Bravo Company had inserted by helicopter in two trips. The Arms room was open before the first troop got on one of the whirly birds. The Rangers fall under different rules and so they have rounds in the arms room. What good is a unit you can deploy anywhere in the world if they don’t have bullets for the fight. It does not take long to issue weapons and night vision and they are on their way. The other units are prepping and planning. Charlie and Delta just hope there is still a city standing when they get on line. You hate to get pumped up and not have a fight to go to.
Alpha Company formed one large convoy. Mostly humvees and cargo trucks. Due to the limit of helicopters they have to drive the 50 miles into Seattle. Of course they have a place to go. One of the shipyards is empty at this time of night and gives them a good place to set up behind all the containers. There is even a nice large spot for the choppers to land for rest or refuel. By this time CW4 Lancer has woken everyone up and given the lowdown on what is going on. The only snag is getting bullets for the choppers. There isn’t a single flight crew member not on board.
All the activity near the waterfront attracted the attention of the Coast Guard. It takes the full talent of their world class bullshitter to get them not only to back down but to give them a wide berth. There is no reason to get them involved.
There continues to be organized chaos until the Blackhawk touches down. When the two guys with hoods over their heads are taken out, everyone noticed. Prisoners can mean a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.
They are brought into a tent that was set up a part from the rest. There is triple strand concertina circling it, the only tent with that. The people who occupy the tent brought their gear in rolling pelican blxes and no one has seen them since they went it. Things do not bode well for the persons under custody or “PUC” as is the abbreviation. Especially considering that is the tent with the biggest generator. It is also the smallest tent, and they have battery powered lanters. How much power do they need? Hopefully the loud generator noise will drown out the screams.
Sitting on metal chairs the hoods are abruptly removed. Except for the canvas sides, this looks like any other interrogation room (now called interview rooms since it sounds better) in any police station around the country. A couple metal chairs, a metal four sided table in the center and the single hanging light bulb. The two uniformed soldiers in the corner are a new twist, and the guy sitting across from them is wearing a polo shirt and not the cheap shirt and tie most detectives wear. But these two guys know how to handle this situation and feel confident that they will outsmart whoever this is.
Usually the interrogator flips through files to look official or like he has some secret information but this one is oddly cool.
“I am sure you are familiar with good cop/bad cop,” he starts, “but this is a new situation for you. Today we are playing ‘no cop’ and it isn’t as fun.”
He lets that sink in for a minute before continuing, “I am not a police officer, I am a soldier. Which means that your world just got a whole lot worse. I am sure that you have heard of the Geneva Conventions?”
“You do know it is conventions and not convention,” he says digressing, “there was more than one. You don’t think that so many countries agreed upon the rules of war in one sit-down did you?”
“So the military has the Geneva Conventions,” he replies getting back on track and enunciating the ‘S’, “part of the Geneva Conventions cover prisoners of war, and how humanely they will be treated. The conduct is very specific for the captors.”
That very though puts the two at ease and they exchange a glance that shows that they are of the same mind.
“Unfortunately, you are not prisoners of war.” He lets that thought hang in the air, “so this is new territory, legally I am free to do pretty much what I want. However, never let it be said that I am not fair, I will give you one chance to tell me the information I want and you will walk out of here. You might limp, but you will be alive.”
Now they decide to play the one card they love to play above all others, a quick rattling in a foreign language to play that they don’t speak English and they are at a stalemate. Both smile smugly as the guy has to figure out his next move. Without a word he walks out.
Carter Mann is a Staff Sergeant in the United States Army. Currently he is attached to the S-2 section of the 2nd Ranger Battalion. He is an intelligence analyst, and a damn good one. However that makes him a pogue, someone who has a non-combat arms Military Occupational Specialty. While he can be Airborne with his MOS, he will not be allowed into Ranger school. Even if they change the rules, there is no way he will get the chance in the Ranger Batt. He will always be an “untabbed bitch” and he has come to terms with it.
There are two types of Soldiers in the Ranger Battalion, those with a Ranger Tab and those without. Those without are untabed bitches. Of course they are still called Rangers. Anyone who wears the Ranger Scroll unit patch is a Ranger. Having the tab just means you finished Ranger School, or as those inside the fence of the Ranger Batt will call you a tabbed soldier, you aren’t a “real” Ranger unless you were in the Batt.
They don’t overtly look down on him, but he knows that they will never consider him equal. As always when it is him to work, they look at him like he has all the answers. There is no way that he is going to let some punks make him look bad, not after all he has been through. Especially since time is of the essence, he doesn’t have the time to play fuckaround. Fuckaround is not a game you play with angry Rangers.
They are still smiling when he bursts back into the tent. “Sorry you don’t speak English, you won’t understand what I am saying, but I will tell you anyway.” With that he throws a large net over each person.
“Okay, here is the deal. You don’t speak English and since I am not a police officer, and you are not prisoners of war, I am no obligated to set you free. I will however let you go, of course I am letting you go over the water in the middle of Puget Sound.”
Then he starts cinching the nets closed with padlocks.
“These are nice heavy duty cargo nets. They can support a lot more weight than either of you have. So here is the deal, I am going to close them with these locks. The keys of these locks will be worn with the dogtags of the squadmembers of those that you attacked. Everytime they look at them they will think of you, of course you will be crabfood.”
“We are going to weigh these nets down with ammo cans filled with dirt and rocks, then we are going to load you up one at a time one the choppers and throw you out over the water.”
As if on cue, they can hear the helicopter spooling up.
“I don’t care if you understand me, but you should believe me. I will promise you this, whichever one learns English the fastest gets to live, the other one will feed the crabs. And before you think it is a trick that I am going to take you out and drop you off one at a time, it is because I have too many grunts who want to ride out with us and try and shoot you on the way down.”
“The reason for the nets is so that you bodies will not float to the surface or wash up anywhere on shore. The loops in the net a large enough for the fish and crabs to feed on you.”
His tone is full of malice and his face is stone cold. Once he has one wrapped up tight, he tells the other one, “don’t go anywhere.” And has a couple large Rangers pick him up, net, chair and all. They carry him and heave him onto the floor of the chopper.
Once it lifts off it gets very real. They waste no time flying out over the water. There is no fly in circles and let the tension build. In less than a minute, Carter is pushing him towards the edge.
“I SPEAK ENGLISH!!!!” He screams at the top of his lungs. “I’LL TELL YOU WHATEVER YOU WANT TO KNOW!!!”
Carter just looks at him with dead eyes and points to his ears. He mouths, “I can’t hear you.” And points straight up, the rotors are drowning out his voice.
With that the captive understands that he waited just a few seconds too long. He is shaking his head back and screaming at the top of his lungs.
Finally he feels something clamp over his ears and the loud rotor noise gets muffled.
“Ready to talk?” The intercom voice says?
It is the most complete confession, anyone has ever heard. Carter’s reaction is unexpected.
“Sorry,” he says pushing him toward the edge, “your stupid get away driver was not on the same sheet of music, he already talked, you have to give me something more.”
That is when he gets into as much detail as he can. Hoping that there is just one piece of information that will save his life.
“Thanks, that was helpful.”
And with that, Carter pushes him out the door. He falls screaming, for about four feet. He lands with a splash into the zodiac being helmed by two Rangers. They steer him back to shore as the chopper flys back.
“Nice bluff,” Lancer says over the headphones.
“I wasn’t bluffing, if he hadn’t talked, he was going in.”
Lancer mentally crosses off SSG Mann from his list of potential poker buddies.
As soon as they land Carter jumps out of the chopper and yells, “Saddle up, we have a target. And a live Ranger!”
He looks at the sobbing get away driver and thinks that was the fastest he has ever broken a man. Then back into the tent, best thing to do is to confirm the story from three different angles. When he opens the tent it is rank with the smell of urine. This is going to be easier than he thought.
The senior man for Homeland Security in Seattle has been getting calls all night. There have been reports of armed men running through the streets and helicopters flying all around. The reports give the impression of something BIG going down, but he hasn’t heard of anything. And if the streets are full of armed men, where are the reports of gunfire? He needs to get to the bottom of this right away. Few things will get him out of a warm bed in the wee hours of the morning, this is not going to be a good day for someone. If he knew how right he was, he would have stayed in bed.
They have the worst duty of the rest. But as is true in the military like any other organization, even the worst jobs are still necessary for the group to function well. So while they do not enjoy it, it must be done. Someone has to scour the morgues for the bodies of their comrades.
It doesn’t take long to come across a body they recognize. He died at the scene with a shotgun blast to the chest. Had he been wearing his ranger body armor, he would have a tough time breathing, but he would be okay. However no one carries the RBA out to the clubs. When they call to report in there is good news and bad news. They provide the bad news to inform the commander that one of his soldiers is dead. The good news is that the last one is accounted for, and possibly alive.
The captives spill their guts. They are part of a new predominantly Vietnamese gang operating in the International District called by outsiders as “Chinatown” Seattleites consider themselves too progressive to use such a limiting term. Especially since there are so many Asian groups there, to refer to them as one seems insulting. Of course it is the Caucasians who use the term ID, like everyone should just know. They are snobbish in their progressive mindset.
This gang is different than the rest. They have no set territory, no clear membership, and no name. The members of most groups like to give themselves a cool sounding name. So you feel like you belong, these guys know that once you have a name, the police will have something to call you and have something to target. This way there is no organization to chart, if they have no name, do they even exist?
The Rangers have the address of the place they are going to hit, and the layout. They have learned from far too many urban engagements how to play this. They take nothing for granted, they don’t underestimate their opponent, or overestimate their own prowess. This is always the worst part, putting the pieces in place. It is when they are most vulnerable and when you are least flexible to adjust the plan. None are worried, the soldiers have faith in their leaders, and the leaders have unwavering faith in their Rangers.
Their friends should be back, or called in that they killed the guy in the hospital. But it has been a while and no word. Not even anything on the news. They are starting to get worried, and one again their captive is muttering to himself.
“Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.”
