Viper Team Seven (The Viper Team Seven Series Book 1) (5 page)

“Go ahead SPYGLASS.
Over.”   

“PAPA BRAVO TWO,”
the general started, “GOLDEN TOWER informed me to tell you to carry out Operation
NOSE DIVE when the opportunity presents itself. Everything relies now on your
lead, since we have lost connection with the other F/A-18.”

The pilot
cleared his throat. He didn’t know if the general was done or not, but he spoke
up anyhow. “And if the plane’s on a kamikaze mission? Over.”

“PAPA BRAVO TWO,
I have been instructed by GOLDEN TOWER to tell you to stand by until you can
perform Operation NOSE DIVE. No more, and no less. Any questions? Over.”

The Marine captain
was forced into a position of leadership now that the lead F/A-18’s radio had a
malfunction. This was his operation to lead. He knew how it went, how it could
fail, and how it could work. They had trained for this, and now was the moment
to do it for real. He was ready.

“One question
sir; who will be on the ground? Marines? Over.”

“Negative, the
FBI has men on the ground as we speak. They’re ready whenever. Over.”

The captain’s
heart sank a bit. He wished Marines could go in. He trusted them; he knew he
could rely on them to do the job. Sure, FBI agents were great, but there was
something about working with a fellow Marine that couldn’t be substituted by some
government agent. Maybe it was because
he
was a Marine. Or maybe because
it was true that Marines could handle this operation better.

“All right sir.
I’ll be ready when the opportunity comes. Over and out.”

General
Lawington also wished a Marine special operation capable unit could go in, but
that was not his decision to make. Such was the old saying, “Our job is not to
wonder why, ours is just to do or die.”

The general
turned to his live video feed, which was broadcasting the whole chasing scene.
Lawington saw PAPA BRAVO TWO move in for the kill.
Air Force One
had
leveled off and, though still flying dangerously low to the ground, was high
enough to make him believe that the man flying had no intention of performing a
suicide attack. At least that was a relief.

The now-lead F/A-18
flew toward
Air Force One
’s nose. The captain let out a sigh as his Naval
Flight Officer yelled to him that the other fighter plane was following him.
The captain had hoped that the pilot of PAPA ALPHA ONE would get the picture
that he was carrying out Operation NOSE DIVE. He figured that he would. They both
knew each other well enough to know what the other’s intentions were, just by
their actions. They were trained to know that. They were experts. And that was
why they had been assigned to this job.

PAPA ALPHA ONE
took the right side, while PAPA BRAVO TWO took the left. Roberts had been
informed long ago that if something went wrong, and communication to the lead
plane was dismantled, then by default the other plane was deemed the new
leader. So he let PAPA BRAVO TWO take point while he remained on the flank.

The captain pulled his F/A-18 out in front of
Air Force One
, just
as Roberts was tightening the flank. Then he slowed. Not too much, but enough
to force
Air Force One
to dive beneath him. He was above
Air Force
One
, slightly, which prevented the option for climbing. He was still in
front though, so the flying White House could not continue the speed it was
going, or there would be a midair collision.

*          *          *

The terrorist
pilot broke into a cold sweat. He knew what the F/A-18s were doing, and he
didn’t like it. The only thing to do however was to dive beneath them, or
they’d crash. And he didn’t want that to happen, so he plunged underneath them.
He could have guessed what happened next. As he dove down, the F/A-18 out in
front sped forward and down, once again forcing him to go even lower.

Tandy came up from
the main level and asked, “What are you diving for now, fun?”

“Shhh. I have to
concentrate,” the pilot snapped. “Co-pilot, go back and tell him what’s going
on.”

The co-pilot obeyed but he did a horrible job of explaining. The way he
told it to Tandy was that
they
would make the F/A-18s crash, not the
other way around. It was a good thing that the co-pilot was rather ignorant –
despite him being a lieutenant colonel – otherwise Tandy and his men would have
been more prepared.

*          *          *

The F/A-18
pilots were doing a perfect job. They had made
Air Force One
descend
very low. In a few moments, it would be forced into a controlled landing, then
the FBI agents, following in attack helicopters, would bolt to it, and enter
from the rear door, rush in, and rescue the President. It had to work.
Everything depended on it.

“SPYGLASS, this
is PAPA BRAVO TWO. Do you copy? Over,” the captain spoke into his headset.

“Go ahead PAPA BRAVO
TWO. Over.” It was the general who was on the radio once again. He sounded
pleased with the progress his planes were making.

“SPYGLASS, I’m
taking her down,” the captain informed him. “Notify the agents in the field.
Over.”

“Roger that PAPA
BRAVO TWO. God go with you. Over and out.”

Thanks
, the
captain thought. He needed God’s help right now, and so did the FBI agents who
were going to be carrying out part B of this operation.

Friday, January 17
^th
– 0015 hours

The Situation Room

The entire National Security Council was impressed with the performance
of the two F/A-18 pilots. They had successfully forced
Air Force One
almost to the ground, and word came from the general that they were going to make
it land any second. The FBI agents were following the chase, and would be there
the instant the “landing” occurred. So far everything was in order and working
like a well-oiled machine. All eyes were glued to the video feed. Nobody spoke.
The air in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The Vice President
was compulsively wringing his hands as he watched the operation unfold. He
looked like he’d aged ten years over the last couple hours, and he had a good
reason for it. A lot of pressure was on him right now, but no one doubted his
capability. And so far his plan was going smoothly. However, the critical
moment would be when the agents on the ground became engaged. The success of
the operation rose and fell on what happened during that time, which was
estimated to only take three to five minutes. This was their last straw. Their
last ditch effort to rescue the President. It had to work.

*          *          *

Inside
Air
Force One
was total pandemonium. Tandy was flustered, as were the pilot and
co-pilot. Tandy had finally figured out that
they
were the ones being
forced to go down, not the F/A-18s, and he was not happy in the least.

“Tandy, I’m
putting down the wheels; we’re going to land,” the pilot shouted back over his
shoulder.

“No you fool, we
can’t land,” Tandy retorted. “
Bank left and climb, now.
”

“I think that
actually
you’re
the fool. If we bank left, we’ll still crash right into
the F/A-18 above us. We have no choice but to land.”

“They’ll kill
us!” Tandy fumed, his face turning beet red with anger.

“Maybe, maybe
not. But at least we have a chance. If we crash into that F/A-18, there’s no hope.
I’m landing, so buckle up.”

The instant the
pilot spoke those words,
Air Force One
brushed the ground, sending
everyone aboard flying, with the exception of the pilots. The plane had been flying
over a forest, but the pilot found an open meadow where he crash landed. Before
Tandy could even sit up, the front of
Air Force One
exploded, making the
interior lights go out, and sending him tumbling down the stairs to the main
level. Fortunately, Tandy had been far enough back at the time to escape the
explosion’s destruction, unlike the pilots.

Above, the F/A-18s
circled over the downed plane just as the FBI teams rushed toward the rear door.
Over the captain’s radio, a message came from Lawington telling him that the
agents had opened the door and were beginning to enter. Knowing that their job
was done, both F/A-18 Delta Hornets climbed into the dark night sky.

The FBI team had
opened
Air Force One
’s rear door and now several of them rolled inside,
clicking on their night-vision goggles and searching for any sign of the President.
They were going to have to sweep forward as fast as they could, checking every
room and office.

Everything happened
so suddenly for the terrorists that many of them could not even respond. None
of them had night-vision goggles, so they could only depend on their sense of
hearing, and the full moon, which only illuminated a small portion of the
plane.

One of the agents
bolted into the staff office area, followed by the rest of the team, and spied
the President, sprawled out at the far corner of the room. The team had to get
to him before the terrorists did. Every agent had the same idea. In Close
Quarters Battle positions, five of them dashed for the President, firing bursts
of automatic gunfire as they ran toward him. The leader of the team reached him
first, and seeing one of the terrorists raising his pistol at him, swung up his
own rifle, and fired off several rounds. While doing so, he simultaneously
leaped on the President, shielding his body from the bullets flying about. The
team leader knew he had hit his target, for the shadowy man was screeching
wildly in pain. The other agents filled the room with bullets, several of which
found their way into the terrorists. But the light of the moon gave the terrorists
something to work with, and one of them rolled into the dark hallway. Tandy
slid up beside him and the two made ready their pistols.

The room was
quiet. The team leader didn’t dare try to move the President, lest someone
unseen put a bullet through him. Nobody moved. The FBI team, now reinforced by
the remaining agents who began pouring in, scanned the room for any hint of
danger. A few seconds later, four of the agents went to check for pulses on the
terrorists lying about, while the other agents covered them. Everyone appeared
to be dead.

“Sir,” an agent
told the team leader, “we can extract the President now.”

The leader
peeled himself off of the President and let out a long-held breath. The President
had made it out all right. As far as the agent could tell though, he’d been
shot sometime before, possibly during the hijacking. He noticed the wound the President
had was bandaged, although it was bleeding again.

“Give me a
hand,” the leader ordered, slinging his rifle on his shoulder.

Two agents
trotted over to help. As they began carrying the President out, two dark
silhouettes popped out from the hallway. For a brief second, the team leader
made direct eye contact with one of the men. In the next second, he felt gunfire
tear into him. As he fell, the team leader again rolled on top of the
President, ever mindful of his Commander-in-Chief’s safety, even in his own
death.

The other FBI agents
poured out endless bursts of gunfire until they were sure the terrorists were
dead. Quickly they took the President outside, then the bodies of the dead were
gathered.

Three FBI agents
had fallen. One being the team leader, Clinton Lewis. He had been shot through
the lung, which was the fatal shot, but he had also deflected three other
rounds as he covered the President. He had saved the President’s life, and died
a hero.

Marine One
was called over to extract the President, and the fire department was on its
way to see to the fire that was ignited by the explosion of
Air Force One
.

Back at the
White House, the VP and the NSC were experiencing feelings of both joy and
sorrow. They had seen everything. Almost too much. They were elated that the President
was still alive after all that had happened, but they were horrified about the
scenes that had unfolded.

Marine One
carried President Winnfield back to Washington D.C., as the FBI agents stayed
with
Air Force One
. Operation NOSE DIVE had been a success, but at a
very high price.

Wednesday, March 12
^th
– 1200 hours

Camp Lejeune, North Carolina

“Attention to
orders,” Colonel Johnson commanded. Every Marine in the colonel’s office stood
ramrod straight. Johnson, the Commanding Officer of the 4th Marine
Expeditionary Brigade’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion, was promoting one of his best
Marines. That Marine was Captain Keith Parks, soon to be Major Parks.

The colonel read
the commission, signed by the Commandant of the Marine Corps and the Secretary
of the Navy, as Parks nervously stood beside him. Parks was not an anxious man,
but he hated to speak in public, or stand in front of a crowd as he was now.

Colonel Johnson
finished reading the commission, then instructed Parks to take the oath of
office. Even though Parks was nervous, those present could never tell it by his
actions or his voice. He calmly took the oath as instructed. Then the question
came: “Who would you like to have pin them on?” The colonel was referring to
the major’s insignia – a pair of golden oak leaves.

Parks responded
to the question by simply saying, “You sir.” Johnson and Parks were good
friends, and since Parks’ father was unable to make the ceremony, he wanted
Johnson to pin on the rank in his dad’s stead.

“It’d be my
honor,” the colonel accepted, stepping toward the ruler-straight Marine.

As he pinned the
rank on, a wave of pride flooded over Parks. Major Keith Parks, the commander
of Bravo Company, Anti-Terrorism Battalion, 4th MEB, was never happier than at
this moment. He’d done so much for this promotion, and it had paid off. He’d
been fifth on the list for promotion to major, so he’d found out the good news only
a few weeks ago.

“Congratulations
Major Parks,” Johnson said, extending his hand out to him. Parks relaxed his
stance and shook his Commanding Officer’s hand. Everyone in the room then came
forward to congratulate the newly appointed major.

Keith Parks was thirty-two
years old, and was a tall man of 6’4’’. He weighed 210 lbs., had sandy brown
hair, and deep blue eyes. He had inherited his mom’s hair color, but the eye
color was from his father. He looked nearly identical to his dad, except he was
taller and a bit more muscular. He was the second child his parents bore, his
only sibling being a brother, Kyle, who had been fifteen years older. His
brother had been a sergeant in the Army’s Green Berets, and had been killed by
a grenade in Desert Storm when he was only twenty-three years old. So now Keith
Parks was the only child his parents had left. Despite the drastic age gap, Kyle
and Keith Parks had been close. When Big Brother went off to war, Parks was
only a small boy. He had tried not to cry when the news of his brother’s death
came; he knew his brother wouldn’t have wanted him to, but that was impossible
for a kid whose best friend had departed forever.

Years later, Parks
graduated from the University of Washington at the middle of his class – that not
being too impressive considering the grades of the highest honor students, but
the important part was he graduated. Between his junior and senior years, he had
gone to OCS (Officer Candidate School) which consisted of the most rigorous
training he had ever been through. Upon completion of OCS and college, he earned
his commission as second lieutenant and finally fulfilled his dream of becoming
a Marine Officer. His family had been so proud of his accomplishment, and quite
frankly, he was too.

As a second
lieutenant, Parks was stationed at Camp Pendleton, California, for a two-year
assignment. He was assigned to command a platoon of Marines in the 1st Air
Naval Gunfire Liaison Company (ANGLICO), which was attached to I Marine
Expeditionary Force. Halfway through his assignment his company was deployed
overseas to Iraq for six months, where Parks had his first taste of combat.

After his two
years with ANGLICO he was promoted to first lieutenant. He was then assigned to
the newly-remade 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina, as a platoon leader in Alpha Company. He was bored with his job for
the first year or so, as it was very uneventful. Then he was ordered overseas
to help with the War on Terrorism. The entire Anti-Terrorism Battalion was
deployed to Baghdad, Iraq for nine months. It was there Parks won the Silver
Star for exceptional bravery in combat with dozens of terrorists and radical
Islamic forces on the outskirts of Baghdad.

From there,
Parks returned to the States, where he received a promotion to the rank of captain
at the end of his three-year term with the 4th MEB. Not long after the
promotion, he was stationed at the Army’s Fort Bliss, in El Paso, Texas, where he served with Joint Task Force North’s J3, which specialized in counterterrorism
and counter-drug operations. He enjoyed the warm sunshine and mild winters of Texas for two years, and then he was again called back to Camp Lejeune, to serve as the commander
of Bravo Company in the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion.

The instant he
arrived at the base, his company was deployed to Afghanistan to help fight the
ever-growing terrorism there. Parks was a seasoned veteran who was greatly trusted
by the battalion CO (Commanding Officer), Colonel Johnson. A dangerous chore
awaited him when he finally arrived in the country. A terror training camp had
been located and Parks was ordered to destroy it immediately. Colonel Johnson was
unable to give any support for Parks’ company, as every other Marine in the
battalion was needed for another job.

The mission
began at midnight. Parks and his company had snuck up close to the camp and then
began to storm it. Parks had been the first man into the camp, and had taken
all the initial fire. One of the terrorists had thrown a grenade at him, but
fortunately the grenade thrower had been unskilled and Parks had enough time to
kick the grenade away as he dove on top of the two nearest Marines before it
went off. Only moments after that incident, Parks saw a terrorist take aim at
one of his Marines from the rear. Knowing there was no time to fire first, Parks
leaped on the Marine, taking the bullet for him in the left shoulder. The wound
was serious, and the onsite corpsman had instructed Parks not to move or he’d
most likely bleed to death. But being a dedicated Marine Officer, Parks knew he
had to lead his men. So he ordered the corpsman to patch him up, and continued
the fight with just one good arm. In the end, he led his company to a
successful operation.

From there the
battalion was sent back to the United States, and Parks was awarded the Medal
of Honor by the Commandant of the Marine Corps himself, by delegation of the
President, and the Purple Heart for being wounded in the shoulder. He was one
of the few men to receive the Medal of Honor and live to tell about it. Parks
went on to be a highly decorated combat Marine, and today he had become a field
grade officer.

After everybody
had said “Oorah” and “Semper Fi,” Parks walked out of the office to his white,
Ford F-350, dually, Super Duty, to grab some lunch and call his parents.
Everyone in the company envied his truck. He had just recently bought it for a
present to himself on his birthday. He didn’t really need a truck that size,
but he had the money to spend on it, so why not? Parks wasn’t a rich man, but
he was fairly well off. He had about $100,000 in savings, most of which he’d
earned from the gold he’d just cashed in for well over $1,200 an ounce. He
wasn’t a businessman, or some expert money maker, just a Marine trying to serve
his country. And if he made a dollar or two on the side, great, but money was
not something he greatly sought after.

Parks
speed-dialed his parents on his cell phone. His dad had so badly wanted to see
his promotion ceremony, but things just hadn’t worked out for him to attend. Parks’
parents lived in northern Nevada, so it would have been quite a trip for them
to come all the way to North Carolina. So his dad had to settle for a phone
call right after the ceremony instead.

“Hello Keith,” his
dad answered happily after a couple of rings.

“Hey Dad, how’s
it going?”

“Just fine.
How’d it go?”

“Great. Just
like the other promotions before it, only now I came out wearing golden oak
leaves on my collar,” Parks explained.

“Congratulations.
I wish I could have been there.” There was a slight pause then, “Any word on
what base they’re going to move you to?”

Parks’ three-year
assignment had expired with the 4th MEB, and he was waiting for his monitor to
tell him where he was going to move to next. “Naw, nothin’ yet. I should know
soon though,” Parks said.

“Where do you
hope you go?”

Parks cleared
his throat and then responded, “Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana.”

Parks was raised
in Montana, and he loved everything about the state. He liked the hard winters,
the cooler summers, the blue skies, the great hunting, and most of all, the
open spaces. He had been eleven years old when his family had moved to Montana. It was shortly after his older brother’s death that his dad retired from the
Marine Corps as a sergeant major with over twenty-five years under his belt.
After his brother’s funeral, his dad and mom had decided that they were done
with the military, and wanted to settle down in the Big Sky Country. They’d be
there still, but after Parks left to join the Marines and they got a little older,
they agreed that the cold winters were not pleasant. So they decided Nevada was the place for them. Parks still didn’t fully understand why they had chosen that
state of all places, but they enjoyed living there.

“I bet you do,”
his dad responded. “You sure loved the place when we lived there.”

“Yeah I did. I guess
the Air Force has some new Joint Missile Defense Task Force going under way,
and they need a few Marines on board. I fit the qualifications pretty well, but
we’ll see.”

“I’m sure you’ll
get to go.”

“I suppose it
really doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it’d be nice. Well
anyway, I’m headed home to grab some food, and then I’m going back to the
office. I’ll call you guys when I get home this evening. I’ll talk to Mom then.
Okay?”

“Sounds good.
Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Yeah, you too.
Bye.”

Parks started
his truck and sped out of the parking lot, heading for his home. He enjoyed
driving his big truck around the base, showing it off and looking cool. It was
one of the finer things in his life.

He hoped the orders for his next assignment were in when he returned. The
suspense of not knowing where he was heading next was killing him. He’d rather
just get a yes or no answer the minute he put in for where he wanted to move.
But what he wanted and what actually happened were usually two very different
things.

*          *          *

Henderson Hall was
known to Marines as a part of Headquarters Marine Corps. Few Marines ever worked
at HQMC, but one of the Marines that did was Major Theodore P. Forn. A senior
major, Forn’s purpose for working at HQMC was being a monitor.

A small man,
barely 5’ 5”, Forn couldn’t have weighed over 120 pounds even with the thick Coke-bottle
glasses he wore at all times. He looked more like a bookworm librarian than a
Marine, especially with the way he talked, which sounded squeaky and shrill.
People that worked closely with Forn had always been baffled as to how he had
made it all the way to major. Not that he wasn’t a good Marine, but he lacked
zeal to increase in rank. His famous words to people that questioned his lack
of desire for promotion were, “I have money, a good job, and I like my rank.
Why should I want to be promoted?”

One smart Marine
lieutenant colonel who was also a monitor had come back with his own version of
the statement. “You can always have
more
money, a
better
job, and
a new favorite rank. Why
shouldn’t
you want to be promoted?” Forn hadn’t
been impressed with that; in fact, he’d said so to the lieutenant colonel’s
face.

Forn could
recall another Marine saying, “The man’s just a computer geek, slapped into a
Marine’s uniform.” Perhaps the statement stemmed from his love of playing
computer pinball while on duty, or maybe just from his eccentric appearance.
Forn didn’t mind the slandering though. He was happy with his job and himself,
and that was all that mattered.

Just two weeks
ago, the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps had received a request
signed by the National Security Advisor, to make a list of the best fifty anti-terrorism
Marines who would be candidates for a position in a new counterterrorism team
the President was forming. The requirements for each man were as follows: they
be no older than forty-five, they had to have at least a three-year term with
the 4th MEB’s Anti-Terrorism Battalion, and they had to be an officer above the
rank of captain.

The Commandant
sent in the requested list by the week’s end. It featured thirty lieutenant colonels,
nineteen majors, and – against the rank requirement – one captain who was a
major select, and in his opinion, the most capable for the job. To show the
National Security Advisor the confidence he had in the captain’s ability, he
had put his name at the top of the list and had circled and highlighted it.

The next day,
the Commandant received yet another request from the National Security Advisor.
It asked that the chosen Marine have a Permanent Change of Station (PCS) to
D.C., and arrive as quickly as possible. The fine details of whom to report to,
where, and so on, were hammered out in the request, and then at the very bottom
of the page, the chosen Marine’s name: Captain Keith Parks (Major Select).

The Commandant
had met with his CO, Colonel Davidson, just yesterday, and had him order Forn
to change Parks’ new duty station from Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana, to Washington D.C. The order went down the chain of command and
finally ended up right on Forn’s desk.