Gambit of Terror

    Dust clouds rolled skyward as two Special Ops Black Hawk helicopters stopped and hovered twenty feet off the ground inside the fortified compound of Farouk Ahmad Tejeri in Kuz Kunar, Eastern Afghanistan. The Operations Sergeant onboard Green Bird Alpha yelled, “Go, go, go!”
   The three men on either side of the chopper dropped their respective ropes out the doors and slid down ninety percent of the line like a fireman’s pole toward the end. Then, virtually synchronized, the six men let go of the ropes dropping the remaining couple of feet to the ground.
   Instantly, short thirteen-hundred pounds of men and supplies, the chopper naturally lifted skyward and turned towards the east back in the direction of Pakistan. After the helicopter's noise had waned, the Green Bird Team heard rapid-fire shots erupt from the main building and saw faint muzzle flashes in the distance. They were aimless shots into the darkness.

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    Chief of Staff Marjorie Swift entered the Oval Office without knocking, “Mr. President, the raid on the compound has started.”
   “Have I got time to make a call?” President Jordan Scott asked as if the proclamation was of low importance.
   “I’m afraid not, Mr. President. The team is on the ground in Afghanistan, and the Situation Room is already monitoring.”
   “Very well.” President Scott pushed his chair back, stood, and at a quick pace, met the Chief of Staff at the door as she began stepping through it. The walk to the Situation Room in the southwest corner of the ground floor took less than a minute—enough time for events in Kuz Kunar to evolve rapidly.
   Marjorie Swift stepped aside after reaching the Situation Room first. “Mr. President.”
   “Thank you, Marjorie.”
   The long table in the Situation Room, officially known as the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, was lined with the key players in the military raid. They all stood as President Scott walked in. He was announced and greeted in unison, “Good evening, Mr. President.”
   “What have we got?” he asked, looking for a one-sentence summary.
   The Secretary of the Air Force, Devon Charles, took the question while the group sat down. “Mr. President, the Green Bird Team touched down at 3:13 a.m. local time and has begun operations.”
   The President looked at the large TV, and the twelve body camera feeds from the men in the compound. The green and grainy night-vision images revealed little of the property; most were the ground or another Ops member.
   “Is everyone down safely?”
   “Yes, Mr. President. Green Bird Alpha dropped the Berets,” the Defense Secretary confirmed. “They’ve now taken cover behind a building near the LZ. I want to introduce the Commander of the 20th Special Operations Squadron, Lieutenant Colonel Alexander (Axel) Hall. He’ll be briefing you on the remainder of the raid.”
   “Very well,” the President said. It was his go-to, I agree phrase.
   “Mr. President, the plan this evening is first to remove the gunfire threat,” Colonel Hall explained. “As Secretary Charles mentioned, our team is now using the shelter of an outbuilding near the main residence. Once the area is secure, we’ll move in, flanking the building, and then once inside, the team will locate and capture Tejeri. Per DEA Administrator Rutherford, Colonel Axel Hall has instructed the team to capture Tejeri alive.”
   After his quick briefing, Colonel Hall nodded to a man sitting at a small control panel on the table. The man reacted by pressing a virtual button on a control panel. Instantly, audio from Special Forces Captain Daniel Clark could be heard coming through the TV speakers. It was clear from the sound that it was enemy gunfire.
   “Green Bird 1, Captain Clark, this is Colonel Hall. Are you able to give us an update?”
   “Yes, Sir. We’ve held up inside a garage building about a hundred yards from the house before we move in. We’ve killed the power, and we can see the main residence. It’s confirmed to be two stories. The top story is about half as big as the ground floor.”
    Green Bird 1 continued his report, despite the defensive fire. “There are windows on the sides we can see, and most have closed shutters. The building is surrounded by a brick pony wall about three and a half feet high. The guards appear to be shooting blindly into the darkness. We are positioned to engage.”
   “Captain Clark, do you have a count of targets?”
   The video tile on the Situation Room TV streaming the captain’s night-vision view swung side to side. The man was looking.
   “We can see nine at the moment, Colonel. There are two on the roof, four on the balcony, and three at ground level. There may be more inside. At this time building remains dark. We can see the main entrance from our viewpoint and a left-side exit. We’re unsure if there are any exits on the north or west sides. Three vehicles off to the north are parked nearby a closed gate in the perimeter wall.”
   “Captain Clark, you are cleared to engage.”
   DEA Administrator Carol Rutherford was paying close attention. It was her show, her target.
   Clark knew his team was in position. “Roger.”
   Using Special Ops MK17 SCAR rifles, three shots rang out from the window toward the house. Two more rife shots from the snipers lying prone against the outside walls of the garage targeted the shooters on the balcony level of the residence. The sound of return fire dropped by half.
   Inside his home, Farouk Tejeri ran to an open window in response to the shots fired. Stopping several feet back, intending not to be detected, he hoped to see his guards making headway against whoever was attacking. From his viewpoint, he only saw darkness and random flashes of yellow originating from the small garage inside the compound. He called out to his guards in the house. Only one appeared.
   Green Bird 1 yelled into the radio, “Four targets down.”
   Colonel Axel Hall didn’t acknowledge the kills. “Captain Clark, clear the enemy before flanking.”
   There was no, Yes, Sir, only radio silence.
   As the order was received, three men wearing dark perahan tunban outfits ran from the building at ground level toward the pony wall that encircled the residence building. They raced toward positions behind the wall. At the same time, the snipers cussed under their breath. From their angle, they had no chance to fire.
   Green Bird 4 was heard on the radio, “What the fuck are they doing?”
   With night-vision goggles to assist, the three Special Ops members in the garage window managed a burst of automatic fire, hitting one man as he ran.
   After the fire burst, Captain Clark had a few thoughts to share, “Green Bird 4, stay off the radio unless needed. We’ve still got two on the roof, two on a perimeter wall, and one on the second floor.”
   Radio chatter followed about ending two more lives. “Green Bird 2 & 3, take the roof. 2, take the left, 3, the right.”
   Easily located because of intermittent muzzle flashes, the men on the rooftop could be seen having moved locations. The men defending the compound were now positioned on the corners of the rooftop patio, believing them to be better vantage points to return fire. The height of the protective wall became their Achilles heel. They would need to partially stand to fire downward at the enemy. The moment they attempted to aim at the garage, two shots pierced the night, killing them both.
   “Green Bird 1, two more down.”
   “Roger.” Colonel Hall pushed the operation forward, “Captain Clark, flank the building.”
   “Yes, Sir. On my mark, Scout Teams Bird 7, 8, and 9 flank south. Bird 10, 11, and 12 flank north.”
   Captain Clark turned away from the open window and tapped all three men beside him on the shoulder. Each, in turn, looked him in the eye. He held out his hand, and pointed in succession at the three remaining targets, then held up three fingers on his right hand.
   He counted as he dropped one finger at a time. “Three, two, one!” When the last finger dropped, gunfire exploded from within the garage. “Go, go, go!” was heard on the radio.
   The man on the balcony fell back instantly when he was hit by several rounds. The two men behind the pony wall dropped at the sound of the first shot and did not move from the position as continued gunfire kept them pinned down.
   Unseen in the darkness, Green Bird 7, 8, and 9 flanked the building at full speed and had moved up a slight slope which granted them a clear line of sight to the backside of the pony wall, and the two men curled up behind it. Crouched down, Green Bird 7 and 8 opened fire on the men before they had a chance to react.
   The radio came alive as silence overpowered the compound, “Green Bird 1, targets eliminated. Moving in.”
   “Rog.”
   Approaching from the north side of the building, Green Bird 10 spotted a human shape in one of the second-story windows. The moment Green Bird 10 focused on the opening, the person retreated inside the room and did not attempt to defend the building. “Green Bird 1, we’ve got at least one target in the house.”
   “Rog.”
   Captain Clark never saw Green Bird 10, 11, and 12 reach the north door. It was out of view. “Green Bird 1, Green Bird 10, 11, and 12 are now in position, north door.”
   “Rog. Stand by for go, no go.”
   “Affirm.”
   Everyone in the Situation Room held their breath as they watched the three body cams of Green Bird 7, 8, and 9 looping around plants near the compound’s outside wall—the route increased their travel time to the south door by a half-minute. Captain Clark had no screens to watch. He watched the Scout Team make the loop to arrive at the door in real life.
   “Positions!” Captain Clark commanded into the radio seconds after the last team reached the south door.
   Green Bird 7 and 8 moved to either side of the south door; Green Bird 9 was positioned in front of it. The north door was likewise manned.
   “Breach, breach, breach.”
   DEA Admin Carol Rutherford was caught up in the storming of the building. She let out a quiet “Yes!” It was her first raid and time in the Situation Room.
   In the compound, the flimsy wooded doorframes posed no resistance to the strong men who slammed their bodies into the doors. The doors flew open with ease. Both Green Berets, who simultaneously bullied the doors clear, stumbled. Green Bird 9 fell forward onto the ground inside the south hallway. Two rapid shots echoed in the confined space.
   In the Situation Room, Rutherford’s excitement quickly evaporated as Green Bird 9’s camera went dead in time with the shot. Her heart rate spiked. “What Happened?” she yelled to the room.
   Colonel Hall didn’t answer and didn’t ask Captain Clark for a status report. He let his men do what they were trained to do. With Clark’s microphone open on VOX, the shots in the south hallways could be heard in the distance, followed by several rapid bursts, then silence.
   To enter the building Green Bird 7 and Green Bird 8 had to step over Bird 9, who lay on the floor after the firefight. They stepped into the hallway; their shoulder-mounted and infrared flashlights illuminated the way. Pointed forward at chest height, their rifles were still smoking. Looking for more active shooters, Bird 8 glanced around the corner into the closest room; a lone man lay on the floor. A few seconds of their search time was consumed, confirming the original assailant was dead before moving on and clearing the adjacent rooms. Confident there were no other threats nearby, the men returned to Green Bird 9. He was found clutching his upper right chest and rocking forward and back slightly.
   Colonel Hall heard the radio chirp, “Green Bird 1, Green Bird 9 has been hit. He’s okay, just winded, and he’ll have a nasty bruise. Kevlar did its job. His camera took the brunt of it, though.”
   An unemotional “Rog” came back from Green Bird 1. “Bird 7, bring him back.”
   Carol Rutherford let out a sigh of relief. She never envisioned the possibility of trading the life of a Special Ops Green Beret for that of Farouk Tejeri.
   Green Bird 9 was helped up to lean against the wall to recover. Green Bird 7 and Green Bird 8 moved on to clear the remainder of the rooms on the ground level, while Green Bird 10, 11, and 12 took the first available staircase to sweep the second level of the building.
   In the first room, a parlor of sorts, Green Bird 7 was astonished as he compared the interior of the home to the rough, painted white cinderblock exterior. Inside the parlor the floor was decked in white marble, the walls were clad in carved teak, and a crystal chandelier hung low from a ten-foot ceiling. Below the lamp, a grand piano was the room’s centerpiece. Chairs and loveseats lined the perimeter of the opulent room.
   “Clear. Heading to the hall.”
   Green Bird 7 walked facing into the short hallway, weapon up. Bird 8 followed, backing into the hall covering the four hundred square foot room as they moved out.
   Above them in the first bedroom, Green Bird 10 was exploring the first bedroom when the radio crackled to life. “I’ve got one,” he announced. “A boy of about twelve. He was hiding in a closet.”
   When the boy knew he’d been found, he stood, instinctively raised his hands, slowly walked to the bedside, and sat. Unarmed, the child was brave enough to start speaking in Pashto to the man in fatigues who had found him. Green Bird 11 and 12 stayed in the hall, fearing a suicide bomb explosion was imminent. Sensed by Green Bird 10, the boy did not appear threatening or agitated. Green Bird 10 lowered his rife and gestured for the boy to stand with a come here motion with his hand. Once up, Green Bird 10 asked the boy to turn around, again letting his hand do the talking. The boy complied and was led out of the room to the men waiting in the hall. His hands were bound before being ushered back into the room. Green Bird 12 stayed behind to watch the boy as Bird 10 and 11 moved forward.
   Nearing the end of the sweep, Green Bird 10 recalled the room ahead on his right as likely having been the window where he’d seen a human shape. The hairs on his arms stood up as he approached the door, hugging the wall as best he could. When he was close enough to see, he found the door closed. He had to decide to go in guns blasting or employ a defensive approach. He reached for a stun grenade, set the timer to 1.3 seconds, and held it forward for Green Bird 11 to see; he responded with a nod and quietly walked to the far side of the door. With a nod, Green Bird 11 reached for the door handle, quickly turned the knob and pushed the door open. Green Bird 10, while still hugging the wall, pulled the pin and threw the flashbang behind him through the open door with his right hand. The men turned their faces away, waiting for only tenths of a second for the flashbang to blind, deafen and disorient whoever was inside the room.
   The flash briefly overpowered the light-sensitive cameras pushing the two video feeds to go white. The noise transmitted through Green Bird 1’s microphone was recognized by Colonel Hall. “Flashbang,” he said. The crowd in the Situation Room appeared to agree.
   Only seconds later, Green Bird 10 and 11 lunged through the door spotting two bodies lying on the floor, both holding their hands over their pain-plagued ears. It was two women. Each was bound and lifted onto the bed in the room.
   “Green Bird 12, bring the boy to the end of the hall.”
   “Rog.”
   “Tejeri’s wives?” Green Bird 11 asked without keying his transmitter.
   Green Bird 10 could only guess. “Likely. But where’s Tejeri?”
   Bird 10 wisely looked out the window into the compound. A lone figure could be seen running toward the parked vehicles. The man running out in the night was still wearing his evening kaftan; its light color made him an easy target to track. Green Bird 10 keyed his transmitter, “Tejeri’s on the run. He’s headed to the cars.” Coward, Bird 10 thought as he and Bird 11 took up defensive positions in the second-floor hallway.
   “We see him,” Green Bird 1 replied. “Green Bird 2, take him down. Keep it low.”
   Three shots left the muzzle of the MK17 at almost three thousand feet per second. One bullet hit a thigh; another clipped the top of his hip bone as he began to fall; Farouk Tejeri collapsed fifty feet short of his Range Rover. Powered by adrenaline, Tejeri started crawling in vain on his stomach toward his SUV, his elbows digging into the sand. Green Bird 4 and 5 reacted, running forward and stopping behind a well as a defensive position. From their safe position, they watched the man for thirty seconds. Twenty feet short of his goal, he appeared to have stopped moving.
   Seconds later, Green Bird 4 ran up beside one of the other vehicles for cover. Tejeri remained still. Green Bird 5 followed, circling on the far side of the line of cars. Closer to the man, Bird 5 shone a flashlight on the face of the man lying prone in the sand.
   He pushed his transmit button, “Green Bird 1, can confirm that’s Tejeri.”
   “Proceed with caution.”
   “Rog.”
   For another half-minute, the man bleeds out and remains motionless.
   “Green Bird 1, Bird 5, I’m going to approach.”
   “Rog.”
   Crouched slightly, with his gun pointed at the body, Green Bird 5 took cautious steps bringing him closer to Tejeri’s body. He adjusted his gun down as he approached. Then with Bird 5 only steps away, Tejeri rocketed his arm up, firing a single shot from his Makarov pistol into the face of Green Bird 5. The soldier’s head snapped back, preceding his body as it fell away from the man on the ground. After the lone shot and weak from blood loss, Tejeri’s arm dropped uncontrolled, hitting the ground simultaneously with Green Bird 5.
   In the White House Situation Room, all eyes happened to be viewing the correct tile, the correct video stream from Green Bird 4 on the TV to witness the gunshot from Tejeri. DEA Admin Rutherford gasped as the image cruelly revealed Green Bird 5 collapsing. Seconds after, a burst of static from a radio in Afghanistan interrupted the feed.
   “Green Bird 1, Bird 5 is down. He was shot near point blank. Permission to return fire?”
   “Standby.”
   Carol Rutherford jumped up from her seat in the Situation Room, “Colonel, no!”
   “You’re out of line, Carol,” Secretary of Defense General Casper Lewis barked. “Let me remind you that is a military operation and not a DEA gig. I’m well aware of your interest in Farouk Tejeri, but keep your thoughts to yourself. Colonel, recommend that return fire be limited to active engagements only.”