alright, get your damn photos, but stay alert.”

Despite his standard issue gruffness, the sergeant figured it was pretty damn cool too. He took photos for his guys while still throwing one eye on the Mangrove trees around them. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but something puckered his asshole. A car horn honked behind the convoy.

“Keep them back! No one passes us until we’re done. You know the drill.”

At that point, something clicked. The whole time they were playing there, not a single vehicle had come from the opposite direction. They were just so used to the traffic parting for them that no one thought twice about why no oncoming cars came their way. After so long stopped here…that couldn’t be an accident.

The gunner who swept the entire area with his thermal sight paid no attention to the heat signature from the gator. It never crossed his Minnesotan mind to wonder why a cold-blooded reptile would have a warm belly.

One of the soldiers, the bravest, if not the brightest, poked the mini-dinosaur with his rifle. “This gator is dead,” he announced with authority as he also lifted the tail.

“Contact 12 o’clock. Get down!” The explosion drowned out everything the NCO screamed after “contact.” Not that hitting the deck does much good when a 50 pound artillery shell, surrounded by hundreds of BB’s packed in a bag inside the gator’s belly, blasts off at your feet. It took hours to police up all the tiny pieces of the two guys that stood over the gator.

The bomb even shredded the NCO diving to the ground five meters away. His body parts were mixed in a bag with his men. They would need DNA testing to sort it all out.

The troops in the high speed “Mine Resistant, Ambush Protected” armored trucks were unscathed. Of course, all that advanced armor did little good if you were dismounted. They’d always feel a little survivor’s guilt after nearly every man outside the vehicles were killed or to some degree wounded.

Several hundred yards away, blocking the other bridge on the far end of the island, a couple of exceptionally well-armed policemen didn’t jump when they heard the blast. Instead, they hopped back into their squad car and tore off back to the mainland, away from the explosion. The piled up traffic could finally go ahead.

A few minutes later, a report reached the occupation headquarters in Orlando. An aide stuck a black flag pin into a wall map of Florida. The colored pin represented location and type of lethal insurgent attack. This was the first entry on the map, but far from the last. The board would be full by the end of the month.