Chronicles #3 Operation Rising Tide

Operation: Rising Tide

 

16MAR03. After a short break we were called to duty again. Apparently a Russian mob outfit was trying to move American chemical agents into Kuwait via boat. I mean, what the actual fuck? I guess that ban on chemical warfare didn’t get far into the destruction of existing substances.

 

15MAR03 2140 Zulu. Geared up and leaving from an unmarked airstrip near Hafar-Al-Batin on an AC-130. Destination: 28 miles west of Al Jahra. Our guys stateside had already found the source of said substances and had it all mopped up. Our job was to intercept the existing shipment and return it to its rightful owner for proper disposal. Eliminate all hostiles. They weren’t going to give up without a major fight so we were expecting heavily armed resistance. Intel had their hands full. We had a list of known Orekhovskaya operatives that would definitely be on site. We had the boat in question: The Red Sea Star. We did not, however, have enough intel on any locals who were assisting, presumably for a cut of the profits. This was not expected to be a quick in and out operation. We expected casualties. Why not just sink the boat and blame weather? Because nobody wants that shit floating around in the ocean.

 

15MAR03 2225 Zulu. HALO jumps. We had men on the ground already but their role was to extract upon completion. On a very well hidden makeshift airstrip we met SEAL Team 5 Foxtrot. They had all the neat toys. M82A1 anti materiel rifles. FGM-148 Javelin launchers. MacMillan TAC-338 rifles. These are the guys that can shoot the fuzz off of a dandelion at 1,300 yards. SEAL Team 4 Echo was my team. 8 of us. Our opposition: 6 Orekhovskaya captains. Whovever is on the Red Sea Star. Whatever weapons they bring. We consisted of 8 members. M4 rifles, suppressed. M9A2 pistols, suppressed. M18A1 Claymore mines, not suppressed. M67 frag grenades. K-bar 5020 knives. Wits. Cunning. Bad breath. Harsh language. We were taking 2 of the MacMillan rifles and their operators. A force of 10. Rather than go in with regular uniforms, we were all dressed in plain black BDUs with no affiliation marking. As far as anyone knew, we were mercenaries. If shit went south there’d be no ties to anyone or anything.

 

16MAR03 0025 Zulu. We drove out in unmarked HMMWVs. There’s a small port near the northern tip of Kuwait Bay about 5 miles from the nearest road. We were dropped off to take positions. Can’t be all secretive with a few hummers parked right? The terrain was pretty flat. Night vision worked pretty well under the clear starry sky. Thermal picked up nothing. We dug in and got ready to catch a boat.

 

16MAR03 0100 Zulu. The Red Sea Star was smaller than we expected, more like a big yacht than a cargo vessel. The plan was to wait for people to come ashore and hit them. They would be protecting the boat so a good portion of them would be on the beach. Only nobody left the boat. It kind of ran ashore and stuck itself in the sand. Few things I hate more than when the plan gets changed. Ensign Smith (that’s what I’ll call him) was running thermal on the scope of his MacMillan. Faint heat signatures on the bridge. 5 hostiles. Unable to determine level of armament.

 

16MAR03 0140 Zulu. We heard the sounds of large trucks coming from the road. 4 semis. Driving to where the Red Sea Star was beached. Now things made sense. We prepared. One truck was carrying a fork lift. That would make things slow. Good for us. We saw 2 people get off the boat and meet with 4 guys from the truck with the fork lift. Hands were shaken. A briefcase was handed over. However. 4 people from another truck ambushed the guys from the boat and they took back the briefcase. Everyone in trucks got out and formed a semicircle around them. 20 heavily armed hostiles. Whoever was left on the boat was no longer of consequence because one of the Orekhovskaya captains went aboard and eliminated whatever crew was still on board. Something didn’t look right about the hostiles pulling guard duties. Something was horribly wrong. They opened fire on us. We were so well dug in, God Himself couldn’t see us, but their guys could. We weren’t expecting a full blown firefight and here it was. We returned fire and a few of the hostiles fell. But they managed to take out one of the MacMillan boys before he got a single shot off. Then the grenades flew. We were dug in enough to minimize the effect of their ordnance but it wasn’t enough. Someone was screaming behind me, a few yards away. The grenade that hit his position was incendiary. We couldn’t do a thing to help him. We could only continue engagement. One of the hostiles kind of exploded off to the side. His head seemed to peel itself from his neck, and quickly. M82A1 fire. My best count had three from 5 Foxtrot leveling the playfield. The hostiles retreated onto the boat. The forklift had been destroyed with its driver. Mission parameters did not allow for the destruction of the boat or the cargo, but our only option was to board.

 

16MAR03 0250 Zulu. Everything stopped as suddenly as it started. We had 3 casualties. Lt Smith got on the code-a-phone.

 

“Andy’s Mom, this is Buzz Lightyear, request page refresh”. 30 second of silence. His face lit up when they responded and whatever color he had in his face drained out. We gathered around and got the bad news. “Our intel is compromised, “ he started, “they knew something was going to happen so they hired former SPEZNATZ as security. We are to proceed with extreme prejudice. No one on the boat sees the sun come up. Cargo safety is priority one.” He let it sink in. I asked the first question.

 

“Do we know what part of the boat the cargo is in?”

 

“Cargo is secured in the space below the bridge” he replied immediately. “Apparently their expectation of resistance led them to store it all in hardened containers. 9MM and 5.56 aren’t a problem. Make sure you have your atropine ampules.”

 

16MAR03 0310 Zulu. The 75 yards to the boat was the longest 75 yards I’ve ever advanced over. Our boys with the .50 rifles kept us as covered as they could. We opted to climb other parts of the boat rather than front door our way on board. Current hostile count: 17. Normally this might be a walk in the park, but we were facing the Russian equivalent of ourselves. It was about anyone’s game now. Three of us (including myself) came up over the port side. Nobody there. We took up positions on the deck, covering behind the structures. Three more made it aboard. Before the next three got to the ropes a mine went off. We were down by three. The six of us on board were now on a seek and destroy. A grenade hit the deck in front of us. I managed to throw an empty M4 magazine and push it away some. Not really enough. Our body armor protected some, but just a hair short of completely. The six of us now had a liability in a man that couldn’t walk very well. We could patch him up and have him hide and hopefully provide cover. That grenade seemed to come from nowhere. I peeked over the starboard side and found the source. An open window, I could see movement and hear voices. I plucked an M67 from my carrier and pulled the pin. I let the spoon fly and counted to 2. I dropped it and it went off right by the window. They were down by two to four. The five of us advanced to the bridge. Apparently nobody was watching the bridge. Three bodies, all shot execution style were piled up on the floor. We all heard a click as the selector of an AK rifle went from semi to auto. Muzzle flash told us where he was, but we were pinned. There was a break in the shooting so we prepared to return fire. He reloaded rather quickly and continued firing. I got my M9 ready as I’d only have about half a second. The pause. I mag dumped at his position. 18 rounds. He was hit by 4. I’m not a bad shot, I scored highest in the SEAL class on pistol. He was wearing a face plate as well as a standard Russian carrier vest. He took 2 to the neck, one on his right hand, and one in his eye. Body armor is great when it covers everything. We took his weapon and 4 magazines taped in pairs. His headset was destroyed. He also had grenades. Yay us.

 

16MAR03 0335 Zulu. Apparently we took out someone important. We heard frantic footsteps racing toward the bridge. Our guys outside heard everything and were scrambling up ropes on all sides. 5 of them didn’t make it. We scrambled off the bridge to find a better position. We found ourselves in kind of a corridor or hallway. Zero light so we switched our night vision on. People were leaving from the other end so we opened up on them. 4 down. We had left a couple of the aforementioned Claymores on the bridge. They spotted one but not the other. Gotta love proximity triggers. Something hit me.

 

16MAR03 indeterminate TOD. I woke up. I was stripped down to boots, trousers, and t shirt. I was tied to the chair. A gruff voice spoke:

 

“So, you are think you can come and take from me what is mine?” The remaining Orekhovskaya captain. “Your little team is walk into trap. They will be surround and cut down. I will deliver the cargo and you are my prize.” My mind was already at work. Whoever tied me to the chair was certainly not a Boy Scout or in the US Navy. I was copping a feel on the ropes trying to figure out the nature of the knots. He spoke again; “Do not think you will get out of ropes, I tie them myself!”. His hand crossed my face. Goddamnit that stung. I tasted blood. “You do not leave!” he yelled as he left the room. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could see a little better. I thought for a moment about the four guys who were with me. Hopefully they got away. My legs weren’t tied. Their intel had zero idea who we were and how trained we were. The chair wasn’t secured to the floor. Wooden chair. Metal would rust too easily being on a smaller boat like this. I heard footsteps. He was coming back. In the distance I could hear gunfire and yelling. The door opened and he turned to close it. No more fucking around. Before he could face me, I jumped as hard as I could, then twisted in the air. The back of the chair caught him right in the breadbasket and broke. I rolled over and started kicking him wherever I could land a boot, as hard and as fast as I could. He curled into a fetal position, which gave me enough time to get to my feet. My hands were freed so I took him into a rear naked choke. My mistake. He likely had years of sambo training. I was right. He slammed the back of his head into my face before I could lock it down. I heard and felt the sickening crunch of my nose going to lunch. I put a foot in his back and pushed him away as hard as I could. He got to his feet at the same time I did and drew a knife. Motherfucker that’s MY knife and I want it back! My only advantage was size. Maybe I couldn’t generate the striking power he could but I could hit faster. I could still hear gunfire and yelling. As much as I hoped it was my team getting the upper hand, I had a huge Russian bent on killing me. And I was half blind from the broken nose. I reached up and set it as best I could. He took the bait and came at me. My knife caught part of my shoulder. My knee caught part of his windpipe. He stumbled back, clutching at his rapidly closing airway. I stomped as hard as I could on his balls, but he was still aware enough to jab me in the thigh. Fortunately nowhere near my femoral artery etc… but I was in trouble. I could no longer stand. He was still coming at me. If I survive this I’ll need to work on my knee strikes because he should be unconscious by now. He raised my knife over his head. With his dying collapse he was going to plant my K-bar right in my little heart. Things aren’t looking good. I managed to spit in his face before he started to drive my knife at me. The door opened behind him.

 

16MAR03 0405 Zulu. His chest seemed to explode as he took a .338 in the back. The surviving MacMillan man. The final hostile collapsed sideways. I tried to speak, but you know, broken nose and major blood loss and all: “Mission...complete..?” He rushed over and began first aid. I tried speaking again: “Bad guys...dead..”. He smiled at me.

 

“We’re all done here. You can stop being aoldier for a while!” I smiled back at him and realized I had missing teeth. I need a vacation.

 

19MAR03 0800 Zulu. I woke up in an Army hospital somewhere. My leg was stitched up. My nose was properly set. I had a wicked gap in my teeth where they had been knocked slap out. I found the nurse call button. She came in and gave me a smile. God it was nice to be safe again.

 

03APR03 0700 Zulu. The Department Of The Navy was curious about my side of the story. According to them, the faulty intel was due to simple human error. My response was to tell the senior officers that human error killed most of my team and almost me. I made sure they understood I was not happy.

 

15APR03 1300 Zulu. We honored our fallen. The Purple Heart medal and Navy Cross didn’t mean shit, really. The worst part was that there were exactly three people at the service. The minister, MacMillan, and myself. Afterward I wanted to thank him for saving me. I was curious how he found me.

 

“My name’s Ward. Ensign Craig Ward. “he said offering his hand for a shake. I accepted his hand.

 

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Charly Blackwood, “ I said, smiling with new teeth in place. “I honestly thought that was it for me. I owe you my life…” We shook. He smiled again. Tall, light skinned redhead. Piercing blue eyes. Oh my.

 

“Uh...ma’am, are you blushing?” Just a note; when you’re wearing a Navy white dress uniform any little bit of redness in your face is amplified by about 10,000.

Done