Executive Power (20 page)

Rapp was relieved to see Coleman. He wasn't crazy about jungles.

They were great for concealment, but that went both ways. Behind every tree and bush loomed the threat of death. Moving through a jungle, even in the best of conditions, was physically draining. The humidity, the bugs and the heat all took their toll, but that wasn't the nastiest part. It was the manifestation of paranoia that really wore you down. The psychological toll it took on your nerves was far greater than the way the heat and humidity sapped your strength. The constant threat of ambush or booby trap meant that every single footfall on the path was taken with trepidation. Every bush and tree potentially concealed an enemy waiting to cut you down.

Throughout the two-hour march from the beach Rapp took comfort in the fact that Coleman kept reporting that the enemy appeared to be sitting the storm out. Hopefully, any of the MILF guerrillas on the island were doing the same. An ambush was unlikely, but a booby trap was still a real possibility.

They'd stopped twice for brief breaks so Jackson could get a head count and check in with Coleman. The storm seemed to gain strength as they made their way inland. Both Rapp and Jackson understood what this could mean, and they'd already discussed it with Captain Forester. Back on the bridge of the Belleau Wood Forester had a much better handle on the big picture.

Gale-force winds were now buffeting the flattop with speeds hitting forty miles per hour. And that wasn't the end of it. The ship's meteorologist was giving even odds that the front might turn into a full-blown tropical storm with winds hitting seventy-plus miles per hour. With the increased threat the amphibious group was now steaming toward Surigao Strait and the relative protection of the leeward side of the island. The weather had been an asset until now, but it could quickly become a hindrance to a very important part of the operation.

Jackson 's men were spread out in a defensive perimeter around Coleman's position. Radio silence was to be strictly obeyed unless there was something important to report. This had nothing to do with a fear of their conversations being intercepted. Neither Abu Sayyaf, MILF or the Philippine army had the technology to decipher their transmissions. Radio silence was simply standard operational procedure so the commanders could concentrate on the task at hand and keep the airwaves open.

Brief introductions were made. Rapp had already brought Jackson up to speed on Coleman's distinguished Special Forces career, and Coleman was still connected enough to the teams that he personally knew all of Jackson 's commanders.

"To start things off," said Rapp, looking mostly at Jackson, "I want to establish the chain of command." Glancing at Coleman, he continued, "Scott, you're running the show. No offense, Lieutenant, but he has more experience with this type of stuff than you."

"No offense taken," Jackson replied with sincerity. He was not so dumb as to think he was going to give orders to the former CO of SEAL Team 6, retired or not.

Wicker was brought in on the discussion to try to give them the best picture of what they were up against, and then the four men headed off through the soaked jungle to get a firsthand look at the enemy encampment. Coleman alerted Hackett and Stroble to expect visitors. A short while later four rain-soaked figures slithered on their bellies into a position just abreast of the other two men. It was now so dark that the recesses of the camp could only be seen with the aid of night vision devices.

Rapp placed a wet eyebrow up against the rubber cup of his gun scope. He was treated with a picture of the camp illuminated in shades of green, gray and black. It was pretty much what he'd expected from listening to Coleman's reports: four ramshackle lean-tos and two large tents. Faint light shone from under the bottom of both tents and the lean-tos were lit with lanterns. From their position Rapp could see directly into two of the lean-tos. He counted eight terrorists in one structure and nine in the other.

Taking his eye off the scope, Rapp asked, "Which hut has the hostages in it?"

Coleman was wearing a pair of night vision goggles with a single protruding lens, the type that made the wearer look like an insect.

"The one on the right."

"Anyone in there with them?"

"There was." Without looking away from the village, Coleman asked Hackett, who was lying next to him, "Kevin, how many tangos are in the tent with the family?"

Whispering, he replied, "Eight at last count."

Coleman relayed the number to Rapp, who estimated the size of the hut and then tried to imagine how the people would be laid out inside.

"Is the total enemy count still at sixty?"

"Give or take a couple," replied Coleman.

Rapp looked at the two tents and four huts. If the numbers were right, he'd accounted for twenty-five of the sixty terrorists. That left roughly thirty-five others divvied up between the other tent and two lean-tos. Fortunately, it appeared those three structures could be assaulted without the hostages being caught in a cross fire.

"What are you thinking, Scott?"

Coleman took a while to answer. He'd been thinking about his strategy all day.

"We send two four-man teams around each side of the camp. They take out the lean-tos while a four-man team takes out the one tent and a five-man team handles the rescue."

Rapp ran the numbers.

"That leaves a cover force of only five."

"We could increase the cover force if you want to just lob grenades into the other structures, but my guess is you won't like that."

Rapp frowned. He instinctively disliked anything that made too much noise.

"It might attract some unwanted attention."

"Shit," answered the young lieutenant on Rapp's other side.

"Who's going to hear it on a night like this? Besides, we're going to have to blow some trees to clear a landing area for the choppers."

This was a part of the plan that Rapp had never much liked. There was a small clearing about a quarter mile from where they were that was to be used as their extraction point. In order to make it big enough for a CH-53 Sea Stallion to land they would have to enlarge the landing area by attaching explosives to at least a half-dozen trees and shearing them off. It was sure to attract some attention, storm or no storm.

"I'd prefer to avoid the grenades if possible."

Coleman flipped his goggles into the up position and looked at Rapp.

"Then we stick with a five-man cover force." Rapp still seemed not entirely enamored with the plan.

"Trust me on this. We'll use one of the SAWs to hit the big tent and take the other two and set them up for cover. In addition to that I'll be up here with Kevin and Slick Wicker. They've already got their line of fire figured and the camp divided into three sectors. If anything pops up they'll take care of it before you even know it's a problem."

The SAW Coleman was referring to was the M249 Squad Automatic Weapon. A light machine gun, the SAW was capable of firing up to 700 rounds per minute and in the hands of a trained operator the weapon could lay down a withering amount of suppressive fire.

Rapp nodded.

"You know more about this stuff than I do."

Flashing his teeth behind his painted face, Coleman smiled and said, "Yeah, you're a real Girl Scout. Let me take one guess where you're going to be during all this."

Rapp allowed himself a small smile. Coleman knew him well.

"Let's get back to picking your plan apart for a minute."

"Nope. Not until you tell me what you've got planned for yourself."

"You know where I'm gonna be. Someone has to go in there and check things out before we hit the tent."

"Aren't you married now?" asked Coleman in a smart-ass tone.

Rapp ignored him. Coleman knew the answer.

"Let's get back to the CP and put the finishing touches on this thing before this storm gets any worse."

Rapp didn't like what he was hearing. Odds were a big thing to him. He was by no means risk averse, but he liked the probability stacked as much in his favor as possible.

Invariably, what bothered him most were things that were out of his control, and the weather was typically one such thing. Captain Forester had just informed them that the storm was in fact growing in strength. Gusts were now topping 60 mph and until they got around to the other side of the island all flight operations were suspended.

Forester assured Rapp, however, that the extraction was still on.

The captain maintained that his pilots could handle the winds. The ride just might be a little bumpy. This did absolutely nothing to assuage Rapp's concerns. Bravado and blustering were one thing but reality was something entirely different. Could the captain's pilots pull off the extraction? Yes, was the answer, but could they also crash? Most definitely.

Nighttime helicopter operations were delicate even in calm weather, but throw in a little wind, rain and a mountainous terrain and you had a recipe for disaster.

As Forester spoke of the competency of his aviators, the CIA counterterrorism operative was acutely aware of one vital statistic: more U.S. Special Forces personnel had been killed in helicopter accidents in the last two decades than in all other mishaps combined.

Rapp, Coleman and Jackson were all kneeling under the relative protection of a large dense tree. Covering his lip mike, Rapp looked at Coleman and said, "I've got a bad feeling about our extraction." Rapp could tell immediately by the look on Coleman's face that the man shared his concern.

"I'm not crazy about it either, but what are our alternatives? Do you want to wait to see if this thing blows over and go in just before first light?"

That option also didn't sound good to Rapp.

"No, we're not going to wait. Now's the right time to hit 'em."

"We brought along plenty of explosives," offered Jackson.

"We could try expanding the perimeter of the landing area."

"That might help," conceded Rapp, "but I'm still not crazy about getting on a helicopter in this weather."

Coleman was struck with an idea.

"What if we march back to the beach?"

"That's fine if we're not pursued or worse." Jackson pointed over his shoulder toward the Abu Sayyaf camp.

"If they manage to get off a radio transmission that they've been hit, we could get cut off on our way to the beach, and even then we still have to get on a chopper."

"Not necessarily," said Coleman. Thumbing the transmit button on his radio he asked, "Captain, what are the seas like on the leeward side of the island?"

There was a brief delay while the captain radioed one of the ships in the group that was out ahead.

"Right now we're looking at ten-foot swells."

He knew the answer to the next question but asked it anyway.

"Any problem launching the Mark Fives in those seas?"

"No. I can turn the ship into the storm, and we'll have no problem."

"What do you think?" Coleman looked at Rapp.

"If the takedown goes off clean we can have the captain launch the Mark Fives and meet them on the beach. It'll take us at least an hour to get there. That should give them more than enough time to launch the boats and pick us up. We can bring the boats right in on the beach, load up and head out to the Belleau Wood."

"And if we run into any resistance," added Rapp, "or we think they've alerted their comrades in arms, we call for the helicopter extraction."

"Exactly," answered Coleman.

Rapp looked at Jackson.

"What do you think?"

"I like it. It gives us some options to work with."

"Good." Coleman was also relieved. Lifting the handset of the secure radio he said, "Captain, here's what we're going to do."

While Coleman worked out the details with Forester, Rapp took the opportunity to discuss something very delicate with Jackson. He hadn't given the subject much thought until he'd got a good look at the enemy camp, but now, in light of the fact that they might need more time to get off the island, the sensitive issue needed to be dealt with.

Rapp looked the younger man square in the eye.

"Lieutenant, have you ever seen combat before?"

Jackson hesitated briefly as if he'd been waiting for the question.

"No," he finally admitted.

"That's all right," replied Rapp.

"We all have to start somewhere.

How many of your men have seen action?"

Again, Jackson hesitated while he tallied the number.

"Five of the twenty-three."

This was not exactly what Rapp wanted to hear. In his mind he started moving people around like pieces on a chess board. Hackett's experience was too valuable to attach him to the cover force. His steady gun would be needed down where the action was taking place, and for that matter it would be nice to have Coleman at his side too.

The only problem there was that Coleman needed to be in a position where he could take in the whole picture.

Coleman got off the radio with the captain and Rapp apprised him of his concerns. Before considering them, Coleman asked Jackson to bring his men in for a final briefing.

When the young lieutenant was gone, Rapp said, "He's never seen action."

Coleman seemed unfazed by the revelation.

"It doesn't surprise me."

With a detached look in his eyes Rapp added, "I'm going to need some hardened guys down there with me to mop up when we're done."

The two men looked at each other and communicated an unspoken thought.

"Yeah, I know," said Coleman.

"No prisoners. No survivors."

He'd been through the drill before.

"I'll make sure I communicate it to Jackson and the chiefs. Believe me, he's green, but he's heard it before."

"Yeah, hearing about it's one thing, but until you've had to put a bullet in a wounded man's head…" Rapp frowned and looked down at the ground.

"It'd be nice if we could spare the kid from having to think about it for the rest of his life."

Coleman agreed.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

Jackson came back to the group and his men started appearing through the underbrush. When everyone was assembled, Coleman and Jackson began briefing the men on the specifics of the mission. Few questions were asked. The men had all gone through the drill before.

Contingencies were addressed and for a final time they went over handling the hostages and getting them out of the line of fire and secured as soon as possible.

Coleman went on to state in very clear terms this was more than a hostage rescue. He explained to the men that if they wanted to make it back to the ship they needed to decimate the enemy. They were an inferior force in numbers and could offer no aid or quarter. The men had all heard this before from their various instructors, but for the majority of them it was the first time it held such relevance.

The last thing Coleman did was point to his own forehead and say, "Remember… double taps to the foreheads and keep moving."

Then one by one he ordered each element to their jumping-off points. Coleman then directed the cover force into position and when everything was ready he gave the word to move out. Rapp led the group up the middle. Crawling on their bellies, they slid from their elevated position down toward the rushing creek. Before the rains had come the creek could have been crossed with one step; now it was a raging waist-deep river that would have to be forded with caution.

Even with the cover noise of raindrops hitting the thick jungle leaves, the men moved with great care. Footing was so slippery that everyone had been ordered to crawl, lest someone slip, go tumbling down toward the creek and possibly alert the terrorists. Behind Rapp followed Lieutenant Jackson and ten of his men. The remaining twelve SEALs who were not assigned to the cover force were now working their way into position to flank the camp. As per the scouting report that Wicker had given them, six men had gone to take up position on the west end of the camp and six more to the east side. These two groups were to watch the two main paths that led into the village and then strike the four lean-tos when the order was given.

All twenty-nine men in the operation had been briefed on the entire scope of the operation. This was crucial, not just so that they could carry out another man's assignment if he fell, but to understand where everyone else was. With so much firepower concentrated in such a small area, the men needed to be aware of what the various elements were up to, lest they shoot one of their own.

When they reached the overflowing banks of the creek, Rapp waited to hear from the two flanking elements that they were in position.

He looked out from under the brim of his jungle hat across the rain-peppered rushing stream and toward the village. From his vantage he could see directly into one of the lean-tos without the aid of his gun-mounted night vision scope. The men inside appeared to be playing a game of some sort under a single hanging lantern. At the moment one of the men appeared to be yelling at one of his companions about something. The others stood about and laughed boisterously at the angered man. As Rapp watched he couldn't help but think that the discipline of this group was really lax. It was really an embarrassment that someone hadn't freed the Andersons sooner.

While waiting for the go-ahead Rapp's thoughts turned briefly to his wife. If she knew what he was doing right now, she'd cut his nuts off. Instinctively knowing that there was probably a pretty good case to be made that he was an irresponsible and somewhat dishonest husband, he decided to not explore the issue further. At least not for now.

The awkward denials and recriminations could wait until he was back in Washington.

It was always questions with Anna. She had an insatiable desire to know things, and the more she was told something didn't matter, the more it mattered. This trait, of course, treated her well in her job as a reporter, but in their relationship it was something that had to be monitored closely. Anna was a very passionate woman. Nothing was done in a halfhearted manner. If it was worth doing it was worth doing to the fullest. In this regard, Rapp wasn't all that different; he just went about things in a more analytical, stoic way, whereas Anna was more passionate and determined.

Coleman's voice crackled over his earpiece, pulling him back to the present.

"Teams three and four are in position, Mitch. Let me know when you're ready."

Cradling his suppressed MP-5 in his arms he edged forward, entering the rushing water headfirst. The force of the stream rushing down the mountain was stronger than he thought it would be. He hoped it wasn't any deeper than his waist or they might have a more difficult time getting across than they'd planned. As the water deepened, Rapp found his footing and carefully picked his way across, ready to drop down into the water at a moment's notice if someone appeared from one of the two tents.

Fortunately, the water never got above the middle of his thighs. As long as none of the other men lost their footing, they would have little difficulty in fording the stream. When he reached the other side he crawled up the grassy bank and took up a cover position a mere thirty feet from the hostages' tent. Using hand signals he gestured for Jackson to bring the other two teams over.

This had been Jackson 's idea. The original plan was to send Rapp over on his own and see if he could get close enough to the one tent to somehow tell them where the hostages were positioned inside. They all agreed that most likely the Andersons were huddled together at the far end of the tent. Nonetheless, it would be nice to know exactly where they were.

SEALs regularly trained in shooting rooms set up for hostage rescues.

They'd have to burst through a door, window or sometimes even a wall, and in a matter of a second or two differentiate between the hostages and the terrorists and then kill the latter.

Jackson 's suggestion had been to get the remaining two teams across before Rapp tried to sneak a peek. This way if things went wrong they'd be in a much better position to execute the takedown.

No one wanted to return without the Andersons, so Jackson urged that they hold nothing back.

Rapp looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson reach his side of the creek and then gesture for the next man to follow. As he waited for Jackson to join him he was startled by a flash to his left. Rapp's whole body tensed as light spilled out from the other tent. Looking through the grass he saw a man holding back the flap of the tent and relieving himself.

Rapp didn't bother to train his gun on the man. He knew Wicker would have already done so. Looking over his shoulder he could barely make out one of Jackson 's men crouching down in the middle of the rushing water.

With no fear of being heard due to the falling rain, Rapp whispered into his lip mike, "Everyone relax. This guy can't see more than twenty feet."

When the guy finished his business and let the flap of the tent close there was a collective sigh of relief. The fording continued and before long all of the men were across and in position to move should Rapp be discovered.

Sitting atop the slight ridge just 200 feet from the village, Coleman had an unobstructed view. He'd watched intently as Rapp and then the others crossed the rushing stream. Both flanking elements were not visible as they worked their way through the jungle. Wicker had already scouted that terrain and reported that it was free of booby traps.

When each element was ready Coleman spoke to Rapp.

"Mitch, when you're ready, go sneak a quick peek and then get out of there. Lieutenant, have your conga line ready." The conga line Coleman was referring to was an entry technique the SEALs used. The men lined up as if dancing the conga and then entered the structure, every other man peeling off and responsible for clearing a given area within the room. It was a tried-and-true technique used by all hostage rescue teams.

Whispering into his mike, Rapp let Coleman know he was going in. Crawling through the grass he inched his way forward toward the tent. Now out in the relative open, protected only by darkness and rain, he moved quickly. Across a muddy path and then up a slight slope of shorter grass, he was careful to keep the barrel of his weapon clear.