OP DEVIL STRIKE

“One Minute, hustle! We’re waiting.” I left the tent splashing my MOAC yelling at Arnie. MOAC stood for Mother-Of-All-Coffees. It was a Green Bean special that was available 24 hours a day on the boardwalk; the ideal motivational drink for a late night/early morning mission. It was a twenty-eight ounce dark roast coffee boosted with four espresso shots – my staple when Timmy’s wasn’t open.

A few minutes later Arnie stumbled out to the van, the other seven waiting patiently for him as usual. He was never early nor late – perfectly timed to the second; and still half asleep from an early evening nap.

“Arnie, how many times I gotta tell you, if your not ten minutes early…” I was interrupted by everyone else in the van who finished him in mocking chorus “…your late!

“Gotta relax man, your too uptight…ease off the coffee man.” Irish took the opportunity to critique my vice.

I glared back; tired and stressed. Zorg was flying with the team today; refreshed and adding levity.

“Oooow….clear left boss!” He crawled through the van over the seats and people to be annoyingly funny; smartly deflating tension as his feet flailed past all our heads. Each person retaliating by grabbing and twisting his flesh for punishment. Answered only by Zorg’s laughs of defiance.

“Zorg, what the fuck?” individuals bickered at him as they hoisted him over their shoulders to the third row. He just laughed away the pain and the comments.

I liked being early. The guys did not; but they tolerated it. The seemed to respect my need for an extra half-hour on the operational side to psychologically prepare. Conversely, they slept for the 20-minute transit a I drove.

I reported to Operations and started completing the standard risk assessment. A protocol required for each mission to attain launch authority. It was a pitch-black night and thus a high-risk mission; not from enemy fire but from the complexity of precision landings with NVGs in brownout obscured conditions. More aircraft crashed in Afghanistan from the environment than to Taliban fire, so the threat was duly noted. The Skipper was there.

“Hi boss.” I stated with a smirk forced through the fatigue.

“You guys ready?” He asked.

“Yes sir.”

“Well, let’s hear it. Over to the briefing room.”

In the briefing room, the mission coordination team were present as well as the operations officer, Scrappy. They went through an organized sequence of briefings that started with weather.

The weather briefer talked about the wind forecast and night illumination. The Skipper immediately asked me how I was applying this information on every aspect of the mission. We discussed the timings to coordinate with lack of lunar illumination, the angle of the moon and how it would shadow the mountain landing. The winds favoured a certain direction of flight. They were light, which would increase the intensity of the dust ball.

The Int Op briefed recent activity within the AO; then focused on the applicable FOB reports. Then he had special maps produced depicting the angle and jaggedness of the terrain based on actual satellite imagery for our intended landing areas.

“So where are you landing?” Skipper enquired as he looked at the entire map which showed no suitable landing spot available.

“I’m not sir, I’m putting one skid on and holding it right here; Prof will follow once I clear.” I pointed to the map. “This spot is my primary. It’s closer to the top for the snipers and this is our back-up.” I pointed to a ledge about 100 meters away and 100 feet lower on the jagged cliffs. “It’ll be a right skid-on landing and we’ll hold ‘er there until the boys deplane…I checked it out yesterday and the references look adequate for the hover-deplaning.”

“Alright.” He agreed raising a brow of concern. It would be a 50/50 success plan; but he had confidence in me. “Please continue,” he gestured to the briefer.

Scrappy and Ricky finished briefing all aspects that could affect the mission: enemy, friendlies, lighting, timings, ammo, known activity, artillery and all other aviation flying in the area. They covered it all. Overall, It was a simple task. Pick up some snipers and drop them off.

“Sir, the Lord Strats are running a concurrent deception plan to mask the noise of the helicopter.” Ricky pointed to the map. “They’ll be running their tank logistics convoy along this route at precisely the same time as the intended landing sequence of Shakedown 25. The intent is to create a sound screen to prevent anyone from the area from noticing the landings.” He concluded.

“Very well, I’m satisfied. It won’t be easy, but fly safe.” Skipper stated. “It will be tricky so take it slow out there.”

I nodded, picked up my maps and proceeded to the flight line. My mind was full of various contingencies plans and potential emergencies, fire-fights that could occur. I looked up at sky which was clear and pin-pricked with stars. No moon. It was dark. The air was still. The dust had subsided and it was breathable. I loaded my 85 pounds of go-gear on my back and wobbled towards the helicopter as silhouettes of my team members moved in their rituals.

I noticed a figure stealthily disappeared behind the tail boom of a chopper – Arnie. He was continuing with his urination ritual. Shortly after his first time under the tail boom weeks earlier, he went on an over-watch mission. The infantry reported shots being fired at the helicopters. He and the right gunner heard the crack of the bullets passing by…fortunately missing. Ever since then, he hasn’t changed a single action prior to his departure. He figured the freaky universal magic associated with that piss routine was somehow associated with redirecting the bullet from hitting him. He was not about to change fate and screw with the gods.

Snapshot noticed. He liked to make little rhymes to add cheer:

“If you gotta go, pee in the snow,

but there’s no snow, so just go-go-go.”

“Poetry is not your fortay, stick with the photography,” Zorg critiqued then went back to his rest position, seated with legs draping over Betty, his gun.

I subtly walked around the griffon, rubbing the helicopter nose in contemplation. The gunners were in their seats in the middle of my ritual path so as I walked by, I rubbed their foreheads too in jest. I reviewed the entire mission in my head before we flew it. I climbed into the left seat. We departed proceeding to the Reg Dessert to test fire weapons and lasers. I looked far ahead across the valley. I could see the mountain we were to land on, MASUM GHAR where the sniper team was, and the towns where the high value targets were to be observed. I played it all in my head as I tended to the silence beyond the engines and rotor noise. Well, I played it out as I thought it would go…

TBC….

“Shit…did you guys feel that?” I exclaimed.

“Yup, everything seems okay in here, I saw a flash toward 3 mile mountain.” Irish reported. 3 mile mountain, as it’s named, is three miles north of KAF separating KAF from Kandahar City, which was eight miles north from the airport. Many of the rocket attacks on base originated from the Tarnac riverbed that lay at the base of the ridge.

“All traffic, All traffic, KAF is under a rocket attack.” Reported tower and soon to be echoed by Freedom Ops over the radio.

“Well shit, I guess we just hang tight here then.” I stated. We couldn’t do anything until further direction. Safest action was to wait. We were an asset capable for quick medevac, surveillance or even counter attack…Scrappy would let us know.

“All call signs, this is Freedom Ops.” It was Scrappy and his tone was elevated. He was trying to coordinate the various helicopters —  all low on fuel. One returning from battle and one with critically injured crewman all while under a rocket attack: “We are having a rocket attack. One rocket landed on south camp, one north of the wire. Steve and Prof, return to X-ray once tower clears you. Butch, you continue as a medevac priority direct to Role 3 (hospital), Big C, Slayer is moving you off IED task now, coordinate return with tower. Freedom Ops out.” His transmission ended abruptly. As expected, he still had to coordinate with the hospital, report to Intelligence on the helicopter IED trap as well as with the Headquarters regarding the killed insurgents at Dand.

As for us, the buzz of excitement was filling the air, but we sat contemplatively in the droning noise of the running griffon until tower cleared us to lift.

“South camp?” Irish queried. “I hope everyone is okay, that’s where we live.” He blurted referring to almost the entire 30,000 people on base. Not only was it the life-center of the base; it was our home.

“Shakedown two-five flight, your cleared to take off from the FARP and air taxi direct to X-ray. Caution Blowtorch on final approach Role 3,” tower gave us our movement instructions.

“Shakedown two five – roger thanks. I’m visual with Blowtorch.” Irish replied indicating he would remain clear of Butch expediting to the hospital.

I looked out the window and received a thumbs up from Prof. We lifted into the hover and flew over to the parking area. The team was quiet. After shutting down, our eight team members waited together between the griffons – waiting. We were worried for our colleague and the quickest way to gain information was to wait for the remaining Blowtorch team to return. We watched across the airfield towards Role 3 watching the Chinook lift and fly towards us. It landed and was followed moments later by Fender and Big C returning from the hunt. There was both victory and despair floating in the air; it was difficult to process, it was different – regardless how it felt, there was tangible death tonight.

The body language emitted from the Chinook crew as they disembarked the rear ramp was somber. And the Shakedown crew, they were stoic. Big C and Fender were pale and exhausted.

“Let’s just go into the briefing room and wait.” Prof mentioned to our section. “Give ’em space, we’ll find out more in a few minutes.” We walked over to stores and removed our combat gear.

“Sounds good boss.” Snapshot replied quietly. He knew it was an engineer that was at Role 3. Was he injured? Dead? All the engineers shared a brotherhood. It was a small community and they had trained and worked together closely, some for decades. The worry showed on his face. Hawk patted him on the back and the two walked away hauling their Dillons to the gun pit. Irish and me went towards Ops.

I walked into Ops; face was soaked in sweat. It looked like I had just ran a marathon and my flight suit was decorated in salt stains. My face and chin, under the helmet visor line were sunburnt and my forehead imprinted with a line from the helmet’s interior liner as it seemed to fuse to my head in the heat and sweat.

I looked at Scrappy. His face was white with stress.

He glared at me. “During my evaluation as the Operations Officer on our pre-deployment exercise, in Maple Guardian, they gave me a test to see how I would respond to three entirely different situations.” He set the stage looking intense.

“I thought bull-shit, that would never happen! Tonight, I’ve been corrected. I’ve had you guys searching for Taliban and potentially finding a target, then almost blown up by an IED. That was nothing. Then Shakedown 30 has engaged targets, and Gil (the gunner on the Chinook) almost got killed on Blowtorch; he’s in critical condition now at Role 3. And finally, this all occurs during a rocket attack, which, by the way, I’ve heard may have killed some people on the south side.

He shook his head, feeling like he had vented a bit and went back to his duties.

“Get your team together and I’ll debrief everyone together, I don’t want to keep going over this with everyone who passes by,” he ordered.

All twenty airmen plus a few extras sat in the debrief room. Professor had concurrently downloaded the data from the MX-15 and submitted it into Intelligence for an assessment. Scrappy walked in.

“Shakedown 30 got 2 kills tonight.” He stated to start with the victorious news. Our cheers were somewhat suppressed for the rest of the news to come. “That’s the good news.”

“There will be two less IED planters on the planet and the other one has shit in his pants so he’ll be easy for the dogs to find. The UAV is still tracking him and he is currently isolated in a building where he seems to be holding for the night. He’ll soon have visitors.” He reported implying a quick reaction force was being deployed from FOB Dand to arrest him.

“There were four rockets fired at us tonight, a couple landed inside the wire and one into a tent of European soldiers playing cards. There may be deaths with that one, don’t know yet.” He paused and breathed away some emotional stress moisture from his eyes.

“Gil…He’s in critical condition at Roll 3.” His eyes were watery, he reeled back and continued. “The Chinook was doing a heels low pinnacle landing in the Reg Dessert. Gil was lying in the ramp door over the edge. He was directing the pilot down but didn’t see a rock under the other side of the ramp-door.”

Scrappy made a gesture with his hands showing how the ramp of the Chinook, acting like scissors, was forced up and almost cut Gil in half.

“His ballistic vest prevented penetration so he basically got squeezed. The other engineer and gunner couldn’t see but heard his voice change. Tiny ran to the back and saw his face growing like balloon about to pop. He yelled to the pilot to pull up immediately. Gil couldn’t talk during the flight to KAF so they knew it was bad and went to Roll 3.”

It was quiet in the room. Nothing but exhales of contemplation could be heard.

“Tiny saved his life, now go get some sleep.” Scrappy calmly exhaled.

“Steve, You’re up tomorrow night.” He directed as people rose to there feet, murmuring discussion while shuffling out of the room. He was exhausted. Irish and me went to the crew vehicle. We passed Big C and Fender on the way giving them a pat on the back. “Good job guys.” Irish stated.

“It was a bit confusing out there, we’ll tell you about it at tomorrow’s briefing.” Big C answered. His tone was different, a little more stoic.

“It was a helluva day for just a recce.” I tried to be sarcastic.

“Yah, it sure was.” Big C answered flatly; and for the first time I noticed that Big C’s binary smile actually was bent a little down.

End…

 

When I last left off my (fictional story based on true events), I had gone to operations to chat with Scrappy. We had a discussion over his lack of sleep and taking up residence in the TOC. He brushed it off and rewarded me the an ‘almost daily’ pull up competition; his usual response when he did not want to discuss things. Zorg and Hawk were having a heart-to-heart discussion on the smoke patio. The culmination of previous tours in Afghanistan, loss of colleagues in battle combined with observing the girl getting stoned was appearing to take affect on Zorg’s psyche. The reach of the Task Force Freedom helicopters was expanding to the west in Helmand Province and to the north to Qalat and Tarin Kowt. The fight with the enemy was low paced but the threat was very real. Scrappy was about to school me on the Devil’s Belly Button….

In the TOC…

“I need to tell to you about the mountains, the Devil’s Belly button and your mission coming up.” He stated seriously.

We walked inside to the operations room and pulled out a map of the area.

“You guys have been operating in this area for a month now transiting without problem.” He pointed to the map as he alarmingly stared in my eye. “I worked here as a UAV operator two years ago and this area…” he pointed to the map,“…is the Devil’s Belly Button. It is a major transit route for insurgents from the north and from Pakistan that come into our AO.” He paused. “Right now they are transiting out for the winter. However, there will be enemy strongholds here, observing us; waiting for an opportunity to strike.” He sat down in his chair and raised his brow. “Remember, if you crash here, you’re done! No one, not even ANA (Afghan National Army) are in that area to assist you. Take that in consideration and I further suggest you plan flights along this route!” He returned to the map drawing his finger along a safer route circling around the Belly Button.

“This is at least occasionally patrolled by ANA and is a logistics route for vehicles going north; this meant there may be a chance of getting some support if you get shot down,” he advised.

“Hmmm!” I exhaled absorbing the brief wide-eyed. “Alright.” I pointed to some FOB locations marked on an old map. “Are these FOBS still active?”

“They are former patrol bases; they were when I was here a couple years ago but I have spent the last 2 days trying to contact other nations and higher headquarters to find out. They are probably closed now, so let’s just say no.” He stated adamantly. “Like I said, your on your own.”

“Make sure the other pilots know about this. I’ll ensure I brief them during Ops briefs but get people thinking about it,” he warned. “We are starting to do more work up north.”

“Now about your Operation.” He segwayed.

“Whatcha got for me?” I asked enthusiastically.

“Operation Devil Strike. Your job is to insert a Sniper detachment onto this mountain on the north side at zero two hundred hours in two days. These snipers could be up in the hills for days providing observation for the battle group into the valley below. There is lots of activity including some suspected IED (Improvised Explosive Devise) manufacturing. They figure they need to watch everything covertly and watch for any HVTs (people designated as High Value Targets) that may be transiting into the IED factory.” He set the stage sternly.

“Snipers, they’ll be able to hear us put them in.” I said with concern.

“Yes, but there is a deception plan. The Battle Group Commander will be putting in some sort of noise screen to mask or detract from your landings.” Scrappy briefed.

“Noise screen? What the fuck is a noise screen?” I reeled back.

“It will be coincidental with a major armored tank and APC road move.” He informed.

“Cool.”

“Your job is to go in on the darkest night of the month and at the darkest hour in red illum (indicating no moon), blacked out, and get the guys in there?” He ordered. It was more of a question as to whether I wanted to accept it rather than an order. He knew it would be very challenging; almost offering me to bow out if I wanted to.

“Professor is your wingman with Arnie. He has already gone to Int (the Intelligence Section) to get a terrain analysis of the mountain to find the most ideal landing spot. On your next task tomorrow, maybe covertly fly by and look at the recommended landing spots to see what you think.” He suggested.

“Good idea. I’ll go chat with Professor.” I started to depart.

“Remember what I said about the predictability and the mountains, it applies. The Taliban aren’t stupid, look for any caves or hidey holes near there as well!” He closed with sincerity but maintained professional stoicism. “This is a high risk mission, Skipper and the Wing Commander will want to be personally briefed before they allow launch authority.”

“Okay, thanks,” I paused as I departed the room. “By the way, I purposely stopped at fourteen.” Referring to the pull up competition. Scrappy’s necked tightened and eyes enlarged. I expedited my departure smiling.

Professor already had a detailed terrain analysis and had chatted with Skipper about the task. I was excited about it. I never cared for planning the big large-scale operations; but I loved the small specialist missions. I saw Professor who showed me the maps.

“The terrain in this analysis looks like shit!” Prof snarled while looking down my nose. He had an enlarged lower lip indicating he was enjoying the flavors of red chief tobacco between his lips and gums. He spit into his coffee cup

“That’s disgusting.” I retorted ignoring his map comments. He smiled; he seemed to like to put people off balance with his gobby, black spit.

He continued, “…but I think we can fly by and check out these two locations on the ledges, what do you think?” he asked spitting again into his coffee cup.

“That’s gross boss.” I said twisting my face dry-heaving. “I think you need to get a new vice.”

He smiled. “Yup, but it’s ‘my’ vice so grow some skin! Enjoy your coffee, Red bull and pull-ups…I’m chewin’.” He defended. “Let’s check these ledges tomorrow while flying enroute to the west…There is no place to land otherwise. This analysis shows no level ground! We are going to have to hover deplane or get a skid on in the dark on a cliff — maybe here.” He pointed to the map.

“Okay, Let’s not slow down though,” I answered. “Just zip by; non-chalantly.” I added referring to the need for covert flight behaviour. We had to ensure the enemy didn’t suspect our intent.

Professor nodded, then spit.

I continued: “I also want to head here and practice some night mountain landings.” I pointed to an entirely different area on the map. “A little practice before we do the mission can’t hurt…practice single skid-on hover work too, just in case we don’t find anything suitable on the fly-by.”

“Good idea, I’ll get the CO to approve.” Professor acknowledged. We had an plan. “Sniper’s sure picked a shitty place to get to,” he mumbled walking away.

Our remaining crew arrived for briefing later that afternoon. Hawk came into the operations center. As the senior gunner he wasn’t allocated a specific crew, he rotated giving his gunners a break. He loved flying, as most gunners did, they wanted to help their brothers on the ground by being an eye in the sky.

“Sirs, Zorg’s taking the night off.” Hawk advised Professor and myself.

“He alright?” I enquired.

“Lotta shit on his mind right now. He’s alright. He’s gonna chat with the Padre and let off a bit of steam.” Hawk informed. “I’m with you for now.”

I nodded and gave him a quick outline of the task. “Pretty simple mission guys. Drop off a few passengers, look at possible landing spots here…” I pointed to the map as Prof showed pictures. “…then refuel and look for Taliban insurgents planting bombs in the dark, then do a mountain practice landing, and return. It should be a fairly calm night…” I concluded with a sarcastic smirk. Hawk nodded, reflecting the smirk.

to be continued…