The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One (13 page)

              “So how much more pain are those poor troopers in for?” Monica asked.

              “In two weeks there will probably only be four or five candidates left; two or three of those will actually be selected. Those will go on to six months of operator training with either the Navy Special Warfare Development Group or the army’s Combat Applications Group.”

              “You mean S.E.A.L team Six or Delta Force,” Monica said.

              “They haven’t been officially called those names in years,” Carter countered.

              “But Delta Force sounds so much better than Combat Applications Group. And Navy Special Warfare Development Group just doesn’t have the same ring as S.E.A.L. Team Six,” Monica observed. “Why is the PAC farming out the operator training to the Army and Navy?” Monica asked.  

              “Since there are so few people with the para-gene who can qualify for the FIRE teams, it doesn’t make sense to sense to set up a training course within the PAC,” Carter replied,

              “Anyway,” Carter went on. “If they don’t get washed out of one of those training courses, their para-genes are activated. If they survive the activation process they’ll go through a one month evaluation of their para-normal abilities. Then, finally, whoever’s left after all of that starts six months of training as a FIRE team operator. If they don’t wash out during that training they’re assigned to an operational team.”

              “That will mean that there will be six or seven new operators for the teams every year; since you’re only holding selection twice a year,” Monica said. “And we won’t be seeing any replacement troops out of the training program for over almost two years. What happens to the candidates that wash out?”

              “Their par-genes will be activated and they’ll be assigned to the more conventional PAC units,” Carter replied. “The ones who came close to getting into the teams will go into the airborne regiment or the recon/raider battalion. Some of those may be asked to join the teams later on if they distinguish themselves in those units. The others will go into the PAC regimental combat teams or to the aviation battalion.”

              They were nearing the quarters they shared: a one bedroom cottage built of cinder bricks and concrete. It was painted a whitish-grey color like most living quarters on the base. A welcome splash of color was provided by rows of flowers that were planted on either side of the front door.

              Monica picked one of the blossoms. “The general’s wife has been busy,” she concluded.

              Carter smiled. “She’s one of kind, my Mamma Hicks.”

              When the door was closed Carter spun his wife to face him; pulling her close and squeezing her between her between his body and the door. “We have an hour and fifty minutes,” he told her; his lips almost touching her earlobe.

              “One hour and forty eight minutes,” she replied, her hands moving to remove his uniform’s tunic. After that there was only a mutual need to be touch and be touched.

                 [][][]

              One hour and forty-five minutes later Carter and his wife arrived at the headquarters office building and began the process of being checked through the necessary security protocols. They were joined within minutes by the four other FIRE Team leaders.

              Mason Price extended a hand toward Carter. “Good to see you Mace,” Carter said, taking the offered hand.

              “You as well my friend,” the English Major replied.

              “How are you, Rene’?” Carter asked the African woman standing next to Price. “Those lieutenant’s bars look good on you.”

              “I am very well, Sir. It will be good to have all of Red Team back together,” Garba replied.

              “Beauchamp, Muller nice to see both of you.” Monica said.

              “It is very good,” the Cajun said. Muller nodded a response.

              Hicks met the group just after the last checkpoint. “Good to see all of you again,” he said. “Let’s go get the answers to those questions spinning about in your heads.”

              He led them through the maze of corridors until they arrived at another check point in front of a set of blast doors. It was manned by two sergeants in an armored booth. Beginning with Hicks they carefully examined the credentials of everyone present then directed them to retinal and palm scanners. Finally, they passed through a full body scanner that would reveal the presence of unauthorized weapons or surveillance devices. Steel doors, six inches thick, then slid open and the group stepped into a freight-sized elevator.

              “I always thought I would have at least one star on my uniform before I was allowed to see this part of the base,” Price remarked.

              “Perhaps whatever mission they have planned for us is so deadly they do not believe that any of us will live long enough to receive our next promotion,” Muller remarked flatly. “They are showing us the inner sanctum to assure us our deaths will be appreciated.”

              “Ah, Muller, how much we have all missed our Austrian ray of sunshine,” Beauchamp quipped.

              After descending for nearly a full minute the elevator came to a halt. They passed another checkpoint and navigated more mazelike hallways before coming to yet another set of blast doors guarded by a squad of fully armed and armored troops. Passing through yet another series of biometric security measures, they were admitted to the room beyond the blast doors.

              Fort Reagan’s strategic operations center was the size of a college gymnasium and dominated by a large oval table made of polished hardwood. Three very large video displays had been installed on the far wall and dozens of smaller screens lined the other walls. The perimeter was lined with computer workstations manned by young technicians; none of whom looked up from their monitors as the team leaders entered. There were several high-ranking officers seated around the table.

              “You all know Admiral Collier, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff,” Hicks remarked, taking his place at the table.

              “Mac had it right,” Beauchamp said; “this much brass in one place is never, never a good thing.”

              “We’ve brought you all here because we have a job for you and your teams,” Hicks said, “But you’ve already figured that out from the theoretical target folder I asked each of you to review. While details in those folders were changed or obscured the mission outline comes from the real world.” Hicks paused and studied the faces of the assembled team leaders, then continued. “Before we let you know what that mission is, we want to ask you some questions about your assessment of the information in those folders.”

              Admiral Collier stood and came to face group. “All of you estimate a very high casualty rate,” he said. “Our computer models gave us casualty numbers that were substantially lower. Lieutenant Colonel Carter, I’d like to know why, in your opinion, your assessments differ from computer models to such a degree.”  

              “Sir, we all know from experience that no plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Carter began, gesturing to his fellow team leaders. “In fact, no plan survives first contact with reality. The computer modelers say they can factor in all the random factors that could go wrong; but they can’t. The fact is, no matter how well planned an operation is, something always, always goes wrong. Most generally, several things go wrong. Computers just can’t account for the all the variables in an operation like this.”

              “But all of you can?” Collier asked.

              “Not really Sir; but we can adapt to them. Computer models don’t adapt; they recalculate,” Carter answered. “I think I speak for all of the team leaders when I say that the casualty figures we gave you are based on experience. Our conclusions are based on dozens of similar raids that we’ve actually participated in. A computer uses mathematical calculations that are abstract but, for the boots on the ground, nothing is abstract.”

              “But you all agree that the targets can be destroyed?” Collier asked.

              Carter glanced at the other team leaders and saw agreement in their faces. “Yes Sir; the sheer boldness of the plan means we have a good chance of achieving initial tactical surprise. Given that operational security is solid beforehand, there is a reasonable chance that the mission objectives can be achieved.”

              Collier looked briefly at the officers at the table. “Alright, then,” he said, turning to Hicks “I guess we can let the cat out of the bag.”

              Hicks nodded to a technical sergeant manning a computers console. “Put it up.”

              The sergeant typed a few keys and maneuvered his mouse. A large map of Brussels, Belgium appeared on the largest of the display screens in the room. On a smaller display to the left was an aerial photograph of a facility that, according to the caption, was located in the Ural Mountains. Beneath this display was another of similar size showing a topographical map of the area surrounding the Ural facility. To the right of the largest screen a smaller screen depicted a detailed map of a military compound near the center of Brussels.

              Hicks stood in front of the screen. “As most of you have already figured out, the targets we’ve been talking about are the WCA’s military central command center in Brussels, Belgium and its backup facility in the Urals. Destroying these two facilities would effectively lobotomize the W.C.A. military’s command and control system worldwide.”

              Collier spoke again.”Five years ago, in Colorado, on your first mission as Red Team, you destroyed the regional command center of the WCA’s military forces. That disrupted their operations in North America enough for us to launch a counter offensive, get back across the Mississippi, and begin to drive the enemy off of the North American continent. This caused the enemy to make his command and control structure even more centralized. The WCA stopped using regional command centers and concentrated its command and control into a few hubs in Europe and Asia; the idea being that we wouldn’t be able attack them so far from our own soil.”

              When no one else spoke the Admiral continued. “The WCAs political leadership is always afraid of a military coup; so their command and control is designed to keep unit commanders from conspiring with each other. Every order issued to units above battalion level has to go through a central command hub before being implemented. Take out the central command and its backups and WCA’s forces, won’t be able to communicate with or maneuver any unit larger that a company in a coordinated manner. Instead of fighting an organized, coordinated force we’ll be fighting a bunch isolated, individual units with no way of calling for support.”

              Muller stepped forward slightly. “Forgive me, Admiral, but are there not two more such facilities; one in Beijing, and another somewhere in the Himalayas?” he asked.

              Hicks nodded. “Yes, there are, Major. Those will be neutralized by less direct means. We’ll explain that later.”

              Collier stood by Hicks. “Colonel Carter, General Hicks tells me that you observed that, even if the targets in question were eliminated, that an invasion of Europe on the scale of the World War Two D-Day invasion would be necessary to truly capitalize on their sudden absence. You are, of course, correct,”

              Carter and the other team leaders exchanged curious glances as Collier continued. “Once these targets have been taken out, we have half a million troops, with all the necessary support elements ready to be the first wave of such an invasion. With a million more ready to follow up.”

              Neither Carter, nor his companions, could hide their astonishment. “Sir, how could you have kept a force that size secret?” Carter asked. “And how are you planning on getting that many troops and their equipment across the Atlantic and still maintain the element of surprise?”

              Collier smiled slightly. “We’ll get to that Colonel,” he said. “What I want to know right now is, now that the mission is no longer theoretical and you know how many lives will be at stake, do you still believe that you and your teams can accomplish the mission? I want an honest, no-shit assessment.”

              Carter looked questioningly to his friends again; each was nodding in the affirmative. He squared his shoulders and looked at Collier. “Yes, Admiral,” he said finally. “We can get do the job.”

              Collier stepped forward and took Carter’s hand. “I’ll consider it done, then. I’ll leave you with General Hicks’” he said, moving toward the blast doors, followed by his aids. “He can take you on the tour through wonderland.” Collier and his entourage left without another word.

              “We’ll get to that logistical question in just a minute,” Hicks declared. “First I’ll answer Major Muller’s question about the central command centers in Asia. Major, those two facilities will simply not be a part of the W.C.A.; because Asia will no longer be a part of the W.C.A.” Hicks seemed to take pleasure in seeing the questioning faces on Carter and the others. “We have been in secret talks with Asian leaders. They have informed us that they are preparing to secede from the World Central Authority. We’re planning to coordinate their secession announcement with our strike on Europe.”