Rolling Thunder (2007) (7 page)

FOR almost his entire life, Chad Murchison had adored Penny Brubaker, who was a year younger than he. Both their families were members of the higher echelons of the Boston financial and banking community, and they had shared the experience of being raised in stunning wealth and privilege among friends and classmates who were their social peers. All the kids went to the best private elementary schools the city offered, then to the prestigious Marchland Preparatory School in New Hampshire. Chad and Jenny began going steady at Marchland and everyone including the young couple assumed they would eventually be engaged, then married, and begin procreating to carry on the dynasties of their powerful families. But during her senior year, after Chad had graduated and gone off to Yale, Penny unexpectedly dumped him for a jock. This betrayal caused Chad's world to come apart at the seams.

His grief at losing Penny was so great and pressing, it was nearly unreal. He lay in his dormitory room at Yale unable to get up to go to class, eat, or sleep. Dehydration and exhaustion set in during his mental and physical deterioration until he was looking so bad that the dormitory superintendent was notified by Chad's frantic friends. An ambulance was called immediately and the boy was taken to the nearest ER. Youthful resilience was on his side, and the medical crew determined he could be brought back to physical normalcy if he were immediately admitted to the hospital to get fluids dripped into him. The treatment would include regular doses of Valium to mellow him out.

A week later, he was back in his home in Boston. The family physician recommended that he stay out of school for the rest of the year. If he regained his ability to deal with the real world by the following September, he could reenter Yale and resume his studies. From that point on, Chadwick Murchi-son's existence consisted of sitting around and moping while barely eating. His days were spent at his bedroom window, sprawled in a recliner and staring out over the broad expanse of the back lawn that flowed down to Lake Saint Michael.

This lethargic style of a miserable existence went on for a bit more than a month before a spark suddenly ignited deep in his psyche. It wasn't a flash of intellect or realization; it was a burst of bald, naked anger. Chad may have been a little skinny guy with two left feet, but one thing he had inside was an instinctive courage and fighting spirit. It took this emotional disaster to fuel that inner self that had been smothered by the good life. It was nine o'clock in the morning when he impetuously got out of the chair and marched down to the kitchen, where the staff was going about their usual routine. Chad announced he wanted three eggs over easy, a half-dozen sausage links, a big pile of fried potatoes, and no less than four croissants with butter and jam.

After stuffing himself, he went back to his room and shucked the pajamas and bathrobe. He put on his jogging duds, went downstairs, out the front door, and began a run through the plush neighborhood. He had to stop once to throw up the enormous breakfast in his stuffed belly; then he continued the circuit.

And thus began a hard-ass, self-imposed program of roadwork, lifting weights, swimming laps in the family's Olympic-size indoor pool, and punching a heavy bag. The latter workout was particularly vigorous since he imagined the inoffensive target of his fists as Cliff Armbrewster, the jock who had taken Penny Brubaker away from him.

Then the decision that was to really change his life was made while watching television. The Arts and Entertainment Channel showed an hour-long program on the U.S. Navy SEALs. The next day, Chad presented himself at the recruiting office in Cambridge and signed on for a four-year hitch, volunteering for the SEALs. The petty officer recruiter took one look at the skinny kid and figured he would never make it through much more than about five minutes of Hell Week. But the sailor had a quota to meet, so he signed the young volunteer up.

Chad went to Boot Camp at the Naval Training Center in Great Lakes, Illinois. He came out of those weeks about five pounds heavier, but still skinny. From there, he went to Class A School, where he was given specialized training to qualify him for a disbursement clerk's rating to work in the Navy's financial department. When that was finished, the eager young sailor put in for the SEALs. In order to make it to BUD/S, he had to pass a physical fitness test. In spite of Boot Camp, he barely squeaked by. The pull-ups were particularly tough, and his little arms fairly trembled with the effort before he got out the required number. The run, on the other hand, was a piece of cake. He fairly flew around the course, completing the mandatory distance with time to spare.

When he showed up at the Naval Amphibious Base in Coronado, California, the BUD/S instructors couldn't believe the runt had actually passed the qualifying tests. But eventually, they recognized the big heart in the little guy. He gave it his all, still going when larger, more muscular candidates caved in. His slight frame turned out to be advantageous during underwater free-swimming sessions, since the kid didn't need a lot of oxygen and his eel-like physique allowed him to move rapidly through the water.

Chad continued the training, struggling more with his natural clumsiness than a lack of zeal or courage. One instructor who recognized the inner strength of the Slim Jim gave him encouragement through guidance and compliments where he deserved them. When the BUD/S class curriculum was completed, Chad Murchison had won the eagle and trident of the SEALs. And he now weighed a muscular twenty pounds more than the day he enlisted.

The SEAL and Penny Brubaker were destined to meet again sooner than either expected. It was in Afghanistan during Brannigan's Brigands' first operation as a unit, and she was a UN sanitation and hygiene instructor on the staff of a relief team. The reunion was an emotional whirlwind for them both. Penny happily told him she had broken her engagement with Armbrewster, and returned to Boston to find Chad, only to be told he had enlisted in the Navy.

In the heady days following this unexpected get-together, they became an item once again. But this time, with more maturity and experience, the young couple had sex out in the desert on Chad's poncho. It was primitive and exhilarating for the two sophisticated city kids, and their passion was intense and feral.

Afterward, instead of being thrilled with getting back the girl of his dreams, Chad felt his passion for her begin to wane. It was something that he couldn't understand no matter how much he turned it over in his mind. His experiences in training and combat had turned him into a completely different person, with a life that had no room for conventional romance. The SEALs were everything to him.

.

1500 HOURS

A blur appeared in the haze on the desert horizon, and Chad Murchison stood up in his position aboard the DPV, steadying himself on the roll bars. He took his binoculars from their case, putting them to his eyes. After a few moments, he could see the white tents with the blue letters un stenciled on them. Somewhere among those canvas structures was Penny Brubaker. Chad sat back down, wondering how he was going to handle the coming reunion.

Command Two sat at the edge of the camp with several people standing around it. The other two vehicles of the Command Section pulled up to a stop. CPO Matt Gunnarson, driving Green Two with Chad Murchison, slowed down to let Green One go around him. He followed him up to the other vehicles with Green Three just behind his DPV. The Red Assault Section followed, pulling up to the left side of the impromptu vehicle park.

Lieutenant Bill Brannigan and his 2IC Jim Cruiser approached the group of people waiting at the edge of the camp. Dr. Pierre Bouchier stepped forward with his hand extended. Bonjour, Monsieur le Lieutenant Brannigan. Je suis charme de vous revoir encore I am pleased to see you again.

Likewise, Dr. Bouchier, Brannigan said. How have you been?

Quite well, thank you, Bouchier replied. We finished our work with the Warlord Khamami's people. At least, we accomplished all that was possible under the conditions here in Afghanistan. I have heard he is deep into the farming of opium poppies and smuggling of same.

No surprise there, Brannigan said. He reintroduced Jim Cruiser, then noticed the attractive young lady standing slightly to the rear. Hello! he called over to her. I remember you quite well.

I'm pleased that you do, Penny Brubaker replied. Is Chad Murchison with you, by any chance?

He sure is, Brannigan said. He turned toward the Green Assault Section. Petty Officer Murchison! Front and center!

Chad slowly dismounted the DPV and walked toward the assembled people, slipping his HK-416 carbine over his shoulder. Penny rushed toward him, her face lit with a smile of pure delight. He felt guilty as he took her in his arms. He responded when she held her face up to be kissed. The SEAL pressed his lips against hers, aware of the growing tightness of her embrace.

Jim Cruiser, suppressing a laugh, called over, Murchison, you're excused from duty until further notice. Take a break.

Aye, sir, Chad replied.

The couple walked away with Penny holding onto his arm. She led him over to where three of her girlfriends waited. Chad, I want you to meet Erika Maanchen, Irena Poczinska, and Josefina Vargas. The four of us work together giving classes to the Pashtun ladies.

Josefina glanced over at the SEALs who were sizing up the UN women. The Spanish nurse smiled and gazed boldly back at the sailors. We hope to meet all your friends while you are here, Chad.

Chad grinned. Believe me, they hope they can meet you too.

We'll worry about that later, Penny said. She pulled on him, taking him into the formation of tents until reaching hers. This is where I live. She gave him what she hoped was a seductive look. Would you like to see it?

Sure, Chad replied.

Penny opened the flap and followed him inside. She embraced him again. Oh, Chaddie, darling! We won't be bothered in here. My roomies will stay away until we come out.

He was confused. How did they know I was coming?

Those two guys you call the Odd Couple told me you were on your way when they got here earlier, Penny said. Why didn't you write me and tell me you were in Afghanistan?

I didn't find out about this operation until four days ago, Chad said. I've been out on a ship.

Chad, Penny said impatiently. We don't have all day.

He stood there awkwardly, not really happy with a girl who was now an intrusion in his life. But he was a young male with a young willing female. And he was a SEAL.

Duty of a sort had called.

DR. Pierre Bouchier acted as the host as Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant Junior Grade Jim Cruiser, and Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins sat around the table in his large tent. Cold bottles of beer had been served, and the doctor also offered snacks of peanuts and pretzels.

We appreciate your hospitality, Doctor, Brannigan said.

I wish we could reciprocate, but all we have are MRE field rations.

Bien! Our food here is plain but much better than that, Bouchier said. However, I have you here for another reason. Yesterday, three armored cars visited us. The men in them wore British-style uniforms with Arab keffiyehs.

SCPO Dawkins took a swallow of beer. What the hell are keffiyehs? he asked, reaching for a handful of peanuts.

Do you remember pictures of Yasser Arafat? Cruiser asked. What he had on his head was a keffiyeh.

The device around it that holds it in place is called an akal, Bouchier said. At any rate, the leader identified himself by an Arabic first name and a last that I think was English or possibly German. And he claimed the rank of capitaine. He had a marked European appearance and spoke in an English accent. The fellow told me he was a member of an army called Jihad something-or-other.

SCPO Dawkins showed a crooked grin. Jesus! A fucking Lawrence of Arabia, huh?

I wouldn't say that, Brannigan remarked. This is a terrorist for sure. He shifted his gaze back to Bouchier. Did he give you any reason for his visit?

Tres explicitement! Bouchier exclaimed. He ordered us out of this area, giving us three days to leave. That time is up day after tomorrow at noon. He sent some men into the Pashtun village and warned them not to have any contact with us. They are obeying him explicitly.

I take it you've contacted your superiors, Brannigan said. What were their instructions?

I have received none as of yet, but I am certain I will be ordered to go to Kandahar or perhaps Kabul within twenty-four hours, Bouchier surmised.

I have a better idea, Brannigan said. I suggest that you and all your people load aboard some of your vehicles. I'll dispatch one of my DPVs to lead you to Shelor Field, and you can bunk in our hangar. My guy can turn around and come back here, and we'll be ready and waiting for this mysterious Brit with an Arab name.

But what is going to happen to the tents and all our equipment?

Leave everything here except the trucks you'll need to haul your people and necessary personal affects, Brannigan said.

But les terroristes will destroy everything they cannot steal, Bouchier protested. And if they don't, then those wretched Pashtuns will.

Not necessarily, Brannigan said. My detachment will be here to look after your things. And also to meet Captain Jihad and his men at noon day after tommorow.

I will have to clear it with my superiors, Bouchier said.

Right now this is the official operational area of a mission the United States Navy is calling Rolling Thunder, Brannigan said. I'm ordering you to evacuate to Shelor Field. My authority is that I am the commanding officer here. Besides, the UN is not known for any real sense of security.